by Ann Gimpel
“I figured you would.” She smiled at him. “It’s why we’re out here walking and not rolling around in your bed.”
“That part will happen soon.”
Her grin expanded. “I’ll hold you to it.” After a brief pause, she added, “About those questions…”
“How’d you end up where I was? Did you use my blood?”
Liliana nodded. “I did. The short version is Rhea captured me, but rather than sending me backward in time, I was suspended in a whirling, tumbling capsule. I still have no idea where I was. It could have been a borderworld or somewhere a few hundred feet above Earth.
“It took time to establish a stable platform. More time to get a spell together. My bird was with me, and it told me to use a seeking spell, not a time-travel one.”
“Wise of it,” he agreed. “You need to know both starting and ending points to build a time vortex.”
“I know that now. All the while I’ve been playing doctor, watching over you, I’ve also been studying. You’ll find a pile of sourcebooks and scrolls next to my sofa.” Her smile was replaced by thin-lipped determination. “I have years of neglect to make up for, but I’ll never go into another conflict as magically inept as I’ve become.”
He stopped walking and gathered her into his arms. “One of my last thoughts was that I hoped you were safe.”
A corner of her mouth twisted into a lopsided expression. “Funny, you were in my thoughts as well. Once I knew I’d be casting a seeking spell, I had two choices—”
“Me or this castle.” He finished her sentence.
Liliana nodded. “Exactly. I picked you. Damned good thing too. If I’d teleported to the castle, you’d be dead.”
His heart swelled with emotion until it cracked wide open. She’d chosen him over safety. “You should have—”
She shook her head and put a hand over his mouth. “I know what you’re about to say, and it’s bullshit. In the same situation, you’d have found your way to me, not a safe haven.”
“You’re absolutely correct, léannan.”
“I know. Anyway, Rhea did a number on us. She thought she’d moved me out of the way—permanently. And then, she tossed the rest of you into a situation where she was fairly certain you’d end up swinging from gibbets. If Arlen hadn’t called in Druid reinforcements, I’m not at all certain I’d have had enough magic to break everyone’s chains.”
He cupped her chin in a hand. “You’re a brave woman. Resourceful as hell.”
She made a face and switched to Gaelic. “Aye, but Rhea is still on the rampage. She must know I escaped, and all the rest of us too.”
He’d already thought of that. “We’ll figure something out.”
“We have to. Arlen’s called a general gathering two nights hence on South Ronaldsay Island. All the Druids in this region—and three witches.”
“I’ll talk with him later today. See what he has in mind.” Sean pushed dark strands of hair away from Liliana’s lovely face. Her skin felt like silk beneath his fingertips.
“One of the agenda items is formalizing our marriage.” Her smile returned. “Speaking of which, it was a damned good idea on your part. The linkage helped me pull you back from the edge of the abyss.” She shook her head, a faraway look in her green eyes. “Funny how nothing in our lives is coincidental. If it weren’t for my work with the dying, I wouldn’t have had such a clear recognition of the liminal place that separates our world from what comes next.”
“When I spoke the Druid vows,” he said slowly and deliberately, “I did so because I knew you were the one woman for me. Whom I’d been waiting for. Certainty ran through me like quicksilver, and I couldn’t not have uttered the words to bind you to me.”
“Like I said, nothing is coincidental. Ready to go back inside?”
He pressed his lips to her forehead and then both cheeks before brushing them across her mouth. “Never readier.”
As they walked through the gardens, flowers bloomed around them, responding to their joy. Retracing their steps, they ducked through the terrace door that led directly to his rooms. Liliana pushed the door shut and followed him through the small study and into his bedroom, dropping clothes in her wake.
When he turned around, intent on undressing her, she was already naked. A satisfied, very male sound bubbled from him. “I seem to be a wee bit behind the curve,” he said and toed off his shoes.
“I got pretty good at taking your clothes off.” She ran her tongue over her lower lip. “But it would be fun to watch you undress.”
