Rescued (Book One of the Silver Wood Coven Series): A Witch and Warlock Romance Novel (3 page)

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Michael stood outside the bathroom door and listened to the shower, which did not entirely mask the sound of his Beauty weeping. He lifted his hand to open the door, and stopped. Instead he rested his palm against the center of it. If he had been another man he would have gone in and comforted her. But if she had been another woman, they never would have met.

His encrypted mobile buzzed in his pocket, and he retreated back to the front room to answer the call. “Charbon.”

“It’s me.” Troy Atwater’s mellow tenor sounded guarded. “Safe to talk?”

“Yes.” He walked over to the window to look out at the city’s lights. “I found one of yours––a homeless woman. She’s been living in Central Park since August. Tonight I had to intervene when she was attacked by a rapist. I prevented the assault, but the bastard escaped.”
 

“Name?”

“She can’t remember it, or anything about her life before she woke up in the park. She calls herself Summer.” He glanced back at the hall leading to the bath. “Nor does she know
what
she is.”

Troy grunted. “Does she have any power?”

“She compels strangers to generosity. They give her food and clothing and a little money, but nothing that would be noticed.” He thought of the gardens. “She also makes plants and flowers flourish. She claims she’s not doing it deliberately, that it simply ‘happens.’”

“She’s probably untutored,” Troy said, “and since she’s lost her memory–”

“She is of no use to the Temple Master, “ Michael finished for him. “If I take her in, he will have her tortured and then terminated. She is young and comely, so I have no doubt our inquisitor will take his time.”

“In keeping with the Templar creed of never suffer a witch to live, but do have some fun with her first.” Troy muttered an obscenity in a dead language. “They are not worthy of you, Paladin.”

The old nickname made Michael’s jaw tighten.

“We’re not talking about me, Pagan. Can you provide the woman with refuge and instruction?”

“Of course.” Troy sighed. “When and where can we meet?”

“Midtown, in front of the Renaissance.” Michael hated going to Times Square, but no one from the North Abbey frequented it, and the heavy tourist foot traffic would provide cover. “Be there in two hours.”

He switched off the mobile and considered hurling it across the room.

Only the chime from the entry intercom made him pocket the device and go to attend to the food delivery.

By the time he had set out the meal, he could hear the dryer in the utility room. Then Summer emerged from the hall. Her hair was wrapped in one of his white towels, and her body was swamped by his black robe. The combination of the two only served to highlight her delicate features. Her weeping had left her eyelids slightly pinkened and swollen, but her skin glowed and she smelled of lemon and castile soap.

“Thank you for letting me use your shower,” she said politely as she approached the table. Her opal eyes widened when she saw the containers he’d set out. “Please tell me that you’ve invited over a small army to help eat this.”

“I was not sure what you would enjoy.” He pulled out a chair for her and tried not to look down at the way his robe clung to her body. “There is a little of everything.”
 

She peered into one of the jumbo size containers.
 

“A little that could easily feed ten of me.” She sighed and smiled up at him. “I’m sorry, Mr. Charbon. I haven’t had a proper meal in a long time.”

“Please, call me Michael.” He retreated to his kitchen. “Do you drink wine?”

“I’d rather have ice water, if you don’t mind.” He brought her a full glass. “I don’t want to drink on an empty stomach, plus I don’t remember if I like wine.”

She was nervous, Michael realized, probably because he kept looming over her. He took a seat on the opposite side of the table and helped himself to some ziti and fruit while he watched her select a simple salad and some plain bread.

“I don’t often dine at home,” he mentioned, hoping to put her at ease. “It’s always easier to pick up something while I’m out. I’m very fond of Japanese and Thai food.”

She nodded and took a sip of her water. “How long have you lived in the city?”
 

Michael imagined telling her the truth and smiled a little.
 

“Longer than I care to admit. I hated it when I first came here––so many people living so close together seemed unnatural––but in time I came to appreciate the modern conveniences.”

Her brows rose. “Where did you grow up? In the country?”

“Near Paris, actually, but I spent much of my youth traveling in the Far East.”

It was close enough to the truth.

