The COMPLETE Witching Pen Series, Boxed Set: The Witching Pen, The Sands Of Time, The Demon Bride, The Last Dragon and Wilted

by Dianna Hardy

  On two other stone slabs lay John and Leonard, other walrus-type monsters feasting on their bodies as they lay completely conscious, able to feel everything and unable to move anything. All three of them had their heads turned towards her, and she could see the plea in their eyes despite them being sewn shut.

  "MARY!" This scream was from Sophia. "Make it stop! PLEASE!"

  But Mary could never make anything stop. She was always a voyeur in her dreams, forced to look, forced to feel, and forced still. There was nothing to do except wait to wake up, and this time waking up was going to be hell, if this wasn't already her being awake, because she could feel every attack being made on all three victims at once.

  Her first clue that she had already woken up, was when she rammed her head into the bars of the cell. Hard. Hard enough to cause the right amount of pain needed to clear her mind a fraction. Just a fraction, and then the stabbing inside her head was back in full force. She gripped her head and dug her fingers into her temples, breaking skin. That was a little better, but it would only last seconds, she knew. At this stage, if she were at home, she would already have reached into that drawer and be cutting herself and doing God knows what else, until the bulk of the pain subsided, which could take hours. There were no tools at her disposal here, which meant she was utterly and completely screwed. She could hear screaming and assumed it was coming from herself, although she did catch a glimpse of her cell mate, and she looked pretty freaked out, so maybe it was her.

  Pain. I need pain NOW.

  Mary got on her knees and scraped her fingernails as hard as she could along the cement floor. They ripped; they bled; the stabbing in her head receded, along with the visuals of the monsters and bleeding victims.

  Don't stop.

  She would grind her flesh and bone down to her knuckles if she had to.

  The lights came on.

  Shit.

  They were coming to get her. They'd sedate her, she knew it. That's what they'd done once when she'd been in the detention centre and had had a bad night. No way she was going down that road again – the drug they'd given her had locked her in her own body, but done sod all for the agony. The result had been her entombed in her own torturous dream for 48 hours. Never again.

  "No!" she cried, as they unlocked the door.

  They were on her in a second. Two of them, either side of her, prising her hands away from the floor, shouting at her, shouting at each other. "Get the Hypnovel!"

  "No, please!" But without the continuous hurt of her fingernails being torn, her mind was already being possessed by the afflictions of her nightmare. She fought it; needed to retain some sanity…

  "Hurry, she's having a seizure!"

  "Christ," mumbled the guy to her left. "She's gonna pop like a balloon."

  Balloon. A single image found its way into her mind amongst all the pandemonium that lived there: the angel balloon Sophia had given her. Gwain. Gwain.

  "Gwain!"

  A woman with a needle ran into the cell. The needle came at her, and she hadn't a clue what happened next because the agony had kicked in once again. A fresh scream left her and bounced around the cell walls. In desperation, she bashed her head against the floor, and realised she could. No one was restraining her anymore. She went to do it again, but was yanked back by her jersey instead and thrown against the wall. She landed so hard, she felt a sudden quiet, but didn't have time to breathe a sigh of gratitude before her mind was once again sabred and her vision clouded.

  She was hauled up by her wrists and pinned against the wall with her arms above her head. The weight of a body pressed against her, holding her in place. Just as well, because her legs wouldn't have done the job. There was a ripping sound and then…

  Sweet respite! Her cry of sheer relief filled the air, as something sharp tore through her forearm. Her mind cleared. She blinked, and saw Gwain in front of her, a large safety pin in his right hand as his left held her arms up.

  "Amazing what you can find in a prison guard's desk drawer," he said. "Do I have your focus?"

  She glanced to her left and saw blood seeping out of a long cut that ran down her arm. Another glance downwards told her she was topless. That must have been the ripping sound.

  Seems like Gwain isn't going to mess around.

  And she was grateful.

  Her eyes swept quickly around the cell, and she saw all the guards and her cell mate slumped on the floor as if sleeping.