“Och, so now I’m a Chippendale model?” he teased as he draped his jacket across a chair back, following it with his shirt.
“They could never in a million years be as stunning as you. Do you realize you’re shining? Magic is spilling from you and lighting up my heart. And my life.”
He crossed to where she stood, arms open. She ran lightly into them and hugged him, hands splayed across his back. Sean closed his mouth over hers. Power was indeed sheeting from him, and he wrapped them both in his joy. He’d come home, found everything he’d ever wanted and more.
He tore his mouth from hers long enough to say, “Ye’re never leaving my side again, lassie. Not now. Not ever.”
“You won’t get any arguments from me. We’re stronger together. Now, can we get those pants off you?”
Laughter rolled from a happy place. “You’re always wanting me naked.”
“Do I hear a complaint?”
Instead of answering, he directed a thread of magic to push his sweatpants out of the way. Skin-to-skin, he pressed the length of his body against her velvety flesh and walked them near enough the bed to tumble into it.
Surrounded by heat, sensation, and desire, love rushed through him as he claimed the woman in his arms with his body, his heart, and his soul. Trials lay ahead. Major ones, but they were stronger together than apart.
That strength wouldn’t fail, and he’d make certain they staked out the future they deserved. One where they weren’t always one step ahead of the latest Roskelly plot to resurrect their Black Witch bloodlines…
Liliana sank her teeth into his shoulder.
Sean laughed again. “Did I miss a wee bit of vampire skulking in your blood, léannan?”
She tilted her head. “Your attention was, um, wavering. I merely intended to bring it fully back into this bed. And me.”
He wrapped an arm around her and smoothed strands of dark hair away from her face. “’Tis my nature to worry, lass. And to plan. Blame it on my Scottish roots, but point taken.” He brushed his thumb over her full lower lip. “I love you.”
Warmth spilled from her green eyes. “I love you too. We’ll get through this. Just because we haven’t trounced Rhea and my other dead witchy kinswomen yet doesn’t mean it’s not possible.”
“Now whose attention is wandering?” He snugged her close, cock jammed against her belly.
“Not mine.” Reaching between them, she curved her fingers around his erection.
Her touch was electric, enticing. His heart hit triple-time rhythm, and his throat clotted with desire. Words failed him, so he crushed his lips over hers. The woman in his arms meant everything to him. He’d protect her, care for her, shelter their bairns when they came along.
She shifted beneath him and wrapped her legs around his waist, the invitation unmistakable. She still had hold of him, and he let her guide him to her hot, slick entrance. After ripping his mouth from hers, he supported his upper body on his arms and slid into her in a single, sure, hard thrust.
Savage possessiveness swept through him, and he rasped, “Ye’re mine, lass. Mine. Now and forever more.”
“I could say the same. We belong to each other.” She bumped her hips upward.
The vista of her coal-black hair, heated gaze, puckered nipples, and pale skin splotched rose with desire kindled wild, unruly heat. His body ran wide open, and magic mingled with sex as he plumbed her. Sensation cascaded through him as she crested once, an
d then again. The third time, he abandoned control and juddered hard, matching her passion with his own.
Cradling her in his arms as their sexual heat faded from blazing hot to a simmer, he savored the moment. Tenderness blended with the protectiveness that had swamped him earlier.
“Aye, lassie,” he murmured in Gaelic. “We do, indeed, belong to each other.”
You’ve reached the end of Time’s Curse, second of the Elemental Witch books. I do hope you’ve enjoyed it. Please leave a review while the book is fresh in your mind. Doesn’t have to be fancy. A line or two will do it. Look for Time’s Hostage, next in this series, early in 2019. A teaser chapter follows.
Meanwhile, if you enjoy witchy books, you might like my Demon Assassin series. A sample from Witch’s Bounty, first of that series, follows.