“You don’t have an accent.” Summer studied his face. “I would never have guessed you were French. You speak perfect English.”

“You don’t have an accent either. That might be a clue.”

Her eyebrows arched at his observation. Looking into her opal eyes, he felt as though he were falling. They made other hungers swell inside him, and he pushed aside his plate.

“Why were you crying in the shower?”

“I was thinking about what might have happened, if you hadn’t saved me.” Her gaze took on an over-bright shimmer, and she got up abruptly. “I should go and check on my clothes.”

Michael was halfway out of his chair to follow her before he cursed himself. Whatever pagan powers she possessed, they were now affecting him, too.
 

For a moment he considered surrendering to them.
 
He wanted nothing more than to go her, and take her in his arms, and assure her that he would never let any harm come to her. He could see himself leaving the order for her, and taking her away to a place where they’d never be found by the Templars or the Wiccans. There she would be his, the woman of his dreams, and he could live as other men. He could know love with Summer, and perhaps even have children. He could be husband and father and neighbor, and never again have to bloody his hands for the sake of a mission he no longer believed in.

Temptations so often test of faith of the very purest of heart, my son,
Nathaniel Harper’s pleasant voice intoned from Michael’s memory.
You are burdened by so many because the Almighty intends you for greatness. Someday you will lead us all, I know, but first you must prove yourself worthy.

Michael did want to lead the order, for only as Grand Master could he change the path of Templars. Instead of hunting the Wiccans, he could guide his brothers to co-existence with them. A new era of peace and tolerance might even allow them to work together toward protecting humanity and steering the world away from global destruction. If he had a destiny, he wanted it to be that.

With his resolve returned, Michael cleared away the food and tidied the table before he went down the hall to the utility room. Summer stood folding her laundered clothes into a neat pile.
 

“We must soon leave,” he said.

“Oh.” Startled, she turned toward him, and one side of his robe slipped down. “I didn’t hear you.” She followed his gaze to her bare shoulder and made a face as she pulled it up. “It’s too big for me.”

Michael saw something on her shoulder, but before he could make it out the pull of her power twined around him, tugging at him as his mind filled with a sensual fog. As he moved closer to her he forgot his resolutions and destinies, and focused on the soft, sweet promise of his Beauty’s mouth. A small dent in her lower lip fascinated him. It hinted that she had been worrying it with the edge of her teeth. He wanted to soothe it with a kiss, and taste it with his tongue.

The clothing in Summer’s hands inexplicably fell to the floor as she came to meet him, her eyes filled with some nameless promise of pleasure.
 

“What’s happening?” she whispered.

“You’ve held me enchanted for weeks,” he murmured as he pulled her against him. “I can’t resist it any longer.” He bent his head until his mouth hovered a breath away from hers. “This once, Beauty. Only this once.”

Her mouth felt made for his, soft and welcoming, and when a low sound parted her lips he tasted her sweetness, giving her his tongue to stroke hers as he urged her closer. The press of her firm breasts burned into the vault of his chest as he lost himself in the kiss, his hand moving to cradle the back of her head and tangling in her damp, heavy mane.

Summer clutched at his arms, her nails pricking his flesh and sending a jolt of heavy need into his groin. He tucked his arm under her bottom and lift her off her feet. The rub of her sweet curves against his coiled muscles made him gasp. Then the edges of the robe fell open.

Summer wrenched her lips from his.
 

“Michael, please,” she breathed. “We can’t do this. It’s not…us.”

She sounded confused, as if her own words puzzled her. But somewhere through the haze of desire, her words rang true. Slowly, he lowered her back onto her feet. But as he did, he allowed himself to take a long look at her ripe curves and tight pink nipples. Willing his hands not to touch her, he dragged the robe closed and belted it. As he did she covered his hands with hers, and he closed his eyes and fought against the beast of need roaring inside him.

“I’m sorry,” she whispered. Now she touched her hands to his cheeks, her slim fingers cool against his overheated skin. “I don’t want to do this to you.”

Her words must have broken the spell, for his head instantly cleared, and he took a step back to break the physical contact between them. The last surge of carnal madness quieted, and he was able to look at her again without wanting to lunge at her.

