Otherworldly Discipline: A Witch's Lesson

by Korey Mae Johnson

  But if it did do as Lachlan promised… Then Ashcroft would be more than pleased. She’d be an equal then, wouldn’t she? No more spankings, surely. And if he wanted her as Moriarty assured her he did, then he could have her. She was sure that the rules of decorum was the only thing that bounded Ashcroft out of her room that evening.

  He’d wanted her that evening—she knew it, and not just because he briefly touched her inner thighs, but because she felt his erection under her body, digging uncomfortably into her stomach. She would have let him play with her if he’d tried to. She was charged, hot, uncomfortable, and the smallest touch seemed to bring it all to a head. If he’d just touch her more, there’d be some relief!

  She stood in the middle of the study, and after taking a deep breath, popped the pill into her mouth and swallowed it before she was able to over think the issue.

  A strong breeze suddenly ripped open the window shutters. She saw the books on the shelves begin to rock and rattle, and then they did something she did not expect: they opened and their words flew off the page in a ghostly way and floated towards her.

  She was too paralyzed by her own fear to move. And then she realized she wasn’t able to move, anyway. Some invisible force was holding her where she was, only prying her mouth open. The words flew across the room and into her mouth where she could feel them, taste them, hear them as they entered her bloodstream and her brain.

  Book after book. Hundreds of them. Hundreds of levels of shelves of them. Word after word, letter after letter, phrase after phrase. It was like listening to a million voices trying to talk to her all at once. But she understood them. Her head began to ache, as if it was ready to explode.

  More words, billions of them, made their way, ripping towards her.

  Charlotte passed out, but the force still kept her floating in mid air, mouth open. Receiving knowledge—every word of it.

  * * *

  “You are embarrassing. How could you have let that happen?” Moriarty was still chiding Ashcroft, as he’d done since he left the delectable women’s flat, all through the cab ride, and all through the mile long hike into the Otherworld and to the tower.

  “I told you, I don’t know. I’m not particularly proud of myself, either,” Ashcroft grumbled in reply.

  Moriarty had at least had a wonderful night. His woman knew how to use her mouth in all sorts of ways. But all Ashcroft did in her flat-mate’s room was talk about Charlotte, much to his seducer’s disgust.

  “Why did you even decide to go?” Moriarty snapped. “What is wrong with you?”

  “Shh.” Ashcroft looked up the stairs, obviously dreading that Charlotte would be able to hear them. “How can I make love with one woman when I have another in my head?” He finished in Huxian.

  “I didn’t want you to make love to that chit! You were supposed to fuck her! Must I write you an essay on the difference?” He rolled his eyes, then wrung his hands and clapped them. “I wash my hands of you, Master.” He held up his hands to illustrate how clean they were of Ashcroft’s nonsense.

  They walked up the stairs and Ashcroft looked into the study, finding that Charlotte was curled up in a ball on the floor on her cushion in front of the fire, sleeping. Moriarty immediately rubbed at his freezing arms, and looked over to see that the window had blown open. He went to close the shutters, then walked over and grinned. “She’s almost cute when she’s sleeping, eh?” he whispered. “Too bad she has to wake up…” He knelt down and easily picked her up into his arms. She didn’t move, just hung like a rag doll.

  With hesitation, Ashcroft stepped over and put his hand on her forehead. “Well, her fever’s gone.” In fact, she felt very, very clammy and cold. He felt her pulse. It was strong. “She seems completely tuckered out. I’ll take her.” He opened up his arms.

  Moriarty raised an eyebrow. “I’ve got her, Master,” he walked her out of the study, Ashcroft close behind him.

  “What was that look? As if you do not trust me!”

  “I don’t trust you,” Moriarty assured. “I’ve shot all my arrows, whereas you have not.”

  Moriarty could almost hear Ashcroft frown. “That’s quite unfair, Moriarty,” he finally grumbled, but obviously didn’t trust him, either. He watched Moriarty like a hawk while he put Charlotte into her room. When he came back, he said corralling Ashcroft out of the room and closing Charlotte’s door behind them. “Good evening, Master.”

