Kimi looked from one to the other, mouth open. “Guys, I’m really not. I haven’t even missed… I mean it’s not time…” She blushed furiously. She stared at Damien, who still hadn’t said anything. “I don’t understand, how…” Suddenly she realised. Their first time, when they’d blown the power grid, they hadn’t used any protection. The only time they’d done it without a condom, and she’d fallen pregnant. She covered her eyes with a hand, calculating quickly in her head. She would have been about halfway through her cycle, which meant she was literally only four weeks pregnant.
She felt a gentle pressure on her other hand and realised Damien was holding it. He walked out of the library, pulling her with him. Without looking at the others, she followed him. He led her into the foyer, stood for a moment seeing all the people there and cursed, then walked outside.
There it was quieter. Now the evil energy had dispersed it had stopped raining, and when she looked up, the stars were out.
“Are you warm enough?” he asked, rubbing her arms.
“I have no idea.” She was shivering, but she didn’t know if it was cold or shock. He disappeared briefly, then reappeared with one of his jackets and placed it around her shoulders.
He pulled the jacket close around her, holding it by the lapels as he had done that first night in the woods. Then, biting his lip, he pulled her into his arms.
She leaned her head on his chest, her thoughts rattling around in her head like dice in a cup. Oh God, what had she done?
“I’m sorry,” he whispered, confirming her thoughts. Nobody owned him—he’d told her that. I’m in charge of my own life. I write my own history, he’d said, making it clear he didn’t want her forcing his hand. And yet he’d also told her they were written in the stars.
She pulled back and looked up at him. “Are you? Sorry I mean.”
“You’re only twenty-one. I kidnapped you, dragged you all the way across the country, put your life in danger. The Elders were right—I should have been able to control myself. I can’t believe I’ve forced this on you.”
Her eyebrows rose in surprise. “You’ve forced it on me? I was thinking the same thing about you.”
He stared at her. She stared back, her heart thumping. For the third time since she’d met him, time seemed to slow. The voices in the foyer faded into the background, and there was only Damien and his deep blue eyes, the smell of the rain in the undergrowth, and the brightness of the stars above their heads.
“I didn’t see this in the constellations,” he said softly.
“No.” She was afraid to speak, afraid to break the spell, but she knew she had to say something. “But nebulae give birth to new stars all the time, don’t they?”
He nodded, starting to smile. “The child of a Midnight Shaman and a witch? That’s going to be some special baby.”
“Just like you,” she said, breathless.
He tipped his head, amused. “I suppose so.”
“So…” She swallowed. “You don’t want me to go? Back to London?”
He stared at her in surprise. “Go? Of course not.” He must have seen the relief on her face, because he frowned. Stepping closer, he took her face in his hands. He kissed her gently. Then he wrapped her in his arms again.
“Anyway you can’t go,” he said, sounding mischievous. “I distinctly remember some promise you made about removing my socks.”
She laughed. “Trust you to remember that.”
“Oh, I remember everything you said in the car. Don’t think I’ve forgotten about your promise to elaborate on that little story.”
Hearing her chuckle, Damien smiled. Protectiveness surged through him as he hugged her, and he imagined the tiny lifeform embedding itself inside her, barely bigger than one of the stars twinkling above his head. He looked up, seeing the Plough and Andromeda, Scorpio and Orion, wheeling above his head. He studied the constellations, feeling the shift of the stars in his blood, the patterns forming and moving, marking out potential paths for his future. Diamonds glittering in a gold ring—the birth of new stars—binary stars circling each other for millennia—old stars exploding, then being reborn in a cloud of gas and dust. A billion and one possibilities, the wheel of time going around and around again.
Over the top of Kimi’s head, he saw a figure appear at the edge of the forest. A man on a horse, the shadow of antlers behind his hair. Damien studied him, his arms tight around the mother of his child. Not yet, he thought. I have a lifetime to experience here first.
The horseman raised a hand, and disappeared into the woods.
