She had to be the world’s best actress, Raven told himself; and yet, he could not shake off the feeling that those piercing eyes could see right through him. Unfold his darkest secrets, unleash his damnedest monsters, and keep standing.
Which was a threat in itself, was it not?
“Yes, she is going,” the witch’s strong voice brought his wandering thoughts back and Raven barely contained an urge to curse her. Or maybe he should curse himself. It was his own fault he couldn’t concentrate. At least he wasn’t so blind as not to see her fingers inching toward the crying witch.
Raven immediately stretched out his free hand, but when he tried to grab Natalie, it smashed into something. He shook his hand, clenched and unclenched his fingers to ascertain his bones weren’t broken. But it hurt like hell. Felt as if he’d punched a wall.
Slowly, he reached for it again and managed to find a barrier. An invisible wall was standing between him and the escaping witch. Raven didn’t know how far it stretched, but he couldn’t risk losing them both by searching for a gap in it somewhere.
“Remove it,” he told his captive, turning the handle of the sword. The blade nicked her skin. She gulped, but didn’t cower. The only answer he got was her eyes narrowing.
You need her alive, he told himself. Alive! He didn’t believe in hurting just for the sake of it, so after one last glance toward silken robes disappearing into the woods, Raven dropped his sword.
His witch didn’t move an inch. She kept standing still, strong and unshaken, but when he grabbed her hands, he felt them trembling. Their gazes met again, and he saw the exact moment of realization dawning on her. She lifted her chin higher and pressed her lips tighter, as if daring him to say something. Well, she could wait an eternity for all he cared. He finally had a witch and his plan was in motion—ridiculous challenges had no place in it. And he would’ve recognized a challenge in her stance from miles away, but those eyes … those eyes dared him to do his worst and promised to survive. They promised to…
Raven shook his head, confused at what he’d seen only a moment ago. Or maybe felt. He couldn’t remember. Snap out of it! he commanded himself, and tied the knot swiftly, securing her hands behind her back. It was safer that way. For both of them. For she wouldn’t be able to work another spell. And he wouldn’t be tempted to cut her black heart out. More than he was tempted right now, at least.
“Leave her alone,” a loud command interrupted him, about the same time as his witch gasped “Logan…”
Raven pivoted, only to witness someone coming at him like a wooden ram destined for collision. He waited patiently, and in the last moment possible turned his body sideways, causing the man to lose balance on impact and go down with a hard thud. Raven’s boot was on his throat the next instant, applying just enough pressure to scare him off.
“Stop it!” the witch yelled, jamming her own shoulder into his side in a futile attempt to move him. Futile—yes, for he didn’t follow anyone’s orders, much less some witch’s; but that voice of hers made him want to, which only enraged him further. And … shit…
“You are a child,” he exclaimed when he finally got a better look at the one on the ground. Fair-haired, green-eyed and only around sixteen, the boy struggled to breathe, but was far from capitulating.
Raven removed his foot instantly, but rather than scrambling farther away, the boy came right back at him. With a dagger.
“I’m not a child,” the kid snarled through gritted teeth, going straight for Raven’s throat, “I’m a man!”
“I have no doubt you are.” Raven rolled his eyes heavenward, disarming the kid with a few well-executed maneuvers. Only when the weapon was safely tucked under his belt did he allow himself a slow perusal of the witch—not that he needed any reminders of how she looked—and added, “Who wouldn’t be?”
She possessed this ethereal beauty one would never forget, even when she was red with anger, her eyes hurling daggers at him.
“Now, if you are done…” he began, ready to finish this spectacle; and ended having to evade another attack.
“Are you stupid?” he couldn’t help but ask, throwing the kid on the ground one more time. It wasn’t that easy to catch Raven off guard. He had years of practice behind him, years of fighting, and this one … would be lucky to last another month with his penchant for saving witches in distress. The Venlordians would make sure of it. All for just some witch. The logic of it eluded Raven.
He took the dagger he’d acquired moments ago from under his belt, but before he could explain some truths to the kid the witch jumped in front of him, covering her unlikely savior with her body.
“Don’t…” she breathed, “don’t hurt him.”
“No!” the kid underneath her protested, trying to get up. He wasn’t allowed to move one inch or utter another word. She touched him, and the boy slumped to the ground. Unconscious.
Raven watched, not really fathoming what had just occurred, when the witch turned her eyes on him, adding another mystery to this whole puzzle. “He is harmless. Now leave him be!”
Logan was harmless, all right. Something he couldn’t say about the other one. Even with her hands tied up, she looked ready to commit murder. The air was cracking with power barely leashed; he could sense it.
Her murderous stare embodied the sheer definition of the witch, exactly what he would have expected; and yet, for the life of him, Raven couldn’t fathom who the hell she was.
Chapter 4
Hours filled with nothing but an occasional chirping bird passed agonizingly slowly as Raven was forced to travel on foot, dragging a very skittish horse who still refused to carry him, and a witch who refused to look at him. Better silence than a tantrum, Raven decided. Besides, if he never saw those eyes of hers again, it would be too damned soon.
