by Leela Ash
The words reverberated through the air like before, but this time, more than just a few glasses shattered. The windows burst, flying in several directions. Several patrons screamed and dived for the floor, convinced someone was shooting at the bar. One man covered his ears with a scream, slammed onto the hard ground with a sickening thud, and was frighteningly still.
“What are you?” Drake demanded, hands balling into fists at his sides as he strove for control.
She grinned, tossing her head, “Take a wild stab.”
Thankfully this time she hadn’t opened her mouth, she’d spoken in his head like before.
He wasn’t going to let her speak aloud, he decided, looking around in concern at the men and women still cowering on the floor of the Hook It Bar. He dashed towards her, grabbed her around the waist and hurtled through the door, moving so fast with his supernatural speed that he would have been a blur if any human had looked up at them.
When he reached Mac’s Fields, a large, open empty space reserved for carnivals, he flung her away from him and glared. “Now speak. Who the hell are you and what are you?”
She quirked her eyebrow, “Thought it was obvious. I’m a banshee, sailor.”
Banshee!
He hadn’t expected that. He blinked. Banshees had been killed and destroyed thousands of years ago. Where had she come from?
She answered him again, speaking through his mind without moving her lips, “I’ve been stowed away for years, handsome, in a dark, lonely place. But now I’m topside and I want some fun.”
She hurtled into his arms, her eyes gleaming as she said audibly, “Fuck me.”
The words rang in his ears, tickled his ear drums as though to shatter them. When he kept staring at her, she beamed her approval. He knew why; even shifter-men were not able to withstand a banshee’s voice. One good wail and their ear drums splintered into useless bits.
But he was a dragon which meant he was stronger than most shifters; he was different. He could fuck her to his heart’s content and come out unscathed.
Clearly, she was reading his thoughts because she dipped one hand between his legs and boldly cupped his cock. A strange light glinted in her eyes as she stared up at him.
Passion reared in him and without second thought he tumbled her into the weeds. She threw back her head laughing as he bent his head to devour the soft skin of her neck. Her body shook with pleasure as she wrapped her arms around him.
Her long legs wrapped around his waist as he made his way down to her breast but before he could close his mouth around her nipple, his senses returned and revulsion welled in him. She’d cast some sort of spell over him.
He rolled away from her, his eyes narrowing, “Where did you come from?”
She looked away in disappointment and that was when he saw it; a small sickle-shaped tattoo embedded inside an A.
Drake’s eyes widened in shock. Alabad! He would recognize that mark anywhere because he had read enough old tomes at Joshua’s behest while he and the rest of the Damaged Pack had all been in training. She was from the other world. The veil was indeed torn. Joshua was right.
He sprang to his feet. “You escaped from Alabad.”
Her lips canted to the side as she lifted herself into a kneeling position, “So, Dragon, you know more about me than I know about you.”
He had to send her back, he thought.
She hissed, “I’d like to see you try.”
She threw her chest out as she reached into herself for the Killing Wail. The sound started to erupt from her, slowed down by the force. But he knew enough about banshees to know if he let her use her Killing Wail, it would be loud enough to destroy every living thing in a hundred miles radius.
His eyes glinted as he focused on her voice box, visible because her mouth was wide open. That was where a banshee’s power was hidden, he knew.
He narrowed his piercing gaze on it and in that same split second when the Killing Wail started to travel out of her mouth, Drake let fire erupt from his eyes, aimed straight at her voice box. In his human form, his fire came from his eyes and not his mouth but in his dragon form, his fire came from his mouth. That was a good thing too because right now he needed the laser focus of the fire from his eyes.
Her sound died in her throat and panicked fear appeared in her eyes. He continued to burn the voice box, focused straight on it until it exploded with a tiny pop. The banshee clutched both hands to her throat, collapsing onto the ground as he stopped burning her with his eyes.
She looked up at him, tears streaming from her eyes and he heard her speak in his mind but this time her voice was barely a squeak. “You could have sent me back to Alabad. You didn’t have to kill me.”
