“Get off of me and I’ll tell you everything I know.” Honor was for good people, Mel was a survivor.
He didn’t get off, but he did remove his hand. An improvement. “I don’t believe you. You’re a liar, a thief, and you would have done anything to escape.” He was beyond reason. An alpha defined himself by the people he ruled and protected. Cassie was Luke’s weak point. If Mel wanted to hurt him, she knew exactly where to hit.
She removed her claws and pushed at his legs, she got her hips free. It gave her more room to maneuver even if she didn’t want to fight. “I’m a thief,” she bit out, “But I’m not an idiot.” She pulled her hand up, brushing against a spectacularly smooth rock on her way to push against his chest. He didn’t budge. “Think about it. What would I gain by kidnapping Cassie? I wanted out. Why would I give you another reason to chase me?”
That gave him pause. Confusion flitted over his face. But he steeled himself after a moment and pinned one of her hands to the ground above her head and the other to her side, right over that rock. “Her scent was in your cell! Don’t lie to me.”
It wasn’t a rock. Mel ignored the man on top of her and tried to curl her fingers around the teleportation charm that Krista had given her. In the frenetic run, she’d forgotten that she had it. All she had to do was break it and she was home free. But she didn’t quite have the leverage. She spoke while she tried to move, keeping him distracted. “She wanted me to take her. She knocked out your guard. All I did was tie her up. I didn’t need her to escape.”
But Luke was too far gone to pay attention. It didn’t matter anyway. Mel had the charm in her fist. She crushed it with all her might, shattering the glass and releasing the magic and thinking of someplace safe. After a pregnant second while the magic swirled around her, she dissolved into smoke with the hope that Krista’s charm wouldn’t kill her.
She heard her alpha roar into the void.
Chapter 11
Luke fell forward as Mel evaporated beneath him. He let out a howl, rage beating through him as his thief escaped him a second time. He raked his claws through her forgotten clothes. The woman was gone, but she had left behind her a pile of fabric covered in her scent. He sliced through it, only pausing when he nearly crushed a small wooden box.
That was strange. Why would she carry something like that into battle?
He heard a twig snap as Maya joined him. “One of the vampires confessed to stealing the truck. He said your thief didn’t do it.”
Luke held the box close and turned to her. Maya had specks of unnaturally dark blood across her face, evidence of a triumphant battle. But he could see a bruise already forming under her eye. “There were two vampires.”
She pursed her lips. “One got away.”
“Is the other one still alive?” He sunk as much menace into the words as he could. In his mood, it was enough.
She paled. “More or less.”
“Good.”
Maya caught sight of the pile of clothes that Luke was crouched over. “So she got away?” she asked. “Naked?”
He held up the box, flashing it at Maya before flipping it open. Inside there was a safe deposit box key and a card listing an address. Probably for the bank. “I think she’ll want this.” He stuffed the box into his pocket and joined Maya on the walk back to their prisoner. He had a sister to rescue, a political nightmare to handle, and a thief to catch.
Life was getting exciting.
Mel materialized screaming in downtown Trent Crossing, Utah at midnight. And she only knew that because the sign on the side of the road proudly proclaimed a population of 363. Luckily for her, the town was so small that no one was there to see her little magic trick. She panted, illuminated only by the red flashing stop light and took stock of her situation.
It took her a moment to realize that she was naked.
When she did, she fell to her knees, looking to see if the safe deposit box key had miraculously come with her. “Come on, come on,” she urged. “Where the fuck are you?” In the dim light she could see clearly, and that only frustrated her more.
The key was back in Colorado. Probably right under Luke Torres.
God damn it.
Mel didn’t panic. She wasn’t allowed to. She remembered the box number, the bank address. A loss of a key was an inconvenience, not a tragedy. Bank robbery was easy, like taking candy from a baby. Nothing to worry about there.
Headlights flashed, haloing her naked form.
A black pickup truck pulled up beside her. An old man, human and at least in his seventies looked out at her. “Looks like you’re in a bit of a pickle there, kid.” He said. He reached over and tossed her a t-shirt.
Mel put it on. “Thanks,” she said. “Any chance you could give me a ride to the next big town?”
The man was apprehensive. She didn’t blame him. Naked women in the town square were usually up to no good. “I think I can arrange that. Climb on in.” She joined him, wrapping a blanket around herself before buckling the passenger side seat belt. It was a long way back to Illinois. But she was going to get her damned payment and leave the lion alpha behind her.
