by Terina Adams
She never gave up though, which impressed Locke. The girl’s spirit stirred desires deep in his groin. She’d succeeded further than most, which made this time much more exciting. She started sobbing again and making various terrified noises, which usually happened long before now. Locke flipped the outdoor light switch and went out. Holt trailed. From the cement step they watched her struggle to her feet.
She managed another few steps before she faltered. With arms out stretched, she felt through the air in front of her, as if following a wall, crying all the louder. She spun in circles and ran in one direction, hands out, seeking, moving along her invisible wall like a well-rehearsed pantomime, lost in a maze of his making.
Locke turned to share a look with Holt.
The woman lurched in crazy patterns around her backyard, her wails ever more distraught. Thank fuck he’d won the coin toss on the retrieval. She was a hot piece of ass in her snug-tight gear, and bonus, no bra. Her breasts jiggled as she ran back and forth, but her tight little ass didn’t, which was good, the sight mesmerizing in its erotica. Damn the demon for picking her. If she’d not been selected, he would’ve taken her back to the club house, tied her to his bed and shattered her resistance with the right touch—his specialty, breaking the hard outer casing of a woman’s control, the harder the casing the better. It increased the pleasure of the victory.
“Time.” His voice rough. He needed to end it now, get back to the club and find himself a woman. This one was out of bounds, and he would never cross the line and break the edict.
Locke released her from her torment, and she pitched forward onto the lawn for the second time. She staggered to her feet disorientated and exhausted from her mania. Locke crossed the lawn toward her, his move reigniting her fear. She began sobbing again, tripping over herself in her panic, and crying out. Upon her in moments, he grabbed the closest wrist and dragged her up. Her sobs turned to screams. He pulled her close to his chest, laid a finger across her lips and leaned down low. “Quiet little one, or you’ll wake the neighbors. We can’t have that now. It will only bring them trouble.”
She whimpered, her brown eyes wide with fear.
He removed his finger and ran it down one cheek. “You’re a beautiful thing, but unlucky for us both I can’t touch you.” His finger now rested under her chin and he tilted it up, forcing her head back. “But I can bend the rules a little and kiss you.”
Her eyes widened and she struggled against her bonds, making desperate sounds. He squeezed her forearms and held her tight against him. “Don’t.” The word was breathed out, but carried enough threat to quieten her. He exhaled hard and closed his eyes, savoring the feel of her breasts pressed against his chest, her small frame encased in his arms. In a second, he could crush her fragile body and save her from her fate. But he wouldn’t. She meant too much.
“What makes you so special?”
She stared up at him, her lips quivering, tears brimming, a couple spilling over.
“Perhaps Wyman will figure it out before the year is done. For now little one, you’d better sleep.”
He ran his finger along her bottom lip, tracing its journey with his eyes. Her lips were full and pink, a mouth made for kissing. His finger left her mouth and traced down over her chin, down her neck. He rested his hand at the base.
By now she wasn’t making a sound. He’d trapped her in the net of his stare. As her body relaxed, he slowly tightened his grip.
“Goodnight, Akasha.”
2
The flames licked skyward, a beacon in the moonless night. The four witches, shrouded in black, weaved their way through the trees to the clearing. Low chants, playing chorus to the crackle of the fire, wove through the air, exciting the fabric of energy. In a wave it spread outward from the core and engulfed the four as they approached.
It caressed Selene’s body, then passed within, igniting her power. She breathed in deep as the energy slammed through to her soul, all her essence alive with potential. Her sisters following behind were similarly affected. Selene knew, for although not of the same blood, they shared a special bond. Dami was the empath, but on the night of Samhain their powers intensified. Selene felt their blood rushing through her veins, she sensed the heightened shift of their own powers. It electrified her.
They approached the circle delineated by four large candles, black to the north and three reds placed at the other compass points, set on their own dais, a light for the guardians of the north, south, east and west, a safeguard for the circle, for tonight, when the veil was thinnest, the underworld stirred. The elders of this coven held the protection. It was through their untied power the elders could call upon the spirits of the past without fear of unleashing those that should never be released.
The four neared the gossamer fabric hung between the trees and prepared to pass into the circle. A witch in a hooded cape of violet barred their way.
“Are you willing to leave this life.” Her voice rich and strong.
“Yes.” Selene’s voice matched the inquisitor.
The witch stepped aside to let her pass.
Behind her, each of her sisters was challenged the same.
As she walked toward the rim of the circle, swords sliced down through the air, blocking her path, their bearers swathed in black.
“Are you willing to face death.” They chanted in unison.
“Yes.” Her answer clear in the windless night.
Selene being a third degree witch, and their High Priestess, led her three sisters into the entrance where an elder, Marlene, waited to greet them, a tall ethereal woman with striking cheekbones and white hair swept into a braided knot. She wore her power like a cloak. It rippled over and off to meet Selene’s own halfway. Marlene was a witch few crossed. Selene bowed to her and on straightening received a kiss on both cheeks.
