Witchlock (15 page)

She gave a wooden nod.
 

He stepped over to her, but on the opposite side of where Feenix had dropped his head onto her shoulder. Storm gave her a long kiss on her forehead and whispered, “Get some more rest, okay?”
 

“Right.”
 

Another curt answer. He couldn’t do anything about this until he managed to take the strain off Evalle and that wouldn’t happen by him staying around right now. “Call me if you need anything.”
 

“If I do, I’ll send a message to Tzader since you’ll be with him.”
 

He started to say something, but she tipped up her chin in challenge. Evalle didn’t deal with emotions well and being uncomfortable made her combative.
 

Much like a cornered animal.
 

He hated that he was the cause of more anxiety.
 

She added in a flat voice, “Just flip the switch that activates the power for the elevator. I took the warding off the controls when we came in last night so that
you
could leave when you wanted.”
 

Storm closed his eyes for a minute at the turbulent emotion beneath her last words.
 

...you could leave when you wanted
.
 

She’d designed a complicated, warded security system that involved a constantly changing code to prevent anyone or any
thing
from accessing the elevator. That would be no problem for Storm if not for requiring the ability to manipulate the lock with kinetic power, which he did not possess.
 

He’d joked that she could build one hell of a prison.
 

She hadn’t caught the joke.
 

He
would
fix this mess as soon as he returned. The sooner he left and handed off Lanna then made his report, the sooner he could get back here. With Lanna gone, he’d have an easier time talking to Evalle.
 

Lanna walked to the door, keeping track of every word said and not said. She started to speak and Storm shook his head, pointing for her to leave. She sighed and obeyed his silent order.
 

When Storm reached the door, Evalle still had her back to him.
 

Feenix watched Storm over her shoulder. The gargoyle patted Evalle while keeping his gaze pinned on Storm and saying, “Mine.”
 

Evalle hugged him back. She probably thought Feenix had been
speaking to her. “Yes, I’m yours baby.”
 

But Storm and Feenix both knew for whom that message had been intended.
 

That gargoyle may not know a lot of words, but he knew the power words when it came to Evalle.
 

Feenix pfft quietly in Storm’s direction and a puff of smoke curled from his snout.
 

Storm shut the door and caught up to Lanna.
 

He knew for sure that he could straighten out this tension between him and Evalle, but he had no idea what to do about Feenix’s territorial behavior.
 

How did you have a conversation with a gargoyle that had the vocabulary of a three-year-old child?
 

But Feenix was far wiser than a child.
 

And that little critter meant the world to Evalle. Storm was the last person who would ever separate them or be the cause of conflict between those two. He definitely did not want to put Evalle in a position of having to choose between him and Feenix.
 

She’d been put through enough in her life.
 

He wanted her as relaxed and happy as she’d been the last night they’d made love in the backyard of his Midtown house.  
 

He should have realized the turmoil he’d cause her by moving in when she’d never lived with anyone, not even a family.
 

They hadn’t discussed it.
 

He’d spent hours making love to Evalle that night outside, because he hadn’t wanted to take her around the taint the witch doctor had left inside.
 

Evalle invited him to move in with her, and all he could think about was finally being able to keep her close all night long. Or all day long. He didn’t give a damn as long as he could hold her and love her the way she deserved to be loved.
 

But his presence was creating discord in the one place that had served as her safe haven before he showed up. She loved with her whole being and she’d suffer in silence before uttering a word of complaint.
 

She deserved to be happy in her own home.
 

He would make sure that happened.
 

Castle KievRus, Ukraine
 

Chapter 12
 

 Veronika lifted the hood of her signature red robe and let it fall behind her. She studied Tegus Bilguun, the twenty-six-year-old, male sorcerer draped spread-eagle against the gray stone wall in the dungeon of her family’s Ukraine castle.  Chains anchored to the wall secured his wrists and ankles so that he hung a foot off the floor, wearing only jeans. With blond hair, aristocratic nose and chin, plus amber-gold eyes, the man gave her an attractive view.
 

This castle was one of six similar holdings in different parts of Europe, and her ancestors had lived here for over a thousand years, but they hadn’t built this structure.
 

Her bloodline came from that of royalty, not laborers.
 

Her ancestors had also been a bunch of bleeding hearts, but she hadn’t been born with that affliction.
 

“Who the hell are you?” the sorcerer yelled when he realized he was no longer alone.
 

“Veronika of the KievRus coven.”
 

“There’s no such coven. My family would know.”
 

“We have been in existence since the ninth century.”
 

“Sorry, but I’m not a history fan. Give me back my cellphone and I’ll look it up. Oh, that’s right, I won’t be able to hold anything again after you fucked up my hands!” he screamed. He tried to move his hands, then gasped in pain. “You will so pay for this, bitch. Your death will be slow and painful.”
 

“I think not,” she answered, stating the obvious. She’d had his hands sandwiched between boards, then drilled all the way through with half-inch bolts holding them encased. Blood still dripped from between the boards, running down stones that had been cut and placed many centuries ago.
 

This dungeon had held other powerful beings in the past, but none so significant as
this
sorcerer.
 

She’d have preferred for Tegus to be free to use his hands, because that would provide a true test of her powers. But she couldn’t risk having miscalculated her progress and allow him to harm her.
 

Her window of time narrowed with each day.  
 

