by LJ Swallow
Dark Elements
The Othala Witch Collection Sector Eight
L J Swallow
Contents
The Othala Witch Collection
About Dark Elements
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
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Soul Ties (Soul Ties #1) Sample
Other Books by LJ Swallow
About the Author
Copyright © 2016 Lisa Swallow
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means including information storage and retrieval systems, without permission in writing from the author. The only exception is by a reviewer, who may quote short excerpts in a review.
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
For Lou, for saving what little was left of my sanity.
The Othala Witch Collection
Many years ago, the Original Sixteen witches were able to contain an outbreak of demon-like creatures from overtaking the earth. But doing so came at a cost. For the human race to survive, the world had to be divided into sixteen sectors, trapping the Ravagers to the Outlands beyond, and trapping the humans in.
The Original Sixteen served as Regents over each of these sectors, and when they died, the strongest of witches took their place, using their own personal enchantment abilities to protect their sector. In the process, communication was lost. The only solace that remains is the knowledge that if another sector fails, their own may still survive.
But what happens when your sector is the one to fail? What happens when the world inside your walls is just as bad as the one outside them? In this collection of sixteen dystopian paranormal romance tales, each and every one of the sixteen sectors is about to find out.
Find out more about the whole collection at: www.fallensorcery.com
Dark Elements
(The Othala Witch Collection Sector Eight)
If I marry this man, I will die within a year.
If I leave, death will follow me. There is nothing I can do. I am a Scion and my life belongs to the Othala.
Cora is a Scion who wants nothing to do with the world she's forced to be part of. On the night she tries to take control of her future, she puts herself in danger and a stranger steps in and takes control. The evening Cora thought would lead to her freedom instead makes her a pawn in a battle she wants no part in.
Alaric is the new Regent and wants absolute power over the Sector. His brother, Mattias, is the only witch powerful enough to stand against Alaric's increasingly savage rule and the Senate want him to step in. Alaric fears he'll be deposed but Mattias's plans lie elsewhere.
Mattias was born and raised in the ruling Hyland family. Now he's stepped outside of his role and has another life nobody knows about. Keeping up the pretence works with everybody except Cora; she has seen a different side to Mattias and is determined to discover the truth.
Cora is pulled into the brothers' lives and her fear of the sadistic Alaric matches her desire for Mattias. Mattias's secretive behaviour and attraction to Cora places them both directly in a paranoid Alaric's crosshairs. But the last thing Mattias wants is somebody interfering with his plans. Especially a human girl -- one he's falling for and will do anything to protect.
1
The night of the first Gathering, I took the girl they want me to be away from their control and attempted to drown her at the bottom of a glass. An hour ago, I left the Enclave the aristocratic humans share with the witches, nodded at the guards, and fooled myself nobody would notice Cora Karran has disappeared.
I can't escape the fact I'm facing a future trapped in a marriage of convenience, but I can escape my life for another night. I'm not attending the thinly disguised meat market where the witches meet the Scions and choose. I’ll make my own choices—and tonight I’m choosing what to drink next and whether I want to hook up with a guy.
Because Scions don’t get wasted and sleep with random guys.
The dots on the carpet dance as I focus on climbing down from the stool. The metal slips cold against my bare legs as I jump down and adjust my short black dress.
I've visited this bar in the Sector, tucked away at the rear of a small hotel, a few times over recent months. Low tables with bench seats either side, posters advertising other local clubs taped to the exposed brick walls, and the right amount of light to spot the people you want and to hide from those you don’t.
On a usual Friday, our group meet here. Kids from the Sector hang out with Enclave kids, and the world and boundaries blur. We drink, we laugh, and we drown our existence at the bottom of a glass and forget about the future for a few hours. Usually my best friend, Declan, comes with me, but tonight he doesn't know where I am. He's told me we should leave this weekly ritual behind, and admit our worlds will always be separate.
I don’t intend to. If Declan knew I planned to leave the Enclave permanently, he'd be here and dragging my ass home.
I swirl the clear drink around in my glass and watch the movement instead of looking around. I’m self-conscious, still wearing the expensive dress and standing out from everybody around. Made to measure and flatter, the dark blue, soft material winds tight around my figure, cut diagonally across my legs. Tiny silver stars embroidered through match the ones woven into my long, brown hair. If I’d stopped off at home to change, someone could see me, so I didn’t have much choice but to arrive dressed like a freaking princess.
I pull self-consciously at the hem again, knocking my glass with an elbow. The glass tips and spills across the bar in front of me. Swearing, I grab a nearby napkin, soaking the liquid. The man nearby watches with a curve of amusement on his lips.
