Everything around was a blur. Except her. Nothing mattered. Except her.
Had to have her. Now. His hands reached for her, but she evaded him. Slipping through his grasp.
Why? Why would she ignite such all-consuming flames within him, only then to refuse? Just to tantalize? What did she want from him?
“I want your apology, for starters,” she whispered, and his heart leapt at the sound of her voice. Magical. Damn. Don’t do this, something inside him roared. More likely squeaked. He barely heard it.
She approached then. Her eyes never leaving his.
A single feather-light touch, and his body quivered. His shaft stiffened even more than before. It was almost painful. He craved for…
Surrender to me. Her eyes sparkled. Enchanted him. And you will know the taste of me. You will know the passion you crave. It seemed it was all he could hear, ringing inside his head. A sing-song voice he hated, yet yearned for. Feared, yet was fascinated with. He was going demented. Obviously.
He would have pulled his hair out, if it meant he could get rid of that voice stirring up everything inside him. He doubted it would help. It persisted. Probed him. Surrender to me.
Penetrated. Or do you want me to touch you?
Enticed him. Kiss you?
Pushed him to the edge. Stroke you?
Was there even a straw he could clutch on to? Or maybe lick you?
Yes! Yes! Yes! Every fiber of his being screamed.
“No!” he didn’t know where the strength came from. He didn’t care. He needed more.
No, he needed her!
Damn. It was so confusing.
“And this is what a spell is like,” she snapped her fingers, turned ostentatiously, and left him. Alone.
Only then did Raven let out a breath.
And this is what a spell is like, she’d said. The feeling was unmistakably different from what he carried inside. It wasn’t any stronger; it wasn’t even more consuming. It had, however, obliterated his free will, abandoning him to her mercy. The sweet, sumptuous desire the spell brought left nothing but an icky taste in its wake.
The feeling was so welcome and unwanted at the same time, he thought he might go insane. All because of a witch. He laughed bitterly, stroking his fingers through his hair.
Do you want me to stroke you? her voice echoed in his head. His shaft throbbed. Damn it. He didn’t just want her to stoke him. He wanted her to take him in her mouth and suck him dry. He wanted her in every way imaginable and possible.
The spell was broken. Yet there was still no reprieve. The flames burning his flesh showed no sign of abating. Madness, that was what it was.
What was her purpose? Only to show that his feelings toward her were his own? His head was splitting apart, though it didn’t stop him from replaying everything over and over until he could swear they spoke without words being uttered. When he thought even harder, Raven couldn’t remember her lips moving, though they spoke nevertheless. Or was it his imagination? It was driving him crazy. He gripped his bursting temples. He needed to get to the bottom of it. But how? Raven was not sure he could trust his own head right now.
Maybe it was for the better, he sighed, knowing he was really spending too much time thinking about her while there were more pressing matters to consider. One of them, his brother. Dacian. The one person who truly depended on him. The one true victim in all of this.
He had to distance himself from whatever enchantment she wielded. Meaning, he had to distance himself from her. Since she was the most enthralling enchantment of all. Not spells. Not magic. Her.
Dacian, he reminded himself. Think of Dacian. His brother. That’s what mattered. His little brother, whom Raven found nervously pacing the confines of his utterly trashed room. And from the looks of it, there was nothing left to break. Except for the bones; Raven winced as Dacian rammed his fist into the wall, his brother’s pain echoing in his own heart.
As expected, the wall didn’t break. His brother’s knuckles, however, began to bleed. Dacian didn’t even blink. He swung his fist again, succeeding in knocking the breath out of Raven when he tried to intercept the hit and was a fraction too slow.
Raven grabbed Dacian’s hand before he could strike again, ignoring the slight stinging in his chest where the punch had landed. He held the injured fist between his palms and lifted his eyes to meet the half-conscious gaze of his brother.
Raven never knew how lucid Dacian’s mind was behind his dark empty eyes. This time, when those eyes looked back, Raven saw tears welling. It was like another punch straight to his gut.