  Ashcroft grumbled and then stomped the few feet to his bedroom.

  Moriarty walked into his own and washed himself off before he got ready for bed. As nice as it was to have sex weekly, it was still with an utter stranger, and he couldn’t sleep with another woman’s scent on him. But he was exhausted, as he always was on a night off. He fell into bed.

  Chapter Six

  Gasp!

  Charlotte woke up with such a start that she couldn’t remember where she was at all, but then she looked around the darkness of the room and realized she was in her bedroom. She felt no better.

  She was panting, her heartbeat drumming in her ears.

  What had she done? Her thoughts twirled thickly through her mind; thoughts that weren’t really her own swirled in there, too. It felt like she was listening to a radio that wouldn’t turn off. One that was spouting horrible things at her.

  You made a deal with Lachlan the Destroyer. Lachlan the Demon Lord. Lachlan …

  She closed her hands over her ears tightly, as if that would drown out the thoughts.

  …Enemy of Ashcroft. Enemy of the Archivists. Enemy of the Byndians.

  Although Ashcroft and Lachlan were indeed brothers, Ashcroft hadn’t said a single kind word about Lachlan in all his writings. And the reason for that was because there wasn’t anything nice to say about him. Ashcroft suspected things of Lachlan that the Wizard’s Circle didn’t even agree with—Ashcroft had written that he believed guilty of genocide along with Merlin for killing off the Byndians—her people.

  She felt woozy. She more than likely gave her first kiss away to the man Ashcroft would blame of killing her mother, or at least the man behind it.

  What have you done, Charlotte? she asked herself with horror.

  And she didn’t know. She barely had glanced at the contract she’d signed, and now she didn’t want to know what was on it. She hoped she’d never know, although something in her gut told her differently. She knew something horrible would be there. Something she couldn’t change. Something nightmarish that she’d agreed to do to or for Lachlan that she didn’t even know about.

  No, she didn’t want to know what she’d done. All she knew was that she’d been a fool.

  She was shaking as the thoughts in her head swirled within her, telling her other things she didn’t want to know. Things she wished she could just forget. There were so many horrible things outside. So many horrible demons in the dark. So many things that could—and had—happened.

  She had had a very, very dark awakening. And now she could never sleep again.

  And she was so tired. So tired, and so headachy. She could barely even think. Before she knew it, she climbed out of the bed slowly as if the shadows flickering on the ceiling from the window were beings that could grab her, and she quickly raced down the hall to Moriarty’s room.

  He’d locked his door—he had begun to lock it after she tried to sneak in there the first time. But she now knew that Moriarty saving her from the demon wasn’t a fluke at all—Moriarty had done much more than that. Moriarty probably could protect her from anything.

  So could Ashcroft. Ashcroft had taken great care to chronicle many of his adventures, the things he had seen and learned. He had written his concerns, his decisions, his philosophies. But Ashcroft and Moriarty were warriors—wary of everything, and scared of nothing.

  Ashcroft and Moriarty were enemies of nearly everything. All matters of dark magic would love to scrub both of them off the planet. Anybody else probably would have gone into hiding eons ago!

  No wonder Lachlan wanted
to pose a deal with her—she was a young, stupid enemy and was under the tutelage of the only man who could stand in his way. No wonder evil night-creatures were underneath the windowsill—they were testing Ashcroft’s protection spells for weaknesses. It wasn’t too crazy to think that she needed extra protection. There was no reason to be kept out of someone’s bedroom!

  Charlotte could not be kept out by locks any longer—she knew the spell now that could simply defy the mechanism, and all she had to do was recite something in her mind and touch the side of the door with her fingers to get the lock to obey her demand, allowing her to creep in.

  Moriarty was out—he was also sprawled out to take as much bed space as possible. She stepped into bed with him anyway, and when he didn’t wake up, she stifled a relieved sigh, though her mind was still spinning.

  Although it was like trying to nap in a concert hall, she drifted wearily off to sleep.