The fear and courage he’d glimpsed there touched him so profoundly, he didn’t even know what to think or how to react. He felt amazed and angry at the same time. For a moment Raven forgot what she was, seeing simply a woman—a beautiful woman—protecting another. A woman he came across while stepping out of the shadows and into the clearing.
He’d been mesmerized by her long, graceful hands coming out of the water and disappearing under it. He could still see her nearing the bank and standing up. The water flowed just above her breasts creating a tantalizing vision. There was nothing for his eyes to feast upon, and yet too much for his starving imagination to withstand. Something as innocent as a single dark lock, plastered to her sun-kissed skin and disappearing under the surface, became the most sensual thing he’d ever seen.
He remembered trying not to imagine the ends of her hair brushing against her rigid nipples, shaming himself to turn around before she stepped out of the water and saw him spying from under the bush like some sort of a pervert; yet, he’d been unable to pry his eyes away. And the image of her lithe, wet body was branded on his mind forever.
Clothed and silent, she walked near him, angry even; her moves, however, lacked none of the grace and determination he’d seen earlier. The only thing missing was the strange darkness surrounding her.
In his mind’s eye Raven saw every detail as the memory surfaced before him.
The air shifted around the woman, shadows swirled, but before Raven could question his sanity, or his eyesight, she turned and laid her eyes on him. He felt breathless looking into those large, blue, bottomless oceans a man could easily drown in. She had high cheekbones, a dainty nose and lips—a pure rosy temptation. But it was her gaze that beckoned him the most. It glanced straight at him, touched him, and at the same time looked through and beyond. As if he wasn’t even there.
Raven couldn’t understand how she failed to notice him, especially standing so close, but he felt her gaze like a physical touch and it raised something inside him. Something undeniably strong, and yet, utterly unfamiliar.
He shook his head in an effort to clear his thoughts. Unfortunately, everything remained hazy. Except for the woman with extraordinary ey
es. A witch, he all but chanted, desperate to regain control. He’d seen the proof with his own eyes. He could not desire a witch! Raven ground his teeth in hellish frustration. He could not desire a disgusting, wanton creature whose only purpose in life was to gain more power and command over all; no matter the consequences for everyone else.
They seduced, they killed, and all for the greed to obtain more power. Lied, stole, tortured. Animals or human, it didn’t matter. Raven had seen too many victims of their cruelty. Too many scars. He didn’t know which were more bloodthirsty: Venlordians, who murdered so many innocents just for the possibility of killing a witch, or witches, who used anyone in their path any way they wanted.
Mercy was not in their vocabulary. Compassion was something they exploited, not exhibited. And risking their lives in order to save another was unheard of. Yet, she seemed sincerely concerned about the boy. Which baffled Raven. Selfless, witches were definitely not.
This had to be some trick. Or there had to be a reason behind her sacrifice. Of course! the realization dawned on him. Everyone knew that a witch’s powers grew with every man she lay with, but only few were privy to one little detail—if the male, a witch used to draw her power from, was to die suddenly, before she broke the bond, she would not only lose what she had gained from him, but much more. And the younger, the better. Innocence, after all, gave few extra benefits.
That’s why she tried to defend Logan. She was protecting herself, Raven deduced, disgusted by her. Who knew how many slaves she kept. To be this powerful… The last witch he encountered had seven cages in her lair. Five of those occupied. And she came nowhere close to the one walking beside him.
It had taken him one look at the tortured souls, and the witch’s fate had been sealed. Even the fact that he desperately needed a witch hadn’t saved her. Thank the gods he had caught this one without the cages around.
“What did you do to him?” Raven asked, suddenly wondering if he had done the right thing by leaving the boy. Maybe he needed to go back and make sure she reversed whatever spell she’d put on Logan.
The witch glanced at him, her eyes burning. “Who says I did anything? Maybe you just banged his head on a rock or something?”
Did she purposely misunderstand the question? “Yeah, and I was born yesterday,” Raven stared her down.
“It explains why you have no manners,” she shot back, “or is threatening women with sharp weapons, tying them up and dragging them heaven knows where something you’ve been taught your whole life?”
“But you forget one thing,” Raven answered, intrigued by her against his own better judgment, “you are not a woman.”
“Let me guess,” she said without missing a beat, “I’m a filthy monstrous whore who breaks marriages, preys on innocent children, and curses your fields and animals to wither and die, right?”
Raven couldn’t help but stop in his tracks. The way she said all those things… There was no misplaced, misguided rightful indignation, no anger, not even self-pity. It was as if it truly didn’t bother her.
“And you are fine with what people think of you?”
“People see what they want to see. I may be an angel, but if they paint me as a demon…” she shrugged, “am I to cry because other kids don’t want to play with me? Life is short. Especially standing in my shoes, and I refuse to spend what little time I have wallowing in self-pity.”
“No, of course not, you’ll spend it ripping the hearts from their chests. Angel.”
She sighed, for one second almost belying her words about not caring what people thought of her, but then she lifted her chin higher and uttered, “having control over someone else’s life is so-oo exciting, isn’t it?”
“What did you do to Logan?” Raven refused to rise to the bait.
“Saved him from you.” Her words were so sharp, he barely refrained from checking his chest for the wounds.
