The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of a copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by fines and federal imprisonment.
Please purchase only authorized electronic editions and do not participate in, or encourage, the electronic piracy of copyrighted materials. Your support of the author’s rights is appreciated.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the products of the author’s imagination or used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.
Sorcerer’s Legacy
Copyright 2016 by Carolyn Spear
ISBN: 978-1-61333-918-3
Cover art by Fiona Jayde
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work, in whole or in part, in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means now known or hereafter invented, is forbidden without the written permission of the publisher.
Published by Decadent Publishing Company, LLC
Look for us online at:
www.decadentpublishing.com
Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Guarding His Heart by Carolyn Spear
Welcome to the Wiccan Haus
Something wiccan this way comes to a mystical mysterious island where authors get to play and bring their love stories to life. At the Wiccan Haus you will meet Rekkus, Cyrus, Sage, Sarka, Cemil and Myron, all of whom return in most if not all the stories. Yes each one will eventually get their HEA as well.
We hope you enjoy the stories from all the authors and return time and again to keep up with the staff and meet new characters along the way. But fear not if this is your first or twenty-first story each book stands on its own. If you want to know more about the series please sign up for our newsletter.
Wiccan Haus Order of Books
Shifting Hearts by Dominique Eastwick
A Man Worth Fighting For by Sara Daniel
An Apple Away by Kate Richards
Siren's Serenade by Dominique Eastwick
Psychic Lies by Sara Daniel
Unveil my Heart by Nya Rayne
Finding Her A-Muse-ment by Rebecca Royce
Guarding His Heart by Carolyn Spear
Lifebound by Leigh Daley
The 13th Guest by Rebecca Royce
A Bride Worth Fighting For by Sara Daniel
Sorcerer’s Legacy by Carolyn Spear
Coming Soon
Healing His Soul's Mate by Dominique Eastwick
Claiming Trinity by Kali Willows
Soul of Flame by Merryn Dexter
Also by Carolyn Spear
Guarding His Heart
Sorcerer’s Legacy
Librarian Rebecca Jones has always found solace in books.
The death of her grandmother leaves her alone in the world. An inherited old Welsh scroll renews her desire to find the father she never knew. She hopes fairytale Wiccan Haus will yield the answers she needs.
Descendent of the inspiration for the Merlin legend…
Ian Branson lives with the responsibility of protecting humans and paranormal beings. He takes an impromptu vacation with the Rowans of Wiccan Haus, seeking healing for his out of control psychic abilities.
As soon as Ian meets Becca, he feels the pull of his soul mate.
Love has no place in his life, but he cannot deny the peace only she can provide. Becca finds her Welsh knight in shining armor to translate her scroll, but passion tempts her from her quest to find her father.
As their relationship blooms, Ian fears putting another loved one in jeopardy. A tryst isn’t enough but Ian’s charmed solution goes awry. With his emotions into a tailspin, he is forced to sacrifice his pride and ask the formidable eldest Rowan for help
.
Will Sarka’s magic reverse the sorcerer’s spell and will Becca accept Ian’s legacy and her own?
~A Note from the Author~
Welcome to Wiccan Haus. I know you’ll love this series as much as I do. It is a world of possibilities, an escape from our daily realities. An island with shifters, witches, and all manner of paranormal beings, there’s mystery and magic around every bend, in each encounter.
I’m Carolyn Spear, mother of two sweet girls and wife of one fabulous husband. Reading, gardening and exploring are my passions. I don’t really “write” but rather channel my characters' stories to share with others. A strange combination of small town girl, travel enthusiast and geek, I am thrilled to be a part of the shared world of the Wiccan Haus.
For Becca’s personality, I channeled my inner child. I still believe in magic and knights in shining armor. She gets a little more than she bargains for at Wiccan Haus. Wizards and werewolves and vampires, oh my! Ian Branson is an older than usual hero, but I like my heroes a little more experienced. A little uptight and a little supercilious, he is surprised at the feral passion Becca unlocks in him. He has to deal with all the emotions he keeps under lock and key to function. I think he exemplifies many of us who function more than live. And it’s a Merlin-inspired tale, who I’ve always felt got a raw deal at the end of his life so I wrote him a different ending.
I hope you’ll enjoy this story as much I did in telling it. I’d love to hear your comments! You can contact me at [email protected].
Dedication
For my fabulous, supportive husband who supports my writing addiction with chocolate and coffee. Thank you so very much.
Sorcerer’s Legacy
A Wiccan Haus Story
By
Carolyn Spear
Chapter One
Rank has its privileges.
Ian Branson bit back an impatient curse. Not even the cleansing sea air soothed his ragged nerves.
