soulofawitch_463-9e1.htm

by Soul Of A Witch (lit)

  "It is all that is good and acceptable."

  "There is something more."

  "I am of nature, Phemar. There is nothing inside me that is wrong."

  His spirit flicked around her, testing the barrier. "You are strong."

  She didn’t reply.

  "I hope you are strong enough to face what comes."

  "I go to see your master. Is he so evil?"

  Phemar gave a wet, hissing laugh. "More evil than you have ever met, witch. You’ve been protected in your valley, but here the Accelis cannot buffer you from the horrors of humanity. You will see things that will turn your stomach." His eyes gleamed darkly. "Perverted things. Things that will test your courage."

  She didn’t answer, merely waited quietly, watching as he flicked to and fro, each time testing her barrier.

  "Oh yes, very strong." Phemar started to withdraw, floating back to Fredrico’s ship. "We will see. Yes, we will see."

  Beulah waited until he’d gone back into the ship, before returning herself.

  Opening her eyes, she looked down at her hand buried deep in the pot. Sweat had dried on her skin, and she felt sticky. Pushing upright, she went into the bathing cabin.

  Stripping off her clothes and pulling the pins from her bun, she stepped into the shower stall, welcoming the cold spray that danced along her skin. The water sloughed through her hair, and she slowly lathered her skin with the fragrant soap she’d brought with her. The scent of night blossoms filled the cabin, washing the stench of rotting meat from her senses.

  Running the soap over her breasts, she slid it around her stomach and across her hips. Glancing down, she stilled, then bent her head to peer more closely at her skin.

  On her left side was a dull purple mark. A thin line five centimeters long, it didn’t hurt, but when she placed her hand upon it, it felt a fraction warmer than the rest of her skin.

  Now what is going on? Feeling around carefully, she couldn’t find any lumps around it. Had she hurt herself somehow? Bumped something? Was it a mark left from the pain she’d experienced on the space station?

  Biting her lip, she stared at it. Maybe it was possible. After all, both she and Phemar had experienced the same pain. Maybe the fact that it was a mystical pain caused it to leave a mark on her?

  Water sprayed down upon her as she touched the mark again. Finally she gave up with a sigh. There was no point prodding and poking at it. All she could do was wait and see what happened. If there was one thing she was good at, it was patience.

  Completing her shower, she turned the water off, dried and wrapped the towel around herself. Entering the main area of her cabin, she crossed to the robe and reached in to take another of the gowns she’d brought with her. She’d have to wash the other one and hang it up to dry.

  Suddenly her knees started to tremble, and she sank weakly to the floor, the gown falling from her hands. On her knees, she leaned forward, gasping. Everything that had transpired rushed back at her. The stench, the evil, the knowledge that what she was entering was alien to her.

  Oh, she’d seen the effects of evil, had even sensed it from afar, but Phemar was right. She had no personal experience with the horrors that humanity could force on each other. All her experience came from helping to heal those who had suffered the torments brought upon them by others. A buzzing started in her ears, and she closed her eyes, fisting her hands and pressing them on her knees, trying to still their shaking. She needed her earth, the touch of nature. More than a plant, more than the small soothing presence of it’s oxygen drenched leaves. She needed open spaces, the sun on her skin, the wind in her hair, the scent of rain.

  ::Beulah. Help me.::

  The pleading words jolted her eyes open.

  ::Beulah, I need you. Please.::

  Wes’s voice came from a distance, faint and fearful.

  Immediately she focused on him, trying to locate his whereabouts. "Keep talking, Wes. Tell me where you are."

  ::I don’t know. Hortra has me. Please, Beulah, help me. Don’t leave me alone.::

  "I’ll not leave you to suffer, Wes. I’m coming."

  The contact was broken abruptly, and she felt the evil in the air. Instantly she shut off any form of communication, protecting herself instinctively. There was no way she could risk Hortra entering her domain.

  A knock sounded on the door. "Beulah?"

  Quickly she pushed to her feet, noticing her knees knock a little, even though the rising panic was now under control. "Yes?"

