9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC (30 page)

Talon locked his fingers around her wrist, and shoved her
away from him. “No. I need a minute.” He let go of her and curled into a tight
ball. Talon swore softly in a language she’d never heard before, but she knew
swearing when she heard it in any language.

Pain
stabbed at her heart. Watching him twist and groan in agony caused her eyes to
sting. This was her fault. Somehow, she’d caused his suffering. She sat up and
used a napkin to wipe away the evidence of his release and pulled on her
shorts. Her fingers trembled as she fumbled with the zipper. Tying her shirt
beneath her breasts was no easier when her fingers shook so badly.

She
looked around, suddenly feeling abandoned and ashamed. Saylym bit her bottom
lip. She’d never allowed another man to touch her as she’d allowed Talon. She
had nothing to feel ashamed about. It had been lovely, but still, she felt as
if she’d done something very wrong. Frantic, she looked around for her
underwear. She had to get out of here. Where was it?

Good
grief. The man was slick. Where had he hidden her thong?

She sat there beside him, feeling helpless, dirty, and
used.

He wouldn’t let her touch him. And she didn’t know what
else she could do to comfort him. Finally, he sat up, his face pale and damp.

Talon
gave her a faint smile, then thrust trembling fingers through his sweat-damp
hair. “Remind me never to use a magic chant on you again.”

Saylym shook her head. Drawing up her knees, she gave a
short laugh, but she couldn’t prevent the tears from staining her face.

“Saylym,” he said softly, attempting to draw her into his
arms. “Don’t. Witches don’t cry, baby. You can’t cry. Did I hurt you? Hell, of
course I hurt you. You’re a virgin. Baby, you’re still a virgin. I didn’t
penetrate you, I swear to Samhain. I can’t deny I wanted to. I wanted to be
buried so damn deep inside you, it nearly killed me to hold back. I want to be
inside you, even now. Sweetheart, don’t, you’re killing me.” He rubbed her
back. “You felt so good, sweetheart. I’m dying to be back inside you. And I was
careful. If you’re upset, worried I might have… there’s no chance I made you
pregnant.”

Saylym rubbed the tears from her face. God, she hadn’t
even thought about getting pregnant. She’d just wanted him. Having a baby
hadn’t entered her mind. She felt grateful he’d remembered to protect her.

Still, there was something he wasn’t telling her. She felt
it. She pulled away from him and began stuffing the left-over items back in the
basket.

“You didn’t hurt me,” she sniffed. “Well, maybe just a
little. I know what happened between us, Talon. I’m not totally naive. But you
wouldn’t allow me to touch you. Do you have any idea how that makes me feel?” She
bit her lip, but her control still slipped. “Well, I’ll tell you! It makes me
feel dirty, as if I’m not good enough to touch the precious prince, just good
enough to be screwed on a quilt on the ground! And damn it, I can cry if I want
to. Granted, it’s rare. But this isn’t the time to make witch jokes,” she said
in a choked voice. “I don’t want you to touch me. Not when it obviously causes
your body so much pain and discomfort you couldn’t even make me completely
yours.”

“You
have nothing to feel ashamed about, baby. And I didn’t screw you; I made love
to you. Believe me, there’s a difference. I couldn’t allow you to touch me. If
I had, I would have had you under me and I wouldn’t have stopped until I was
buried to the hilt inside you. I would have shoved my cock so damn deep inside
you I wouldn’t care if I hurt you. I wouldn’t have cared if I came inside you.”
He brushed a tear from her cheek with his thumb tip. “I have little control
when it comes to you, Saylym Winslow. My suffering isn’t your fault,” he said.
“And the pain is worth the pleasure you gave me.”

“Then
whose fault is it?” she demanded. “Your skin feels hot as coals. I swear it’s
like you are going up in flames.”

“It’s
the season, darling. Beltane.
Wakens
are horny as hell right now
.
I’m
horny as hell. And I’ll remain horny as hell until May passes into June. I want
to finish what we just
started and I hurt with the need of it
.
I
only have so much control.”
He paused a
moment
. “Flames?
It’s
the Flaymes of Eternal Life!”

