Table of Contents
A Coven of Her own (Witches of Raven's Landing, #1)
A COVEN OF HER OWN | Witches of Raven’s Landing | Book 1
DEDICATION
A COVEN OF HER OWN | CHAPTER ONE
CHAPTER TWO
CHAPTER THREE
CHAPTER FOUR
CHAPTER FIVE
CHAPTER SIX
CHAPTER SEVEN
CHAPTER EIGHT
CHAPTER NINE
CHAPTER TEN
CHAPTER ELEVEN
CHAPTER TWELVE
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
CHAPTER FOURTEEN
CHAPTER FIFTEEN
CHAPTER SIXTEEN
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
CHAPTER EIGHTEEN
CHAPTER NINETEEN
CHAPTER TWENTY
CHAPTER TWENTY-ONE
CHAPTER TWENTY-TWO
CHAPTER TWENTY-THREE
CHAPTER TWENTY-FOUR
CHAPTER TWENTY-FIVE
CHAPTER TWENTY-SIX
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT
CUCKOO IN THE COVEN | CHAPTER ONE
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
A COVEN OF HER OWN
Witches of Raven’s Landing
Book 1
© SASKIA WALKER
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
This book is for sale to adults only. It contains explicit scenes and graphic language which may be considered offensive by some readers.
Cover by: Emily’s World of Design
Cover copy:
Under the watchful eye of the local white witches, Sunny Chambers is about to discover her magical heritage...
Sunny Chambers loves the thatched cottage she inherited from her Grandma on the rugged Cornish coast. The only thing that would make it even better is if the mystery man who walked through her dreams every night was real. Sunny’s about to discover she has the magical power to travel through time to actually meet the man of her dreams, save him from a fate worse than death, and a whole lot more besides.
Two centuries earlier, Cullen Thaine is due to leave on a hell-bound vessel—his soul promised to the Lord of the Underworld—when Sunny finds herself in his arms, with the power to rescue him from a dark and powerful witch. She has to be dreaming, right? This is Sunny’s initiation into the Raven’s Landing coven, but our benevolent white witches have an enemy and he has own plans for the lovely Sunny Chambers.
Cullen and Sunny have become the focus of the local coven war, and their destiny is now at stake. One thing’s for sure, Sunny needs to quickly learn all about her magical heritage, then figure out how she traveled back in time, while coping with the coven war, and falling hopelessly in love with a lusty hunk from the 1800s.
DEDICATION
Storm Constantine
12th October 1956 – 14th January 2021
This series is dedicated to the memory of Storm, who we lost too soon.
Dreamer of the most fantastic dreams, writer of fantastical worlds.
My mentor, first publisher, and guiding light.
Fondly remembered.
A COVEN OF HER OWN
CHAPTER ONE
CORNWALL, ENGLAND. Present day.
Moonlight spilled through the open window into the bedroom.
Sunny stirred in her bed. Her eyes fluttered open.
Had she drifted off, had she been dreaming again?
She looked at the window, where the curtains lifted in the summer breeze. The sky beyond was lit by the full moon. Sighing, she willed herself back into the recurring dream she’d recently been having—lucid visions about a mysterious stranger.
“Who are you?” she murmured.
The dreams were so delicious she wanted to go there again—to lose herself in his fierce embrace.
Her eyelids lowered, sleep beckoning her.
Through the ether, her own name whispered through her mind, as if a familiar voice called to her. The call was sensed rather than heard, instinct tugging on her to recognize the intimate, beckoning command.
It was him, the seductive stranger.
Coiling under the open window, the midnight mist entered the room, crossing the space, wavering over her body. Mystical and entrancing, it wore a man’s image, taking his form as it moved against her exposed skin, teasing her with fey kisses.
Her body pulsed with desire.
Physical recognition flooded her and she reached out for him.
Her emotions dipped and soared.
The presence coaxed her gently, caressing her with the most intimate of lover’s touches.
She fought through her slumber, moaning in response to his call, her limbs tangled in the sheets. He was there, she could sense him, but still she couldn’t touch him or hear the words he whispered. His face grew more distinct as he closed over her, riding the night to be with her. Intense blue eyes flashed in the moonlight, the fall of thick dark hair over his brows materializing. His lips moved, as if he were calling to her, but the words whispered away on the night breeze, never to be heard.
Powerful arms surrounded her, and her fingertips danced over a chest so real—so vast and strong—she cried out with longing.
Twisting amongst the sheets, she found herself caressed, adored, driven to the brink of madness with desire so vivid she panted with need.
The midnight lover claimed her, and Sunny gave herself up, embracing the dream man, welcoming him. Only the night itself witnessed the muted sounds from her lips when waves of pleasure climbed inside her, threatening to drown her in a tide of ecstasy. Finally, they rose to a peak and then crashed over her whole body. She floated, weightless. A final surge of spasms flowed through her, and she awoke.
Sunny lay stunned and confused, until she began to realize what it was, what had happened to her. Never before had the recurring dream been so intense. She closed her eyes tight against the familiar surroundings and tried to recapture the image of the mystic man who had brought her such pleasure.
