9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC (24 page)

The coven realized the grave
danger this left Queen Shy-Ryn in. Every Beltane, Kran would force another
child on the beloved queen until she conceived his son. The coven agreed–they’d
not allow this repugnant act to take place again.

~Pages of history from the
Winslow witches.

In the Year of Samhain, 1555

Sanctuary

A
loud rumbling jarred Saylym from a sound sleep. She swore the entire house
shook.

Earthquake!

“Bloody
hell!” She scrambled for a hold on the sheet as she flew across the bed. It
swayed from side to side like a hammock strung between two trees.

“Ge-ron-i-mo!”
a deep voice bellowed in the darkness.

Saylym shrieked as the bed tilted to one side and dumped
her onto the floor. She rolled across the carpet in a flurry of blankets and
pillows.
“Ouch!”
Puffing a strand of
hair from her eyes, she thrust the covers and pillows out of her way. “Ouch-Ouch-Ouch!”
She wrinkled her nose and rubbed at a painful lump rising in the center of her
forehead. Flinging a glare at the unfriendly bed, she rose to her feet. “Are
you crazy?”

Maybe
she’d been dreaming or having a nightmare.

“I
warned you about that snoring, witch.”

She
muttered beneath her breath as she reached to snap on the bedside lamp. Uh-huh.
There it was. That single red eyeball in the center of the headboard had a
pleased smirk upon its thick lips.

“You,”
Saylym shouted. “You’re back.”

“Me,” the bed replied, smacking its lips together with
satisfaction. “And I never left. Don’t even think about crawling back on me.
Until you learn to control that infernal noise you make, sleep on the sofa.”

Saylym snatched the blanket and pillow from the floor.
“Fine.” She whirled, to leave the room. “You’re lumpy, anyway.”

“Fine,” the bed repeated in a mocking tone directed at her
retreating back. “And you
wish
I was lumpy. Sweet dreams, Witch Saylym.”

Saylym whipped around to stare at the ugly eye. “I am
not
a witch,” she said through clenched teeth.

It
made a noise that sounded suspiciously like a snort, then stretched its mouth
in a wide yawn. “Good night, Saylym, bungler of magic.”

“Bungler
of magic?”

The bed closed its single eye, gave a soft sigh, and
immediately began snoring. It was the loudest, most disgusting roar Saylym had
ever heard. Her jaw dropped. “Well, if that doesn’t beat all.” She stormed into
the living room and plopped down on the sofa. “Kicked out of my own bed, how
pitiful is that? And I’m innocent.
Innocent.”
Punching her pillow, she
gave an indignant,
“Hummmph.”

Saylym curled up on the sofa and tugged the blanket up to
her ears.

Did
Talon have these problems?

Since he was convinced he was a
waken
, maybe he
could explain what was happening to her. She made a mental note to ask him in
the morning. She sighed and closed her eyes, allowing his image to fill her
mind.

Talon appealed to her on an elemental level that sometimes
overwhelmed her. His skin was the color of burnished gold, tanned to a healthy
glow. His green/gold eyes sparkled like brilliant jewels when he laughed.

Her
fingers itched with the need to run them through his flowing black mane. He had
a mouth made for sin. She sighed with appreciation. There was little doubt
Talon came from a great gene pool.

Prince
Talon, she corrected sleepily, yawning.

Prince
Charming
, her mind whispered as she drifted to sleep. Sexy…Prince Charming…

Her
sleep-hazed mind overflowed with curiosity and the provocative question; did he
look as good without clothes as he did with them?

Would his…she squirmed in drowsy embarrassment as the
unfamiliar word fumbled for expression…pen…no, erec…no…
what
had Eldora called it? Wand. Would his
wand
be thick and
broad or long and skinny? Or maybe, heaven help her, as Eldora had said, long
and thick.

Good grief, Eldora with her fascination for a man’s nether
parts
were rubbing off on her
.
But if she stood before Talon,
gloriously naked, would that body part stand at attention, demanding entrance
to her woman’s sheath? Would he tease and toy her with it or take her with a
slow, soul scorching rhythm? Perhaps he’d take her fast and furious in a heated
rush.

