Sher tucked her wheat-brown hair behind her ear, and her blue eyes were thoughtful. “How many Fomorii are we talking about?” She leveled her gaze on Hawk. “Here, at this time.”
“We are uncertain.” Hawk sighed. “We now know they are holed up in a lair not too far from Silver’s shop.”
“Is this place protected?” Garrett asked, glancing around the kitchen. His gaze settled on Cassia who now stirred something in a black cauldron. The smells of potatoes, carrots, and corn came from the pot. “Can the Fomorii attack the witches here?”
“The witches have the premises well warded, but I am not sure it will be sufficient against demons of that magnitude,” Hawk admitted. “Although the Fomorii have no magic, so it may be enough.”
Garrett gave Hawk a mischievous grin and lightly punched him in the arm. “The witch—Silver—is certainly beautiful.”
The fierce rush of jealousy surprised Hawk, but he tamped it down. He simply nodded his acknowledgment.
With his usual boyish enthusiasm, Garrett paced the floor, and delved into their current predicament. “Fomorii,” he said. “Unbelievable that the beasts have escaped Underworld after all these centuries.”
Hawk explained what he knew from Silver about the Balorite Clan of warlocks, and how the Fomorii came to be in this world. Although he had told Garrett before he left, he didn’t tell the rest of the D’Danann of the Great Guardian’s prediction or about her sending Hawk through the membrane between worlds. With the animosity between Fae and Elves, he didn’t want to start that discussion.
“Why did only ten of you answer the summons?” he asked instead. “It is our responsibility to help these people just as we helped the Druids in Ireland when these monsters first attacked.”
“That war is in the past.” Keir gave him a fierce expression. “The Sages and Seers prayed to the gods and goddesses and deemed our ranks a sufficient number for this battle.”
“We have much to consider.” Garrett paused in his pacing and braced his hands on the back of a chair as he looked at his comrades. “We will prepare our battle plans and engage in reconnaissance.”
Aideen hitched her shoulder against a doorframe. “We must find a way to draw them out.”
Hawk nearly growled. “And when we do, we shall destroy the bastards.”
Needing air, needing time alone with his thoughts, Hawk left the kitchen through the back door and closed it tightly behind him.
He braced one hand on his sword hilt and stared upward, wanting to view the stars, but seeing only the overcast sky.
How was Shayla? He wondered if she was looking out her window up at the stars in Otherworld.
And he wondered what Silver was doing at this moment. His attraction to her—from the moment he had met her—had been intense, fiery.
He tensed when he heard the back door open but relaxed when he heard Garrett’s voice. “What do you think of the changes to this world, my friend?”
Hawk turned so that he faced Garrett and gave a slight shake of his head. “Here, in this city called San Francisco...it has its charm. But if I had my druthers, I would go back to our long-ago homeland, to set foot upon Ireland once again.”
Garrett glanced at the sky, as if seeking the stars, too, then looked back to Hawk. “The witch, Silver, you have feelings for her.”
Hawk scowled, his automatic response coming to his lips. “Davina is the only one I will ever love.”
Garrett sighed. “She would not want this, Hawk. She would want you to be happy. I am certain that where she resides in Summerland, she is at peace, and wishes the same for you.”
Hawk squeezed his eyes shut and clenched his jaw. The image of her laughing and playing with Shayla came easily to his mind. How his heart had swelled with joy at the sight of the two of them.
Then Silver replaced the memory of Davina. Her fire, her spirit, her caring, her smile. His heart twinged again and he clenched his jaw tighter. From the moment he had met her, he had felt an instant attraction, something that shouldn’t have been there as far as he was concerned.
He opened his eyes to see Garrett standing before him, arms across his chest. “Let her go, Hawk. Davina will not be happy in death unless you are happy in life.”
Hawk shook his head. His voice came out gruffer than he intended. “These feelings I have for Silver... I do not understand them. Lust is all it can be.”
