by Grant, Donna
There was a long pause. “And the first time?”
She couldn’t think about it. If she did, she would sink into the mire of hopelessness and depression that had taken her before. She’d barely clawed her way out the first time. After everything, she didn’t know if she had the strength to do it again.
4
The magic hummed from the trees, the flowers, from the very ground she knelt upon. And Sybbyl couldn’t get enough.
Her entire make-up had been altered. She didn’t question it, merely accepted it. Because this was her destiny. She had seen it in a dream when she was but a small girl. For years, she had made her way from one task to another, each one bringing her closer to her dream of leading the Coven.
And now, here she was.
Finally.
She held the staff while hovering the palm of her other hand over the ground as she closed her eyes. Sybbyl pushed her magic down into the soil, calling every Coven witch to her.
“It’s time,” she whispered.
After the summons had been sent, she opened her eyes and looked at the staff. The First Witch had been the strongest, most powerful of them all. Some claimed she only did good, but Sybbyl had heard other tales that stated otherwise.
It didn’t matter what the First Witch did or didn’t do. Now that Sybbyl had one of the bones, she would be nearly untouchable. It was a dark mark against the Coven that the Hunters had lost the Blood Skull because it didn’t matter if the Coven gathered every bone from the First Witch. Without the skull, their goal of resurrecting the woman would never happen.
That had been the mission of the elders. Sybbyl had agreed with it, but now that she was in charge and holding the Staff of the Eternal, she saw another path. One that didn’t involve the other parts of the First Witch.
She wanted the Blood Skull simply because it galled her that the Hunters had managed to attain it. If she had been there, Sybbyl knew she would’ve been able to seduce Braith, ensuring that when he got the skull, he would have brought it to her.
But she would deal with Braith and the Hunters in due course. When she and the Coven swept through each village, it would merely be a matter of time before she ran across a Hunter.
A sizzle of power ran through the staff and straight into her hand. She smiled, breathless from the sensation of it. No wonder the bones of the First Witch had been scattered and hidden. People killed for such power.
She had killed for it. And would again.
Sybbyl looked around at the Witch’s Grove. It was large, as well as one of the oldest in England. This would become her new home.
She smiled as she climbed to her feet using the staff. The old trees were gnarled, their limbs intertwining with each other to form a wall. Within the trees lived the Gira. The nymphs were indiscernible from the trees themselves, which is what made them so dangerous.
But they were allies with the witches. The Gira could live freely in the Witch’s Groves and take any unwary person who was brave enough to venture inside without any consequences.
And Sybbyl knew that the Hunters willingly entered the Groves. Perhaps she could use that to her advantage. The Hunters believed they could get in and out without falling prey to the Gira.
Or anything else.
That was going to change.
Then there was the warlock. Sybbyl very much wanted him. But not to kill him. Since the beginning of time, men had held women prisoners, using their bodies however and whenever they wanted.
Now, it was her turn, and she had her sights set on the warlock. Sybbyl would keep him for herself, taking her pleasure until her belly swelled with child.
Maybe, just maybe, during all of it, she could convince the warlock to join the Coven. She would never share her rule with him, but together, they could be a formidable force.
Sybbyl turned in a circle. The beginning of everything started now. With her. In this ancient Witch’s Grove. She lifted the staff and pounded it into the ground.
Tendrils of black smoke shot up from the earth where the staff sat and wrapped around her, enveloping her so tightly that she could hardly breathe. But she wasn’t afraid. This was the magic of the First Witch, power she now commanded.
The smoke swirled around her several times before it dispersed in all directions. The wisps grew larger, thicker the farther from her they moved. Soon, the entire Grove was filled with them.
She tilted her head to the side and watched it all while slowly understanding that she was altered. A glance down showed that her gown was now the color of midnight.
Her head felt heavy, and she realized something was sitting atop her hair. She tentatively reached up and touched it. Carefully, she lifted the weighty object to examine it. Her face split into a broad smile when her gaze landed on the black crown with dozens of spikes of different lengths.
It wasn’t set with jewels but with a lattice-work of onyx crystal that shimmered even in the semi-darkness of the Grove. Sybbyl replaced the crown. It set upon her head as if it had always been there, just waiting to reveal itself. The crown was one of many things she’d been destined for.
Her gaze moved to the staff. If she had known what the leg bone of the First Witch would give her, she would’ve sought it out years ago. Now that it was in her hands, she would never let it go.
The whispers began softly, growing louder and filling the quiet of the Grove. Sybbyl looked toward the tree line and the Gira who gathered. She turned her head first one way, then the other, taking in the number of nymphs who watched her with a mixture of glee and fear.
Suddenly, her body pulsed with an uncontrollable need. She gasped, bending over as her sex clenched. Sybbyl fell to her knees as her gaze moved to the Gira. Somehow, they were doing this to her.
Their whispers.
Words she couldn’t quite make out reached her. But her body understood them. The louder their whispers came, the more her body ached for the release that swelled uncontrollably within her.
