No Witch Way Out (Maeren Series Book 2)

by Mercedes Jade

  If he blindfolded her, she could pretend he was Daemon.

  No. Where had that thought come from?

  He had plenty of harem witches to pick from for a feed. Elizabeth was going to be added to his harem as bait, and only after he had interrogated her.

  Blue eyes opened again and flicked back up to him. She looked like she was one breath away from bolting, or tying him up and demanding he serve her.

  Did the shocking witch want him to finish what another lover had started?

  His witches were gentle ladies, unused to rough touches. He took them with soft kisses and sweet consideration of their sensibilities.

  Elizabeth looked like she would bite back and it made him hard as rock.

  “I am going back to George,” she said, trying to shrug off Phillip’s touch on her shoulder.

  He tightened his hand around her arm and pulled her on top of him. There would be no escape that easily.

  George had found her, then. He hadn’t remembered his younger brother mentioning anything about taking the witch into his harem, although there had been rumours.

  The fight over the other sister, Jill Norwood, had laid most of those whispers to rest.

  Elizabeth caught herself with her other hand, palming Phillip’s thick shoulder and digging her little nails like claws into his skin when he didn’t release her.

  “No, I made a mistake. Let me go,” she demanded.

  The fight only aroused him further. Her tiny palm burned with magic on his chest. She had no idea, but it was like giving him a sip of the rich taste of her magic and blood.

  Feeding on her would be the first spicy meal after a famine of bland witches. Nothing was soft, simple, or easy about Elizabeth.

  “It was a mistake, but you can’t escape now,” he said, reaching with his other hand to snag her hair and control the back of her head, forcing her closer. “I slept here every night hoping to trap the deceitful witch that poisoned the royal family before orchestrating one of the greatest escapes I’ve ever witnessed,” he whispered against her neck.

  Snagging one of her shoulder straps with his fangs he gave it a tug, debating biting it in half. She made a tiny murmur of distress and he released the strap unharmed.

  “What were you running from, Elizabeth, or is it who?”

  A kiss over the fresh bite on her neck made her jump as much as his dark accusations.

  “You think I poisoned everyone to escape?” she whispered back. “Why?” she added, pushing against Phillip’s chest and fighting his hold on her head, so she could look him in the eyes.

  He narrowed his gaze at her. The interrogation wasn’t going at all as he had planned.

  “Don’t you know?” Phillip asked.

  “Daemon used me,” she said, her anger raising her voice, then it broke. “I d-don’t want to believe. W-why?” she asked, dropping her head to look down at his chest, so he couldn’t see her eyes any longer.

  Phillip didn’t let her tearful reaction stir him.

  He had consoled many a watery harem witch after William’s harsh dismissals for their failure to meet his stringent requirements.

  Most were easily bought off with the promise of a prestigious spot in Phillip’s harem without the obligation to feed them further, a position with benefits and none of the work.

  It was almost as if the witches knew what a few tears could buy them and so they purposefully tried to catch William’s fickle eyes.

  “You admit to poisoning the royal family in order to orchestrate an escape?”

  “I do,” she said, not looking back up. The voice that answered him was no longer tear-choked.

  “Why?” he asked, pushing for an answer that would solve the mystery even he couldn’t figure out after hours of sleepless nights.

  The Norwood witches had no real motivation. Phillip refused to believe it was cold revenge for the king's slight more than twenty years ago to their mother.

  As for Elizabeth’s tearful confession that Daemon betrayed her, he rather doubted that was true if she was willingly returning to Daemon’s bedroom now.

  He tugged her chin up, making her face him when she answered.

  “I already told you that I did it to escape Daemon,” she said, looking a touch piqued, with a tightening of the skin around her eyes and at the temples.

  He inwardly smiled. The little air witch had a temper inside her as hot as fire. She was annoyed he hadn’t fallen for her act.

  “Let me understand this betrayal better. Prince Daemon had been crowned acting regent during our father’s illness and gifted you with the first witch position in his new harem, protected by our only sister appointed as your Lasier, and given prestigious rooms from which to recover from your sudden illness . . . ?”

  Phillip trailed off purposefully at the end. He let the silence hang between them.

  “Do I need to spell it out for you? I thought you at least had brains, if not the power to rule,” Elizabeth replied, getting testier.

  “I am confused. You profess not to have any other motivation for poisoning the entire royal family, other than you were mad at Daemon, or something else that you’re unwilling to share for committing such a traitorous act?” he asked, keeping his tone non-judgmental even if his question was quite pointed.

  “She froze the dream. Icy as the polar bear dip,” Elizabeth muttered, looking over his shoulder again.

  “Pleading insanity won’t lessen your sentence. I would testify myself to your sanity in the days before the poisoning,” Phillip said, not sure what to make of her rambling.

  The witch was playing him for a fool, which smarted too much for him to take advantage of in order to get what he wanted.

  He didn’t want her dismissing him as the careless, useless prince that the rest of the court assumed lay under his charm.

  “I can use magic here,” she said, looking back at him with blue eyes glowing their power. “Just like Victoria.”

  Air slammed into him, throwing his upper half against the headboard of the bed with a threatening thud and crack of the thick wood.