  "It’s Sinya. Can I come in?"

  "Of course." The door started to open, and she realized that she wore only the towel. "Wait!"

  Instantly the door stilled, and she quickly dropped the towel and pulled the gown over her head.

  "Is everything all right?" Sinya asked.

  "Just getting dressed."

  The silence on the other side of the door seemed suddenly... heavy. Settling the gown over her, she welcomed the familiar brush of it against her calves. Anything familiar was most welcome.

  "Come in," she repeated.

  Sinya entered slowly, his gaze drifting over her before coming back to meet her eyes. Concern was still expressed in the dark depths. She waited, keeping her features composed.

  "I just thought I’d drop in, make sure you were okay after what happened." Sinya stood just inside the doorway.

  "I’m okay."

  "You always say that." He tucked his thumbs in the waistband at the back of his pants, a pose she was now familiar with seeing. "Can you tell me who this Phemar is?"

  "Someone very evil. Corrupt."

  "I guessed that much. Who is he working for?"

  "I don’t know."

  "But you knew him."

  "He made himself known to me in spirit form." Beulah cupped her hands behind her back, relaxing slightly, finding Sinya’s presence soothing. "He has powers of fear and aggression, as demonstrated by that wind and the shards of metal."

  "He was sent to test you."

  "He said as much."

  Frowning, Sinya rocked back on his heels. "This is getting dangerous for you, Beulah. I didn’t think it would go this far."

  "How far did you think it would go?"

  "I don’t know. It seemed so simple when I first went to you, and you held all the answers." His gaze became more intent.

  "It was never going to be simple."

  "It was never supposed to be this bad."

  "We can’t know that."

  Impatiently, he thrust one hand through his hair, dislodging the tie that held it back at his nape. Thick brown hair fell around his shoulders in waves. "You know what? I hate the fact that we’re being used as pawns, that we don’t have control over what is happening, and that I don’t even know that Wes is still... alive."

  "Wes is alive."

  "How do you know? Can you feel him?"

  "He spoke to me."

  "What?" Sinya went very still, his gaze sweeping across her face.

  "He spoke to me."

  "What did he say?"

  "He wanted my help, he didn’t want me to leave him alone. I assured Wes I wouldn’t leave him."

  Sinya’s jaw tightened. "When were you going to tell me about this?"

  An unfamiliar spark of anger shot through Beulah, and she lifted her chin. "It just happened, Sinya. I didn’t have a chance to say anything, because you arrived almost straight away."

  "Did he say anything else?"

  "No." She folded her arms, pushing the anger down in dismay.

  She never got angry with people when they faced problems. She was supposed to help them, not get angry. The emotion was almost alien to her.

  Beulah watched Sinya prowl around the cabin, the impatience and frustration in every line of his lean body. Muscles pulled taut in his legs, clearly defined by the tight pants he wore. He was like a prowling lycat, a big one. Lean, strong, impatient. Used to having his own way, being master of his own destiny, and now trapped in a situation he hated. Freedom was important to hi
m, and the bars of others’ whims were closing around him.

  As he stalked past once again, she reached out and touched his shoulder. It was a gentle touch, neither forceful nor gripping, but he stopped immediately. Turning his head, he looked down at her. In his dark irises, she could see her face reflected.

  "I am truly sorry this has happened, Sinya. You must believe me."

  With a sigh, his anger seeped from him. "I know. I’m just not good at facing this kind of thing, Beulah. Bounty hunters, peacekeepers, other pirates, fights--that sort of thing I can handle. This mystic business, this spirit stuff--it’s beyond me."

  It was on the tip of her tongue to say that some of this was new to her, too, but she wisely bit it back. It would be of no comfort to him to know that. Fear it, she didn’t. Uncertainty at times, yes, she felt that. But it wasn’t going to stop her from forging ahead.

  Instead, she said , "There’s nothing wrong in taking a step back and recuperating, Sinya."

  "Was that what you were doing earlier? Recuperating?"

  Puzzled, she raised one brow.

