Herja reached over without warning and touched Heather’s forehead. Light filled her. The kind of light people talk about when they die. It was visible joy. It whited out her vision and left her breathless and gasping, her ears humming like she’d listened to loud music for too long. When Herja pulled her hand back; the cuts on her skin, the blood, the ache in her cheek and jaw, the dark bruises forming on her wrists, the pulsing need inside of Heather — was gone. Every trace of Neil’s actions was gone, and without the blur of lust from the potion there was only panic, and anger at how Neil had used her, hurt her, and tricked her body into agreeing to be used by him.
It didn’t matter that she had planned to use him first.
“This one may or may not have killed you. You will never know.” Herja’s golden eyes turned back to Neil, who just stared at the Valkyrie like she was crazy.
“She marked me with the rune, she took me home with her!” Neil was pointing at Heather accusingly. “I had to strip them of their magic! I had to stop them!”
“Ah. I see. Does it make you happy to know that the spell worked, mortal?” Herja stared at Neil, who seemed stunned for a moment.
“The Pritchetts don’t have magic anymore?” Neil asked in disbelief.
“My family doesn’t have magic?” Heather leaned forward against the pillow in her lap, grateful that apparently Herja’s magical light had taken all of the blood out of her sheets as well.
“No, they do not. Was this not your goal?” Herja’s golden eyes moved between the two of them.
“That’s exactly what I wanted.” Neil answered her, disbelief tainting his voice.
“Then you would be willing to pay for completing this rite?” Herja stared at Neil and Heather’s stomach dropped.
“What —”
“As you pointed out, mortal, the Pritchett family has been providing me men to take to Valhalla for centuries. Before the Pritchett line I, like my sisters, had to wait on battlefields for the cry of a dying warrior, for them to beg for the freedom of death. You chose to take that from me, therefore, I want you.” Herja’s voice was clear, and it rang in her small bedroom. For once, Neil had the intelligence to show a fear response. He backed up until he bumped into her dresser, his blue eyes jumping around the room.
“Me.” Neil’s voice was quiet, empty of all that bravado, that righteous indignation. His eyes fell on Heather with a mix of concern and sorrow.
“Yes, you, mortal.”
“Wait —” He raised his hand, but Herja snapped her fingers and Neil simply collapsed.
“Holy shit!” Heather jumped, clutching the pillow to her chest as she stared down at his crumpled form on the floor. His ribs were still. She gasped and pushed a hand into her hair, “He’s dead. He’s dead!”
Herja looked at her and Heather panicked. She wanted to run, but it was pointless. “Yes. He is dead, and you are not. Did I heal you appropriately?”
“I’m fine.” Heather looked back at Neil’s body and tried not to be sick. He’d died anyway. After everything, he’d died anyway. She felt kind of vindicated. He had lied to her. Tied her up. Hurt her. Drugged her to get her to have sex with him, to summon Herja. But she had planned on killing him, she had summoned Herja knowing it was possible. Her family had killed his best friend, and he had spent years figuring out how to destroy them. And he’d succeeded. She couldn’t see any clean hands. Heather made herself speak, “So we don’t have magic anymore?”
“Oh, every Pritchett that had magic no longer has it.” Herja smiled slightly, sitting on the edge of Heather’s bed. Which was weird. They were not girls at a sleepover. “But you do have magic.”
“ME?!” Heather screamed, and Herja’s golden eyes widened. Heather calmed her voice, clutching the pillow tighter to her chest. “Wha- How do I have magic?”
“Your father, of course.” Herja stood up, and Heather’s head spun again. “You did not know that your father was a warlock? How strange your mother did not tell you…. You have always had access to magic, you just chose not to use it. I assumed that was why you did not call upon me the last time you used my rune.”