“Blessings and welcome.” She dipped her forefinger into a small earthenware pot she held in her hand and, with fluid strokes, drew the triple aspect with the anointing oil across Selene’s forehead. Marlene's warm finger caressed her skin, sending tingles of energy in its wake. A wet earthy smell invaded her senses from the mixture of oils, each specially selected for tonight. With the anointing complete, the elder placed her palm over her trail and again Selene was touched by the witch’s power. This time it entered through the center of her forehead and washed through her body, energizing her inner sight. The air around them electrified with the potential of the energy exchange.
Selene moved aside and allowed Marlene to welcome her sisters into the circle in turn. Behind them, the sword maidens closed the circle, protecting all within from what may roam tonight. She glanced around noting the other covens present.
Once they’d received their blessings, Bridgette, stepped toward them, appearing like a harmless grandmother if not for the raw energy radiating forward with every step. Her lack of height forced her to raise her arms high as she smudged each of the four arrivals.
The trail of smoke from the smudge stick passed through their hair and under their clothes. The hairs on the nape of Selene’s neck rose as if reaching out for a touch. The negativity she carried from the day, slowly drained away, following the line of smoke and disappearing to the sky, to be replaced by clarity and purpose.
Selene turned her awareness inward, connecting with her own potential, focusing her intention, and discovering the powerful hum of those around her. Beyond the bounds of the circle, she touched the silent fabric of energy that threaded through all things, the potent power of life.
Selene led her sisters toward the altar and bowed, noting the Goddess and God residing over this evening’s Samhain celebration, Persephone and Hades. Tonight they would speak to the dead. A photo of an elder sat on a pedestal to the side of the altar, surrounded by flowers and burning incense, an honorary tribute to someone who’d recently crossed over.
They left the altar and moved clockwise around the bale fire to their place, the last of the invited covens to arrive. Marlene took her place
at the head of the circle.
“Welcome to our festival. Tonight we pay our respects to a dearly loved member of our coven, Lady Maurice, whom passed away a fortnight ago. We shall connect and honor her life as we celebrate this Samhain night.”
Everyone moved closer to the fire, forming an inner circle, holding hands in a joint connection of energy. Slowly the group began to move clockwise chanting the Goddess’s name.
The low hum of unity vibrated through Selene’s body and down into her palms, which by now were heating, making the connection unbearable to maintain. The atmosphere thinned, and her breathing quickened to compensate for the lack of air. Inside the center of their circle the fire arced, shooting flames into the sky like clawing fingers pawing upward. Selene craned her neck and searched for the fading moon.
The dark moon fast approached.
Although they were safe within the enclosed circle and protected by the unity of the elders, tonight’s evoking would touch the dark powers hovering on the other side of the veil, waiting for release.
The chant morphed into something almost tangible. No longer words, it became the essence of the Goddess herself. Her power now enthused them all, uniting them in her spirit of renewal and rebirth, yet darkening their souls, for Persephone, Goddess of Death, ruled the underworld along side her husband.
The shift between this world and the darkness had begun.
Once the Goddess chant faded, the elders began a new invocation, the words foreign, and yet familiar, a calling for the deceased to come forward into the light. The lyrical rhythm was both soothing and spellbinding. The flames of the bale fire, caught in the grasp of the tune, danced in a swirl around and around as if summoning a vortex.
At first the flames moved slow, but with each call the tempo increased until the individual flames wrapped around each other close, creating a spinning wall of fire.
The elders’ chant faltered. Marlene’s braid, caught in the vortex, unraveled and flailed inward. Selene felt herself pulled toward the flames by an invisible thread and struggled to remain grounded. The witches on either side of her struggled also, their grip tightened, each witch in the circle relying on the hand of those on either side to help keep them in place.
“Do not break the circle,” cried Marlene, her warning almost lost in the violent roar of the wind. “The darkness seeks entry. Maintain the circle.” Her lips moved as she began a private chant. The elders accompanied her rhyme, their mouths moving in unison.
Selene squeezed Jet's hand and focused inward, calling on the power enhanced from the connection of the circle to block the onslaught from the other side. She touched death and it weighted her heart. The fear and sorrow of those long departed clawed at her soul. Death consumed life in a rabid hunger, devouring existence. Selene closed her eyes and called to Persephone, her own silent chant:
Goddess Persephone
Keeper of the underworld
Bringer of life
Death and rebirth
Hear my call
Protect the balance
The crescendo of the wind stole her words and grabbed her hair, yanking it in a sideways stream. Selene’s eyes opened in time for her to catch the flames darken into gray as a void began to open above the fire, a great hole in the fabric of reality, ever expanding, engulfing the flames themselves. In its center a massive beast emerged, black as the night with red eyes on each of its three heads. It’s muzzle opened to bare white fangs.
As quick as the ferocity had formed it subsided, leaving a swirling mist at the great beasts feet.
