9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC

by Unknown

  But this pleasure of simply tasting a soul could not satisfy the wakens’ ravenous hunger and their females began to take exception to such abuse. In time, the males learned to seduce a witch first. At the moment of climax, when she was at her weakest, the waken then stole his mate’s soul.

  Horrified by what was happening, the witches turned their backs on the wakens and sought their own ruler. They chose Leyla Winslow, the eldest and most powerful of witches, to be their queen. Combining their magical skills with Leyla’s, the witches summoned a place from the ash of the mystical Phoenix, a place they could live, a place away from the tyranny of King Osh, a place forbidden to the wakens, except at Beltane.

  They named it Sanctuary.

  ~Pages of history from the Winslow witches.

  In the Year of Samhain, 300

  Sanctuary

  The Time of Beltane

  Present Day

  Prince Talon leaned against a lamppost on the street corner and folded his arms across his chest. He drank in the female’s intoxicating beauty. A soft whistle of appreciation escaped his lips.

  The velvety sound of her gentle laughter touched his skin. Without conscious thought, he rubbed a hand over his heart as if she’d staked her claim and actually owned property there.

  Damn, she was lovely. Sexy.

  He frowned. She was too busy eyeing those infernal instruments of torture to be aware of him standing near the town-square. For some reason, that annoyed him. Witches always noticed him, and chased him. She’d notice him, too, he vowed. He intended to make damn certain she did.

  His breath caught in his throat as he watched her twirl around and chant. The sound of her sweet voice floated in the air, weaving a spell of seduction about him. Desire slammed into his gut, robbing him of the ability to breathe, to think straight.

  He’d spent hot nights tangled between the sheets with beautiful, seductive witches, both giving and receiving pleasure, but his body’s instantaneous reaction to the pretty across the street was nothing like he’d felt for any of the other witches.

  May first had certainly flexed her muscle early this season. Beltane, with its mystic, sexual, age-old pull, sent his species into a mating frenzy every spring. It was the time of year when wakens found it nigh impossible to resist the sensual allure of their females.

  Her soft chanting carried by the gentle breeze sent his pulse pounding. Her words spun around him like golden threads weaving a magical cloak of sensuality.

  “Oh, Prince, my handsome Prince. I’m waiting. Come claim me. My thighs are warm and welcoming.”

  He blinked, stunned at her sensual, inviting words. His cock rose and pressed against the front of his pants, aching to plunge between those warm and welcoming thighs. “Oh, yeah, baby, I’m right here,” he muttered quietly.

  She turned, and for a single second, it seemed she’d take that fateful step toward him. His blood heated, thickened. His groin tightened. Yes! Come to me!

  Then she stepped away, not even seeing him, and shrugged. “Prince Charming, my ass,” she said and moved on down the street as if he were invisible.

  Prince Charming? A brow shot up. That was a new one. Usually it was “Jerk” or even “Stubborn Ass.” Certainly, no one had ever accused him of being charming. Ah, but he was a prince. He had no intention of denying this particular witch her heart’s desire, even if she hadn’t been aware of him watching her.

  She wanted her prince to claim her.

  He intended to oblige.

  Talon’s smile faded. He squirmed, rolling his neck and shoulders. A strange tingle began in the pit of his stomach, skittered down his spine, and spread all the way to the tips of his toes. Ah, damn Beltane! Besides making one horny as hell, it did the most peculiar things to a waken.

  The itchiness racing its way through his bloodstream wasn’t exactly unpleasant, but it was distracting. His brows furrowed together. He needed to gather his thoughts. It suddenly dawned on him he could smell her mating scents. The sensual tug of poppies, along with the rich fragrance of the incense kyphi, washed over him. Seductive. Addictive. An age-old pull as elemental as time itself.

  The opium and kyphi aroma mingled in the air. It was familiar and alluring, as always.

  But there was something else—

  Another scent. Something…long forgotten. A teasing memory…

  A distasteful fragrance stored for hundreds of years in his mind. Prince Talon froze. His body silently screamed its repulsion. No! An Impure? The abhorrent pheromones of a half-breed? Normally, he’d have smelled it immediately, but with Beltane weaving its carnal magic, his senses were more attuned to the mating scents pummeling the air than the repugnant odor of her Impure blood.