Heather shook her head slowly, “That’s not possible, that can’t —”
“Your attempt to complete this rite unlocked your magic. When my power passed through you it freed the locks you had put on it. You are now who you were always meant to be. However, that man’s runes did something to the rite your family has used. My gifts have been stripped from the Pritchetts. Which is not my problem.” Herja walked around her room, the Valkyrie’s huge steps making it a very short journey. She stopped at her bookshelf, glancing over the titles before she sighed. “I am leaving now. There is nothing more for me here.”
“Herja, Ma’am, um, great Herja, what am I supposed to do about him?” Heather pointed at the body on her floor, and then looked back, “And about my family? About me?”
Herja’s golden eyes flicked between the two of them, and she blinked. A wave of her hand and the body disappeared in a flash of light. “The body is not your worry, it is but carrion. Your family is, as he said, what they would have always been without my interference. And you, Heather Lynn Pritchett — you should live your life. Most mortals do not appreciate how short it can be.”
Epilogue
February 20th
Herja’s suggestion to live her life, just before she’d disappeared in a golden flash of light, had seemed a little too much like a fortune cookie. But Heather had found it to be strangely appropriate. If she prayed, she would have. For forgiveness. For some kind of absolution for her actions. Some kind of peace that could rid her of the guilt that settled in her stomach when she thought of Neil’s still form. But one encounter with an immortal was enough for a lifetime, and Heather wasn’t going to risk praying when someone might actually answer. She dragged a bottle of vodka from her freezer and drank it on the couch until she passed out. There was too much to think about, the shock of Neil’s actions, of her own willingness to kill him, and her confusion over how she felt about any of it — just too much.
Sleep had been blessedly empty of dreams or reminders.
The next morning she’d gone to the shop hung over, only to discover everyone losing their minds. They had grilled her about her rite, and she had given them the story she had decided on. Normal rite, rush of power, he’d left in the morning. No, she hadn’t been able to figure out what her power was. After all, there was no blood, no cuts on her chest, no bruises on her wrists or jaw. Nothing. No evidence.
Theresa had spent an hour at the shop trying to boil water with her hands with no success, but she really didn’t seem that upset. But the whole family couldn’t figure out what had happened, or why it had happened, and most of them could only see the bad in it. They only saw the loss of power, their pending weakness.
In all the drama and panic, two really amazing things happened. Two impossibly wonderful, impossibly perfect things.
First, Marguerite had been in the middle of using her ability to phase through walls, to effectively disappear, when the rite inverted. She had used her power for years to steal items of artwork that she would sell in private auctions, like the illegitimate businesswoman she was. When she lost her power she was inside a private vault, holding a very convincing forgery, on the wrong side of a very large metal door. The police had her. They were investigating her, and investigating her company, and since she was in jail she was not able to do anything to the family. Or, more importantly, Heather.
Second, Heather had gone to see her mom. She needed to see the proof of it herself. And for the first time in Heather’s entire life, Patrice Pritchett was totally awake. When Heather arrived she was standing in the middle of the street with Michael, laughing, jumping up and down, and screaming that the earth was quiet. Finally quiet. Michael had spun her around before crushing her in a hug as they’d kissed. Heather sat in her car to give them their moment, watching with tears in her eyes, before she eventually interrupted them. They had dinner together, and
Patrice called it a miracle. A gift. And she said over and over how happy she was that Heather hadn’t gone through with the rite, that she wasn’t cursed with magic.
Heather had kept her mouth shut.
After she’d checked on the rest of her family, mostly out of obligation, Heather knew where she wanted to be, knew what she wanted more than anything. It had just taken her a week to get around to it, to get the courage to do it, and enough nights drinking herself to sleep to put some space between her and her night with Neil. The night when she’d effectively killed him by choosing him, and suffered for her decision all at once. A twisted, karmic solution just like he’d said.
And as much as Heather wanted to keep running, to keep hiding, she had to live her life.
She pressed the doorbell twice and stood back, bouncing on her toes to try to stay warm as the wind whipped the snow through the air. The door opened wide a moment later.
