Sorcha's Wolf

by Billi Jean

  A Total-E-Bound Publication

  www.total-e-bound.com

  Sorcha’s Wolf

  ISBN # 978-1-78184-403-8

  ©Copyright Billi Jean 2013

  Cover Art by Oliver Bennett ©Copyright July 2013

  Edited by Sue Meadows

  Total-E-Bound Publishing

  This is a work of fiction. All characters, places and events are from the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, events or places is purely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced in any material form, whether by printing, photocopying, scanning or otherwise without the written permission of the publisher, Total-E-Bound Publishing.

  Applications should be addressed in the first instance, in writing, to Total-E-Bound Publishing. Unauthorised or restricted acts in relation to this publication may result in civil proceedings and/or criminal prosecution.

  The author and illustrator have asserted their respective rights under the Copyright Designs and Patents Acts 1988 (as amended) to be identified as the author of this book and illustrator of the artwork.

  Published in 2013 by Total-E-Bound Publishing, Think Tank, Ruston Way, Lincoln, LN6 7FL, United Kingdom.

  Warning:

  This book contains sexually explicit content which is only suitable for mature readers. This story has a heat rating of Total-e-burning and a sexometer of 2.

  This story contains 228 pages, additionally there is also a free excerpt at the end of the book containing 10 pages.

  Sisterhood of Jade

  SORCHA’S WOLF

  Billi Jean

  Book three in the Sisterhood of Jade series

  When Sorcha finds herself kidnapped by a Lykae that once broke her heart, she discovers to win you have to lose.

  When Alex learns that he can gain his vengeance after centuries of waiting, he does not hesitate to do what must be done—kidnap the head of the Jade Coven.

  But with the fiery, drop down gorgeous redhead, he soon discovers that the past cannot compare with what the future, with Sorcha by his side, will hold.

  Will Alex break the bonds he has imposed on his wolf in order to win his witch’s heart? Or, will his thirst for retribution destroy every chance for this fated couple to have taste freedom in each other’s arms?

  Dedication

  To my family and dear friends. Your support and encouragement, happy dances

  and smiles mean the world to me.

  Trademarks Acknowledgement

  The author acknowledges the trademarked status and trademark owners of the following wordmarks mentioned in this work of fiction:

  Land Rover Defender: Tata Motors

  BMW: Bayerische Motoren Werke AG

  Godiva: Yildiz Holding

  Beez in the Trap: Onika Maraj, Maurice Jordan, Tauheed Epps

  Pac Man: Namco Midway

  Lucky: Liz Claiborne, Inc.

  Chapter One

  Sorcha shook her head and blinked to clear her eyes. Beneath her, a dirty street came into focus. Confused, she squeezed her eyes shut. Nothing was making sense. She should be at home, in her bed. Instead, she was slumped over a shoulder that was digging into her stomach. Everything hurt. Even breathing freakin’ hurt.

  Had someone hit her with a baseball bat when she hadn’t been looking?

  It certainly felt like it.

  Concentrate on what you do know.

  A hard, muscled back hit her face and ewww…musty smelling fabric assaulted her. Whoever held her obviously had no sense of personal hygiene. She smelt smoke, not cigarette smoke, but more like the lingering aroma of pine and oak she remembered from the giant hearth in her home as a child. Well, mixed with enough body odour to knock out a prizefighter.

  Trying not to alert her captor that she was awake, she tested the rough bindings around her ankles and wrists. Whoever wanted her seemed to believe that old ‘bind a witch and you bind her powers’ jive. For some, it may even be true.

  Not for her.

  She was at her peak—the most powerful witch of her era and head of the Jade Coven. Ropes couldn’t bind her—not any longer. After the strife and sorrow she’d endured to get her coven where it was today, to have someone sneak into her grounds, steal her from her bed? It would have been laughable—if it weren’t blaringly true.

  She considered frying the guy, but she wanted information. Like why her? Most of her enemies would simply kill her—not kidnap her. Unless there were things they wanted that only she could provide.

  Still acting as if she were dazed and confused—which wasn’t a stretch, she had to admit—she created a space within her mind where panic and fear couldn’t enter. Magic worked best with a still mind so that a witch’s power wove within the body, moving outward with the weave of the spell. How many times had she taught that to younglings? More times than she wanted to think about, and yet all those faces, all those magic users, flashed through her mind in steady, disordered wisps of memories she couldn’t hold on to.

  What had they given her? She could taste something, but the flavour blended with a citrusy sweetness that made it hard to concentrate.

  More frightened now, she blocked out everything around her that she could and focused on calm. Peace of a sort descended after several steady heartbeats. Silence echoed in her mind and she sought within for the power that flowed like a mystical river through her centre…and encountered nothing.

  No, she thought, not nothing—there was something lurking in her mind. Something that didn’t belong. It reminded her of a grey curtain on the breeze, sheer enough to sense the sun through it, but strong enough to hold back any warmth. Alarms shivered down her body. She shoved at the barrier, pushed, pulled and tried to go beneath it. Nothing worked. Nothing. It was like digging into air. She let herself fall deeper into her subconscious mind, but still encountered no end to whatever was blocking her. A rush of adrenaline-laced fear chilled every inch of her body.

