The Awakening (Immortals)

by Joy Nash

  Kalen took note of the man standing behind her. He narrowed his gaze. No, not a human man—a Selkie shapeshifter in human form. Dressed in a flowing poet’s shirt, the seal-man exuded the raw sensual magic his kind used to draw humans of the opposite sex into their power.

  Kalen watched with undisguised interest as the Selkie eased into place behind the witch. When he placed his elegant hands on her shoulders, she jumped and swatted him away. The Selkie smiled, unperturbed, and drew her back. The witch stepped to one side, scowling.

  Kalen snorted. Few human women could resist the lure of a Selkie. Few women wanted to. Selkies were one of northern Scotland’s hottest tourist attractions—females from all over the world traveled here in hopes of bedding one. The creatures were beyond arrogant and didn’t tolerate rejection well. The witch was playing a coy game, pretending disinterest in order to inflame a Selkie’s lust.

  He pivoted, keeping her at the corner of his vision as Leanna started her ceremony. Tonight, in addition to the regular program, Leanna would be casting a fertility spell to stir the power of the stones in preparation for their lovemaking.

  Leanna descended from the cairn, gliding like a queen among the red-ticket tourists. Her ogre lackey, Dougal, hung back at the fringe of the forest. Kalen was glad; he didn’t like the half-breed brute. The Sidhe in the circle were no better, and far less predictable. Outcasts and rogues, they tended to look out for themselves. Leanna controlled them only through generous payments from the tour proceeds.

  Tonight the Sidhe were playing their parts to the hilt. Leanna began a slow, sensual circuit, weaving between them, her musical voice chanting the spell that would increase her chances of conceiving an Immortal. Kalen watched her as she moved. Her tight corset thrust her reddened nipples forward in a blatant invitation to sex. His body should have been tight with anticipation, but it was not.

  Because of the witch. She’d been foremost in his mind ever since his pathetic attempt to capture her features in charcoal on paper. And now he knew she wasn’t a dream. She was real.

  His eyes sought her as the Sidhe formed twosomes and threesomes with the red ticket holders. Beyond the circle, the spectators were forming their own pairings, and, as Kalen had expected, the witch had ended up with the Selkie. Kalen frowned as the shapeshifter lifted a hand and stroked her cheek with the back of his fingers. The witch jerked away. Her braid was beginning to unravel. The strands were dark and heavy, the thin blue streak shining with reflected torchlight. The Selkie moved close, whispering something in her ear. The witch stiffened and pushed the Selkie away.

  Kalen gave a tight nod of satisfaction.

  Then the Selkie bent his head and nibbled the side of her neck just below her ear. A sensitive spot on any woman’s body. The witch started to resist again, but a moment later she closed her eyes. A visible shudder went through her. She all but melted into the Selkie’s arms.

  Hades. Irritation streaked through Kalen, though why he should care, he didn’t know. It hardly mattered if the witch spread her thighs for a Selkie lover.

  But he couldn’t seem to take his eyes from her. He silently applauded when she fought her way free of her admirer. He couldn’t believe she didn’t desire the Selkie—it was impossible. She was playing a dangerous game. The Selkie was growing agitated. The shapeshifter pressed his lips to her neck and pulled her roughly against his chest. The witch struggled.

  Then, with a sigh, she surrendered.

  Kalen turned away, scowling. Restless, he looked around the circle. The show had hardly begun, but already he wished it over. His gaze flicked over the Sidhe rutting with their human partners. Disgusting.

  The hairs on his nape prickled. Pivoting, he found the witch had disentangled herself from the Selkie and was watching Kalen once again. A current of awareness passed through him, that same electric feeling he’d felt five nights earlier during the brief moment when he’d covered her naked body. She’d been soft and yielding then, but it had been a dream, a vision, a moment out of time. Like this very moment.

  The Selkie wrapped his arm around the witch from behind. Sweeping aside the fall of her hair, he pressed his lips to her shoulder. Kalen’s witch turned in her Selkie lover’s arms.

  And Kalen’s moment was lost.

  “Cut. That. Out!”

