The Calling (8 page)

“As soon as I was able, I went hunting for her. I knew deep down that Casterix wasn’t dead. I would have sensed her loss. I wandered the world searching for any sign, any talk that would hint she had been there. I found nothing, and occasionally I would come back to see if the Order had any news. I never stayed long—I couldn’t bear what they had become.”

“You didn’t try and change things?”

He could hear the censure in her voice. “I blamed myself. I should have stopped them killing Callum, and then I should have prevented Casterix from her revenge. Because I didn’t, the world nearly ended and my sister was lost. I didn’t think I had the right to change anything, to have any say in how the Order was run. Besides, I kept to myself and didn’t see what was going on, how bad things had become. I’d come, find they had heard nothing, and be gone again. Until one day—” He broke off as he realized what he’d been about to say.

“One day?”

One day, he’d ridden into the keep, meaning to have a meeting with Malachi and be out of there by nightfall. Instead, he had seen one of the pleasure slaves. His world had tilted on its axis, and everything had changed. But he wasn’t sure she was ready to hear that.

Freya had been eighteen at the time, so beautiful his heart had ached just gazing upon her. She hadn’t noticed him, hadn’t noticed much, and for the first time he really studied the pleasure slaves.

Red-hot rage had engulfed him as he realized what had been done to them. He’d almost stormed in to see Malachi, but held himself back. Once Jarrod had been the stronger; now he was no longer sure he could take on Malachi and survive. Instead, he’d gone to Malachi and told him he wanted the slave. Malachi had seemed amused, but had made him a deal. He could have Freya for his exclusive use, but he must impregnate her for the Order’s breeding program. So he’d promised and planned.

And she had run out on him.

He turned to look at her now and pain welled in his heart. She was changing, coming alive before his eyes. But would she hate him or love him once the transition was complete? In the end, would she choose him?

“Enough stories,” he said. “Get some sleep.”

~*~

They left the horse tethered in the forest and made their way on foot. The village was a prosperous one, but strangely silent, even for nighttime. Freya led him through the empty streets, keeping to the outskirts, and finally knocked at the back door of one of the bigger houses. No one answered and there was no sign of light through the windows.

She turned to him and shrugged. “Maybe there’s a village meeting. Come, we’ll go look.”

“Wait a moment.” He leaned toward her and pulled up the hood of her cloak, hiding her cheek with the incriminating witch’s mark.

A prickle of awareness ran down his spine. He had a bad feeling about this, and as they neared the center of the village, his sense of unease grew. He wanted to pull Freya back and get out of there, but she was hurrying ahead.

Flickering torches lit up the village square. The space was crammed with people; the whole village must be there. Freya had come to a halt in the shadows surrounding the meeting place. Jarrod came up beside her and rested a hand on her arm, determined to stop her if she made to move forward.

“Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”

The words were shouted, rising above the noise of the crowd, and for a moment, he thought Freya had been spotted. Then he realized a man was standing on a podium at the front of the square. Jarrod recognized him as a young warlock from the Order. They must be sending emissaries out to all the surrounding villages.

A low murmur of voices filled the air.

“We need to get out of here,” Jarrod whispered.

“No. We need to speak to Darren. Just don’t act suspicious.” She pulled the cloak tighter around her and stepped away from the shelter of the buildings. Jarrod swore under his breath; he had no choice but to follow her. She weaved her way through the mass of people coming to a halt beside a tall, lean man with a shock of dark red hair.

Jarrod’s whole body stiffened as she placed a hand on the man’s arm, and he had to stifle the urge to tear her away from him.

Mine.

The word reverberated through his mind, and he gritted his teeth to prevent himself from shouting it out loud.

The man’s eyes widened as he recognized Freya. He didn’t speak, but nodded and then turned and pushed his way through the crowd.

Freya followed with Jarrod dogging her heels.

They stopped in an alley, between two low-rise buildings, where they could still see the meeting, but far enough distant so their words wouldn’t be overheard.