Dacian was the only one he had left. But it was in moments like this that desperation managed to creep up on him, shackling him in chains. And no matter how fiercely he fought, Raven couldn’t get free.
“It’s alright. Everything is going to be alright,” he soothingly attempted to reassure his brother, his voice gentle and confident despite what was happening inside him. Raven couldn’t let his inner monsters show themselves for even a fraction of a second. He couldn’t betray the chaos eating him alive.
Raven felt like he wanted to scream and hit something. But knowing that if he allowed even the smallest glimpse into his inner struggles, Dacian would lose it again, Raven drew strength from someplace and buried his own sorrow and rage.
“Why don’t we sit down,” he suggested, slowly leading Dacian’s battered body to his bed. He was afraid to stumble in the darkness. The room was a bloody maze he could barely navigate. With every drawer pulled out of its place and thrown on the floor. Sheets tossed aside. Even Dacian’s own clothes lying in their way.
He carefully settled Dacian among the pillows. Straightened the quilt and covered him. He grabbed a fallen chair and sat down himself.
“We need to look at your wound,” Raven told him, but Dacian covered his knuckles with his other hand, hiding it from him.
“No one is going to hurt you,” Raven promised, not once letting his eyes wander away. He tore a piece of material off of his shirt and reached for his brother’s arm. Dacian recoiled.
“I won’t hurt you,” he repeated. “I would never hurt you.” But he had. No wonder Dacian flinched from him. As fractured as his brother’s mind was, it seemed it sometimes remembered the truth. The moment passed as quickly as it came, and Dacian let him tend the wound. If only temporarily. He would wash and re-bandage it later. Once he was calmer. Once his eyes weren’t dancing the wild mad-man dance. Once—
“Who is she?” Dacian suddenly grabbed Raven’s arm, his voice even more impetuous than his glare.
Raven sighed. Even here, he couldn’t escape her. He needed to concoct a convincing story, otherwise he feared Dacian’s reaction. And yet, he ended up with the truth.
“I don’t know,” he confessed honestly, “I don’t know.”
The woman was infuriating, and he found that refreshing. She was a witch he should hate, yet instead he burned for her. She was like no one he’d ever met. More beautiful than any goddess and not a drop of vanity in her eyes. Strong in her convictions. Relentlessly determined when she got something in her head.
She truly was someone who could stand her ground no matter what kind of monsters lunged for her. He hated to admit, but he admired her courage, even her boldness.
Raven covered his face with his palms. “What I am to do with her?”
There was no answer; the only sound he could hear was his heart pounding like a drum. Though maybe it was the only answer he could give himself. He knew he couldn’t let her go, not yet. Not until the witches came. But her staying under his roof, in his bed, inflamed yet another problem.
Inflamed being the precise word, he thought. Every time she got near him, he felt like a fool, incapable of controlling himself. And for the first time in his life, Raven began to doubt his beliefs.
Raven stood up and leaned toward the backrest of the chair. His mind was swirling with thoughts and questions. Too many questions. Too few answers.
“Leaving?” His broth
er’s desperate voice brought him back to reality. Reality, where he had a duty and a goal. Where his fantasies were of no importance. Where his softening towards her was a weakness he simply could not afford.
“Never.” Raven closed his eyes. “I’ll always be with you, little brother.” No matter what.
Chapter 15
Amira’s furious steps didn’t falter all the way to her room. Her room? His! She groaned in frustration. His room. She slammed the door with all of her strength, probably smashing it straight into the noses of her new shadows. It would serve them right, she snorted. Exhaled. And just like that, the anger was gone.
She blinked.
Was that it? A few minutes of boiling inside, and it just simmered down? A few moments of unwavering desire to avenge him, and she caved in?
Her reaction was incomprehensible.
Amira sat down on the bed, trailing her fingers over the sheets, digging her nails into it and ripping it apart. Well, trying to. All she accomplished was a slight crinkling of the material. She closed her eyes, instantly understanding her mistake—when darkness enveloped her in its cold embrace, she found herself yearning for Raven’s heat.