About the Author
Serenity Woods lives in the sub-tropical Northland of New Zealand with her wonderful husband and gorgeous teenage son. She writes fun, flirty, and sexy romances in a variety of romantic sub-genres. She’s won several writing competitions and is a member of the Romance Writers of New Zealand. She would much rather immerse herself in reading or writing romance than do the dusting and ironing, which is why it’s not a great idea to pop round if you have any allergies. You can check out all her books at:
http://www.serenitywoodsromance.com.
If you enjoyed Midnight Shaman, Fire Witch, you might also enjoy Black Hawke Down by Serenity Woods.
Nature witch, Captain Imogen Williamson, is on the run, blamed for a murder she didn't commit, hunted by the Supernatural Unit of the British Army desperate to keep quiet the secret Imogen's discovered. She knows it won't be long before she's found, but doesn't suspect it will be Major Cameron Hawke—Iron Warlock and ex-lover—who'll be the first to find her.
Hawke thinks she's defected to Chaos and knows he's got to put aside his feelings for her so he can complete his mission, but a moment of weakness makes him falter. Captured and restrained like an animal, he finds himself at Imogen's mercy. He thinks it's only his life at stake, but when Imogen tells him getting pregnant is her only way of staying alive—and he's going to help her whether he likes it or not—he soon realizes his self respect and dignity might be on the way out too . . . .
Excerpt:
It's not often a man is sent to assassinate the love of his life.
Major Cameron Hawke waited in the shadows, still and silent, icily calm. Almost invisible with his black combat suit and jet-black hair, he studied the doorway of the motel unit where the ex-girlfriend he'd hunted halfway across the world had finally gone to ground. How ironic—and yet fitting—he'd been the first to track her down. Wanted for murder, and for treason against the British Crown, she'd also broken his heart. It was only fair he'd be the one to put a bullet through hers.
He touched the space between his eyebrows and activated his second sight. The midnight scene sprang into color, the orange and lemon trees pulsing with a green glow, while smaller, red auras showed nocturnal animals hidden in the undergrowth. But Hawke kept his attention pinned to the motel door. The frame glittered with scarlet dust, illuminated by the protective seal she'd placed on it.
Normally, he would have cursed, knowing any magical seal set by Imogen was going to be impenetrable. However, the glitter appeared dim, not as vibrant as it should be, dull patches indicating the seal's age. Obviously, she hadn't bothered to renew the spell, had no doubt thought she'd be safe for several days. But then she hadn't known he was tracking her.
The phone on Hawke's belt vibrated against his hip and he removed it, dropping to his haunches, keeping one eye on the door. The message on the display came from headquarters—the New Zealand branch of the S.U.—the Supernatural Unit of the British Army. They wanted to know if he'd found her yet.
Hawke studied the text for a moment. Then he hit reply and quickly thumbed in: Nt yet, posibly n range, LMK wen ur near. He hit send and slid the phone back onto his belt. He lied easily enough. Even without the seal on the door, he would have known she was in that room. He sensed her, knew the pulse of her aura as well as other, ordinary men knew their girlfriend's perfume. But he didn't want to report her as found. Not yet. He'd be damned if someone else came in and sp
oiled his moment of victory. He wanted to take her down himself.
She'd led him a merry dance, no doubt about that. He'd tracked her across Europe, lost her temporarily in Rome, then picked her up in Prague. He'd trailed her to India and across the seas to Singapore, then finally followed her to the other side of the world, to the two islands comprising New Zealand, adrift in the Pacific Ocean. There, he'd had trouble pinning her down; she'd left the main cities and holed up in a tiny town in the tropical Northland, and she'd clearly thought she was safe, for a while at least.
Hadn't she guessed he would be sent to find her? Perhaps she didn't think she was important enough. She obviously hadn't realized practically the whole of the S.U. was on the hunt for her under the orders of the major-general herself. Then again, it wasn't often a captain of the S.U. defected—in fact, this was a first, as far as he knew. And not just any old captain, but the most powerful Nature Witch the S.U. had seen in a long time. To lose her to Chaos was a catastrophic disaster for the forces of light. He wasn't surprised the whole of the magical army was hunting her.
