9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC (6 page)

“I
know
what you’re thinking.” The owl flapped its purple-tipped wings.
“Are you listening to a damn thing I’m saying, Prince? There’s nothing remotely
simple
in what you’re thinking.
You’re too complex. You’re headed straight toward disaster.”

Talon’s
lips curved into a slow wicked smile. “Nothing wrong with mating.”

“Nothing wrong with bonding, either, and it’s certainly
past time for a baby prince in the royal palace.”

The smile faltered and vanished. “Shut up, Vox. No matter
how beautiful she is, I’m certainly not going to risk impregnating an
Impure
.
You know how impossible it is to procreate with so many witches infected with
the virus anyway. Once the desire is slaked with this little beauty, a man
would quickly become bored. But at least he can walk away without the concerns
of a child being created during the mating session.” Talon gave a long sigh.
“Besides, if I should happen to dilute the royal bloodline with an
illumrof
child—well—like
you said, the king and queen won’t allow it.” He shook his head. “Honestly, all
that domestication isn’t for me, at least, not with her. She’s ripe for
bedding, but that’s it.”

The owl lifted off his shoulder and hovered near Talon’s
head. Its wings stirred the air with a gentle flutter. “I’m going to the
w
akens’
Library of History to research. Leave her alone, Prince. Do not touch her, not
until I research her past. Without knowing her ancestors, even a simple mating
could have serious consequences, particularly if you give her a child.” Vox
flapped his wings. “And that
is
what Beltane is all about. Isn’t it,
Sire, nature’s summons to reproduce?”

Talon studied the owl for a moment. “You know her name,”
he accused. “Don’t you?”

“I’m
the Wise Owl, aren’t I? Leave her alone.”

Talon shook his head. “I can’t promise that, Vox. You’d
best hurry with your research, because I’m claiming her for the season. She’s
mine.” He laughed softly. “I don’t need to know her name to bed her.”

The
Futhar
lifted off, circled the tops of a group
of majestic
Ark
Trees, then turned north in the direction of Droth.
Do
not claim the witch. Not before tomorrow. Give me time to check her history.

Talon
grinned as the
Futhar’s
words drifted through his mind. “Sorry, Vox,” he
whispered. “I’m afraid it’s already too late. She’s mine. She just doesn’t know
it yet.”

* * * *

Saylym flipped on the store lights and paused at the big
display window where she fiddled with the potted plants she’d arranged there
the day before. She stilled, feeling eyes burn into her. Hungry eyes. How
strange.

Pinpricks of awareness heightened her senses and her body
tensed. Her gaze flickered to a man propped lazily against a lamppost across
the street. Huh. How had she missed him? How could a man look mysterious,
sinister, and sexy as hell all at the same time? Somehow, he managed to do all
three at once.

Maybe it was the head-to-toe black he wore. Black leather
pants hugged muscular thighs. His silk shirt stretched taut across a wide
chest, a chest made for a woman’s head to rest upon. Her pulse pounded hotly in
response. What else had she expected? This was the first hot male she’d seen in
over a month.

Her
curiosity caught, she couldn’t help wondering why he was watching her. Even
from across the street, she felt his eyes caressing every inch of her body.
Felt his hunger. Her skin tingled. Heat crawled over her body, spreading to her
loins. Her stomach clenched and jittered with unexpected need.

Her need? Or
his?
She wasn’t certain.

She only knew her body melted in response as images of the
two of them tangled together on black satin sheets floated in her head. His
naked body covered hers. She gasped as he nudged her thighs apart and teased
her with the broad head of his thick phallus. Strong hands slid across her
stomach in a slow, tantalizing caress. Long fingers plucked at her tight
nipples before he lowered his mouth to suckle.

Saylym blinked, dissipating the vision in her head. Holy
shit! Her hands trembled as she brushed back a strand of hair. Her breasts
ached and felt swollen. Her nipples throbbed with urgent need. She touched her
trembling fingers to where she’d felt his mouth on her.

