9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC (31 page)

Black Drayke curled his lips with distaste as he slid into
the lieutenant’s body like an oily shadow, taking swift control of the
waken’s
mind. He’d heard it rumored that the scrawny, carrot-topped lieutenant was a
free spirit, preferring males over female witches.

He vowed that if one
waken
dared to cast a
romantic, suggestive eye his way, he’d place such a curse on him the
waken’
s
root would be permanently limp and leaky.

Making himself comfortable inside the smaller frame of
Mavik’s form, Black Drayke sighed and wondered how appealing the queen would
find a short, freckle-faced, free-spirited
waken?
Probably not very, but
he had to get to the queen’s chambers and take control of her, at least for the
time being, until he could perfect his new plans.

Quickly, Black Drayke moved past the palace guards,
ignoring their salutes as he made his way through the public entrance of the
palace, past the Grand Library constructed of red brick and Portland stone
dressings. He eyed the rosy-colored walls and intricate marble columns that
supported the great room of the Royal Chapel of Samhain. He sailed past it, his
lips curled with distaste. When his son was king, he’d see that everything was
painted dull black. All this warm, rich color was nauseating.

The queen’s doing, of course. But soon, the queen would no
longer have a say about how things were done at the palace of Ru-Noc.

He started up the Grand Staircase that led up to the
family’s private living quarters. The staircase twisted and curved with
sparkling crystal banisters. Thick, red carpet paved the way, muffling his
hurried footsteps.

He snickered. It didn’t matter how distasteful the queen
might find him in this form, with the powder Wizard Marcelo made for him, she
would have nothing to say about anything.

Black
Drayke frowned. He paused and fastened his gaze to the lower regions of the
black and gold uniform he now wore. Why, the little shit. Apparently the
officer wasn’t a man’s man after all, because that was a definite stirring of
life behind the zipper. Mavik’s little wiener was rising to the occasion at the
thought of mating with Queen Helayne. How disappointed Mavik’s cock was going
to be. He had no intention of touching the queen in Mavik’s form.

The
private corridors of the palace seemed endless, winding and breaking into
separate chambers for the royal family. Black Drayke sneered as he strode past
Talon’s suite. Soon, very soon, those chambers would belong to
him
and
Saylym Winslow. He would move her right into the palace, right into Talon’s
bed, and
he’d
be the one fucking her.

Once
he did away with the king, he and his chosen queen would rule Ru-Noc. He just
might decide to invade the
illumrof
realm as well. Long had the
illumrofs
forced his race into hiding. No more! Things were going to change.

He mulled over exactly what he had planned for Helayne.
She would beg him for mercy before he finished with her. Wouldn’t that be a
rich humiliation for the royal family? The queen, begging?

Yes. The thought had potential.

He
would torture Helayne at his leisure then make Saylym his queen.

They
were both witches about whom Talon cared.

Maybe
he would keep them both just for the fun of tormenting the prince, at least,
for as long as Talon lived.

Mentally he rubbed his hands. Oh, the things he was going
to do to those two witches. His lips twisted with delight. Then again, if it
suited his pleasure, he would simply destroy Helayne and be done with it.

Black Drayke paused outside the queen’s chambers and
raised his fist to knock. It paid to use caution. He couldn’t just assume the queen
didn’t have visitors or guards posted inside.

“I’ve come for you, My Queen,” he whispered. Excitement
and the true evil he’d disguised from others for so long vibrated through his
voice. “From tonight, you are mine to do with as I will.”

He
rapped sharply on the door a second time and waited.

Time
was wasting.

Chapter Eighteen

Sarah Osborne
died in prison.

~Salem Witch Trials

May 10, 1692

Page Entry…

MeLora had triumphed. In her
evil heart, she felt like she’d bested her mother and her aunt by sleeping with
John Connor. She laughed with the thrill of it all and hungered for more. She’d
stolen Elsbeth’s husband and willingly surrendered her virginity to John. She
wanted to conceive his child, prove his infidelity. It’d give her the greatest
pleasure to inflict more pain on Elsbeth by informing her John’s seed ripened
in her belly.

