Black Mountain Magic (Kentucky Haints #1)

by Megan Morgan

  “You’ve always waged the war,” Mel said. “We’re just finally fighting back. We know it won’t be easy, but we’re not going to take this lying down any longer.”

  “We.” Deacon spat. “You’re human. A witch. You’re not one of them. Stop talking like you are.”

  Mel walked over to him. “Let me tell you what’s going to happen.” She squatted down in front of him. “We’re going to kill you and destroy Blue Ditch, but not in that order. We’re going to take you to Blue Ditch so you can watch the destruction, so you can suffer like we—we—have suffered. And then they’re going to rip you to shreds.” She gnashed her teeth at him. “Trust me when I say it won’t be quick and merciful.”

  “Goddamn,” Zeke muttered, sprawled on the floor still. “God…damn…”

  “I can’t believe I was this damn dumb.” Deacon growled. “Letting you play Jack like this, and you using my sister to lure us out here. I should have known better. Did your smelly boyfriend kill her? He take her necklace after he tore her throat out? It don’t look too fetching on him. Little girly, if you get my meaning.”

  “No, Deacon.” Mel leaned forward. “Your sister is alive.”

  He stared at her. “Is she now? So she’s your prisoner? You’ve kept her all these years, to what, get revenge on us?”

  Mel tutted. “You’re right, Deacon. You are dumb.”

  He blinked at her. Lorena sighed and Deacon looked over.

  Lorena squeezed her eyes shut, her expression pained. “Dammit,” she whispered. “Oh no…”

  Suspicion snuck in, a terrible one. Deacon looked back at Mel.

  Mel slunk forward, her eyes glittering in the firelight. “She’s not dead. She’s just on the right side.”

  Deacon’s stomach turned. He shrunk back against the wall.

  “Chelsea?”

  “We both grew up, didn’t we?”

  “What?” Jack yelped. He struggled against his ropes. “What…are you…”

  Mel—Chelsea—smiled wide. “Just like a hillbilly, marrying his cousin.”

  “Jesus Christ!” Jack shrieked. He struggled harder.

  Deacon, on the other hand, was frozen.

  “They took me for revenge, yes. Revenge against the Lycans who hunted them. But in the end, they showed me mercy. They treated me with kindness. They didn’t have to, but they did. And I grew up, seeing what you did. Seeing what my father did, and my grandfather. I saw the pain and destruction you caused.”

  “You grew up out here in the woods?” Lorena asked. “Raised by Wolvites?”

  “I’m not the only witch who lives among the Wolvites. We have our own community, homes, and communes deep in the forest. It’s not Lycans who witches belong with, it’s Wolvites. They’re more human than Lycans are.”

  Jack moaned.

  “Wolvites have human forms. They are true werewolves, and the Lycans are the rejects. You both come from the same ancestor, the same bloodline. The only difference is, Wolvites evolved to be civilized, and Lycans didn’t.”

  Lorena shook her head. “We’ve never learned this about Wolvites. The agency doesn’t know.”

  “And they never will.” She rose. “Because you’re going to die with them, traitor witch.”

  “Chelsea,” Deacon said weakly. “All these years, you’ve been out here…”

  “I was in Tennessee. I grew up among the witches and Wolvites there. And when I became old enough,” she looked around at Dafydd, “I found my mate.”

  “Don’t you understand how your disappearance tore our family apart?” Deacon choked out the words. “How much Mama suffered?”

  “I don’t care what my dirty Lycan family and their traitor witches suffered. I learned the true way of things. This has been planned for years, the destruction of you. It wasn’t an accident I met Jack in the woods that day. He was so easy to enthrall, so eager to bring his sweet mousy new love back to his family, where I could lure you all into our trap.”

  Jack moaned again. He lurched to the side and gagged. Deacon kind of felt like throwing up too.

  “Chelsea…” Deacon said.

  “That’s not my name. My name is Neala. That’s the name I chose, my witch name. Do not address me as anything else, or I will still your tongue forever.”

