Winter Souls: an Adult Paranormal Witch Romance: Sector 10 (The Othala Witch Collection)

by Angela Fristoe

  “In the morning, we’ll need to head to Stebbins.”

  “That’s the opposite direction.”

  “It’s the closest village. We’ll trade the dogs for different transportation.”

  “Those are my father’s dogs,” she protested.

  “They were, but now they're yours. And considering the mess you were in when I found you, you have no experience guiding them.”

  “Then you can do it.”

  “I have basic knowledge, but not enough to make them the most efficient way to travel. We’ll only have a day or two before the Dealer sends someone after us. Taking the team means feeding them, giving them breaks, caring for them. It’ll slow us down too much.”

  Elora nodded in resignation. He was right, but she was still reluctant to let the animals go. Silly when only a few hours ago she’d been planning on setting them free. At least Mason’s plan meant they’d be tended to by a new owner.

  “We should be able to trade them for a snowmobile. If we're lucky, we’d get a car.”

  “Do you really think we might get a car?” she asked, intrigued by the idea of getting to travel in one of the beastly machines.

  “It’s possible, though in the long run, we might be better off with a snowmobile.”

  Cars had become a thing of the past up in the North. Before the division of the sectors, cars and trucks had been the most common form of transportation. As the centuries passed, they became rarer as the Regent’s sigils made traveling through the interdimension faster than going through the interior on roads that hadn’t been paved in decades. The scarcity of gas and electricity made them even less convenient. Only in the larger cities were cars still readily available.

  Mason skewered the rabbit and arranged it to hang over the fire by using two y-shaped sticks at either end. He scooped up a handful of snow and vigorously rubbed his hands together, adding a drop of soap he’d had stashed in his bag. He grabbed more snow and continued rubbing until his hands were clean.

  “Can I see the map?”

  Elora passed him the map and sat back to study him while he looked it over. So much about him had changed. His dark-brown hair still threatened to fall across his eyes, though it was shorter than it used to be. Slight creases had formed at the corner of his eyes from all of the time he spent outside at his post. There was a small scar along his hairline that disappeared just above his ear.

  Memories flooded her as she thought back to their time growing up. With the three-year age difference, they hadn’t interacted a lot as young children. In fact, it wasn’t until she was almost sixteen that Mason even seemed to notice her as more than an annoying little girl. By then, she’d spent years fascinated by him and had already mapped out a perfect life for them. Then one choice—one foolish mistake—stripped that future from them forever.

  He looked at her, and the emptiness she saw in his eyes gutted her. She turned her gaze to the fire, unwilling to torture herself with what could have been.

  “It looks like Juki is near Dawson City,” Mason said. “A snowmobile will be faster. We could take an almost straight shot to the old Alaska Highway. The map shows a hunting trail we could use. A car would mean taking the roads and sticking close to the shield.”

  “But with a car, we’d have shelter.”

  He nodded, focused on the rabbit. When the charred exterior suited him, he removed it from the makeshift rotisserie and set it on a plate. Using a long, jagged knife he pulled from the sheath at his waist, he cut the meat into chunks, then held out the plate. Elora took a piece and began eating, anxious to quiet the rumbling that had been coming from her stomach.

  She’d eaten rabbit many times before, though it had been dressed and seasoned to prevent the gamey smell that often came with wild meat. But even the slight odor couldn’t deter her from devouring the food. They ate in silence, and when they finished, Mason tossed the remnants of their meal to the dogs.

  “We could have saved that for tomorrow,” she said, thinking of how scarce their food supply was.

  “The smell would attract animals. I’ve faced off with a pack of wolves before, and it’s not an experience you’d want to share.”

  There were so many things about the new Mason that she didn’t know. Even if he’d had a soul, he wouldn’t have been the same Mason she fell for as a love-struck teenager.

  “When was that?” she asked as she scooped up a handful of snow and rubbed her plate clean.