“Well, hello again.” Rick smiled at her. He was dressed this time, a long-sleeved shirt, jeans, boots. But it was only seven at night this time, and not two AM. “Coming in?”
“Yeah, I’d like to, if that’s okay.” Heather smiled at him as he held the door open for her. She shook off the snow and pulled off her coat, hanging it up this time. She set her messenger bag down by the table and then turned back to see his arms crossed, leaning against the wall across from her.
“So… what’s the plan tonight, pretty girl? Did you come here to be punished again?” There wasn’t an ounce of judgment in his tone. No snide comments about how she’d ignored his text message for seven days. Just an open offer. He was perfect.
“I want to talk, can we talk? Just talk. For now, anyway.” Heather was babbling. She forced herself to breathe. “What I mean is, after we talk, if you still want to go to bed, if you still want to play tonight, I’d like that. You have no idea… but you may not be okay with me anymore, and if so, that’s okay too. I don’t have any expectations, that’s all I mean.”
“O-kay.” Rick took a step forward and cradled her face in his hands, and he leaned down to be eye level with her. His brown eyes radiated concern, “Heather, what’s going on?”
“Can we sit down?” She pointed towards his dining table, and he nodded, letting her go while he walked towards the kitchen.
“I’ll grab us some water, take a seat. I’ll be right back.” Rick disappeared through the doorway and returned a moment later with two glasses and sat down. He didn’t reach for her, he didn’t try to start talking or prodding her or pushing her. He just gave her a small smile and waited.
“I wanted to tell you I’m sorry. I pushed you away, and then I showed up last week with no warning and —”
“I liked it when you showed up, Heather.” He rubbed a hand over the scruff on his cheeks. “I like it every time you show up.” His honesty made her chest ache, and at the same time it made hope flare inside her. She bit her cheek so she wouldn’t smile.
“I like you, Rick. A lot. More than I would have ever admitted before.” Heather grabbed her glass of water to take a sip and he leaned forward with a big grin on his face.
“You like me, do you?” He reached for her hand, but she pulled it back, her eyebrows pulling together. He froze.
“Wait. Just wait. Yes, I like you.” She laughed bitterly, because the next things she had to say could ruin everything, “But, if I want to be with you, and I do, I have to be honest. You have to know everything.”
“Alright, give it to me.” Rick still had the ghost of a smile on his lips as he leaned back from her.
“I slept with someone.”
“I’ve slept with —”
“Last week. Actually, two days after I slept with you. And the reasons behind it I can explain if you want to hear it, but the short version is that my family —” She shook her head, “My family is really fucked up. Or was. Or may still be, I’m not sure. But they were the reason I had to break it off with you before, they made me go out and bed this guy for an insane reason, but they can’t do any of it anymore.”
“They made you?” He sounded shocked, and then a cloud of anger passed over his face.
“Forget that, forget I said that. It doesn’t matter, the guy doesn’t matter, trust me. Just, forget it. There’s more.”
He laughed, looking at her like she was crazy, and she hadn’t even said the crazy part yet, “More?”
“All of it. All of the weird shit, all of the cryptic explanations, everything — it’s because, it’s because I’m a witch. And my whole family are, or were, witches.” Heather turned and focused on the cabinet against the wall. She’d decided it would be better to show him than to try to explain it. After a moment it lifted off the floor before hovering about a foot above the carpet. The burning smell of magic filled the room. Rick’s eyes were wide, and she let it down as easy as possible, but her concentration flickered and it dropped the last two inches, the loud rattle of objects inside making her wince. He turned back to her, and she shrugged, her voice incredibly nervous when she finally had the courage to speak, “I’m a witch. A real one. And I may be the last Pritchett witch on the planet right now. And even though my life is a mess, I really, really like you. I want you. I want to be with you.”