But MeLora, being young and
inexperienced in the way of witches, had miscalculated. She didn’t take in to
consideration that early winter raged and it was a very long time until
Beltane. She wouldn’t be fertile until May, but she’d already placed John under
a powerful love spell. His instinct was to mate with her, and he wanted her
with a passion she hadn’t anticipated or wanted.

Through the long, harsh
winter, John and MeLora met every day, either in the woods or at the shop. She
took great care to remove her scent from John’s clothes and body. Until she conceived,
she wasn’t quite ready for Elsbeth to discover John’s sin.

Early spring arrived, but by
this time, MeLora was bored with John’s constant demands for her to meet him in
the woods behind his house. To MeLora, he was old and dull, but the risk of
meeting him so close to his home and family, thrilled her, a risk she gladly
accepted.

Beltane arrived, but still she
did not conceive John’s babe. MeLora no longer had a deep care or concern that
Elsbeth and her daughters might catch them coupling in the forest. Maddened by the
need to conceive, MeLora met with John every time he demanded she lie with him.

Then one day, a handsome
warlock stepped onto the winding path in the woods—Black Drayke.

~Pages of
history from the Winslow witches.

In the Year of Samhain, 1692

Droth

Queen
Helayne made her way down the wide corridors in search of her mate. Darak
hadn’t returned to their chambers last night, and she had been so busy, she
hadn’t had time to seek him out all day. Now the hour grew late, past time when
he should have retired for the evening.

Where was he?

It wasn’t like him to stay away from her for so many
hours. If she didn’t know better, she’d swear he was avoiding her. But Darak
was always considerate and generous with his time for her. Her life with him
was content, even if it was a bit like living in a fish bowl.

As the royal family of Ru-Noc, they were in the public
eye. Being in the public eye was to be expected, but when it came to their
family, they strove to keep their private life, private, and maintain a quiet
family existence. She cherished those moments because they were so rare.

If she had a quarrel with her mate at all, it would be his
stubbornness with their younger son, Talon. The two of them simply could not
get along. She smiled, knowing it was because they were just alike, although
they’d both deny it.

Helayne paused as she recognized the young lieutenant
standing outside her and Darak’s private chambers. “Lieutenant Mavik? May I be
of service to you?”

The lieutenant turned, leering at her. He moved slowly
toward her, a saunter that could only be described as disrespectful. “Yes,
sweeting, you may be of service to me. In truth, before this night is over, you
will more than suit my needs.”

She
regarded him, her gaze narrowing at his too-familiar and insolent tone of
voice. “I beg your pardon?”

The red-haired lieutenant held out his hand and quickly
blew a gray powder into her face. Helayne wiped frantically at the fine
particles burning her eyes. “What are you doing?” She coughed, but the powder coated
her tongue. She inhaled deeply, filling her nostrils with the gritty residue.
Immediately, it felt as if toxic, corrosive acid washed down the back of her
throat, leaving a scalding and bitter trail.

“That’s
it, darling,” he crooned. “Breathe it in.”

Helayne clawed wildly at her throat. The faint mewling
sounds she made gradually faded as her vocal cords shriveled and died. Her
flesh itched and burned as if thousands of bees stung her all at once. Maddened,
she scraped fingernails up and down her arms, leaving raw, bloody furrows. She
staggered back against the wall, ribbons of blood streaming from her eyes,
blinding her.

“You
may beg my pardon all you wish, My Queen, but before the night is finished, you’ll
realize begging won’t do you one trickle of good. Not now. Not ever again. You
have been given to me, a gift from your loving mate. It seems his interests now
lie elsewhere. You belong to me, love. And I intend to use you well.”

He
caught her in his arms and pressed a rough kiss to her mouth. Her lips parted
in protest, in denial of Darak’s betrayal, but no sound emitted from her
tortured throat. Helayne sobbed silently against his mouth, beating at his
chest with her fists.

But
there was no stopping the straining thrust of her body against his in wanton
invitation. Black Drayke lifted her gown and pushed his hand between her
thighs, stroking her woman’s mound with his fingers. He smiled at strangling
noises of protest.