Mr. Blue Eyes, who I’ve spent the evening—unsuccessfully— attempting not to stare at. Not because his tall, muscular self is easier on the eye than every other sector guy in the bar, or because his tousled hair and day’s scruff add imperfection to his flawless looks, but because he doesn't fit. I can't pinpoint why because he's dressed the same as most, in dark jeans hugging his ass and a blue shirt stretching across his broad back, but something in his manner is different. The sector humans around share defeated stances and focus only on each other. I'd lay bets Blue Eyes is from the Enclave because this man stands out, eyes bright as he watches the world around him.
As he watches me.
Is he here for the same reason as I am? To drink, screw, and forget the world for a few hours.
I’ve avoided holding his look until now, but curiosity grows as the alcohol in my system does. I send him a small smile, a message he can talk to me if he wants, and push the damp napkin to
one side. The man's eyes flick to the tattoo on my wrist and back to my face again.
Shit. The circular rune marks who I am. Since a child, the intricate symbol has been a badge to tell the world don't touch. I hold my arm out of view and scout the room. Guess I’d better choose someone else.
“You're a Scion.” Blue Eyes shifts to sit on the stool beside me. The man's voice reverberates through the small space between us, deep and firm. Refined accent —definitely Enclave. I turn my eyes back to his, but instead of shock, interest reflects back.
I rub my wrist but don't reply.
“A Scion.” He laughs quietly and grazes his teeth over his lip as he unashamedly stares at my breasts. “Damn. A very beautiful one too.”
My skin reacts with heat at each place his appraising look touches; the untouchable Scion caressed by the action. His long fingers curl around the glass in his hand, stroking the edge.
Excuse me while I combust. I blink away an image of his hands and mouth on me instead. I look away.
“Let me buy you a drink.” He doesn't wait for a response and flicks his fingers at the man behind the polished bar. Despite the fact the barman is serving somebody else, he jumps to Blue Eyes needs.
The man sets a glass of clear liquid, poured over ice, on a new paper napkin and Blue Eyes gestures at it.
“How do you know I drink that?” I ask.
“Because you’ve had two already. That’s what you’re drinking tonight, correct?”
Watching me.
I pick up the drink, and the growing intensity prickles my scalp. There's no doubt what's happening here, and if I hang around, I’ll join in the suggestion hovering between us.
“Why are you alone, Scion?”
“Cora. I'm Cora, not Scion.”
The man rubs his lips. “Cora. And why are you alone?”
"I prefer to be alone."
"Is that right? I prefer company." He flourishes a hand around him. "Of sorts."
The drink burns my throat and increases the confidence bolstered by the empty glasses on the bar in front of me. "And do you want my company?"
He raises a brow. "Are you offering me your friendship?"
"That's a strange question."
"I'm intrigued by you and your situation."
I close my wrist around the Scion tattoo again, and he laughs at me. "I know who you are. Is this a last attempt at freedom? I heard the latest group of Scions are ready."
"Ready," I say with a derisive tone. "Grown and nurtured until they're ripe."
"Interesting analogy. And this time one of you has a chance to marry the new Regent." He sips his drink. "But I take it you're not thrilled by the prospect?"
“Mmm.” I tense, fingers crushing my dress beneath the bar. “Can we not talk about this?”
“What would you like to talk about?”
Anything but that. The crowds swelled at the first night in a line of social events to begin the matching of Scions to Othala witch families. I took the chance and slipped away for an evening in a different reality. Earlier, my normal clothes lay on my bed ready to wear, next to a bag I'd packed. I left them because I can't bring myself to run until I'm sure I have somewhere to stay.
“Have you come to the bar to meet a guy? Or are you looking for one?”
“Again, none of your business.”
“Isn't it?” His expression disarms me, a weird intensity that wraps around my lungs and squeezes out the breath. If I didn't know better, I'd think this was a subtle witch spell, but I can’t detect any magic. This is purely physical. He knows what he wants and no doubt normally gets it. The problem here is something in this man draws me to him, a weird desire for his long fingers to touch my face, to experience the full, sensual mouth on mine. The pull to him when a few metres away intensifies now he's close.
“Who are you?” I ask in a low voice.
“Ty.”
“But who are you, Ty? I don't think you're from the sector, are you?”
He runs his tongue along his teeth and leans closer to me. "I'm the solution to your problem."
I swallow, suddenly unsure I can go ahead with what he’s not very subtly hinting. "What problem?"
"You're one of the Scions and you don't want to marry a witch. I think you've heard a rumour that they won't want you if you've already screwed someone."
“I have but that’s from years ago; they’d be short on candidates these days if that were still true. Anyway, you don’t know me. This isn’t the first time I’ve met a guy in a bar.”
