Witch Hunter: dark medieval paranormal romance (Witches of the Woods Book 1)

by Steffanie Holmes

  Rebekah had been my closest friend in the village for as long as could I remember. She was the daughter of Elder Ernust, and that had afforded her certain liberties in the village - liberties of which she took every advantage. For as long as I’d known her, she'd been the envy of every man and boy in the village. With wild blonde hair and cold blue eyes, she possessed the kind of beauty that divided families and toppled kingdoms - and she knew it. Despite the fact that in her father’s eyes, she was more pious and chaste than the Virgin Mary herself, Rebekah's trysts were legendary, and it seemed I was always waiting by the roadside or guarding the door to a cottage lest a wife came home to find Rebekah's shapely legs wrapped around her husband. Perhaps that's why she liked me – I didn't get in her way.

  Rebekah did not know I was a witch, only that I was an orphan living with my two strange aunts at the edge of the forest. As it was, I sometimes wondered if Rebekah was only my friend because I kept her stocked up with the herbs that prevented pregnancy.

  Luckily, Rebekah was too absorbed with her own mission to notice my reaction to her latest crush. "I didn't see a ring on his finger," she declared. "So he could be mine." She was practically licking her lips.

  "He's an executioner. Perhaps he doesn't wear a ring in case it’s damaged while he pulls people’s tongues out with those awful tongs."

  Rebekah pouted. "Oh, Ada. Don't ruin my fun. Didn't you think he was gorgeous? Like a big, powerful stallion-"

  "He tortures and kills women for a living. I don't exactly find that an attractive quality in a husband. Besides, he’s an executioner. His entire family is tainted, his wife most of all. Your father would never consent to the match, no matter how dreamy you think he looks." I turned away, attempting to hide the blush that coloured my cheeks.

  "Whoa, you’re crabby. Are you OK?" She looked at me, her face suddenly registering my expression.

  I tried to make my face appear passive. "I'm fine. Really. I'm just tired from all the excitement." I wasn't, but I couldn't even begin to explain.

  "Come on." Rebekah grabbed my hand again. "We must go talk to him.”

  Panic rose in my chest. "I can't. I promised my aunts I would–"

  "Ada, I need you." Rebekah started pulling me toward the church. Of course she needed me. Rebekah and I were a formidable team. She would start up a conversation with her mark and I would interject at appropriate times to extol her virtues or draw a wandering conversation back to her. Then, with a barely perceptible nod from her, I would duck away on some errand, leaving her and her victim to their whims. It was a ploy we’d perfected on several men, but not one I wanted to try with the witch hunter.

  "Rebekah, please don't–"

  But Rebekah wasn’t used to hearing no, least of all from me. She practically dragged me down the church steps. I knew I couldn’t get out of it.

  Maybe if you keep your head down, he won’t even recognise you. After all, he can hardly see at all through that mask of his, and all his attention will be focused on Rebekah, anyway. Your face will fade into the background, as it always does.

  I allowed Rebekah to pull me across the square, praying to the Goddess that was true.

  Across the square from the church was the town hall, our main municipal building. There we held town meetings, our weekly market, and other important town events. It also served as our courthouse and housed our jail cells. Elder Ernust was standing on the steps of the hall, his head bent in conversation with two of his alter boys. As Rebekah reached for the door to the hall, he grabbed her hand, pulling her away.

  "Father, what are you doing?" Rebekah tried to yank her hand free.

  "Daughter, don't go in there!" he cried, his face pale with alarm. "The witch hunter is setting up for his inquisitions. That is no place for pure women now."

  "Oh, Father," Rebekah gushed. "Ada and I just wanted to welcome Brother Ulrich to the village."

  "I don't think that's such a good idea, pet." Elder Ernust replied, his voice wheedling. He nervously smoothed down the front of his robe. "The witch hunter is … not accustomed to such attention. He is an outcast, and his appearance and manner may be frightening–"

  "Nonsense, Father. I've nothing to fear from him, and neither does Ada." Rebekah grabbed for the door knob, but as she did, the door burst open, and the witch hunter barrelled outside.

