Till Death And Beyond (Witch World)

by Lyn C. Johanson

  If only she didn’t hear a loud voice inside her head telling her it would be a grave mistake.

  Chapter 20

  Raven watched her for an eternity, or so it seemed, only now noticing her dark, rich locks brushing against her back. When did her hair become undone? he wondered, realizing his memories were shrouded by a mist. The scrambled visions of the battle were so surreal in his head, he could hardly remember the order of events.

  Maybe in a few days, when his heart wasn’t drumming in his ears. When he didn’t see blood on the hem of her dress—a screaming reminder of this whole insanity. He sighed, finally letting her go. She would come to him when she was ready. If the wait didn’t kill him first.

  Raven looked around. The horror and joy in equal amounts on the people’s faces bringing him back to reality. It became painfully clear how lucky they had been to survive this. It was a miracle that the number of casualties was this low.

  Half, if not more, of them would have been dead—Raven included—if not for the woman he still couldn’t figure out. Maybe it was the mystery holding him captive. Maybe her spirit. All he knew was that hour was chasing hour; the sun was setting, bringing them closer and closer to the night, and she remained in his mind despite all the blood he was drenched in.

  One would think having time to cool off would have brought him to his senses, but the intensity of his desires was simply undeniable. He couldn’t even concentrate on the blazes around him. He was going crazy. He was up to his ears in the piled-up bodies, trying to incinerate all the evidence of the fight, and it felt as if his insides were burning instead. His flesh felt too hot, his skin too tight around his bones.

  It didn’t leave him completely blind or deaf to the stolen glances and silent accusations of those grieving the loss of their loved ones. The malicious vibes he was picking up were few, but it didn’t mean they didn’t exist. Raven was convinced no one would dare voice it—not after the very public display of their kiss, or of the powers she wielded. Even those who had been safely tucked inside the house had already heard many stories. Half of them exaggerations, but it helped to stem the murmuring.

  Still, he wanted to spare her the pain. With her astute senses, he was convinced she knew everything, even if she didn’t show it. That was the thing about Amira, he thought. She acted as if nothing fazed her—strong and unwavering on the outside, while inside, she felt things profoundly.

  Even now, she was healing the wounded. Against his wishes. Not sparing herself even for a wolf. And never once she looked at him, while all he wanted to do was gather her into his arms and carry her to his bed. If only she could answer the damned question, Raven almost groaned, starting yet another fire, his hands weary from it. His body was demanding her. Or a cold bath, if this continued.

  He had no idea what reasons she had for tormenting him so, but he’d spoken the truth. He didn’t view her being a witch as something to be ashamed of anymore. Raven didn’t care what others thought of him. Only Dacian mattered. But once his brother awoke, he would hate Raven no matter what. That was the sad truth.

  He had denied himself for so long, and maybe he would have succeeded, if it was simple lust he was possessed with. Adding another betrayal was inconceivable to him. Except, she was not responsible for who she was born—only for what she made of herself.

  She was an angel. A dark one, true, but still an angel, he smiled, wondering how a word he’d used as a mockery once had become a caress. An angel with a body made for sin, he added, as his gaze slid back to her.

  With all of this horror and gore around, with fires burning in the dark, she was the most amazing and beautiful thing to behold. And her being so far away—was slowly killing him.

  * * *

  “You should use this,” Nyssa caught Amira off-guard. The girl extended her hands to show what she was holding, and it took Amira a few seconds for her brain to digest the information. The white strips of material Nyssa held were bandages.

  She should use bandages. Maybe then she wouldn’t feel like the ground was going to come up swinging any minute and take a slap at her face.

  “Shouldn’t you be somewhere else?” she asked instead.

  “Shouldn’t you?”

  Amira just stared her down until Nyssa raised her hands in surrender.