  It can’t be right. She can’t be an Impure.

  He’d never be attracted to a half-breed! Desire and revulsion waged a war in his mind. He sniffed the air again, just to make sure.

  A half-breed!

  Why did she have to be an Impure?

  But—

  He turned, his gaze remaining on her as she danced across the street from him along the boardwalk. He couldn’t help but follow. When in blazes did she get here? How? She wasn’t local. There was no way he’d have ever missed her during previous mating seasons. Impures were never overlooked.

  Just what was she doing here, anyway? Who showed her the portal?

  Talon shuddered. He simply couldn’t be attracted to her. It was forbidden. But no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t slow the pounding of his heart. He couldn’t take his eyes off her. And his cock remained at high alert. Damn.

  A mane of silver-blonde hair lay piled in a loose knot of tangled coils at the crown of her head. Soft, wispy curls dangled around her ears and throat in wild abandon. Her skin looked as smooth as ivory silk, with just a hint of rose blooming in her cheeks. Her lips. Gods! Her mouth was as lush and delicious looking as a ripe cherry.

  Talon smothered a groan as he imagined her lips gliding down his belly and exploring his sex. Heat exploded, imploding inside him. His body trembled. He curled his hands into tight fists at his side and fought to gain control of his wayward body, his mind.

  He hadn’t been able to determine the hue of her eyes but they appeared to be pale. He bet they were ice blue, hot ice, and full of raging cobalt fire.

  Full, firm breasts, without a hint of a jiggle, thrust against her pink top as she strolled along the boardwalk. They’d fill a man’s hands nicely. Her waist was narrow. Slender hips, legs as long and dainty as a gazelle’s could easily wrap around a man’s hips.

  Fascinated, as revulsion and compulsion warred within him, he felt his cock twitch and lengthen. Stubborn thing. The urgent need to claim her, to mark her as his was overwhelming.

  Despite the sense of urgency to make her his, he hesitated. The repercussions of a prince choosing an Impure for mating at Beltane would be immense. Oh, but she was lovely. Innocent. He sensed her innocence, as if she’d dwelled in a protective capsule and knew nothing of Ru-Noc. It was there in the way she moved, the way she was fascinated by the antique instruments of torture, and the way she hadn’t noticed him.

  Any knowledgeable witch would have noticed him immediately and invited him to her bed. If he went to her now, if he charged across the street to claim her, he’d frighten her. To make the pretty feel threatened was the last thing he wanted to do. So Talon braced his shoulders against a lamppost and waited for his body to cool down.

  A little bell jingled when she opened the door and entered a shop across the street. Minutes passed. Beads of perspiration dotted his upper lip and forehead. Even now, after she’d disappeared inside the shop, he ached with violent need. “Ye Olde Witch’s Brew Shop of Magick.” He read the sign over the shop door as he struggled with his raging hunger.

  “There’s something not right about that witch, Prince. I feel it.”

  With a casualness he was far from feeling, Talon extended his right arm for the miniature-sized, violet-colored owl. It landed smoothly and walked
its way up to his shoulder where it perched. Talon stroked the downy feathers on its wing. “She’s half-illumrof,” he replied. “But I’m a big boy, Vox. I can take care of myself.”

  Vox gave what amounted to an indelicate snort. “You’re supposed to be house-hunting, Prince, not witch-hunting. You can’t get involved with a half-mortal creature. You know very well illumrofs are not to be trusted. Especially half-breeds, they have no loyalty to either race. You could end up dangling from a rope in the mortal world. Your parents and the Waken Guild will forbid a courtship!”

  Talon issued a low rumble of impatience. “I know why I’m here, Vox. There’s nothing that says I can’t take advantage of the opportunity to park my wand for the night.” He grinned. “Besides, I don’t think they hang people anymore in the illumrof world. Mortals don’t believe in witches, Vox. Not anymore.” He shrugged. “And who said anything about involvement?”