  "Ernust!" he bellowed. 'There are no clamps in the cloisters for my winches. My löwe will need to remove some stones around the lintels–" he stopped as he saw us. "Ladies," he nodded, his body growing rigid.

  "Brother Ulrich," Rebekah gave a short bow. As she rose, she lifted her chin and batted her eyelashes at him. "I am Rebekah, daughter of Elder Ernust. That's miss Rebekah, in case you were wondering. And this is Ada." she added hurriedly, barely gesturing at me. "We've come to bid you welcome to our humble village."

  "Yes," I choked out, inclining my head slightly. "Welcome."

  I tried to avoid his gaze, but Ulrich looked straight at me, his eyes locked on mine. I stood frozen, too frightened to look away. Ulrich has recognised me. He will reveal me right here, before the elders, and I will be tortured-

  "I'm delighted to make your acquaintance," Ulrich said stiffly, his eyes still locked on mine. "I am encouraged by the kind, holy community I have found here. It pleases the Lord God to find this village still clings to the holy word in such troubling times."

  "Praise be," I said, although the words came out in a croak. Ulrich’s eyes never left my face.

  Look away, I screamed inside my head. But I stood frozen, my eyes locked with his. Ulrich glared at me with that same ferocious intensity for which he'd regarded me in the grove; a stare that made my legs tremble in fear and a warm, tingling sensation rise between my legs.

  Look away. Turn and run. He's going to arrest you–

  But Ulrich didn't move, didn't speak, didn't even blink. His eyes stayed locked on mine, their icy gaze boring into me, laying me bare as he had done in that grove. The air between us seemed to sizzle, as if an invisible energy arced between our chests. I shuddered, but was the shudder from the fear of him, or from the pleasure of the memory? I could not tell.

  Rebekah pushed her way between us, shoving me aside so she could once again be the centre of Ulrich's attention. But as she stepped toward him, she tripped over her skirts and fell forward, crying out as she flailed her arms in an attempt to balance herself. Ulrich caught her around the waist before she could tumble down the steps.

  Her father gasped, and rushed over to her side, wanting to stop her from touching the executioner and polluting her body. But Rebekah clung to Ulrich’s rigid figure, tossing her blonde hair over her shoulder in a flirtatious manner.

  "Oops," she giggled, clasping Ulrich's hands and holding them even tighter around her. "Clumsy me. It was a blessing you were here to save me, Brother Ulrich, or I might've fallen down the steps."

  I remembered what those hands had done to me, and seethed. Suddenly, I was angry that Rebekah was practically pawing at Ulrich. Why did she get to have everything? Why should she get to writhe in pleasure under his remarkable touch, whereas I will be writhing in agony in his torture chamber soon enough. It’s not fair. Rebekah had done way more sinning than I ever had ...

  Don’t be ridiculous, Ada. I chastised myself for my jealous thoughts. Just be grateful he hasn’t revealed your identity.

  "You are lucky, Miss Rebekah," said Ulrich gruffly, jerking his hands away. "You must be more careful in future. There are dangers in this village you can't even begin to imagine." He said that last sentence with a meaningful glance toward me. I didn't flinch, hoping the others didn't notice. What game is he playing with me?

  "Of course, the witches." Rebekah clung to his arm. "But we don’t need to fear any longer. We have you here to protect us now."

  "Be on your way, my daughter," said Elder Ernust, staring at her with a mixture of awe and horror. "Please go and bless yourself with holy water, to cleanse your body. Ulrich and his men have work to do."


  Of course," Rebekah flashed Ulrich her most charming smile. "Good day, Brother Ulrich."

  "Good day, Miss Rebekah. Good day, Miss Ada." Ulrich glanced briefly at Rebekah, then looked up at me again, but I stared down at my feet, not able to meet his gaze. Rebekah grabbed my arm and shoved me down the steps, where my aunts were waiting. They'd seen the whole thing. Aunt Bernadine's scowl could have turned an oak to ashes.

  But Bernadine's derision was the least of my worries. Ulrich had recognised me. I was sure of it. But for whatever reason, he had not revealed me in front of Rebekah and the Elders.

