Darkness Bound: A Reverse Harem Paranormal Romance (The Witch's Rebels Book 2)

by Sarah Piper

  I wondered if he’d been testing me.

  I wondered if I’d passed.

  My head hurt.

  “They should be back any day,” he said.

  “I know,” I said, but I wouldn’t truly relax until they were back here with us, all in one piece. “But the best thing I can do now—for the witches and for you guys—is to keep working on my magic.”

  “You still haven’t gotten this creepy old relic to work, huh?” He nodded at the book of shadows still sitting open in my lap, peering over my shoulder at the scrying page. The smell of his shampoo did nothing to mask his spicy demon scent—a seductive blend of ground cinnamon, hot pepper, and candle flame that made my stomach flip whenever he got too close.

  Like now.

  “It’s not a creepy old relic. But… no.” Sighing, I dragged my finger down the center of the page. There was a time when doing so would’ve elicited warmth and light, a shimmer of magic connecting me to it and it to me, but lately my touch had no effect.

  The instant connection I’d felt upon digging it up from my backyard the other night had cooled, and no matter how hard I’d tried since then, I hadn’t been able to tap back into its inherent magic.

  After so many years apart, it seemed our bond had degraded.

  “Whatever happened with the fire just now,” I said, “it had nothing to do with the book.”

  “Why do you need it, then? Obviously, you’ve got plenty of mojo to work with.”

  “Sure, but it’s mostly out of my control.”

  “Do you have to control it, though? Isn’t it just a part of you? Magic in the blood and all that?”

  “Yes and no. All witches are born with magic in our blood, we also have natural gifts for different kinds of magic. It takes a lot of practice to unearth our unique talents and hone them into something useful.”

  Something that helps rather than harms.

  At that thought, my gut tightened, a low murmur of magic humming inside me.

  “So, everything you’ve done so far was just an accident?” he asked.

  “Kind of? I mean, I was learning things as a kid, but the—” I still couldn’t bring myself to say necromancy, so I opted for Liam’s much less offensive term instead—“the Shadowborn stuff is new to me. I guess it’s kind of like that whole sex-vibe you’ve got. It’s an inherent part of you, right? But you still had to learn how to control it.”

  Asher’s normally cocky grin grew into a full-on laugh. “Excuse me, but… sex vibe? Really?”

  Oh, hell. I did not mean to take us down this road.

  “I’m paraphrasing!” I said. “I’m talking about your… whatever you call it. Your magnetic… force… thingy. The one that erases women’s brains so they’ll throw themselves at you.”

  “That’s not magic, Cupcake. That’s just my natural charm.” He grinned, taking a little more pleasure in my awkward discomfort before finally moving on. “Can’t you just write some new spells?”

  “It’s not that simple. A spell is just part of the equation. Controlling magic is largely about intent. The words and ingredients in a spell can help focus that intent and amplify its effects, but that’s all.”

  I paged through the book, settling on a section on the properties of crystals.

  Smoky quartz is a good grounding stone, I’d written. Apophyllite helps with my tarot readings. Calla says it opens up the channels to allow me to receive messages more clearly. I’m not sure what the amethyst does, but it’s purple, so I automatically love it.

  I smiled at my younger self. Like most witches’ books of shadows, mine was equal parts spellbook, scrapbook, workbook, and diary. Every page was wrinkled with age, indented from the frantic scribbles of a teen witch who’d embraced hyperbole and melodrama as if they were long lost sisters.

  Some of it was insightful and interesting. Some of it was downright mortifying. But all of it was mine. Part of me. Part of who I was, who I became, who I was still in the process of becoming.

  It was a time machine, simultaneously bringing me back to my yesterdays and launching me into my tomorrows.

  I couldn’t believe I’d left it buried for so long.

  “Okay, now I’m totally confused,” Asher said. “If it’s mostly about intent, why do you need spells at all?”

