by Jane Hinchey
Table of Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
About the Author
Author Notes
First Witch
Book Two - The Awakening Series
Jane Hinchey
First Witch © 2017 Jane Hinchey
This work is copyright. Apart from any use permitted under the Copyright Act 1968, no part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher, nor to be otherwise circulated in any form of binding or cover other than that in which it is published without a similar condition, including this condition, being imposed on the subsequent purchaser.
Contents
Acknowledgments
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
About the Author
Author Notes
Acknowledgments
Sitting in my writing cave in my PJs, day in, day out is my life. But there’s a little more to it when it comes to getting a book out. I’ve had help from some awesome people and I’m blessed to be living such an amazing life doing what I love.
Alicia from iProofread and More – thank you so much for your wonderful insight and amazing editing skills. You save me from myself more times than I can count. Thank you.
Angela from Covered Creatively – you’ve outdone yourself with all of the Awakening Series covers. Thank you.
My ARC team and reader's group, Jane’s Little Devils, you guys are seriously awesome and super cool to hang out with. Thank you.
And finally – my family – thank you. Without you, I would have gotten these books written a whole lot faster! Just kidding. Thank you for supporting and encouraging me on this wonderful writing journey, you’re the best.
1
A wave of energy flooded the air, warping, twisting, turning, an invisible tsunami ripping through time and space. Around the globe it traveled, never losing pace, undetected by some. Others felt it pass through them. It left them reeling in its wake, shaken, energized...aware.
His eyes flickered open.
"Finally." His voice was hoarse from disuse. Slowly he rose, muscles stiff, blood pooled unmoving in his veins. Each movement was excruciating, the only sound in the dark room his breath as he sucked air into disused lungs.
It took an age, but eventually, he was on his feet, shuffling to the cupboard across the room. Dust covered the floor, motes rising up and dancing in the air as he dragged himself forward. With a slight groan, he leaned and opened the cupboard, pulling a metal flask from its depths, twisting the lid and raising it to his lips, gulping. The contents spilled over his chin and down his bare chest, the liquid cutting through the layer of grime covering him to reveal a glimpse of the symbols that marked his skin.
"Aaaah. Better." Already he could feel the ambrosia reviving him—his dried flesh became supple once more, the blood circulating through his veins, sluggish at first, soon picking up speed, bringing color and life to his body. Moving easier now, he crossed the room and flicked the light switch. A single bulb dangled from the ceiling, casting the room in a yellow glow. His tattoos itched and he absently brushed his palm over them, soothing the ache. Soon, he promised them. Soon.
A door stood ajar, its paint peeling. With renewed vigor, he pushed the door open, reaching in a hand to flick on that light too. The bathroom was old, tiles falling from the walls, rust winning the battle with enamel in the old tub. The shower curtain had long since rotted away; now flakes of plastic scattered across the floor, crumbling into dust beneath his feet.
With fingers that trembled ever so slightly, he turned on the tap, a grunt of satisfaction when hot water coughed and spluttered through the shower, settling into a steady stream. Stepping beneath the spray, he sucked in a breath as the water pummeled his skin like fine needles. It was always like this. The awakening.
Clean, naked, and dripping, he stood in front of the bathroom mirror, watching as his sunken face continued to fill out, his cheeks no longer hollow, his eyes no longer deep in their sockets. He raised a hand, traced his jaw with fingers that were no longer old and wrinkled. He was back. It was time.
Out in the street, he stopped a young boy no more than thirteen years old.
"What time is it?" he demanded, gripping the boy's wrist, as he would have moved on past.
"Hey. Let go," the boy protested, tugging on his arm. Then he looked into the man's eyes and froze, unblinking.
"What time is it?" the man asked again.
"Two o'clock." the boy replied.
"Date?"
"The first of October."
"Year?"
"Two thousand and sixteen."
"Go. Remember nothing."
The boy continued on his way, unaware of what had just transpired, a grin on his face and a spring in his step as he spied his friends waiting for him in front of the cinema.
The man continued to stand on the sidewalk, raising his face to the sky as dark clouds began to gather overhead. A boom of thunder rattled windows. The man smiled.
"I'm coming for you, witch."
She should have been prepping Zak's dining table. It was ready for its first coat of stain. Yet here she stood, the figurine she'd just carved clasped tightly in her hand, breath heaving in her lungs, horror creeping up and tapping her on the shoulder. What had she done?
Something was wrong. Georgia knew it, on a deep, intrinsic level. What it was, exactly, she couldn't put her finger on, but she could feel it, like a darkness creeping into her soul, slithering through her veins, darkening her, changing her. And it scared the absolute shit out of her.