She
arched her body, seeking his. She wanted to feel him filling her body.

Suddenly he was there, in her dream, boldly naked, and
yes, his sex was hard and jutting, broad and thick as his wrist.

She
swallowed hard as Talon reached for her, drawing her close.

“I want you,” he said hoarsely. “I need you.” Slowly, he
drew her hands around his hard shaft. “Feel how much I need you.” His husky
words whispered against her throat, slid against her flesh like warm honey,
moist and seductive, slow and teasing. Hot.

He glided the tip of his tongue down her neck to the curve
of her shoulder. There, he gently bit her, then laved the tiny sting with his
tongue. He licked his way down the slope of her breast, nibbling, scraping a
taut nipple with his teeth through the silk of her pale pink nightgown.

“I want to be inside you,” he moaned.

As he suckled deeply on a turgid nipple, his mouth felt
warm and wet against the thin silk. Her body quivered as he drew on the tight
bud. Heat pooled in her belly and the junction of her thighs grew creamy with
need. She stepped away from his arms, shook her head, her smile a provocative
challenge that dared him to come and get her, a Circe luring him to her.

His fingers clenched in her hair, beckoning her to her
knees in front of him.

She understood what he wanted. She smiled up at him
through a thick veil of lashes, mysterious woman, willing slave, then curled
her fingers around his engorged staff and leaned closer. She remembered how
he’d glided his tongue up and down the length of her finger when it had
ignited. Remembered how he’d stabbed his tongue between her fingers then
nibbled.

Sliding her wet tongue up and down his thrusting rod, she
stroked and lapped, nibbled and swirled her tongue over the broad head. A clear
drop of fluid rose to the very tip of the broad head. She licked it off,
lapping like a kitten at cream, savoring his sexy taste on her tongue. Bit by
bit, she drew the entire length of his cock inside her mouth.

His soft moans filled the night that surrounded them. His
fingers tightened in her hair, dragging her closer while he moved his hips in a
slow, age-old rhythm. Gently, she cupped his balls in her hands, massaging them
in turn. She felt his shudder of pleasure, the urgent thrust, heard his
strangled whisper as he cried her name and pushed deeper inside the wet warmth
of her mouth.

He
groaned a warning, whispering her name, but she wouldn’t release him. His low,
guttural moan surrounded her as his body exploded with his hot release. Warm,
thick fluid slid down her throat. She swallowed, moaning and lapping and
swallowing again and again.

Saylym
jerked awake, gasping for breath. “Whau!”

It
took her a second to realize it wasn’t real, that she’d been dreaming. Still,
she jumped up, ran to the bathroom, brushed her teeth and gargled twice. Back
on the sofa, she thrust her fingers through her tousled hair. “Holy shit!”

Why
would she dream something so intensely sexual? She’d never participated in oral
sex. Never had sex, period. Lately, her body had grown sensitive and damn it,
sex was all she thought about. Sex with Talon. Now she was dreaming about it.

Right this second, her body felt edgy with an unfamiliar
ache. Her stomach clenched. Her breasts felt swollen, and tender. Her thighs
throbbed as if he’d actually been between them. For heaven’s sake, she was wet
with desire. She flung off the cover, unable to bear even the light feel of the
blanket touching her heated skin.

“Handsome hunk or not, what a frickin’
nightmare.”

*
* * *

Talon reared up on the side of the bed, awakened by the
burning realization he’d just spilled his seed onto the sheets. His chest
heaved with the force of his ragged breathing. It had been at least two hundred
years since something like that had happened to him.

By
the gods, he was too old to be having wet dreams. Too old to play games and too
old to wait any longer for the witch he wanted. He could still feel Saylym’s
sweet mouth around his painfully engorged cock.

He rocked back and forth as he eyed the part of his body
that still jutted upward, aching and throbbing like the mother of all
toothaches.

“Well, damn,” he groaned, swearing softly.

It
had seemed real.
Felt
real.

But
it was a dream.

