United (Book Three of the Silver Wood Coven Series): A Witch and Warlock Romance Novel

by Hunter, Hazel

  Erica looked appalled. “Why would they do such a thing?”

  “Our hatred for each other entertained them. They built a little arena on the sand, and brought Michael and I out of the dungeons every day to fight each other. They entertained themselves by making us use different weapons. Clubs. Whips.” He closed his eyes for a moment as he remembered those endless, bloody battles. “Torches.”

  Abel walked away from him and stood at the window, his shoulders stiff. “How long did they make you fight the bastard?”

  “It was difficult to keep track of time. Perhaps a year. If we were injured they would give us a day or two to heal, and then it was back to the arena.” Troy saw how pale Erica looked and sighed. “It seems no hatred can endure when both enemies are made victims. Michael and I began helping each other. We planned our fights so our injuries looked worse than they actually were. We learned how often the guards patrolled, where they watched and where they didn’t. We stole things we could make into weapons.”

  “You were planning to escape?” Erica asked.

  Troy nodded. “I used my ability to help us tunnel out of our cell, but halfway through it collapsed on top of me. I would still be buried there if Michael hadn’t crawled back to dig me out and drag me with him the rest of the way.”

  No one said anything for a long moment, but Troy saw Erica’s expression turn to shame, and then Abel turned around to face him.

  “Why did you never tell me any of this?” his father asked, his voice gruff. “When you came back to Wales, you let me think you’d been off gallivanting and wenching.”

  “As I remember it, you accused me of that the moment I stepped over the threshold.” Troy spread out his arms. “And how could I tell you I’d befriended a Templar after I’d been made their prisoner and forced to go on crusade with them? I think you would have killed me yourself.”

  “I remember how thin you were,” Erica said quietly. “I should have guessed. I am sorry, Troy.”

  “As I said, it was a long time ago.” He turned to Abel. “When Michael and I were free, we forged a truce between us. We vowed never to fight each other again, and we have kept that promise. Michael brought Summer to me instead of turning her over to the Templar inquisitors. When one of their assassins attacked us, Michael took an axe in the side to protect us. You may hate him for what he is, Father, but you will damn well accept what he is not: our enemy.”

  CHAPTER THREE

  THE STINK OF sweat and fear pervaded the private hospital room, blending with the lingering, sharp odors of commercial disinfectant, alcohol-based hand sanitizer, and latex gloves. A disposable, compartmented tray on the table beside the bed held the remains of an institutional meal: a half-cup of pudding, a blackening section of banana, and a small pile of overcooked, scrambled eggs. Monitors on wheeled poles flanked either side of the bed, displaying digital numbers. A PCA unit counted down another fifteen minutes before the press of a button would deliver another dose of morphine into the patient’s intravenous tube.

  “He kept singing children’s songs,” Augustin Colbert said, his broken nose making his voice thick and nasal. “He would be talking to me and then utter one of the lines from the lyrics. I think your steward has finally lost his mind, my lord.”

  Temple Master Nathaniel Harper nodded his agreement as he looked down at the battered face and body of his clergy aide. It aggravated him to have to put one of his people in a hospital, but Augustin’s injuries had been too severe for him to recover at the Abbey infirmary. Since Colbert was a mortal he had the usual weaknesses, and in reality he had been beyond fortunate to escape from Gideon Edmunds with his life. An immortal Templar suffering from immortality sickness was probably the most dangerous, lethal force on the planet.

  “I know he took you to Charbon’s apartment, but why?”

  Augustin frowned, and then winced as the furrowing of his brow caused the aluminum strip protecting his newly-set nose to shift.

  “Charbon had something Gideon wanted. He sent me to his door to draw him out into the hall. Once I did, he planned to shoot him in the legs to disable him. That is all I can remember, my lord.”

  Gideon had sent them all on a merry chase as he had slaughtered his way across the city, dragging Augustin along as a hostage as he searched for the green witch who had the only cure for his condition. Every hour Nathaniel heard of yet another mortal found butchered, thanks to his former steward’s descent into madness.