  “I don’t need spells,” I explained. “But a witch’s book of shadows is deeply personal, and that in itself is magic. There’s a little bit of my soul in here, and reconnecting with that will only strengthen my magic, waking up the parts I put to sleep. It’ll make me a better witch, Ash.”

  I didn’t want to say the rest, and fortunately, Asher didn’t push. I had a feeling he already knew what I was thinking, anyway.

  Reconnecting with my magic, tapping into that power—it would make me a more attractive target for the hunter. That’s what this was all about now. Saving the other witches and making that vile man pay for what he’d done to Sophie. For what his father had done to my mother. For what their family—their kind—had done to the entire trajectory of my life.

  “What about the whole personal gain thing?” Asher asked, peeking at a prosperity spell I’d flipped to.

  “Urban legend perpetuated by TV.”

  “Seriously?”

  “There’s nothing inherently wrong with using magic to make your life better—that’s kind of the whole point. The thing we have to remember is that magic has consequences, and they’re not always predictable.” I considered him a moment, wondering again about his past. About what his life had been like before he’d come crashing back into mine. “I take it you don’t know a lot of witches?”

  Asher shook his head.

  “Not even from… before?”

  “Before I became a big scary incubus?” He wriggled his eyebrows in jest, but it was too late—I’d already seen the flash of hurt in his eyes.

  I lowered my gaze, unable to bear the intensity of his. “You’re not that scary, you know. Especially after a little soap and water. A few more showers, and who knows? Maybe one day you’ll be a real boy again.”

  I’d meant it as a joke, but Asher didn’t find it funny at all.

  “I’m not like your loverboy, Ronan,” he snapped. “I was never human, Gray. I was born this way. Throw me in a tub of boiling water and bleach and set my ass on fire, and guess what? There’s still no changing what I am. Sorry if that bothers you.”

  My mouth hung open, my total shock chased quickly by the rush of embarrassment that followed. For all the time I’d spent reading up on monsters in the Bay, I hadn’t bothered to delve much deeper than what I’d considered the necessary facts—their strengths and weaknesses, common hangouts, and most importantly—how to kill them.

  Questions flooded my mind. Was that typical of incubuses? Incubi? Was that even the right word? Were they all born that way, or just Asher? Were his parents demons as well? Is that how it worked? Had he always known, or did they sit him down for “the talk” the way human kids learned about where babies came from? Did all of them stop aging in their thirties? Could he have children? Did he want children?

  And who was the woman I’d seen in his memories? Was she a succubus? Or was she a human who—

  Oh, no…

  “Don’t,” he said firmly, his voice breaking just a little. He faked a cough to cover it up, then said, “Look. I know where your mind is heading, and I’m asking you—telling you—just don’t.”

  “Ash—”

  “I can’t,” he whispered, not bothering to hide the pain in his eyes.

  I closed my eyes and sucked in a deep breath, his scent still lingering all around me.

  Asher had just cracked open the door on his past, and everything in me wanted to step right in and make myself at home. But that tiny opening was still just a crack, and the last thing I wanted to do was slam it shut again by invading his privacy and scaring him off.

  I still wasn’t sure how much I actually liked him, but I respected him enough to honor his wish.

  “Th
e point is,” I said, eager to get us back on track, “witches who use magic just have to be aware that there are lots of other forces at play, and things rarely go according to plan.”

  Asher folded his arms across his chest, his brow furrowed in concentration. “So that night at Norah’s, when you—”

  “Saved your ass from eternal oblivion?” I shot him a half-smile. We seemed to do better with teasing, especially when we got anywhere near the serious shit. “Is that the night you’re referring to?”

  Asher nodded, the tips of his ears turning red. “That was your magic, right?”

  “Yes, but it wasn’t a spell. That was Shadowborn magic. Removing your soul was the only way to get you out of that trap. There were no other options.”

  “Wrong.” Asher shook his head. “You could’ve just left me, Gray.”

  “Yeah,” I whispered, my stomach lurching at the thought. He’d been so bruised and beaten, so close to death. “I could have. But I didn’t.”

  “Thank you.”