  “You sound like my mother,” the girl muttered. “It’s not like they can hide all of this from me. And I thought you could use some help, but fine—I’m leaving. I just came to tell you that Brea was sleeping in Martha’s room, but if you are so eager to get rid of me…”

  Amira shook her head at the tirade. “There are plenty of things to do. If your mother doesn’t object, that is.” Amira didn’t feel like she had patience enough for Mode right now.

  “You can always turn her into a tadpole. Kidding, just kidding,” she added on seeing Amira arch her eyebrows at the suggestion. “Was she right, though? Did you put a spell on master Raven?”

  Amira sighed. How did she end up in this inquisition? Worse—she barely resisted the urge to rub her temples in frustration—the people around had suddenly become very quiet. Too quiet.

  “Nah, he’s too stubborn for that.” She wrapped a bandage around a shallow wound after she’d cleaned it, only too aware of people listening in on their conversation.

  “Why is he looking at you this way then?”

  Amira groaned. That was a question she refused to answer. “And why are you asking questions instead of helping?”

  “I’m not a child, you know. I’ve been kissed!” The scarlet color of poppies bloomed in Nyssa’s cheeks when she realized what she’d said. She stood up with haste, and all but ran away.

  The people around let out a laugh and Amira bit her lip. If only she could run like this. Instead, she moved around as if through a dream. Or a nightmare. She was tired. There was blood everywhere. The voice plaguing her didn’t allow a single moment of reprieve. And then … there was this other voice—the voice of a man whose gaze she felt burning into her back wherever she went.

  Say you’ll be mine.

  Amira’s pulse quickened, but she didn’t turn. She was afraid there really was only one answer for her to give. The answer, if uttered—her inner voice advised—would set a different course in motion. Something would unravel irretrievably.

  It was madness. She knew she wanted him. Craved him. But was it worth the risk? Was one night, maybe a few, worth dying for? She could enjoy this briefly, and then what? she had to ask herself. There would be no happily ever after for them. No matter how she spun this.

  All she had was another week or so at this place. Then … who knew? She might be born again. Some hundred years later with new memories to haunt her forever.

  Say you’ll be mine.

  Amira closed her eyes and took a deep breath. Why did he have to ask? She could almost curse him for it. If he had carried her inside with his lips on hers, she would have welcomed him with open arms. Rational thoughts, consequences—nothing existed when she was being swept away by the tidal wave of desires.

  Now, she had fears and doubts, and that damned voice telling her to wait.

  Wait for what? Amira wanted to know. She could be dead tomorrow. Waiting had never been an option for her. Not when everything was changing so quickly. Either she seized what she wanted, or she was left with regrets.

  She would be left with regrets either way—Amira realized the true reason behind her fear. She was scared of what could happen if she fell in love with him. She didn’t want such memories, or feelings to live inside her when she wasn’t Amira anymore. Except … except it was either memories of the few brief moments in time to haunt her, or regrets because she’d been too much of a coward to risk it.

  Coward… she scowled at the word. When did she become one? When did she start whining? Finally, she turned her eyes to him—Raven’s hair and body was dripping wet from him having washed the blood off. He turned, as if sensing her perusal, their eyes met, and his question rang again in her head.
/>   Say you’ll be mine.

  “Yes,” she mouthed, and witnessed as the bowl he held slipped from his fingers and hit the ground. Water splashed all around, but the hot promise his eyes whispered refused to let her go. She shivered with anticipation, and found herself in his arms two seconds later.

  There were no more words between them. None were needed. He swept her off her feet and carried her inside, almost running the whole way up the stairs.

  The moment Raven kicked the door closed, his mouth was on hers, and Amira’s blood sizzled. This passion between them was overwhelming her senses. It had always been this way. When they touched, breathing faltered, earth shook underneath them. Nothing else existed. Nothing else mattered. Except … the feeling of his tongue in her mouth, of his hands around her.

  Amira’s fingers sank into his wet, silky hair and she moaned in his mouth, her nostrils filling with masculine scent. Her body felt like a powder keg, ready to explode any minute. All she needed was the few touches she craved.