About the Author
Ann Gimpel is a USA Today bestselling author. A lifelong aficionado of the unusual, she began writing speculative fiction a few years ago. Since then her short fiction has appeared in many webzines and anthologies. Her longer books run the gamut from urban fantasy to paranormal romance. Once upon a time, she nurtured clients. Now she nurtures dark, gritty fantasy stories that push hard against reality. When she’s not writing, she’s in the backcountry getting down and dirty with her camera. She’s published over sixty-five books to date, with several more planned for 2018 and beyond. A husband, grown children, grandchildren, and wolf hybrids round out her family.
Keep up with her at www.anngimpel.com or http://anngimpel.blogspot.com
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Book Description: Time’s Hostage
A witch with no loyalties… A Druid with a life-shattering secret…
Part witch, part demon, Sorcha’s been on the run ever since she escaped Hell’s gates. Bouncing through time, she’s managed to stay one step ahead of Rhea Roskelly, blackest of Black Witches, who wants her for her demon blood. Constantly looking over one shoulder is annoying, but freedom is worth any price.
Tavin used to be a Druid. Actually, he still is, but his magic took a decidedly unDruidlike turn a few years back. Rather than deal with his kinsmen, who’d be convinced he sold his soul to evil, he drops out of sight.
Things have changed since he left. A lot. Roskelly witches are part of the Druids’ community. To his dismay, another witch appears out of nowhere, except this one is half demon. Certain he must be mistaken, he drops his invisibility illusion to take a closer look. If Druids have been corrupted by Black Magic, he’ll have to intervene. The odds are hideous, but he has no choice.
Time’s Hostage, Prologue
Part witch, part demon, I was born in Hell.
Most demons get their start in Hell’s halls. Not true of witches, but I’m one of the unusual ones. Notice I said unusual, not lucky. My mother is a Roskelly witch. Because evil was hardwired into her, she fell hard for dark enchantments, sucked them down like nectar. I have no idea if she knew she’d be trapped behind Hell’s gates forever when she sashayed through them, but even if she’d entered the Dark Realm with full knowledge, she’d like as not have made the same choice.
I’m getting ahead of things, though.
This isn’t about Yanna, my mother, but about me.
The thing about being born somewhere is it’s all you know. I don’t exactly remember playing like little kids I’ve run into since I found a way out of Hell, but nor do I remember being miserable.
Not as a youngster.
No. That part came later when my demon father—a handsome fellow if you discounted his amber eyes and horn stumps—told me the time had come for me to earn my keep. I might have been five then, or as much as six or even seven.
Everyone’s childhood ends somewhere, but mine crashed off a million-meter cliff when I ended up siphoning blood from things that weren’t quite dead yet. In a backhanded way, it was perfect since I wasn’t very tall, and my victims lay on the ground. Easy enough to reach, but I felt their pain—and their horror. Like I said, if my youth held anything in the way of innocence, it departed damned fast.
Mom was no help at all. She loved Black Witchcraft more than she loved anything or anyone, including me. Like as not, she never even noticed I wasn’t around much. Hell’s not all that clean, but it has kitchens just like everywhere else. And a laundry. Eventually, I was assigned to both. An improvement from harvesting lifeblood from the dying.
I’ve never minded hard work, and I put in my time cooking and washing robes and capes. I was lonely, but no one else in Hell saw things that way, so I didn’t have words for what was missing. Elements like friendship or simple conversation weren’t valued. Mom stewed in her own demented world, only occasionally surfacing to glance at what went on around her.
Time passed, long enough for my body to take on a woman’s shape. There’s a lot of sex in Hell. Not much to do there besides eating and fucking, but demons don’t appeal to me. Don’t get me wrong, some of them, like griffons and satyrs, are beautiful, but I ran the other way when they tried to herd me into a corner, cocks swollen and sexual heat blasting from every pore.
I think I’d decided even then that I needed to leave. It was just a matter of how and when. Lots of reluctant recruits get stuck in Hell. Most of them don’t take to it like my mother did. Of course, she’d signed on of her own free will. I suppose it made a difference.
Regardless, punishment for attempted escapes was swift and sure.
