9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC (21 page)

There was little relief granted him from the rampant
torment raging through his soul. His entire being
zinged
with unleashed power.
It quivered like a tightly drawn bow, demanding he complete the ritual. Fulfill
the chant. Steal her soul!

The words pounded inside his skull over and over.
Do it.
Do it, now.

Steals
a witch’s soul.

Steal
the witch’s soul.

Steal
.

Steal.

Talon
closed his lips against the flesh of Saylym’s throat, latching on, drawing
deeply, until at last, he gained a small amount of control and was able to rise
to his feet, holding her close against his chest. He breathed slowly. In. Out.
Over and over, until the pressure in his skull finally eased, and he could
think without the magic pulsing through his mind.

He
inhaled, savoring the warmth of her spirit as it stirred within his body. It
swirled, dipped, and blazed around him like a shooting star spinning out of
control.

Saylym gave a feeble whimper, and clawed at his shirt.
“Kiss me,” she pleaded. “I don’t…I need—”

“I
know, little one.” Talon tenderly brushed a tangled curl from her forehead and
pressed a light kiss to her brow. “I know,” he whispered, “the same need claws
at me.”

* * * *

Saylym
felt the sharp sting of Talon’s lips pulling against her throat as he lowered
his head and pressed his mouth there. She gasped. The sense of a bright light
returning deep inside her settled; for the moment, content to linger where it
belonged.

Cool
air rushed inside her lungs, filling her body with life. The whirling vortex in
which she’d found herself spinning helplessly, suddenly faded to a black void
that left her grasping for a balance that wasn’t there.

As if from a great distance, she saw Talon reel drunkenly
away from her. She heard his harsh, ragged breaths. He mumbled words to the owl
that sounded like, “What are you grinning about?”

A smug reply, “I knew you couldn’t do it. I
knew
it! You’re too good a man to go through with it.”

Saylym shook her head, trying to clear her mind. Right. A
talking owl. Huh.

She was definitely in a bad way.

What had happened?

* * * *

Damn it! Vox was right. He couldn’t do it. He couldn’t
drain the spirit from something as gentle and pure as Saylym Winslow without
coming apart. He’d unravel if he did this terrible thing.

Relief
swept over him. All right. All right. That must be his final decision. He
couldn’t do it,
wouldn’t
do it, and he’d never allow Black Drayke near
her. So that left the choice to bond.

So
be it.

He couldn’t imagine being content mated to one witch for
the rest of his days, especially one with whom he couldn’t have children, but
there was no other choice left for him.

How would he ever make her understand and accept what they
had to do? “Damn the guild and its decrees!” Talon turned back to Saylym,
raking trembling fingers through the strands of his hair.

“Are
you all right?” she asked, touching his face with a gentle hand.

He
flinched. “Don’t! Don’t touch me. Give me a moment.”

She stepped back. “You look ill. You’re gray.”

“For
the gods’ sake, Saylym, give me a break.” He looked away, his chest rising and
falling with ragged breaths.

She
flinched at his harsh tone.

Talon
dragged in one last deep breath and slowly released it. That was better. At
least he felt he had a little control back. Saylym was rubbing her forehead. Yeah,
he imagined she had the headache from hell and he’d yelled at her.

“I’m
sorry,” she said, massaging her temples with her fingertips. She turned and
walked away.

He
watched her, frowning. She was an even bigger mystery than she’d been before
he’d tasted her soul. He wanted to be the man who unlocked all her secrets, the
man who discovered the core of her passion. He wanted to be the man she
nurtured, and loved, sheltered in her arms and pressed to her bosom. To save
her life, he’d gladly give up his freedom.

Talon went to her, clasped her hands, turned them over,
and placed a gentle kiss in the center of each palm, then closed her fingers
over them.
“I’m
sorry. I didn’t mean
to snap at you.”

A
worried scowl drew her silken brows together. “You always kiss the palms of my
hands,” she said, searching his face.

“Do
I?”

“Yes.”
The frown vanished. “My headache’s gone.” She looked at her palms, then back at
him, suspicion on her face and in her eyes. “What did you do?”

