Destiny's Magick

by Rae Morgan

  The sounds of rampant destruction echoed in her head. The man's angry cries carried through the thick walls of the sturdy house. He was raping her home! The urge to attack the man was strong.

  No, child. Concentrate. He wants you to confront him.

  I understand. But it's hard to stand here while he destroys your home.

  Better bricks and mortar than you. You are the future. You must be protected at all costs.

  I should have stayed at Morgan's.

  No response. Rhea took that as an affirmative. At least at Morgan's headquarters, there would have been more power to deflect an attack.

  “Witch?” The loathsome voice calling to her made her skin crawl. “I'm coming for you. You can't hide. I will find you.”

  Rhea opened her eyes. The web of protection seemed to glow from the energy pulsing through the finely woven shield. Ozone reached her nose.

  It's normal. The glow. The smell. He will not detect them. Have faith.

  Rhea nodded. She would have faith if it killed her.

  The door to the secret room flew off the hidden hinges. The man stepping into the room was not unattractive. Tall, dark and comely. Like a character off the wind-swept moors of a Bronte novel. Like one of the Fallen Angels. But, his eyes mirrored his benighted soul and reflected his polluted core.

  And they searched the darkness of the room for her.

  Several times his brutish eyes swept over their position. Rhea sighed mentally each time he passed by and did not stop in his search.

  Then, the destruction began anew. With a wave of his hand, he overturned all the furniture in the secret room and reduced the family heirlooms to splinters.

  Rhea's faith slipped with each crack and crunch of the total destruction.

  Then, he swept the books from their shelves and shattered all the glass in the room.

  And Rhea's faith began to fragment. This man was stronger than grandmother had thought.

  The web lost some of its glow.

  No, child! Believe.

  I'm trying.

  Reach down. Find the strength.

  Rhea closed her eyes. But all she saw was the dark presence of evil. She sensed the web unraveling.

  Opening her eyes, she stared at Bettencourt's henchman as he approached their position. He still searched. The web was still doing its work. As he methodically moved about the room, he passed through their position one more time. The loss of power was apparent as he moved through them. To Rhea, it was as if her guts had been ripped out through her navel. It took all her will power not to scream in pain.

  He was coming back around. She didn't know if she could handle another pass through.

  As she made another attempt to reach for her powers, she recalled her grandmother's words. The words of the legend.

  Together, she and Drake were stronger than alone.

  Now was the time to prove that one way or another.

  Dropping her shields against Drake, she called.

  Drake. Help us. See what I see and help me find the strength.

  * * * *

  Drake stalked the first floor corridors. So far the search of the building had not turned up even one person who shouldn't be there. He was afraid Keir had been correct when he surmised the intruder had escaped.

  But the traitor or traitors who had swept the basement for the illusion traps was still here. It was one of his own coven. And he would not rest until he found that person or persons. He could not in good conscience bring Rhea back under his protection if he could not guarantee her safety.

  "Drake. Help us. See what-

  Drake stopped, and the man following him ran into his back at the abrupt halt.

  “Rhea,” he breathed. He hadn't known how much he'd missed her presence in his mind until she had cut him off. His groin responded to her return. He throttled back his sexual reaction. She was in danger.

  Through her eyes he saw Yorrick, one of Bettencourt's most depraved followers, pacing the secret room. The wanton destruction sickened him. The web of protection around Rhea and her grandmother was failing. The next time Yorrick passed by, he would find them.

  “No!” Drake roared. The men around him stepped back from his anger.

  Rhea, my own.

  Drake! You answered...

  Always...

  Help us. Grandmother needs more power. Mine is not good enough. I'm not good enough.

  Like before. We'll do it like before. Remember? .

  The bees? .

  Just like the bees, but this time no hands. Just visualize a large wooden baseball bat.

  Okay. Then what? .

  Just keep the link open and hold onto your grandmother like you've been doing-and let me do the rest...

  Okay...

