9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC

by Unknown

  Saylym’s terrified screams filled the enclosed area as the roaring Flaymes rose around them in a solid wall. Heat licked at them, curled around them, attempting to smash through the barrier of magic, attempting to rip the mating pair apart. A ritualistic testing, a challenge thrust upon the couple as a whole.

  Talon moaned as he held tightly to Saylym. Shit. Where was the bloody enthrallment that was supposed to protect them from the knowledge of what was happening? Once the Flaymes erupted around them, they shouldn’t have known what was happening, but they did, and the agonizing pain whipped through them mercilessly.

  Abruptly, Saylym’s slender body vibrated like a tuning fork. Her eyes rolled back in her head, and she went limp in his arms. Talon stared down into her colorless face, stunned. His lips parted, but he discovered no words came to mind. His chest heaved with terror. His heart clenched with a sudden realization that shattered his soul.

  His mate wasn’t breathing!

  There was no rise or fall of her chest. He touched her throat with trembling fingers. No pulse was visible or palpable. No warmth touched him. Her skin felt icy. Waxy. Devoid of life.

  Talon threw back his head and roared his grief. She was dead. He’d killed her. She’d died in his arms because of him. The arms that held her against her will, forced a bonding ritual on her.

  A heavy, crushing pain weighted his chest, smashing his defenses. His heart splintered into slivers of blood-red agony. Tears rained down his face. A cloud of grief poured over him and Talon shook with the force of his deep sobs.

  He pressed her face against his bare chest and rocked, his body shaking as though a fever burned through him. Her head lolled to one side, as lifeless as a wilted flower.

  What had he done?

  Talon bowed his head and cursed the gods, the goddesses, Katch, the Guild and his father.

  But he discovered he could blame no one but himself.

  He was the one who’d destroyed her.

  Most of all, he cursed himself as he lowered his head, the silken curtain of his dark hair closing around them as he wept.

  Chapter Thirty

  Martha Corey, Mary Easty, Alice Parker, Ann Pudeator, Dorcas Hoar, and Mary Bradbury were tried and condemned. Eighty-year old Giles Corey refused to stand trial. The Court of Oyer and Terminer ordered the sheriff to pile rocks on him.

  ~Mary Bradbury

  “I do plead not guilty. I am wholly innocent of such wickedness.”

  ~Salem Witch Trials

  September 9-16, 1692

  Sanctuary

  The first fingers of dawn crept across the sky of Sanctuary, promising another warm, spring day. Topaz sat outside the closet door from which Celine refused to emerge.

  They’d reached a stalemate.

  He wanted her. Damn it, he loved the stubborn puss.

  But she didn’t want or need him. She scorned him for being an Alley. Well, by the gods, he was an Alley Cat. She had no problem telling him, loud and clear, just how much she hated him. He’d brought her the fattest, juiciest rats he could find from Eldora’s house.

  Celine tossed every one of them back in his face with an indignant, “Humph. How dare you serve me plain, ordinary house rats! I’ve never eaten a common rat in my life!”

  If he insisted on feeding her, then she wanted rats from the palace. Royal rats! The fat, juicy ones from the dungeons, the red ones with the white curly tails, those were her favorite and the only ones that would do.

  Man, was he in the doghouse. He’d never even seen a red rat, let alone one with a white curly tail. For certain he wasn’t getting a piece of that pussy until he won her heart.

  Topaz wiped the sweat off his brow. Celine’s low opinion of him cut to the bone. She was the number one love interest in his life. He had no intention of losing her. She’d be his mate no matter what he had to do to win her heart.

  So if Celine wanted fat, juicy, red rats with white curly tails from the palace dundgeon, so be it. “All right, Toots,” he shouted through the door. “I’m going to the palace. I’ll bring you back a sack full of fat, juicy rats. I’ve put a spell over the house, so don’t try to escape or you’ll get zapped with power bolts.”

  He glanced over his shoulders to the sound of Celine opening the closet door. She peeped around the edge of the door at him.