Garrett just gave him his cocky smile. “There are forces at work greater than you and I. Perhaps Silver is your destiny.” Hawk inhaled deeply. “I no longer believe in destiny.”
“You left Otherworld for her, even without the Chieftains’ blessings.” Garrett unfolded his arms and rested a hand on Hawk’s shoulder. “You cannot tell me there was not something more than your desire to help this witch.”
In his mind, Hawk saw her stealing through the night to save a child and to stop the slaying of innocents. And then in the alleyway, when they touched, it was like fire had singed them both. He had seen it in her eyes, had felt it in his heart.
And so clearly Hawk could visualize Silver on the moonlit beach, her naked body caressed by moonlight. She had been so stunning, yet more than her beauty called to him.
But no, he did not understand why.
For a moment Garrett remained quiet, then his tone was uncommonly serious when he finally spoke. “The Chieftains.” He cleared his throat. “You are to return to Otherworld as soon as possible and face the council for your actions. For departing our world without their leave.”
Hawk’s attention snapped to Garrett. “The Chieftains are calling me back?”
Garrett gave a heavy sigh. “If you do not return at the first opportunity, you will be banished from Otherworld. You will not see your daughter again.”
Rage exploded through Hawk. With a furious growl, he whirled and slammed his fist into the garage door, driving his fist deep into the wood. The splintering sound echoed through the quiet night.
When he pulled his hand away, his knuckles were numb, tiny drops of blood welling on the scrapes. His heart pounded and his blood roared.
He barely unhinged his jaw to ask, “How much time do I have?”
“Samhain,” Garrett said. “You must return by Samhain.”
19
Junga turned from the sight of the recent catch of humans, those with no magic, tied up in the middle of the small ballroom’s floor. Many of the soon-to-be-demon-food whimpered while some cursed, others prayed.
“Do it now,” Junga said, facing Darkwolf in her Elizabeth form, a scowl on her face. “I don’t care what you have to do, but perform a summoning. Bring the queen and the Old One.”
Darkwolf glared at her, the domination in his eyes causing her to ache and throb. But she wasn’t backing down. She was in control, and she would make sure he knew that.
He unclenched his jaw. “As I told you, there are not enough warlocks to summon the Fomorii from the depths of Underworld. We need a few more of the D’Anu witches to cooperate to make thirteen.”
Junga stretched to Elizabeth’s full height, and it infuriated her that Darkwolf was still taller. Her hands shifted into her enhanced Fomorii claws, and she bared her now needlelike teeth. Her voice came out deep and guttural, a combination of Elizabeth and Junga. “You will obey.”
The fury in the warlock high priest’s eyes told her that he would seek his revenge in other ways. The thought made her shiver with lust.
Darkwolf swung away from her, past the humans, and strode to the five remaining warlocks and one witch. “Move into position.”
The warlock turned and faced the witches who were in his magical prison. “Who among you will join with the Balorites?” He paced the length of the shimmering wall before the remaining witches and apprentices.
Not one of them spoke. Some didn’t look at him, while others studied him almost casually as if he were nothing but a bothersome fly.
He whirled on the apprentices and focused on them. “You each have burgeoning powers not yet ful
ly explored. Would you wait for these fools to die so that you might replace them one day?” He walked up to one female apprentice who looked scared, yet intrigued. “Would you not prefer to embrace your magic and come into your full power now? At this very moment?”
The witch licked her lips. Her eyes were wide and indecisive. Junga could see how tired the apprentice was, how badly she wanted her freedom. The warlocks were never beaten, never threatened, unlike the witches who all sported scratches, claw marks, and bruises.
Darkwolf’s eyes turned starkly sensual, his words coming out soft and alluring. “You will experience power beyond your imagination.”
He used a motion of his hands to push away the magical shield from the apprentice, leaving her free. It immediately closed behind her, caging in the rest of the witches. He grasped her by the shoulders, his gaze focused intently on hers. “What do you say, witch?”
She licked her lips again. Cleared her throat. “Yes,” she finally said, and Junga saw the horror reflected in the other witches’ eyes. “I will join you.”
