Illusions: Paranormal Shapeshifter Romance (The Seekers Book 1) (3 page)

It was a bloody good magic trick, he’d always said. But that was all it had been. Rohan had never been called upon to battle as his parents had, or even as Lily had done. Her own battles had been taken on without him—something for which he’d had to forgive her. They were twins, after all, and he was meant to protect her. But he understood now better than he ever had: at some point they’d had to part, to go their separate ways. And she now had two incredibly powerful men at her side to look after her.

Not that she’d ever needed anyone’s help.

At Rohan’s core his animal form was a winged grey wolf, a product of his dire wolf fathers and his dragon mother. This creature was his fundamental
déor
, the old English word used to describe one’s shifted form. Though Rohan could turn into almost anything that breathed, this was the animal that best represented his soul, though only rarely did he inhabit its body; something in it felt so powerful that he chose to reserve it for times of great need. The wolf was a protector, the dragon powerful and possessive, seeking also to protect what it claimed as its own.

For most of his youth, Rohan had enjoyed shifting into every conceivable form of himself: birds, cats, even tiny rodents when the situation called for it. The winged wolf, to him, was sacred. But he felt certain that he would need its strength before long.

The drive to mate, to bond, was one that he now felt in his veins, just as he felt his déor overtake his mind at times. Occasionally he laughed the urge off as simple hormones—a young man in need of release. That was why young men sought women so frequently, wasn’t it? But it went deeper than all that for his kind; this was a biological need far greater than sex.

And so, as he emerged from thick woods near Ealdor dressed in his fifteenth-century tunic and leather trousers, boots up to his knees, he glanced around from under his head of thick brown hair at the colourful wooden houses which looked very much like something out of a fairy tale; something that a wolf could blow down. And a fire-breathing wolf could do so even more easily.

But he would never in a million lifetimes destroy these abodes; rather he wanted to protect them and their inhabitants from any and all external threats. And as he neared them, the feeling kicked in that he would soon be needed. Once again his wolf was sending him messages, warnings of things to come. He’d arrived, it seemed, at the right place and time.

The village’s houses were charming. Simple. Vulnerable. And on the air was the scent of females. This was the place where they congregated, that Sisterhood of women; a hundred or so of them in one tiny village, subsisting on their own skills for growing crops, raising animals and hunting. The ultimate in feminine independence.
Heaven.
And they didn’t want him there, if what he’d heard was true.

Having observed the village from within the cover of the forest for several minutes, Rohan resolved to approach, to find one of the inhabitants and to inquire about the women’s lives. He would be friendly but not threatening; after all, he wasn’t sure that men were even allowed to set foot within the perimeter of the village itself.

And he’d only taken one step out of the woods before seeing her.

The young woman, blond hair cascading in waves down her back, stepping lightly to the back of her house where she hung damp laundry to dry in the breeze as she moved gracefully through tall, billowing grass.

A small black creature appeared to be wrapped around her neck: a weasel, perhaps? It was an unusual sight, to say the least.

The woman was beautiful, her cheeks flushed pink from the walk in the cool autumn air. Her full skirt concealed what Rohan could only guess were round hips and an appealing backside. And the dress’s bodice was kind enough to display an ample bosom, which sent a signal silently to his body to stir, arousal already driving him a little mad.
Her
body was all curves, in fact: soft, round, and so, so desirable.

On the breeze he smelled her: lavender mixed with the sea air.

“Well, I’m in trouble,” he whispered, stopping in his tracks as he watched her go. “Serious trouble. And I’ve only just arrived.”

N
o one
, not even her peers, knew Hedy’s actual age. She had always seemed ancient, though at one point she must have been a young woman, and before then even a little girl.

Now she was known to be among the most powerful of the Crones, and though her body was slightly bent, her skin wrinkled, she was full of life, self-reliant and clever. But in recent years, her Gifts had diminished as they tended to do with advancing age. This was only one of the many reasons that the Crones looked to the younger generation to advance and take their place as leaders. The truth was that their powers were fading in unison and it was time for a new cycle; new leadership for the Sisterhood.