For a moment Rick just looked at her, all dark eyes and messy hair, and five o’clock shadow. The silence stretched and Heather’s chest ached. She’d never let herself admit how much she cared about Rick, how much he had meant to her, and she’d finally put it out there. He reached over and took her hands in his, his elbows resting on his knees. “Heather. I like you too.” He shrugged, his hands squeezing hers as he raised his eyes back to hers, “I’ve always liked you, and I knew you had to have a lot of personal shit going on in your life. You never talked about it, and I didn’t want to make you, but I knew. And I didn’t care that you didn’t tell me. I have never cared, Heather, because I like you for who you are, even with your eyes glowing like that.”
“Rick…”
“You told me that all of this rested on whether or not I was okay with you.” He pulled her hand to his mouth and kissed her knuckles, “I’m more than okay with you, Heather. So you slept with someone else? I’ve slept with four women since you broke it off, just trying to find someone like you. So you have a crazy family? We all have issues. And apparently you can levitate furniture —”
“I can do a lot more than levitate furniture, Rick.” She couldn’t wipe the grin off her face, because he was smiling at her, he was holding her hands, and he wasn’t running.
“I honestly don’t care if you fly on a broomstick at night and cackle over a cauldron, if you’re willing to be with me — to really be with me — then I’m in. I was always in.” His eyes met hers and he pushed a strand of hair behind her ear.
“I don’t even own a cauldron,” she muttered. He laughed and pulled her towards him so he could kiss her. His lips were warm, and the kiss went from gentle to really fucking hot in the time it took him to grab her hips and pull her onto his lap. She was straddling him, his erection already very apparent against her.
“Then I’ll buy you a fucking cauldron.” He kissed her again and she laughed.
“I don’t want a cauldron. I don’t even use one — you know what? You have a lot to learn about witches.” She smiled down at him as he ran his hands up her waist, cupping her breasts with a growl.
“You’re being awfully bossy, pretty girl.” His hand dropped hard onto her ass and she yelped at the spank.
“You do realize I can levitate you as well? And I’m pretty sure I can do other stuff that I haven’t figured out yet.” She grinned at him, but the look he gave her made her instantly wet.
“You do realize that I can and will punish you if you misbehave, right? Especially if you levitate me?” His thumb traced her lip, and she opened her mouth nodding slowly. “Good girl.”
Heat washed over her at those words. Rick was perfect, and he cared, and of the hundred ways today could have gone, she wouldn’t have predicted t
his.
“Now, the other thing you said was that once you’d said your peace, we could go to bed.” Rick lifted his hips against hers, and she moaned. “Did you mean that?”
“Absolutely. I absolutely meant that, sir.” Her voice was breathy. She was bordering on speechless submissive mode and she’d never been happier about it as he kissed her, lifted her and started walking towards his bedroom. Because in the morning he could make her breakfast, and she wouldn’t feel guilty. He could buy her small stuffed octopi, or squid, or whatever and she could be happy about it. They could watch bad sci-fi movies and eat popcorn and go on dates and have mutual friends, and she could be as normal as possible with the life she’d had. She could be normal.
She could play with him tonight. Wake up with welts. Wake up a witch. Wake up a Pritchett.
And she could be absolutely, blissfully, normal.
About Jennifer Bene
Jennifer Bene is a writer of adult / erotic fiction. Her writing has been described by readers as “dark in a way that turns you on”, and she definitely takes that as a compliment! She has a terrible mouth that often gets her in trouble, but comes in handy when she's writing. She loves to write strong female characters and dominant male characters in stories that take readers for a walk on the dark side.
When she’s not attached to a keyboard, she likes to read, drink wine, do yoga, binge on Netflix, and enjoy life with friends/family. She lives in Texas, and no, she doesn't own a horse or wear a cowboy hat, you’d have better luck finding her on the dance floor downtown. Seriously.
Jennifer would love to hear from you! She does her best to keep readers up to date via social media, and tries to always respond when readers are nice enough to message her!
Check out her website - http://jenniferbene.com/
The Darker Side of Love (A Dark Erotica Boxed Set) Page 23