  He wasn’t a small vampire and the weak little air witch had just hit him with more air than he ever would have suspected her body could hold.

  An air shield kept her from grabbing his breath from his lungs, but it couldn’t free him, unless he was willing to throw her petite body equally as hard.

  If she hit one of the bedposts, he was sure her bones would crack instead of the wood.

  “You’re wrong about me,” Elizabeth said, projecting her voice with air so it thundered.

  He hoped she had air locked the room or else they were about to have company for this interrogation.

  Defending the prisoner from William wouldn’t set the right tone. She might think Phillip wasn’t threatening enough to shake answers from her if he acted protective.

  She already was demonstrating that she underestimated him.

  Air was his strongest magic, not many knew that, but Elizabeth was about to find out. If he couldn’t throw her off of him without risking hurting her, then pushing her onto him was the next best choice.

  He used her air against her, blowing his magic along with her current, but coming from behind her, a gentle breeze that he built up slow enough that she didn’t notice until it was too late.

  Nobody could screech like a pissed-off air witch. She dug those little nails into his chest as she tried to hold herself from collapsing against him, driven hard from behind by his air.

  Stubborn thing, her arms shaking with the strength needed to hold herself. She refused to drop her own air and call a stalemate, her eyes lighting up with a different power.

  He shielded black just in time.

  Lightning crackled all around them, combining with the air to make a truly treacherous storm as they challenged each other, their gazes clashing and mouths inches apart.

  “And where did you steal that bolt?” Phillip asked, dropping his shield and using his fire and air to project his question, so it was a
heated whisper in her ear.

  She closed her eyes and moaned.

  He hadn’t even touched her. The shocking witch was still primed, and without her lover to feed, the use of her magic was worsening her arousal, a vicious feedback loop that demanded the release of her rich blood.

  There was only one way to end an air fight. He had to circle, and with her hands plastered to him, the circle would have to include Elizabeth.

  Once he had her confined, her air tantrum would have nowhere to go, and then he could deal with the need throbbing between the two of them, sink his fangs into her neck and relieve the pressure.

  If she didn’t kill him with another of those bolts.

  He couldn’t shield himself against her when he circled them.

  One last look into her turbulent eyes told him this might be the last mistake he would ever make.

  He circled black.

  The air cut off with sudden deafness, punctuated only by a high-pitched ringing that prevented him from hearing anything else. It was the rebound tinnitus from the sudden loss of the loud noise made by the howling winds that had abused their ears.

  Her mouth moved, she tried to speak something, but he couldn’t make it out.

  Probably, she was upset that he had trapped her in here, with him, and nothing but his own magic could release her.

  It wasn’t that different from his initial trap, but this time, she was in arms reach and going to stay there.

  He tried to speak as well, realizing by her eyes on his lips that she couldn’t hear him, either.

  No matter, he would let his body do the talking. He reached out and trailed his fingers down her neck, thumbing over the bite mark he had seen earlier.

  She shivered under his touch but didn’t pull away. It would have to do for permission, he couldn’t hold back any longer.

  Taking Elizabeth more in hand, Phillip wrapped one arm around her back to pull her closer, gently cupping his palm against her throat. The weight of his big hand alone was enough to encourage her to tip her head back and bare herself properly to him.

  She moaned, something he could only feel as a vibration against his fingers, instead of hearing.

  His fingers tightened slightly in possession of her neck and he lowered his head, his aroused fangs protruding as he opened his mouth, blowing a hot breath over the bite marks he would cover with his own.

  The anticipation of finally piercing her neck made him quickly swipe his tongue over her skin, numbing it with only one pass, inhaling the sweet, intoxicating scent of her blood and magic.

  She tasted like freedom. There was no delicate gasp or pull back as he took her rougher than he had intended, driven wilder by her state of priming, his lust and hunger sinking his fangs deep and drawing hard.

  She scratched her nails up to his shoulders and dug them in when he tried to gentle his bite, remembering his manners more because he had been expecting a complaint, used to soft harem witches.

  Elizabeth pulled him closer, not allowing an inch of wasted space get between their bodies, pushing herself up against his swollen fangs and whispering his name with a sharp breath and air teasing his ear as his hearing finally returned.

  The witch wanted him, could meet his desires without fear.

  Phillip let himself go, growling with suppressed need.

  She worked one hand into his hair, twisting her fingers into the unruly waves and tightening her grip with a pull at the nape of his neck as he rolled his hips against her.

  He felt his cock lengthening as he fit himself between her thighs, remembering her state of undress as she squeezed her naked knees against his hips, her hot skin burning him through the thin barrier of his sleeping pants.

  The cotton drawers she wore were loose and a quick tug would have them off, nothing stopping him from putting his mouth to her pussy, preparing the witch to receive more of him, give her back some of the pleasure she had granted him as he served her needs, too.

  She said his name again, shouted it, air bouncing the simple syllables off his circle barrier, harshly.

  He pulled up off her neck, swiping his tongue to close the bite and panting against her shoulder for a moment.

  “Sorry, too much?” he apologized, realizing he must have drawn quite deeply on her blood.