The community of women would find rejuvenation, even a rebirth, under new guidance from the younger generation. And women like Serafina and Circe could provide it, bringing their own skill sets, their own vitality to the group. For centuries, the Sisterhood had chugged along as an efficient mechanism, cycling through its members as necessity dictated.

Only very recently had a wrench been thrown into their well-oiled machine, in the form of desertion. One of the most promising members had left; a young woman named Melina. She’d always exhibited great potential but, it seemed, she’d been easily lured away by the promise of a life among others; men, in particular. But Serafina, Circe, and many other young women remained, ready for their own time to come.

Serafina was regarded as loyal, reliable. A true
Aspirant,
which was the title bestowed upon the members before they grew to earn the title of Crone in their advanced years. Sera and Circe had always agreed that, though they wished to come into their powers, Aspirant certainly sounded better than that other word, which implied old age and a lack of desirability: two traits that the Sisterhood’s members did not strive to exhibit. For the most part, they had an exotic beauty in common, their blood origins unknown. Even the oldest among them possessed an ethereal quality, otherworldly and wise. And Hedy was no exception.

Sera and Nyx found her wandering outside her house next door, apparently sizing up its windows for the coming winter. Already in mid-September the air was growing cool, foretelling a harsh season to come. And given that no carpenters lived in their small village, it was up to her to repair anything in need of her usually adept hand.

The old woman’s grey hair trickled down her back in a series of narrow braids, her cheeks pink with a combination of her exertion and the cool air. As always, she managed to look content even while she was irritated.

“How are things, Sera?” she asked as the younger woman came up beside her, her eyes still locked on the window’s edge. Nyx, still perched on Sera’s shoulder, sniffed Karab, Hedy’s badger Familiar, who sat on the window sill, overseeing the work with his usual disinterested expression.

“I’m all right, though still pretty concerned about Circe’s recurring fever. Every time it seems to go away, it ends up coming back and hanging on like an ant stuck in a honey pot. But how are you?”

“I’m just fine, other than my strong current desire to kick this place to the ground. Just seeing if there’s something to be done about these damned drafty windows,” said the other woman, digging her fingers into the wooden trim to look for openings that shouldn’t exist.

Sera laughed. “Watch it. Swearing will get you hanged around here, Hedy,” she said. “Of course, apparently so will being female, so you may as well swear away. Have fun while you’re still alive, I say.”

“You can be damned sure that I will. Now why can’t someone invent a device to fill all these cracks?” She threw her arms up in defeat. “All the spells in the world and I have yet to find one that’ll stop a draft from freezing my arse off.”

Serafina laughed. “Something tells me you’re on the verge of a discovery,” she said. “Anyhow, it would take a seriously gusty winter to freeze
my
arse off. I should know; I’ve tried to get rid of it since I was thirteen. The stupid thing’s latched onto me, though. I suppose I’m stuck with it for good.”

“There’s no point in trying to lose one’s backside, child. Those things come in very handy when tempting men, not to mention sitting on hard church pews.”

“And you know how I love spending time in churches. I’m so very devout.”

Hedy laughed. “Yes, I suppose they’re not really our sort of place, are they? They’re torture chambers.”

Sera turned and looked towards the woods. “I prefer the church of the goddess: the trees, the fields and anywhere that offers fresh air and fresh meat to hunt. Anyhow,” she said. “I came by to hear the latest news. I’ve been spending so much time at Circe’s side that I feel a bit out of things. What’s the latest on the goings-on at this Guild that we’ve been hearing about?”

Hedy turned to her for the first time since her arrival, for a moment ignoring her problematic windows. Her jaw was drawn tightly shut, concern wrinkling her brow. This was a rare expression for the Crone.