  “It isn’t you I’m concerned about, Prince. I know you. It’s Beltane, a time for building relationships and bonding. You’d never willingly bind yourself to an Impure. ‘Twould be madness. Absolute, total, frigging, you-have-lost-your-ever-loving-teeny-weeny princely brain madness—insanity of the worst order, but I see something in your eyes, something that worries me.” The owl slanted its fierce gaze on him. “If you pursue her, you’ll both end up with your hearts broken, Prince.”

  “You keep persisting there’s something permanent here. I’m not interested in her heart. I’m simply thinking mating.”

  “I know what you’re thinking.” The owl flapped its purple-tipped wings. “Are you listening to a damn thing I’m saying, Prince? There’s nothing remotely simple in what you’re thinking. You’re too complex. You’re headed straight toward disaster.”

  Talon’s lips curved into a slow wicked smile. “Nothing wrong with mating.”

  “Nothing wrong with bonding, either, and it’s certainly past time for a baby prince in the royal palace.”

  The smile faltered and vanished. “Shut up, Vox. No matter how beautiful she is, I’m certainly not going to risk impregnating an Impure. You know how impossible it is to procreate with so many witches infected with the virus anyway. Once the desire is slaked with this little beauty, a man would quickly become bored. But at least he can walk away without the concerns of a child being created during the mating session.” Talon gave a long sigh. “Besides, if I should happen to dilute the royal bloodline with an illumrof child—well—like you said, the king and queen won’t allow it.” He shook his head. “Honestly, all that domestication isn’t for me, at least, not with her. She’s ripe for bedding, but that’s it.”

  The owl lifted off his shoulder and hovered near Talon’s head. Its wings stirred the air with a gentle flutter. “I’m going to the wakens’ Library of History to research. Leave her alone, Prince. Do not touch her, not until I research her past. Without knowing her ancestors, even a simple mating could have serious consequences, particularly if you give her a child.” Vox flapped his wings. “And that is what Beltane is all about. Isn’t it, Sire, nature’s summons to reproduce?”

  Talon studied the owl for a moment. “You know her name,” he accused. “Don’t you?”

  “I’m the Wise Owl, aren’t I? Leave her alone.”

  Talon shook his head. “I can’t promise that, Vox. You’d best hurry with your research, because I’m claiming her for the season. She’s mine.” He laughed softly. “I don’t need to know her name to bed her.”

  The Futhar lifted off, circled the tops of a group of majestic Ark Trees, then turned north in the direction of Droth. Do not claim the witch. Not before tomorrow. Give me time to check her history.

  Talon grinned as the Futhar’s words drifted through his mind. “Sorry, Vox,” he whispered. “I’m afraid it’s already too late. She’s mine. She just doesn’t know it yet.”

  * * * *

  Saylym flipped on the store lights and paused at the big display window where she fiddled with the potted plants she’d arranged there the day before. She stilled, feeling eyes burn into her. Hungry eyes. How strange.

  Pinpricks of awareness heightened her senses and her body tensed. Her gaze flickered to a man propped lazily against a lamppost across the street. Huh. How had she missed him? How could a man look mysterious, sinister, and sexy as hell all at the same time? Somehow, he managed to do all three at once.

  Maybe it was the head-to-toe black he wore. Black leather pants hugged muscular thighs. His silk shirt stretched taut across a wide chest, a chest made for a woman’s head to rest upon. Her pulse pounded hotly in response. What else had she expected? This was the first hot male she’d seen in over a month.

  Her curiosity caught, she couldn’t help wondering why he was watching her. Even from across the street, she felt his eyes caressing every inch of her body. Felt his hunger. Her skin tingled. Heat crawled over her body, spreading to her loins. Her stomach clenched and jittered with unexpected need.

  Her need? Or his? She wasn’t certain.

  She only knew her body melted in response as images of the two of them tangled together on black satin sheets floated in her head. His naked body covered hers. She gasped as he nudged her thighs apart and teased her with the broad head of his thick phallus. Strong hands slid across her stomach in a slow, tantalizing caress. Long fingers plucked at her tight nipples before he lowered his mouth to suckle.

