9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC (23 page)

By the time he realized he couldn’t steal her soul, he’d
already uttered the stealing chant. For at least the next twenty-four to
thirty-six hours, until the chant weakened, the spell guaranteed the loss of
her inner being if he so much as brushed his lips over hers.

He
fervently hoped his will-power was strong enough to conquer the strength of the
hex. By kissing her palms, he’d reinforced the protective spell over her, but
he was battling the natural pull of Beltane and the strong urge to mate. He
shifted uncomfortably. Until the chant he’d uttered to steal her soul lost its
absolute power over both of them, he had to be careful.

His
gaze fell to her inviting mouth. Damn, it wasn’t going to be an easy matter
resisting this craving to kiss her.

Black Drayke was right about one thing. It was a strong,
dark force to taste a witch’s soul as it flew to absolute destruction. The
power of the chant was strong. Not completing the ritual left him feeling
hollow. The need to finish the spell gnawed at his gut. The need to mate had
only grown stronger with the force of the hex he’d spoken.

“Ready?” Saylym asked. She scanned him, her tri-colored
gaze apprehensive.

“Ready?” Talon cleared his throat. Hell, yes! If he got
any more ready, he’d strip her and take her right here in the doorway of the
shop.
“Yeah,”
he said in a stained voice, and reached for her arm to
guide her through the open door.

Saylym brushed past him and stepped onto the boardwalk.
Her heady scent settled over him like a sigh. He took the key from her and
locked the shop door. Shaking his head at the waste of time it was to lock a
door in Sanctuary he turned to follow her, watching the gentle sway of her hips
like a thirsty man in the desert.

“You don’t have to walk me home, you know,” she said,
glancing back over her shoulder at him. “I’ve walked it every day by myself for
the last month.”

Talon pressed the key into her hand, falling into step
beside her. Frowning, he thought about Black Drayke, of the evil in the warlock,
and glanced around at the gathering shadows. “It’ll be dark soon. It’s not safe
for an unescorted witch after dark at the rising of Beltane.”

“I
told you, I’m not a witch.”

“You
live in Sanctuary.”

“So?”

“So,”
he replied.

She
tilted her head up to him, laughing a soft sound that warmed his soul. He found
himself smiling back at her, and a strange sensation settled in his chest. The
suddenness of the hot desire racing through his blood caught him off-guard. He
doubled over before he could manage to control the aching need and pain.

Saylym
gasped. The sound of her surprised breath escaped short and audible. She
wrapped her arms around his shoulders to steady him. “What is it? What’s
wrong?”

He rose, searching her face. Maybe it was a side effect of
the unfulfilled chant. Or perhaps Beltane was having an unusual effect on his
body this season. There was nothing but innocence in her soft eyes, but
somehow, she’d invaded his body. He could feel the soothing gentleness of her
spirit comforting him. It felt like she’d leaped straight into his soul and she
didn’t have a clue what she’d done to him.

She
brushed the damp curls back from his forehead. “You’re so pale. Are you sure
you’re all right? I can walk home alone if you need to go back upstairs and lie
down.”

Talon
shook his head. “I’m fine. It’s gone. Let’s get you home.”

But
I’m not fine.

He
felt weak and oddly sensitized. Hot. His skin itched and burned. His cock ached
abominably. Sexual relief was a must, and soon, or he was going to explode. At
the moment, there was nothing he wanted more than to press Saylym against a
building, lower her pants, and take her hard and fast.

He’d
had centuries of learning how to control his basic urges during Beltane, but
he’d never felt this out of control or so edgy before.

Whatever was happening to him was new. He didn’t
understand what it was about Saylym Winslow that gave him the hard-on from
hell.

*
* * *

Reaching to open the gate, Saylym paused in front of the
white picket fence and eyed Talon. He was still pale, his skin shiny with
sweat. She shook her head. “Well, here it is. Home-sweet-home.” She hesitated,
biting her bottom lip. “Would you like to come in?”

“Another time. I still have things to do before I’m
finished for the day.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Tomorrow’s
Sunday. Would you consider going on a picnic with me?” Before she could
respond, he said, “I’ll see you in the morning,
La-Scheme
. Sweet dreams,
Saylym Winslow.”

