Warlock's Charm

by Marly Mathews

  Warlock’s Charm

  Marly Mathews

  Anya Ross-Redgrave is on the run from her husband, Damien Forsythe. He wants her back so much that he has hired hunter after hunter to capture and return her to him.

  The problem? Anya is one powerful, wily witch, and she keeps sending the witch hunters back to her husband as living wax dolls.

  Damien realizes he has to be the one to finally catch his deliciously wicked wife and make her his once again.

  Will their love endure all that separates them? Can he charm her back into his embrace?

  A Romantica® futuristic erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Warlock’s Charm

  Marly Mathews

  Chapter One

  New Salem City, Shadow Flare County

  Province of New Mercia, Vanguard Prime

  2367

  “We shall strip them of their powers, take their lands, enslave, hang or burn those who resist, for only we shall rule this rich new world—only we shall possess magic!” Governor Gregory Asher, Speaking at the Bloodbayne Coven Rally, New Salem City, 2317

  Damien Forsythe sat at his large mahogany desk with his eyes fixed on the portrait he’d bought at auction a few months ago. His Anya looked just like her great-grandmother, her eyes held the same dramatic expression to them as well. Fire danced in her luminescent amber-brown eyes, giving her a haunting, esoteric and strikingly powerful look. Her ebony hair looked like silken midnight and added to her air of mystery and power.

  She wore the infamous Ross Amulet around her neck, and the artist had captured the effervescent quality of the black tourmaline perfectly, flashes of red, green and gold light reflected off the faceted stone.

  Legend said that the magical powers of each Ross witch or warlock were stored in the arcane depths. Whoever wore it and harnessed its power would be unrivaled power wise. The only catch—the wearer had to carry Ross blood.

  Ebony Ross looked so much like Anya that he could almost hear his wife’s spirited laughter resonating throughout the room. He glanced at his office door as the doorknob turned slowly. Reaching out with his magically tuned senses, he felt that person’s nervousness.

  His empathic abilities were quite strong for a warlock, and he’d used them to his benefit and others’ detriment before. Whoever was on the other side exuded extreme anxiety—that meant the news they would deliver to him would not be to his liking.

  He watched as his rail-thin male secretary walked slowly into his large suite of rooms where he conducted all of his business affairs. He walked as if he had large stone weights strapped around his ankles, and if the news he had to report displeased Damien that much he would probably leave the room with something of that nature on him.

  He’d waited far too long to get what he wanted, and he neared the end of his rope, patience-wise.

  “Sir, I bring you bad tidings.” Terry Stopper’s eyes darted around the room and lit on everything but Damien’s displeased gaze.

  “I figured as much, Mr. Stopper. I thought I told you to find me the best witch hunter that the Triple Hexed Agency had to offer, and now I suppose you’re bringing me news that once again another witch hunter has failed. My Anya is just too powerful—with or without the Ross Amulet.”

  “Sir, I must protest. I was told that Master Oliver White was better than the others we sent out. He’s earned quite a reputation among the hallowed halls of hunters. He’s caught many notorious witches and warlocks, he even brought in the elusive and psychotic Hyacinth Glory, but I am afraid, sir, that he—”

  Stopper cleared his throat nervously. “He failed this time around…we’ve just had word from New Plymouth on Vanguard IV that he did send out a communique to say he’d tracked her there and that he would get back in touch with us when he had her in the appropriate restrictive gear, you know, when she was chained and collared like a wild beast.”

  Slight annoyance tinged Stopper’s tone. When he’d first asked Stopper to enlist the Triple Hexed Agency’s services, he’d been more than eager to do so, so the slight annoyance tinging Stopper’s tone right now was definitely out of character for him, and raised Damien’s suspicions.

  “I gave precise instructions that she was not to be harmed, Mr. Stopper.” He took a few moments to compose himself, and wondered why he kept Stopper on the payroll. They’d been through many trials together and in a way, he was more than just an employee to Damien.