  Okay, maybe panicking might be the best plan.

  The sudden, complete loss of her magic was inconceivable—before now.

  She couldn’t hear the earth, couldn’t feel the flow of air, or sense the currents of water rushing underground. She couldn’t reach the elements in any way. They were there—but not there for her. Her mind reassured her that if she could but reach her power, the elements would obey her call.

  Suddenly her predicament took on a completely new level of urgency. She was head of the most powerful coven on the planet, but without her powers—

  She was screwed.

  How could this be? Who would do this? Who could do this?

  No one.

  Spells fortified her home with power so deep that no one could enter unless…invited. But that made no sense.

  Concentrate. Think, Sorcha. Think.

  The last thing she remembered was sitting at home. Agni, her best friend, had brought her some of her favourite butterscotch tea from Germany. The silly demon had stopped by wanting to discuss the Fay Realm of all places. She’d not learnt why, but his sudden interest had intrigued her enough to spill a great deal on the methods for reaching their magical lands. Agni was many things, but she trusted him with her life. When he’d left, she’d been drinking another cup of the tea and reading from a book on gardening. She could picture the glossy coloured pages filled with rows of strawberries even now. The Fay possessed the most beautiful gardens she’d ever encountered, and yet, she loved her own and wouldn’t trade it for any of the most splendid of theirs. She’d been thinking of adding a strawberry patch for the spring, then…

  Nothing.

  The man carrying her said something in a harsh, guttural language and swung around, nearly toppling her off his shoulder.r />
  She thought she spotted the outline of another figure for a second before her face hit solid muscle again. The shorter, bulker man responded in the same language. Then the walking continued.

  Two men. Two captors or were there more, but they were just silent?

  Calm, Sorcha. Keep calm.

  She had to get free. Wrists tied. Ankles tied. Walking was out. At least until she got the bonds off. Then…

  Ah, yes, then she would…fight? The thought nearly made her laugh—nearly. Unlike her sisters, Circerran and Talaith, Sorcha had never trained to use manmade weapons of war, but she could fight. And right now, she would need to. She was in her silky nightgown, head down, hands and ankles tied and more vulnerable than she’d been in centuries, but giving up wasn’t her style. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself for pain, lifted her numb arms and drove both fists into the nerves along her captor’s spine. At the same time, she tried to jackknife her lower body free with a sudden twist of her legs.

  Whoever held her stumbled. She jerked again and managed to shift enough that he unbalanced further. With a hissed out curse, he tried to catch himself, but in a panic she moved her weight in the opposite direction. He tripped forward, dropping her like a sack of potatoes right on her butt.

  The pain shooting up her spine proved without a doubt that she wasn’t just having a nightmare. This was real. It felt like she had hit the concrete with enough force to fracture her tailbone—if she hadn’t had enough padding there. Still, it hurt.

  She bit her lip to stop herself from making a sound and scooted backwards on her stinging rear as far away from her stumbling captor as she could.

  “Grab her!”

  “We can’t let her go!”

  The two figures in black launched towards her just as her shoulders hit a brick wall. Panicked, she tried to find some kind of landmark, but one of them immediately hauled her to her feet and dragged her face within inches of his.

  He blinked and immediately she focused on his long zigzagged pupils. The slightly reddish skin and the teardrop mark by his right eye meant one thing—demon hunters. Only they didn’t hunt for demons, they were the demons that went hunting. They hunted for money and had no limits on who they’d go after. Everyone feared them. Rumours abounded on their tracking skills. If they were after someone…nothing could stop them. The target would be theirs within hours. Or whoever hired them.

  “Ya shouldna’ ha’ done tha’.”

  Whoa. His accent sounded like he mumbled his words around a mouthful of marbles. The hunters went after anyone—for the right price. Still, no one should have been able to reach her, demon or not. Especially sounding like a half giant and so ugly he could scare small children.

  “You do realise who I am, right?”

  “Aye, we know who ya are—or who ya used to be,” Mr Ugly growled. He set her down and folded his arms, clearly understanding he had the upper hand.

  She wobbled on her bound feet, found her balance then glanced to his slightly taller partner. He shouldered the first demon aside and grimaced in a mockery of a smile at her half exposed breasts. She fought a shudder of revulsion. With a broader grin, he revealed two long, sharp canines the wolf pack would envy.

  “And we know how much ya are worth, witch. Alive. No one said anything about what condition though, so dinna push us.”

  The quiet, almost whisper this one had spoken in freaked her out much more than the mumbled growl of his partner. If she had to fight these demons, this one would be the first to go down—she hoped.

  He stepped close enough for her to feel exactly how much bigger and stronger he was, then without a word he dipped down, grabbed a six-inch two-sided dagger from his boot, then reached for her feet and quickly sliced through the bonds on her ankles. Immediately he straightened and grabbed a handful of her hair using it to pull her painfully to within an inch of his face and snarled at her.

  “Try to run again and I’ll make ya wish ya’d never been born.”

