She quieted, and her body sagged against him.
“I’m free...”
“Yes, Haven. It’s over. You’re free.” He felt her hands reach around him and touch his back. They grabbed onto his coat. He couldn’t help but smile at the familiar feeling.
“I’m free,” she said again, her head falling onto his shoulder. White, pure snow continued to drift around them, dusting their hair and the stained snow at their feet.
“We are free.”
13
The crackling of fire and the murmuring of curious voices filled the late autumn night. Avrum inhaled deeply, the sharp smell of sawdust, ash, and burning flesh stinging his nose. It was difficult to believe that where he, Lysander, and the others had dueled not long ago, a funeral pyre now stood. A mountain of dry sticks, leaves, and cloth held up the body of what was left of Lord Henri. The growing flames flickered underneath, throwing strange shadows across the many spectators who stood around the site. Alessandro, Favian, and Gunnar were among them, watching and whispering about what they had missed on the grounds the night before. For a moment, Avrum wondered how different things would have been if Malcolm had arrived as planned. He glanced down to Haven, who stood silent beside him with her eyes focused on something far away. He wondered if the night could somehow have had a different ending, especially for her.
As if she could sense his unsaid questions, she looked up at him. Her sapphire eyes seemed to cast a light of their own now, and they searched his face in the darkness. Her bloodstained dress had been replaced with a man’s shirt and brown trousers, all much too big for her slender, wilted frame. The short sword that had taken her life and had saved his own now dangled from a belt at her hip. She barely looked like his Haven―the fragile, unfortunate girl that had been forced into a world where she didn’t belong. She was a creature like him. This world was hers now.
And what of his own friend, Lysander, and the little maid, Emma? They hadn’t returned to the manor. There was no reason for them to. His only hope was that Lysander had gotten Emma far away from this place. He trusted Lysander to keep her safe.
“Brenin.” Henri’s three guests moved to his other side and awaited his attention. Avrum bowed to them.
Gunnar was the first to step forward. “Brenin,” he repeated. The strength in his voice made Avrum uneasy. “After last night’s events, the loss of Lord Henri, and the rebirth of his mistress, we can only speculate about what has happened. You must know how this looks to outsiders, such as us.”
Avrum only nodded. They had murdered one of the highest members of their society. He knew there would have to be some kind of repercussions for them. He felt Haven draw closer to him. She may have been the one to kill Henri, but he was prepared to take the responsibility for it all.
“And you were appointed Henri’s second-in-command, is that correct?” Gunnar asked.
“I am―was,” he replied.
“We have been discussing last night a great deal.”
“I understand.”
Gunnar drew his shoulders back, showing his true height. He was at least three heads taller than Avrum. “Since you were Henri’s second, and he is no more, responsibility must be passed down to you,” he said.
“And we have been also discussing your options,” added Favian, his thin lips drawing up at the corner.
Something in Favian’s words made Avrum hesitate. “My options?”
When Gunnar went to speak again, Favian held out a hand to continue. “A lord’s second is chosen meticulously. With the title comes the responsibility of assuming the lord’s place if he is then―” he gestured to the pyre where the flames were now catching Henri’s clothing― “unable to.” When Avrum did not respond, he went on again. “We all witnessed Henri’s instability, and because of it, we have concluded that the reasons for your actions can be justified.”
“The people Henri has collected need a leader,” Gunnar said. “We can grant you the title and the power as lord or―”
“Or you can reject the position.” Favian’s gold and green eyes flicked to Haven. “No one will make you stay here if you wish to leave.”
Avrum looked down at Haven again. They weren’t going to be punished. He was being given the chance to have all the power he needed to protect her. If she did not want to stay, he would leave with her. He would not force her to stay in a place that held so many horrifying memories.
“Haven...” he began. She answered him by sliding her hand into the bend of his elbow and giving him a small smile. It made his heart flutter awake.
“But I have never ruled over anyone,” he realized. “I am not a leader.”
“Brenin. A strong name for a strong man,” Gunnar told him. “I knew it from the moment I met you, son.”
“Leaders aren’t born,” Favian returned. “They are made, and from what Henri has told us about you, you have the makings of being a great one.”