  Deacon slumped. His head seemed to be full of bugs, buzzing around and crashing into each other. He couldn’t think. He couldn’t wrap his mind around this. He wasn’t sure who he felt worse for: Jack, or his Mama, having lost a daughter to such a thing. He’d never get to tell her. She’d never know.

  “This is why the Wolvites have been targeting Deacon’s family, isn’t it?” Lorena asked. “They were trying to get rid of the Lycans. That’s why they didn’t bother anyone else in town. That’s why they were sneaking onto Jack’s property the night of the party, and why they were at Deacon’s back door. Why didn’t Dafydd just kill them the day after the massacre, when they were all in one spot at Deacon’s parent’s house? When I saw him alongside the road? He was coming to see you, wasn’t he?”

  She looked at Lorena. “Everything in time. Wolvites aren’t dumb enough to go alone against a bunch of armed Lycans. But yes, he came to see me.”

  Jack continued to gag.

  “I’m sorry Deacon,” Lorena said softly.

  “We’re in a hell of a spot,” he muttered.

  Lorena glanced at his cousins, then back at him. “Maybe.”

  Deacon narrowed his eyes. She didn’t say another word.

  Melanie—Neala, Chelsea—whoever she was, stood at Dafydd’s side again, his arm around her. “Soon they’ll be here, and we’ll take a trip into town. You can say goodbye to your family. Maybe I’ll kill ‘Mama’ myself, for keeping with dirty Lycans all these years. She’ll be so happy to see her little girl again, won’t she?”

  Deacon glared at her. She wasn’t his blood. That girl had died long ago.

  Dafydd kissed her. Deacon swallowed back bile. Jack had his face turned away. If they survived this, Deacon would have to get him really, really drunk, and probably take him to a therapist.

  The two left the chamber. Deacon had a lot worse things to worry about right now than his crazy Wolvite-loving sister. He had to figure out how to escape and warn the town. Warn his family. In a way, this fell squarely on him, his fault for not seeing what was going on sooner, for stumbling blindly into a trap.

  “Jesus,” Lorena murmured. “The plot is thickening, isn’t it?”

  “About as thick as my head, apparently.”

  She whispered, “Don’t give up hope yet. I have something to tell you.”

  * * * *

  The valley was alive. Power pulsed through Neala’s limbs. She sensed the Wolvites as they poured into the valley, sensed their strength, their anger, their conviction. They would see the piles of burnt bodies as they arrived, placed so they could pay their respects. They would mourn and replace their anguish with rage, fill themselves with the certainty of what they must do. The time had come to take back their rightful place in the world.

  “The tide is turning,” she said. “Soon, they’ll be forced to respect your kind. They’ll see what you’re capable of. Like we always talked about, knocking the Lycans down into their place.”

  They stood on a ridge overlooking the valley. Dafydd was proud, his hair flowing in the wind, his eyes golden fire. He was beautiful, and strong, but she could sense the tumult in him, the pain. He had suffered so long, seen so many of his kind die.

  “There is anger,” he said, “and grief, and the desire for revenge, but your brother’s witch is right. We must think this through. If we destroy the town, the humans and Lycans will not turn a blind eye. They will fight us.”

  “You will fight harder. You’ve prepared yourself for this moment since I was a child. I heard the talk about rising up one day and taking your place. The time has come for that.” She gestured out at the valley. “There are many of you now, ready for the uprising, and the town isn’t expecting it. You’ll take your re
venge easily. They deserve death.”

  “And then the witch’s people will come for us. As they did the other night. They’ll burn us out.”

  “They’ll listen to you.” She pressed her fist over his heart. “They’ll be ready to talk peace and hear our demands. They’ll give you your domain. You’ll rule the forests and valleys, and the humans and Lycans won’t be allowed into our territory.”

  He stood two heads taller than her, a massive man, virile in every way. Pride swelled in her to be his mate, pride that he had chosen her. Even as a child, she had admired him when he visited the witch’s commune to socialize. She hoped he would choose her one day. She taught herself to be a powerful witch by the time she became old enough for a mate, so she would be worthy of him, capable and strong.

