9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC (20 page)

She frowned, thinking, puzzled by the turn of events. “A
bungler, you say? That is probably her powers trying to break through. If Talon
attempts to take her soul or succeeds mating with her, that could speed up the
process. I think I shall check her out myself. If she’s Elsbeth’s daughter,
then Saylym’s sisters won’t be far behind her. They may already be in
Sanctuary. We must find them as well. If they combine their powers, they’ll
become unstoppable. There’s no time to waste. I’ll meet the king this night.
Let him become familiar with my face and body.”

MeLora drew a black silk cloak over her shoulders. “You’ll
take care of the queen and tomorrow, I’ll seek out this witch who bungles her
magic.”

Black Drayke raised his head, his dark eyes slashing her
with cruelty. “I will not tolerate anything or anyone getting in the way of my
plans to take the crown. I think I’m going to have to pay Saylym Winslow
another visit. If she is of royal blood, then she must be dealt with
immediately. If Talon mates with her, he could seize control of her powers or
even breed her.”

She nodded her agreement. “It’d be disastrous if she
conceives a son with him.”

“That’s
right,” Black Drayke agreed. “No matter how many sons you pretend to present to
King Darak, Talon’s offspring is heir to the crown one day, by right of
Saylym’s royal blood. I will not allow this to happen.”

MeLora
grabbed his arm. “Do not even consider mating with her. I will not have you
spilling your seed in her and giving her a child. I’ve waited too many years
for my revenge. It is
my
son who will wear the crown.”

He moved quickly, a blur that gave MeLora no time to
escape. Black Drayke locked his fingers in her upper arms and pressed her
against a wall, his hot breath foul against her face. “Do not continue making
the mistake of telling me what to do, MeLora. I have that enough from the King,
the guild, Prince Talon, and that pompous ass, Prince Stry. I’ll cast you into
Dym-Mar if you refuse me anything or give me one more order.” He wrapped his
fingers in her thick hair and yanked her close. “Do you understand me?”

She
nodded, her eyes burning with anger. “I understand.”

Black Drayke smiled and slipped his hand inside her bodice.
Slowly, he pinched one nipple. “Just remember, I enjoy inflicting pain,
especially on you, my love.” His cruel mouth smirked with satisfaction. He
released her with a shove that sent her staggering into the wall behind her.
“Do what is needed with King Darak this night. But remember, it is not just
your son who will sit upon the throne, but mine, as well.” He left, slamming
the front door behind him.

*
* * *

Black Drayke paused just outside and leaned back against
the door. How difficult would it be to force a mating on Saylym Winslow? He
rubbed his crotch, smiling as his manhood rose, aching and hard. Beltane
was
definitely here.

And
he had always been a warlock hard to satisfy.

Surely if he forced a mating with Saylym ahead of Talon
and claimed her for his own, then he’d have a quicker path to the throne, and
he wouldn’t have to deal with MeLora’s treachery. He liked the thought of
beating the prince and taking the crown from him. Any future matings with
MeLora suddenly lost appeal. Now that he thought about it, she no longer satisfied
his lust. He wanted this Winslow witch. He’d seen her when he paid a discreet
visit to Sanctuary. She was indeed a captivating beauty, even if she carried
the scent of an
Impure
. For possession of the crown, he’d fuck a demon.

All
illumrofs
smelled bad, even half-breeds, but he’d
make an exception for this Winslow witch. What a prize she’d be. If there was
any possibility she was of royal blood, then he wanted to be the one who mated
with her. If she could conceive, he intended to be the one who gave her a
child. She’d give him a fine son—a son of royal blood with a far purer
bloodline than MeLora could provide.

For now, he’d be patient, bide his time, and continue with
his and MeLora’s plans, but as soon as he claimed Saylym, he’d ditch MeLora and
the child she carried. They were expendable.

Black Drayke smiled, snapping his fingers. Immediately, he
stood outside Wizard Marcelo’s laboratory door in the basement of the dried-up
old wizard’s tumbledown shack. Perhaps the wizard could concoct a brew that
would ensure the queen’s silent cooperation tonight. He snickered. Very soon,
all his plans and dreams would be fulfilled.