Not death. No, that would have been far too easy. Hell’s punishments were sophisticated, like reliving your worst fears over and over until you lost what little mind you had left. My strongest asset was blended magic. Something about witchy power mingled with my demon blood gave me an edge. The demons and sprites and monsters thought twice about messing with me after I surrounded myself with magic.
Once I figured out they were afraid of me, I grew bolder. Daring enough to watch from the sidelines while demons came and went. The first time I saw a demon open Hell’s gates, I got ridiculously excited, so much so my warding failed and my hiding place was discovered.
I paid for that.
A hundred lashes that flayed skin from my back. Good thing for magic. It heals and heals fast, but I’ll carry scars forever. They’re not a bad thing, though. The slight tightness across my shoulder blades is a reminder, one that’s stood me in good stead.
It took a long time, years, until I succeeded in leaving Hell. No one counts time in the Dark Realm. It’s one of many differences between it and Earth. I planned and planned, holding back until I was certain I could pull things off. If I tried—and failed—the demons would have made certain I’d never get close enough to the gates for a second attempt.
Demons.
My blood, but not who I am.
Not sure quite what that makes me since Mother’s Black Magic gives me the creeps and makes my skin crawl with disgust. I grew to hate her, and the demons too, but Hell was the only place I’d ever known. Homes are weird like that. No matter how awful, they’re a macabre comfort zone.
Once I understood I’d become complacent, that my scheming and planning to escape were a hedge against boredom, I made my move. I was terrified if I didn’t do something, I’d never gather the moxie to leave at all.
I’ll spare you the details, but one dark day, a day like any other in Hell, I put my plan into action. It went off without a hitch. After shaking off shock I wasn’t being wrapped in chains and dragged to one of Hell’s fiery pits as punishment for insubordination, I ran through those high gates into rain and cold.
I was surprised I had the presence of mind to shut them behind me.
Barefoot, shivering, without so much as a cloak to drag over my head, I pressed forward, and the next part of my life began. It’s when I met my bird. My familiar in witchy terms. I’d been free for all of maybe an hour. Soaked and chilled, I diverted magic to protect my feet from the cold, rocky ground, when an enormous black raven flew in fr
ont of me. Wings spread, it blocked my path.
I may have left Hell behind, but I recognized magic when it slapped me front and center. For a long, hideous moment, I was certain one of Hell’s denizens had tracked me and was intent on dragging me back.
“Look deeper,” it cawed and showed no sign of moving.
I could have feinted to one side, could have run away, but something about the raven drew me. With a deeply sinking feeling, certain I was making a mistake, I looked right into its amber eyes.
“You are mine, witch,” the bird said. “I have waited long for you.”
“I don’t understand.” My words sounded thin, hollow, scared.
“No, you wouldn’t. Follow me, Sorcha Roskelly, and I will explain everything.”
Book Description: Witch’s Bounty
One of three remaining demon assassin witches, Colleen is almost the last of her kind. Along with her familiar, a changeling spirit, she was hoping for a few months of quiet, running a small magicians’ supply store in Fairbanks, Alaska. Peace isn’t in the cards, though. Demons are raising hell in Seattle. She’s on her way to kick some serious demon ass, when a Sidhe shows up and demands she accompany him to England to quell a demon uprising.
The Sidhe might be the best-looking man Colleen’s ever stumbled over, but she doesn’t have time for him—or much of anything else. She, Jenna, and Roz are Earth's only hedge against being overrun by Hell’s minions. Even with help from a powerful magic wielder like the Sidhe, the odds aren’t good and the demons know it.
Sensing victory is within their grasp, they close in for the kill.
Witches’ History Primer
…In the beginning, Ceridwen bent over her cauldron, stirring up the world. Sometimes the other Celts helped, but mostly they left her alone because she was so ill tempered. She created witches somewhere between Sidhe, dark fae, and Druids—borrowing a pinch of this, and a bit of that, to give them an eclectic mix of magic.