“The veil is torn, so sending you back would have made no difference. You would just return.”
Her silence didn’t dispute his words.
“I have to protect innocent people,” he told her, envisioning Tom’s blinding smile. Tom was Kelly and Derek’s son and he loved the little tyke even more than he loved all kids. Banshees didn’t care who got hurt; you heard their wail, you died, it was that simple.
“These humans you’re so bent on protecting will turn on you, mark my words,” she spat still speaking through his mind since her voice was gone.
“Your kind was banished for a reason. You’re too bloodthirsty and even children get no sympathy from you,” Drake told her.
She was glaring at him with hatred as her body began to dissipate.
A thought occurred and he ran to hold her up, shaking her lightly to keep her eyes open, “Where is the tear in the veil? Where did you escape from Alabad?”
Her eyes taunted him with her silence as her face collapsed into ashes like the rest of her body.
Drake rose to his feet, his expression cold and closed. Well, that settled it; the veil was torn alright and they needed to move fast.
Now he thought about it, he realized Joshua had deliberately chosen him. Derek was the leader of the Pack which meant he had to stay back to maintain order; Bo’s wife Jeanine was pregnant and needed watching; Jack and Megan were also expecting a brand new baby and Luke and Melissa just got back together yesterday after years apart. If Joshua sent any of his brothers, it could turn out to be a dangerous mission and they might be too distracted thinking about their new families. Plus, he was the only dragon in the lot which meant he was the only one who could hold his own against a roomful of witches and come out alright. Whatever witches were left after Nabradia’s mass slaughter, were bound to be in hiding and very unlikely to roll out the welcome mat for anyone who tried to find them.
The more he thought about it, the more he realized he had no choice but to accept Joshua’s instructions and go convince his worst enemies — witches — to come help him save the world.
Peachy.
2.
“Kathy, that mandrake isn’t ready,” Klyana cautioned, her voice wheezy as though she were out of breath. She wasn’t.
Kathy Calder grunted, her green eyes glinting with stubborn determination as she continued to tug at the stubborn screaming plant. Finally, she wrenched it free of the soil triumphantly and held up the wriggling creature that looked like an angry, bellowing infant.
“What were you saying again?” she asked with an amused grin targeted at her companion.
Klyana rolled her eyes. “If it were so easy to pull out, why were you muttering those spells beneath your breath?”
Kathy hid a grin. Not much got past the old woman. Klyana was a force of nature. Most people were lulled into a false sense of security by her faded blue eyes, grandmotherly smile, and kindly, weathered face. She was one of the few witches who never tried to use magic to change their appearance.
“Klyana we should hurry, there’s a storm coming on,” Kathy predicted looking up at the clear skies.
Klyana frowned, “No there isn’t. If you sense turbulence child, it’s not the sort that comes from weather. Perhaps something big is coming your way; something so b
ig and dark that your instincts seek to warn you.”
Kathy frowned as she shoved the herbs they had gathered into the sack on her shoulder and fell into step beside Klyana. “Big and dark?”
“Indeed. Maybe something you’re scared of?”
Kathy knew better than to dismiss Klyana’s words. The woman had been a witch for over a century, so it didn’t take a genius to figure out that she knew a thing or two about omens and signs.
But she wasn’t scared of anything, Kathy thought, frowning into the distance as they made their way back to their dwellings. What could be so big and scary that she’d sensed it in the air like Klyana said?
“Klyana? You don’t think that Nabradia is shoring up forces to come and attack us do you?” Kathy asked. It was the only scary future she could envision.
Klyana considered the question, her head bent to one side, “I do not know how Nabradia escaped Alabad, but I do know we’re not big enough for her to concern herself with.”
It was the truth. Klyana had been banished and ostracized years ago, so no witch worth the name gave her the time of day; except witches who had also been banished, she thought with a fond grin as she thought of the small community of witches she now led. Every last one of them was a refugee, either banished or de-robed for some real or imagined crime they had committed which was why none of them had attended the ill-fated conference that had destroyed other witches.