  Christine ducked under the Selkie’s arm, trying to break free. No luck. The shapeshifter matched her movements with a fluid grace, a smile in his expressive brown eyes. She’d known what he was the second his magic had swirled around her, making her knees go weak. She’d heard the tales, but hadn’t realized until now how potent a Selkie could be. This one was a gorgeous, sensual creature, with hands and lips that promised the best sex she’d ever had.

  And Goddess help her, part of her wanted it. Selkie magic, like hers, was born of the sea.

  “Relax, little witch.” His voice was like velvet. “No woman refuses a Selkie. Pleasure beyond your dreams is yours tonight.”

  Christine nearly groaned out loud. If the sensations already coursing through her traitorous body were any indication, the Selkie was telling the truth. If she couldn’t raise the will to reject him once and for all, she was going to be in big trouble.

  He stroked her neck, his fingers skating over her collarbone and hovering perilously close to her breast.

  “I don’t want you,” she gasped.

  He flashed his beautiful white teeth in a smile. “ ’Tis nae possible. All women want me.”

  The statement was made wholly without conceit. Christine had a fair notion it wasn’t an empty boast. What woman wouldn’t want such a beautiful creature? Dimly, she realized the other green ticket holders had paired off and were in various states of undress. Inside the circle, the red ticket holders and the Sidhe were already rutting. One threesome was grappling in the dirt, two others were using a standing stone for leverage. There was a loud, wailing gasp from one of the Goth women as a Sidhe male thrust into her.

  Kalen and Leanna? Christine’s gaze darted to the cairn. The Sidhe leader was back on the stage, but she and Kalen weren’t touching. Not yet, anyway.

  The Selkie kissed her again, this time tugging the neckline of her sweater down to get at more sensitive territory. Christine’s breasts tightened in response. She felt a moment of trembling hesitation before she blocked his advance. He pulled away, his beautiful forehead etched with anger and confusion.

  On the cairn stage, Leanna gleamed like a goddess. Arms raised, she undulated in a seductive dance. Green lightning burst from her fingertips. Arcing overhead, it struck the standing stones and zipped around the circle.

  Elfshot. Christine had read about the green lightning while pursuing her studies of all things magical. It was the natural weapon of the Sidhe, similar to the blue witchfire some witches could command. But far, far more deadly.

  The Selkie redoubled his efforts, bending his head and nipping at her shoulder. Christine’s ire surged. Enough already. Witch senses flaring, she reached past their superficial physical connection to the water hidden in his body. From there it was a small matter to find his magical essence. Mentally, she touched it, whispering a rune mystery as she did so.

  Algiz. Protection.

  She held her breath, hoping the simple spell had worked. She really didn’t want to go deeper, not in this situation. But it seemed her surface magic had worked. The shape-shifter’s next kiss was less potent. The one after that was barely more than an irritation. Thank the Goddess. She pushed him away.

  The Selkie stroked her arm. “Dinna be afraid, little witch.”

  “I’m not afraid. I’m just not interested.”

  “That canna be true.”

  “Believe me, it is.”

  She dared a glance at the cairn. To her great relief, Kalen still stood apart from Leanna. Her relief faltered, however, when she realized the Immortal’s dark, angry gaze was fixed on her. There was desire in his eyes, and a good dose of possessive ire.

  She stood cat-still, desperately trying to sup
press an overwhelming surge of lust his mood summoned. Fantasies, born of the connection they’d shared in her vision, rioted in her brain.

  Kalen, rising above her.

  Kalen, pressing her down.

  Kalen, sliding inside…

  The Selkie, encouraged by Christine’s sudden lack of protest, grasped the hem of her sweater. Before she quite knew what had happened, he’d jerked the garment up over her head and tossed it away. Cool, moist air struck her bare skin like a lash. Startled, she gasped and stumbled backward, her arms coming up to cover her plain white bra.

  The Selkie tugged her hands away. “Ye are mine this night. Ye know it, ye want it. There’s nae need to be coy.”

  “Of all the vain, conceited—”

  With a swift, fluid motion, the Selkie reached around her back and unhooked her bra. It was gone before she’d even finished telling him off.

  Her open palm connected with his cheek. “What part of the word ‘no’ don’t you understand?”

  The Selkie gathered her against his chest, her bare breasts rubbing his shirt, his arousal hard against her stomach. His eyes were puzzled. Wounded. Angry. He truly didn’t understand her rejection. “Why would ye refuse the pleasure I offer?”