  “Three years ago, there was a breach in the shield and a ravager got through. Nick and I were out hunting for it when we ran into a wolf pack.”

  “What happened?”

  “About what you’d expect. They circled us for a while, then attacked. One managed to take a chunk out of me before Nick took it down with the bolt.”

  “If you had bolts, why didn’t you shoot them before they attacked?”

  “If we’d shot before the attack, we would have taken them all out. By waiting, we only needed to take out the one.”

  Elora stilled. The statement sounded so much like the Mason she’d known. For him, the realities of survival had always been tempered by compassion and a respect for life. It was a part of him that she hadn’t expected to survive without his soul, yet somehow it had. Was it possible there was more of the old Mason in there? That he wasn’t so different?

  After he’d told her he wasn’t interested in getting his soul back, having him tag along hadn’t even crossed Elora’s mind. Yet, there he was, searching for his lost soul.

  “Why are you coming with me?” It was a question that had been nagging at her ever since they headed away from the village.

  “Luce is the senior Tank. She ordered me to.”

  “Why would she do that? I barely know her, but it’s been more than obvious the past few weeks that she hates me.”

  “Do you blame her?”

  “No,” Elora answered. Luce’s reasons were well founded. “Why did she send you? She could have just let me go.”

  “She didn’t think you’d last the night.”

  “Isn’t that exactly what she wants?”

  Mason made a face as if he’d shared the same thought, but in the end, it meant little to him. He had his order, and that’s all that mattered.

  “What will you do with the Soul Rune?” she asked.

  “Take it to the Dealer.”

  “Even knowing he’ll never let your soul free?”

  “Even then.”

  She searched his expression for some sign of emotion, but there was nothing. Disappointment nudged her, but she shoved it away. She couldn’t let herself become upset anytime he didn’t give an emotional response. This was Mason and for now, she had to accept that or she’d drive herself mad.

  He placed another log on the fire and used a long stick to push it into place. The warding string he’d hung around their campsite was only so good in deterring wandering animals. The sound it emitted outside of the circle would repel most critters, but for those persistent ones, the fire would keep them back.

  A deep yawn escaped her, and she glanced over at the tent Tina had given her. At the time, it seemed ideal. A compact, tube-like structure, it was built for one large person and was enchanted with a heating spell that kept the inside as cozy as a home.

  “We should get some sleep,” Mason said as he went to check the tautness of the warding string. “The earlier we get moving, the better our chances are of getting a good trade for the dogs.”

  Elora rose and went to the tent. She unzipped the flap, and a wave of warmth escaped.

  “You should probably go in first,” Mason said. “It’s going to be tight, and if we're both trying to get settled, someone’ll end up getting elbowed.”

  Tight. The tent was cozy for one. Two would be tight.

  Nerves skittered through her as she took off her parka and wadded it up for a pillow. She bent low enough to get through the tent’s entrance, then dropped to her knees. The nerves had started to settle as she took off her boots and arra
nged herself on the narrow air mattress. Then she noticed what Mason was doing.

  He’d taken off his parka and tossed it toward her. The shirt he wore was designed to be snug, trapping body heat in. Through the thin black material, she could see the definition of his ab muscles.

  Suddenly, the shirt was gone, and she didn’t have to guess how he looked underneath. Broad shoulders gave way to his solid chest and his ab muscles which tapered in a V before disappearing beneath his pants. Tattoos swirled across his body as if he were an artist’s canvas.

  He twisted to put the shirt in the tent before bending to sit awkwardly just inside the tent with his legs hanging out. He unlaced his boots and toed them off. His back muscles rippled as he moved, the small space keeping his movements restricted. The massive tattoo across his back was of a reaper. Sagging black skin floated around it as its empty eyes stared out from under the hood. Its scythe was raised, poised to take its next victim. Behind the Reaper was a burning castle tower. She’d seen the images before on tarot cards from her aunt’s set. Death and the Tower.