“Freya.” The man reached for her and pulled her into his arms, and Jarrod couldn’t prevent the low growl trickling from his throat.

The man didn’t release her, but at least he put Freya from him, held her at arm’s length, and studied her. Lifting back the corner of her cloak, he revealed the witch’s mark.

“By the Goddess,” he murmured. “You shouldn’t be here. It won’t take much for this to turn into a mob.” Freya ignored the comment. “Darren, we need information.”

“We?” He nodded at Jarrod. “You’re working with the warlocks now.”

“He’s Shayla’s father.”

Darren glanced at him sharply. “Aye—I see it—she has his eyes.

That doesn’t mean you can trust him.”

“He helped me escape the Keep. We need to find Shayla. She disappeared two nights ago, from the clearing where you sent us. Please, Darren—if you know any more, tell us.”

He considered them for a minute, his gaze flicking from Freya to him. Finally, he lifted one shoulder. “I’ll tell you what else I know, which isn’t much. My family has been keepers of the secret for generations ever since the Laws of Segregation were first introduced.

In those first years, the Order hunted down the witches; some were killed, some were taken prisoner. But there were others who escaped.”

“Escaped where?” Freya asked.

“We don’t know. But it’s said that there are areas where the walls between worlds are thin and it’s possible to pass through.”

“The clearing where you sent us?”

He nodded.

“Is there any way we can follow, or bring Shayla back?”

“I’m not sure.”

Jarrod was watching the crowd. Several people had turned to look at their small group and were whispering among themselves.

He wished he had his staff, but he’d left it out in the woods; he would have been too conspicuous carrying it here.

“Freya, we have to go.”

She glanced at him and then at the crowd. She must have sensed their unease, because she nodded. At the same time, a small group broke off from the main crowd and headed toward them.

“Go!” Darren said.

Jarrod took Freya’s arm and hurried her down the alley between two buildings.

“Burn the witch.”

The cry rang out behind them as they fled through the narrow streets and out into the open country. Freya had heard the words before, though in the past they’d been aimed at Shayla. She gritted her teeth against the fury that rose up inside her at their blind stupidity and ignorance.

The breath was burning in her lungs by the time they reached Starfire, but the mob was still a good distance behind. Jarrod hurled himself onto the horse’s back and pulled Freya up behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist as the horse leapt forward.

She peered over her shoulder; in the distance, the flickering of torches lit up the night sky, illuminating their pursuers. She felt no fear, only rage at the senseless hatred the Order had brought to their world.

Jarrod glanced behind him, then holding the reins in one hand, he drew his staff and raised it high. He called out a spell to the night sky, and a curtain of purple smoke materialized behind them, obscuring them from view.

Freya burrowed her head against Jarrod’s broad back and breathed in the mingled hot aroma of horse and man as Starfire weaved swiftly between the trees. The ride seemed to last forever, and her temper soothed beneath the steady rhythm of the gallop. And as her anger waned, her awareness of the man she held so tightly grew until she was conscious of nothing but the strength of him beneath her hands, his scent filling her nostrils. Desire lit a fire inside her, fueled by the closeness of death, how easily their lives could have been snatched away.

Finally, they slowed to a jolting trot.

“We’ve left them far behind,” Jarrod murmured.

Freya raised her head, but kept her arms tight around his waist.

She knew she should release her hold, push herself away, but she didn’t want to let him go. At the thought of being parted from Jarrod, a pain sliced through her, and she pressed herself closer.

Her fingers gripped the material of his cloak. She loosened them and slid her hand inside the coarse material to touch his skin. Her palms glided over the satin smoothness, then into the silky hair that bisected his lean belly. He tensed beneath her touch, his muscles lock-ing rigid. Her hand drifted upward to where his heart pounded, keeping time with her own.

Jarrod pulled Starfire to a standstill and dismounted. For a moment, he stood looking up at her, searching her face. What he found there darkened his eyes. His nostrils flared, and reaching up, he dragged her down from the horse, whirled her in his arms, and his mouth came down on hers.

Her first kiss.

