Rescued (Book One of the Silver Wood Coven Series): A Witch and Warlock Romance Novel

by Hunter, Hazel

• • • • •

  Gideon Edmunds stood before the plain mirror on the wall in the Temple Master’s chambers and inspected his reflection. He had not aged since attaining immortality, but he was changing in a strange fashion. He no longer bothered with sleeping, as that contributed to his unfortunate ailment, and a year spent entirely awake had added a permanent pinkish color to the whites around his black eyes. He also had a mild tic at the corner of his mouth that came and went; thus far he had managed to disguise it by chewing on the end of a cigar.

  In the beginning he had not understood what was happening to him, and suspected he had been cursed. With great effort he had captured and secretly imprisoned an ancient pagan, and tortured him while demanding to know what he was suffering from, and why.

  The old warlock had given him a ghastly grin, his teeth gleaming scarlet with his own blood. “Not all souls were meant to live forever. The path of eternity is littered with madmen caged by their own shattered minds.”

  Gideon had enjoyed making the warlock suffer for weeks after that, until finally the old man’s higher brain functions had shut down and he became little better than a lump of twisted, burned, tattered flesh. He had finally tossed the living corpse into a furnace and let him burn to ash, but the pagan’s words clung to his thoughts like leeches, and had sucked at his vitality for the next five decades as he grew progressively worse.

  Despite the pagan’s claims, immortality sickness was quite rare. It had struck only two Templars known to him over the centuries. Gideon could well remember one who had begged their temple master to decapitate him before the brain-eating spiders crawling inside his skull could escape and attack the rest of the order. The other brother who had fallen ill had simply walked into the sea one night. His bones washed ashore some months later. While he felt no such inclination to end his own life, Gideon concealed his symptoms and began his personal, sacred quest to find a cure.

  A century had passed, but Gideon was no closer to a cure than he had been in the beginning. He had found various ways to manage his mental aberrations. Thirty years ago a spell provided by a rogue witch in exchange for safe passage through the city had effectively tempered his then-growing paranoia. It was what he had done to the witch before she managed to escape that had led to the most effective means of dragging himself back from the brink of insanity.

  He had not intended to rape her. Females held no allure for him, and he had successfully kept to his vow of celibacy since becoming a Templar. Before torturing her, however, he had stripped out of his clothes to prevent them from becoming soiled with her blood. She had misinterpreted his actions and begged him not to violate her with such fear in her eyes that he gladly did just that.

  Although he took no pleasure in the rape itself––it disgusted him to merge his sacred flesh with her profane body––her agony and terror pleased him immensely. It had also oddly restored his own clarity of thought, so he repeated the violation over and over. That she had escaped in the end always vexed him, but it had also led him to another truth. After finding the pagan gone, in his anger he attacked a mortal female, dragging her in a dark alley and raping her behind a pile of crates. The relief he experienced proved to be just as pervasive, and made it clear he did not need to sully himself by fucking a pagan woman to preserve his mind.

  Until last night. He had spotted the witch Nathaniel had been searching months for, and stalked her back to her lair. Gideon was not supposed to know anything about her, since Nathaniel preferred to keep him as ignorant of his plans as the rest of the Templars assigned to the North Abbey. But as the Temple Master’s steward, Gideon had unlimited access to Nathaniel’s rooms. He had installed listening devices so he could know if the old man suspected anything about his ailment. In the process of monitoring every conversation, Gideon had discovered that the young witch for whom Nathaniel searched knew the location of the Emerald Tablet, an ancient grimoire rumored to be so powerful it could make whoever possessed it unbeatable. What interested Gideon was the fact that the Tablet also contained the incredibly old healing spells that could cure any illness.

  Gideon’s failure to capture her still needled him. Trying to rape and beat her into submission had been foolish, but Gideon could no longer be anywhere near a female without becoming savagely furious and aroused. If he hadn’t cloaked himself with a body shield he might have been disabled or even killed by the man who had come to the witch’s rescue.

  I should have cut off her nose, Gideon thought, absently rubbing the hand she’d bitten during their struggles. The hole in her face would make it easier to find the bitch.