Only a vague shadow of him was discernible, but in that moment he had seemed so real, as real as the energy and heat that still flowed through her body.
DURING THE DAYLIGHT hours, remembering those naughty dreams amused Sunny, but she couldn’t help being curious. Why was it happening to her? She’d never had dreams like this before she’d moved into her grandmother’s Cornish cottage. It made her wonder if the place was haunted. It felt a bit like that, but not quite. Besides, she wondered, what would a ghost be doing climbing into bed with her? She laughed at the idea of it, but continued to mull it over while she went about the renovations.
Energized by her latest nocturnal adventure, she worked on the room she planned to use as her office. Her efforts only seemed to reveal more layers of history as she went. Stripping the multiple layers of wallpaper felt a bit like going back in time. As did her dreams. Her mystery dream lover was certainly not of this world. Was it because there was so much history here?
The cottage she’d inherited was at least two hundred years old, potentially a lot more, although no one was sure of its exact build date—a fact that annoyed her immensely. Sunny was tenacious in her quest for knowledge about the building and had been hoping to discover some clue as she gradually renovated the place. The wallpaper in this room alone charted the past eighty or so years and, as she worked, her thoughts traveled into the time when it had been new, wondering about who had lived there and why.
Stepping back, she assessed her progress. “It’s no good,” she muttered. “I’ll have to wait until the wallpaper steamer arrives.”
She rested her forearms on the windowsill and brea
thed deep the heady scent of roses and honeysuckle from below. This was the room she used to stay in as a child, when she visited her grandma during the holidays. It overlooked the front garden and the old stone wall marking its perimeter, the wrought iron gate and the meandering stone path. It was a magical, lush garden with well-established shrubs, ferns and flowers, and a lawn that looked deep and luxurious enough to sleep on.
Ever since then, she’d connected with the natural world here in Raven’s Landing. It called to her, and she felt more at home here than anywhere in the world. It was the fairytale quality she loved most. It was also why she decided to set up her office in the upstairs spare bedroom, so she could spot her visitors arriving and enjoy the view while she worked.
At the back of the house was a large, unkempt vegetable garden and orchards that went on for acres, but it would be a long time before she got to grips with it. She had to get her office up and running as soon as possible. Her web clients wouldn’t wait around for her to make over her new house before they got their updates.
Above her head a bird chirruped somewhere in the thatch. She craned her neck but couldn’t spot its hiding place. That was another job for the list. The thatched roof needed an overhaul, and soon. The cottage was less than a mile from the rugged Cornish coastline, and she’d have to be ready for the onslaught of winter. However, right now it was time to wrap up for the morning, eat, and head into town to get some supplies.
She sipped a large glass of iced tea while she zapped some leftover veggie risotto in the microwave. She couldn’t be happier, well, she almost couldn’t. She had everything she desired, but it’d be nice to have someone to share it with. A soul mate, a lover. If only he were real, she mused.
Ever since she’d first visited Cornwall she’d felt the magic of the place, especially at night. The Cornish peninsula was a beautiful, wild and pagan land—a land of legends and myths, where even the mists rolling in from the sea seemed to whisper about the infinite possibility of dreams and magic. It had certainly brought magic into her life, and in the most unexpected ways, because since moving there Sunny felt she had become a true sensualist. Recurrent erotic dreams about a mysterious stranger left her with a heightened awareness of her own sexuality and desires—dreams that left her hankering for more. Every time she thought about it she felt restless with curiosity.
The sound of the phone ringing snapped her back from her thoughts. Putting down her iced tea, she reached for it.
“Hi, how’s it going up there on the far hill?”
It was her friend Celeste’s voice, mellow as honey. A local in her mid forties, Celeste had known Sunny’s grandmother well. Celeste was a rather eccentric type, Sunny had to admit—a bit of a hippie, with a strange, esoteric worldview and a knowing way about her. She had a rolling Cornish accent, the friendliest smile on the planet, and time for anyone. Sunny had made friends easily with her new neighbors when she moved down from London, many of whom remembered her as a child, but it was Celeste most of all who’d made Sunny feel part of the community. She kept her up to date with gossip, laughing with her when the going got tough with the house renovation.
“Celeste, good to hear from you.” Sunny sat down in her grandma’s favorite chair, the cushions settling her in. “It’s going well. I’ve got to make huge strides though, my parents are visiting soon and they’ve been really negative about me taking this on, on top of starting my own company. I dropped out of college, you see. They think I’m too young for all of this. They said I should’ve completed my degree, or at least got the company going before I took time out for the cottage.”
“You’ve made some ambitious choices in life, but it’s in you to do so.”
“I’m always ready for a challenge.”
Celeste hummed to herself on the other end of the line, like a doting aunt. “We like your spirit, Sunny, we welcome it.”
It was nice to get a thumbs-up from someone, when her parents had been so negative. “You’ll have to come over and see the changes at the weekend. I think I’ve uncovered ten different wallpapers in the office alone.”
“I’ll look forward to it.” She paused. “Then all you’ll need to do is meet the man of your dreams.”