One Gira stepped away from the others. As the tall Gira moved closer, Sybbyl couldn’t take her eyes from her. Sybbyl had never looked too closely at the nymphs before. There were both males and females, utterly naked with branches and leaves for hair and skin like bark.
Sybbyl grasped the staff tightly in one hand while the other pressed against her aching sex. The female slowly knelt down before Sybbyl, her dark gaze locked on the staff.
Sybbyl fought against the tide of desire with determination and then magic. In retaliation, the Gira’s whispers increased. Sybbyl’s mouth opened on a silent moan as desire coursed like fire through her blood.
The nymph focused on Sybbyl’s face then. Her dark gaze lowered to Sybbyl’s breasts, lingering there and causing them to swell, her nipples erect and hard.
A small smile pulled at the Gira’s thin lips as if she knew exactly what Sybbyl was going through. Sybbyl wanted to hate the nymphs for such power, but it felt so good.
“We serve you.”
It took a moment for Sybbyl to realize that the Gira had spoken. Sybbyl blinked, but no words came to form a reply. In the back of her mind, she knew she could stop all of this. But she didn’t want to.
With a crescendo of voices, the orgasm took her unexpectedly. Sybbyl was rocked by the force of it. When it finally faded, and her breathing smoothed out once more, she lifted her head to look at the female.
The Gira smiled. “We serve you.”
With that, the nymph rose and returned to the others.
Sybbyl didn’t trust her legs. She remained on her knees and sat back on her haunches. Of all the things she knew about the Gira, she had never heard of anything like this happening. It rattled her. And it excited her.
The lot of them had sworn themselves to her without Sybbyl having to do or say anything. Few realized just what the Gira could do because they remained hidden.
The witches had always had a symbiotic relationship of sorts with them. Perhaps it was time for Sybbyl to move things in a new direction—with the Gira fold
ed into the Coven.
They were creatures of magic, after all.
The whispers tapered off to silence. As one, the Gira bowed their heads before retreating back into the shadows of the forest.
Sybbyl glanced at the staff. The only reason the Gira treated her this way was because she held a bone from the First Witch. They knew how powerful the first of the witches had been. Did they fear the staff? Or recognize the authority Sybbyl now wielded?
It didn’t matter. The Gira would guard the Grove, and Sybbyl’s magic would alert her to anyone who entered. If they got past the nymphs, then she would deal with them.
Sybbyl climbed to her feet. She was about to take a step when she glanced down. The dim light of a Witch’s Grove made it difficult for anything to grow on the ground. It was bare earth covered with years of decaying leaves and the bones of those who died.
Sybbyl noticed that the leaves had been moved to form something. She walked around the illustration to see that it looked like a face. The smile that stretched her lips was one of pure joy because she knew the woman. Helena.
The witch had escaped from the coven twice. There wouldn’t be a third time when Sybbyl found her. But she didn’t understand why the Gira had shown her this.
“Why is Helena important?” she asked, hoping a nymph would reply.
But only silence met her question. Sybbyl blew out a breath, undeterred. The Gira must know something, and it was time Sybbyl figured out what that was.
She put the staff before her and grasped it with both hands. “Show me the other bones of the First Witch,” she demanded.
The magic that went through her was so strong that it caused her to sway on her feet before she caught her balance. The flashes of places went through her head so quickly, she couldn’t figure out where each of them was.
It was time to come up with another way of getting what she wanted. “What part of the First Witch is closest to me besides the staff?”
There was a moment of nothing, and then an image of Helena filled her head. Was it mere coincidence that the Gira had drawn her face with leaves and then the staff showed the same witch? Surely not.
“Does she have one of the bones?” Sybbyl asked.
“The Heart.”
The two words filled her mind, spoken by another voice. Sybbyl frowned, not understanding. “No organs survived.”
“The Heart.”
With all the power she now held, she should be able to get the answers she needed. Sybbyl took a deep breath and tried again. “What is Helena?”
“The Heart.”
Sybbyl opened her mouth to ask another question when it dawned on her. She laughed as the pieces fell into place. “Helena is a descendant of the First Witch. She is the Heart.”
The staff warmed in her hands. Now, she had a target. Because if she could have Helena in the Coven, then she would control two parts of the First Witch.
Sybbyl jerked her head to the side when she felt someone enter the Grove. Within moments, the first Coven witch she’d summoned arrived. It would take time for the others to reach her, but Sybbyl wasn’t worried about Helena.
The witch was on borrowed time. No doubt she was hiding, but there was no place she could go that Sybbyl couldn’t find her. Not now. Not when she had the staff.
“Welcome, sister,” Sybbyl said to the witch, who stared at her with wide eyes.
5
The witch intrigued him. That was a rarity for Jarin. Most times, he was able to figure out a person after studying them for a short time. Sometimes, he didn’t even need to converse with them.
But Helena was different. Whatever the Coven had done to her the first time had left profound, deep scars. He wanted to know what happened, to discover what the Coven had done, but he didn’t press her further.