Her heart sunk down to the tips of her toes. In a second. She remembered his searing gaze, the feel of his strength under her fingers. She remembered how his voice grew darker, hungrier in her mind. Amira doubted she would ever forget.
He’d been burning and yet he’d fought her. The strongest of men would have crumbled to their knees in front of her—Raven had resisted the invisible chains trying to bind him.
And now, she was the one who had to fight the same shackles. Such were the consequences of using a love spell on someone you weren’t indifferent to. Well, lust spell, to be exact. But who really cared? The outcome was very similar, and it always backfired.
When was she ever going to learn? Amira pinched the bridge of her nose. And to think she dared to call Ciaran the impulsive one. He had nothing on her.
Amira had a hard time coping with her feelings ever since she’d looked into Raven’s eyes for the very first time and found herself drowning in the sea of myriad emotions. It didn’t justify her foolishness, but…
She’d been furious. Enraged. Humiliated. Wanted to repay him. Doubly, if possible. Was it possible?, she wondered. The whole way until she entered his room, she could hear only blood pounding in her head. After that, thoughts began swirling, filling her mind. She could no longer sweep them away.
Knowing he detested magic, she’d uttered a spell. On purpose. The spell other witches used. The only spell she remembered, actually, since she had no use for them. But just this once, she was going to be like any other witch.
Not exactly true, either. She swayed back and laid her head on the bed, frustration taking hold of her again. She was not like any other. Never could be. Originally the spell had to be chanted during the moments the man moved inside a witch. Climaxed—even better. It was also necessary to kill a deer and eat its heart while it was still beating. Bathe in the blood of the animal. All of that, just to bind a man’s will.
If she’d been any other witch, she would have had no other choice but to stifle her urge to teach him a lesson. The ritual was too disgusting to even consider. Not worth the trouble. Lucky for her, all Amira had to do was utter the words. She had more energy in her little finger than any dead animal. Yeah, she was so lucky! At finding trouble.
She had recklessly uttered the spell. Was stuck with the consequences—and all for what? Raven’s will hadn’t been hers for a single moment. The man had the strongest self-control she’d ever encountered, causing her to curse the difficulties it raised, and yet admire him at the same time.
Was anything simple around here?
A knock sounded at the door.
Could it be him? Her heart leapt, against her better judgment, and plunged to the ground when she realized it wasn’t. Why did it not listen to reason? Amira wanted to scream. This was not what she had imagined it would be like to feel. This was not what she had dreamed of for all these years.
Be careful what you wish for—people liked to say. Well, they didn’t know the half of it, Amira thought, and answered, “Come in.”
A snowy-haired woman stepped inside. So did Amira’s shadows.
“Shoo,” Martha swiped her hand through the air, ordering the men to leave. They hesitated for a second, their gazes moving from her to the woman and back again to her. Finally obeyed.
“I will speak with that demon of a boy about them,” Martha promised her once they were alone.
“There’s no need,” Amira assured her, knowing that even this woman wouldn’t change his opinion. He quite often yielded to her out of respect, but she doubted this would be the case now. The demon of a boy, as Martha called him, had his own agenda.
Maybe her human shadows would even come in handy when she chose to explore the mansion. She was not about to lock herself in this room. It wasn’t in her to sit still. She needed to do something! Otherwise Amira feared she would go crazy from these thoughts and feelings that plagued her. They clung to her like a morning mist over the fields.
“Oh, there is a need,” Martha swayed her head to the side, “but it is not what I came here to say.” She straightened, softening her expression. “Thank you.”
Amira blinked.
“For saving Nyssa,” she elaborated. “I heard it was a dreadful sight.”
Heard? Her brows lifted at the word. Why would she … everything around Amira stilled and she closed her eyes to listen and watch with her senses. The threads of waning energy she encountered made her blood run cold with ice.