  * * *

  Cinnamon and vanilla. He was thinking a couple of hours later as he drifted back and forth between sleeping and being awake. Huh. Was that the scent of the woman this evening? Maybe her friend… No. They both smelt like jasmine and incense. Who smells like…

  His eyes popped open and he realized that Charlotte was curled next to him in a ball. “No, no, no!” he shouted as much as he could in a whisper. He got up on his elbows and tried to push her off the bed with his foot. “Out.”

  Her slender arms whipped out and she pulled herself against his chest. “No. I don’t care if I sleep. I’ll stay awake. I don’t want to be alone.”

  “Jesus.” He looked up at the ceiling. “You are going to get me horsewhipped. What happened? Why did you wake up? You were absent to the world when we got in.”

  “Because there was a creeping osolat underneath my window. And then I thought I saw a creeper on my ceiling, and then—”

  He put his hand over his eyes. “There’s no creatures like that in this entire realm. And if there were, they wouldn’t get in here.”

  “They did live in the realm for a long time—until just five centuries ago! But this is their natural habitat. And I truly doubt a dark defense spell or a creature protection is quite enough to keep them out!”

  How does she know all that? “Where did you get all these paranoid concepts?” he asked, trying to pry her off of his body. The more he tried, the tighter she seemed to cling.

  “A book of Ashcroft’s,” she replied simply.

  “Jesus, Charlotte. Go back to your room!” he hissed. “Stop being insane.” He heard her sniffle, and immediately slumped his shoulders, feeling his resolve softening. He groaned and put his arms around her, giving her a comforting hug. “Alright. Fine, then. You can stay,” he promised. “As long as you get your index fingers out of my ribcage.” He stroked her hair out of her face.

  She unwrapped her arms from him, but she still pressed herself into him. “Really? I can stay?”

  “You’re out of here at first light,” he added. “But yes, if you’re that adamant. Just don’t get used to this.” He pointed his finger in his face to illustrate that he was threatening her. “No funny business,” he added, laying back down into his pillow.

  “Funny business?” she echoed with a sniff. But then she grinned and readjusted herself close to Moriarty’s long body. “Thank you, Moriarty.”

  “Don’t speak of it,” he replied with a sigh. “And I mean ever.” But she was already asleep. Before he could even count to five, so was he.

  * * *

  “Damn Charlotte,” Ashcroft hissed, finally sinking into an ice bath. He’d already spent with his hand twice, and sleep still wouldn’t come because of the erection that just wouldn’t quit. He almost didn’t blame it. After all, what had happened with Charlotte was stuff dreams were made of. Sexy underwear, innocence, submission, and the fact that she wanted his touch.

  It had seemed impossible that she wanted him to touch her. After all, his severely scarred face had warded off hundreds of women in the past. But Charlotte had ached for him, despite what she’d said earlier.

  And now he ached.

  Climbing out of the tub eventually, he groaned as the first beam of sunlight shown through the window at him, lighting his path. He dressed for the day and then paced in his room for a long moment before he opened the door that adjoined to Charlotte’s room, just to look in on her. Just to see her face, remember how innocent it was.

  But she wasn’t there.

  He walked closer to her bed to confirm, looking at the sheets that were tussled around as if she had tossed and turned restlessly. Now, she was gone. He left the room and went down to the study to look for her. She wasn’t there. She wasn’t in the dining room. She wasn’t in the garden.

  Dread tightened his throat. Moriarty wouldn’t. Would he? No. He’d spent with the Earthside trollop just last night! He had sex every week with another woman. He had no reason to have Charlotte. None at all. Certainly, she wouldn’t be in his room.

  As if possessed, Ashcroft opened Moriarty’s door without knocking, trying just to silently walk in, quell his paranoia, and then leave without insulting his best friend with uncalled for accusations.

  Barely breathing, Ashcroft loomed over the side of Moriarty’s bed, unable to believe what he was seeing. Charlotte was under the covers with Moriarty, who had his arm slung under her. She had her face pressed onto the man’s bare chest as he slept, unconsciously petting her loosened hair. She was sleeping, breathing deeply, with a satisfied smile on her face.