  “It might take me a couple of days to fill a sack. You just rest, cupcake, until I return. I’ll find you the best rats available.”

  Topaz left, his steps high. A pleased grin played at his mouth. He planned on keeping his little Persian busy for the next few years raising his kits–that is, if he ever managed to mate with her. He hummed beneath his breath. Quietly, he mumbled a low chant. In an instant, he was outside the palace walls in Droth.

  His Persian. He’d fallen for her in the second it took his heart to go from one beat to the next. With her in his life, his life would be full and rich. For sure, she’d keep him on his toes, so to speak. He couldn’t wait to give her a batch of kits. The idea of making pretty little girl kits with her that looked just like his sweet Celine thrilled him to his soul. The thought of becoming a daddy felt pretty damn good, too.

  In the meantime, he’d hunt and stock up on rats. By the time he finished with Celine, they’d need the food for energy. He licked his lips. Most likely he’d have to stalk her. Again, she’d probably play hard to get, but it was all an act to keep him interested, and he’d be careful not to make such a quick leap next time.

  Stalking the hot Persian was fun. He enjoyed the chase.

  But game time was nearly over. He wanted her. His sweet Celine had run out of time.

  “I feel good. So good. I’m gonna nail yo-ou.”

  * * * *

  Droth

  Black Drayke left Queen Helayne’s chambers for the second morning in a row. He paused just outside the door and rubbed his aching balls. Why was his lust to mate so damned unquenchable? His body ached. His cock throbbed. Still, he was pleased with the hours he’d just spent with Helayne. He felt like smacking his lips with the pleasure, instead, he allowed a smug smile to curve his lips. He wouldn’t be returning to the queen’s chamber.

  After two nights of torture, there wasn’t much fight left in her. He’d made certain of that. It pleased him to know he’d left her there in her chambers, suffering. Of course, MeLora would be furious with him. He shrugged. Ah well, he felt great anyway.

  Regardless, he’d accomplished what he set out to do, and something he hadn’t anticipated, still, he was finished with the queen. He snickered as he progressed down the hall. Ah, it felt damned good to gloat.

  Of course, the atrocities he’d committed on Helayne went a long way in making him feel this smug superiority and satisfaction, even if the acts were all done through the demon that presently lived inside him. At last he felt somewhat avenged against Talon for costing him his teaching position at the academy.

  And he’d had a damned good time obtaining his revenge.

  He snickered, remembering the horror that flashed in Helayne’s bruised eyes as he sipped at her soul. Kallibus hadn’t approved of all the things he did to Helayne, but since the demon couldn’t detach his body from his at this time, the demon had to remain silent.

  For the first time in his life, Black Drayke indulged his every whim, every fantasy, with Helayne. She’d eventually stopped struggling against his dining on her spirit. Once she became passive, he lost interest.

  MeLora, the cold, conniving bitch, had outmaneuvered him and taken up residence in the palace. She had moved into the east wing and King Darak settled in the quarters with her. The king hadn’t left her side, except to consult with the guild, which MeLora now sought to control.

  He wanted to blast the ancients into the universe and blame it on Talon, but it seemed as if MeLora had put a halt to his schemes and had made new plans that no longer included him.

  First chance he got, he would cast her soul into oblivion, so far it would never find its way back to her body.

 
Black Drayke swore. Yesterday, he’d discovered a magical wall MeLora had somehow thrown up to protect the entire east wing, the guild, and the council chambers. He’d been searching for MeLora to complete his revenge when he’d inadvertently run into the wall, so hard it’d knocked him on his ass. For some reason, he couldn’t penetrate her spell and break it.

  He couldn’t believe MeLora was capable of thwarting him.

  Where would she get such powers? Probably the wizard had concocted something for her.

  But he would find a way around her Black Magick.

  There was no way a witch could outdo him, at least, not one he’d allow to live and tell the tale. Black Drayke grinned, his thoughts returning to Helayne. He whistled softly as he strolled down the wide hall, savoring the knowledge he’d broken something Talon loved. He rubbed his hands together. “Oh, yes,” he hissed between his teeth. “I’ve definitely ruined forever something the prince dearly loves.”