  She would do anything for him. She had, in fact. Courting her own cousin, drawing her former family into the trap that had been laid for them.

  “We’ll own the wilderness soon.” She gazed up at him. “They’ll have no choice but to give us domain here and everywhere we desire. And if they dare come into our world once it is given to us, they will die bloody.” She kissed his bare, broad chest. “And you’ll have personal satisfaction against the dirty Lycans of this place, who have hunted you for so long.”

  “We should have been able to drag them out and have them the night of the attack.” He touched her hand over his heart. “So many should not have died trying to get to them.”

  “No,” she said softly. “That traitor witch rescued them. I shouldn’t have been so shortsighted, I shouldn’t have told you not to kill her. I thought there might be hope for her.”

  “You did well. You made sure the ward had a hole in it. You could not have known she would foil us so horribly. You were loyal to your family. That is admirable.”

  She rested her head against his chest. Evening hung thick and blue over the trees and mountain.

  “No matter,” she said. “She will die with her dirty Lycan lover. She’ll pay for what she did.”

  “Yes, my love. They all will.”

  They descended into the valley, to meet their family. Hundreds of Wolvites had come from the south. Many were tired, but they were fueled by indignation. They would rest when the war was won.

  In the clearings they gathered, on the ridges and hills and paths. Many morphed into their human forms, which only other Wolvites and witches could readily see. Lycans could see them as well, in the presence of a witch. Men and women, tall, powerful, some young and fresh and others impossibly old and wise. They spoke in their native dialects, and some in growls and snarls. They spoke of despair and action. Witches walked among them, mates who had come to support their loves. Neala greeted all she could, Wolvite and witch. Words of encouragement were passed, tears were shed, oaths made.

  The leader of the rebellion would soon speak, the retaliation would be organized, and the Lycans would be dragged from the cave and forced to watch the destruction of their home. All this would happen before the moon set that night. When morning dawned, there would be nothing but smoking wreckage and blood from one end of the town to the other, the way the Lycans and humans had left the valley only days before.

  Neala couldn’t wait.

  Chapter 24

  Lorena’s arms, back, and bottom hurt and her legs had gone numb by the time their captors returned for them. Melanie—Chelsea—Neala, she of many names, appeared with Dafydd ever-present at her side. The two weren’t alone this time. Figures loomed behind them. The stench of Wolvites filled the chamber.

  “The time has come,” Neala said. “Ready for a hike? You must be bored in here.”

  “Don’t do this,” Lorena said. “We can negotiate.”

  “It’s too late for begging. It doesn’t have to be over for you though, witch, not if you use your head.”

  Lorena narrowed her eyes.

  Wolvites streamed into the chamber. Not the hairy animal kind, but like Dafydd. Lorena marveled. Tall creatures, with arms and legs like tree trunks, dressed as Dafydd in loincloths and furs. Many had long hair. A few women were among them, just as muscled and scantily clad. They were like Amazon women, with wild eyes and fierce expressions.

  They roughly pulled the lot of them out of their ropes and hauled them to their feet.

  Lorena gazed in wonder at the man who untied her, a man with a long mane of black hair and dark eyes. Her legs were weak and her muscles burned. She couldn’t get her balance, so she had to lean against him. She held her breath. He was pretty, but he needed a shower.

  Deacon stood upright without help, stone-faced and defiant. Jack hung limp in his captor’s grip and dragged his feet, the fight apparently kicked out of him. Zeke, obviously suffering from a head injury, couldn’t stay on his feet on his own.

  “Let’s go,” Neala said. She smiled at Deacon. “You’re going home, little brother. You’re even going to get to see your family one last time. You can tell them all about me.”

  They were dragged through the cave and outside. Night had fallen. The air was fresh and cool, a small relief. The relief was only temporary, however. Lorena gasped at the sight before her.

  Below, hundreds of Wolvites gathered. They were in their human forms, with a glowing aura about them, like she’d seen around Dafydd in the trees that night.

  Among the Wolvites were also human women, she guessed this because they had no aura and were much smaller. Witches.

