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

by Steffanie Holmes

  He sighed. “Ada, I have to kill my father.”

  The way he said it, so simply, as if it were a chore that had to be done, like getting in the livestock or beating out the rug.

  “Why?”

  “When I first came here, you were going to be the last witch I saved. I had thought that once I had completed the trial, I could simply run away into the forest and never be seen again.” Ulrich laughed bitterly. “I had hoped I was finally far enough away from my father’s territory that he would not come to look for me. But now I know this is not true. Lord Benedict has sent word that my father will be arriving at his estates within the month, and I have been called to assist him in establishing a coordinated Witch Hunt that will stretch across the whole province.”

  My blood turned cold at the thought of it. “What does this mean?”

  “It means that I need to get you and your aunts away from Benedict’s lands. Far away. And then I must return to my father. I wish, more than anything, that I could simply remain by your side. But my father would not forgive my disappearance, not when it would make him look bad in front of the Bishop. You do not know him, as I do. He will burn the forest to the ground hunting for me.”

  “So? We will hide you. My aunts can form powerful spells-”

  “He has men at his disposal. Warriors in his employ. He has the money to bribe and the will to threaten to get what he wants. We will not stay hidden long.”

  “Well, then you go back to him, with Tjard and Clarissa, and continue to set free the witches that he captures.”

  Ulrich shook his head. “My little ruse only works because all three of us are a part of it. I could never pull it off under my father’s gaze. No, Ada, if I went back to him, he would force me to do all the things I promised myself I would never do, the things I am trained to do. There is only one way. I must kill him. Only then will I finally be free of the curse he has placed on me.”

  “What curse? Your father isn’t a witch-”

  “He is much worse than that. My father is a murderer. His crimes have haunted my entire life. He killed my mother.”

  My heart ached for him. “Why?”

  Ulrich tightened his grip on me. It was a few moments before he spoke again. “She had been sick in her mind for some time. Neither the doctors nor the village wise woman could do anything for her. At first it was a benign sickness - she would forget simple things, like my name, or what day of the week it was. But then she started to call out in her sleep. Every night she would scream for hours, or mumble these long strings of weird sounds. When this started, my father was out on his annual tour of the countryside, travelling between villages performing executions for hire. So it fell on me to sit with her, cradling her head in my lap while she sobbed and screamed incoherently.

  “After a few weeks, her dreams started to follow her into the waking hours, and she would wander the village in a daze, ranting and raving of crazy things. People avoided her, drawing the evil eye in the air when she passed them on the street. I tried to keep her at home, but she would climb out the windows and wander naked through the town square.”

  “The day of my father’s return grew nearer, and still my mother was acting strangely. The villagers began to whisper that she had been possessed by a demon. I knew that I had to do something, and fast. So I made plans, together with my little sister Krea, to run away.” He laughed bitterly. “I was twelve at the time, and Krea was only seven. It was a ridiculous notion, two kids and their mad mother surviving in the forest, but at the time it made perfect sense to me. I started gathering supplies together, and made a plan to escape a few days before my father was due to return.

  “One day, I got offered work bringing in the end of summer harvest at one of the local farms. We needed all the money we could get for our escape, so even though I was scared to leave mother home, I accepted the job. Krea promised she would watch our mother while I was gone. The work took the whole day, and I returned home just as the sun was setting, my palms raw from pulling roots, and my pocket jangling with coins. As I turned toward our home, I saw the front door was wide open. This was strange, as I’d instructed Krea to keep it locked so our mother wouldn’t run into the village again. Fear tightened my chest. I ran inside and called out Krea’s name, but no one answered. I could hear my mother laughing somewhere, but she sounded far away. I couldn’t find either of them in the house, and then I heard my mother again. I ran outside, and around the back of the house. Our land backed on to the river, and we had a path from our house down to the water. I kept a small boat tied up there. My mother had taught me to fish from it, back in happier days. The moonlight lit up a figure crouched on the edge of the river, a hood over her hair. It was my mother.”