His smile for the witch was so carnal that the urge to claw his eyes out came sharp and sudden to Junga. At the same time she wondered why she should care.
Darkwolf helped the apprentice to her feet while the high priestess of the D’Anu Coven commanded her to stay.
“Don’t, Sara.” Janis Arrowsmith seemed to struggle to keep her voice calm. “There is no turning back. Better to suffer. Better to die using white magic than give yourself over to the likes of this evil.”
“You will join us one day, witch,” the warlock priest snarled. “Or you will die.”
Janis turned her head slowly to face him. “So be it.”
Darkwolf pivoted to where the witch apprentice stood in her dirty robe.
Junga wrinkled her nose. The witches smelled. A couple had soiled themselves before being allowed to use the restroom facilities. They reeked of their own urine, of their fear. Some refused to eat or drink and were weakening, seemingly by the minute, giving a sickly-sweet odor of death to the air. Other witches ate what was offered, perhaps sustaining their strength in hopes of escape or rescue.
She gave a slow, feline smile. As if that would ever happen. If the foolish D’Anu and their helpers came back to this lair, they’d find a few surprises in store.
“Sara, is it?” Darkwolf caught the witch by her hands and began a sensual massage of her wrists. “A beautiful name.” He smiled. “You feel better already, don’t you?”
Sara gave a jerky nod, seemingly entranced by Darkwolf. He wrapped one arm around her waist as she stumbled on shaky legs and walked her to where the others waited.
Junga smiled. Surely there were enough now to bring the queen and her guards from the Underworld.
“Sex magic is strong,” the high priest said as he guided Sara to stand in the circle of warlocks. “Perhaps I should take you in front of everyone as part of the ceremony, and as part of your initiation.”
At that Junga growled aloud. The young apprentice looked terrified, and Darkwolf gave her a gentle smile. “No, not here, not on this day,” he said, but his unspoken words hung on the quiet in the room. But one day I will.
He slipped a wand from inside his robes. “Now for the conversion ceremony.”
While the witch stood quavering just behind him, Darkwolf pointed a crystal-tipped black wand at the ballroom floor. The crystal glowed, a wicked light that fractured throughout the room as he burned the floor and a shape emerged.
An eye. He had burned Balor’s eye into the flooring.
Darkwolf held one hand to the stone at this throat and began murmuring so softly that Junga could not hear what he said.
The stone eye began to glow through his fingers. Junga swallowed down a strange rush of fear and fought to keep from stepping back, farther away from the priest.
A chill iced her spine as the eyeball on the floor moved. It slowly rolled side to side, up and down, as if searching for someone. When its horrid gaze rested on Sara, the witch whimpered.
“Bring one of the humans.” Darkwolf released his hold on the glowing red stone at his neck to gesture to one of the Fomorii. At the same time he took Sara by her upper arm and led her to within inches of the eye.
Junga could see the witch trembling within the high priest’s grasp, but as the eye continued to focus on her, Sara calmed. Her features settled into an almost serene expression as she stared at the eye. Mesmerized.
Darkwolf cast a look over his shoulder at the other uninitiated witch he had earlier convinced to join him. “Come.”
The older witch moved forward, her steps hesitant. But when Darkwolf narrowed his gaze at her, she hurried to his side.
Bane dragged a human male who must have been in his late teens. The boy shouted, kicked, and struggled, but Bane’s grasp was too strong.
When they reached the eye, Darkwolf made a slicing motion with his hand. “Cut his throat.”
Junga heard a collective gasp from the imprisoned witches. One of them shouted, “No, please don’t!”
Junga casually looked at the witch captive who had her hands pressed against the magical barrier. Junga saw all the other witches turn their heads, refusing to watch. Some had tears glistening on their cheeks.
She glanced back at Bane and the human in time to see Bane’s finger extend into one of his hooked, iron-tipped claws to slice open the screaming boy’s throat.