He might have changed his mind where MeLora was concerned,
but he wasn’t about to give up this evening with Queen Helayne. He rubbed his
hands together with delight. He knew exactly what he wanted to ensure the queen’s
silence.

His thoughts turned to the black-hearted witch. There was
something MeLora wasn’t confiding in him, something important. It angered him
that she refused to trust him. He would have to think of an appropriate
punishment for her.

How angry she’d be when he destroyed all her careful
plans! She wanted desperately to wear the crown. He laughed. MeLora might
accomplish her ambitions to sit beside King Darak and rule, but her success
would be short-lived. He’d see to it personally that neither she nor the son
she carried held the throne for long.

In MeLora’s place, Saylym would reign, and once she’d produced
a son, he’d take her soul. Now that he had a definite goal in mind, his anger
settled, his frustration calmed.

It
was a perfect plan.

Black
Drayke felt supremely smug. He couldn’t wait to steal MeLora’s nasty soul. What
a tasty treat she’d be. She’d never see him coming. He grinned as the pun raced
through his mind.

He’d
make certain his pleasure peaked at the exact moment he took her spirit.

And he’d make damn certain she felt no pleasure at all.

Chapter Eleven

Elizabeth Proctor and Sarah Cloyce
were examined before Hathorne, Corwin, Deputy Governor Thomas Danforth, and
Captain Samuel Sewall. During this examination, John Proctor was also accused
and taken prisoner.

~Salem Witch Trials

April 11, 1692

Page Entry…

Beltane
arrived.

Kran set
his plans in motion.

His
sister, Queen Shy-Ryn, was alone in her chambers as was her usual routine at
Beltane.

This
night, he decided his visit would be more than brotherly.

Telling
them he planned a late visit, Kran dismissed the queen’s royal guards. This
wasn’t unusual, for he’d set the routine years in advance. The guards didn’t
hesitate to leave their posts.

Not
bothering to knock, Kran opened the door and entered the queen’s chambers.
Smiling, he sealed it behind him with a spell no other could break...

~Pages of
history from the Winslow witches.

In the
Year of Samhain, 1550

Ru-Noc

Sanctuary

The
world around Saylym blurred. She blinked and tried to focus her vision, but it
was like trying to see through thick fog. For a moment, she thought Talon
intended to kiss her when he dipped his head closer to hers.

How strange; her body felt hollow, as if it had suddenly
been zapped and left as drained as a bleached bone. Her arms hung useless at
her sides, and her legs felt like straw. A thick, gray haze drenched her
thoughts and sent them into the smoky distance.

Talon’s mouth floated a whisper above hers, so near, yet—not
near enough. She hungered for his mouth, yearned to feel his body surrounding
her, claiming her, taking her places she’d never been before.

He parted his lips and she heard a soft jingle of words,
saw him quietly inhale, a deep filling of his lungs. Chills trickled down her
spine like ice water. She could no longer feel Talon’s welcoming warmth. That
wonderful sexual heat he emitted had gone missing. Only the sharpest of frost
surrounded her now. It sliced through her flesh, bitterly cold and with a
razor’s edge. Frigid fingers wrapped securely about her shoulders.

Talon’s
chest rose with another breath. The little heat left inside her evaporated,
rushing away like steam escaping a broken pipe. Each time he breathed, she grew
colder.

The
air in her lungs felt so cold, it hurt to breathe. Then she couldn’t breathe.
Her insides quivered, iced over, and collapsed into each other. Her heartbeat
wobbled, paused, and then pounded with surprising force, battling the ice
layering everything within her. Her teeth knocked together like rolling stones.
Even her bones rattled, clacking like dry tree branches in winter.

* * * *

“You
can’t do this, Prince,” Vox said, watching from the counter. The magical owl
ruffled its feathers, upset at what it saw. “My heart is heavy. You won’t do
it, Prince. Not my prince. My prince is noble. I can’t be wrong about you,
Sire. I can’t.”

But Vox was wise and he knew a witch’s soul, once tasted,
was a tempting aphrodisiac. Like a drug, it excited. It enticed a
waken,
beckoning like the sweetest of stimulants. It was almost impossible to release
a witch from the powerful enthrallment once the stealing ritual was initiated.
It was just as difficult for the
waken
to let go.