He shouted, “What do you want?”
 

“You’ll be the first to become part of the greatest power ever seen in
this world, which will rise again very soon.”
 

Blood drizzled faster down the wall when he banged the wood against the stones with his struggles.
 

She informed him, “You only hurt yourself. You can’t destroy the wood slats. That wood will not catch fire or break, short of Thor striking it with his hammer.”  
 

This sorcerer might be young, but just one flick of his fingers could kill.
 

Even something as simple as the right combination of words could be used as a weapon.
 

She should know.
 

At the age of six, she’d stopped the heart of her family’s pet wolfhound, even though she’d misspoken the words given to her by an old crone who knew Veronika would be the one to revive the KievRus. So often, it was the intention that really counted in a spell.
 

The family had warned her against testing her majik as the time for Witchlock drew close, but she would not be careless in these tests.
 

Tegus spit out a slew of derogatory remarks. Words to shield his pain and save his pride. When he wore himself down, he yelled, “Use my blood for a curse and my family will find you. When they do, they’ll wipe whatever KievRus you claim still live from the face of this world.”
 

He thought she intended to use his blood to fuel a spell?
 

She was no dark witch who wasted her time on such things. That was for those who lacked vision for witchcraft. Those covens were no better than the mealy-mouthed white witches who refused to dirty their hands with dark arts. No, Veronika had known her destiny from the moment she’d read the history of the original KievRus coven.
 

Her people would never fear retribution or betrayal again.
 

She would see that day.
 

As the only person of this generation who could restore the KievRus coven to its former glory, she could afford no mistakes. The time was nearing for when she’d be gifted with the power of Witchlock, but she had much to do before that moment.  
 

She kept the sphere tucked close inside the deep sleeves of her robe. Withdrawing her empty hand, she pointed a finger at Tegus.
 

Power vibrated in the room.  
 

“Don’t be a fool. My family will retaliate!”
he shouted, though the sound had been reed thin and hurting.  His words were losing punch. He rasped, “You can kill me, but you’ll never live to enjoy a moment of whatever you’re trying to do.”
 

Tucking her hand back inside the sleeve of her other arm, she smiled. “I’m not going to kill you. At least, that’s not my goal.”
 

He squinted, frowning at her, then shook his head. “Then more the fool you are, because I will rain down terror upon you and your family the second I am free.”
 

“No one can find my family. They’ve hidden from your kind, and from mundanes, since the time when your ancestors tried to destroy our coven.”
 

He stopped cursing her and stared with profound confusion. “What
are
you talking about?”
 

“You really
should
study your family history. In the thirteenth century, Mongols captured Kievan Rus here in Ukraine. One of our own betrayed us, intending to become the harlot queen of the Mongolian ruler, but he was wise enough to put her to death once she’d served her purpose. Before that happened, she told him how her coven had used our majik to manipulate events and would use their power against him if our people found him to be an unfit ruler. Your Bilguun grandfather, many times over, led a group of soldiers to behead my entire coven.” They killed three family members before the rest of the coven found out and dealt with the soldiers.
 

“You have got to be kidding. That was eons ago. What is this? A replay of the Montagues and Capulets?”
 

“Hardly, as I am no one’s Juliet. Certainly not yours.”
 

“What do you know? I agree with you on something.”  He sucked in a deep breath that sounded like an attempt to fortify his battle to maintain equal ground in spite of the pain creasing his face. “What the hell do you want then? Revenge?”
 

“Retribution for deaths long past is too simple for what I seek. My ancestors expect me to bring our coven back to power so that we may live free of persecution. This is not about an execution of justice, but to take control of all witchcraft.”
 

First.
 

Then she’d pick off the most powerful, one at a time.
 

Tegus laughed, his derision falling off of her as easily as water off a duck’s back. He shook his head in disbelief. “You’re kidding, right? Sure, you caught me in a trap, because I was not expecting someone to be stupid enough to put their hands on the son of a Sterling witch and the Mac An Aba Mage. If you do succeed in killing me, one of them will come for you, and you’d better hope it’s my father and not my witch mama.”
 

I certainly hope so, but not until I reach my full potential.
 

She kept that thought to herself. The Sterling coven would hiss and
carry on if they knew she’d captured one of theirs, but they had clearly failed to inform him of their agreement with Veronika or he wouldn’t have been so easy to snare.
 

They were not a concern right now.
 

She maintained her calm only because she knew what was coming, while he did not. She asked, “Have you exhausted all your threats? Shall I begin?”
 

That sobered him. “I don’t need my hands to deal with you.”
 

And now would come his attack.
 

As he began calling up dark spirits to aid him, she pulled out the hand that held a diaphanous white sphere the size of a cantaloupe. It spun on her palm. Energy boiled around the sides and wisps of white smoke wicked into the air.
 

He paused, his eyes focused on her hand. “What is that?”
 

“You know the tale of Witchlock, don’t you?”
 

“
Witchlock?
That’s … impossible.”  His gaze jumped to her face and he lost all the arrogance of a moment ago. His eyes darted back to the steaming sphere in her hand and shock took over his expression. “It can’t be. That was lost to everyone. How did you  ... ”  
 

“I don’t have time to discuss this. Once this experiment is successful, I’ll have to bring in the next specimen, which shouldn’t be as much of an effort. Children are actually a joy to use as experiments.”