She
nodded, watching him hurry away. He acted like a man on fire, one who couldn’t
escape her fast enough.

“He
is
a man on fire, dearie.”

Saylym
whirled to see Eldora approaching her. A big, floppy purple hat bounced on her
frizzled head. Green-as-grass shoes with red jewels glittered on the leather
that encased her feet. A bright turquoise skirt swept the ground while the
brick-red blouse with ice-blue buttons down the front hugged her flat chest.
The old woman’s bones creaked and popped with every step she took.

Saylym
bit her tongue to keep from asking if she’d like an oil can.

“It’s
too late for oil, dear. I’m afraid I’ll creak until the end of my days.”

“You
can read my mind!” Saylym gasped, blinking in disbelief.

Eldora cackled. “Of course. I’m a witch. Now, about your
handsome Prince Talon, he’s one fine
waken
. Built to get the job done,
if you know what I mean.” She held up her arms, spreading her hands a distance
apart as though measuring something and winked. “A well endowed male, if the
rumors are true.”

Saylym
stared at the old woman, determined to keep her expression blank.
Built to
get
the job done?
Bloody blazes!
Why did she have to live
next door to a twenty-thousand year-old Lolita with an over-active libido?

“A great catch for any lovely witch to be proud of
snaring.” Eldora rambled on oblivious to the fact Saylym tried her best to
ignore her words. “If I were in your shoes, I’d get my hands on
it…
er…him,
as quickly as possible.” She patted Saylym’s arm. “He’ll want to get his hands
on
you
as fast as he can. You’re a very lovely witch, my dear.”

Saylym counted to ten and then slowly exhaled. She felt
like screaming. Why did everyone keep insisting she was a witch? “He’s not
my
prince or my anything. In fact, he’s been avoiding me.”

Eldora drew closer, her eyes widening as she ogled
Saylym’s throat. She snickered. “Pish-posh! That’s just a
waken’s
last
desperate attempt to hold on to his freedom. It never works. The man can no
more stay away from you than a bee can resist a flower. I’m betting he’ll
pollinate you the very first opportunity he gets. He has claimed you, I see.”

Saylym rubbed the tingling spot on her neck before she
thought better of it. “Something bit me.”

Rolling
her eyes, Eldora whooped. “He sure did! Oh, and he has done a fine job of the
claiming. It’s the size of a witch’s moon dollar and a beautiful shade of royal
purple. It’s no wonder the poor prince is feeling the Flaymes of Eternal Life
scorching him already. He’s more than ready to bond with you.”

Saylym
felt her jaw drop. “Bond?”

What
was the old lady rambling about now? Was that a term they used for having sex
at the turn of the century? Or in Eldora’s case, centuries?

The old lady in question reached for Saylym’s hands and
turned them over, palms up. Her eyes widened. She shook her head. “Oh, this
isn’t good at all. Well, it’s good, and not so good,” she hooted. “Your prince
is going to be quite miserable before he can chant the bonding ritual with you
and extinguish the Flaymes. Oh, indeed. He’s going to feel the fire, all
right.”

Saylym jerked her wrists free and stared at her palms. For
the life of her, she couldn’t see a thing. “He’s not my prince! I’m not a
witch! And good grief! What fire are you talking about?”

Eldora laughed.
“The
fire, dearie, the one and only
fire that counts at Beltane…the breeding fire. Ho-ho. It worked. My spell
worked!”

Saylym stared at her. She had no idea what the woman was
rambling on about. “What spell?”

“Oh, don’t you worry none, dearie. I’m looking after your
interests. And you’re wrong, dear, on all counts, but for now, you’re safe.”
She looked thoughtful for a moment, then gave a long sigh. “The prince must
care for you very much. He’s done his best to protect you. He placed a
shielding spell over you. He’s marked your palms with the imprint of his lips.”
She gave a deeper sigh and clutched her hands to her scrawny bosom. “It’s so
romantic. No one can kiss you but him. Even though he’s probably in denial,
he’s ripe for bonding. He can’t kiss you himself, at least, not until whatever
spell he chanted weakens.” Eldora paused, her old eyes wise and thoughtful.
“That’s sad, because
wakens
love kissing pretty witches.” She rubbed her
chin, thoughtful. “Now I wonder why he’d do such a thing. He’s going to be in
so much discomfort and at a time when Beltane is escalating.” Her eyes suddenly
widened and she gasped. “Ohhh!
Pissel-poot!
Maybe it’d be best if you
avoid him, dear. He may not be the right
waken
for you after all. Such a
shame, too, he’s so handsome–no doubt quite good in bed, too. Vigorous. Very
vigorous. And virile. Oh, yes. He’s prime–a fine specimen with a big wand to
get the job done. Why, he can’t be much over six hundred years old.”