  She trembled at the thought of his hands on her, her nipples hardened and pressed against the material of her dress. She thought she would go crazy. But instead of carrying her to his bed, Raven released her.

  “Leave me this time, and I swear I’ll tie you to that damned pole,” she breathed, her hands refusing to leave his heated skin.

  “Kinky,” he laughed. “Didn’t know you were into that.”

  “And if I said I was, would you acquiesce?”

  “No way. Call me selfish, but I want you all for myself.” His lips curled at the corners.

  “Then come here.” She stretched out her arms in welcome invitation, but the command in her voice was unmistakable.

  “You sure you aren’t too tired?”

  “I’m sure I’ll go mad if you keep looking at me like that and don’t do anything about the fire I see in your eyes.”

  “Then kiss me.” He issued an order of his own, pulling her so close she could feel every inch of his rock-hard body against hers.

  She obeyed. Amira placed her lips on him, but not on his mouth. She kissed his neck, gently nibbling at the skin. She rained kiss after tender kiss down to his chest, and only then did she find her way back to his lips.

  “Satisfied?” She uttered in a low-pitched, passion-laced tone.

  “Not yet,” —his fingers found the laces of her dress— “but I’m sure we’ll figure something out.” Raven lowered his lips to the hollow in her neck for a taste, but found himself unable to draw away.

  He reveled in the feeling of her hands exploring his body. They slid up and down his chest, hands and abdomen, as if memorizing every rise and slope of his muscles. He took her earlobe into his mouth, sucked, and heard a delicious moan leave her lips. Her nails dug into his biceps.

  “Oh, we will!” Her raw, husky voice reverberated inside him, just as her hand slipped inside his pants and her fingers wrapped around the length of him.

  Raven thought he was going to explode when her hand began stroking. He wasn’t even inside her yet, and the earth was already slipping from under his feet. And slipping. And slipping. Just like her dress—his fingers finally loosened it enough for it to fall down, pooling around her waist.

  His mouth descended on her breast—his tongue relishing the feel of a hard, rosy nipple. His senses tottered so dangerously close to the edge, he didn’t know how he managed to hold on as his hands moved lower, to the juncture of her thighs.

  She was so wet for him, it took him one gentle stroke and she shuddered in his arms.

  He had no recollection of how they ended up in his bed, but finally she was there. Where he had wanted her for so long. Under him.

  Sweet heaven and perishing flames of Zcuran, but she was a perfect vision. Her long dark curls splayed like a fan on his pillows. Her eyes were misted by desire. Her lips parted into a seductive whisper he craved to taste. Her breaths came out strangled.

  Her hands traveled higher, and for a second he mourned the loss of her heat burning through his flesh. But then she parted her legs enough to accommodate his lower body. He groaned, claiming her soft lips again. He was desperate in his need to devour her.

  Her hands wrapped around him, her sharp nails raked his back, and she gasped. Almost choked. Her hands ceased their caress. Had he done something wrong? Raven reluctantly tore his lips from hers, trying to understand.

  “Show me your back,” she whispered, her voice laced with horror. Horror?

  “What?”

  “Please,” she uttered.

  His mind was so clouded by desire, the taste of honey still in his mouth, Raven struggled to fathom the meaning of this. The stifled plea in her voice made him do the unthinkable—he lifted his protesting body from hers, and turned so she could take a look at his back.

  He turned back to her, only to find himself staring at her eyes so misted, he couldn’t see the crystal oceans he loved anymore. They were empty.

  She pushed herself up to a sitting position, and turned her own back to him so he could see. Desire forgotten, he stared at the marks, identical to his own. And at that moment the world really did slip from under his feet.

  Chapter 21

  “How?” Raven’s voice came out hoarse, almost gruff. “How is this possible?”

  “We are bound by destiny. I just … I had no idea how … closely.” Her voice sounded strange to his ears. Her eyes—distant. It seemed like she was going through the motions, but she wasn’t there. Raven was not convinced he was even there.