  A ghostly laugh tickled Drake's brain. The old woman was linked to him through her grandchild. Drake smiled. The old woman was proving a point. Her plot would've failed without Rhea's decision to open the telepathic connection. He knew he had an ally in his battle to win Rhea.

  Drake heeded the old woman's warning. Drake Morgan, whatever you plan on doing. Do it now! He sent the image and power of a large bat through the link between Rhea and him. As Yorrick approached the spot in the room where the two women huddled, Drake let loose with a swing that was reminiscent of Babe Ruth knocking one over the fence in Yankee Stadium.

  The bat of energy hit Yorrick on the upswing in the abdomen, lifting the man off his feet and throwing him through the secret room's destroyed doorway, through the outer room, then physically through the solid oak door on the front of the house.

  Rhea and her grandmother were still protected by the web that he had bolstered with his power while creating the bat moved as one to the front doorway.

  Yorrick lay on his back in the yard. Unconscious, by the looks of it.

  Drake? Rhea's voice quivered.

  Don't reveal yourself. Yorrick is a strong witch. He might be playing opossum.

  I agree, young man. But others approach.

  “Rhea?” Betsy's voice came across the link loud and clear.

  It's all right. She is Keir's wife. The two with her are Boris and Igor. They'll protect you until I get there.

  Come quickly, young man. I'm not as young as I used to be. We are not uncloaking until you are here.

  Drake smiled. Crafty old lady, his grandmother-in-law-to-be. Rhea doesn't have a chance of escaping our mutual destiny.

  Negating the possibility of being seen by a mortal employee, Drake began the chant and the movements that would teleport him to Rhea.

  CHAPTER EIGHT

  Rhea observed the approaching trio with great interest. A small pixie of a brunette and two huge Russian wolfhounds converged on the still body lying on the ground amidst the remains of the solid oak front door.

  Elspeth and she, still protected by the invisibility spell, moved closer to the man Drake had identified as Yorrick.

  You know, it's okay to reveal ourselves. These are friends. Elspeth's voice sounded in Rhea's mind.

  How do you know that for sure?

  Rhea was still shaken by the situation and figured the only two people she could trust in this world turned upside down were her ghostly grandmother and the man who had saved her from certain rape at the hands of Headley. And Drake she only trusted as far as keeping her safe; she still wasn't on board with the destiny-life-mate's concept. There had to be another way to protect the coven.

  Because Drake would not have sent people he did not trust, my child.

  People? There's a small woman and two huge dogs.

  No. There's a witch and two male shapeshifters. See with more than your eyes. Feel the power pouring off of them.

  Before Rhea could even ask what her grandmother meant, the two dogs shifted into two large, shaggy-haired and very naked men. Fit men.

  She shut her eyes.

  Her grandmother chuckled.

  The tingling energy of the protection spell now dissolved, Rhea felt as naked as the two men in front of her. Her
eyes flew open, and she stared at Yorrick, lying on the ground where he'd been flung.

  Laughter like wind chimes came from the small brunette.

  “Hi, Rhea! I'm Betsy, Keir's wife. You can look now. Igor and Boris are decently covered.”

  “I'll take your word for that,” Rhea said. “But I prefer to keep my eyes on Yorrick. He's moving.”

  “Boris! Igor! Contain him.”

  Betsy barked her orders like a Marine drill sergeant. Rhea couldn't believe such a tiny sprite could project so much authority into her words.

  Boris and Igor stood over Yorrick as he struggled to a sitting position. The foul man glared at each of the five of them in turn. “Where'd you learn to do that trick, baby witch?” His pale yellow eyes bore into Rhea-so much so that she gasped.

  “Stop that!” Betsy yelled at Yorrick and with a wave of her hand she whipped his head from Rhea to her. “Bad manners. She doesn't know that you don't play by the rules of the Geneva Convention.”

  “Rules?” Rhea was confused. “There are rules for witches in situations like this?”

  Betsy laughed. “No silly. Prisoners of war. Yorrick is a prisoner of this war Bettencourt has started and as such he has to be a model prisoner and we have to treat him fairly.”