  He held me so tightly that the bones in my spine made a cracking noise. I sensed the memory caused him great pain, and my heart poured out to him.

  Ulrich continued, his voice wavering. “I reached her just as she tossed her head back and started laughing, her voice like glass shattering against a rock. She was laughing so hard she’d given herself the hiccups, and she pointed at the river and jabbering about nymphs. ‘They told me she had to join them,’ she said, between hiccups. When I looked down into the water, I saw Krea staring back at me.”

  “Oh, no,” I whispered, wrapping my hands around his and squeezing back.

  Ulrich sucked in a breath, and then continued. “Her skin was blue, but otherwise, she looked like an angel, calm and serene, her hair fanning out around her face like a halo. My mother had pushed Krea’s body down with two heavy, forked sticks, and she bobbed in the water, so that it almost seemed like she was moving. But she would never move again. My mother leaned over Krea, whispering some chant that only she understood. I grabbed her and tried to haul her away.”

  “It was then that my father came home. I heard the wheels of his cart pull up outside the house. He’d finished up his rounds early, and I could see him stumbling through the house, his arms weighed down with sacks of grain and skins of wine - gifts given to him by grateful villages who’d had their witches purged. He must’ve seen me beside the river, for he dropped his booty and raced down the hill. Mother saw him coming and started screaming, trying to run out into the water. I didn’t want her to kill herself, so I grabbed her around the waist. She howled and struggled and scratched at my face, but I kept hold of her.

  “Father reached us, and looked down in the water. His face turned white with fear. I have never seen him afraid before. All the while I’m watching him, wondering what he will do, holding my mother so she would stop struggling.

  “He was still wearing his cloak and sword. His hand sought the hilt. I cried out to him to stop, but he was a man possessed. He pulled the sword and with one swing sliced clean through her neck. I watched my mother’s head drop from her body and roll down the hill, hitting the water with a splash, obscuring the face of my sister in a pool of red. It took a few moments for her body to realise its loss, and then it sagged in my arms, blood spurting from her wound like a fountain, drenching me.”

  “Oh, Ulrich!” I was crying now, hot tears stinging my face. I couldn’t imagine such pain, to have seen such a horrific thing at so tender an age. No wonder he was the way he was, so cold and brutal, so desperate to be in control of all things.

  “It was murder, as clear as I saw it, but of course no one charged him. They’d all seen mother raving in the square and rolling in the mud naked. They thought her a witch, though she was not. And that was how I lost everything that I cared about, everything that was good in my life. After that, my father grew even more cruel toward me, and he expected me to remain by his side at all times. It was as if he suspected we had planned to run away.” Ulrich sighed. “I was his apprentice for fifteen long years, learning the intricacies of the art of torture, practicing the killing swing that can behead a man in a single stroke. And five years ago I went out on my own. You know the rest.”

  I rolled over, turning my body so that I faced him. I was surprised to
see that his face was slick with sweat, the skin white with fear. I took his hand in mine, and I could feel a slight tremble in his fingers. I kissed the tips of his fingers.

  “I’ve never told anyone about this before,” he said.

  “If you hate your father so much, then why do you love the dungeon?” I asked. “Why do you enjoy dominating women for pleasure?”

  “I like to be in control,” he said, his voice gaining strength again. “I like to see you lying on this rack, your body open to me. All of you open to me.”

  I thought about this. Ulrich had spent most of his life under the control of his cruel father, and then he had lost the only two women he loved when one of them lost control of her mind. It made sense in a strange way that he would see to dominate in his own life, and why he got such pleasure from being the powerful one.

  But it seemed to me as if, when he spoke about his mother and Krea, Ulrich was in fact opening himself up to me. He was giving me control, of his darkest secrets, of his lonely memories. He had made himself vulnerable to me, and I had to be incredibly careful that I didn’t abuse that trust.

  For the first time, I knew that I truly held the witch hunter’s heart, and it was more fragile than even I had suspected.