Somehow, their bodies had connected as well as their
minds. They’d shared those fiercely erotic images. Low in her belly, heat
sizzled into a blazing fire, leaving behind a ravaging need.

He wanted to claim her.

Good heavens! Eldora’s words must have affected her more
than she realized.

Claim
her?

Ha! More likely, he was a perverted stalker. If he came
near her, she’d tell him a thing or two. And she’d demand he stay out of her
head! How dare he try and turn her into his sexual toy! Even as she remained
trapped in the depths of his burning gaze, her chin went up in challenge. He
acknowledged it with a slight dip of his head. A slow, wicked smile curved his
lips. Blatantly, he adjusted the front of his pants. Bloody hell! There was
nothing shy about the man.

Saylym swallowed hard and tried desperately to ignore the
jittering in her stomach. She swore she saw his lips twitch when she ducked out
of sight. She crept to the door, and keeping low, peeped over the top of the
small window. He remained there, staring at the store.

His gaze couldn’t possibly penetrate the walls of the
building and locate her, but still, she thought he knew exactly where she was
inside the store. Icy fingers of apprehension crawled down her spine. She
shivered.

Stop
it!

But it shook her, the way he watched. Her heart jumped.
This was the sort of man her mum had warned her about. She felt it. Well, he
could just go right ahead and claim her, whatever that meant. She sure as hell
wasn’t about to roll over and spread her thighs. If he wanted her, it’d be on
her terms. And her terms were: “Hah! I think not!”

As if he heard her dare, he slowly raised two fingers to
his right temple, and sent her a brief salute. His shoulders moved as he gave a
short laugh, then he turned to his right and sauntered down the boardwalk.

Huh. How odd. She’d expected a little more from the man
dressed all in black. Saylym moved to the counter to open the cash register and
began counting the day’s start-up cash.

Suddenly her stomach clenched with a peculiar spasm, as if
sparks of chain lightning danced through her body. She gasped and doubled over.
For a moment, she thought she’d pass out from the sizzling power plunging its
way through her. Her head buzzed. Her ears popped. The entire sensation left
her feeling lightheaded, yet oddly charged.

“Whoa!
What just happened?”

She
had no answer to her silent query. She wasn’t certain she wanted one.

Not today.

Today is for other happenings
.

“No
kidding.”

A second surge of power blasted her. Saylym jumped and
stumbled backward. Her knees buckled under the onslaught of pure energy as
sparks of electrical currents danced around her body outlining her figure in
radiant blue. She crumpled to the floor in a glowing heap.

Daggers of energy stabbed her eyes. She rubbed at them,
moaning. Greasy nausea bubbled in her stomach. She tried desperately to ignore
the prickly tingle rushing through her blood. Her hair crackled and snapped
close to her ears. She had to get up, but her arms wobbled when she tried to
push herself up from the floor, and she fell back down. She took a deep breath
and gave it another shot. This time she succeeded.

What in the world had just happened?

Inanimate objects coming to life was one thing, but
this
she could not handle.

Other happenings
could just find some
other
place to happen.

She drew a deep breath and exhaled, slowly and shakily.

So where in hell was Prince Charming when she needed him?

Chapter Three

The girls were pressured to
identify the source of their affliction. They named three women, including
Tituba, Parris’ Carib Indian slave, as witches. On February 29, warrants were
issued for the arrests of Tituba, Sarah Good and Sarah Osborne.

~Salem Witch Trials

 
Late-February, 1692

Page Entry…

The wakens, growing ever more debauched with each turn of a century,
were greatly displeased with their lack of freedom to mate when they chose. To
punish the witches for their rebellion, the powerful Waken Guild assigned waken
assassins to steal a witch’s soul for the least infraction occurring during the
mating season. The waken assassins greatly abused their new power, using it
ruthlessly at Beltane.

With great sorrow, witches once again turned away from the males of
their race. They ignored the wakens’ sexual overtures and resisted the urge to
mate during Beltane, giving up the one chance a year to procreate.