  She struggled against the hold. Her body shook, a sense of vertigo slamming through her and making it impossible to think, let alone clear her mind to try to fight whatever they’d given her. Still, she couldn’t show them anything other than strength.

  “Your breath all by itself makes me wish that, demon,” she said.

  The pressure of his grip tightened until she thought he’d yank off her scalp with her hair. When she fought harder, the whites of his eyes turned red and the odd pupils glowed pale against his brown irises, then he pinned his eyes on her chest again. He used his handful of her hair to tip her head back, and with a low grunt he shifted his free hand to her ass and rammed his lower body against her stomach. His arousal was huge, hard as steel and sent a chill clear to her soul.

  “Tempt me again, witch. Go on. I’ll tame ya so hard ya’ll know yer place.”

  “Aye, she’ll learn won’t she? Once ya’ve had her, I’ll have a go, eh? He’ll never know, eh?” The bulkier demon shoved his body along her butt, as savagely aroused as his partner.

  “Aye, he’ll never know.”

  He? He who? she wanted to scream.

  The taller one groaned as if he enjoyed his buddy’s idea. The world suddenly narrowed to this moment. Here, in a dirty side street, all her powers, all her sacrifices and suffering meant nothing. Once again, she was powerless against monsters that saw her as an object for their use.

  A wave of sorrow made the fight seem impossible. They were bigger, stronger, and she was defenceless, nearly naked and alone. Nothing and no one could stop them.

  Big hands pinched and squeezed her, grunts of pleasure followed with a rough exchange in their language. She drew in a breath to scream and found her face shoved roughly against the cold steel of the nearest car.

  Sweet Bridget, let this not be happening.

  He jerked her nightgown up her thighs, then he fumbled with his pants. Bile rose in her throat, memories she’d fought to suppress broke free. Fear gave her strength enough to dislodge him and half turn. He cursed and slammed her head roughly against the hood of the car and twisted her arm so tightly she feared he’d break her bones. Warmth slid along her temple down her cheek and she realised in a haze that she was bleeding. Trembling, she sought that place deep within herself, the only place on earth they could not touch.

  Above the pounding of her own blood in her ears, she heard a car door slam. She took a painful breath and fought to free her arm before he broke it. Suddenly she felt him freeze on top of her. She sensed his head turning and with his attention elsewhere, she bit his hand. He grunted, but showed no other sign she’d harmed him. But he did lift off her and immediately turned with her in his arms.

  A hundred feet down the street, she spotted a tall, broad shouldered man striding towards them.

  Ah, Goddess Bridget, please, please let this be an immortal strong enough to kill both these monsters. Please.

  The demon pushed her away and the breath she’d been holding left in a whoosh of relief. Her knees went weak, but she fought falling. Whoever walked towards them didn’t yell and he didn’t draw a sword. He simply kept walking in a ground-eating stride, cutting across the street to reach them. The meagre glow from a streetlight cast most of his face in shadow, simply outlining broad shoulders and a muscled, powerful body under a long, well-worn trench coat.

  The relief she’d felt disappeared. This had to be the immortal these two lugs were waiting for. And if they feared him, death didn’t seem like such a bad thing.

  A streetlight suddenly revealed the approaching man’s features clearly. Her breath left her on a gasp.

  Alex.

  His handsome face was set in a grim, fearsome expression. But it was his eyes she sought across the distance separating them—they shone as dark as a starless sky. Not one flash appeared to reveal his wolf’s fury at the demons holding her.

  Suddenly the building pressure she’d felt for months popped—imploded inside her and something, hope maybe, disappeared as the pressure dwindled. Was
this the reason for her anxiousness lately? Her sleepless nights and inability to focus? She’d hoped, somewhere deep inside, that this man—this Lykae—would see her again and want her?

  There were many ways to defeat a person. Torture. Poison. Loss.

  Who knew indifference could be one of them?

  Indifference. Is that what drove Alex? A complete lack of feeling for anyone other than himself, and his pack?

  She had no idea. All she knew in that instant, that startlingly crystal clear moment, was that the one being on earth that should break into a protective rage at her being touched—let alone harmed and held by aroused demons threatening to rape her—merely appeared annoyed. Irritated.

  He stopped in front of them, glared at her demon captors, and said, “You’re late.”

  His rough voice startled her. She’d never heard him speak before and now, at the sound, her heart stuttered sluggishly, burning a terrible path deep within her soul.

  Had a day gone by that she’d not thought about hearing his voice? The sorrow—the ever-present pain—welled up and overshadowed the hurt she’d received from the demon. This man—this fierce, brave man—had the power to destroy her in a way that the demons never could, but he also had the power to save her.

  “She was no’ easy to capture.”

  Alex grunted and crossed his arms. He wore one of those leather trench coats many of the immortals wore when they were armed. No doubt, Alex was armed. Most likely with swords, knives and guns.

  “That doesn’t explain why you’re late.”

  Her stomach felt like she’d swallowed lead. He didn’t look like he was acting. His chiselled face with all its perfection looked tense and angry. He really wasn’t here to save her. He’d been the one to hire the demons.