by Sarah Piper
“I still feel sparks when you touch me,” I whispered, and he increased the pressure, hitting me just right. “So the next time you want to prepare or practice,” I breathed, stealing a kiss, then pulling back, “come find me, because no matter how many so-called films you watch, there’s no substitute for the real thing.”
Without warning, Liam thrust deeper, his thumb brushing my clit, and I lost it, gasping as the orgasm grabbed hold of me.
Unable to stay on the sidelines another moment, the rest of the guys stripped out of their clothes in record time, joining us on our giant mattress by the fire.
I pushed Liam onto his back, sliding down to take him into my mouth, sucking him slowly, wanting him to feel every sensation. Behind me, I felt Ronan shift into position, his hands wrapping around my hips as he guided himself inside me.
It wasn’t long before we all switched positions, and I straddled Asher, taking him in deep, reaching for Emilio and Darius, stroking them as I had that night in Elena’s closet.
There were so many possibilities, so many positions, so many kisses and touches and tender caresses, so many sensitive spots to explore. But this was our first night back, the first of many, and right now, I was just happy to be with them, no matter how long it took us to find our rhythm, to chase our beautiful finish.
I was on my back again, Darius’s face between my thighs, Ronan teasing my nipples with his hot, wet mouth. Darius grazed my tender flesh with his fangs, and then he shifted, Liam settling in his place, sliding inside me in a deep, perfect stroke that pushed me right over the edge.
I came with a shuddering cry, a gasp, a moan of pleasure so intense and so deep, it felt like I’d traveled to another realm.
When my legs finally stopped trembling and I came back to myself, tears slid down my cheeks unbidden, but the smile on my face was big and bright, all-consuming.
This was what we’d fought for. What we’d keep fighting for. Love and passion and life and laughter and family—the family we chose, the family we made.
I took Emilio next, then Asher, then Darius, all of them taking turns. We carried on for hours, well into the night, until we were certain every last one of us had been satisfied multiple times and exhaustion finally set in completely.
We collapsed in a pile at the center of the mattresses, still touching each other, still sharing stories and dreams, making plans for the rest of the evening, the rest of the week, the rest of our lives.
By the glow of the fire, I closed my eyes, letting myself drift along on the warm current of their voices, their heartbeats, their laughter. A sense of pure contentment and peace washed over me, and I sent a silent prayer of thanks to the universe, to my friends, to my sisters, to my ancestors.
I was here with my rebels. I was safe. I was alive. I was loved.
And for the first time in my life, I was truly home.
Thirty-Seven
GRAY
Four Months Later…
I’d never climbed a mountain at night before.
Come to think of it, I’d never climbed a mountain, period. But it was something Sophie and I had talked about doing.
Some day.
One day.
Another day.
And that day had never come.
But now, I could give her this gift, taking the Colorado trip I knew she’d always wanted to do.
Thanks to Reva’s sacrifice, winter had finally released her icy grip, and spring had emerged with renewed ferocity across the United States. Here in Colorado, wildflowers had exploded across the landscape, the aspen leaves so bright green they nearly hurt to look at.
Sophie would’ve loved it.
Excited to reach the summit, I pushed ahead, forcing myself not to run up the mountain at vampire speed. I wanted to enjoy the view, the sights and sounds of Colorado at night.
“How is everyone holding up?” I called back, pausing at a large boulder to wait for them to catch up.
“Just… give me a moment.” Liam slumped against the boulder when he reached me, one hand pressed to his chest as he tried in vain to catch his breath. “It’s like… breathing through… a cocktail straw.”
“Oh, it’s not that bad,” I teased.
“Easy for you to say, Little Witch. You don’t require oxygen, of which there is precious little at this altitude.” He pulled a water bottle from the pack on his back, then took a swig. “Things were so much easier when I could take avian forms.”
“Do you want to turn back?” I asked.
“And take a nap,” Ash said, patting Liam’s back, “maybe get a little room service, have someone rub your delicate feet and—”
“Not on your life, incubus.”
“That’s the spirit, Spooky.” Asher laughed and elbowed him in the ribs, but when we got moving again, Ash hung back, keeping Liam company the rest of the trek up.
An hour later, we were at the top, just me and the guys.
The summit of Mt. Elbert was Colorado’s highest peak. At over 14,000 feet above sea level, we were standing three miles up into the sky, each of us taking a moment to ourselves to take in the vast beauty glittering before us.
It was breathtaking.
I waited until the moment felt right, and then I removed the pack from my back, retrieving the items I’d brought with me.
A letter from Haley to Sophie, that I now tucked beneath a large rock on the eastern side of the summit.
Several palm-sized stones, each one painted with Sophie’s mandala designs and written with messages of love and the names of each of the witches who’d given their lives in Blackmoon Bay. Addie had helped me paint them, and now I placed them together on the southern side of the summit, whispering a few words for the ones we’d lost.