  It was so soft, I wasn’t even sure I’d heard him, but I didn’t want to ask him to repeat it. We sat side by side, no longer touching, no longer teasing, no longer even looking at each other.

  The fire had dimmed, the last few embers glowing red as the logs turned white with ash.

  I felt him shift beside me, and when I turned to face him again, his ocean-blue eyes were cloudy with concern.

  “You said all magic has consequences,” he said. “and they’re not always predictable.”

  I nodded, my gut already churning in anticipation of what was coming next.

  “So here’s the million-dollar question, Cupcake. What are the consequences of messing with a demon’s soul?”

  I’d been so caught up in saving his life, in getting him out of that damn trap, I hadn’t thought about the consequences at all. Not that night. Not after. Not until right this moment.

  Forcing a casual shrug, I cocked my head and smiled, hoping he couldn’t see through it to the real fear beneath. “For starters, I was forced to kiss you. On the mouth.”

  I faked a shudder.

  Asher waited a beat, then rolled his eyes, some of his earlier playfulness returning. “You think that’s a consequence? I got three hundred years’ worth of sleepover dates who’d beg to differ.”

  “Three hundred years’ worth? Sounds like fake news to me.”

  “You keep telling yourself that, Cupcake.” Asher leaned in to poke me in the ribs, and my book tipped forward. A photograph slipped out from between the pages, landing on the table.

  “Is this your mom? Calla?” Asher asked, his voice surprisingly gentle. He picked up the photo by the edges, careful not to smudge it.

  The agony of her death freshly speared my heart whenever I thought of her, but I’d been staring at that picture for days, and this time I was finally able to smile through the pain, more grateful than sad. Grateful she’d adopted me. That she’d loved me. That I still had this connection to her through the book she’d gifted me as a child.

  From the moment she’d first told me about magic as a toddler, she’d been with me through every step of discovering and nurturing my own, right up until the night she died and I turned my back on the craft. On myself.

  “I took that picture on her fiftieth birthday,” I said. “I’d made her these horrible black cupcakes as a joke, but she loved them, even though the frosting turned her teeth green.”

  Asher smiled, and Calla seemed to return it, her eyes sparkling as always.

  She looked happy, green teeth and all.

  “What was she like?” he asked, returning the photo. Our fingers brushed as I took it from him, and a spark of awareness skittered up my arm.

  It felt shockingly intimate, sharing this moment with him. But at the same time, it felt right. Natural.

  I blinked back tears, smiling. “She was sarcastic and funny and she didn’t take any shit from anyone. She could do complex magic and cook a gourmet meal with nothing but clippings from her garden, but she couldn’t figure out how to work the DVR or find her way around the town she’d spent her whole life in. She was tough and fair and kindhearted and the best person I knew.”

  Asher nudged my knee with his, stopping me from slipping under a fresh wave of grief. Ten years after her death, they still snuck up on me, doubly so now that Sophie was gone, too.

  “Was she as much a pain in the ass as you, too?” he teased.

  “Absolutely.”

  “I think I would’ve liked her.”

  I laughed, imagining her standing in front of us, giving him the stink-eye. She’d never trusted demons to begin with, and Asher was his own special brand of crazy.

  “Hate to break it to you,” I said, “but Calla would’ve hated you.”

  Asher shrugged. “I have that effect on parents. I think it’s the tattoos.”

  “Yeah, that must be it.” I tucked the picture back inside the book, closing the cover and smoothing my hand over the triple moon design on the front.

  “Hey.” Asher nudged my knee again. “You’ll figure it out, Gray. You just got the book back, and it’s only been a few days since the shit hit the fan. You probably just need a recharge.”

  “I guess so.” I shrugged, appreciating the vote of confidence, even if I didn’t quite believe it myself. “I was just hoping I could—wait. What did you say?”

  “That you’ll figure it out.”

  “After that.”

  “You, ah, need a recharge?”