“A
small spell to ease your pain,” he said softly. “And a bit of protection.”

“Protection?”
She sounded puzzled.

“From
maddened
wakens
. Against pain. Evil.” If there was one thing he was
certain of, evil, in one form or another, was her enemy. He’d come
devastatingly close to absorbing her soul. He still reeled from the powerful
high.

She shook her head. “I feel as though I’m emerging from a
cocoon.” Absently she scratched her neck. “My throat hurts.”

He clasped her wrist. “Leave it alone.”

“What?” she asked. “What is it?”

“It’s nothing for you to worry about,
La-Scheme,
a
simple declaration.”

“What?”
She rushed over to pick up an antique hand mirror off the counter and peered at
her reflection. “Bloody hell!” She traced a fingertip across the red, swollen
area. “You bit me!”

He
dragged her hand from her throat and eyed the reddened area. “Don’t scratch it.
Scratching will only make it increase in size and change color.” He frowned.
“It
was
no bigger than an insect bite and barely pink. Now it’s the size
of a Thaler coin and red as the fires of the Underworld. I’ve never seen that
happen before.” He rocked back on his heels. “And it was only a little nibble.”

Saylym
frowned, raising the mirror up and down until she had a good view of her
bruised throat in the mirror. “Little nibble? It looks like a big hickey! But
it isn’t. I’ve never heard of a hickey instantly growing or immediately changing
color just from a single stroke of a fingertip.” Her eyes widened. “The-the…Underworld?”
She gulped.

“Yeah,” he said, eyeing the blemish. “You know, where Dym
and King Titan dwell —” He broke off, noting the startled look on her face. He
shook his head. “No. You don’t know. Well, never mind.”

He took the mirror from her and placed it back on the
counter, then glided a fingertip down one flawless cheek. “The mark is nothing
for you to concern yourself with. Eventually, it will fade. It’s merely a
temporary warning for others to stay away during Beltane. A claiming,” he said
softly. “Do you not understand a
waken’s
right to lay claim…?” His voice
trailed away when he saw the confusion and disbelief on her face.

Talon cleared his throat, nervous now, and tried again to
explain. “A female witch, once marked by a
waken
, is his property.” He
hesitated as her eyes grew round with disbelief and anger. “Uh…every
waken
has his own unique style and colors for marking a female. Once she is claimed,
no other male may touch her. I have claimed you, Saylym. Marked you. You belong
to me,” he ended on a triumphant note.

“Don’t be ridiculous,” she barked. “You can’t just claim
me as if I’m a piece of property.”

“I
can,” he said feeling smug. “I did. It’s a law.”

“Whose
law?” she snapped, hands fisted on her hips. There was no holding this witch
back. She rallied quickly. “Well, I claim you too! Bend down so I can bite
you.”

Talon widened his eyes. His lips twitched. “It doesn’t
work that way,
La-Scheme
. Only the male does the claiming. The…biting.”

She shook her head. “Unclaim me,” she demanded. “At once!”
She waved her arms around as if trying to gain his attention. “Do you hear me?”
she asked. “Are you even listening? You have no right. No right!”

“I
have every right. It’s Beltane. Every witch of mating age will be mated or
bonded, with or without her permission. I’m honoring you by claiming you as my
own. Besides, it’s tradition.”

“Honoring
me? You want to control me.”

“Only
if you’re into that.” He winked at her. “You belong to me, Saylym, so unclamp
those little fists.”

“I
belong to no one, especially you.” She relaxed her fists all right, and stabbed
him in the chest with her index finger.

It
took him a moment to realize he was backing up every time she poked him.

“I
said
unclaim
me!”

His dark brows knitted together in a scowl. “It’s our law,
Saylym.
Our
law. The law of Ru-Noc. I’ve
already claimed you. I can’t unclaim you. There’s no such thing. It’s done. We will
mate. It doesn’t mean you’re my prisoner. You’ll be my equal, unless of course
you want me to bind and blindfold you? Kinky. I understand
illumrofs
like to get kinky. Yes, I could get into that.”