“You should get dressed, and then we will go.” He saw her expression. “You cannot stay here.”

Summer began to reach out to him and then let her hand fall to her side.

“But why not? We have some kind of connection, you and I. I could feel it.”

“You felt your power overtaking me, and it dragged you along with it,” he told her bluntly. “I believe you were born a witch.”

She blinked at him, pulling the robe up tighter. “A witch? I don’t think I deserve–”

“A Wiccan with powers of magic. A real witch.”

She gaped at him.

“Are you serious? Like Halloween, that kind of witch?” She shook her head. “That’s crazy. Witches are just fairytale villains.”

“They exist in the real world,” he said. “They look like ordinary humans, but they have powers like yours. They are called Wiccans, and you may be one of them.” He
 
held her gaze. “Search inside yourself. You know you have power.”

Though she looked as though she’d argue, she only bit her lower lip. He stared mesmerized for a moment before coming back to himself.
 

“I am sending you to them so they can determine if you truly are a Wiccan. If you are, they can train you to control your power.”

She gave him a sharp look. “How could you tell I’m one of them? Are you a witch, too?”

“No. I am not Wiccan.” He turned away. “I know what you are because I am a witch hunter.”

AS MICHAEL DROVE toward Times Square, Summer tried to work out everything he’d told her. Since she had never considered witches could be real, it was just as difficult to believe Michael hunted them. She wanted to dismiss everything he’d said as delusional, and would have, except for how she’d survived in the park. Then there had been that moment in his apartment, as if they’d been drawn together by unseen forces for a kiss. One minute she’d been folding her clothes, the next she’d plastered herself all over him. If she was a witch, then why would she be throwing herself at a witch hunter?

“Wait a minute.” She turned to stare at him. “You weren’t watching over me at the park, were you? You were
hunting
me.”

“I was observing you,” he said flatly, “to determine if you were using your power to harm humans. Had you done so, I would have hunted you down and…stopped you.”

“Why would I hurt humans? I’m human,” she pointed out, and then frowned. “I am human, aren’t I?”

“You are mortal, for now.” He glanced at her and sighed. “Summer, I don’t have all the answers you want. Atwater will have to explain it to you.”

“You mean the guy who is taking me away to meet my witchy people?” She saw him nod once. “So then he’s one, too, right?”

“He is a warlock. Witches are female,” Michael said. “Before you ask, yes, I also hunt warlocks.”

“But not him,” she guessed. “Your friend Atwater, you have him on speed dial to come rescue homeless women who have forgotten that they’re witches, or don’t know that they are, or whatever my deal is.”

“The warlock is not my friend,” he said, his expression darkening. “We have some history together that forged a truce between us, but he has no more love for me than I for him.”

“Oh, well, that makes me feel so much better.” She sat back and stared at the traffic ahead of them. “Tell you what, why don’t you just drop me off at the park? I was doing fine there,”

He made a turn into a dark alley and shut off the engine before he turned to glower at her.
 

“In the park you were living like a beggar, bathing from a sink, eating handouts, and hiding from the police. How is any of that fine?”
 

“There are plenty of people in the city who have it a lot worse than I do.” She clenched her fingers to keep her hands from shaking. “Besides, whatever made me lose my memory probably happened in the park. Maybe someone is there right now, looking for me.”

“Such as the man who tried to rape you tonight, perhaps?” He got out of the car and came around to open her door. “Come. We must walk the rest of the way, and Atwater will not wait forever.”

Summer ignored the hand he offered her and climbed out, shouldering her backpack as she stalked out of the alley. Everything Michael had told her was beyond unbelievable. Any ordinary person hearing him go on about witches and warlocks and powers would have called the police and had him carted off to Bellevue.

The only thing keeping Summer from running as fast and as far away from him as she could was the unshakeable sense that he wasn’t crazy, and that everything he had told her was true. Michael did behave like a hunter. The effect she had on people and gardens could only be called magical. And what she’d felt just before they’d been shoved together to share that weird, mind-boggling kiss back at his apartment had been decidedly supernatural.