  But why would Gideon go after Michael? He knew the two men had never cared for each other, but all Michael knew about the green witch was what Nathaniel had told him.

  “You must try to recall what Gideon wanted from Michael,” Nathaniel told Augustin. “It is of the utmost importance.”

  The clergy aide closed his blackened, swollen eyelids for a moment and then shook his head. “I am sorry, my lord. I was at Charbon’s door, and then I woke up here. That is all I know.” A tear slid down his cheek. “Please don’t ask me to try to remember again. It makes my head hurt to think about it.”

  “Very well.” Nathaniel suppressed an urge to slap the sniveling man across the face and instead forced himself to make the sign of the cross over him. “Rest now, my son.”

  When he stepped out of the hospital room Nathaniel beckoned to the mortal physician waiting in the hall.

  “He is suffering from some sort of memory loss. What caused it?”

  “It’s not uncommon, considering the amount of physical and emotional trauma he suffered,” the doctor said. “In addition to the broken bones he sustained several blows to the head and neck, and he was forced to walk on a shattered ankle. If the frostbite damage is severe enough to render his tissues necrotic, we will have to amputate his leg from the knee down.”

  “He has frostbite?”

  Nathaniel cocked his head at the words, before he glanced at the window. New York City in November was chilly, but they had yet to experience even a soft freeze.

  “Surely not in this weather.”

  “I doubt it was from typical exposure. Judging by the type of tissue damage to his arm, leg and torso, your man was subjected to sudden, extreme cold on only one side of his body.” The doctor reached for Augustin’s chart, flipping it open to show Nathaniel the photographs taken in the E.R. “His clothing was saturated on that side, and we found bits of ice still clinging to his shoe laces. It’s almost as if he fell partway into a frozen lake and just laid there until the first layers of his flesh froze.”

  An ancient image prodded at the edge of Nathaniel’s memory. But as he drew it into focus, it was coupled with a more recent one. He had to cock his head again. He remembered a thin and battered Wiccan huddled in a cart cage rolling through the desert. De Sonnac’s water warlock, Atwater, who had been reportedly killed along with the blinded Grand Master during the Battle of Fariskur. He’d been able to find water in any place, and could even freeze it. The Wiccan scum had had the eyes of a demon, intensely blue and filled with hatred for his captors––and now Nathaniel remembered the mortal male who had carried Augustin on a litter into the Abbey. His hands balled into fists.

  Nathaniel had even praised him for helping Michael.

  The order is grateful to you for your service, mortal.

  The human had bowed his head and gone down on one knee, pressing his fisted arm across his chest.

  It is my honor, my lord.

  He’d also glanced up just as Nathaniel had turned away.

  The same bright blue eyes.

  Michael had been the only survivor of that particular battle. When he had escaped and returned to Paris, he had told Nathaniel that Atwater had been killed along with the Templars by the Saracens.

  Michael had lied.

  “Do what you can for him,” Nathaniel told the doctor before he hurried to the elevator. Once outside the hospital he used his mobile to contact the captain of the guards at the Abbey. “Recall Michael Charbon at once, and when he arrives, secure him for questioning.”

  “We h
ave intercepted a police report that described two men fighting in the streets, Master,” his captain said. “From the witness descriptions it appears to have been Charbon and Berenson fighting over the green witch and another man.”

  “Alvis, fighting Michael?” Nathaniel stopped in his tracks. “No, that’s impossible. I personally gave Alvis the order to track Gideon.”

  “The descriptions of the men are very detailed, Master.” The captain hesitated. “Four of the witnesses describe the smaller man beheading the larger. If this is true, Berenson is dead, but we cannot confirm it. The police found no remains, and the scene was scoured clean, as if by some magic.”

  Alvis, his finest assassin, dead. His body and the proof that he was murdered, gone. By some magic indeed. Nathaniel felt as if his blood might begin to boil.

  “Was the third man at the scene described as having blue eyes and long dark hair?”