Saylym snorted. “In your dreams.”

“Of course,” he replied.

“Bloody hell! We will
not
mate,” she shouted.
“Illumrofs?”

“Illumrofs.”
Talon nodded, frowning, puzzled by her
lack of understanding of their language. “Humans. Our species is assorted and made
up of vampires, werewolves, witches, wizards,
wakens,
warlocks, demons, and
all the fey creatures of the woodlands.”

Saylym laughed and blew out a deep breath. “Whew! You
really had me going there for a moment. Witches? You may claim to be a
waken
,
but I’m not a witch.”

Talon
smiled faintly. “You have something against witches? Against
wakens?”

“Nothing
personal.” She snickered. “I just don’t want to be one.”

He brushed a curl from her cheek. “Believe me, sweetheart,
you’re a witch
.
”
He
leaned down and brushed a kiss against her cheek. “Though you are claimed,
La-Scheme
,
so am I. For your magic has cast a spell over me and taken my heart prisoner.
You own me,
La-Scheme.
I’m
yours for eternity.”

Chapter Twelve

Abigail Hobbs, Bridget Bishop,
Giles Corey, and Mary Warren were examined. Abigail Hobbs confessed to being a
witch.

~William
Hobbs

“I can deny
it to my dying day.”

 
~Salem Witch Trials

April 19, 1692

Page Entry…

Queen Shy-Ryn knew her
brother’s intent as soon as she saw him close the door to her chamber and seal
it shut with waken magic. She lifted her chin, seeing the shroud of Black Magic
that darkened his mind and soul.

Kran took his time crossing
the room. There was no need to hurry. He had the entire month of Beltane to
accomplish his goal. Shy-Ryn was fertile. And like all male witches, he smelled
her readiness to breed. He cared not she was his sister.

“Our son will inherit the
throne, because when I’m done with you, you’ll never want another waken
touching you. Through me, Zoman will accomplish what he intended.”

Shy-Ryn backed up a step, but
there was no escape. She was trapped and she knew it. She sensed his evil magic
holding her prisoner inside the chamber. Screaming, she flung a ball of fire at
her brother’s head. He batted it out of his way and threw himself on her.
Together, they fell in a tangled heap of arms and legs on the bed.

“Kran,
don’t,” she pleaded. “It’s an abomination! Zoman was my father, too. His seed
has already inherited the throne. Can’t you understand? Accept?”

Kran’s lips curled with a thin
sneer. He punched her in the mouth. “Shut up! You’re a female, and like all
females, unworthy to rule.” He shed his clothes in the waken fashion, then
ripped her gown from her body. “Fight me, Queen Shy-Ryn. It will give me the
greatest of pleasure to punish you with pain.”

~Pages of history from the
Winslow witches.

In the Year of Samhain, 1555

Sanctuary

Sage
and Stry stood near the outskirts of Sanctuary, their heads close together as
they discussed their mutual concerns of their assignment. Sage eyed the evening
shadows creeping in around them, warning of approaching night.

Painted with myriad shades of purple and indigo blue, the
sky looked as bruised and battered as he felt inside. The sun slowly dipped
beneath the horizon, bringing an unexpected chill that layered the air,
alerting unwary travelers of a cold night looming ahead.

He shivered, huddling deeper inside the folds of his gray
woolen cloak. “Damn, I thought winter was over, but it feels like we’re going
to have more snow and ice.”

The look on Stry’s face said he agreed. He nodded and
smiled grimly. “Ru-Noc’s weather is unpredictable as always, May can be a
bitch.” Stry scratched the back of his neck. “I don’t understand why I can’t
locate this Nyra Winters. I’ve sent out several summoning chants to her, but
I’ve had no response. How could she possibly ignore my summons?”

“Perhaps
she’s woven a spell of protection against you,” Sage suggested, blowing on his
icy hands.

“She
doesn’t know I’m searching for her but I agree. I think she’s cloaked herself with
a protection spell. Maybe she’s hiding from someone else?” Stry’s voice lilted
with question.

“Maybe.”