Ever since the showdown with Marius, where she'd ripped Veronica's heart from her chest, it had niggled at her. The guilt. The knowledge that when she'd become a vampire she'd changed in ways she'd never anticipated. To take the life of another? The idea was abhorrent to her, yet she'd launched at Veronica, and, fueled by rage she'd sunk her hand into the woman's chest, unrepentant in her actions, no hesitation. Veronica had never physically harmed her. Oh yes, the woman ha
d been a first-class bitch and had been involved in the torture she'd suffered at the hands of Marius. Did she deserve to die? At the time, Georgia had thought so. Now, weeks later, she wasn't so sure.
Tearing her unseeing eyes from the table back to the figurine in her hand, she trembled, a shudder ripping through her. It was a monster. Jaws open wide, long teeth protruding from the mouth, face contorted, clawed hands clutching...a heart. The face was almost unrecognizable. Almost. But Georgia knew who it was. Her. It was her. She was the monster. With a curse, she hurled it at the wall where it fell, rolling to a stop next to the two other identical figurines. She hadn't meant to carve them; she'd returned to her workshop with the intention of working on Zak's dining table. It was long overdue, yet here she was, a third carving that she didn't remember making.
She glanced outside the open doors. Dawn wasn't far off; she'd best head back. That was another thing that took getting used to. No more daylight. Switching off the lights and locking up the workshop, she checked her beloved farmhouse was secure before jumping in her truck and spinning the tires down the driveway. She arrived at Zak's house within minutes, skidding to a halt with a cloud of dust, killing the engine and the boom of the stereo. Climbing out of the truck, she strode around the back of the house, following the sound of voices. It was Skye practicing knife throwing, being cheered on by Zak and his warriors.
"Hey." Noticing her, Zak tugged her in close to his side, dropping a kiss on the top of her head. His warmth reached out and embraced her, weaving around her, making her feel safe...protected.
"How's it going?" She nodded at Skye, who was throwing knives through the air and embedding them in the wooden bull's eye with amazing precision.
"She's good. A natural." Georgia eyed her sweet little sister, noting the change in her too. Gone was the cute, preppy look of pencil skirts, polka dots, and high ponytails, in its place skin tight black jeans, a black tank and shit kicker boots. All that remained of the old Skye was the ponytail.
She rubbed at her head, a headache beginning to pound just behind her eyes. Zak frowned down at her.
"Everything okay?"
"Just a headache. I'll be fine." She pulled out of his embrace, giving him a wan smile. "I'm going to head inside, get some sustenance. That should fix me right up." She couldn't bring herself to say blood, that she needed to drink blood. She'd been hiding from him her wavering thoughts on becoming a vampire. It was too late now anyway. There was nothing she could do about it. Once you turned vampire there was no going back.
"Georgia?" His head tilted to the side, his dark eyes zeroing in on her with laser precision.
"I'm fine," she grumbled, hurrying inside. Heating her mug of blood in the microwave, she stood at the kitchen sink, gazing unseeing into the darkness outside as she sipped. As much as her mind protested her new species status, her body embraced it, the blood reviving her, bringing a flush to her cheeks and a sparkle in her eyes. Yet still, the throbbing in her head continued.
"Better?" Zak pressed in behind her, his arms sliding around her waist, his mouth at her ear. She nodded, letting her head drop back against his shoulder. Best he didn't know that she was changing, that something bad was happening to her. Pulling herself together she plastered on a smile, turning in his embrace and wrapping her arms around his neck.
"Much." She tugged his head down until his mouth was on hers. This was still the same. The electricity, the thrumming of her body, the weakness in her knees, the way she came completely undone when he touched her. Breath hitching, she pressed herself closer, shuddering when he growled, the deep rumble vibrating through her. She didn't protest when he teleported them upstairs to the bedroom they shared, smiled in sultry delight when he tossed her on the bed and followed her down. Oh yes, this, she didn't mind at all.
2
There's nothing like starting your day with tequila shots. With only slightly blurry vision she grinned at Eddie. It had been an age since she'd visited the pub across the road from Behind the Times, the shop she and Skye owned.
"Missed you around these parts." He refilled the shot glass, a grin tugging at his lips as she promptly drained it before he'd had a chance to put the bottle down.
"Yeah, been hanging at the farm mostly, waiting on the repairs to the shop." She waved a hand in the general direction of the store across the street. The one that Marius's men had set on fire. He didn't need to know that she'd never be able to work in the shop again, that daylight was now her enemy.
"It's been slow going."
"Insurance. They want to approve every damn little thing. Assholes," she muttered, thinking now of all the phone calls and frustrations they'd endured as the insurance company kept them hanging.