“Nothing good,” she said. “Nothing good at all. They have been
abducting
again. Young women have been taken from a few neighbouring towns, and word has it that the Guild is on the verge of working its way through Salem. They’re relentless, the bastards.”

“But they can’t just grab women out of their homes, surely? That’s madness. It’s kidnapping. Why doesn’t someone stop them?”

“They continue to claim that they’re helping Salem’s residents to capture its witches. And it seems these days that everything with breasts is a witch, so they take freely. Hell, I hear that a dog was hanged recently for attacking an intruder. It was possessed, they said. Like a bloody guard dog must have Satan in him to bite a man’s arse.”

“I don’t understand why they’d help with the hunt,” moaned Sera. “I mean, have we learned anything about the Guild’s motives? What have they to gain from this? It’s as though they’re simply throwing their weight around for the sake of it. They’re bigger and stronger than women, and they know it. The worst part is that they convince everyone else that it’s all about some feminine hysteria when we know that’s not true. What I wouldn’t give to take them on and get those women back. Once I come into my skills, that is.”

“Yes, well, you know that we can’t do that yet. It would seem that the Guild is made up of very powerful, very clever men. They see our kind and they see targets; victims ripe for the taking. When they come for the Sisterhood we will have no choice but to take them on, and that includes yours truly. Beware, Sera: they will come before much time has passed, and I suspect that they’ll be less kind than Salem’s hangmen.”

“Well, they’re not expecting the likes of us,” said Sera as Nyx, attempting to calm her stress, licked her neck. “They’d better damn well get used to the idea of strong women. We’re not going anywhere.”

“Yes, well, strong women frighten most menfolk half to death, you see,” said Hedy, wiping her hands on her full skirt. “Particularly those of us with powers that they fail to understand. That’s why men blame us for everything; they have since the beginning of time. Eve in the Garden of Eden: she ate that bloody apple. Ruined everything. Pandora opened the box and set disaster upon the world. And now here we are, having the audacity to stand up to the jackasses. One of these days they’ll see that their power is nothing next to ours.” Her green eyes flashed, seeming to brighten in conjunction with her words. She continued: “But dearie, the only feminine power that men begin to understand is what lies between our legs. With what we have down there, we can control the universe if we so choose. Men will fall on the ground weeping and pleading before us, if it means getting a chance to play. And that is just one reason that the Sisterhood keeps our powers to ourselves.”

“Well, I choose to keep what’s between my
legs
to myself,” said Sera. “I’m saving it for a rainy day.”

“Or,” said Hedy, eyeing her with caution, “For the very, very,
very
special man that the Crones choose for your Bonding.”

The Bonding was just what Sera had dreaded for years: the ceremony in which a young Aspirant who was coming of age spent one night with a man. He was chosen for her by the Crones, deemed worthy of the rite and worthy of her body.

For centuries the Sisterhood had engaged in these ceremonies in order to come into their own, using an eager male to fulfill their needs. Of course, finding such a man had never been an issue; horny men were as common as grass in a field. But the Crones were selective and careful about their choices. Their methods remained mysterious to the younger members of the Sisterhood; all
they
knew was that the men whom they picked possessed a certain sort of power, like them. According to the Crones, the ceremony would help to enhance the Aspirant’s powers, to come to their full potential. A rite of passage for the women, and, they supposed, a pleasant evening for the men.

But those males who were selected for the chance to participate needed to understand the rules and to obey them completely, or risk a penalty of the Crones’ choosing.

The man in question dressed in a costume concealing his identity, the upper half of his face covered in a mask or a hood. The young woman had her way with him, giving her purity over to the goddess for one night (or sometimes for far less), offering herself to the man for a few moments of sexual pleasure. Often the ceremony lasted only a few minutes, but on occasion a woman found herself with a man who revelled in it, and, although most didn’t discuss it, many of the women found the act far more pleasant than they would admit.