She kept her pain and suffering in private. All he had to do was look into her stunning green eyes to see the weight of what she carried.
While she gazed silently into the flames that seemed to dance specifically for her, he found himself staring at her. Much as he’d done since the moment he was finally able to see her face.
She was strikingly beautiful. Breathtaking, actually. With long, deep red tresses fashioned in a thick braid, and creamy, pale skin. Her oval face was perfection, with a defiant tilt of her chin that made him grin inwardly. Large, green eyes speared him with a glance, and full lips that made his balls tighten warred for his attention.
“What is your plan?” she asked without looking up.
He propped a foot on the ground and rested his arm atop his knee. “I am going to continue my hunt for Sybbyl. Any Coven witches that cross my path will be taken out.”
Helena was silent for a long stretch. Then she lifted her head and swung her gaze to him. “You are not worried about the Coven picking up your magic?”
“They are unable to sense it.”
“But if they could find you from using it? Would you do it, knowing that others could surround you?”
The way her gaze held his made him realize that was exactly how they’d found her before. “I doubt it.”
“Liar,” she said, but there was no heat in her words. “You have fought them, but you do not fear them. You believe your magic is superior.”
He shook his head. “I believe good will triumph over evil.”
“And if you ever find yourself held by the Coven and forced to either join them or die? Which will you choose?” she asked, her head tilted to the side.
There was no decision for him. “Death.”
At this, her brows rose high on her forehead. “What of your people? They would be down a warrior. Would you give up so easily instead of fighting?”
“You gave me but two options.”
Helena smiled as she scratched her neck. “So I did.”
“If there was a third option of fighting them, that is what I would do.”
“Will other Varroki join us?”
He hadn’t considered that. Warriors always fought alone, but he had changed things the first time by helping Leoma and Braith. Would his fellow Varroki feel the same? He knew he could count on Malene, and possibly her commander, Armir.
“I see,” Helena said.
“I did not reply.”
“Your silence said it all.”
Jarin blew out a breath. “I was thinking. I believe I would get aid, aye.”
“I will not. Not from the other witches.”
“What of the Hunters?”
A small frown formed as she shrugged. “I’m not sure.”
“They would come. All we would need to do is ask.”
Helena drew up her legs to rest her chin on her knees. She wrapped her arms around her legs, bringing her cloak with her as if using it like armor. “All the stories I heard of the Varroki... It makes me sad that all this time, I believed you to be nothing more than myth. Why keep yourselves secret?”
“There are many reasons.”
“You fear others trying to usurp your power or take your magic?”
He watched as Andi glided into the cave and resumed her spot on the rock. “I am sure that is how it began. We have lived for so long as we are currently, that change is not welcome.”
“Could you take me to your people?”
Her question surprised him. “Is it protection you seek?”
“No,” she said with a sad smile. “The Coven will never stop looking for me no matter where I go.”
“They would not find you with the Varroki.”
Helena looked back to the fire. “I would like to see a society of witches and warlocks who live together without being forced, who survive by doing something other than evil as the Coven does.”
“You do not believe witches can live together?”
She laughed, the sound going straight to his cock. “There are few witches who live together except for the Coven. The rest of us are spread out. Sometimes, there might be another near, but we keep our distance. Mostly out of fear. We do not want the others to know w
e have magic and be burned or hanged.”
“You could always get free of those people.”
“And have another group chasing me?” She shrugged. “I do not find that appealing.”
It seemed there was much Jarin had taken for granted. He had never worried about the people he lived with discovering that he had magic because all of them did, as well. Even when he left Blackglade, he didn’t care if anyone saw him doing magic because he knew he could get away.
Helena and so many others didn’t have that choice. Perhaps it was time that he mentioned that to Malene. The Lady of the Varroki had the authority to open the gates to anyone who sought refuge.
Yet that was unlikely to happen until the Coven was dealt with. Though they could never fully wipe the Coven out. There would always be those who did malicious things. Just as there would always be those, like him, who sought to stop them.
It was a balance that had to be kept at all times. The good could not triumph over evil for too long, nor could evil demolish good.
“Tell me what it is like to be a Varroki,” she urged.
He let her change the subject. “I do not live at Blackglade. Warriors leave and only return a few times a year to report to the Lady.”
“So you live as I do for the most part?” she asked, cutting her eyes to him.
Jarin shrugged and motioned to the cave. “I bed down for the night most times at places like this. A few occasions, I stop at an inn, but those instances are rare.”
“Because of Valdr and Andi.”
He gave a nod. “I search for any Coven member, moving from one to the next.”
“So you have no home.”
Jarin blinked, taken aback by her words. He had never thought about it. In truth, Blackglade was his home. It was the place he’d been born, but he was there so rarely that it couldn’t be called his home anymore.
“I spoke out of turn,” Helena hastily said. “My apologies.”
“You did no harm.”
She wrinkled her nose. “I beg to differ.”
“I just had not thought about my life in such a way.”