  I didn’t understand why he had kept my identity to himself. It was his duty to cast out the witches in our village. He had come to the grove under a spell, and the way he talked to me … he must have known I was a witch. It was only a matter of time before I was arrested and tried for witchcraft. Ulrich had told me himself that he would be my doom. Those cold, cruel eyes did not lie, he meant to take me, and soon.

  Whatever reason Ulrich had for delaying my arrest, I could not hope that he would be so generous again. I would not waste the slim chance I had been given. I had to flee the village, before it was too late.

  Ulrich

  It was her.

  I couldn’t believe my luck. I just hadn’t figured out if it was good luck, or bad.

  The woman of the grove was here, in the village. She must live here, but then what was she doing washing in the water, so far from her home?

  After the Elder practically dragged his slutty daughter away, and Ada was shuffled across the square by two elderly women, I stood on the steps of the city hall, reeling from my second encounter with the woman of the grove. She had met my gaze with that same terrified, innocent look that she’d worn in the grove, those deep emerald eyes making my chest feel tight and my cock stir against its fetters.

  Ada. Her name is Ada.

  I glanced around, trying to distract myself from thoughts of her. A few other people milled around the square, though they avoided my eyes as soon as my gaze fell on them.

  It was the same here as everywhere else. When I looked or spoke to the villagers, they stepped back in fear. To them, I was a man to be avoided. I was untouchable. I did God’s work, but that did not mean I was godly. Women hid their babes from my sight, and men refused to help me in simple tasks, like lifting the heavy frames of my devices from the cart and setting them down in the dungeon. The life my father had damned me to was a lonely one, ostracised by society, despite their desires to convict beautiful women of witchcraft. Even in death, I was to be shunned. The graves of witch hunters and executioners stood apart, and could not be on consecrated ground.

  As I glared at them all, hatred seethed inside of me. If a life apart is what you condemn me to, then that is the life I will seek. I had only to perform this one last punishment, save this one last innocent woman. And then, my debt was paid and I could escape into the forest to live my life on my own terms.

  That is, if I could stay focused long enough to make my escape.

  You could find Ada. You could talk to her. Perhaps you could even kiss her again-

  No. I pushed away the thought. I cannot have a distraction like that. Not when I’m so close to finally having my freedom. I will do my job, find the witch, bring her to trial, and then I will leave.

  I shifted from foot to foot, uncomfortable out in the daylight in my full armour and executioner’s cloak, my cock pressing painfully against my chainmail. I could feel the eyes of the villagers following me, sizing me up. I nodded to Elder Ernust, who was still talking about arrangements for the court proceedings, and ducked inside the city hall, slamming the door behind me.

  “I can’t wait to be rid of this cursed cloak forever,” I growled to Tjard as I descended the steep stone steps into the basement of the city hall. Here, there were three cramped jail cells built into the foundations, as well as a high-ceilinged room that would serve as our torture chamber. Tjard was there now, arranging the devices and setting all of my implements into the metal racks.

  “Forgive them,” he said, as he lined up my shackles in size order. “They do not know that they have nothing to fear from you.”

  I grunted in reply. It was the same old story. Forgive them for sending innocent women to their deaths. If I couldn’t forgive my father for killing my mother and condemning me to become this monster who had to atone for his sins, why would I forgive a bunch of people I didn’t even know?

  “Any accusations yet?” Tjard asked.

  I shook my head. “But they will come. Women are already gathering in groups in the square, whispering to each other. They will soon decide upon whose back this responsibility for the plague will fall.”

  “You’d better get upstairs, then, in case they come soon. The Elder has left you some food and beer in the hall.” Tjard smiled. “I’ve got everything in order here, Ulrich.”

  I nodded. Tjard was a good man, and he had been a great friend to me over all the years we’d been together. He had followed me across the land, steadfast in his word to help me fulfil my blood oath. I would miss his company greatly when we parted ways forever in a few days.