It
was real enough to make him—

He
leapt off the bed, swearing.
Scalding heat suddenly slammed into his
gut. Talon dropped to his knees, gagging. Sweat poured down his face. He
clenched his teeth and rocked back and forth in agony. Red-hot flames licked at
every part of his body, consuming and relentless. “Ah, gods! This has to stop.”

He had to make the witch his own and soon, or he was going
to combust. He’d never hurt like this in his life. It felt as if he was being
roasted alive over an open pit of red-hot coals. His cock, already hard as a
pike, tightened even more and demanded release. He might as well not have
emptied his seed on the bed for the urgent need consuming him again.

Talon glared down at the one-eyed thing causing him so
much misery. It had been hundreds of years since he’d used one-handed relief,
but he closed his fist around his aching shaft and stroked with ruthless
urgency.

He thought of Saylym and fantasized about her sweet mouth taking
his aching shaft, imagined her warm, wet tongue teasing and titillating. His
fingers tightened, glided up and down in a smooth rhythm. He remembered the
fierce heat of mating at Beltane and prayed he could wait a little longer, wait
until Saylym trusted him more and was ready to bond before the guild forced him
to take the choice from her and make her his own.

But he knew if she walked into this room, this very
second, he wouldn’t wait. He’d be inside her and he wouldn’t be able to resist
kissing her. She’d die in his arms.

Strength,
power, or spells to entice a witch to surrender and mate with him wasn’t how
he’d lived his life. There was no way he’d abuse Saylym or any other witch, in
this manner.

Confusion
jabbed at his brain like a hot poker. He didn’t understand this urgent craving
to have her. There was simply no getting her out of his mind. Although he’d
like to, he couldn’t blame it all on Beltane. There was something else,
something different about Saylym Winslow.

At last, his body clenched and he shuddered violently. He
threw back his head. His hot seed spilled into the palm of his hand.
Shuddering, his body quivered as spasm after spasm chewed through his belly.

Suddenly feeling embarrassed, he wondered how he was ever
going to be able to look Saylym in the eyes tomorrow without remembering the
feel of her mouth on him, and without feeling the weight of her breasts in his
hands.

He cleansed off the evidence of his raging need, replaced
the soiled sheets and lay back on the bed. Sweat drenched his body. First, his
skin burned. Then it turned cold as ice. He moved restlessly, tearing up the
freshly made bed as excitement and fever seared his flesh once again. His body
felt like steaming liquid, as if he’d melted into a sweltering pool of bubbling
lava. He wouldn’t have been surprised to see steam rising from his flesh.

Perhaps
he was feverish. Yes, mayhap that was it. He must be ill. Either that or
someone had cursed him with a spell. He glanced down at his hardening manhood
and groaned. Was he never going to satisfy the damn thing?

No
, his mind whispered. Not until he took Saylym.
Not until he felt her warmth tightening around his shaft, milking him of his
seed.

Definitely a spell. Why else would he have this raging
need for one witch?

Somehow,
she’d hexed him.

And
he wondered bleakly just how long this painful need was going to last.

* * * *

Resting on his perch across the room from Talon, Vox
slowly opened his eyes. His piercing yellow gaze settled on the
waken
.

The prince had it bad.

He’d never seen his Talon react this way to a pretty witch
before, never seen him enter the privacy of another’s dreams to share the
intimacy there. It was a rare thing to witness and indicated a solid mind link
between the couple that was extremely unusual.

Even
more unusual was the fact that neither of them was aware of the link. He knew
his prince didn’t realize he’d actually invaded the witch’s dream realm. That
Saylym had truly touched him with her hands and mouth in the dream, that those
touches had created the raging fire burning inside him now.

Ah, but Beltane had certainly arrived with a vengeance.
The scalding heat devouring the young
waken
was a powerful thing indeed.

Slowly,
he closed one eye, keeping the other eye cocked open and trained on Talon. Best
to keep a guard over the
waken
, else, the Flaymes of Eternal Life were
going to consume him.

Vox
sighed.

He
had a feeling it was going to be a very long and miserable night for the
prince.

Chapter Fourteen

Lydia Dustin, Susannah Martin,
Sarah Morey, and Dorcas Hoar were examined by Hathorne and Corwin.