  He stuffed his socks in the top of his boots and placed them beside hers at the foot of the tent before beginning working on the buttons of his pants.

  His pants. Elora shot upright.

  “What are you doing?” she asked, her voice a higher pitch than normal.

  “Getting ready for bed.” He finished unbuttoning his pants then pulled them off. Scooting back, he pulled his legs inside. He zipped up the flap of the tent and turned over, coming to his knees. The position put her legs between his and his face level with hers.

  “You're not wearing clothes,” she pointed out, her heart racing as the temperature in the tent seemed to increase the heat radiating off their bodies.

  “Not quite.” He smirked.

  “Close enough.”

  “As cold as it is outside, this tent is going to get hot with the two of us in here.” He crawled to her side and lay down atop the blanket. Reaching above his head, he flicked off the small lamp that had lit up the tent. “Relax. The important stuff is covered.”

  Her face burning from a combination of embarrassment and excitement, Elora flopped onto her back and stared at the top of the tent. Hard as she tried to keep from thinking about Mason and his mostly-naked self, she couldn’t. He was shifting around, trying to get comfortable and with every little movement, he pressed closer to her side. She was just thankful that the darkness hid him from sight.

  “There’s not enough room like this,” he said. “Turn on your side.”

  Even as he said it, he gripped her shoulder and nudged it up and over. Before she could protest, she was on her side, and he’d snuggled up to her from behind and hooked his arm over her waist, resting his hand on her diaphragm. She sucked in a deep breath, holding it as she struggled to process the feelings racing through her.

  No longer embarrassed, the heat building within her was desire. She’d dreamed of kissing Mason, having him hold her, touch her, but she’d been a child still, and the passion she felt then had been more of the thrill of something new and different. Laying with him in the tent, their bodies pressed together, she realized she wanted more than a kiss, more than the embrace they shared. The taste of passion she had when he kissed her in the cabin had left her wanting more.

  Her breath puffed out as his thumb swept along her ribs, brushing the underside of her breast. Her nipples tightened in anticipation.

  “Get some rest,” he said. “We need to be on the trail early.”

  Her breasts ached for his touch, and he wanted her to rest? Elora stared wide-eyed at the drifting shadows on the side of the tent. She was on the edge of something, her body craving something more from him, something she couldn’t even put into words.

  Tension held her still as she listened to his breathing slow and even as sleep gradually overtook him. She wondered if his ability to fall asleep so quickly was because with no soul he had no worries, fears, or excitement to keep his mind fueled. Her own breathing sounded unsteady in the silence.

  She closed her eyes, but instead of relaxation and peace, her mind filled with images of his naked chest. The tattoos adorning his body should have concealed the definition of his muscles, yet the way they twisted and curled only made them more pronounced. If she had any doubts that the boy she’d loved had grown into a man, they vanished.

  She shifted uncomfortably from the heat inside her. Licking her lips, she tasted the salty sweat that beaded along her upper lips. Legs kicking at the blanket, it tangled with her skirts, and Mason’s arm prevented her from tossing it from her top half.

  “What’s wrong?” Mason asked.

  She twisted her head around to look at him. “I thought you were sleeping.”

  “I was until you decided to start grinding against me like a cat in heat.”

  “I was not grinding on you.”

  “Fine, then what were you doing?”

  “I was trying to get the blanket off. I’m hot.” She grabbed his arm and flung it off, before doing the same with the blanket. For a brief moment, cool air hit her; then she was suffocatingly hot again. “How can you sleep in this heat?”

  “You're hot because you're wearing all of your clothes. Would you sleep in all those things in the cabin?”

  “No.”

  “Well, the tent is enchanted to feel the same way.” He sat up and grasped her feet in his hands, tugging the thick socks from first one foot then the other and tossed them toward their boots. “Kneel.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Get up on your knees,” he said as he got to his knees.

  She rose and before she could guess what he was going to do, he’d gripped handfuls of her dress and pulled it up to her chest.