  Rhea shook her head. Like Alice in Wonderland she wondered what the heck was going on. Her once-predictable world was getting stranger by the minute.

  “Bitch,” Yorrick spat at Betsy. “If I were your master, I'd have taken a whip to you a long time ago. Just shows how badly the coven needs a strong leader. Imagine sending a woman and two low-class shapeshifters to protect the supposed complement of the alleged coven leader. Drake is too weak to hold such a high position.”

  Boris and Igor nodded to one another, then in a move too quick for Rhea to observe they decked the man, who yelped in pain. As he struggled to sit back up, they repeated the supersonic maneuver.

  Either Boris or Igor said, “That'll teach you to disrespect a lady and your coven's matriarch-to-be.”

  Betsy strode to stand over Yorrick. “Now, Boris, behave. You wouldn't want Yorrick to complain to the Elders’ Council about his treatment, now would you?”

  “Well, he can't, can he?” Boris replied. “How could he explain his actions here today without incriminating himself? Last time I heard, they burned traitorous witches. Right, Igor?”

  “Absolutely, Boris.”

  Betsy looked over at her and her grandmother and winked. “Just like in Salem.”

  Rhea held her laughter. Yorrick seemed perplexed as if he were trying to remember such a rule. She was fairly sure the two men and Betsy were yanking Yorrick's chain.

  As she was about to ask how long it would take Drake to drive from his office to her home to collect Yorrick, a strong wind rose up out of the east, coming from Lake Shore Drive.

  “Jesus, that's all we need. A storm. The front of the house is destroyed.” Rhea turned to her grandmother who grinned widely. “It'll rain in and ruin the furnishings.”

  “That's no storm. That's your mate. He didn't spare the energy either. I haven't seen a transport wind like that since my teens when my father found out that I'd sneaked out of the house after curfew to meet your grandfather, Bertram.” Her grandmother's eyes twinkled. “Papa almost scared Bertram from marrying me.”

  Rhea shook her head, then remembered back to when Drake had appeared in the stairwell to save her. A strong current of air had preceded him then, also.

  “He can control the wind?”

  “No, silly,” Betsy said. “He becomes the wind. I'm sure you'll be able to do it sooner or later. If you can't do it on your own, Drake will teach you how once you've mated with him.”

  As Rhea was about to reply that she already had transported and wasn't convinced that mating was all that necessary to save the coven, the wind whipped around her then stopped. From the settling breezes, Drake emerged, looking only slightly disheveled for his efforts. Thank God, wind transport unlike shape-shifting didn't involve losing one's clothes.

  Drake reached out and pulled her into his arms for a kiss. As soon as his lips touched hers, the memories of their dream world lovemaking had her all hot and bothered. It was kisses such as these that began the journey to her overwhelming sexual arousal, culminating in orgasm.

  Drake as dream lover had been devastating enough. The reality was even more so. If she didn't put a stop to this kiss, she would embarrass herself by having an orgasm in front of all these witnesses.

  Since her mouth was occupied and her arms couldn't seem to let go of Drake's strong back, Rhea resorted to their mind-link.

  Drake. Stop please. No more. I'll cum.

  So cum.

  No! They're watching us.

  No, they aren't. Because we are inside the house.

  Rhea opened her eyes that had closed upon the immediate ecstasy that followed Drake's kisses. He was right. They were in the house. In her bedroom, to be precise.

  Oh no, you don't. We aren't conjoining or whatever you call it. No way. Not now.

  Rhea. It's meant to be. The sooner we do, the sooner we-and the coven-are safe from evil witches like Bettencourt and his ilk.

  No. There has to be another way.

  Hasn't your grandmother explained? This is destiny. She led you here to meet me.

  So she sort of said. But I'm not convinced.

  Drake stopped kissing and stroking her. As he set about fixing her clothing, which he had almost removed, he sighed. “Okay. Against my better judgment, I'll give you some more time to come to accept the inevitable. But you have to promise me to stay with me or someone of my choosing-”

  “Okay-”

  Drake put his fingers on her lips. “Shush, let me finish. You also have to promise me that one way or the other we will consummate a physical relationship by midnight Saturday.”