“Really? How often?" He sips his drink, eyes sparkling.
I sit straighter and look around the bar. “Like I said, none of your business.”
"Cora, you silly girl. What good will come of this behaviour?"
I balk at his patronising tone. "I own my body and do what I want."
“But sector men? That’s dangerous. Who would you like to meet? Him?” He gestures to a tall guy, surrounded by cigarette smoke in a darker corner. A lower caste human: rough clothes, tired look, some kind of manual worker. Older.
“No.”
“Him?”
Another guy stands opposite, one who leered at me earlier. He's better dressed, cleaner-cut, but his handsome face is sunken with exhaustion as he props an elbow on the bar. Everybody in this room tries to escape something in their life of servitude and control. Is Ty?
“None of them.”
“Good.”
“Do you know me?” I whisper.
“Not yet.” Again, the immobilising look, the sexual undercurrent dragging me in.
“You haven't been sent for me?”
He laughs at me. “No. But I think I should take you home.”
I blink. “What?”
“You do know how dangerous it is for you here, don't you?”
“I've been in here many times. I'm safe.”
“Wrong.” He runs his fingers along his lips and stares at mine.
“What? Stop doing that.”
“What am I doing?” He drops his hand from his mouth.
“Looking at me like…”
“Like?” He straightens, eyes bright with amusement.
Like you want to hold me down and kiss me senseless, devour me here and now in front of everybody. Like I want you to. “Doesn’t matter.”
Ty steps down from his stool. “Wait there. I'm coming back.”
His firm tone suggests he spends a lot of time telling people to perform his wishes, but he won't tell me to do anything. I don't reply and sip my drink instead.
Ty strides into a different part of the hotel, attracting other girls' attention as they watch the assured and sexy-as-hell man leave the room. Or maybe I do want him to tell me what to do.
His hold on me breaks, and I sink forward as if something holding us together snapped. I'm not sure I want to talk to him again; he's too connected to the world I want to escape. On the way through the door, he passes Sam, one of the guys I meet up with sometimes. This tall man rippled through my dreams once or twice; many in the sector lose their looks early on, dragged down by their life. In his early twenties, Sam hasn't. His edgy look attracted me because everything about him is the antithesis of the men I’m groomed to marry.
He spots me and waves before heading over with a smile and hello.
“How's things?” I ask.
“Yeah, y'know.”
But I never do.
“Night out alone, huh? A few guys are joining me soon, but how about a drink?” He scratches his cheek. “You look bloody amazing dressed like that.”
I self-consciously straighten my dress. “Sure.”
Two drinks in hand, Sam guides us to a corner, away from the bar. He rests against a wall and I stand opposite. “Declan not with you tonight?”
“I was supposed to attend a bullshit Enclave party. I snuck away.”
“The rebellious Cora,” says Sam with a small laugh. “I noticed you spend more time out here recently. Not thinking of moving here are you?” He nudges m
e in the ribs.
“Tonight? No. The future, maybe.”
“Ordinary Enclave kids sometimes manage. You’re a bit more... complicated. You're quite a prize, Cora.”
I shift, uncomfortable with the term. “Prize?”
He points at the tattoo. “Scion. Could probably get good money for you.” He catches my paling expression. “Kidding, Cora!”
“I can cover it.” But he’s pushed in a doubt for the first time.
Sam rubs his face and studies me. “If you do leave, just make sure you're with people who want to help you, not hurt you.”
His words trip a fear I've never experienced in the sector. I was always “Cora,” disliked by some people I met, but not significant. I gaze around the bar, but nobody’s watching us.
My urgency to leave the Enclave permanently increased recently and not just because I’m marrying age. The new Regent took office last month: Alaric Hyland, the man whose rule has the sector in a stranglehold and fills the Enclave with unease. Times are rewinding back to the good old, original Othala days, and humans are losing the little input they had in running the Sector.
“I could help, Cora.” Sam wraps his hand around mine and squeezes. His hand remains on mine a fraction too long. I've fantasised this popular, edgy guy might want me, but in reality this is strange. I look around the bar instead, unsure whether to feel flattered or threatened by Sam, especially after his “prize” comment. “Ask around for you, see if anybody knows somewhere you could go.”
I lick my dry lips, the room increasingly spinning, and Sam points at my empty glass. “That was quick. Another?”
“Oh.” Whoops. “Sure.”
Ty has resumed his seat at the bar, and I catch his eye. His mouth is set hard, a dark displeasure marring his features. He holds my look, long enough to communicate his annoyance. I shift further into the shadows and avoid him. Who I meet or what I do is none of his business. Maybe I will sleep with Sam, if he wants.