  "Do I have your focus?" he repeated.

  She looked back at him. "For about ten seconds before the pain kicks in again."

  He nodded. His voice was steady. "There are just three things I need to know. First: is there anything you don't want me to do to you?"

  She shook her head. There was nothing he could do that would be worse than what she'd spent the last twenty-one years dreaming. "Wait," she thought suddenly. "Don't kiss me. This isn't that kind of deal. You promised – no strings."

  He raised his eyebrows slightly, an unreadable look in his grey eyes, then nodded his agreement.

  Her head suddenly slammed back and she wailed in anguish, as pain found its way into her brain once more. Sophia's criss-crossed eyes filled her mind, the sharp taste of bile hit the back of her throat.

  The safety pin tore through her right arm this time, and she gulped in air as her head cleared.

  "Two: how long do I have to do this for, Mary?"

  "It'll take hours unless…"

  Unless I orgasm.

  But she wasn't about to tell him that … then again, he was an angel. If by some miracle he could make it happen, she would be dream-free for a week. She decided to tell him. "Unless I orgasm during … but I never can."

  He nodded again.

  "Last: do you trust me?"

  That one took her by surprise, and she had no idea how to answer it. Did she trust him? She barely knew him. Yet here he was, prepared to give her the relief no one else would or could.

  She stared at his eyes, a shade lighter than the cement floor beneath their feet. There was a steeliness behind them that reminded her of her own reserves – what she called upon when she had to keep on going. But did that mean she could trust him?

  "Mary, I can't do this if you don't trust me."

  It was nothing logical that made up her mind for her – it was the smell of him. Frankincense and that something else she couldn't put her finger on, but was familiar all the same. It smelt like safety and freedom all wrapped up in one. It smelt like the childhood memories she should have had… It smelt like home.

  "Yes, I trust you."

  And then she was drowning in torment, shouting out, unable to breathe, as the torture no one should ever know so intimately invaded her mind … again. It felt like two giant hands were squeezing on either side of her brain, and she wondered if her ears were bleeding, the pressure was so much.

  She had a vague sense of being manhandled to the floor. She couldn't tell if she was kicking out and writhing – probably – she wasn't sure. She'd worry about it with anyone else, but she knew Gwain could handle a few kicks, so she let the worry go.

  The rough cement against her bare back tore up her skin a little, and dulled the spiking pain into something that was more like a migraine and less like someone sawing into her skull. Thank God.

  Gwain lay on top of her and it stilled her from involuntarily jerking around too much. A rough hand found a breast. It kneaded it, pulled at it, then – HOLY FUCK!

  The shriek that ripped from her was otherworldly, and was followed by a sudden clearing of her mind. The skewering of her brain ceased – completely. She was only mildly aware of her other breast being kneaded and pulled and then—

  Another shriek tore from her, reverberating against the bars of the cell, and then, there it was – that sweet, sweet feeling that was her body going into shock. Oh, yes. Everything started to numb except for the euphoric pain in her breasts, which kept her in a lovely state of alpha consciousness, without disconnecting her completely fr
om her body. It was exactly like those times she'd almost died in those two accidents – what the hell had he done to her? Whatever it was, it was bliss – for the third time in her life since she was seven, her mind was utterly clear. She had total clarity.

  Then she felt the burn begin at the juncture of her thighs. Her gasp of surprise became a licentious moan, and she automatically ground her hips against his. She needed this – needed this – the same way she needed air. And he was going to give it to her.

  He was hard as rock against her crotch. Maybe he did get off on bloodplay. She stole him a glance, and lost herself for a second. Their eyes met, some invisible force making it impossible for her to look away. An intense desire shone in his. No one had ever looked at her that way before.

  "Turn over," he demanded, and roughly flung her around.

  She felt disappointed for a moment that the connection had been lost, then he pushed her down and she cried out as her mutilated breasts met the floor. The pain shot a bolt of want to her clit, transforming that burning between her legs into a carnal ache that bloomed throughout her groin.