  “What are you doing?” she cried, frantically trying to push the fabric down.

  “It’s too fucking hot for you to wear this. You’ll sweat like a pig and be tossing and turning all night. Not that I mind you rubbing all over me, but at some point, we're both going to need some sleep.”

  For just a moment, she relaxed as she realized he had a point. That was all he needed to get the dress above her head. From there, her choices were limited to letting him finish taking it off or flailing around with her arms trapped.

  With the dress gone and left only in her bra and panties, she yanked at the blanket to cover herself. Mason didn’t even seem to notice. He laid back down and in the darkness, she could see he’d closed his eyes, not even trying to peek. She wasn’t sure if she should be grateful or offended that he wasn’t interested.

  When she was on her side again, she arranged the blanket so she could stick one leg out to keep from overheating, while creating a barrier between his hand and the bare flesh of her stomach.

  Shaky breaths escaped her as her nerves teetered on the edge of something she couldn’t name. She’d dreamed of Mason holding her, touching her. Yet they’d always left her feeling hollow. She’d been wanting without knowing what it would feel like. But he’d given her a taste of passion, and now that knowledge had her aching for more.

  The hold he had on her made her body tremble with a delicious need. Minutes ticked past as she struggled to ignore her mounting desires. Closing her eyes only brought back the image of Mason undressing, and as she finally drifted off to sleep, it was to dream of Mason.

  Erotic dreams stirred her mind and as dream Mason finished undressing, her eyes flew open, and she jerked, yanked from the fantasy. She lifted a hand to her chest, placing it over her furiously-beating heart.

  “Bad dream?” Mason rose up on his elbow to peer down at her. Swallowing the thick lump in her throat, she gave a slight nod. “You should think of something else. Something that makes you happy.”

  “Is that what you do?”

  “I don’t have bad dreams.”

  “Never?”

  “I don’t dream.”

  She glanced up at him, surprised. “Ever?”

  He shrugged. “I used to. But dreams need worries, fears,
wishes. Without a soul, I don’t have those things.”

  “You really feel nothing?” She already knew the answer, yet still, a tiny scrap of hope lingered in her heart that just maybe he wasn’t as empty as she feared.

  He gazed down at her, his eyes piercing her with their intensity. “I feel attraction, desire.”

  “Those are physical. They mean nothing.”

  “Spoken like someone who has never experienced the rush of desire before.”

  “I’ve felt desire.”

  “Perhaps you’ve had a taste of desire,” he said. “But you don’t know how deep it can go.”

  Mason leaned in until his face was a breath away from hers. His mouth was so close. Her tongue peeked out, skimming the seam of her mouth. He closed the gap, giving her a gentle kiss. He pulled back and caught her lower lip between his teeth, tugging it until she gasped. Then he came back in, his tongue sweeping inside her mouth, and hers joined in a dance that consumed any thoughts or hesitations.

  As abruptly as the kiss began, it ended when he pulled back and burrowed his face in her hair. Her lips felt swollen from the hard crush of his mouth. She drew her bottom lip in and tasted the lingering flavor of Mason.

  “Your hair smells of sage and fresh grass,” he said, his nose nuzzling along her neck.

  “Yarrow flower. Norm’s wife, Abby, makes soap. With yarrow flowers. She gave me some,” she replied, stumbling over her words.

  With a subtle pressure from his hand, he pulled her back into him ever so slightly, as if testing her response. Somewhere in the back of her mind, a logical voice told her to pull away, but it was silenced by the pounding of her heart.

  “You used to use something with lemons and strawberries.” His thumb crept upward until it met the tip of her breast. It paused, giving her another chance to protest, but she couldn’t find the willpower within her.

  “My-my mother sent it from the Capitol.”

  His thumb rubbed across the nipple in a circular motion, dragging the thin fabric of her bra over the nub. Her breath hitched at the shock waves that traveled from her nipple to her core.