  And he wasn’t finished.

  He suspected Talon had never before become emotionally involved with a witch, had never produced children, because he’d known Black Drayke was a threat and would somehow find a way to destroy anything he loved.

  “I hate him.”

  His goal to see that the waken suffered would soon be fulfilled.

  Black Drayke glanced around the wide corridor, realizing there was no color left in his vision. Everything was black, now. Black walls. Black ceiling. Blacker floor.

  Even sunlight couldn’t penetrate his field of ebony vision. The lights from the many-tiered chandeliers overhead glowed like darkly sinister beings.

  His body was completely demonic now. Fully developed wings lay beneath his shirt, neatly tucked in place. The inside of his mouth ached, sore and tender from the force of the razor sharp fangs stabbing through his gums. His cock weighed heavily, thick and broad.

  He snickered when he thought how Helayne had fought and tried desperately to scream. She couldn’t escape his teeth. He’d ripped her flesh from the bone, nipping at her like a hungry piranha. It pleased him to know her body bore hundreds of his bite marks.

  He licked his lips. Her flesh tasted nearly as delicious as her soul.

  He didn’t care if one of the many guards saw him now as he moved down the corridors. He was unstoppable. Power and magic zipped through his body, creating little bursts of static electricity that shimmered around him like a bright halo. Magick. So much magick–streamlined power, pure energy at its most formidable, and it was all his. Just let Talon come for him. Oh, yes. He wanted the prince to make a move against him. He looked forward to the confrontation. The second greatest pleasure in his life was going to be in blasting the younger heir to Droth to another plane.

  He’d rip Talon’s heart out with his fangs and eat it.

  Last night, before coming to the palace, he’d swallowed the last vial of potion Wizard Marcelo had concocted for him. As he drank the bitter drops, he’d pulled the wizard toward him with nothing but the strength from the crackling sparks flying from his fingertips.

  “What are you doing?” Wizard Marcelo croaked, terror in his ancient eyes. “Stop it!”

  “You are nothing, old man, nothing but a witness who has become a liability.”

  The stunned surprise on the wizard’s wrinkled face was priceless. Then he’d sucked the magical power from the useless wizard. To take care of the withered remains, he’d simply snapped his fingers and burned the remaining shell to a crisp.

  Now it was time to leave the palace. He slowly descended the Grand Staircase and walked out the wide double doors. No guards stopped him, because there were no guards left alive patrolling the outer rims of the palace. He walked over and around the charred bodies that lay scattered upon the palace grounds like blackened lumps of coal.

  He really must make an effort to locate Captain Koran T. The good captain just seemed to have disappeared from the palace and Droth, leaving it vulnerable to all types of unsavory events, but he couldn’t hide forever.

  He’d never thought the man a coward.

  Drayke grinned. Soon, the captain would taste a real warlock’s revenge.

  Chapter Thirty-One

  Margaret Scott, Wilmott Redd, Samuel Wardwell, Mary Parker, Elsbeth Faulkner, Rebecca Eames, Ann Foster, Mary Lacy, and Elizabeth Hobbs were tried and condemned.

  ~Salem Witch Trials

  September 17, 1692

  Sanctuary

  “No. No,” Talon shouted. Saylym remained still, lifeless. He stood bent over her, silently praying to the gods to spare her. As soon as the wall of Flaymes died away, he’d released her. It hadn’t made a difference. She remained just as pale, just as cold and just as dead.

  No signs of life marked his bride. No fluttering of eyelids, no movement of her chest and no sound of a heartbeat. He slid his arms beneath her, lifting her against his chest. “Don’t die,” he begged. “You can’t leave me. I’ll go insane without you,” he cried. “I know you believe I’m already crazy, but baby, you haven’t seen crazy if you don’t open your eyes and breathe.” He shook her. “Breathe! Damn it, breathe!”

  Her head lolled lifelessly.

  What could he do?