Hawke stood and crept up to the building. The unit was one of eight belonging to the motel, scattered in a grassy park surrounded by mandarins, kiwifruit and lemon trees. Having never been to New Zealand, Hawke found he liked the tropical palms and the warm, humid weather. Even now, at midnight in the middle of January, the sultry air caressed him with warm fingers. In better circumstances, he might have enjoyed the trip, but now he focussed on the task at hand and barely noticed his surroundings. The resentment and anger that had boiled inside him since the day Imogen left stirred once again, and he harnessed those feelings, feeling them stroke their way through him, heating his blood. Good. He would need every ounce of power he possessed to fight the witch. He could use the negative feelings she aroused in him against her. The thought made him smile.
He stroked the doorway from the top of the frame to the bottom. A silvery light radiated from the places he touched and spread to the edges, eating away at the sparkling red seal. Within seconds, he dispelled the charm.
Hawke put his palm above the handle. As a Warlock skilled in the Lore of Metal, he had no trouble forcing the door to unlock. When the mechanism clicked open, however, he paused. A seed of doubt lodged in his chest—the first bit of
hesitation to enter his mind since he'd been given this mission. Had she changed since he last saw her over six months ago? What would he feel when he finally faced her? Could he really kill the one woman in his life he'd truly loved?
But it had all been a lie, he told himself fiercely. None of it had been true. All the time they'd been dating, she'd been working for Chaos, waiting for the moment she could betray them all to the dark forces. He'd only been a diversion for her, and she'd discarded him without a second thought or a backward glance. He owed her nothing.
The resentment and anger built in his solar plexus and he welcomed those feelings, drawing on the emotions to expand his energy. His hands grew hot, his blood thickened with magic, and the taste of metal flooded his mouth.
Pushing down the handle, he moved quickly into the unit.
He stepped into a small, pitch-dark living room. His eyes already used to the darkness, he scanned the room, found it empty, and quickly strode to the corridor at the other end where the bedroom door stood ajar. He didn't stop to think. His assassin's instincts kicked in, and he went into autopilot. He thrust the door open, gathering the energy in his solar plexus and holding out his hand, the palm raised toward the figure lying on the bed.
Molten lead scorched down his arms and pooled in his hands, forming bullets that cracked out the ends of his fingers. As the bullets formed, however, the woman on the bed moved, awoken by a sense more honed than her hearing or sight, and as his fingers sparked, she hurled herself off the side of the bed. The bullets thudded into the mattress, missing their target by inches.
"Fuck!" He'd lost the element of surprise. His success had depended on catching her unaware; now he'd have to face her head on. There had been a time when he'd thought himself more powerful than her, but that was before he'd known of her involvement with Chaos, and now he wasn't so sure.
The witch rolled to her feet and, as he gathered the energy within his hands to fire again, she held out her palm toward him. Her ball of lightning hit him squarely in the solar plexus, and he gasped as it thrust him back against the dressing table, knocking him off balance.
His hands curled and his middle fingers touched his thumbs, forming circles of metal that he threw at her, but she waved her hand, a caress that turned the manacles to brightly colored flower petals that floated to the carpet.
Her fingers traced a pattern in the air and thin vines snaked up his legs, anchoring him to the floor. He ripped his feet away, slicing at the vines with white-hot blades that fell from his hands. Anger burned within him, and he built a sphere of energy between his palms. Before she could raise her power again, he fired another round of bullets at her. She ducked behind the bed, but not before he heard a squeal; at least one of them had found its target this time.
He leapt onto the bed. She cowered on the other side, and he held out a hand toward her. She glanced up at him, and his gaze locked on her face, pale as milk, eyes wide with pain. A memory shot through him of her lying beside him, eyes gentle after their lovemaking, laughing at something he'd said, and he faltered. The molten lead that had been gathering in his hands fell onto the bed in a shower of ball bearings that bounced and rolled onto the floor.