“I don't understand,” she said, mechanically reaching for
a discarded sandwich wrapper.

“Leave everything. I’ll get it later,” Talon said, helping
her up. Taking her by the arm, he turned toward the wooded path, his footsteps
hurried. “Let’s go,” he said abruptly.

“You’re
hurting me.”

Talon looked down at the way he was clenching her arm. He
slowly loosened his grip. “Sorry,” he muttered.

“I’m
not going anywhere with you until you tell me what’s wrong,” she snapped.

“Nothing’s
wrong. And you did nothing wrong. I need to talk to my brother.”

Saylym froze, pulling him up short. “Your brother? You’re
going to discuss what we just did with your brother?”

“Yes.”

“Don’t
you dare!”

Talon
stopped abruptly, eyeing the hand she held out to him.

“If
you’re going to discuss me with your brother, give me back my underwear.”

“Uh-uh. They’re mine, by rights of the conqueror. I
stormed the Bastille and dipped my wick in the hot oils of your sweet oasis.”
He folded his arms slowly across his chest. “Yep. The thong is my reward. My
trophy. Besides, it has a detailed map on it, and I’m keeping it.” He grinned.
“In case I lose my way to Paradise.”

She
glared at him, her eyes narrowing. “Then give me my bra.”

“Aw,
baby, you don’t really expect me to break up a matched set, now do you?”

“I don’t expect you to discuss what happened between us
with your brother, either. I swear, Prince, if you tell anyone or show anyone
my underwear—”

“Now why would I share my treasure map with anyone? Hmmm?
I’m a selfish man, sweetheart. What I claim I share with no one. I’m not going
to tell Stry everything that happened, just the little things.”

“There
was nothing little about it,” she snapped.

Talon
grinned, making her long to smack him. “No? Sweetheart, I was barely in you.
Quit worrying. I just have some questions I need to ask Stry.”

Saylym felt herself flushing even as she bubbled into
laughter. “That
barely
felt like a tremendous amount. Anyone ever tell
you you’re incorrigible?”

“All the time. Now, off you go. I have things to do.”

*
* * *

Talon relaxed just a little after he had pointed Saylym in
the direction of Sanctuary, but the flirtatious conversation and the shared
laughter soon faded from his mind. The urge to bond with her was damn near
overwhelming. He didn’t want to bond, damn it. He wanted to mate. He wanted to
break through that fragile barrier and damn it, he wanted to plant his seed in
her belly. He dared not let that happen.

Talon scowled darkly. Nothing was going as he wanted.

He’d had a taste of paradise, and he wanted more.

He felt his body breaking into a cold sweat. The noose was
tightening around his neck, tighter and tighter, until he couldn’t
breathe.There had to be a way he could convince the ancients that Saylym was
indeed harmless and no threat to any of them. If he was going up in a blaze of
glory, then by the gods, he was going to burn his way.

It
didn’t include bonding.

It wasn’t until much later that night Talon realized he
hadn’t learned much of anything new concerning Saylym Winslow to report to the guild.

And
it was entirely his fault. If he hadn’t been so damn determined to seduce her,
he might have gleaned more information from her.

He
was the one who enthralled her to steal her soul.

Then he’d been stupid enough to place a stronger
protection spell on her, shielding her from himself. Other than the fact he’d
came damn close to botching his seduction, nothing had changed. He’d left her a
virgin. And he’d been careful.

He
didn’t have much time. He had to bond with her. There was no other way.

Talon
sighed as he lay back against his pillow and closed his eyes. The only good
thing he’d accomplished was gaining some sexual relief, but it wouldn’t last.

Well,
hell.

The
guild, in all their infinite wisdom was definitely going to be pissed with him.

Chapter Seventeen

George
Jacobs, Sr. and his granddaughter Margaret were examined before Hathorne and
Corwin. Margaret confessed and testified against her grandfather and George
Burroughs, stating that they were both witches.

