9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC (5 page)

She was in trouble here. She needed something normal,
something to cling to. Was there any hope for a failing mind? She winced.
Probably, not.

Saylym took off down the street, determined to escape
Eldora and her wild ramblings. Pausing now and then, she took in her
surroundings. Sanctuary was a quaint, historical town, populated with females
who seemed wary of newcomers. Still, they’d been kind to her, and they seemed
to like her shop.

It might be early spring, but fat tubs of Lenten roses
perched on the boardwalk, their pale green, lavender, burgundy, and creamy
white blossoms complimented their leathery, evergreen foliage. Spaced at
intervals, the cheerful blooms provided vibrant color to the town square.

Enough antique stores filled the town to satisfy the most
avid collector. Before she could think more on the oddity of how small the
homes were surrounding the village, a pillory, two stocks, and a whipping post
in the town square drew her attention. The whole effect was nostalgic, but at
the same time, it always sent shivers of apprehension skittering down her
spine. At one time, people had suffered from the use of those wicked
instruments. If it was up to her, she’d have them torn down and burned.

Who wanted a reminder of pain?

Saylym passed on quickly. Excitement zipped through her
blood. There was something about this town, its quaintness and peacefulness
with a slight tingle of electric energy, made her want to stay. Made her feel
she belonged.

Why Sanctuary drew her and kept her imprisoned, she didn’t
know or understand, but she’d never felt so alive, content, or so safe, except when
she was feeling insane, of course. “I bet Mum would like it here. Maybe I can
convince her to visit. I could use the company.”

Sighing, she shook off the gloominess her mum’s call had
left her feeling. Perhaps Eldora was right, and someday she’d meet her Prince
Charming. Maybe she’d fall in love and marry. Have children. A family. She’d
grown up a lonely child. She wanted babies, lots of babies to dote on one day.

Pausing in front of her shop, she laughed softly. Arching
her neck, she raised her arms in an elegant arc toward the sky. A gentle breeze
rushed past her fluttering the soft folds of her black cotton skirt. It swirled
lightly around her knees as she twirled around. “Oh, Prince, my handsome
Prince,” she chanted. “Come
claim
me. My thighs are warm and welcoming.”

Saylym smothered a laugh at her whimsical silliness and
stuck the key into the lock of the shop door, pushed it open, and stepped
inside. Smiling, she closed the door behind her and flipped the ‘OPEN’ sign
around to face the street.

“Come and claim me.” She snorted. “Right. And I’m the good
witch, Glinda.”

Chapter Two

Prayer services and community
fasting were conducted by Reverend Samuel Parris in hopes of relieving the evil
forces that plagued them. In an effort to expose the “witches”, John Indian
baked a witch cake made with rye meal and the afflicted girls’ urine. This
counter-magick was meant to reveal the identities of the “witches” to the
afflicted girls so they could make public the names while being examined.

~Salem Witch Trials

Late-February, 1692

Page Entry…

Before the days witches dwelled in the mortal realm, times were
troubled in the land of Ru-Noc. King Osh, along with the elders that made up
the Waken Guild, ruled the land with a firm and cruel hand. In their quest for
thrills, pleasure, and power, wakens first sampled the splendid energy derived
from witches’ souls.

But this pleasure of simply tasting a soul could not satisfy the
wakens’ ravenous hunger and their females began to take exception to such abuse.
In time, the males learned to seduce a witch first. At the moment of climax,
when she was at her weakest, the waken then stole his mate’s soul.

Horrified by what was happening, the witches turned their backs on the
wakens and sought their own ruler. They chose Leyla Winslow, the eldest and
most powerful of witches, to be their queen. Combining their magical skills
with Leyla’s, the witches summoned a place from the ash of the mystical
Phoenix, a place they could live, a place away from the tyranny of King Osh, a
place forbidden to the wakens, except at Beltane.

They named it Sanctuary.

~Pages of history from the Winslow witches.

In the Year of Samhain, 300

Sanctuary

The Time of
Beltane

Present Day

Prince
Talon leaned against a lamppost on the street corner and folded his arms across
his chest. He drank in the female’s intoxicating beauty. A soft whistle of
appreciation escaped his lips.