‘Twas indeed, the blackest of times in the land of witches and wakens.

~Pages of
history from the Winslow witches.

In the Year
of Samhain, 500

Sanctuary

Fascinated by the witch’s unusual behavior, Talon couldn’t
stay away from Sanctuary. Two hours and twenty minutes later, he was back
across the street from the magic shop. The last image of the beguiling female
spying at him over the lip of the window lingered in his mind.

How
very intriguing.

He’d
linked his mind with hers imparting the things he wanted to do to her and with
her. She’d broken the link and shot out of sight like a hunted
grubit
.
That was a first. During Beltane, it wasn’t unusual for a witch to seek him for
pleasure. Not because she found him irresistible, but because if by chance she
conceived, he might choose her for his princess. It was too bad the witch
inside the shop was an
Impure
, or he might consider the possibility of a
child with her, that is, if she wasn’t infected with the virus.

When the beauty inside the shop bolted from him, he
slammed off his thoughts immediately. Remaining across the street had been
difficult. Walking away had been harder, but he’d known that for some reason,
she was frightened of him. He didn’t think it had anything to do with the fact
her soul could be taken by him.

Every nerve in his body said go to her, claim her, before
another steals her away, then he realized she perceived him as a threat,
instead of as a partner for a season of mating.

He’d made his availability known to her. He wasn’t
committed to another, and he hadn’t mated in at least three seasons. No scent
from past matings lingered on his skin. He was available and horny. So was she.
The mating season was upon them, and the witch was already in the early stages
of
preakness.
Her scent ripened the air, affirming her readiness.

He’d declared his interest in her in a subtle,
non-threatening manner. No one witnessed their little dance of sexual foreplay
and mind link, unless one counted the owl. Vox certainly knew when to keep his
beak shut.

So why hadn’t she accepted him? Why had she hidden from
him, declined the opportunity to conceive? Unless of course, she already knew
she was infected with the
Infertilus
virus. Then that changed things and
mating was just for the sexual need and fun of it.

Not that he intended to risk giving her a child. He
didn’t. Although his instincts urged him to do that very thing, he would not
breed an
Impure.
Still, her actions were very
odd. She should
have been receptive to his advances.

Maybe it was some kind of new game the females were
playing this season to entice males and make mating more fun and interesting.
Even though it was the early stages of Beltane, the natural thing for her to do
was submit to his courtship. A few more days and female witches would actively
seek a mate. With the majority of their females infected with the virus, no
witch missed the opportunity to conceive.

Did she want him to chase her? Hunt her?

Talon rubbed his bottom lip with the pad of his thumb,
mulling it over. Reaching a decision, he pushed away from the lamppost. “Ready
or not, here I come.” He halted in front of the shop and read the sign on the
window. Unable to help it, Talon threw back his head and laughed deeply.

“What’s
so funny, Prince?”

Talon grinned because the owl’s tone clearly said the
magical creature was cross with him. He stroked Vox’s purple feathers as he
re-read the paper sign taped on the window. A sign he would have noticed
earlier if it’d been there. “Room for rent,” he read aloud. “How extraordinary,
Vox. I happen to be looking for a place to stay this Beltane.”

“Humph!
Leave
her alone, Prince. You’ll bring the wrath of the ancients down upon your head. I
could find nothing on her. Not a grain of information in the archives. It’s too
dangerous messing with the unknown. You mate with her and you could breed
half-wits.”

“She’s
already a half-witch.”

“Half-wit,
Sire.
Half
.
Wit!”

“I heard you the first time, Vox.” Whistling tunelessly,
Talon took pleasure in the moment. “Ah, but danger, like variety, is the spice
of life, my little friend.”

The owl shook his head. “Oh, dear, this isn’t good,
Prince. Your voice has already taken on the
preakness
needed for
courtship and mating. You may believe you have found your mate for the season,
Sire, but I beg you, reconsider. Find another.”