But Kathy was different, she thought letting her eyes stroke the girl’s lithe figure. She had never belonged to any Coven Assembly; she had never learned the arts of witchcraft anywhere; she had been born with her abilities. Since she was fifteen, she’d chosen Klyana and had followed her with the dutiful devotion of a daughter to her mother. Kathy was twenty-two now and blossoming into an achingly beautiful young woman. Klyana’s heart still saw the little girl of fifteen every time she looked at her.
She wisely refrained from mentioning to Kathy now that she hadn’t sensed Nabradia’s magic in the world for a very long time and she didn’t think Nabradia was on earth any longer. If Kathy heard that, her questions would be endless. She would want to know how Klyana had been able to sense Nabradia’s powers. She would want to know a lot of things.
Klyana reflected that the bond she shared with Nabradia was more familial than most people knew. They had been birthed by the same parents almost two hundred years ago and she had been the one to show Nabradia the ways of witchcraft. Then Nabradia had gotten more wicked and power-hungry until she’d crowned herself Queen of the Salem witches and become the soulless tyrant who thought nothing of turning thousands of witches into field mice in one fell swoop.
Kathy tightened her grip on the sack bag at her side and scolded the still-struggling mandrake plant. “Stay quiet. You’re going to ruin the other herbs in there with you.”
Her long black hair hung to her waist; thick, unkempt, and tangled, the weight familiar. The wind ripped a few strands free of their entanglement and flung them in her face. Kathy cursed under her breath. If Klyana noticed her hair was tangled up again, she’d have to sit through another hour of combing and hair grooming.
Kathy was so worried about her hair, she didn’t notice Klyana tense suddenly and look up into the skies her pupils going pure white for an instant as they did when she had one of her visions. She sniffed twice and muttered under her breath, “It can’t be. It can’t be.”
Klyana frowned at Kathy, “What did you sense when you looked at the clouds? Do you sense it again?”
Kathy frowned, looking upwards. The sun was shining as merrily as ever, birds were chirping in the air and the pleasant smell of summer assailed her nostrils as they trudged along the narrow bush path leading from the cavernous mountains where they got their special healing herbs to their dwellings. She looked at Klyana, “A faint tingle of electricity shimmering just on the edge of awareness. I thought it might have been lightening.”
Klyana nodded, “Then it might very well storm tonight; but after that, the day would bring an unwelcome visitor.”
She turned away, leaning more heavily on her walking stick as the limp in her leg became even more obvious.
Kathy sighed. The Forest of Astare was practically at the ends of the earth. It was the place witches who had fallen from grace went to. It was the one place the laws of their kingdom couldn’t catch up with them. Every last witch in the forest was a criminal running from a wicked past, including her.
Any uninvited visitor was most unwelcome, she thought, her eyes flashing.
Kathy forgot all about any visitor as soon as they got home as she busied herself with the poultice she had to make. Using the mandrake root was never easy because it kept writhing, struggling and finally screaming so piercingly it was a wonder it didn’t make one deaf.
She was caught up in her work, stirring furiously to avoid missing the right moment when the poultice had to be brought down from the fire. It was a very rare potion she sought to make; one minute more on the fire and it could kill rather than heal, one minute less and it could cause her patient to grow an extra arm. It had to be just right.
Kathy stirred the contents of her cauldron furiously, her long serviceable cotton dress clinging to her womanly curves in the gentle evening breeze working its way into the little outdoor shed where she worked. Klyana and the other witches of the clan seemed to value her expertise with roots and herbs and it was all the more wondrous because no one had ever taught her these things; she’d just known.
She heard a sound behind her but she didn’t bother turning around, “Klyana, I’m almost done with these. You can go back to the house and get some rest.”