  “But that's only two days away!”

  “It's the night of the full moon.” Elspeth's voice came from above.

  Rhea and Drake looked up. Her grandmother was sitting on the top of the tester bed. Would she have sat there and watched Drake make love to her? Probably. Her grandmother wanted this match.

  “Okay, I'll bite. What's important about the full moon?”

  Elspeth floated down to the ground and sat on the edge of the mattress. “Chaos magick is fed by the full moon's energy.”

  Rhea scrunched her forehead. “I thought the grimoire said all witches could use the moon's energy. So, doesn't that give us an even playing field?”

  “No, my own.” Drake stroked some hair from her forehead, then used his thumbs to massage the tension from her temples. “Chaos magick as practiced by Bettencourt is an aberration and as such he twists and turns the energy into unspeakable acts. With the peak of the moon's energy, he could do some serious damage to our coven, and even Chicago, to bring me down.”

  “But couldn't we stop him ... with protection spells or something?”

  “Maybe. But by the time we figured out his distorted spell patterns in order to counteract them, he could have won the war.”

  “You see, my child. The only power strong enough to defeat Bettencourt and his deranged followers is the power of a destiny-mated coven leader. Drake is that leader. And you are the fated mate.” Elspeth smiled, her eyes glistening with tears and something else. “Just as I was with my Bertram for our coven on the eastern seaboard.”

  “It's inherited?”

  “Not always. But as soon as you were born, I knew. You have the sign.” Elspeth reached out and parted the neck of Rhea's silk blouse, then traced the birthmark above her left breast. The sight of the mark had always angered her father to the point of rage. “Drake has a matching one. Show her, my boy.”

  Drake moved away from Rhea, unbuttoned, and removed his shirt.

  On the left side of his chest, above his left pectoral muscle, a larger version of the birthmark appeared. On him, the shape was more clearly delineated than her smaller one.

  “It's a wolf's
head,” Rhea said. “Why a wolf?”

  “It's my coven's animal symbol,” Drake replied. “This is why the canine shapeshifters ally themselves with us.”

  “And on the east coast,” Elspeth added, “our animal allies were the birds.” She showed a ghostly glowing birthmark, just above her left breast, in the shape of a bird in flight. “This is how those who are chosen to be the leaders of the coven and their mates are determined.”

  “So, only the leaders and their-what you call complements-have these marks?”

  “Yes,” Elspeth said, then muttered something that sounded like “basically” under her breath.

  “Then, why does Bettencourt think he can take over the coven?”

  “You didn't tell her?”

  Yorrick's foul tones came from the doorway where he stood imprisoned by Boris and Igor. Betsy stood just inside the room. Her face creased in worry and sympathy. Rhea had been so engrossed in the conversation that she hadn't heard them approach.

  Yorrick's laughter grated on her nerves like sandpaper. “You poor thing. They didn't tell you that Bettencourt has the same birthmark as both you and Drake. He has the mark of the leader, also, as a result of a common leadership bloodline. He could usurp Drake as leader and cement his position by conjoining with you.”

  “Then ... then you weren't going to kill me?” Rhea couldn't stop the quaver in her tones.

  “No, once Bettencourt realized for sure you were the complement for the Coven of the Wolf, his plans changed. Can't waste a good mate, now can we?”

  “Oh my God.” The room spun around her, then fell off into nothingness. With her last conscious thoughts, she heard Betsy shout, “For Goddess sake, catch her, Drake.”

  CHAPTER NINE

  The corollary to the rule that a coven leader mates for life is that the relationship which leads to the conjunction of the complements must be based on trust, belief, and love.-Covendom Rules, page 6.

  Morgan, Ltd. Headquarters

  Drake sat on the edge of the bed. He couldn't tear his gaze away from Rhea.

  After she'd fainted, he could think of nothing but carrying her away to a place where no one could find them, far away from all the trouble brewing in the air. Instead, he'd transported them back to his apartment.