  Ulrich

  I can’t believe I did that. I can’t believe I told her about Krea.

  I hadn’t intended to do that, but when we lay down together, and I felt the way her body nestled so neatly within mine, it all started tumbling out. Afterward, I felt cold, unsteady. I couldn’t get my bearings. It was such an odd thing for me to do. If I didn’t know better, I would say I had been enchanted.

  But talking to Ada was also liberating. Now that she knew the terrible secret I carried around all these years, it seemed as if a great weight had been lifted from my chest. We lay on the rack for hours, talking about all kinds of things, about our lives and our hopes and our fears. She never once let go of my hand. It was only when the first rays of the rising sun shone through the vent and lit the dungeon with golden glow that I realised I needed to return Ada to her cell. After pulling on my trousers, and throwing my cloak over my bare shoulders, I scooped Ada into my arms and carried her down to the cells.

  My hands were still shaking as I locked Ada back in her cell. She pulled her filthy shift back over her head, and stood on the other side of the bars, her wide eyes piercing my own. She rubbed the goosebumps on her bare arms.

  “Ulrich, it’s so cold in here. Can’t you get me a blanket, a fur, something?”

  I shook my head sadly. “There will be more who come in here to see you, Ada, and I must have them believe that you are really being tortured. I promise you that when I lock up the dungeon for the night, I will bring you warm blankets.”

  “Thank you. And will we return to the dungeon tomorrow?”

  “Of course. You have many more crimes to confess, do you not?”

  She laughed. “I do. So many. You might be busy for some time.”

  I leaned over, and she kissed me through the bars, her tongue dancing playfully over my lips. Reluctantly, I pulled away, and gave her a nod goodbye. I walked out of the dungeon, up the stairs to the hall, a smile playing across my lips.

  I pushed open the door and stepped through, my mind back down in the torture chamber with Ada. I was so busy remembering last night that I wasn’t watching where I was going, and I crashed headlong into Rebekah.

  I reeled, quickly adjusting my cloak over my bare torso, hoping she wouldn’t ask why I was only half-dressed. What is she doing here?

  “Rebekah, was it?” I asked, hiding my surprise behind a sneer. She looked dangerous, with a broad, cat-ate-the-canary grin on her face, and her breasts pushed tight against the fabric of her dress. “Are you looking for your father. He hasn’t arrived yet, and neither has my morning meal-”

  “Ulrich,” she cooed, wrapped her hands around my shoulders. “I haven’t come for Father. I was looking for you. I’ve been looking for you for quite some time, now.”

  Rebekah caressed my neck, and my chest tightened with dread. Had she heard Ada and I? Had she been listening at the door while we spoke words of love to each other?

  “You’ve found me.” I growled, shoving past her. “Now what do you want?”

  “It’s such a shame about Ada. She was my friend, you know. I never knew a thing about her dark side, but there have been signs. I’d ignored them, because she was so dear to me, but I’m glad now that it’s all out in the open and Ada’s soul will soon find rest. I can provide testimony at her trial, if you like.” She sounded eager, as if the idea of standing in front of the village to condemn her friend thrilled her.

  “That’s not necessary,” I grunted. “There are witnesses enough.”

  “You know, being a scharfrichter must be quite a lonely profession,” Rebekah said, batting her eyelashes at me.

  “I prefer to be alone.” A pitcher sat on the table. I picked it up and shook it. Liquid sloshed inside. I threw my head back and drowned the draught in one long gulp.

  “But it doesn’t have to be that way, you see. There are plenty of women who are yearning to be with a big, strong man like you.” With that, Rebekah bent down and started to undo the lacing on her dress. Her breasts sprang free. In a flash she was standing next to me, grabbing my wrist and pushing my hand onto her bosom.

  “What are you doing?” I yanked my wrist away.