“What did you do to him?” The line of his mouth tightened and his voice grew harsher.
“Made him sleep.”
“For how long?”
“Not long,” she admitted. “I believe Ciaran woke him up already.”
“Ciaran?” His eyes widened. “Never mind.” He really had no wish to know all her lovers by name. “Just keep those hands away from me.”
She narrowed her eyes, “and you’ll keep yours to yourself?”
That was the plan, even if something lit up inside him every time she glanced his way.
“Besides,” she added, “that amulet of yours would protect you from any nasty, wicked witch.”
Despite the seriousness of the situation, Raven was forced to suppress a smile. How could he be intrigued and disgusted by her at the same time? There was just no logic in it.
She had to be working some spell. That had to be it. He refused to believe he could be attracted to a monster—no matter how lovely she appeared on the surface. The amulet he carried protected him from a lot, but there was always a way around it.
He looked at her and realized his mistake the moment he found himself drowning in those blue oceans of hers again. They seemed stormier than ever. Darker and more intense. Almost … Raven couldn’t find the right word, though he felt it on the tip of his tongue. He swallowed the knot in his throat and tried to shake this … whatever this was. He took a deep breath, and glanced up.
The sun was already setting, leaving them with no other option but to camp outside.
Raven looked around, deciding it was as good a place as any. He tied the witch to the nearest tree, and went to gather wood for the fire.
“Am I supposed to just sit here?” she asked, and he could swear he heard a note of irritation in her voice.
“Unless you can wiggle your nose and make a fire, yes,” he shot back without even looking, though strangely aware of her every move. It was as if he heard and sensed every shift of air around her. Something that sounded ridiculous, yet was very much true.
After a moment of silence, Raven pivoted and found her staring at him, her brows lifted. He had a funny feeling she might just set a fire. Under him! Instead, she dismissed him and concentrated on his horse.
Plotting a way to steal it?—the thought crossed his mind. Well, good luck with that. Lightning didn’t let strangers sit on his back, or sometimes even touch him without Raven’s help. Which, it turned out, she didn’t require.
His witch bowed her head, slightly touching Lightning’s frontlet, and in return the horse bowed his. Could she command animals? he wondered, uneasiness settling inside. What exactly was the extent of her powers? And why did it seem as though her magic didn’t require potions?
“Sit down,” he told her, thinking it best to keep her and Lightning apart.
Reluctantly, Amira obeyed, though it rankled every part of her to do as she was told. She wasn’t exactly the obeying kind of person. She had to remind herself that it was too soon to act—every two minutes at least.
She sat down on a fallen tree and watched him work. The image of him making her forget everything, except his presence. It baffled her more than anything. He was a handsome man, true—which should have not mattered to her at all—and yet she found herself examining him as a woman would. Not as a captive looking for a vulnerability to exploit.
His rugged chin showed determination; his masculine body, power; his graceful movements, capability; but his dark midnight eyes revealed pain. The combination was perilous, and given his burning hatred, even more dangerous to her. Yet, with a heart full of anger and loathing, he was not the brutal, atrocious animal she would have guessed.
What was he going to do with her? Kill her? He’d threatened to, but he hadn’t tried. Not really. He didn’t even try to touch her, though it was always either kill a witch, or violate and then kill her. It was probably only a matter of time—but still, why did he hesitate? Why did she see something more in him than just a villain?
She shouldn’t rely on ridiculous hope. He did kidnap her, after all. Threaten her.
Ami
ra followed him with her gaze as he piled branches, his leather coat placed on the grass. His shirt sleeves were tucked up, his powerful muscular arms tensed. She had a sudden flash about those hands wrapped around her body in a possessive embrace, about his fingers caressing her naked skin. And from what she could see, she was more than willing.
Her spine stiffened at the unexpected vision, and she found herself breathless and shaking. She would have rubbed at the goose bumps on her flesh, except her hands were tied. Amira gritted her teeth, torn between lust and irritation. She was this close to turning him into a tadpole, she had to clench her fists, jabbing her nails into her palms, hard, to keep herself from doing something stupid.
“What?” her captor snapped, as if sensing the change in her. He turned, and the moment their gazes met, Amira felt a wave of heat crash over her. She struggled to take everything in when she heard the same question right inside her mind.
Amazed and confused, Amira barely managed not to drop her jaw at the unexpected revelation. He had projected his thoughts straight into her head. Impossible. No one except gods, demons and her, could communicate this way. Definitely not mortals. And yet, the evidence was staring her right in the eyes.
Amira cleared her voice “I … I was just wondering about your…” think of something! “your … sword,” she finally stuttered, her mind in turmoil over the such a disconcerting discovery. Not to mention still replaying the flashes of her vision. Well, at least she hadn’t lied. She was thinking about his sword—just not the one he had in his scabbard.
“And what about it?” He folded his arms on his chest and glared at her intensively.
“Well,”…finding a clever word was so beyond her at the moment! Not when her flesh was still tingling from his touch. Oh, my! She bit her tongue till she tasted blood, to prevent herself from crying out. It was his gaze, she realized. It intensified her vision.
Till Death And Beyond (Witch World) Page 3