The two never saw one another again, of course. The men were chosen quietly by the Crones in secret meetings, somewhere in a far-off hiding place. And the men whom they chose were said to have abilities of their own, though only the Crones who’d selected them knew what these were.

The men were given careful instructions not to seek out the women afterwards, to make themselves scarce and to forget what had occurred.

Aside from those rare nights, the Sisterhood’s all-female community often felt like an open convent; no men, no talk of sex, of marriage. Apart from one night in their lives, the Aspirants remained chaste for life.

If one of them wished to desert, she was allowed to do so. But only at the sacrifice of her training. And she was encouraged not to develop them elsewhere, outside of the Sisterhood, instructed not to use them for harm or to employ them against the other Aspirants.

Marriage, the Crones said, was a death sentence for one’s Gifts. A married woman was unlikely to have the time necessary to focus on her Craft, after all. She was a lost cause, best set free to spoil her own life.

The loyal members were devoted to the goddess, to the elements and to their skills. And so each woman bonded only once, when she was young and fertile.

The man chosen for her had to follow a set of rules in order to protect the Aspirant from any sort of growing attachment: as well as the mask which largely concealed his features, and he was not permitted to utter a word while he performed his task. The Aspirant, too, was supposed to stay quiet; not to ask questions or to extract any information that might encourage an emotional bond.

That was the law, and breaking it was punishable by expulsion from the Sisterhood, if the Crones so chose. Generally speaking, the rules were obeyed by devoted young women.

“A man would have to be awfully special for us to assign him the task of bonding with one such as you,” said Hedy. “And we’re coming close to making our choice; the Oracle has foretold it.” The “Oracle” was one of the Crones; a woman with a gift of foresight. Like Hedy, her gifts were waning in recent years, but vivid images still came to her on occasion.

Hedy added, “The Ceremony will occur soon, Serafina. I hope you’ve prepared yourself.”

Sera stiffened at the words. Prepared? Was she meant to shave “Enter Here” into her pubic hair? But she knew what Hedy meant: she needed to ready herself mentally. Accepting that a man would be inside her, and what was worse, or perhaps better, a man whose face she would never see.

“You’re a special young woman,” continued Hedy. “So whomever we choose for you will need to be the most excellent and promising of men. But for now, you need to work on your gifts. You need a chance to develop a little before you can take on anyone, let alone the Guild.”

“Agreed. And I
want
to take them on, I do. If they’re snatching women from the next town over, it’s only a matter of time before…”

Sera didn’t want to continue; the thought of it was too painful. Having strangers taken was bad enough. Having members of the Sisterhood pulled from among their ranks would be too much. Already, a few had already been removed from the neighbouring woods; disappeared amidst a stream of rumours and stories of forcible marriage, though nothing had yet been proven.

“For now, do not waste your energy on thoughts of conflicts that don’t yet exist. Stay home and practice your skills,” said Hedy. “Hone them as best you can. Every day, advance a little. Then, when the time comes for your powers to grow and flourish, it will be all the easier for you to throw everything you have at an enemy, if need be.”

“You’re right,” sighed Sera. “My rune-crafting is coming along a little, at least.” With her right thumb, she drew an S-shape on her left palm, angular and jagged, reminding herself of her growing skills. This was
Sigel:
the rune of light, power, happiness. She would apply it to a stone later, to calm herself, and place it in a pocket on her skirt.

“Has anything happened to the newest batch of abducted women yet?” Sera asked. “Or do we even know?”

“I’ve heard that they’re convincing the townsfolk to try them for the Craft, like those others before them. They’re threatening to have them hanged unless they submit.”

“Submit? To what?” asked Sera. This was the first she’d heard of the word.

Hedy shifted her weight, her eyes veering to Karab. “Perhaps I chose the word poorly. My gift of Sight has betrayed me these last few years and I cannot see all of the details so clearly as I once did.” Her eyes moved to the side of the house, as though she were avoiding Sera’s own.