  A rare flush heated his cheeks as he peered up at her face, never at a loss for words or control, but both had slipped the tight rein he kept on his behaviour as he waited for her censorious demands.

  It was within her rights to order him to make reparation for the blood he had ruthlessly taken.

  Witches were givers of life and power, the nurturers of their kind, and he should have stopped once the edge had been bled from her priming, asking before taking more.

  “No,” she whispered, her voice sounding questioning, as if in disbelief.

  It was a strange, soft rejection. He cupped his hands around her face, holding her as he brought their foreheads together.

  He looked deeply into her eyes. “Let me serve you, Elizabeth. I can be gentle, and if it is your first time, I have oil to ease your discomfort. I promise you pleasure, just for you, first with my tongue and fingers, until you are eased enough to take me into your body, if you permit. I can please you, no more feeds tonight, only let me show you the rewards of my harem. Everything else can wait until morning.”

  “It can’t be you, too.”

  She whispered her puzzling reply so softly, he almost didn’t hear it, focusing so hard that he barely noticed her hands slip down to her thighs.

  “Dragomir!” she shouted, leaning her head back out of his hands.

  Chills ran down his spine at hearing the name of his brother’s dreaded familiar.

  Then, he saw the bloody half-moons she had dug into her thighs.

  “Elizabeth, what are you—?”

  “Dragomir!” she repeated, demanded!

  “Stop this nonsense. I already told you that Daemon is not here. He won’t be saving you from the questions you need to answer for your role in the poisonings,” Phillip said, reaching for her face again.

  She yanked back further, almost bumping into his circle’s barrier.

  “You needn’t worry. I realize that something was afoot for your whole family to run. Be honest with me and I will protect you, Elizabeth. And I’m not a pillager of witch innocence, so if you don’t wish to be served, I’ll not force my attention,” he added.

  She reached out, ever so slowly, fingers pointing toward the circle’s barrier. One touch and it went down, as if he had done it himself.

  That wasn’t possible!

  Phillip spoke a curse that would toast Elizabeth’s ears.

  She backed off the bed while he watched, kneeling at the edge and slipping off to stand, her heels against the chalked outline of Daemon’s amplification circle.

  Phillip hadn’t added the binding glyphs yet to hold her. Her body and soul were still stuck halfway between here and wherever she had transported from when she connected to Daemon’s amplification circle.

  She could disappear in a wink.

  It was like an unbroken mare that had slipped out of the stall. He would have only one chance to catch her before she ran to her freedom.

  He laughed, a full-bodied, unsuspecting roll of merriment, holding himself over his stomach as he bent over, eyeing Elizabeth’s surroundings for weapons and estimating how many steps it would take for her to reach the door.

  “Did you steal that fire from me? Clever witch, taking down my circle when you were fresh off my feed, just enough magic in my bite to let you touch the barrier?” he worked out, his tone reluctantly impressed, not yet moving closer.

  He tried to match his breathing to hers, kept his eyes on her wary ones, so they wouldn’t wander to the exits.

  She levitated as he leapt. Lightning shot from her body, nearly hitting him as it flew past and then bounced off the amplification circle, hitting her and arcing back to the circle to amplify again.

  Flaming balls! She knew ho
w to use the circle.

  Her entire body lit up with power in seconds. Swearing again, he grabbed onto her in a bear of a hug, using his own air to keep floating up to where she levitated.

  The roar of a dragon told Phillip he was too late.

  Black ink rose off of Elizabeth’s skin from the tattoo on her left side, collating into the serpentine body of Daemon’s familiar.

  The dragon wrapped around them, pressing Phillip against Elizabeth’s body—another roar even though it wasn’t yet fully formed—as Phillip tried to reach out to catch Elizabeth’s hair, flying in his air.

  He was trapped, surrounded by power that far surpassed anything he had tried on his own.

  “Forget me!” Elizabeth shouted. “Forgive my family. We meant no harm, just a mild illness to allow our escape. We didn’t poison the king!”

  Dragomir roared, and this time, it shook the room. The dragon was fully formed now, its body winding and twisting around them, not tightening but constantly moving, a slither of power that couldn’t be grasped.

  “You’re not going anywhere,” Phillip said, refusing to let her go.

  He didn’t care if it hurt or his hands were too rough. He whispered her name into her ear, let it be a plea. Reaching up to grasp her face, he tried to turn her towards him.

  The dragon transformed into white hot lightning in a flash.

  “I have to save Maeren,” she said with a broken whisper, twisting away. “My family needs me. My mates—”

  Phillip was left with nothing in his arms but Elizabeth’s last words and the wetness of tears against his fingertips. The dragon disappeared with her, giving one last throaty roar.

  Finally, the guards heard something, banging on the door.

  He whipped around, stomping over to the door and ripping it open.

  “King Phillip, is everything okay?” asked the closest guard, his fist still raised to knock.

  Nervous fingers twitched as the fist tightened before being lowered in front of the king.

  Phillip was in no mood to indulge the slight amusement or provide reassurance.

  “I’m hungry. Get me a dozen witches to feed, half of them fire and half of them air. Bring them to my room. Thirty minutes,” he snapped at the first guard, who immediately took off.