“Man of my dreams?” Sunny repeated, somewhat guiltily. She felt as if she’d been caught musing over her nocturnal escapades.
“You’re a strong, independent young woman, but you still need some male attention, a passionate mate, a soul to share things with.”
Sunny chuckled. “Tell me about it.” She couldn’t deny it. “Alas, I haven’t met any dashing heroes on my trips to the local DIY merchants, and my social life is on hold.”
“Oh it’ll happen, Sunny, it’ll happen.”
Celeste had a way of making her feel warm and sure about the world. “I’m still trying to find out when this place was built,” she commented, glancing around as she spoke. “No one seems to know for sure.”
“As you’ve probably noticed,” Celeste replied, “we Cornish love mystery, it makes us feel even more special than we already are...but I’m sure you’ll find out soon enough.”
“True. The local builders” merchants swore they know everything about the buildings in the area, but they haven’t a clue about this one, although they may just be keeping me in the dark. The librarian reckons the house is mid eighteenth-century though.”
“You’ll discover everything you need to know,” Celeste’s tone grew mischievous, “even if you have to go back in time yourself to unearth the facts.”
“Ha, you may be right.” The joke tickled Sunny. “I’d really love to know.”
Celeste hummed happily again. “And are you wearing your lucky locket?”
“Yes, I am.” Sunny’s fingers went to her collarbone, where the silver heart-shaped locket Celeste had given her nestled. The thoughtful gift had surprised her, for inside it was a cropped photo she had taken of Sunny standing by the door of the house, early on in the renovation. It was a touching gift, and Celeste told her it would bring her luck throughout her task here.
“Good, good. Well, I’d better be on my way. Mrs. Davith needs one of my special teas or she won’t be having her sweet dreams tonight.”
“Sweet dreams indeed,” Sunny replied, without thinking.
“Have you been having good dreams?”
“Well, I...how did you know?”
“Just a lucky guess. But, if you’ve been having dreams, maybe we should meet later today. I love to interpret dreams.”
Perplexed, Sunny wondered how she’d describe her mystery dream man without revealing the eroticism of those visions. “I’ll be down in town this afternoon.”
“Call by the shop, we’ll get an afternoon cuppa together.”
What would Celeste make of it? Sunny wondered as she put down the phone. Knowing her, she’d get all mystic, her strange green eyes bright with humor, and then she’d relate some Cornish proverb about longing and need conjuring men from out of the ether. There was a deep-rooted sense of time and history about parts of Cornwall though, a spiritual quality about the folk there. Even the local shopkeepers seemed to trade more on herbal brews and old wives’ tales than modern supplies.
Sunny sighed. She was a single woman, that was the hard truth. Even so, she couldn’t help wondering if it was her desire to have the dream about the man that made it happen over and over again. She certainly wouldn’t mind sharing her life with someone as sexy and enigmatic as he seemed to be.
The blue-eyed stranger. Had he lived here?
Were her dreams actually visions of a spirit?
Maybe time would tell.
CHAPTER TWO
Raven’s Landing, a coastal hamlet, had steep cobbled streets lined with old fisherman’s cottages clustered together around the harbor. Many had been converted to tiny bow-front windowed shops that tempted the tourists with their bespoke goods.
Sunny’s cottage stood at the northern edge of the small market town, forty feet back from the main road. She rarely u
sed her battered Fiat to drive down though. Instead she took the path her grandmother had taken. The public rights of way allowed her to go through woodland and across the lush green meadows.
When she set off, the scent of the meadow grass and wild flowers was high in the hazy atmosphere. At the end of the garden path she turned back and looked at the cottage while she closed the rickety wooden gate. The thatch and rustic stone made it picture postcard perfect. Her grandmother hadn’t given the house a name, but it seemed to beg for one, to Sunny’s mind. The Nomad’s Rest, she called it, in her thoughts. She was the nomad, of course. Was it a suitable name? She hadn’t yet decided, but would, once the renovations were done.
Her parents wanted her to sell the house or rent it out, so she could go back to Morocco, to join them. Her father, a British doctor, had met her mother, a Moroccan nurse, in Marrakech. Whilst she cherished her Moroccan heritage, Sunny had grown up in England, and Cornwall was in her blood too. It was where her father was from and they’d spent her childhood holidays exploring the rugged coastline. She felt at home here, close to nature. The ramshackle cottage held happy memories and Cornwall appealed in so many ways. She’d wanted to work from home for a long time. Besides, her taste for vibrant world music was suited better to a place with few neighbors. The town had welcomed her and that was a big draw. With parents from two vastly different cultures it felt like a luxury to fit in somewhere so well.
As she closed on the town, the scent of the sea reached her. It sometimes reached the house when the wind was in the right direction, but down here in the town the smell of ozone was high in the air and the seagulls swooped overhead.
Glancing at her watch, she hurried along the pavement, dodging tourists until she got to two linked shops. The Witch’s Brew, a cafe run by a woman called Willow, and the gift shop next door, The Cauldron, which Celeste owned. Carefully crafted candles, chimes, herbal potions, and arcane gifts filled the window display.
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