Blood flowed freely from the mortal wound and bubbled up within the human’s mouth. Bane dropped the boy’s body to the center of the eye as soon as he no longer struggled and his body went limp.
The boy’s head lolled to the side as blood oozed out of his mouth and throat, into every crevice of the eye that had been burned into the floor.
The witch and the apprentice stared at the body, faces as white as the now dead human.
Darkwolf slowly began to circle the witches and the body as he said, “God of greatness, Balor of the Eye, we gift you with new children to bring into your fold.”
The warlocks surrounding the witches and the high priest took up one another’s hands and repeated Darkwolf’s words.
The soon-to-be warlocks visibly trembled. If they caused this summoning to fail, Junga would offer the offending bitches to her warriors for a small meal.
Darkwolf stopped. With a simple circular motion of his wand, flames burned in a perfect circle, around himself, the warlocks, and the two witches.
Black flames sprang from the circle charred into the floor. Junga felt an unwelcome sense of awe while she watched dark fire flicker and dance around those encased within the ring of fire.
“We are Balor’s warlocks.” Darkwolf held his hands high. “We serve you.”
A shudder rippled through the collective, and then there was a noticeable change in the appearances of the two witches. They seemed somehow larger, taller, more powerful, as did the warlocks. The presence of sorcery in the room was strong. Thick. Junga couldn’t help her own shudder.
From the center of the circle, Darkwolf began to swing an incense ball at the end of a black chain. The heavy odor of pine resin joined other smells swirling through the room. “Relax your minds, my new warlocks and those who are faithful to Balor,” the priest said in a sensual, mesmerizing voice. “Drink deep of the dark. Fill your souls, fill your minds, fill your hearts with the wonders of the black arts.
“Pledge your allegiance to Balor.” The Balorite priest swung the incense ball higher. “That you will serve him always.”
Each of the witches began to speak, their voices resounding through the room, just as terrible as their appearances had become. They pledged to serve Balor, pledged to do whatever he bade them to.
The fire suddenly rose, engulfing both witches. Around them, within them so that it looked like fire bled from their eyes, their noses, their mouths, their ears. They screamed, writhed as if in pain, and dropped to their knees.
Junga stared in awe. Would the witches survive the conversion ceremony?
> “Rise!” Darkwolf commanded the two at the center of the circle, near the boy’s body.
Slowly, both got to their feet No longer witches—no. Now they were truly children of Balor. Warlocks.
The black fire ebbed but continued to dance in a circle around the floor. Darkwolf smiled at his two initiates. “Join your brothers and sisters.”
The new warlocks bowed and entered the circle, grasping hands of warlocks to either side of them.
Junga cleared her throat, keeping her expression blank. “Begin the summoning.”
Darkwolf gave her a cold stare.
The lights dimmed. Junga blinked.
“Shift,” Junga ordered the Fomorii in the room who were still in human form, and they each began the transformation to demons. She didn’t intend for any one of them to be thought of as a meal by the summoned Fomorii. That was what the captured nonmagical humans at the center of the room were for.
Junga’s gut clenched at her next thought. Perhaps the queen would be coming.
All would change once the bitch was here.
Junga took a deep breath and began her own transformation. Her bones expanded as her head grew, her face morphing into a demon’s. She slowly dropped to all fours as her body shifted. Her claws hit the floor with a loud click and her skin shifted to a thick hide instead of fragile human flesh.
The Fomorii.
Fierce. Terrible. Proud.
“Guard the warlocks,” she ordered her remaining warriors, who positioned themselves around the circle so that any summoned Fomorii would not think of them as food, either.
Darkwolf focused on her. “Silence.”
She narrowed her eyes. Once all the Fomorii were retrieved from Underworld on Samhain, she’d eat the warlock for dessert.
After she had him.
The Balorite priest held her gaze for a long moment, showing no fear. He knew her weakness. Knew how badly she wanted him.
The warlock turned back to the witches and began to chant.
“We call those who embrace desires burning in our hearts.
The Forbidden Page 21