  “I only wanted her incapacitated and returned to me… I would never seek to hurt Anya. I love her, I love and cherish her above anything else in this life. Life is dull and totally mundane without her—I simply can’t go on much longer without having her and holding her. I ache when she’s not around. To think that those bastards attempted to hurt her!”

  Anger spiraled through Damien. He had to keep his cool, he couldn’t let his emotions rule him the way they ruled his runaway witch bride. He worked the fingers of his left hand, watching as they started to glow with an arcane light. He wanted to use his magic to destroy his office and everything in it, but he could not give in to those emotions.

  He had to keep it together. Slowly, he forced calm throughout his body, watching as the blue light encircling his hand faded away. As he did so, he felt his heartbeat regulate once more.

  “And how did this turn out for him? Faced with bodily harm, I know my wife’s wrath would have been quite terrible. I do hope she gave them what they deserved.”

  Damien leaned forward, planting his elbows on the desk. He reached for his decorative witch blade that served him for many years as a letter opener and for certain rituals if the need arose. It used to be his mother’s, and her mother’s before her, and she’d gifted it to him when he’d reached the age of eighteen—she told him it would bring him good fortune.

  Stopper cleared his throat nervously and hesitated. The only other sound in the room was of the grandfather clock in the corner steadily ticking away the hour.

  “Speak up, Mr. Stopper, or so help me I will turn you into a piece of wood for the fireplace!”

  Stopper’s eyes widened so far he thought his eyeballs would roll right out of his head.

  “He’s been all dolled up.” Stopper swallowed thickly and pulled nervously at the early-twentieth-century collar he wore.

  The man was a mystery wrapped up in an enigma covered with a cryptogram. Stopper loved everything technological and yet, he dressed like a man from the Edwardian era, of Earth’s ancient past.

  Having inherited a noble title through his mother’s Scottish ancestry, he knew far more about the far-flung past of the United Kingdom on Earth than most did. Many of those ancient values had been resurrected on Vanguard when it was colonized as those men and women greatly admired that time period and wanted it to live again here on Vanguard Prime.

  “Do they have this living doll?” He narrowed his gaze, gripping the smooth handle on his dagger. He clenched the mother of pearl handle so tightly his fingers turned red. He yearned for his wife. He needed her back by his side.

  This game of cat and mouse had gone on between them long enough. She had to submit at some point.

  “Yes sir, it’s coming back to us on a transport ship. It should arrive on Vanguard Prime in approximately twenty-four hours.”

  “How disappointing, Stopper. I can’t say I didn’t expect it, she’s always been a wily little witch—and it would seem that the only one who can successfully pursue her is me. I will have to leave the office for a few days in order to end this madness. Her stubbornly reckless behavior is most unbecoming. She can’t run from me forever and dumping me after the ceremony is not to be forgiven.”

  “I understand, sir. I will receive the shipment when it arrives and put it with the rest of the collection.”

  D
amien nodded and sighed. Glancing over at a curio cabinet on the far wall, he studied the twelve-inch-tall dolls.

  Anya had a troubling way of turning any who attacked her into a living doll form. He supposed it kept her from doing the unthinkable act of killing. Many who engaged in magical duels resorted to that terrifying practice and he supposed he could admire her for her restraint.

  In a strange way, he admired her handiwork, and actually felt a surge of pride whenever he saw her creations. Her craft was as strong as his, if not stronger.

  She was the most formidable witch of her generation, to gain the upper hand on several expertly trained witch hunters. His admiration for her continued to grow.

  Love coupled with lust rushed through him. He needed her back so he could claim her body and soul—she’d robbed him of their honeymoon and they had a lot to make up for.

  Every night he dreamed of Anya, and those dreams normally robbed him of the sleep he needed as the hot intensity of them woke him up midway through his dream. Many a night he’d been forced to take a cold shower to cool off from the particularly explicitly erotic dreams of Anya.