  He didn’t know what it took to revive a witch who died like this. It wasn’t the same as stealing a soul. “By the gods, help me!” He patted her icy hands, kissed her cold face. “Please. Someone help me,” he whispered. “I don’t know what to do.”

  Talon?

  Talon!

  Talon heard his name whispered–a familiar voice, a summoning he feared to face. He raised his head, and searched the room.

  Talon?

  The ethereal voice rang stronger in his head. Terror struck his heart. If the Prince of Death was here, then that meant—“No, Dym,” he pleaded, terrified. “You can’t have her!” He whipped around, peering about the empty room, but when Death was on a mission, no one saw him. “I love her. I’ve never begged for anything, Dym, but please, don’t take her from me.”

  Place your mouth over hers and exhale.

  “You aren’t taking her from me?”

  Not tonight. Now do as I instructed.

  Talon placed his mouth over Saylym’s and deeply exhaled. Power surged from him into her, so powerful, it nearly blinded him.

  Again.

  He clamped his eyes shut and breathed into her mouth. A soft, mewling sound, a slight cough sounded, and her body bowed into an arch. She gasped, sucking in the air he’d breathed inside her. More coughing. A ragged breath. The sound of a deep sigh.

  Talon stared at her face. Color rushed to tint her cheeks. The blue faded from her lips. Her eyelids fluttered and her chest rose in a natural state of breathing. He held her close, pressing kisses against her throat, her face, laughing, crying, all at the same time. Tenderly, he placed her head on the pillow and for a long moment, watched her breathe.

  “Thank you,” he whispered.

  I could do no less. Your witch has a beautiful sister. I would not see her grieve because of this one’s death.

  Talon frowned. “I haven’t met her sister.”

  I have seen her. I must go now. Duty calls.

  Talon felt a wisp of a touch on his shoulder, a slight squeeze, there and gone, and he sighed with relief. Dym had returned to the Underworld—alone.

  At that moment, he knew Death had given back to him more than his mate. Saylym was pregnant and she carried twins.

  * * * *

  Saylym opened her eyes slowly to the sound of a male’s deep sobs. She’d always thought the sound of a man crying stripped one’s soul bare. She frowned. Who was crying?

  Why?

  She couldn’t remember.

  Then it all came crashing around her. The pain. The flames holding them prisoner while Talon hammered into her body, the heat of his seed pouring inside her womb.

  Saylym blinked. “Talon?”

  He raised his head, tears streaking his face. He stared at her. “Saylym? You’re awake.” He reached for her then stopped, his wi
ld gaze searching her face. “Your eyes,” he whispered. He sounded astonished.

  “What?” She really didn’t give a good damn about her eyes. He was always remarking on her eyes, like he thought that was going to fix things between them now? She snorted.

  “They aren’t purple anymore,” he said quietly. “They don’t have three colors. Somehow the colors have bled together and created a whole new color.”

  Had he gone mad? “My eyes have never been three colors.”

  “They were, but now they’re pale green, with swirling, dark violet striations. Dual colors, not three.”

  He searched her face, looking for what she had no clue. His haunted gaze settled on her shoulder. He touched a band of stars across her shoulder. “I haven’t noticed this before.”

  “My birthmark? It comes and goes. You probably haven’t seen it before now. It’s been a long time since it last made an appearance.”

  He wiped the stain of tears from his face and inhaled deeply, then slowly exhaled. “The change in eye color will be permanent; purple and green, a sign you are bonded to royalty. The two shades represent the alliance of two powerful royal families.”

  He sounded amazed, as if he didn’t quite believe what he was saying. Heck, she didn’t believe what he was saying and half of it she didn’t understand.

  “Two royal families?”

  “Yes. You’re royalty or you wouldn’t have that cluster of stars on your shoulders. Only royal-blooded witches bear ‘witchmarks.’”

  Saylym snorted. “Right. Is this your way of making it right so your family will accept an Impure? I won’t lie and say I’m royalty.”

  “It won’t be a lie. You have royal blood. You must have. It’s the only thing that makes sense of everything that’s happened.” He caressed her belly, his hand unsteady.