“That’s right, darling,” he whispered quietly. “You’ll
never speak again. But I know what you want, what your body craves now. The
special formula designed just for you is an aphrodisiac that fires the blood
with lustful craving. Your body now craves mine, but I won’t give you the
relief you need.” He laughed. “I’m the only one who shall gain pleasure this
night.”

Black
Drayke glanced up and winked at the palace guard who came around the corner on
hourly rounds. He’d timed it perfectly so the guard saw him stroking the queen
between her silken thighs.

For a moment, the guard hesitated, unable to conceal his
shock. Black Drayke laughed at the brilliant shade of red on the
waken’s
face. Then he made certain the
guard saw him kiss Queen Helayne. The sentry cleared his throat, stumbled over
his feet and hurried past them.

Backing Helayne inside her chambers, Black Drayke
snickered. “You can bet by morning, it’ll be all over the palace how Lieutenant
Mavik was seen groping and kissing Queen Helayne in the corridor outside her
private quarters. Do you think King Darak will be upset by this bit of palace
gossip?”

He
paused to secure the door behind them with a thick coating of Black Magick. No
one would be able to get past his safeguards, certainly not that buffoon of a
guard tripping over his own feet.

The
night was his.

He
smiled. Correction, the night was his and so was Queen Helayne.

Black
Drayke arched a brow and lowered his voice to a false intimacy, “I promise you,
My Queen, this will be a night you’ll never forget. It’ll leave you
speechless.” He threw back his head and laughed cruelly. “Speechless. Get it?”
He slid a fingertip down her icy cheek. “We have many hours ahead of us…hours
of pleasure…
my
pleasure…right up until the moment I decide if you are to
keep your soul or not.”

Black
Drayke wasn’t one for niceties or delays. He was here for a purpose and nothing
was going to hinder him or slow him down. Neither was he one for inhabiting
another’s body. He detested Lieutenant Mavik’s less than masculine form and the
little wiener inside his pants.

He wanted Helayne to know that
he
was the one who
stood before her. He slid free of Lieutenant Mavik’s shape like a snake
shedding its skin and stood before the queen, surveying her with malevolent
intent.

Tugging at her waist, he drew her close. “That’s much
better, my dear.”

Her panicked gaze flicked over the zombie-like form of the
lieutenant. She opened her mouth, gurgling.

“Don’t
mind him, darling. He hasn’t a clue as to what’s happening around him.” He
leaned close, whispering, “In essence, my body has already devoured everything
alive in his. A walking dead man, if you know what I mean.” He closed his
fingers around her shoulders and squeezed. “Soon, his body will melt away to
nothingness.”

Helayne
sobbed, cowering.

He raked a fingernail down her cheek leaving a thin trail
of blood. “Now, now, my darling, don’t fret, it’ll be hours yet before he
dissolves. Don’t worry about him. We’ll be much too busy for him to disturb
us.”

Her lips trembled. Her body shook. Black Drayke threw back
his head, clenching his teeth in blissful happiness. His body rippled with
pleasure. Watching her terror grow was so exciting, it was almost as good as
climaxing.

Helayne
stared at him, her mouth working desperately. She backed away from him.

He shook his head. “Tsk, darling. It’s a bitch not to be
able to scream. Isn’t it? I have to confess, I ordered that powder triple
strength just so it would melt your vocal cords. I simply couldn’t have someone
charging to your rescue, now could I?” He smiled, his lips twisting with
cruelty. “Relax, my darling. Our fun is just beginning.”

Black
Drayke raised his hands, pointing them toward Helayne. Tiny gold sparks shot
toward her, popping against her mouth. Helayne swallowed, her eyes widening
with refreshed terror. Black Drayke roared with smug laughter before returning
his merciless gaze on her.

“See,
my dear, things can actually get worse. Now you can’t even open your mouth to
hint at a protest.” He jerked her out of the corner where she cowered and
pushed her to the floor, where he fell on top of her and snickered. “Yes,” he
moaned. “I’ve waited a lifetime for this.