  Ashcroft ground his teeth, clenching his fist around the sword at his hilt. Somehow Moriarty sensed he was in the room, because his eyes popped open like a shot and looked right at Ashcroft, who looked at him in a manner that was seriously considering homicide.

  “Fuck!” Moriarty cried, jumping out from under Charlotte, falling clumsily to the far side of the bed but jumping back on his feet quickly. “This isn’t what it looks like!” he pleaded, putting up his hands.

  Charlotte woke up with a start. “Ashcroft, no, wait—”

  Not what it looks like. That’s it. He was going to kill him. How could his best mate betray him like this? When he knew how much he wanted Charlotte?

  The sword was wielded. “Son of a bitch!” Ashcroft lunged towards Moriarty, and the man did something he probably hadn’t done in a century—he turned into a fox. In this new form, he fled underneath the bed, around Ashcroft, and flew out the barely open window that was letting in the night air. Ashcroft pushed the shutter open the rest of the way, and could see Moriarty’s red, black and white tail bound through the gardens. “Come back here and I’ll skin you and nail your treacherous hide to my wall, you bastard!” he bellowed out of the open window. “You hear me? You’re dead!”

  “Ashcroft.” A voice behind him was so quiet, and so nervous, that he was amazed that it didn’t calm him at all. He turned and stared at Charlotte with a sinister glance. “I’m the one that came in here. He tried to kick me out, I swear.”

  “How long?” Ashcroft hissed, stepping towards her.

  She swallowed and nervously replied, “H-how long?”

  “How long have you been fucking him and teasing me? I am quite sure you had a nice time laughing behind my back, have you not? And I thought you were so innocent…” He couldn’t keep his mouth from spitting out his obvious disgust.

  Her eyebrows narrowed. “Just what do you think happened here?” she demanded. “I haven’t been doing anything with Moriarty!”

  “It did not look like nothing,” he snapped. “I’ll not have you lie to me after all this.”

  Her shoulders straightened and she lifted her chin. “So what if I did fuck him? What does it mean to you? It’s not like we’re in a relationship. Every time we have a moment, you sprint out the door! And now you have the nerve to be jealous? How dare y—”

  He bent down and kissed her punishingly, pressing his lips hard against hers, pressing her head to his with his hands. She tried pulling back from him at first, but then he heard her
moan and she opened her mouth for his protruding tongue to delve.

  He pushed her down against the mattress; she was already panting, her breath already hoarse. He’d wanted this since the first moment he’d seen her. And here she was—beautiful, dressed in only a thin night gown, and already ruined. There was nothing to feel guilty about. Anyone could have sex with a loose woman.

  He didn’t have to be tender. He didn’t have to be gentle or sensitive. He was going to take her as hard as he wanted. She wouldn’t walk straight for a week…

  Ashcroft lowered his arms, wrapping one around her chest and drawing her up to her knees as lifted her nightgown enough so that he could fondle her ass. When he felt her silk panties in the way of his skin touching hers, he ripped them off of her with a firm, skilled yank, even as she made a short peep of surprise. And then he began to paw her with abandon. He could feel the welts the night before, feel the heat from her skin.

  She stopped kissing him long enough to let out a whimpering squeak as he squeezed her flesh with his hand. He didn’t stop, merely pawed harder, a growl at the back of his throat. “Be gentle with me,” she begged him softly, pressing her hands against his chest.

  He growled again and squeezed one more time. “No. You’ve been a naughty girl, haven’t you?” he breathed, picking up her body and carrying her further up the bed.

  She bit her lip as he laid her down. “Ashcroft…” she began, pleadingly. “Look, we need to talk about what happened. Mori—” He pressed his lips against hers firmly to silence her. He didn’t want to know what happened between her and Moriarty. All he cared about was what was now going to happen between them.

  He pressed his body between her thighs and then began to snake up her nightgown slowly, letting his hands feel every piece of her skin as he raised the cloth off her body. Eventually, she was completely naked, which she acted like she wasn’t used to. She put her knees up and curled her arms over her breasts, her face blushing bright red.