~Margaret
Jacobs

…“They told
me if I would not confess I should be put down into the dungeon and would be
hanged, but if I would confess I should save my life.”

~Salem Witch Trials

May 10, 1692

Page Entry…

In the winter of 1691, MeLora
accomplished two of her goals. She persuaded the young girls from Salem Village
to believe in witches and encouraged them to name the guilty. The villagers
were so superstitious it wasn’t a difficult task for their fear to take hold.
Once she accomplished this, she turned the hatred she felt for Elsbeth by
targeting her aunt’s husband, John Connor.

But MeLora had set herself a
difficult task, because John loved Elsbeth and his daughters. Every day, she’d
go to Salem Village where he owned a weaponry shop. She made a point of
frequently leaning over the counter to give him subtle glimpses of her small
breasts. He’d quickly turn away, leaving MeLora frustrated and angry that her
plan to seduce him was failing.

MeLora devised another plan by
offering her help, putting supplies on shelves. On her way down the ladder one
day, she tripped and made a show of spraining her ankle so John would have to
carry her to his and Elsbeth’s cottage. Laughing, she whispered a spell in
John’s ears and as he stood outside the cottage door, and with Elsbeth and their
daughters inside, MeLora and John shared their first carnal kiss.

The
following evening, while John and MeLora worked at the shop, she attempted her
second spell on John. She poured a vial of powder in his coffee and as soon as
he took a sip, she took a risk and lowered the bodice of her gown to her waist.

This time, John did not turn
away, but stared at her budding breasts like a starving man in need of
sustenance. MeLora smiled, pleased when he locked the door to the shop. She
blew out the candle and took his trembling hand in hers.

MeLora took his big hand and
placed it on her breasts. “Touch me, John,” she encouraged. “I am yours to do
with as you will.”

He followed her to the back
room like a loving puppy. MeLora smiled and made a pallet with his final
seduction in mind.

~Pages of
history from the Winslow witches.

In the Year of Samhain, 1691

Ru-Noc

Droth

City of the wakens

Black Drayke decided he’d waited as long as he was going
to wait. His temper lay like a latent spark, a red haze just beneath the
surface of his mind, ready to explode—to hell with MeLora and her grand
schemes.

While MeLora had succeeded with her plans to seduce King
Darak the night before,
his
plans had gone sadly awry. He’d waited all
of Saturday night for the good captain to return to his post.

The
man never put in an appearance.

MeLora
had simply snickered about his problem and went ahead with her plans, telling
him she’d figure out another way to get him inside the palace.

But she hadn’t retuned until daylight and she’d smirked,
looking like a cat with a secret no one knew but her. He’d clenched his fingers
to keep from throttling her there and then. Her time was coming…

So here he was, back at the palace on Sunday night,
waiting for Captain Koran T once again. And still, the captain hadn’t appeared
at his post.

MeLora’s earlier boasts of how she’d mated with King Darak
buzzed around in his mind like an annoying insect. He muttered angrily, still
chafed at her informing him that she had sweet-talked King Darak into giving
him Helayne.

Blast
it! He didn’t want the king to give him anything. He wanted to take everything
the king loved and destroy it. He wanted Darak to care what
he
did to
Helayne, but MeLora had fixed that, just one more reason for him to torture the
bitch when the time came.

He
would see to it personally that MeLora paid for interfering with his pleasure.

And where in hell was the Captain of the Guards?

Obviously, the dedicated Captain Koran T wasn’t so
dedicated after all, or else he’d be at his post. Two nights in a row now, the
man had not been where he
should
have been. This gave him cause to
worry. Something wasn’t right, and he wondered if the captain’s disappearance
would somehow destroy his own plans.

Black
Drayke pushed agitated fingers through his dark hair. Just because Captain
Koran T failed to show up at his post, he wasn’t about to let it wreck his
plans another night.

So
he chose the next best man to inhabit.

Lieutenant
Mavik.

Though
he selected the lieutenant with trepidation, there was no one else suitable.
Mavik was such a little shit. He wasn’t what Black Drayke considered a witch’s
man.