The
velvety sound of her gentle laughter touched his skin. Without conscious
thought, he rubbed a hand over his heart as if she’d staked her claim and
actually owned property there.

Damn,
she was lovely. Sexy.

He frowned. She was too busy eyeing those infernal
instruments of torture to be aware of him standing near the town-square. For
some reason, that annoyed him. Witches always noticed him, and chased him.
She’d notice him, too, he vowed. He intended to make damn certain she did.

His breath caught in his throat as he watched her twirl
around and chant. The sound of her sweet voice floated in the air, weaving a
spell of seduction about him. Desire slammed into his gut, robbing him of the
ability to breathe, to think straight.

He’d spent hot nights tangled between the sheets with
beautiful, seductive witches, both giving and receiving pleasure, but his
body’s instantaneous reaction to the pretty across the street was nothing like
he’d felt for any of the other witches.

May first had certainly flexed her muscle early this
season. Beltane, with its mystic, sexual, age-old pull, sent his species into a
mating frenzy every spring. It was the time of year when
wakens
found it nigh impossible to resist the sensual allure of
their females.

Her soft chanting carried by the gentle breeze sent his
pulse pounding. Her words spun around him like golden threads weaving a magical
cloak of sensuality.

“Oh, Prince, my handsome Prince. I’m waiting. Come
claim
me. My thighs are warm and welcoming.”

He blinked, stunned at her sensual, inviting words. His
cock rose and pressed against the front of his pants, aching to plunge between
those warm and welcoming thighs. “Oh, yeah, baby, I’m right here,” he muttered
quietly.

She turned, and for a single second, it seemed she’d take
that fateful step toward him. His blood heated, thickened. His groin tightened.
Yes! Come to
me!

Then she stepped away, not even seeing him, and shrugged.
“Prince Charming, my ass,” she said and moved on down the street as if he were
invisible.

Prince Charming?
A brow shot up. That was a new
one. Usually it was “Jerk” or even “Stubborn Ass.” Certainly, no one had ever
accused him of being charming. Ah, but he
was
a prince. He had no intention
of denying this particular witch her heart’s desire, even if she hadn’t been
aware of him watching her.

She
wanted her prince to claim her.

He
intended to oblige.

Talon’s smile faded. He squirmed, rolling his neck and
shoulders. A strange tingle began in the pit of his stomach, skittered down his
spine, and spread all the way to the tips of his toes. Ah, damn Beltane!
Besides making one horny as hell, it did the most peculiar things to a
waken
.

The itchiness racing its way through his bloodstream wasn’t
exactly unpleasant, but it was distracting. His brows furrowed together. He
needed to gather his thoughts. It suddenly dawned on him he could smell her
mating scents. The sensual tug of poppies, along with the rich fragrance of the
incense kyphi, washed over him. Seductive. Addictive. An age-old pull as
elemental as time itself.

The
opium and kyphi aroma mingled in the air. It was familiar and alluring, as
always.

But
there was something else—

Another
scent. Something…long forgotten. A teasing memory…

A distasteful fragrance stored for hundreds of years in
his mind. Prince Talon froze. His body silently screamed its repulsion. No! An
Impure?
The abhorrent pheromones of a half-breed? Normally, he’d have
smelled it immediately, but with Beltane weaving its carnal magic, his senses
were more attuned to the mating scents pummeling the air than the repugnant
odor of her
Impure
blood.

It
can’t be right.
She can’t be an Impure
.

He’d
never be attracted to a half-breed! Desire and revulsion waged a war in his
mind. He sniffed the air again, just to make sure.

A
half-breed!

Why
did she have to be an
Impure?

But—

He turned, his gaze remaining on her as she danced across
the street from him along the boardwalk. He couldn’t help but follow. When in
blazes did she get here? How? She wasn’t local. There was no way he’d have ever
missed her during previous mating seasons.
Impures
were never overlooked.

Just what was she doing here, anyway? Who showed her the
portal?