  She cupped his face, then the deep azure of her gaze bored into him, and whispered in a barely audible voice, “Tell me.”

  Raven didn’t know what kind of bizarre dream this was, but talking about it was the last thing he wanted. He’d never breathed a word to anyone about the day. Had never discussed it. Not even with Martha, who had lived the same nightmare. Well, parts of it. She’d been unconscious through almost all of it. She’d been lucky.

  But now, seeing a plea in her hollow eyes … he found himself uttering the truth for the very first time: “We were attacked … my family slaughtered. And the scars…” His voice faltered.

  Raven could feel his muscles tensing, his breathing deepening. Fifteen years had passed without a single day of peace. Without a single day of leaving the past behind. It was a bit easier when he was away from this place—a place where every corner was a reminder. A place that felt like a painted canvas, with images he could not escape even if he closed his eyes. They were imprinted on his soul.

  “The Order.” She got up on her knees, slowly approached him and straddled his legs. She wrapped herself like ivy around him, every inch of her naked body touching him. And yet, there was nothing sexual about the way they held each other. In that moment she was his only lifeline as he dangled on the precipice of his memories.

  “I hunted them down one by one,” he confessed. It had taken him years and, sadly, when he was through, it didn’t make him feel any better.

  Her hands kept caressing his back, and every time her fingers touched a scar, he could swear he heard the swish of the whip as it came down.

  “But the sound of the whip is not what haunts you, is it?” she spoke against the skin of his neck, and the breath of her words brought a punishing wave of heat.

  Raven didn’t know if he would have answered, but suddenly he found himself unable to breathe. It became unbearably hot. He was swept away by the waves of heat so familiar, the recognition of what they spelled turned his blood ice-cold.

  “What did you do?” he demanded, grabbing her arms and placing them between their bodies. He didn’t need the answer, though. The truth stared right back at him with the deep blue eyes he’d always found fascinating.

  “If you’ll let me—”

  “Let you?” He shook his head in perplexity. “Did I miss something?” He unwrapped her legs, fastened his pants and stood up. Yet found himself unable to move. “You had no right,” was all that escaped his tightly pressed lips.

  Rave
n detested those marks with all of his might, but he could not imagine himself without them either. In a sick and perverted way, they defined the man he had grown up to be.

  Amira stood up on the bed, and the dress she had wrapped around her waist fell down to cover her long legs. She didn’t even try to wrench the material up, leaving the top of the dress swiveled around her hips. Unabashed about her exposed flesh, she walked to the edge of the bed, and slowly, as if doubting herself, laid her palms on his shoulders.

  The thought of refusing her touch didn’t even cross his mind. But the strangeness of her behavior did surprise him—how could a person who was not ashamed of nudity have reservations about a simple touch?

  “I’m sorry,” she mouthed, and Raven had to strain his ears to hear the words. He lifted his head to meet her gaze, not sure what he would find, but the emotions he came face to face with were something he was unable to name.

  “I sometimes cross the line,” she continued murmuring under her breath, as if talking with herself. “It’s hard to know when desires are so … contradictory. It causes you pain, and yet, you want them back…”

  “It also reminds me of something I can never let myself forget.” He closed his eyes, only now realizing how stupid the words sounded. He didn’t need the scars as a reminder. With or without it, it was not like he could ever forget.

  “It sounds to me like you are punishing yourself, but if that is your wish…” Her hands slid down his back, her body leaned forward, and he had to steady her by placing his hands on her sides.

  Raven knew what she was about to do. He knew he could have stopped her. He should have stopped her. But when her head came down and she kissed him, whatever he was about to say died before leaving his mouth.

  Maybe it was because she kept kissing him, or maybe because causing a scar by using magic was different from gaining the welts after a beating—either way Raven felt no pain. No physical pain, that is. With each mark she put in place, memories rose anew. The wails, the cries … it all returned. It seemed so real—the pleading sounds, the coppery smell of blood—he could swear it was happening again.