Marlene dropped the hands of those next to her and stepped forward, breaking the circle. None present were in danger of the beast for he represented the eternal balance.
“Cerberus.”
“Witch.” Its sonorous voice rang low through the air.
“We greet you, guardian of the gates.”
“I am the past, present and future, birth, old age and death.” Each of his three heads announced his presence in turn.
“The timeless circle,” she whispered back, as if in prayer.
“End comes to all and then they pass into my keeping. None who cross may return, that is my duty, Hades command.”
Marlene closed her eyes and dipped her head in reverence to the eternal duality of life and death.
“Until now.”
A collective gasp rippled around the circle.
“A woman has been taken. She will be used as the key. If those that dare to interfere with my duties succeed, the balance will be shattered and chaos will reign. You are the protectors of life as I am the protector of death. It is up to you to prevent the balance from breaking. You have one year to find your answer.”
The three-headed beast began to fade, leaving its red eyes glowing in the void and a name on everyone's lips.
Akasha.
The flame, now orange, roared to life when the last of the black faded, swallowing the vision of the underworld, taking with it the sorrow of the dead.
Babble broke out, but Marlene raised her arms for silence before speaking in a commanding tone.
“You have all heard the guardians warning, but you are forbidden to speak of it. In light of tonight’s outcome, this celebration must come to a close. I bid you all return to your covens and forget what you have heard. We will call a meeting for the counsel of the elders and decide what must be done. I bid you all farewell and Blessed Be.”
She turned and moved toward the altar, the other elders following.
Selene turned to her sisters and found her emotions mirrored on their faces. No doubt they would receive a summons soon to appear before the counsel.
3
Locke pulled up outside the front of Hells Gate, the name stenciled across the tin of the clubhouse in case someone was stupid enough to enter without knowing where they’d arrived. For any who crossed through the metal door had to be prepared to taste hell. The clubhouse bore the same mark as that on his jacket, a skull with wings of fire—to burn in hell was not their fate. Thanks to their King, they’d managed to fly free of the devil’s holding.
The engine died on command, and he lowered the stand. The night air, thin and chilled, carried the heavy beat throbbing from Hells Gate. Two girls and a guy exited through the metal door, him in the middle cuddling both tight, arms slung across their bare shoulders. The girls were the sort who made a man slow in his tracks for a better view, tops stretched taunt across rounded breasts, legs that took you to heaven the longer you looked. And Locke looked. After the retrieval he was wired and ready for some heavy action. If he couldn’t release it between some beauties legs, he would soothe his ache on some guy’s head. There were always plenty around this place in need of a fight.
Holt would take care of the retrieval around at the back entrance, leaving him free to select from the crop crowding the club on a nightly basis. A couple of regulars hung around their bikes further along the rank, each taking a toke before passing a joint on. As he approached, they raised their hands in turn for a palm-grasping shake.
Being in no mood to linger, Locke completed his greetings then pushed through the door, entering like the rest of them did, instead of through the private club entrance.
Inside, the place thrived. He moved through the crowd, eyeing every woman who crossed his path and dismissing them just as quick. He wanted the right sort of woman tonight.
A dark beauty hung on the end of the bar with her ample breasts spilling over the top of her red sequin top and her denims clinging to her legs for support. Her hair was swept up in a loose tie at the back exposing the curve of her neck. He would run his tongue from her chin to the deep center of her breasts in one lick.
Tray intercepted him half way there.
“Wyman’s waiting out back.”
“Holt's got the goods.”
“Sure, but Wyman wants the story from you both. You know how it goes.”
“We messed with her mind, brought her home. End of fucking tale.” The anger pulsed through
him in a nano-second.
“Not my call, man.”
“See the chick at the end of the bar.”
Tray followed Locke’s stare.
“She’s mine. See to it she stays that way, will you.”
“Not a bad choice. Shall I warm her while you’re away?”
“Do it, and I cancel my seat at the poker table tomorrow night.”
“I’ll keep my hands by my sides at all times.”
“It’s not your hands I’m worried about.”
Locke slapped Tray on the back as he headed for the rear door, the one for Hells Gate members only, and any broad they chose to favor, be it for one night or a smidgeon longer.
On the other side of the door and down a corridor, he emerged into their own private watering hole. Matteo, Slade and Tate were shooting pool in the corner, but on his entrance, all turned and acknowledged him—job accomplished, everyone happy. Locke, not pausing to exchange words, nodded his salute and headed across the lounge toward the farthest door. Aspen, behind the counter, waved a bottle of Jack’s in the air, but he smiled, dismissed the offer and continued on his way, pushing through the door and into another corridor equally as short, and poorly lit, as the last.
A frosted bulb hung low on a short chain, a couple of watts lower than was comfortable for reading, but creating the right atmosphere for seduction. This part of Hells Gate was for play. Some rooms sprouting either side of the hall were appropriately fitted out for the job—king size beds, black sheets, a bedside lamp, ensuite and nothing else—the boys erotic den within the hub of the clubhouse.