In some ways, I felt like I should be saying a few words for Reva, too. Losing her had been hard on all of us, and remembering her now sent a fresh bolt of pain through my heart. But Liam had assured us that we hadn’t seen the last of her. That she’d be back in one form or another as soon as she completed her training.
Apparently, she’d given the Old One a real piece of her mind, and they were—to quote Liam—“implementing some changes for the betterment of all” in their recruiting and training process. Liam hadn’t been privy to the details, but I smiled now, knowing that Reva had come into her own, trusting that she’d find a way to carve out her path, just as we all had.
Then, it was finally time.
I looked across the summit and gestured for Ronan to join me. The other guys gathered behind us, silent and respectful.
Sophie had been Ronan’s friend as much as she’d been mine, and though we still hadn’t been ready to talk about her, to share the good memories, we were getting there.
And I was so, so grateful he was here with me now, helping me to finally set her free.
“Thank you,” I whispered to him, and he nodded, reaching for the urn that held Sophie’s remains. With each of us taking one side, we tipped the urn and scattered her ashes, watching them spin and dance in the night sky, shimmering like the stars above until they finally winked out and disappeared.
Ronan stepped back with the others to give me some space, and I let out a soft breath, but I didn’t cry for her. This wasn’t a goodbye. Sophie had been with me through all of it, and even if I couldn’t see or hold her again, I knew she’d be with me through all the days and nights to come.
“I thought you should know,” I told her, “we re-formed Bay Coven. We’ve got a lot more members now, including Verona, who makes the trip out every new moon for the meetings.” I laughed, knowing what Sophie would say. “Yeah,” I replied, as if she’d said it out loud. “I said we. I’m a founding member, so you finally got your wish. Crazy, right? My sisters are members, too. Addie and Georgie… You would’ve loved them.”
I closed my eyes, reaching out for her once more, knowing I didn’t need to say the words out loud anymore.
Of course she was there. She’d always be there.
Even now,
I could feel her presence, her smile, her light. She lived in my heart. She lived in the ocean at Raven’s Cape, as wild as it had ever been. She lived in the sky. She lived on this mountain. She lived anywhere love and light were found.
Behind me, I felt the strong, calming presence of my men washing over me, soothing me.
Asher, my fiery incubus, who’d never stop making me laugh, even as he set my insides on fire. Darius, my commanding, intense vampire, who still didn’t know how to turn on his cell phone, but never failed to make me feel safe and desired. Emilio, my sweet, brownie-baking, swoon-worthy wolf shifter, strong and powerful, gentle and kind, who’d made it his mission to know and care for the softest parts of my heart. Liam, the man who’d already taught me so much, my intrepid explorer, my passionate lover, a man I couldn’t wait to see the world with, to know each place through his eyes.
And Ronan, my crossroads demon finally freed, the first real man I’d ever loved. My best friend, my rock, my love, now and forever and always.
I took a deep breath of mountain air, memorizing this moment. This feeling. This peace.
With the bright moonlight soft on my face, my heart full of love and gratitude and wonder, I dashed the tears from my eyes and turned to them with a smile as broad as the horizon stretching out before us.
“Take me home, boys. I’m ready.”
Thank you so much for reading the final book in the Witch’s Rebels series, Rebel Reborn!
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Speaking of book news… read on for a juicy tidbit!
First of all, I can’t tell you how much it means to me that you’ve accompanied me on this wild journey, from Gray’s first accidental resurrection spell in Shadow Kissed all the way to the final battle and beyond in Rebel Reborn.
Just as Gray fell in love with her rebels, I have fallen in love with all of them, too—and not just the guys, but all the characters that populate the story world of Blackmoon Bay.
I’ll be revisiting some of those characters with their own stories soon. But before we head back to the Bay, I want to take you somewhere completely new for a spell (Ha! See what I did there?).
Our next adventure begins at Arcana Academy of the Arts, a magical university hidden deep in the Arizona desert. Badass witches, red-hot forbidden mages, and dark magick lurk around every corner. So if you’re ready for some sexy, steamy, supernatural fun, read on for an excerpt of Tarot Academy 1: Spells of Iron and Bone!
Tarot Academy 1: Spells of Iron and Bone Excerpt
CHAPTER ONE
There’s no problem a proper cup of tea can’t fix.
It says so right on my work apron, just beneath the Kettle Black logo Mom designed decades ago, back when the café only existed in her dreams and sketchbooks. It says so on our menus and the shirts we sell to tourists. And it says so on the Mother’s Day mug I painted when I was six—a black-and-gold one that sits next to the cash register, holding all the pens.
There used to be a plaque on the wall, too, but that came down years ago, buried in a box with the ashes of Connor and Melissa Milan, resting beneath a granite headstone in Los Pinones Cemetery.
Devoted parents and friends
May their eternal light shine as a beacon for all who loved them…
If you squint at that part of the wall now, you can still make out the square of plum-colored wallpaper, slightly darker where the plaque used to hang.