  He reached under her for the button of her jeans, popped it off, her zipper was pulled down, then he was lifting her hips up, and sliding both her jeans and underwear off her.

  She used this moment to peek down at herself, to see what exactly he'd done to her breasts.

  My God! She sucked in a breath. He'd safety-pinned them – he'd fucking safety-pinned them! Each one – right through the areolae, and it looked like he'd latched the pins shut too. Blood covered both breasts and some of her stomach.

  He pulled her up so they were both kneeling, her back against his chest. His erection, still clothed behind his jeans, pressed firmly into her backside. His right hand delved between her thighs, stroked her wetness, then he drove his fingers inside her.

  Mary groaned, half in pleasure and half in frustration – it wasn't enough.

  He took one of her breasts in his other hand and played with the nipple, just like a lover would, as if he hadn't just speared a friggin' safety pin through it. With a wail, she slammed herself back against him at the sudden pain, but he was there, ready, holding her, keeping her steady…

  And there it was. The orgasm stirred, growing fast out of that unyielding ache below her navel, and the intense pain in her breasts.

  He pushed his fingers in deeper, brushed her clit with his thumb. Once … twice…

  "Come on, honey," he whispered in her ear.

  There it was.

  Ecstasy coursed through her. She gripped his arm, he tightened his hold on her, and a long-awaited cry of primal pleasure left her, as tears slipped down her cheeks. Her climax rippled throughout her body, from her womb, to her toes, to her head, washing away not just pain, but the memory of it. She took everything she could from it, until there was nothing left, then slumped against Gwain, satiated.

  Seconds passed, maybe a whole minute. He rubbed his cheek against her hair. "Are you all right?"

  "Mmmm," was all she could manage.

  "Good. Hold still." He trailed his hands slowly over her abdomen, then up her body until they were both hovering over her breasts. Lights, warm and low, emanated from his palms, a tingling sensation brushed over nipples, then cloaked her chest…

  Wow, this is nice.

  The safety pins disintegrated, and the holes in the sides of her breasts healed and closed up. Bizarrely, the blood coating her skin started to move. It gathered together from everywhere, streams of liquid joining – even the drops that had stained the floor, moved from the floor, onto her, as if they had life of their own – then disappeared into her.

  "That was really weird."

  "Can't have you suffering blood loss … plus, the mess…"

  "You're handier than Mary Poppins."

  He let out a low, husky laugh. "I need to do your hands and arms next. Keep still if you can."

  She kept still, and rested her head back against his chest as he worked his magic. The cuts along her arms disappeared, followed by the blood. He ran his hands down her arms, then took hold of her own hands. His warm, healing glow surrounded her fingertips as her nails were rebuilt. Then he worked on her head, and finally, eased her forward to fix her back.

  "This is so good," she murmured. "Any chance you could do the same for my nightmares?"

  "I'd love too, Mary, but I can't get a handle on them. They seem to be part of whatever destiny you have – I don't have access to them."

  "Figures."

  "Yeah. Okay, we're done here."

  She turned to face him. "Thanks," she smiled, "but what about you?"

  "What about me?"

  She nodded at the still prominent bulge in his jeans.

  "I'm fine. I don't need—"

  "No. You've just given me so much. Fair's fair. And … no strings, remember?" She tugged at the button of his trousers. "If we leave it like this, I'll always feel like I owe you." Not that she could ever actually repay him for being able to do what no one else ever had.

  "Hey." He stilled her hand. "There are no strings. You don't and never will owe me anything."

  Maybe he finds what he just did repulsive – he was just cutting you up 'cause it's what you needed, not because he wanted to, you stupid girl.

  Sure enough, the erection pushing against his zip seemed to be less prominent.

  Idiotically, she found herself blinking back tears. "Okay," she said, removing her hand, but he didn't let go of hers.

  "Mary, don't. I know what you're thinking…"

  "Then unknow it," she snapped, standing up.