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A Sorcerer’s Night
THE ORDER OF THE BLACK OAK - WARLOCKS
Marie-Claude Bourque
A tenacious sorceress striving to heal...
Celeste Stanford is determined to reclaim her independence, despite her protective family—modern-day warlocks drawing powers from an ancient legacy—and her overbearing panther shifter boyfriend. She will no longer hide from the aftermath of her horrific abduction by a rogue dark mage and will fight anyone preventing her from true recovery.
A panther-shifter fighting evil to protect those he loves...
Even though the mage who kidnapped his girlfriend has been defeated, powerful sorcerer and shifter Sinclair Clarke is still haunted by the memory of his mother’s murder at the hand of the very same evil spell-caster, and has vowed to protect his soul mate from darkness at all cost. Even if it means going against her will.
Fall under the spell of A SORCERER’S NIGHT…
A second chance urban fantasy romance and the second installment in the Order of the Black Oak Series.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events, locales, and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental.
A SORCERER’S NIGHT
The Order of the Black Oak Series - Warlocks
Copyright © 2019 by Marie-Claude Bourque
Sea Storm Publishing
P.O. Box 15531, Seattle WA 98115
All rights reserved.
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 written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quo
tations in a book review.
Edited by Jennifer Bray-Weber
ISBN 978-1-7335035-1-8
To Logan and Finlay, without fail.
Chapter 1
Somewhere on I-95 in Rhode Island
Present time
You can’t leave now. Not after...
The recent words from her mother echoed in Celeste Stanford’s mind. She watched the scrawny trees lining the highway zoom by her car as she sped away from her family in the dead cold winter afternoon.
You can’t go, the sorceress had said. You need us.
Why?
Why would she need them? With their magic and mystical powers which had brought it all upon her.
Celeste shuddered at the memory of her supernatural assault and let her foot fall heavier on the gas pedal to emphasize her resolve.
Distance. That was what she needed.
Between her and her family’s historical Seaport mansion. Between her and the warlocks. Between her and her trauma. She had never wanted a part in the magical ancestry of her family and their tight knit circle of friends, which dated back to a dark time in the late seventeenth century when a handful of young men had crossed paths with a mysterious stranger persecuted in a witch hunt and who’d revealed to them her secrets under a wide black oak tree.
Celeste had never wanted to learn more and explore what lay inside her. At least, not until this past fall.
But now that she truly needed to learn to protect herself, they had insisted she leave the magic alone, claimed they’d shield her from dark magic themselves. Keep her close, but defenseless.
They were still so worried.
The lower your abilities, the less likely shadow creatures will seek you out, her father had said.
Fine, Dad, she’d responded. Whatever you want.
But after her abduction from the sadistic dark mage James Rodney Burton had left her shattered and weak, she had sneaked into The Crest, her family’s mansion, to devour her late grandmother St-Amand’s countless books of shadows and grimoires hiding in her mother’s private sitting room.
Crawling with witchcraft secrets that belonged only to her mother’s side of her family, the tomes spoke to her. Perhaps due to her Stanford magical blood legacy from her father, the St-Amand’s earth-based magic had come to her naturally. She had studied spell after spell, incantations, summons and bindings. And learned.
Then, when she’d deemed the time right, she had taken her practice of the craft to the deep woods under the moon.
No one had known.
Celeste sighed, then caught the green sign at the side of the road. Mystic, Connecticut, 30 miles. Almost there. She could stop for dinner.
She’d be away from it all soon. But sadly, he was still on her mind.
Sinclair Clarke.
She exhaled slowly. Just the name brought a quickening to her heart.
She’d also left him behind. How could she love someone so badly, yet run away from him?
And yes, that’s exactly what she was doing. Running.
Away from her father and Sin’s father, both elders of the warlocks of the Black Oak, sorcerers hiding their otherworldly powers behind the ancestral lavish mansions in Seaport. Away from her brother Diesel, the Order’s new leader. And from her mom, who feared so much for her daughter that since the abduction, the sorceress had treated Celeste like a twelve-year-old.
You need us around, she’d often said, you know, since... And her mother never finished those sentences. As if all that had happened on that fateful autumn day could be summarized in a series of hushed ellipses. Never to be talked about.
But I want to talk about it.
And Celeste also wanted to move on, leave her hometown. Against her earlier plans of building a life near her family, she’d now chosen to accept that law firm offer in New York City. She studied so much all these years. Why not make the most of it and seek the new possibilities her dedicated efforts now offered her?
One day, she’d make partner.