"You're that chick who's living with that Goodwin dude, in his mansion." A skinny guy in dirty jeans, scruffy T-shirt, and baseball cap slid onto the barstool to her left, eyeing her up and down. His tone was accusing. She frowned at him.
"What of it?" She nodded at Eddie, who refilled her glass for the umpteenth time.
"I hear your sister’s there too. You both giving it up for him?"
His words skittered along her skin, dirty, unclean. Eddie sucked in a breath. "Hey now, no need for that," he admonished the jerk who thought he knew her, knew Skye. Loser. Why did guys always do this? Couldn't she just sit at the bar and get shit-faced drunk without these idiots? Just once. Blowing out a breath, she swiveled on her seat and eyeballed him, her face cold.
"Fuck. Off."
He threw back his head and laughed, then leaned toward her, leering. "I like your spunk. I bet you're a fucking firecracker in the sack. Want to come outside and give this a spin?" He grabbed his crotch.
"Nope." Ignoring him she turned back to the bar and her drink. Eddie raised a brow at her, surprise on his face. Usually, by now, she'd have punched the guy in the face. Maybe being a vampire had taught her some restraint. Maybe she just wasn't that bothered by what people thought anymore. She grinned and tossed back the tequila.
"Let's mix it up, Eddie." She pointed to a bottle behind him. "This calls for whiskey."
"You sure?" He turned and reached for the bottle and a fresh glass. Piling ice into the bottom, he poured a double shot.
"Absa-fucking-lutely," she assured him. The tequila had given her a nice buzz, had taken the edge off her angst, although the headache still thrummed behind her eyes. The one she'd been hiding from Zak because for one, he'd fuss, and two, vampires didn't get headaches. Something was wrong with her.
The jerk seemed content to settle in next to her, snide, rude comments sliding from his small mouth every time Eddie stepped away to serve someone else. Georgia ignored him, didn't really hear what insults he was flinging her way, her mind on other things. It wasn't until he touched her that he brought her full attention back to him. His hand was on her knee, sliding up her thigh. She brought her own hand down on top of his and squeezed. Hard.
"Fuck!" he cried, his bones close to snapping.
"Considering your lowly opinion of me, I'm somewhat surprised that you'd want to touch me, but since you did, here's a newsflash, asshole. Don't. Don't ever touch me. Got it?" She flung his hand away and he cradled it against his chest, his eyes spitting fire at her. He slugged down his beer, built up his courage and was in her face, lips inches from hers.
"You're nothing but a filthy whore. I'll do what I want, touch what I want and you'll fucking love it, bitch!" His breath was fetid and spit landed on her cheek. Gross. Closing her eyes on a weary sigh, she moved before he could draw his next breath, propelling him across the room with a hand around his throat and pinning him to the wall. He was gasping, scratching at her hand, eyes bulging and face turning red. She observed him, head tilted. It would be so easy to snap his worthless neck; even as the thought skittered across her mind her fingers tightened.
"Hey now, what's going on here?" Rhys's voice was in her ear, calm, cautious. She cast a glance at him over her shoulder, "Oh hey, Rhys. Whatcha doing here?"
"I wa
s hoping for a quiet drink, but I walk in and see this." He nodded at the grip she still had on the loser, his face turning from red to purple. "I think you should let him go, Georgia. I'm sure he's learned his lesson."
"Do you think?" She looked at the loser again, who was nodding his head as best he could, frantic to draw breath. She waited another second, then let go. He doubled over, hands on his knees, sucking in wheezing breaths.
"You fucking bitch!" he spat, still bent over. Rhys stepped up, grabbing the guy by the shirt collar and hauling him to the front door.
"Seriously, dude, you've got no brains. Go home. Sober up. And stop insulting womenfolk."
"Who are you to tell me what to do?"
"I'm the law." That shut him up. Casting a hateful glare at Georgia, he let Rhys shove him outside, grumbling under his breath.
Georgia was back at the bar, sipping on her whiskey, ignoring the other patrons who'd watched the whole episode unfold and were now staring at her. Rhys slid onto the same stool the loser had occupied and ordered a beer.
"So," he said.
"So," she replied.
"Care to tell me what that was all about?"
"The usual. Some jerk who thinks his tiny pecker is God's gift to women and that I should bow down and worship at his feet, or more precisely—"
"Don't say it!" Rhys cut her off. "I can imagine. Are you okay?"
"Of course. Take more than that pathetic excuse of a man to get to me."
She could feel Rhys's eyes on her.
"What?" She didn't look at him, kept swishing her whiskey in the glass.