  The sound of paper shuffling came over the line. “Yes, Master.”

  With his thumb Nathaniel switched off the mobile and stared blindly at the glittering lights of the Manhattan skyline. He would have his people check and recheck the reports, but the conclusion was obvious: Michael was in league with Atwater and the green witch. He had lied about them, shielded them, and had even killed Alvis to protect them. That Michael would one day betray the order had always been a risk, but Nathaniel had been convinced he would see the signs long before it happened. Now it seemed Michael had turned traitor right under his nose, and he hadn’t noticed. Not even when he’d brought his Wiccan accomplices along with him, pretending they were mortals…

  They were still inside when I left with Augustin.

  Nathaniel trotted across the parking lot to where his driver had parked, and climbed into the back before the man could open the door for him.

  “Take me back to the Abbey. Now.” His mobile rang, and he answered it, impatient. “What is it now?”

  “I don’t mean to trouble you, Temple Master,” a cold voice said. “I can stop calling, if you like.”

  “Forgive me, I thought you were someone else,” Nathaniel said quickly. “What do you have for me, Baldwin?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  MICHAEL FELT THE warmth of his Beauty beside him on the bed, and turned his head to look into her dark opal eyes. Summer smiled and touched his face, tracing the lines of his brow and nose and mouth before she leaned forward to brush her soft lips over his.

  He breathed in the delicious scent of her, grateful and rather amazed to still be with her, as he remembered every moment of his brief but epic battle with the Norseman.

  “Alvis Berenson buried his axe in my side.”

  Pain flickered across her pretty face. “Yes, he did.”

  Recalling how he had pulled the battle axe from his own body, and used the gory blade to decapitate the most feared assassin among the Templars, gave him pause. The wound had been so deep he’d known it would end him, and that had given him the superhuman strength to make that final blow.

  “I should be dead.”

  “You should be.” She rested her hand against the place where the heavy blade had struck him, the place that was now miraculously whole and only sore and swollen. “But you’re not. You’re with me and Troy, and you’re safe. Go back to sleep.”

  Exhaustion tugged at him in agreement, but Michael didn’t want to slip back into the darkness, not until Troy returned and could watch over her while he slept.

  “Tell me about this place.”

  “This room is where Troy and I slept while we were here at Silver Wood.” She wriggled against the mattress. “It’s a nice bed. A little small for the three of us, but maybe we can ask for an upgrade.”

  He raised his brows. “You are planning to sleep with both of us?”

  Her smile faded. “I’m not letting you out of my sight again, Michael Charbon. You’ll be lucky if I let you go to the bathroom without me.”

  He would have chuckled, but she sounded so ferocious he didn’t dare.

  “Then we will have to make plans to go, and soon. By now Nathaniel knows I betrayed the order. He will send his best to hunt me down and bring me back. The only thing Templars despise more than the Wiccan are–”

  She kissed him to stop him from speaking, and then pressed her fingertips against his mouth.

  “You’re not a traitor.”

  Michael kissed each of her fingers before fixing his gaze on her lips.

  “Come here and do that again.”

  Summer’s eyes darkened as she shifted closer, touching his cheek with her hand before she met his mouth with hers. Kissing her was like being caressed inside and out by very soft, warm feathers, Michael thought, relishing the sweet taste of her. As weak as he was, a moment later all he could think was how much he wanted to roll atop her and spread her legs. He would slide his aching cock into her softness, and feel her trembling beneath him as he worked it in and out of her tight, luscious pussy.

  “Whoa.” She drew back, breathless.“Not a good idea right now, big guy. I don’t want to tear something open.”

  “Such as your clothes? I will do it.” He reached for her blouse.

  “Behave yourself.” She batted his hand away, and then her gaze shifted, as the door to the room opened, and her mouth curved. “Did your father change his mind and decide to kick us out?”

  “No.” Troy came over to sit beside her on the bed, but as he took her hand he looked over at Michael. “I told him about our time in Turanshah’s dungeon, and what they made us do, and how you saved my life. He knows about our truce, too.”