  Saylym blinked, dissipating the vision in her head. Holy shit! Her hands trembled as she brushed back a strand of hair. Her breasts ached and felt swollen. Her nipples throbbed with urgent need. She touched her trembling fingers to where she’d felt his mouth on her.

  Somehow, their bodies had connected as well as their minds. They’d shared those fiercely erotic images. Low in her belly, heat sizzled into a blazing fire, leaving behind a ravaging need.

  He wanted to claim her.

  Good heavens! Eldora’s words must have affected her more than she realized.

  Claim her?

  Ha! More likely, he was a perverted stalker. If he came near her, she’d tell him a thing or two. And she’d demand he stay out of her head! How dare he try and turn her into his sexual toy! Even as she remained trapped in the depths of his burning gaze, her chin went up in challenge. He acknowledged it with a slight dip of his head. A slow, wicked smile curved his lips. Blatantly, he adjusted the front of his pants. Bloody hell! There was nothing shy about the man.

  Saylym swallowed hard and tried desperately to ignore the jittering in her stomach. She swore she saw his lips twitch when she ducked out of sight. She crept to the door, and keeping low, peeped over the top of the small window. He remained there, staring at the store.

  His gaze couldn’t possibly penetrate the walls of the building and locate her, but still, she thought he knew exactly where she was inside the store. Icy fingers of apprehension crawled down her spine. She shivered.

  Stop it!

  But it shook her, the way he watched. Her heart jumped. This was the sort of man her mum had warned her about. She felt it. Well, he could just go right ahead and claim her, whatever that meant. She sure as hell wasn’t about to roll over and spread her thighs. If he wanted her, it’d be on her terms. And her terms were: “Hah! I think not!”

  As if he heard her dare, he slowly raised two fingers to his right temple, and sent her a brief salute. His shoulders moved as he gave a short laugh, then he turned to his right and sauntered down the boardwalk.

  Huh. How odd. She’d expected a little more from the man dressed all in black. Saylym moved to the counter to open the cash register and began counting the day’s start-up cash.

  Suddenly her stomach clenched with a peculiar spasm, as if sparks of chain lightning danced through her body. She gasped and doubled over. For a moment, she thought she’d pass out from the sizzling power plunging its way through her. Her head buzzed. Her ears popped. The entire sensation left her feeling lightheaded, yet oddly charged.

  “Whoa! What just happened?”

  She had no answ
er to her silent query. She wasn’t certain she wanted one.

  Not today.

  Today is for other happenings.

  “No kidding.”

  A second surge of power blasted her. Saylym jumped and stumbled backward. Her knees buckled under the onslaught of pure energy as sparks of electrical currents danced around her body outlining her figure in radiant blue. She crumpled to the floor in a glowing heap.

  Daggers of energy stabbed her eyes. She rubbed at them, moaning. Greasy nausea bubbled in her stomach. She tried desperately to ignore the prickly tingle rushing through her blood. Her hair crackled and snapped close to her ears. She had to get up, but her arms wobbled when she tried to push herself up from the floor, and she fell back down. She took a deep breath and gave it another shot. This time she succeeded.

  What in the world had just happened?

  Inanimate objects coming to life was one thing, but this she could not handle.

  Other happenings could just find some other place to happen.

  She drew a deep breath and exhaled, slowly and shakily.

  So where in hell was Prince Charming when she needed him?

  Chapter Three

  The girls were pressured to identify the source of their affliction. They named three women, including Tituba, Parris’ Carib Indian slave, as witches. On February 29, warrants were issued for the arrests of Tituba, Sarah Good and Sarah Osborne.

  ~Salem Witch Trials

  Late-February, 1692

  Page Entry…

  The wakens, growing ever more debauched with each turn of a century, were greatly displeased with their lack of freedom to mate when they chose. To punish the witches for their rebellion, the powerful Waken Guild assigned waken assassins to steal a witch’s soul for the least infraction occurring during the mating season. The waken assassins greatly abused their new power, using it ruthlessly at Beltane.