The ferry shuttling the dozen humans to the island chugged forward in the soupy fog at a snail’s pace. The rain dripped down with irritating consistency like a clock’s second hand ticking in slow motion. He glanced at the rest of the passengers. One poor sap had lost his lunch before they’d even left the safety of the Maine harbor, though the others appeared made of sterner stuff. Maybe they were native Mainers.
Sure, rank had its privileges.
He never pulled rank. This time was different. He needed anonymity. After contacting Wiccan Haus for a well-deserved impromptu vacation, the Rowan siblings had granted his request to accompany the human guests on the ferry.
If he had traveled with the paranormal guests through the high security portal, someone would have recognized him at the main portal station. Being the Syndicate’s chairman of R & R—Rules and Regulations on the Lawful Use of Magick and Innate Powers—meant enemies and allies alike knew his face. While he parlayed his position—for once—to secure special treatment, he preferred to be just Ian on this retreat.
Who am I kidding? This is no retreat. This is a bloody intervention.
He was a basket case.
He needed to get away like he needed his next breath. Focusing on work was next to impossible. His heart demanded revenge on those who had attacked his son at his school.
Allan was safe—thank the gods and his bodyguard Trevor Greene—but innocent women and children had been slaughtered. The damn Mundus Novus, the latest and nastiest of the rebel para factions, had kidnapped Allan’s teacher, Cassidy Sinclair, and Dana, the pregnant wife of Wiccan Haus’s head of security, Rekkus. Not all paras followed the Wiccan rede
of an it harm none, much less more structured laws.
Safety was an illusion.
He ran his hand through his hair then pushed his fingertips into his throbbing temple.
Darkness threatened his control and his sanity. He should be filled with anticipation over being surrounded by magick, free to release the sorcerer he’d hidden under suits and ties. Instead, the minutes ticked by in slow motion. He didn’t care to socialize with any of the other passengers, not until he regained his balance.
To pull his thoughts from the dark shadows of his mind, he idly perused the guests near him. Two men, apparently involved from the joined hands and ease of nonverbal communication, leaned on the railing closer to the bow. An older woman smiled easily at a younger woman—probably her daughter or niece—who pointed to the island rising from the sea like a siren beckoning them with her song.
A good sign, waxing poetic. A hopeful sign.
The hairs on the back of his neck stood up. Someone watched him. He didn’t trust his instincts to tell him if the person posed a threat. Right now everyone he met posed a threat. He stretched his arms up and worked the real kinks out of his neck while using the movements to camouflage looking around.
There.
For a split second, he caught the curious stare of the pretty redhead on the padded bench in front of the wheelhouse. Her hazel eyes widened and her mouth fell open in a small gasp at being caught observing him. A rosy blush spread quickly from the low neck of her clingy royal-blue sweater to her red roots. Probably Irish heritage.
Maybe simple female appreciation. Maybe something more sinister.
His gaze settled on a cameo above just a peek of cleavage. He restrained an unexplainable tidal wave of lust and attraction. Never had he experienced such a strong first reaction to a female. For a moment, he yearned to go to her, longed to touch her. He inhaled the scent of lavender mixed with salt from the rolling seas. Getting involved with a woman was the last thing he needed. At least right now.
Female company would be a good reward for regaining his balance. Hmm. Possibilities....
Ignore him. You have more pressing matters.
Becca Jones sighed as she forced her attention back to the open diary in her hands. Worn from years of use with its first owner, the book written in a strange tongue refused to reveal any pertinent information. The ruby ring she’d discovered in her grandmother’s safety deposit box rotated freely on her middle finger as she nervously played with it. The letter with it said it had belonged to her father.
Who was her father?
If only the diary provided more details. Her late mother had written about everything but her father—friends, parties, homework even, for heaven’s sake. Her mother had conceived her at the tender age of seventeen and been killed in a car accident when Becca was just a toddler.
I wished I’d known her. Am I like her in temperament or personality?
She didn’t look like her; pictures showed a young, petite Lisa Jones with light-blonde hair. Becca’s was auburn. Her grandmother Helen refused to talk much about her, said it hurt too much. When her grandmother died a few months ago, she’d inherited everything, including the diary and another book she needed to translate. Instead of the information she craved about her parents, more questions swirled in her head.
Answers to her past inspired this hastily planned trip. How she’d get them or why this place drew her, she didn’t know. Wiccan Haus had a reputation for healing and she needed that, too. The hole in her heart left by the loss of her mother and never knowing her father had widened to a chasm with the death of her last living relative.
She was the last on her mother’s side. Did she have family on her father’s side? Would they want to know her?
The change in the rumbling motor’s timbre pulled her out of her thoughts. People around her gathered their belongings, restless to get on with their holiday. They obviously had a clear purpose, a clear sense of self. She, on the other hand, had never been at such loose ends.
Who am I?
She rubbed her grandmother’s cameo for comfort.