“I do not want to be anything like Henri,” said Avrum. “I will not be.”
Favian nodded. “Seeing how Henri’s life ended, that is a wise decision.” Behind him, Alessando chuckled. Avrum wondered if the Spanish knight did actually understand what they were saying.
Haven squeezed his elbow. “You could never be like Henri,” she whispered to him. “He was incapable of feeling anything but greed and anger.”
Avrum smiled down at her. “I will only agree if it will be assured that Haven will be at my side as nothing less than my equal.”
“As lord, if that is your choice, it is done,” Gunnar replied.
“Excellent! Then it is done.” Favian gripped Avrum’s shoulder. He gave it a reassuring pat before the lot of them turned around and made their way back to the manor.
Alone with Haven, Avrum put his hand where hers laid on his elbow. The ragged scars from Henri’s ropes still circled her wrists, but they were smoother now, blending in with the pearl sheen of her skin. He took a deep breath, his attention moving back to the flames. They embraced Henri like a hellish, old friend. The smell of melting skin and charring clothes burned the inside of his nose. Avrum watched the ends of Henri’s black hair smoke, catch fire, and curl back to his scalp. As each strand lifted, more of the back of his neck lay revealed.
Just above the cut that had ended his life, Avrum saw the familiar, jagged pattern of Malcolm’s scars. The ivy vines weaved at the base of his neck and disappeared into the rest of his hair. Lysander had been right. Henri had hid his well.
Before Avrum could step closer, there was a crash as the wood of the pyre collapsed. The flames burst into full life, swallowing him whole and leaving nothing left to be seen.
“He’s gone,” said Haven.
With those two words, relief rushed through both of them.
“It’s over.”
Arms still linked, Haven and Avrum turned their backs to the funeral pyre and what remained of Lord Henri. They followed the three lords’ deep footprints in the snow as they walked back to Birmingham’s Greystone Manor. Behind them the flames stretched up, splashing vibrant oranges, reds, and golds against the manor’s stone face and creating the illusion of the morning sun rising in the north.
The End
* * *
Find more books by Harper A. Brooks on her website
www.HarperABrooks.com
About the Author
Harper A. Brooks lives in a small town on the New Jersey shore. Even though classic authors have always filled her bookshelves, she finds her writing muse drawn to the dark, magical, and romantic. But when she isn’t creating entire worlds with sexy shifters or legendary love stories, you can find her either with a good cup of coffee in hand or at home snuggling with her furry, four-legged son, Sammy.
She writes historical and paranormal romance.
www.HarperABrooks.com
Hexed & Dangerous
Lexi Ostrow
A Hexed in New Orleans Prequel
Hexed & Dangerous © 2019 Lexi Ostrow
All rights reserve
d under the International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.
This is a work of fiction. Names, places, characters and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to any actual persons, living or dead, organizations, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
Warning: the unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in prison and a fine of $250,000.
Created with Vellum
Hexed & Dangerous
Time travel? No problem. Love? We’ll talk later.
The world is awake – vampires, witches, werewolves, and more are real and outed in the human community. Fear runs deep, and a set of rules instituted by a small council are all that keep people together with a fragile balance.
Ivy Lancaster knows the rules. Be prepared, be efficient, and get out. That didn’t make going to council meetings more enjoyable. As the Witch Elect, she knew far better ways to help her community stay at peace with humans than sitting through monthly board meetings. Too bad the Council of Supernaturals didn’t care.One thing makes the meetings bearable.
Elijah Vikander has no love for the Council of Supernaturals. He was Alpha. Wolves answered to him, he didn’t answer to others. He could stop going, force the wolves to elect a beta member of the Crescent Pack, but then he couldn’t see the enchanting off-limits witch.
When a group of warlocks threaten to tear the proclamation down and take over the city with forbidden magic, pairings are made to track and take the men down. Ivy and Elijah are forced into a coupling that will either destroy their world, or save everyone.
1
The cauldron bubbled, and a blue bubble burst, sending the distinct smell of sea air throughout Ivy’s open concept living room. She snarled, dropping her wand in a fit. “Why is this so difficult?”