  He and Troy had both sworn to keep their history secret, and had kept that vow for hundreds of years. For Troy to break that promise must have involved something more important than protecting each other. He also knew how heavy the burden of secrecy had been on his warlock comrade. Still, Michael pretended to scowl.

  “So now what am I to do, Pagan? Find a priest and confess my own sins?”

  Troy grinned. “You are a priest, Paladin. Absolve yourself.” He stretched out beside Summer, folding one arm behind his head and reaching down with the other to clasp Summer’s hand. “Seriously, I don’t think Abel or Erica will give us any grief for now. They’re going to be busy relocating the winter solstice. But as soon as Michael’s feeling more mobile I think we should relocate to the old house.”

  “Agreed.” Michael stretched carefully and grimaced as the ache in his side grew more intense. “A day or two of rest should see me fully mended. How did you manage to heal my wound, Pagan?”

  “I froze it to stop the bleeding,” Troy admitted. “Summer did the rest.”

  “Don’t ask me to explain,” she said, before he could reply. “It was this thing inside me, and you two, and I don’t know. Lots of scary green light.”

  “Then I thank you both.” Michael took her hand to bring it to his lips.

  At that moment the light darkened, and the room vanished entirely. Michael found himself standing with Troy and Summer in a strange, beautiful chamber lit by the golden glow of candles and flickering firelight. A tall, dark-haired, young woman in a diaphanous robe stood between two large, muscular young men wearing only trousers. One of the men was dark, and the other was very fair, and both were quite handsome.

  Michael immediately stepped in front of Summer, and bumped shoulders with Troy as he did the same.

  “Is this real?”

  “I don’t know,” Troy murmured, “but it damn sure feels like it.”

  “Excuse me.” Summer squeezed between the two of them, and her expression changed as soon as she saw the dark-haired woman. “Maman.”

  The trio paid no attention to them as the men moved closer to the woman, the dark man slipping her robe from her shoulders from behind as the fair man untied the robe’s belt. When the sheer fabric fell to the floor the woman stood naked, her head falling back onto the dark man’s shoulder as the fair man clasped her by the waist.

  “This is your mother?” Michael asked her.

&n
bsp; Summer nodded slowly. “But I’ve never seen those men.” Her hand tightened on Michael’s as the fair man began kissing her mother’s breasts. “Oh, boy, I don’t think we should be watching this.”

  You are not watching, cherie. Summer’s mother turned her head, and green light filled her eyes. You are remembering.

  As both men caressed Summer’s mother, Michael felt his own cock stiffen, but he could not look away from the lovers. What they did was not obscene but beautiful, like a dance. It also awakened his own memories of loving Summer, and sent a surge of longing through him so powerful he felt his hands shake. At the same time he felt a different desire flooding through him, and on some level knew it was coming from Troy.

  “Summer, does your head hurt?” Michael heard Troy ask.

  “Not at all.” She tore her gaze away from the lovers to stare at him. “Do you know what this is?”

  “Maybe.” He looked over her head at Michael. “I’ve got everything you’re feeling in my head right now. Do you feel the same connection to me?”

  Michael nodded. “She is the conduit. We have to release her, I think.”

  “Together, on three.” Troy counted, and when he reached three Michael released Summer’s hand.

  The vision disappeared, and Michael stared up at the ceiling from the bed, returned to the room and his own reality. Beside him Summer went limp, and when he turned his head he saw she was unconscious, and Troy was checking her pulse.

  “She fainted again.” His mouth tightened as he rested his hand on her brow. “I assumed these things were dreams, or visions, but they’re not.”

  “They are memories.” Worried he might trigger another episode, Michael resisted the urge to touch her himself. “Evidently her mother had two lovers.”

  Troy gave him a pointed look. “Yeah, what a coincidence. Maybe this is why she’s been so adamant about staying with both of us. She may be trying to follow in Mom’s footsteps.”