  “Oh my God.” Frantically flipping to the first entry, I read over the details of the ritual I’d performed when Calla had first gifted me the blank book. “I can’t believe I missed this. It’s so obvious!”

  Magical tools worked best when they were properly cleansed, consecrated, and dedicated. Regular use and care kept them charged.

  After spending the last several years buried in my safe in the backyard, the book had simply gone dormant.

  The book seemed to think I was on the right track, too, suddenly warming in my hands.

  Beaming, I turned to Asher and said, “Put a shirt on, Sex Vibe. We’re going outside.”

  “Now?”

  “Full moon tonight. There’s no better time for a ritual.”

  “A ritual? You’ve gotta be kidding me.” Asher rolled his eyes, but there was no trace of annoyance there. Smirking, he said, “What are the chances that we figure this out on exactly the right night? Coincidence?”

  “Witches don’t believe in coincidences.” I zipped into the kitchen and ransacked the cabinets until I’d found everything I needed.

  “Eye of newt? Hemlock?” Asher asked, following me. “I don’t think we’re stocked for rituals.”

  “I’ll make do.”

  Asher watched skeptically as I put everything into a canvas grocery sack.

  “We’re good to go,” I said. “Come on.”

  “That’s it? No magic robes or anything?”

  “It’s best if I do this skyclad.”

  “Sky what?”

  Grabbing the bag off the counter, I slipped past him and headed for the front door, not wanting to see his expression.

  Not wanting him to see mine.

  “Gray, what’s—”

  “Naked, Asher. I need to be naked. But you don’t, so please put something on and stop gawking at me like you’ve never seen a woman without her clothes on.”

  I was nervous enough for the both of us.

  But for the first time in days, that fragile, soap-bubble of a thing that’d been so doggedly eluding us was finally making an appearance: hope.

  Four

  GRAY

  The demon could not stop smiling. That should’ve been my first clue that bringing him along was a terrible idea.

  But it’d been years since I’d done a ritual, and neither the nudity nor the companionship were optional. I wasn’t an earth witch—my power generally came from my realm—so in order to tap into the earth’s energy, I needed an unobstructed connection.
I also needed to know someone had my back in case things went sideways.

  My magic was highly unpredictable these days, and I couldn’t afford to take chances. There were too many lives at stake now.

  About a quarter mile into the woods that backed up to the house, Asher helped me find a level spot nestled between two large sugar pines, and I set my stuff down and took a deep breath, filling up on the damp, earthy scent of the Pacific Northwest. Autumn had arrived early in the Bay area this year, and though it was still October, the oak and sycamore trees had already shed much of their coats, giving us a clear view of the full moon.

  “This is perfect,” I said. “Thank you.”

  Asher nodded and leaned back against a tree, folding his arms across his chest. He’d thrown on a faded red sweatshirt, but he’d left it unzipped, the dark lines of his tattoos still visible. “What happens now?”

  “Now you do a perimeter check to make sure we’re alone, then find a quiet spot at a safe distance to keep an eye on things.”

  “And you’re just going to strip down to your birthday suit, say a few magic words, and roll around in the dirt?”

  “Something like that.”

  Asher grunted, but he didn’t move away from the tree.

  “We’re clear that you’re to stay at least twenty feet away from me at all times unless I’m literally bleeding or on fire, right?” I asked, my cheeks burning at the thought of him seeing me up close. Naked.

  “Define bleeding or on fire.”

  “Severed-artery-level blood loss and/or actual flames shooting from my eyeballs. Got it?”

  “Now that you’ve given me a visual, yes.” The smile he’d worn since we’d left the house disappeared, and he stepped forward, his eyes gleaming in the darkness. “Do what you gotta do, Gray. But the minute I sense anything even remotely fucked about this, I’ll haul you back to the house before you can say frostbitten nipples.”

  His voice was harsh in the secluded midnight woods.

  There was a time I might’ve bristled at his tone.

  But that time had long since passed.

  “It’s not cold enough for frostbite,” I informed him, “but yes, I’m with you. Anything goes wrong, we bail. I promise.”