She opened beneath him, and his tongue thrust into her mouth, filling her with the taste of him. She clutched his shoulders as the world spun.

Without breaking the contact, he backed her up so the rough bark of the tree. His hands moved lower to rip the shirt open and cup her bare breasts; his fingers ran over the stiffening peaks. Flames flared to life in her belly, and deep inside her the magic awoke. She had no thought to deny him. This was what she wanted. What she needed.

Then his mouth left hers. She moaned in protest then in pleasure as he lowered his head and kissed her nipples, licking and sucking until she thought she would go mad with the sensations coursing through her. Fire seared her nerves, settling low in her body. A pulse beat between her thighs, and her hips pushed up against him without conscious thought.

One hand stroked down over her belly to caress her mound through the thick layer of her pants. His long fingers pushed upward, and she writhed against him at the exquisite sensations. It wasn’t enough. She needed to feel him, skin to skin.

She kicked off her boots, and he tugged her pants over her hips, dragging them down over her long legs. He took a step back to stare at her, his eyes dark with passion.

“I’ve wanted this more than anything in my life.” He moved in close and kissed her again, his lips almost gentle, reverent on hers.

But she didn’t want it gentle. She wanted to feel all his passion, and she bit at his lips, thrusting her hips, rubbing against the hardness of his erection.

One hand slid down between her thighs, searching between the folds of her sex, and he sighed against her mouth as he found her already hot and wet for him. He massaged the tight little bundle of nerves at her core, playing her with his clever fingers until she thought she would go insane with the need to have him inside her.

“Please,” she whispered.

Jarrod knew instinctively what she wanted, and his hands slid around to cup the globes of her ass, lifting her slightly. Her legs opened and wrapped around his lean hips, rubbing her slick core against him.

Reaching down between their bodies, he loosened his pants, freeing his shaft, and she held her breath as he nudged at the entrance to her body. He’d been worried he would hurt her, but her sex softened, welcoming him, and he shoved inside her with one hard lunge.

Her muscles tightened around his cock. It was the most exquisite feeling he had ever experienced, and his body went still for a moment to savor the sensation. She wriggled against him, asking for more, and he started to move inside her, slowly at first. The drag through her tight sheath was nearly enough to send him over the edge. She was with him all the way, her hips bucking against him, and he increased his speed, thrusting harder with each smooth stoke. She writhed, pressing even closer, and he knew she was nearly there.

He rammed into her hard, grinding his hips against her core, and she threw back her head and screamed. He released the hold on his control and pleasure shot from his cock to his balls, racing up his spine. Burrowing his face in her breasts, he breathed in her musky scent and gave himself over to the pleasure.

When she stopped shaking, he held her limp body tight against him. It briefly occurred to him that they should move, put more distance between them and their pursuers, but he was sure they had been left far behind.

Besides, they needed this time; it might be all they had. He had waited a thousand years for this; surely the world would not dare to intrude if he allowed himself a little while longer. He needed to savor the feelings warring inside him—relief, love, fear of losing her, all mixed with a sense of rightness. They were meant to be together.

Mine.

At the thought, he laid Freya down on the cloak, and they made love again. Gentle and slow this time until she trembled in his arms as pleasure flowed through her.

Afterward, Jarrod stroked her hair from her face and kissed her forehead. “Before the Laws of Segregation the witch chose her mate.

But I think I chose you long ago. The first moment I set eyes on you, I no longer had a choice.”

“I’m glad,” she murmured.

And for the moment, it was enough.

They traveled even slower on the return journey. Freya rode in front of Jarrod, perched sideways on the saddle, cradled against his hard body, her arm looped around his waist. Every few minutes she’d turn and kiss whatever part of him was nearest. The passion would build between them until it reached breaking point, and they would fall from the horse and make mad passionate love wherever they landed.

Darkness had fallen and the moons risen long past, but by unspoken agreement they kept going. Both were silent as they approached the clearing where Shayla and the Enforcer had vanished—transport-ed to another world according to Darren. She could only pray to the Goddess that it was a safer one than this.