  She inhaled sharply. “I just do, okay? It’s nothing personal. Now let me go.”

  He didn’t.

  Damn. He left her no choice. She couldn’t risk her deeper magic, but that didn’t mean she was defenseless. She’d have to go with her most potent nonmagic: a good, swift kick in the balls.

  “Oof!” The Selkie crumpled to the ground.

  Christine was feeling distinctly unsympathetic. “I warned you.”

  “Ungrateful bitch.” The Selkie curled into the fetal position and rolled away, groaning. Staggering to his feet, he muttered a few more choice curses before melting into the forest.

  She was hunting for her sweater and bra when a flash from the direction of the cairn caught her eye. Leanna was tracing lines of light in the air. Christine froze, her sweater slipping from nerveless fingers, her attention riveted on the motion of Leanna’s fingers. She knew that spell.

  Berkana…renewal. Laguz…growth. Othala…heritage. It was a Celtic fertility spell, very ancient, very powerful. It was the spell Shaun had taught her, the one she’d cast on the night they were to have conceived their child. The same night Shaun had opened their circle to his demon master.

  She watched Leanna’s movements intently. She laid the runes and spells for fertility; then, instead of closing the spell, she traced two more sigils with a subtle flick of her left wrist.

  Shadow runes.

  Wunjo—fellowship. Jera—hope. Inverted, they meant slavery and death. They were the sigils Shaun had traced two years ago.

  It had been his first step. His opening gambit in a game that was to end in hell. Unknown to Christine, Shaun had turned demonwhore. He’d invited his demon master to enter their circle and make Christine his whore as well. Two years ago, Christine hadn’t known enough about death magic to recognize Shaun’s deception. Now she did. The runes were only the first part of the spell. The second involved human blood.

  Her gaze darted to Kalen. He was standing far to Leanna’s right, looking bored. He must not have seen the sigil, or if he had, he didn’t know what they were. Christine couldn’t afford to wait until he noticed something was wrong. She watched in horror as a small vial of red liquid appeared in Leanna’s hand.

  She catapulted into action, flinging herself headlong into the circle. Lurching up onto the stage, she threw herself at Leanna. Somehow, she managed to grab the Sidhe’s wrist.

  “Stop!” She punctuated the command with a flash of blue energy.

  Leanna snapped her wrist from Christine’s grip, her gray eyes flashing with astonished rage. “Who the bloody fuck are you?”

  “You can’t cast that spell,” Christine gasped. “I won’t let you.”

  “You dare to give me orders?”

  “I won’t let you summon a demon.”

  She felt a strong hand clamp on her shoulder. Kalen. She twisted, looking up into his grim face. “You!” she panted. “How could you be a part of this?”

  Kalen shoved her behind him. “I don’t know who you are, but I suggest you get out of here. Now.”

  “No. Not until you destroy that vial of blood.”

  “What vial?”

  Leanna spread her fingers. Her hands were empty.

  “But—”

  “Let me handle this, Kalen.” Leanna shoved past Kalen and grabbed Christine by the arm. She glanced toward the stones. The Sidhe and tourists had stopped their rutting to gawk at the drama playing out on the stage. Leanna’s spine stiffened; her bloodred nails dug into Christine’s skin. “This little human witch needs to know who’s in charge here.”

  Kalen’s voice was cutting. “No. Let her go.” His hand clamped on Christine’s opposite wrist.

  “She needs to be taught a lesson.” Leanna’s voice rose shrilly. An excited murmur ran through the audience. “She can’t just barge in here and wreck my tour!”

  “Leanna…”

  Kalen and Leanna’s exchange faded to a low buzz as Christine concentrated on Leanna’s hand on her arm. She had to put an end to this, now. Reaching inside, aided by the open sky overhead and the fact that she was half naked, she called up a surge of pure, deep magic. She let it rise until it filled her. Her body trembled with the effort to keep it under control.

  “Kalen,” Leanna whispered furiously. “She climbed up here. I can’t let her get—”

  Whatever else Leanna might have said was lost. With a gasp, Christine released her magic.