  "You weren’t looking the best when we left that station, Beulah. In fact, you looked like hell." Turning to face her, he raised one hand and gently touched her cheek. "You still don’t look too good now."

  His palm was warm against her skin, and all her senses seemed to focus directly onto that area.

  Reaching up, she placed her own palm on top of his hand, felt the warmth slide into her hand as well.

  "What are you doing?" Sinya asked softly.

  "Feeling you." Closing her eyes, she drew a deep breath. "Do you know that no one has ever touched me as much as you have?"

  Silence greeted this announcement.

  His touch brought her comfort. Comfort and something else. It makes me feel alive.

  It filled the cold places brought on by the painful episode with Phemar, soothing the last of the pain away, replacing it with warmth and...

  Oh God. Oh nature. It can’t be...

  Her eyes snapped open at the thought she couldn’t put into words. Opening her lips to involuntarily voice the denial, she caught the confusion in Sinya’s own eyes, and knew instinctively that he felt the stirring of something, but if it was the same as her feelings, she didn’t know.

  The denial died before she could speak it. Died because he was lowering his face to hers, and she could do nothing else but meet him, her lips pressing gently to his.

  Something arced between them, and it wasn’t just in their kiss. Recognition of their spirits, of a kinship of true mates, made itself known to her. Heat sizzled in her veins, sparked deep in her woman’s place, and flared up to pour in an invisible glow into Sinya.

  It met a similar flare coming from deep inside Sinya, tangling with her own spiritual essence right where their lips met. The fiery meeting of both essences made their lips tingle, their bodies burn suddenly with a fire of passion and awareness of true mates.

  Sinya released her, stepping back so quickly he almost tripped himself up. Breathing heavily, one hand at his mouth, he stared at her. "What the hell was that?"

  Not knowing quite what to say, and equally as stunned, Beulah opted for a safe reply. "What?"

  "That--that flare thingy. That heat." Glancing around, Sinya added, "Didn’t you feel it?"

  "Yes."

  "So, what was it?"

  He didn’t know what he’d felt. Would he want to know? Was now the time? Mentally wringing her hands in confusion herself, Beulah managed to keep her features composed. How much should she tell him, when she still had to sort through her own feelings herself?

  Almost as though he knew what she was thinking, Sinya narrowed his eyes at her. "You know something."

  She knew, yes, but her emotions were in too much of a turmoil to try and calmly explain to him what was happening to them both. She needed time to absorb the meaning herself.

  "Tell me," Sinya demanded. "What just happened then?"

  "Sinya, I need to sort this out in my own mind before I can tell you." Beulah drew a deep breath, holding one hand up quickly when he scowled and opened his mouth. "Please. I can’t even begin to explain to you, if I don’t sort it out myself."

  He seemed in two minds whether to insist or not, but after several long seconds of staring at her, he finally nodded abruptly, turned and walked out of the cabin.

  Relieved, Beulah sat down on the edge of the bunk and stared at the far wall, her thoughts whirling at the new revelation.

  ~ * ~

  Striding into his cabin, Sinya entered the bathroom and peered at his reflection in the mirror. He paid special attention to his lips, which still tingled in memory of the kiss he’d shared with Beulah.

  By the suns of Coxyn! What the hell is going on? One kiss with the witch, and I felt like I was on fire!

  Shaking his head, Sinya rubbed one hand wearily down his face. Nothing was going as planned. One minute, Beulah seemed to have all the answers, the next minute they were all plunged into some kind of mystical mayhem. He was seeing things he’d never seen before, and feeling things for a witch that would give Drake a heart attack if he knew.

  The scent of night blossoms lingered on his hands, and a long, white strand of hair clung to Sinya’s shirt sleeve. Plucking it off, he held it up and frowned. If only Beulah was an old witch, things might be less confusing. Being young and beautiful, vulnerable yet strong--it called to his male instincts. Made him want to ride in like a knight of old and rescue her. Only she was the one doing the rescuing.

  "Shit." Turning on the tap, he cupped his hands under the cold water and splashed his face.

  Briskly he dried his face with a hand towel, and returned to his cabin. Determined to concentrate on less troublesome thoughts, he sat before the viscomm and brought Fredrico’s ship into focus.