Mother, help me find what I’m looking for. Strangely, though she didn’t remember her mother, she’d always spoken to her, felt her presence.
She grabbed her heavy leather backpack and began to sling it over her shoulder. It snagged on something. With an absent tug, she focused on the queue developing near the bow.
“Let me help you with that.”
Her heart leaped in her chest as she swung to see the owner of the smooth, deep voice. Her gaze collided with the man who’d caught her studying him before. Face-to-face he appeared older than she’d expected from her first impression of his lean physique. His soft green eyes contrasted with the stern set of his mouth, both framed by a few fine lines of age. Longish dark-brown hair shot through with generous silver waved freely about his face in the stiff breeze.
She shook herself out of her stupor when he cocked an eyebrow.
I’m staring. Again.
Suppressing the desire to fan her heated face, she nodded. I’m an idiot. A blithering idiot.
After easily hoisting her bag over his shoulder, he waited wordlessly for her to join the line.
Why didn’t I smile and introduce myself? That would have been polite. He’s just being polite, and I probably won’t see him during the week we’re here. And I am talking to myself instead of conversing with another human being.
Only not so courteous as to introduce himself. Or ask to help her. He’d offered more as a foregone conclusion. Dressed in a brown tweed blazer over russet tailored slacks, he exuded a certain upper class confidence she lacked.
Perhaps unearthing her past would help her discover who she really was and illuminate a path for the future. Give her a foundation to build her own self-esteem.
The crowd of them, thirteen she counted, meandered off the boat in a crooked line to follow the winding path to Wiccan Haus.
Like cattle.
Nervous laughter bubbled out and she quickly slammed her hand over her mouth to stifle it.
“Hmm,” said the handsome man with the deep voice. “Share, if you wouldn’t mind. I could use some humor.”
She didn’t dare look at him. She’d just imagine his words coming out as moos. “I was thinking we resembled cattle being taken to market.”
He snorted and chuckled. “I suppose we do.”
Embarrassed, she refrained from further comment and hurried behind her fellow bovines. She always said what she thought and, when she said nothing, it was because her thoughts wouldn’t be appreciated or appropriate. Her imagination worked overtime and her mouth continually got her in trouble.
Even now, the Tudor house before her rose from the ground three stories like Jack’s beanstalk. The huge edifice seemed out of place on this mysterious island in the middle of the mist. In her whimsical mind’s eye, a shimmering circle of witches dropped a gold seed on the ground, repeated a spell three times, and the imposing edifice rose fully built from the soil. Silliness, her grandmother would have said—had said—on many occasions at her wild imagination.
She’d learned to keep her thoughts inside. Books were her friends and, at times, her salvation. Adventure, love, and danger waited in every story and, when she needed one, a happy ending.
She hoped to find her happy ending here in this magical place.
Chapter Two
“Chairman.”
Sage Rowan’s mellifluous voice alerted him to her presence. He sighed. Normally his own empathic abilities, while self-dampened, allowed him a sort of proximity sensor. Right now, his uncontrolled abilities left him vulnerable.
The youngest Rowan sibling’s serene beauty disguised a steely inner strength. Small in stature, slim and waiflike, Sage’s sweet nature radiated despite the family’s tragic history. He’d been the council member to push for granting the island to Cyrus Rowan in appreciation and compensation for his service to the Syndicate.
&nb
sp; The gift would never repay the murder of three of his six siblings for that service.
Cyrus had needed a secure location to avoid the assassins looking to cash in on the bounty rebels had posted for his head. This magically protected fortress-cum-spa provided it.
Cyrus and Rekkus, their head of security, prowled—an accurate description for the way the two huge men moved—toward the front desk. Both men, tall, dark, and deadly, strode with the lethal grace of stalking panthers. In Rekkus’s case, a tiger.
He acknowledged them with a slight tilt of the head as Sage glided to him and clasped his hand in hers. Her perpetual clean scent of the herbs she nurtured engulfed him. Her other brother, Cemil, who matched her in pale coloring and calm temperament, stood relaxed at her side.
She’s like an angel.
A knowing smile played at Cemil’s lips.
I must be transparent.
The island’s only absent major player was Sarka. He’d consulted with the eldest Rowan—a powerful alchemist—when dealing with cases relating to her specific craft and endured the lash of her acid tongue. She’d virtually made him beg to grant his last-minute request. Fine with him if she never appeared for the next week.
Myron, the Romani with a light-blue streak through her dark brown hair, worked the front desk, flipping her ever-present cards. Every time he’d visited, she’d been behind that desk. Did the woman never sleep? She arched a perfect black brow and tilted her head toward the card.
The queen of hearts. A trustworthy lover or mate. Can’t be for me.
Sorcerer's Legacy Page 1