  CHAPTER SIX

  Power exploded in a blast of pure blue light, breaking Leanna’s contact with the witch. Kalen watched in shock as Leanna’s body sailed through the air, tracing a perfect arc over the heads of the Sidhe and humans. His lover and muse slammed into one of the standing stones and flopped forward onto the ground.

  By all the souls in Hades. He couldn’t believe it.

  Leanna’s half-breed thug reacted first. Darting from the edge of the circle, Dougal rushed to his mistress’s side. She’d be unhurt, of course. Adult Sidhe, even half-human ones, were notoriously hard to injure.

  Kalen shifted his attention to the witch. The blast had recoiled on her. In his shock, his grip on her arm had loosened and she’d staggered backward. Her expression was dazed, as if she could hardly believe what she’d done. The woman possessed powerful magic—was she a talented actress as well? Kalen didn’t for a moment believe she hadn’t known the strength of her attack.

  Bloody hell. The tourists were certainly getting their money’s worth tonight.

  And it wasn’t over yet. Dougal was helping Leanna to her feet, and Kalen could almost see the waves of anger radiating from her. Pure rage distorted the Sidhe’s beautiful face as she advanced on the witch. But did the foolish little human do the prudent thing and flee? No, she did not.

  Kalen sighed. He’d caught the witch’s accent—she was American. Americans, in his experience, were trouble.

  The tourists, some still half naked, were getting into the spirit of things. “Give it to ’er again!” one sloppy red-faced man yelled, while a second man rooted for Leanna. “Show the Yank who’s boss!” No doubt they thought it part of the show.

  Leanna’s complexion went deadly pale, a clear sign she was about to explode with rage. No, Sidhe weren’t easily wounded—except in the realm of pride. Struck down by a human? Unforgivable.

  Leanna’s lips twisted. Her hands came up, fingers poised to launch a barrage of elfshot. And still the witch held her ground, blue eyes flashing, bare chest heaving. Kalen found himself momentarily distracted by her small, perfect breasts.

  “I won’t let you do it,” the witch told Leanna quietly. “I won’t let you open a door to hell.”

  She was serious. And truth be told, Kalen had felt a flicker of something dark just before the witch had charged the cairn. But a door to hel
l? Impossible. Leanna was Sidhe. Sidhe abhorred demons.

  “Beacharn,” Leanna spat. She was truly enraged if she was speaking Gaelic. Green energy crackled; Leanna flung it at the witch with a snap of her wrists. With a subtle motion, Kalen sent a burst of white energy to intercept the elfshot. The green missile fizzled.

  Leanna gave a cry of rage. Hades. She thought the witch, not Kalen, had countered her attack. Before Kalen had time to react, Leanna launched another shot. The little witch dodged neatly, then, incredibly—against all sanity—she dove in Leanna’s direction.

  Landing hard on the stage, she grabbed Leanna’s ankles and spoke a spellword. The syllable called up an incredible surge of magic. It streamed from the witch’s hands and surged up Leanna’s legs, freezing the Sidhe in a nimbus of brilliant blue light. An instant later, Leanna collapsed.

  She wasn’t dead—or even unconscious—but her body was rigid. She struggled to move, her face mottling with rage. Her lips, as tightly sealed as her limbs, worked furiously.

  For a moment, Kalen stood as gobsmacked as the rest of the onlookers, Sidhe and tourist alike. Holy fuck. The little witch had cast a sudden binding spell. Where in Hades had she learned that? It was an ancient curse, and one that took no small amount of power to raise. Not lethal, but often used as a precursor to murder. Once a spellcaster’s enemy was bound and helpless, it was a simple matter to end the battle permanently.

  Kalen readied himself to intervene, this time on Leanna’s behalf. But the witch didn’t complete her attack. Once again she looked dazed, as if she couldn’t believe what she’d done.

  Dougal was the first to move. “Kill her,” he barked to the other Sidhe.

  The unpredictable crew obeyed, rushing the stage. The witch’s eyes widened. Little fool. What did she expect? Humans didn’t mess with Sidhe, especially en masse. The number of spells a human witch could summon that would be effective against seven enraged Sidhe was exactly zero.

  Kalen was already moving, snatching up the witch and shoving her behind him. Spinning around to face the Sidhe, he made a low, threatening sound in his throat. The Sidhe drew up short, exchanging glances among them.