  She’d been an angel in bed; she’d matched him in every imaginable way. He swallowed slowly, his throat becoming dry, and wrenched his thoughts away from Anya’s naked body and instead re-focused on the matters at hand.

  Unfortunately, the witch hunters would be entombed in living wax until she could return them to their native forms—if she could be persuaded to do so. He’d have to use his most fervent powers of persuasion on her in order to gain the results he needed from her.

  Based upon her newly developed hatred of the witch hunters employed at the Triple Hexed Agency, he knew he would have to do some hard work in order to get her to agree to release them from their living prison. He didn’t even know if he’d survive their next meeting—they hadn’t exactly parted on the best of terms.

  She wanted an annulment, and when he’d declined, for one terrifying split second he’d feared she was going to make herself a widow. He’d dodged that attack, and he bloody well didn’t know if he’d be lucky the second time around.

  A formidable wedge had been driven between them when she’d discovered his family’s dark secret at the wedding reception. He could see still the look of sheer horror etched on her perfect features—she’d been absolutely devastated. She’d been so deflated she didn’t even try to throw a genuine hex at him, nor did she attempt to make a spectacle of herself by screaming at him like a banshee.

  She’d just run out of the ballroom in their new sprawling mansion, Silver Gables, and as he’d given chase she’d pulled a disappearing act by vanishing in a swirl of charcoal smoke.

  She’d left her white fairy-tale-styled wedding gown behind in a heap on the ground. The dreaded hoop she’d worn for him and the silk and the lace had mocked him that night, making him realize that he’d tried to make her into something she wasn’t. He never should have attempted to control her that way. He wished he could take it all back.

  She’d never wanted the large spectacle their wedding had created. Reserved as she was, Anya had desired a small, intimate wedding and she’d wanted it to take place back on Earth.

  He’d talked her into having a fairly modern wedding, more modern than most of the weddings that took place on Vanguard Prime.

  He’d wanted her treated like a princess, and had ensured that the gown she’d worn had been fit for a princess. She’d remarked that she felt like Cinderella and he often wondered why she had viewed him as her prince. Sometimes, he felt more like a villain of the story than the hero.

  They’d made such positive plans for their future. She’d wanted to start a family straightaway and he’d wanted it just as much as she’d desired it. In fact, she held his heart in his hands, he would do anything to please her, and he supposed that’s why her rejection of him still stung. He could never accept it, not for as long as he drew breath. She was his soul mate. Never again would he find a love like her… She was one in a trillion and she had to know how much her absence hurt him.

  He had to charm her off her feet again. He had to win her back and have her safely in his arms before they could make their dreams come true. The first step to doing that involved having her with him and making sure she could never escape him again.

  He knew of a way to keep her with him but he’d have to use his magical gifts on her. He’d never stooped that low. He’d never used his magic on her before—to do so could break any sliver of trust that still existed between them and loathe as he was to do it, he might not have any other option.

  If he resorted to that he would be no better than his grandfather, and he couldn’t turn into him.

  Damien had one magical gift he’d never revealed to Anya. This talent would allow him to keep her no matter how badly she wanted to leave—but using that sort of dark magic could be costly for him.

  It was the same kind that his grandfather and his great-uncle had used to enslave countless peace-loving magic folk. His mother always told him that blood magic came at a price and that she only wanted him using his gift in extreme emergencies.

  He’d never wanted Anya to discover the dark secret that his family had kept for over fifty years. How could he have known that by giving her the infamous Ross Amulet, she would be able to see into the past and witness for herself his great-grandfather’s unspeakable atrocities?

  Damien had given her the amulet in good faith, thinking that she should rightfully have back what her grandfather had taken from her family so long ago—he never imagined it would give her a psychic flash and allow her to see into the past to witness Ebony Ross’ tragic fate.

  How could he have let any members of his father’s side of the family come to the wedding?

  Allowing his great-aunt to attend was a ruinous mistake. It was one he couldn’t take back.