  “Gideon.” Nathaniel Harper waddled into the chamber and smiled broadly. “Augustin tells me you have an urgent matter.” Augustin trailed in his wake.

  “Unhappily I do, my lord.” As he bowed before the Temple Master, Gideon imagined drawing his sword and using it to slice through Nathaniel’s pudgy neck and part his fat head from his shoulders. “Baldwin has sent word that the pagans are preparing for a mass gathering for their winter celebration. He claims twelve covens will be traveling into the area, and another five groups who wish to organize their own heathen circles.”

  Nathaniel stroked his weak chin. “He did not indicate before that it would be so many. With so many in one place at the same time, we cannot fail to carry out our sacred duty.”

  The only duty Nathaniel had, Gideon suspected, was to his own advancement and self-glorification.

  “You will be quite busy arranging the strike, my lord. Perhaps I should take over handling Baldwin now, to relieve you of that worry.”

  The Temple Master gave him a chiding look.

  “You never could abide not being in the know, could you, Steward?” Gideon began to protest. “It matters not,” he said, cutting him off. “I cannot afford any mistakes with this informant, so I will continue to personally attend to Baldwin. Thank you, brother.

  Gideon bowed again, primarily to hide his anger. “As you command, my lord.”

  “Why is your arm bleeding?” The Temple Master nodded at Gideon’s sleeve.

  He glanced at it and saw it was wet with blood.

  “A human attacked me from behind in the park last night when I was searching for the escaped witch. I will have it attended to by the healer, my lord.”

  Augustin smirked. “You, wounded by a mere human? I cannot imagine such a thing, Steward Edmunds.”

  “He stabbed me from behind.” Gideon imagined pressing his thumbs into Augustin’s face until his scum-colored eyes popped out of their sockets. “Like so many cowardly mortals do when faced with a superior adversary.”

  “See the healer before you attend the assembly,” Nathaniel ordered. “Augustin, take a team and sweep the park again. Show the sketch we had made of the witch’s face to the humans who work there. Someone must know more about her. Gideon, stay a moment, if you would.”

  Augustin bowed low before the Temple Master before he retreated. Once he had gone, Nathaniel’s expression turned grim.

  “No mortal could have come within ten yards of you without your knowledge. It was either a pagan, or one of our own. Why did you lie?”

  Gideon swallowed against the urge to hurl the foulest obscenities he knew in the Temple Master’s face.

  “I cannot say who it was. I could not see how badly I was hurt, so the wound forced me to flee to safer ground. Do you wish me to be entirely candid about such matters in the presence of your human clergy aide?”

  “No, of course not.” Nathaniel hesitated before he asked, “Do you think it could have been Michael Charbon who attacked you?”

  “Michael?” Gideon made a contemptuous sound. “That muling mortal-lover only draws a blade with a pencil on paper.”

  “He was tracking a rapist last night in the park.” The Temple Master gave him an unpleasant smile. “Perhaps he mistook you as one. It would not be the first time he interfered with you toying with a helpless mortal.”

  Gideon hated Nathaniel’s seneschal almost as much as t
he Temple Master.

  “Charbon confessed to attacking me?”

  “No, he believes the rapist was a warlock.” Nathaniel’s thin silver brows arched. “You have not gone over to the side of the enemy, have you, Steward?”

  “My lord, if you believe that to be true…” Gideon went down on his knees in front of the Temple Master, and tilted his head back. “Then end me now, for I could not live knowing you suspected me of being a traitor.”

  “Have a care, Gideon. Someday you will make a foolish offer like that to a more suspicious man, and it will be accepted. Now get up.” Nathaniel folded his hands into the wide ends of his robe’s sleeves and glanced past him, his thin lips stretched to a satisfied smile. “Alvis. It has been too long.”

  “My lord,” a high-pitched male voice said.

  Gideon turned to see the largest Templar who still walked the earth bend himself into a low, fervent bow. When he straightened the light leapt from his white-blond hair into his eerie blue eyes, which were so faded by centuries in the sun they sometimes looked solidly white with only tiny dots for pupils.