  The hall was a small room, wooden walls on a stone foundation. A great fire crackled at the hearth, warming the space. I sat down at one of the long benches that stretched across the room, and removed my black cloak and chainmail. A bowl of vegetable stew had been set out for me, along with a crusty loaf of bread, a square of goat’s cheese, and a pitcher of beer. An empty bowl stood beside mine, which I guess had been Tjard’s. My stomach rumbled. I pulled the bowl toward me, broke off a chunk of bread, and scooped a mouthful of stew into my mouth. Soon, I was licking the bowl clean.

  The Elder appeared at the doorway, having extracted himself from the villagers in the square. “Is everything to your liking, Scharfrichter?”

  “It is, thank you. If I could have another bowl of this soup, it would do me well. It has been many days since I had a meal I didn’t have to trap and skin myself.”

  “Certainly.” The priest rushed forward, grabbed the bowl, and scuttled back to the doorway again. “You know, my daughter made it. She’s quite a good cook.”

  “I imagine she’s good at a lot of things.” I said. The Elder cringed.

  “She is a … spirited girl, granted. But a good Christian soul at her heart. I understand you are not married.”

  “That is correct. The life of a witch hunter is a lonely one.”

  “Well, Rebekah is also unwed, although it’s not for lack of trying. She has a bit of a reputation, you see.” The Elder frowned. “I’ve been looking for a husband for her in the village, but it seems no one has the spirit to match hers. So if you were looking for-”

  I interrupted him before he could continue down that line of inquiry. “When I was speaking with your daughter earlier, she was with another girl. Her name was Ada. Do you know much of her?”

  “Oh, yes. Ada is a strange girl. She’s an orphan. Her mother died in childbirth, and the girl lives with her aunts in a cabin in the forest, about eight miles walk from here. She has some skill with herbs - my wife often goes to her for remedies. Why do you ask?”

  “It’s my job to know everything that goes on in this village.” I growled. “I’d thank you not to question me.”

  “Of-of course, Scharfrichter.” Now I had him scared. Good. That was the way I preferred my magistrates. “Is there anything else you need help with? Perhaps I could send some of my boys to help your löwe set up your equipment?”

  He looked disgusted with the idea, but clearly felt he had to offer.

  “I will take care of my own affairs. This is grisly business, I will not have a pious man tainted by it.”

  The Elder looked grateful. I dismissed him with a wave of my hand. He scuttled away, returning several minutes later with a second bowl of steaming stew, then made his excuses and left once more. I took the bowl and went back down to the cellar. Tjard had finished his work, and the room was set up according to my specific
ations. Most of the devices had been handed down to me by my father, but with Tjard’s help (for I was no carpenter) I had made adjustments to meet my own needs.

  Clarissa was stretched out on the rack, wearing a thin shift that clung provocatively to her skinny frame. Her fiery hair fanned out from her face like the rays of the sun. In the centre of the cellar roof was a round opening, designed to allow the air to circulate. Rain dripped in, and a cold breeze shot down from above, causing Clarissa’s nipples to stand rigid though the flimsy fabric.

  “Oh, Ulrich … come play with me,” she moaned. She did know my tastes well.

  I forced a smile, trying to ignore the way she was looking at me. She didn’t know that now, after being with Ada, the very thought of her repulsed me. Thankfully, it wouldn’t be too long before I could escape her forever. “Maybe later. In the meantime.” I placed the bowl of soup and a half loaf of bread down on her stomach. “Eat up.”

  Clarissa grabbed the bowl and guzzled the contents in a matter of seconds. “Is there any more?”

  “Not for several hours.” Tjard was adjusting the giant St Andrew’s cross, an X-shaped device of my own design and one of my personal favourites. I crossed the room to help him, and together we lifted the weights and set the arms of the X so that they didn’t obstruct the movements of the winch, which he had strung up behind it. My cock pushed against my trousers as I imagined Ada strapped inside the wooden frame, her luscious body open before me, her bow-shaped lips opened in a scream as I took her from behind …

  “Is something wrong?” Tjard asked. “You look strange.”

  I shook my head. I had to stay away from this Ada. Because if she ended up in my dungeon, there was no telling what I would do to her, or what she could do to me.

  Ada

  Back at the house my aunts tore me to pieces. Not literally, of course, but I'd have much preferred that to the tongue lashing Aunt Bernadine gave me about Ulrich.