Saylym choked. Air caught in her lungs, trapped, and made
her wheeze. She tried to breathe, but her lungs wouldn’t fill with air.

Eldora beat her on the back with her knobby fist. “I know
exactly how you feel, dearie. Why, it was just last Beltane I had to give up a
fine, sexually potent
waken
, had one of the biggest cocks…er…well…can
you believe it? Raulan’s nearly five thousand, and he’s still a mama’s boy.”

Saylym nodded, her eyes watering and, for the moment, speaking
was beyond her capability. She couldn’t reply if the Devil himself stood behind
her jabbing her in the ass with his pitchfork. At last, gasping, she drew a
deep, whistling breath and quickly exhaled.

What in the world was wrong with Eldora? One minute she
was ooh-ing and aah-ing, verbalizing Talon’s outstanding attributes. The next,
he was worse than castor oil.

Six hundred years old?

Bloody hell! By the stars in heaven, the old hag was way
ahead of her with her insane ramblings. Eldora was definitely losing it.

“Losing
what, dear?”

Saylym jumped. On the edge of bursting into hysterical
laughter, she clapped a hand over her mouth. Gaining control, she said, “Miss
Eldora, would you please refrain from reading my mind? And-and we’ll have no-no
further discussions about the size of a man’s—” She raised her hands and
quickly lowered them. “You know.”

“What’s
wrong with discussing the size of a
waken’s
cock? Why dear, you
certainly want a good-sized one, long and firm and thick. You don’t want a
shriveled, dried up old wiener, lifeless as hell poking at you.”

“Eldora!”

The old witch hooted. “Oh, all right. I’ll try to refrain
from mentioning a
waken’s
joy tube. But I can’t help reading your mind.
You do
broadcast your every thought. Of course, not much of it makes
sense. I haven’t lost anything.”

“Right.” Saylym sighed and glared at her house. She
dreaded going inside. No telling what lurked in there waiting to read her mind
or attack her. She glanced at Eldora. The alternative—no. She took a step
closer to her front gate. Six hundred year old
wakens
, hell, a
five thousand
year old
waken
and still a mama’s boy. And a horny old lady who
claimed to be a witch!

She giggled. Hysterical laughter bubbled up and gurgled
over as she clutched her side. Wiping tears from her eyes, she mumbled the
words, “Double, double, toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”

Eldora jumped back, staring at her as if she thought
Saylym had lost her mind. “Careful what you chant, young woman, the last thing
we need is toil and trouble bubbling over from a cauldron. A witch’s brew can
easily get out of control.”

Saylym doubled over with laughter. A second refrain rushed
through her mind, reminding her of something from her childhood she couldn’t
quite remember, couldn’t quite grasp, something to do with a young girl, a
scarecrow, and a yellow brick road.

Oh,
and a tin man and a lion.

Now,
how did it go?

Yeah.
Now, she remembered.

Witches,
warlocks, and spells. Oh, my!

Chapter Thirteen

Nehemiah Abbott, William and
Deliverance Hobbs, Edward and Sarah Bishop, Mary Easty, Mary Black, Sarah
Wildes, and Mary English were examined before Hathorne and Corwin. Nehemiah
Abbott was the only one cleared of charges.

~Salem Witch Trials

April 22, 1692

Page Entry…

Queen Shy-Ryn refused to
discuss with the coven what Kran did to her that Beltane. But we saw the
bruises, we all knew, we all hated, and we all vowed revenge. None of us
doubted he’d been brutal in his determination to force his child on her.

True, the queen was with
child, but Kran’s triumph was short-lived. He’d fathered a daughter, not the
son he coveted. Livid with Shy-Ryn’s failure to produce a male heir, he swore
she’d give him a son the next year.