  They were brought before a group of Wolvite men, hulking as the rest but markedly older. One at the front had a thick silver beard and matching bushy eyebrows. He gazed at Lorena with black eyes, filled with the flickering orange light of torches.

  “Is this the one?” His voice rumbled like thunder.

  “It is,” Neala said. “She’s a witch, Father.”

  Someone pushed Lorena forward and she wobbled. Neala stepped up beside her.

  “What is your name?” the man asked Lorena.

  “Lorena. Mills.” Did her surname matter?

  “I am Abernathy. I am the leader.”

  She raised her eyebrows. “Of all the Wolvites?”

  Snuffles erupted behind him. He smiled—not a kind smile, but a smile nonetheless. Though he appeared old in human years, he was probably even much older than that. He seemed carved from the most ancient of stone.

  “I am the leader of these Wolvites, and I’m going to make you an offer. I don’t need to, but Neala has asked me to, and I shall.”

  Lorena looked around. Deacon and his cousins were somewhere behind her, out of sight.

  “You are a witch,” Abernathy said. “We respect witches. Many of us have taken a witch as our mate, as is their rightful and natural position. They were never meant to be the mates of Lycans, as that foolish code dictates. That is lies.”

  “Don’t you come from the same ancestor?” Lorena’s scientific curiosity was too intense to hold back. “Wouldn’t that make witches rightful mates to either of you?”

  Growls erupted. Abernathy hissed, and the commotion settled.

  “We are not the same creatures. Even you, in your blind ineptitude, must be able to see that. This is my offer.” He held a huge hand out. “Join us. Leave behind your human world, leave behind these Lycans. You will be taught how to use your abilities. You will grow to be a great and powerful witch. Someday, you may even find a mate among us.”

  “You…want me to move into the woods with you?” Lorena grimaced. “Leave the world behind and become a Wolvite mate?”

  “You will live among the witches and learn their ways. You will also spend time atoning for your sins, the crimes your agency has committed against us. One day, you will feel the sorrow and then you will know you are cleansed. Then, you can live among us without fear.”

  She searched for words. She had never considered running off and living in the woods, even if nature made her feel whole. Though she did feel bad for the Wolvites in light of all this new information, they couldn’t solve things like this. If what Abernathy planned actuall
y went down tonight, peace would never come.

  “I have an offer for you instead,” Lorena said.

  Abernathy lifted his heavy eyebrows. “There is no negotiation. Your answer is yes or no. Otherwise, you die with your Lycan friends.”

  This was going to get ugly.

  “This is my offer.” Lorena pushed on. “Don’t attack Blue Ditch. I can talk to my agency and try to do this without any further bloodshed. If you do this, I’ll…come and join you.”

  A grunt behind her. Deacon.

  Abernathy laughed. “Do you think I’m so eager to bring you into our fold? You’re not so important that I would change my plans just to acquire you.”

  It was worth a shot.

  “I’m doing this for your benefit,” he said. “But my patience is short. Yes, or no. That is all I require from you.”

  She gazed at him. She wasn’t afraid. Intimidated, but not afraid. This was all wrong, all terrible. So many things could be learned here, so many misunderstandings brought to an end, but it wasn’t going to happen. Violence reigned.

  She shook her head.

  “Very well, then.” Abernathy turned. “We will advance on the town. No one is to harm the Lycans, not yet. They must be forced to watch as their home and families are destroyed, as they have done to us. Once they have endured this, then on my order, you may rip them to pieces.”

  Howls rose, a wave of them, rippling along the ridge and through the valley below.

  “Fool.” Neala sneered at her. “You’ll die with them. I hope it’s worth it, traitor witch.”

  The man with the dark hair grabbed Lorena’s arm again and jerked her forward. She wrenched her head around and caught a glimpse of Deacon. He and his cousins were pushed after her.

  They were led down off the ridge. On the forest floor, surrounded by Wolvites, Lorena grew afraid for the first time. Fury and sadness washed over her, a dark energy that clung to her shivering flesh. It would be beneficial, though. She needed to feel strong emotions. Horror. Outrage. Anxiety.