  He rose with her. "God damn it, do you really think I find you repulsive?" he shot back angrily, marching her backwards 'til she hit the wall. "Do you really think I could do what I just did to you, if I found any inch of you repulsive?" Still gripping her hand, he pressed it against his cock.

  Her mistake – no shrinkage there. "Then why—"

  "I have my reasons. And none of them have to do with you being undesirable, believe me."

  She wasn't convinced, but let it go. This wasn't the right time or place for her to get her knickers in a twist over something she wasn't even sure was ever going to happen again. Best just move on.

  She shot him a look as she stepped around him and reached for her clothes.

  "Oh … my top. Any chance your angelic glow can fix clothes?"

  "Not one of my talents I'm afraid, although Elena could, I'm sure. Do you want me to take it to her?"

  "And tell her what, exactly?" she asked, as she pulled her trousers on. "Just bin it. It's not special."

  He undid a couple of the buttons on his shirt, then pulled it over his head and handed it to her. "Here."

  Mary let her eyes flicker over his muscular chest for a split second.

  It's a shame you can't get aroused from pleasure, 'cause that is one pleasing body, teased the voice in her head.

  "Hey," she noticed suddenly. "You look … younger … or something."

  "I received some unexpected healing of my own today, too," he replied with a half-smile.

  "Sounds interesting." She wondered what specifically that had involved.

  Mary did up the buttons on her borrowed shirt, then smoothed it down. "I'm impressed – not even the tiniest stain of blood. What do I tell the prison guards when they realise I've suddenly changed my top?"

  Gwain laughed. "Let them wonder."

  "Has Pueblo found Amy yet?"

  "Yes. He's gone to get her. With any luck, she'll be home before dawn. Listen, I'm sorry we can't get you out right now, but as soon as Amy's back—"

  "I understand – it's not like I'm going anywhere."

  "We're going to work on it all tomorrow and try to find out what's going on with these murders."

  "Fine, thanks. So … when do you think the guards will wake up?"

  "I'd give it another ten minutes or so."

  "Okay."

  Silence.

  There were no articles of clothing left to put
on, and nothing else to say.

  They both shuffled uncomfortably.

  "So," mumbled Mary. "Thanks … for…"

  "Any time," said Gwain. "Oh, here…" He reached into his pocket and pulled out her necklace.

  "Oh, my God," she gasped, reaching for it. "That's totally made my lousy night!"

  "Thanks," he said, dryly.

  "No, that wasn't lousy – that part was good," she grinned. "How did you get this?"

  "I rummaged where I shouldn't have. You fidget with it every five minutes; figured you'd be missing it."

  He turned to leave.

  "Wait…" She took his hand. Opening his palm, she dropped the necklace back in it, and closed his fist around it. "Keep it safe for me? They'll only take it off me again if they find it."

  "I'll keep it safe for you," he nodded. "'Bye, Mary."

  "'Bye."

  He locked the cell door behind him.

  Only after he'd left, did she fully understand the implications of what had just happened: he had left her his shirt, and she had left him her necklace. The 'no strings' plan may as well have just left the building, along with the only man – or angel – she knew who could deal with her nightmares.

  She exhaled sharply. This was so not on her agenda.

  A tinkering noise sounded somewhere off to the left outside her cell. She looked around as far as she could see. All the guards were still out for the count.

  "Gwain?"

  Did he forget something?

  The lights flickered overhead, then went out, plunging everything into darkness.

  "Gwain?" she called out again, a little less sure this time. Her heart hammered in her chest. Something was off. It didn't help that she couldn't see a damn thing.

  An enormous hand clamped over her mouth, and an arm as thick as a tree trunk wrapped itself around her waist. Her muffled screams went nowhere. She writhed and tried to kick, but could barely move, her assailant was so strong – and probably not human judging by the size of the body she could feel against her.

  Words rumbled from its throat in a language she didn't understand. The ground began to shake, then it cracked, right across the middle of her cell. The air around them went from room temperature to scorching hot. Red light beamed upwards from the split in the floor – a portal?