Anyway, as far as truisms go, the tea thing always felt like a good one. For the first eighteen years of my life, the simple brew healed all manner of wounds, from scraped knees to bruised egos, from mean-girl dramas to the fathomless ache of unrequited love.
And later, when I lost my beloved parents, when even the shrinks and social workers had given up on me, when my days turned so dark I feared Death himself would come and snatch me right out of my bed, two things brought me back from the abyss:
My best friend Jessa Velasquez and some good, hot, life-affirming tea.
There’s no problem a proper cup of tea can’t fix, my mother’s voice echoes again now.
It’s funny how badly I still want to believe it.
But there’s another truism—bigger, all-encompassing—one my parents forgot to mention before the river swept them down the Lost Canyons of Arizona, dashing their skulls against the rocks before the water could even finish drowning them:
There’s nothing the universe loves more than a chance to show us how truly breakable we really are.
CHAPTER TWO
I’ve never seen a sky as wicked as the one that just blew in over Tres Búhos.
It’s a mean one alright, full of ire and vengeance. And while I love a bone-rattling Arizona storm as much as the next witch, I’d rather not be sitting on top of the tallest rock in the desert when Mother Nature goes balls-out ballistic.
She’s kind of an asshole sometimes.
I’d also rather not be dressed like a human lightning rod, but considering I can’t make the two-hundred-foot descent without some serious hardware, looks like that dream’s dead on the vine too.
I glare up at the sky. All morning it was clear and calm, the perfect day for a climb. But the second I get settled on top, light the palo santo, and whisper a few words of my mother’s magick…
“Message received,” I grumble, keeping the asshole bit to myself.
In response, the oil-black clouds flicker with a preview of what’s to come, and a burst of hot, gritty wind rifles through the old grimoire on my lap. The faint smolder of palo santo dies, its sweet fragrance replaced with the scent of ozone.
That sky is ready to burst.
I close the spellbook, resigned. My attempt at magick—if you can even call it that—was destined to flame out anyway. Sure, I can sense people’s energies, and my body has an uncanny ability to heal itself quicker than most, but as far as active powers? Other than casting witchfire, my magick is basically nonexistent, just like my parents wanted it to be.
Just like I promised to keep it.
Guilt surges anew, making my skin itch.
“Forget magick, Stevie. It’s a curse…”
They weren’t Mom’s literal last words—those would come in the hours that followed, high-pitched and panicked and mostly incoherent—but they’re the ones that stand out now. The ones that twist a hot blade in my gut every time I open the forbidden grimoire, searching for a clue about her past. Our past. This unknowable thing inside me, crackling with a wild, potential energy that simultaneously terrifies and fascinates me.
The forest-green leather is warm beneath my palm, and I try to pick up a sense of Mom’s gentle touch, her laugh, the scent of frankincense that always trailed in her wake…
Nothing comes.
Nothing ever comes.
They say time heals all wounds, but next week marks five years since I buried my parents, and I still wake up every morning to the suffocating press of grief on my heart. As far as I can tell, the only thing time does is march onward; all that’s left for the living to do is try not to get trampled beneath it.
Another gust of wind buffets the rock, and a spiny lizard skitters across my blanket, smartly tucking himself into a crevice. Tamping down the simmering guilt, I slip the book into my daypack with the rest of my stuff, hop to my feet, and gear up for the drop.
Climbing shoes. Harness. Ropes. Chalk bag. Knife. Carabiners and hexes and cams… Check, check, check.
Tightening my fingerless gloves, I blow out a breath and step to the edge.
Darknes
s smothers everything in sight, casting shadows as far down as I can see. A strange, gray mist blankets the desert floor, the tops of the saguaros floating like the masts of a hundred haunted ships.
It’s a long way down. A lot longer than it’s ever felt before.
El Búho Grande—the big owl—is the largest of the three owl-shaped sandstone formations that tower over the Santa Clarita Desert, marking the southern border of their namesake town—Tres Búhos, Arizona. Three Owls. It’s the only place I’ve ever called home.
The other two “búhitos” flanking me are significantly smaller—and much steeper, thanks to the protection of the big guy. But here on the Grande, where time has worn the top of the owl’s head into a slab the size of an Olympic swimming pool, I can see my death coming from miles away.
Off in the misty distance, a streak of lightning splits the sky. I count to five before I hear the thunder—still a ways off, but not for long.
Goddess, let me be on the ground before the rain starts…
But even that’s too much to ask, and as the first few drops darken the dusty red rock to a deep brown, I shoulder my pack, triple-check my knots, and begin the descent.
The ropes and anchors I set on the climb up are still in place, and at first, I make good progress. But it’s not long before the rain picks up, soaking me to the bone and making everything I touch impossibly slick. Ignoring the drumbeat of encroaching thunder, I focus on my footing, wishing for once I hadn’t ignored the NO CLIMBING signs posted at the bottom.
Fifty feet down, slow and steady. Sixty. Seventy-five. Another bolt of lightning flickers in my peripheral vision, the crack of thunder right on its heels, echoing across the eerie desert.