  “Welcome back, Snowman,” Gideon said.

  Nathaniel’s deadliest assassin ignored him as he gazed down at the Temple Master with the usual fawning sycophancy. Alvis worshipped Nathaniel Harper almost as much as he did the Almighty.

  “I have heard that we assemble to slaughter a great many pagans, my lord.” Delight made his girlish voice a little shriller than usual. “Is this so?”

  “We come together to discuss it today,” Nathaniel told him. “Can I count on you to help us prevail, Brother?”

  Alvis pulled the battle axe he kept strapped to his back over his shoulder and presented it in salute. “Show me where they are, and I will chop them into pig food.”

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  TROY PULLED OFF his shirt and used it to wipe the sweat from his chest before he buried the tip of his axe in the chopping stump. He hung the shirt around his neck before he threw another half-dozen split logs to the pile in the barrow. Even with the temperature dropping it felt good to be working outdoors. A faint, frosty mist diffused the afternoon sunlight, and he suspected from the rapidly-chilling air they could expect a freeze before morning. He could smell the hearty Irish stew Erica had bubbling in the kitchen, and the yeasty-sweet scent of the herb bread Aileen was baking to go with it. The coven’s dogs lay in a loose ring around him, content to watch him work.

  Home. It wasn’t his anymore, but that didn’t change the way it felt to be here.

  It had been seven days since he’d brought Summer to Silver Wood, and while they weren’t any closer to discovering who she was or how to dispel the curse she was carrying, the last week had gone better than he’d expected. The women of the coven had treated Summer with their usual warmth and kindness, with Erica taking her under her wing and helping her adjust to life among the Wiccans. Aileen was now working with Summer in the mornings to develop her touch with plants, and even his father spent an hour each night trying to restore her memory with his power of persuasion.

  Troy had been given a noticeably cooler reception, but after abandoning the coven to join the Magus Corps he hadn’t expected to be welcomed back into the fold. His father remained coldly civil, and the other men tolerated his presence, but Wilson was still actively avoiding him. Only Erica, Aileen and Ewan had been openly friendly, although Wilson kept descending at regular intervals to whisk his frail wife back to their cabin to rest.

  “It’s because you initiated me, you know,” Aileen told him one morning when they had a moment alone together in the kitchen. “I’ve tried to convince Wilson that you and I were never meant to be, but he can’t seem to get over it.”

  Troy didn’t regret the brief romance they’d shared, which had ended even before he’d left the coven.

  “I had no idea he was jealous. He’s an idiot, my brother.” He smiled down at her belly. “Have you divined what you’ll be having?”

  “No, and if you can tell, you’re not to tell me,” she warned. “This baby is my first, and I know it’s going to hurt, a lot. If I’m going to get through the labor I need something to look forward to.”

  Erica did her best to bring Troy and his father together at every opportunity, but Abel seemed uninterested in anything but the preparations for the Winter Solstice gathering and following the traditions of the season. He spoke to Troy only when necessary, and usually just to give him another list of chores that needed attending. Troy didn’t mind. When he’d lived at Silver Wood he’d spent more time in the yards and the barns than he had in the big house. A door shut sharply and light footsteps came approaching him from behind.

  “I’m sorry to interrupt, Major, but we need to have a discussion about something.”

  He grinned a little without looking at Summer. She only called him “Major” when she was unhappy or annoyed.

  “What’s the matter now?”

  She came around to stand in front of him and planted her hands on her hips.

  “Erica just told me about this sacred moon drawing thing.”

  “Drawing down the moon,” he corrected. “We’ll hold the ritual the next time it’s full. What’s the problem?”

  “Oh, you know, the part about how we do it. Sky clad, which she tells me means we all get naked and go outside, at night, in the woods. This would be the same woods where the bears and snakes and tigers live.”

  Troy chuckled. “There are no bears or tigers on the mountain, and the snakes are hibernating.”

  “So then I’m safe courting hypothermia by stripping down in front of a dozen guys,” she said, nodding. “Assuming my curse doesn’t decide to kick in. If it does, then we’re going to have a problem. Or an orgy.”