“Release her from the enthrallment, Prince. You can’t do
this thing,” Vox said again, quietly, fearfully. “It goes against your nature.
You won’t destroy just the witch. You’ll annihilate yourself. You have claimed
her for your own. Stop, while you are still able.”

“There’s no choice, Vox.” Talon shuddered.

Saylym’s heat, the intoxicating, inner radiance that was
her soul, leapt eagerly from within her. It beckoned him, drawing him closer
and closer. She sighed, a soft whisper of sound. Her breath brushed faintly
against his throat, his skin.

Talon supported her weight, his fingers biting into her
flesh as her strength ebbed from her body. He gripped her shoulders and she
leaned heavily into him. A fuzzy, nebulous light burst up from within her. It
raced toward him from the center of her being at a horrific rate. He drew her
closer and inhaled a third time, a stronger intake of breath, a deeper drag on
her soul.

Gods,
could he bear this?

His
own soul rebelled against this terrible thing he did to an innocent. In his
heart, he knew he was destroying something precious and good, something pure
and sweet.

“Talon—”

“Don’t. Don’t say anything else.This is hard enough, Vox.
I—” Talon’s voice broke. He closed his eyes and drew a deep breath before
squaring his shoulders and opening his eyes. “Do you believe for a single
moment I enjoy this?”

Talon flinched at the sound of Saylym’s gentle sigh. Her
head drooped against his chest and he wanted to weep. He brought his hand up to
the back of her slender neck, supporting her head. Blinking, he fought the
sharp sting of tears that prickled his eyes. He pressed his mouth to the crown
of Saylym’s head and trembled. “Please,” he whispered. “Let it be over
quickly.”

Gods! But her hair felt like silk against his lips. He
caught the faint whiff of wild roses on her hair and skin. Drawing a shaky
breath, Talon thrust his fingers through the silken skeins of her hair,
determined to finish the job he’d been sent here to do.

Gingerly, he tilted back her head and lowered his mouth.
She was exquisite, a beautiful star about to be extinguished. He couldn’t
imagine a world without the sound of her sweet laughter, her gentle smile, or
her kindness. Or even her stubbornness.

Her flesh felt soft against his mouth, but cold as marble
as he traced his lips lightly down her throat. He’d stolen her warmth, but not
her beauty. Not yet. He heard her soft whimper, a weak mewling sound that
shattered his heart.

Talon dropped to his knees, cradling her in his arms.
There, he wept openly, grieving for both of them. His soul might still be in
his body, but it was tainted forever. It was a terrible thing he was ordered to
do, and for the first time in his memory, he despised what he was, the powers
he controlled.

Saylym
stirred, struggling to raise her head. Her spirit, an ethereal light, grew
brighter as it drew closer and closer, soon to be sent into another plane to
wander for eternity.

Abruptly his blood boiled with need. Raging and urgent, Talon
was suddenly achingly hard, and near to bursting. He thought he’d shatter if he
made the slightest move. If he so much as brushed his thighs against her, his
seed would rupture from him, spewing like hot lava. His skin sweltered, ready
to ignite into flames. Sexual release was but a heartbeat away.

Gods!
But it was a wondrous feeling.

The
urgent hunger to devour Saylym’s spirit sizzled through his veins setting his
nerves a tingle. The last line of the chant hammered at his brain.
And he
smiles as he steals a witch’s soul.

Talon inhaled deeper, drawing her spirit closer.

She
whimpered and shuddered in his arms.

He
nibbled at the corners of her lips. “Easy, little one,” he soothed. “It’ll be
over in a second.” He moved to settle his mouth over hers, to complete the task
set before him.

Steals
the witch’s soul.

Her
frail sob penetrated the rampant fog darkening his mind. Abruptly, Talon
changed the direction of his mouth, pressing his lips to her throat, holding
her tightly against his chest.

His
body shook with restrained violence. Urgent need raged through him. He
shuddered, inhaling and exhaling through his nose, his deep breaths harsh and
ragged. Sweat poured down his face. His jaws felt numb, he clenched them so
tightly.