Talon
shuddered. He simply couldn’t be attracted to her. It was forbidden. But no
matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t slow the pounding of his heart. He
couldn’t take his eyes off her. And his cock remained at high alert. Damn.

A mane of silver-blonde hair lay piled in a loose knot of
tangled coils at the crown of her head. Soft, wispy curls dangled around her
ears and throat in wild abandon. Her skin looked as smooth as ivory silk, with
just a hint of rose blooming in her cheeks. Her lips. Gods! Her mouth was as
lush and delicious looking as a ripe cherry.

Talon
smothered a groan as he imagined her lips gliding down his belly and exploring
his sex. Heat exploded, imploding inside him. His body trembled. He curled his
hands into tight fists at his side and fought to gain control of his wayward
body, his mind.

He
hadn’t been able to determine the hue of her eyes but they appeared to be pale.
He bet they were ice blue,
hot
ice, and full of raging cobalt fire.

Full, firm breasts, without a hint of a jiggle, thrust
against her pink top as she strolled along the boardwalk. They’d fill a man’s
hands nicely. Her waist was narrow. Slender hips, legs as long and dainty as a
gazelle’s could easily wrap around a man’s hips.

Fascinated, as revulsion and compulsion warred within him,
he felt his cock twitch and lengthen. Stubborn thing. The urgent need to claim
her, to mark her as his was overwhelming.

Despite the sense of urgency to make her his, he
hesitated. The repercussions of a prince choosing an
Impure
for mating at Beltane would be immense. Oh, but she was
lovely. Innocent. He sensed her innocence, as if she’d dwelled in a protective
capsule and knew nothing of Ru-Noc. It was there in the way she moved, the way
she was fascinated by the antique instruments of torture, and the way she
hadn’t noticed him.

Any knowledgeable witch would have noticed him immediately
and invited him to her bed. If he went to her now, if he charged across the
street to claim her, he’d frighten her. To make the pretty feel threatened was
the last thing he wanted to do. So Talon braced his shoulders against a
lamppost and waited for his body to cool down.

A little bell jingled when she opened the door and entered
a shop across the street. Minutes passed. Beads of perspiration dotted his
upper lip and forehead. Even now, after she’d disappeared inside the shop, he
ached with violent need. “Ye Olde Witch’s Brew Shop of Magick.” He read the
sign over the shop door as he struggled with his raging hunger.

“There’s
something not right about that witch, Prince. I feel it.”

With a casualness he was far from feeling, Talon extended
his right arm for the miniature-sized, violet-colored owl. It landed smoothly
and walked its way up to his shoulder where it perched. Talon stroked the downy
feathers on its wing. “She’s half-
illumrof
,
”
he replied. “But I’m
a big boy, Vox. I can take care of myself.”

Vox
gave what amounted to an indelicate snort. “You’re supposed to be
house-hunting, Prince, not witch-hunting. You can’t get involved with a
half-mortal creature. You know very well
illumrofs
are not to be trusted.
Especially half-breeds, they have no loyalty to either race. You could end up
dangling from a rope in the mortal world. Your parents and the
Waken
Guild will forbid a courtship!”

Talon issued a low rumble of impatience. “I know why I’m
here, Vox. There’s nothing that says I can’t take advantage of the opportunity
to park my wand for the night.” He grinned. “Besides, I don’t think they hang
people anymore in the
illumrof
world. Mortals don’t believe in witches,
Vox. Not anymore.” He shrugged. “And who said anything about involvement?”

“It isn’t you I’m concerned about, Prince. I know you.
It’s Beltane, a time for building relationships and bonding. You’d never
willingly bind yourself to an
Impure.
‘Twould be madness. Absolute,
total, frigging, you-have-lost-your-ever-loving-teeny-weeny princely brain
madness—insanity of the worst order, but I see something in your eyes,
something that worries me.
”
The owl slanted its fierce gaze on him. “If
you pursue her, you’ll both end up with your hearts broken, Prince.”

“You keep persisting there’s something permanent here. I’m
not interested in her heart. I’m simply thinking mating.”