  “Summer, the body ward I cast over you is working fine. No one is going to be affected by the curse––and it’s clothing optional. You can opt to go naked, or opt not to.” He saw where she was staring and quickly pulled his shirt back on. “Joining the ritual circle now will be a lot easier than when the covens gather for Winter Solstice. Then you’re talking about three hundred guys, most of whom will be celebrating in the nude for at least three or four nights that week.”

  She rubbed her forehead and looked up at the sky.

  “Why can’t Wiccans celebrate another way? What’s wrong with sitting around the fireplace and drinking hot cocoa and swapping ghost stories?”

  “Nothing, but that’s what humans do. We’re not human, and our rituals date back centuries before secular religion got everyone uptight about nudity.” He gave her a sympathetic look. “If you feel that uncomfortable, I’m sure Abel will excuse you from the circle.”

  “Oh, no.” She held up her slim hands. “Your father has already informed me that I’m not excused from anything, ever. To be a proper witch I have to grow my own herbs, mix my own potions, cast my own runes, and take part in all the rituals. Even that one with the disgusting green stuff Erica smeared all over my face.”

  He thought for a minute. “That wasn’t a ritual. That was a cleansing.”

  “What did it clean? Do you know how long it took me to get that gunk off my face? I was about to borrow some sandpaper from Wilson.” She sighed and hunkered down to scratch one of the retrievers behind his ears, which instantly drew all the dogs over to her. “Okay, okay, be patient, you guys. I only have two hands.”

  Troy watched the dogs rubbing and nuzzling themselves against her in their collective bid for attention, and silently wished he was covered with fur and walked on all fours. Sleeping on the couch in their rooms was uncomfortable enough, but knowing one door was all that stood between him and Summer in a bed, kept him tossing and turning most nights.

  Once all the dogs were piled around her, Summer sighed happily.

  “I love dogs. They never give you the evil eye for screwing up witch stuff. Are you going to be chopping wood for the rest of the afternoon?”

  “No, I’m finished.” He crouched down beside her. “Do you want to do some gardening?
”

  “Been there, weeded that. Also, Erica kind of kicked me off garden duty today.” Her shoulders slumped. “How was I supposed to know dandelions aren’t weeds? They are to humans. And how come Wiccan use them to make salads and wine, anyway? Can’t you people just grow lettuce and grapes, like everyone else?”

  Troy bit back a laugh. “I think you need a Wicca break.”

  “Oh, boy, you would not believe how much.” Summer perked right up. “Can we go for a hike, or a supply run into town, or let me emigrate to Australia?”

  “We’ll take a drive over to my place. I’ve been meaning to get over there and make sure it’s ready for winter so my father doesn’t have to.” He stood, and waited for her to do the same before he nodded at the pavilion. “Get a jacket and some good walking shoes. I’ll let Erica know we’re going.”

  Summer grinned like a girl and hurried back inside, while Troy headed for the kitchen where Erica was washing dishes.

  “Your green witch has a black thumb,” the High Priestess grumbled as soon as she saw him. “I thought she was supposed to be gifted with plants.”

  “Sorry about the dandelions,” Troy said, and took down one of the wicker hampers and began filling it with fruit, bread and cheese. “We’re going to head over to my property so I can have a look around and see if there are any issues that need tending before the snow comes. We won’t be here for dinner.”

  “So I see.” Erica dried her hands and retrieved two unlabeled bottles from a rack on the wall. “Spring water with citrus and a bit of honey,” she said as she offered him the pair. “She doesn’t drink wine, and you need to keep your wits about you.”

  “Nothing is going to happen,” he assured her as he placed the bottles in the basket. “If it was, it would have already in our rooms.”

  “Not really,” the older woman said blandly. “I put a charm under her bed to keep you out of it.”

  Troy cleared his throat. “A charm?”

  “Just a small one.” She pinched the air with her fingers. “Oh, don’t look at me like that. She’s very lovely, and you’re quite virile, and then there’s this desire curse. I considered it being proactive.”