Damn it! Cursing, he started to summon his energy into a glowing ball of razor-sharp blades, but she'd seen his weakness, and she rose before the weapons left his hands. With a twist of her wrists, she turned them into a dandelion puff that floated away to the ceiling. She laced another pattern before her, and vines traced up his body and down his arms.
He started to build his energy again, but she moved her hands and pulled his feet out from under him. He fell backward onto the bed, narrowly missing banging his head on the wall, collapsing onto the pile of pillows. The vines moved across him, snaking rapidly across his torso and legs and up his arms. He cursed, scattering more bullets in her direction, but she twisted out of their way, no doubt sensing victory. His hands were wrenched above his head, and he looked up to see vines wrapping around the headboard, pinning his arms and hands flat against the wooden slats.
With his hands bound and fingers outstretched, he couldn't cast. He was defenceless. He swore and fought with all his strength, but the magic twine was as strong as his steel rope, lashing him to the bed. He swore again, loudly and violently, trying to use his brute strength to rip out the vines, but only succeeding in giving himself rope burns and a couple of wrenched muscles.
He stopped struggling and glared into the dark corner of the room where she stood. To his right, an outside lamp illuminated the pathway and slanted in through the glass sliding doors, casting a pool of silver between them across the bed. His stomach twisted with anger and fear as she walked toward him into the light. He'd seen her split daemons apart, forcing branches and thorns through skin and muscle, ignoring their screams until she'd dispatched them back to the hell from which they came. He knew what she was capable of.
She stepped forward until the light completely illuminated her. Her voice, when she spoke, was quiet with disbelief.
"Cameron?"
Hawke stared at her. Her right hand pressed against her left shoulder, and blood oozed between her fingers. The bright red color stood out stark against her black vest and shorts, and her skin looked as white as the sheets on the bed. Her hair, which was the yellow of ripe corn in the sun, now looked pale as moonlight, and it curled well past her shoulders, untouched by any form of scissors for the past few months. She'd lost so much weight he barely recognised her. Her lips were bloodless, her eyes wide and dark in her pale face. She looked like a hunted animal that had learned to survive in fear and darkness.
His gaze traced up her figure, lingered on the whiteness of her skin where
the vest dipped between her breasts, paused on her soft, pale lips, her dark eyes. She was still the most beautiful woman he knew. But she'd given herself to Chaos; she had fornicated with daemons and had let her heart be infested with blackness. She was pure evil, and she'd already broken his heart once. He wasn't going to let her do it again. Hatred burned within him, although with his hands bound he couldn't focus it. He cursed himself for the moment of weakness leading to this moment.
He wasn't going to get out of his bonds by force. He was going to have to find some other way. He saw the confusion in her eyes, the vulnerability, and suddenly he knew what to do.
"Hello, Imogen." He smiled. "Found you."
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You may also like An Uncommon Sense, Book 1 in the Sensual Healing series by Serenity Woods.
All six senses tell him she’s the one.
Sensual Healing, Book 1
High school science teacher Grace Fox doesn’t believe in any of that woo-woo stuff. So it’s easy to laugh off her friend’s prediction that she’ll have swear-out-loud sex with the next man who walks through her classroom door.
Who knew that local celebrity Ash Rutherford would have the time to attend his daughter’s parents’ night? Or that the Viking lookalike would trigger an attack of klutziness? He may or may not see dead people, but he certainly got a good look up her skirt.
A doctor turned medium, Ash spends his days communicating with unseen spirits. When it comes to his moody daughter, though, he hopes down-to-earth Grace will give him some insight. The racy lingerie she hides beneath her prim and proper clothing is an added bonus he didn’t expect.
Their attraction is instant and blazing hot, but Ash has been burned before. His ex-wife didn’t believe in his abilities, and no way is he going down that road again. At least not until Grace accepts the possibility there might be life after death. And the ghosts of his past are laid to rest.
Midnight Shaman, Fire Witch Page 24