Kathy whipped the potion once, twice, and beamed as it hit the exact moment she’d wanted. It was ready. Expertly, she lifted the fiery cauldron off the fire with her bare hands and calmly deposited it onto the tabletop.
She spun around with a wide grin to face Klyana and her smile died.
A very tall handsome stranger was waiting patiently in the doorway. He had ash-blonde hair that ruffled gently in the cool breeze, shoulders that seemed a mile wide, strong aquiline features and piercing silver-grey eyes that reminded her of pure steel. Power rolled off him in waves, so potent that she could actually smell it. He was a very dangerous and powerful man, she realized, her heart thumping at the look in his eyes as he scanned her petite frame.
His mouth canted in an innocent choirboy grin as he examined her boldly. His eyes scanned every inch of her with such intensity that she felt almost naked. Her traitorous body acted as though it recognized him with her nipples budding into tiny dots beneath the bodice of her dress.
Fear erupted in her throat and she held up her hand, “Who are you? Stay back.”
He laughed at her with his eyes, “Or what? I hate to break it to you Kitten, but your wand isn’t anywhere close by.” His voice was smooth as silk and more dangerous.
Kathy gave him a smile of her own, cold and deliberate as she announced, “I don’t need a wand to leave a gaping hole where your testicles are now.”
Any sane man would have turned and fled for the hills at those words; evidently, he wasn’t sane. He came fully inside the shed, giving her a better target. “Is this how far the witches of Astare have fallen?” he demanded, holding his hands loosely at his sides. “You would harm an unarmed man and threaten his testicles? Have you no honor, then?”
Put that way, he managed to make her sound like a two-headed hydra and the very worst sort of being. Angry heat surged through her and she held it in check with minimal effort.
“You are a man; that’s enough threat for me,” she informed him, with less heat, as she realized he wasn’t an immediate threat.
She didn’t realize how telling those words were, but the man’s eyes narrowed, studying her with a new light. The expression in them was calculating and thorough.
“If you’re threatened by my gender and blasting off the evidence of it would make you feel better, go for it,” he invited, spreading his arms harmlessl
y at his sides as though offering a hug.
Whoever he was, he was an expert at making her feel like a terrible person. He was dressed casually in jeans and a tee-shirt with strong workman boots encasing his feet. He wasn’t carrying any bags as most travellers would and he certainly couldn’t have driven all the way to their forest. It was tucked away deep in a jungle and surrounded by mountains on every side.
“Who are you?” she asked.
“It’s a little too late to ask that. You’ve already decided you know who I am, Kitten,” he chided.
“I’m giving you a chance to escape certain death, you orangutan. Now take it and stop calling me Kitten,” she spat, still holding her arm up and ready to blast him if he tried anything.
He lifted an eyebrow, “Drake Alcorn.”
She frowned, searched her memory, “That doesn’t mean anything to me.”
“Precisely what I expected. So why were you so insistent on knowing my name?” came the silky retort.
Confusion darted through her. Who was he? He was a very strange man indeed. Everything about him reeked of unpredictability. He appeared out of nowhere and yet he had a problem with her reasonable demand to know who he was? He appeared casual yet he smelled of power, danger, wicked pleasures, and authority. He was regarding her with the sort of openly admiring masculine interest she had become angrily accustomed to and yet she could sense the animosity towards her rolling off him in waves.
Her eyes glinted as she looked at him, “What do you want?”
“Ah, a better question, infinitely more useful to you and to me,” he said with maddening delight.
Kathy glared.
“Bring me to your Tribe’s leader,” he ordered with the air of a man accustomed to being obeyed.
Klyana. He wanted Klyana, she realized with dawning horror.
Fear spread through her. Klyana had been accused of so many evil crimes and thrown out on her ear. She’d been on the run for years until she had finally stowed away in this jungle hoping to avoid all contact with everyone as an atonement of sorts. Why would this man follow her here? No one had sought her for years, except other witches on the run or passing travellers who stumbled into their encampment and needed healing for their various wounds.