And like normal people with trauma, she would find herself a therapist she trusted to get through this with hard work. It seemed simple enough.
But no. For her family, there were always these words, never quite fully expressed. Your ordeal, your trial. Your experience.
What would they say if they knew she used what she was good at—persistent determined study, hours buried in books—to become as powerful as them?
And Sinclair, even with his magic and dual nature—how she loved him, the man who could shift into a sleek and fierce panther when needed—even he would worry about her newfound powers. They came from a source entirely different than his.
He would not be able to reconcile it. She knew it.
Baby, don’t worry. He’ll never touch you again. I’m here for you.
Baby, he’d say. So many times he called her “baby” now. Never sweetheart, or honey, or my love. No, just “baby.” A new habit. As if she’d turned into a tiny infant to be protected. Not the twenty-five-year-old Brown law graduate that she was.
And all of Sin’s magic and shifting nature hadn’t prevented James Rodney Burton the Third to get to her.
Celeste swallowed, disgust lodged in her throat and masked the fear that always came with the memory.
Disguised as a perfect elderly gentleman, he came, seeking council at the local firm where she interned after graduation. One handshake, one deep look. She was caught off guard.
What had he truly done to her, they would never know. They had found her dumped in front of her father’s estate on the side of the road. Unconscious.
Her breath shortened for an instant, matching her racing heart. In that slumber he induced, there was nothing but death, darkness and horror. Repeated horror that assaulted her brain, wrung her organs raw and seized her heart in a frigid grip that would never let go. Over and over. Torture. For weeks.
She automatically searched for air as she remembered the agony of never being able to draw a full breath. Her lungs crushed, forever seeking for a hint of life. The burn searing her esophagus each and every time. Thinking, horrified, that each scorching gulp was her last.
But no. She hadn’t died. She had remained there, suspended. Her instinct madly fighting for relief while she truly wanted to end it all. Tormented beyond reason.
She’d never forget what she saw, never forget the agony. Ever.
No matter how often she took her sacred tools to the woods or sandy shores and asked for answers on why Burton had put her under his curse.
She couldn’t forget.
Relief did come at times, but never true recovery.
Her hands tightened on the wheel as she let out a slow breath. She’d never again be someone’s tool.
And for that, she had to leave them. Her parents, her brother. And even Sinclair, her sexy overbearing boyfriend.
Regret shot through her heart. She already missed the feel of his silky skin under her lips. The planes of his muscular chest and flat stomach. His powerful arms around her. His scent, a mix of expensive soap and something utterly manly with that hint of the predator which was forever part of him.
Yes, the pain and memories receded for a time in the protection of his arms. But how he called her “baby” now. With that condescending tone. No. Even after she’d asked him repetitively to stop.
That wasn’t okay.
She had to leave Seaport.
She was pressing deeper on the accelerator again when the screen of her cell phone lit up.
She pushed her glasses back on the bridge of her nose in frustration. No, no, no. She didn’t want to talk to them. None of them. Not now.
Maybe in two weeks. Once she was settled. Had started work.
She paused and shook her head with sudden concern. What if the text was from Mr. Cones’ assistant, with details about her new job.
She snatched her phone from the passenger seat and briskly peered at the screen.
Are you okay? Just checking.
Her shoulders s
lumped. Mom. The third message today.
Celeste let out a slow breath. Her mother checked on her daily now. She didn’t know yet her daughter had moved out of the condo downtown. And hopefully, it would take a few days before she found out.
Celeste would text back as soon as she stopped to get gas. Good mom. Just shopping.
She hated lying to her mother. But the sorceress would easily pull her back in again. Celeste could fight back against her dad, against Sin, even. But her mom’s enhanced psychic abilities meant the elder had the guilt trip technique down to perfection.
She couldn’t imagine how scared her mother had been while her only daughter lay unconscious for days. Kept alive solely by the sorceress’s sheer will and strong healing powers. Celeste hated what she was doing to her mother by leaving, but she couldn’t live in her family’s shadow forever.
This was her life. Her decisions.
She checked the gas indicator. Time to refill. Stretch her legs, maybe get a snack at the station, then send that text to her mom. Ease her worries a little for now.
She pulled into the first stop on the way, a plain but tidy independent business empty of customers this late in the day, but inviting with its cheerful lights stringed along the bay window. After tightening the rubber band holding her long hair into a messy bun, she shrugged into her peacoat, wrapped her knitted scarf at her neck, and stepped out of her new white Lexus, a recent present from her dad, as if the pricy gift would make it all better somehow.
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