No wonder she’d never seen Martha outside. Not when she was tied up. Not even when Nyssa was dying. Even though the woman evidently cared about the girl.
“You weren’t outside, were you?” she asked, knowing the answer already.
“No,” Martha shook her head. “Unfortunately I cannot step a foot outside of this house.”
A curse. She knew it. How could she not see it from the start? She hadn’t probed the minds of people deep enough to find out such truths. That’s how. It was dangerous for the humans, especially with the state she’d been in.
Never mind! Amira shoved the thought away, considering the possibilities. She doubted the woman had done anything to deserve it. The only problem was, curses were complicated. Always required some kind of sacrifice. Furthermore, she needed to know every single detail. And these things were usually painful to humans. They didn’t like speaking about agonizing moments. Their hearts were even more closed. Guarded.
Again, her thoughts meandered back to Raven.
Was he cursed? she questioned herself, not for the first time. Probably. It did fit with the haunted pain she sometimes witnessed in his eyes.
Oh for the love of gods, could she be any more pathetic? She was appalled by herself and how the man kept worming his way back into her thoughts. Soon she would start to think she was cursed. In addition to the obvious death curse.
She must have unwittingly displayed her emotions, because Martha finally smiled. “Can’t get him out of your mind now, can you?”
Her eyes flared wide. Was it so obvious? Never once saw a person inside of her. Until now.
“Don’t worry, he is just as confused as you are,” Martha reassured her, as her own answer died inside her throat. She really didn’t know what to say.
“Rest now,” the woman told her, and left the room, leaving her standing with her mouth wide open in … amazement? Shock? Whichever, she was out of her element. Next time, she vowed, she would question Martha about the curse thoroughly. She would not stand flummoxed or baffled, mouth open as if trying to catch a fly. She would be decisive. Persistent if needed. Unwavering.
* * *
Unfortunately, the next time she saw Martha, things didn’t seem to flow quite the way she’d planned.
“You have a guest,” the housekeeper said, as she found her wandering the west wing.
“A guest?
Who?”
“You will have to see for yourself,” Martha smiled, and turned to leave, giving Amira no other choice but to follow.
Well, the tour of the famous mansion of Devinghart would have to wait. It was not as if her own personal “guides” were in any hurry. They followed her like puppies, but always kept a safe distance. Didn’t use many words either, even when she tried to establish a polite discourse.
Inveterate fear was a mighty foe, and this place reeked of it.
Amira sighed. Every step in this house was challenging, and she wondered what the next one would bring. Trusting her luck, it would probably be some disgruntled villager with an axe, or maybe a rope. Well, there was only one way to find out.
She entered the dining room, prepared for the blow. Instead, she found a child nervously biting his nails. He was around eight years old, and as black as a sweep, his tattered clothes barely covering his skinny frame. The boy lifted his deep-blue eyes, and Amira froze, recognizing him as the same boy who had thrown an apple at her, the same one who had wanted her dead.
“What is your name?” she asked, not sure if she should look into those eyes.
“Adam,” the boy muttered, barely taking out his grubby nails from his mouth.
Now what? She wondered. She wasn’t used to interacting with children.
“Was there something you needed?” She hoped she wouldn’t frighten Adam off because of her inexperience. The child was already reluctant to talk to her, but to her amazement he didn’t run.
“I came because of me sis. Me mom didn’t want me here, but I still came when she thought I fell asleep. But I couldn’t sleep.” His words flew out of his mouth so fast, it was hard keeping up with them. “… I wasn’t allowed to go outside either, but I saw … I saw Nyssa lying, like dead … and then you came and she wasn’t dead no more.” Adam’s eyes filled and the tears stopped his confession.
“Shh.” Amira crouched in front of him and wiped the tears away. “It’s alright. Everything is alright.”
Adam nodded, rubbing his eyes with dirty fists. He inhaled a few times and she took his hands into hers to stop him from irritating those eyes further.
Till Death And Beyond (Witch World) Page 12