  That merely brought back memories of Beulah facing off with the loathsome creature Phemar, then the intense pain she’d had, and how useless he’d felt, unable to do anything else but watch her suffer.

  Moodily he brought Fredrico’s ship in closer on the screen, then moved it further away.

  The further away the better. He wished he could do that in real life, because he didn’t want Beulah anywhere near that degenerate crew. The lust on their faces when they’d looked at her had made him want to shoot the lot there and then. To look upon his witch like that made him burn with fury. She was his and--

  Sinya stopped cold. Mine? Don’t be ridiculous! He swallowed. I mean, she’s mine as far as help for Wes. Once this is over, she’ll go back to her valley, and that’s it. Period. She’ll be someone else’s witch, whoever needs her next...

  That thought made him grit his teeth. The thought of Beulah being so close to some else...

  What if they kiss her? His nostrils flared. By God, if anyone kisses her, I’ll kill him!

  But then, she wasn’t his, so why should it bother him?

  Because she’s innocent in the ways of men. Some bastard might take advantage of her... His hands fisted so tight, his nails dug into the upholstery of the chairs armrests. She’s safe in her valley. She has powers. No one would touch her, none would dare...

  I dared. Twice.

  His mouth went dry. What if someone else did--and she liked it? What if they played on her innocence, and took her?

  Even as his inner self scoffed at that, knowing she wasn’t a stupid person easily led, his newly discovered jealousy reared its head and made him imagine things he never would have before.

  Beulah in the arms of some handsome scoundrel, the bastard’s hands all over her body, peeling the gown from her, bearing her to his lustful gaze. Laying her on the springy grass beneath him, plunging into the depths of her sweet, hot body--

  "No bloody way!" Sinya roared, bounding to his feet and slamming one fist on the table. "Over my dead body!"

  Spinning around on his heel, he came face to face with two of his startled crew.

  Drake looked at him in confusion, Franc with perturbation.


  "Uh--everything all right?" Drake asked.

  "Sinya?" Franc glanced around the cabin.

  "Is it a mystic?" Drake started to hawk, only to stop when Franc raised a threatening fist in front of his nose.

  The reactions of his friends brought things back into clarity. Blinking, Sinya sank back into his chair.

  "It’s okay, just a thought." He cleared his throat. "It’s nothing."

  "Must’ve been some thought," Drake replied.

  "Yeah." Sinya rubbed his temples, aware of a growing ache. "So much happening..."

  "Weird stuff," Drake agreed, making a weaving pattern in the air with one finger.

  Franc rolled his eyes.

  Welcoming the diversion from his troubling thoughts, Sinya accompanied them down to the dining cabin for a welcome, hot cup of una.

  But the thoughts stayed in the back of his mind, surfacing when Beulah arrived for the midday meal. There was nothing in her face to suggest she’d come up with an explanation for the sensations he’d felt when he’d kissed her, and he wasn’t so sure now that he wanted to know the significance of it at all. Wes is my priority, will always be my first priority. Nothing must interfere in that. Nothing. Glancing across the table, he met Beulah’s gaze. Beautiful face calm, she smiled a little and inclined her head the slightest bit, as though she understood his thoughts. He had no doubt she did, for the witch knew a lot of things.

  Soberly, Sinya nodded back to her. He thought he saw a fleeting shadow of something in her eyes, but then she smiled openly and turned to ask a question of Ephim.

  He must have been mistaken.

  Returning to his meal, Sinya allowed the conversation of his crew to flow and ebb around him in comforting familiarity.

  Nine

  Walking the empty halls, Hortra breathed in the cold air that permeated every corner of his fortress. Richly decorated, the fortress was truly something to behold. The cold stone of the walls and floors reflected the chill, damp air. The rich furniture proclaimed his wealth and power. But the cold drafts sweeping down the middle of the corridors were something else, dark things that plagued mankind, entities held to the fortress by Hortra’s power. Sadness and maliciousness both filled the uneasy atmosphere, and he relished it.