  It wasn’t like his grandfather’s youngest sister had any hand in his foul deeds. In fact, she had resisted her family’s evilness for years and had been instrumental in breaking the cycle and turning their family magic back to the side of good.

  Nonetheless, he’d grown up carrying a heavy burden of guilt and after his vile act of malfeasance to Anya he had guilt layered upon guilt and he knew he could be sealing his own fate by sending witch hunters after her.

  He just kept rubbing salt into her open wound and no matter how hard he tried, he couldn’t stop causing her pain.

  Anya couldn’t see that he’d spent all of his adult life trying to right the wrongs of his great-grandfather and grandfather. He’d worked tirelessly to return all of the treasures and land his family had stolen from the witches and warlocks they’d enslaved.

  His father had freed them but hadn’t finished his life’s work before death claimed him, and so much of his good work went unfinished.

  Any land Damien owned on Vanguard Prime he’d inherited from his mother or he’d used Forsythe money to buy it.

  Damien’s stomach knotted and his hand shook slightly as he placed his athame back into its ancient leather and brass scabbard. If he concentrated deeply enough and lost himself in the emotions that clung like echoes to the scabbard, he could almost envision those who’d owned this before him.

  Sighing heavily as memories of his beloved mother filled his mind, he moved the scabbard into his desk drawer. Slamming the drawer shut, he watched as Stopper nervously jumped.

  “You are dismissed, Mr. Stopper. Make sure you do not allow anyone entrance into my domain. If anyone but you steps over the threshold they will not like the consequences.”

  Yes sir. Shall I call Silver Gables and let your valet know that you won’t be returning tonight?”

  “No. I shall let them know myself. I’ll be leaving on the space yacht as soon as the crew can report for duty.”

  Damien stood up and reached for his walking stick. It concealed the channeling instrument he used to amplify his magic. “Tell the crew of The Incantation that they have one hour to get the ship into space-faring shape. I do
n’t want to wait any longer to find and bring my Anya home.”

  “Sir…” Stopper looked like he was going to stop breathing his face was so constricted, but he seemed as if he wanted to get the words out either way. “Sir…I don’t mean to offend you with my question and yet, as your faithful servant I must broach this subject that you’ve continually avoided since Anya fled Vanguard Prime. Why don’t you just let her go? There are many others out there who would give anything to have you as their one true love.”

  Damien grunted. “You truly are in the mood to walk the thin line today, aren’t you, Mr. Stopper?”

  Stopper’s eyes widened to dramatic proportions and he dropped his gaze to the floor to keep from meeting Damien’s scathing glare. If Stopper hadn’t served him so diligently for almost fifteen years, he probably would have been inclined to miniaturize the man.

  After which, he’d send him away to a brothel out in the Forbidden Pleasure Zone on Vanguard V. As it was, he knew that he would never be able to find anyone else who could do the job so efficiently and discreetly. Besides, he couldn’t really imagine the office without Mr. Stopper in it. He was like a permanent fixture.

  “I will have no other woman but my beautiful Anya. When she sees me again she will realize just how much she needs me. She will realize just how much she craves my touch and my kiss and she will never run from me again!”

  “You sound as if you’re going to enslave her or something—if that’s the case I don’t think she’ll take kindly to that. Just remember her magical touch rivals yours. In fact, it just might surpass it.”

  “Stopper, would you like me to take away your voice, place it in a bottle and take that bottle with me while I search the solar systems for my wife?”

  Stopper looked up at him and met his gaze. “No sir.”

  “Good. In that case, I think you need to leave this room and give me a few moments of peace before my hunt for my runaway bride begins.”

  Stopper nodded demurely at him and walked backward out of the room. Obviously, he didn’t want to turn his back to him in case Damien did decide to hex him after all. He couldn’t blame Stopper for going to that trouble. It made him feel a bit like royalty or one man who shouldn’t be crossed. Ever.