  “What does it look like?” Rebekah stepped toward me, caressing her own breast with scrawny, bird-like fingers. “I have desired you since the moment you walked into this village, Ulrich of Donau-Ries. Every night I go to sleep imagining your strong hands around me, the feeling of those angry lips pressed against mine.” She lunged at me, pressing her lips out for a kiss. I leapt back, shoving her roughly. She crashed against the table, but righted herself quickly, and started after me once more.

  “Oh, you like to play rough? Well, so do I.” She licked her lips.

  “Stay away from me,” I hissed.

  “Come, Ulrich. Just because I am the Elder’s daughter, does not mean I am some innocent prude. I do not deny my urges, and you should not, either.”

  “I’m not denying anything. I do not want you.”

  Rebekah stopped, her grin frozen on her face.

  “In fact,” I continued. “You disgust me. And don’t you ever touch a scharfrichter without permission. What would your father say if I told him of your wanton behaviour?”

  “You decline me, scharfrichter?” Rebekah spat the word. Her face suddenly twisted, becoming cold and cruel. “You might want to consider your options before you deny the treasure that is right in front of you. You are nothing, do you understand? You are a man shunned by all god-fearing people, and you have no company except that löwe of yours. Perhaps that is why my body doesn’t tempt you? You lust after a different kind of flesh-”

  My cheeks burned with rage at her accusation. “You are a harlot in a maiden’s body, Rebekah. If I were a pious man, I’d be turning you in for the crime of fornication. Do you know the punishment for that? Your dowry will be confiscated, and you’ll be forced to walk through the village with your head shaven and a shame rock tied around your neck. I’ll make certain it is a particularly cumbersome rock-”

  “Oh, no,” Rebekah sneered. “You wouldn’t do that, would you, Ulrich? I am the magistrate’s daughter. My father is close to Lord Benedict. We wouldn’t want word to get back to the Bishop about the depraved acts of our heroic witch hunter, would we? I’m sure the court would be most interested to learn that a dungeon that is supposed to be for torture, is instead being used for pleasure?”

  I stopped short. “Did you just threaten me?”

  “Perhaps.”

  “And what is your price, harlot?”

  “Oh, I do so love when you talk dirty.” Rebekah smiled sweetly. “I haven’t decided on my price as yet, but it will cripple you, Ulrich. In the meantime, be a good little executioner and keep quiet. Speak one word to my father or the village elders
about me, and I will report you and Ada’s little relationship.”

  “You’re playing a dangerous game, girl.” I dropped her chin.

  “I’m well-versed in games.” She turned on her heel, and pushed open the door. “Think about what I said.”

  I watched Rebekah leave, a tight feeling in my gut. When I’d first encountered her, I thought her silly, a bored girl with nothing in her mind except her next conquest. But I was wrong, and she could be the peril of us all.

  Ada

  The next day, Ulrich fetched me to the torture chamber once more, locking the door firmly behind him. For hours I writhed about on the rack while he tortured and pleasured me in turn. Any villagers listening outside could not tell my screams of ecstasy from those of a woman in agony. My figure had wasted away, and I bore scars on my body from the chamber – whip marks and candle burns that crisscrossed my earlier bruises – but no one except Ulrich knew that I had accepted those wounds wilfully.

  When we were finished, he fed me a bowl of hot stew, grinning as I gobbled it down hungrily. But all too soon I had to return to my cell, and Ulrich could do nothing to cease the tide of villagers who came to toss handfuls of dust and refuse into my cell.

  "I always knew you were evil," taunted Hans, who had tried to force me to kiss him behind the stables two summers ago.

  "You killed my daughter," spat Heloise. "You poisoned her with your vile potions."

  Her words stung more than any of Ulrich's machines. Tears welled in my eyes. "No," I sobbed. "I did what I could-"

  "I wish I'd never known you. I hope you burn in hellfire forever, you vile, evil creature." Heloise spun on her heel and walked away.

  Today, Ulrich came to fetch me himself, and he found me, crumpled in the corner of my cell, my face in my hands.