Sixteen years spent trying to weave true time travel magic, over three thousand failed attempts, and at least twenty broken wands and athames. She glanced down. “Better make that at least twenty-one.” The wand bore a hairline crack near the tip. A cracked wand leaked magic. Tossing it to the floor, Ivy wondered how much ambient magic she unleashed into the city every time she broke one—more importantly, how many accidents or miracles occurred because of them.
Sighing, Ivy rubbed her eyes, both to stave off weariness, and to push back the tears from another failed endeavor to go back to her family.
“Don’t be so hard on yourself.” Lita Perrow offered her a small smile. Her friend was always so eager to learn, something Ivy loved, but not today.
Ivy’s eyes roamed around the crowded space, taking in the look on each of the eleven faces surrounding her. Some held the same energetic gaze and smile as Lita, other's brows furrowed together and they cast their eyes down as Ivy looked at them. Three showed their bitterness at their High Priestess’ continued failure with puckered lips and turned up noses.
For over a year she and her coven attempted to weave a time travel spell powerful enough to move through time for longer than a few minutes. Magic came with limits. It required energy and practice. Practice a four-hundred-and-fifty-six-year-old witch might not have.
You’ve always known you were too young to lead.
Fire stole her parents sixteen years ago, taking the Crescent City Coven’s leader with it. Despite her continued objections, Ivy rose to the position. She paled in comparison to the wonderful woman her mother had been, but still, she bore more natural power than any other witch in New Orleans, a fact that thrust her into a role she’d never been ready for.
Which is why I want to bring you back. Ivy chewed her cheek as she continued to watch the other witch’s expressions. There’s so much more I need to learn.
“So, don’t hate me for this, but, what if you asked at the council meeting? It’s been three years since we started sort of working with warlocks, maybe they’ll have the answers you need?” Lita’s voice rang out clear in the room. Before Ivy could respond, a chorus of agreement broke out amongst the ladies.
“Yes, perhaps their magic will weave with ours to create what we’re missing?” Sherry Lynn, the youngest of the witches present asked quietly, her voice barely above a whisper.
Ivy knew the answer, or the only answer she could accept. Warlocks dabbled closer with the darkness that witches abhorred. While not evil, they called on different energies to work their spells. Spells which most certainly could include significant time travel if they worked together, and an unparalleled amount of darkness and potentially even death.
Even for her family, Ivy couldn’t take that risk.
Three years ago, a newscaster in London accidentally filmed a warlock doing repairs to the Tower of London after a magical brawl must have knocked parts of it down. It took the world less than a month to decide the footage was real. She did not know how they’d reached such a conclusion, only that it changed everything.
It took the magical persons a week to chatter across the countries and come up with a plan. A supernatural council per country with representatives from each species formed across the world. Witches, warlocks, vampires, and shifters formed the first coalition. New Orleans had been hastily selected as the headquarters for the American council because it held the most history and magical beings. She still couldn’t explain what happened, but each leader from a New Orleans group became a Council Elect, the person who spoke for their people, aka Ivy.
The whole system felt antiquated, but for almost three years across the world, it kept the peace. When humans first learned of magic, there were witch hunts against all creatures. Human law officials did their best to create order, but it was only the formation of the Council of Supernaturals that put a large stop to the attacks. Attacks humans rarely won and always painted magical beings in a poor light.
Eight months ago the djinn joined the council. All who remained out of sight and mind were the angels and demons. Fitting, since the pair warred constantly with each other on a separate plane—no need for humans to know of them. With the council full of magic casters, it stood to reason one Elect might be able to offer help if she were willing to take it.
“I do not believe the others will see a viable use in a one-time time spell.” Ivy shuddered as her mind raced to the implications of creating true time travel magic. “If we unlock this, it’ll be Pandora’s Box all over again.”
Some millennia ago, seven stupid humans opened the box and unleashed magic into the world. Instead of sins, the box actually created Supernaturals. Though, Ivy often thought of the different creatures as representing the sins. Greed fit the djinn since they worked with wish magic. Blood lust quite literally had the sin right in the name, and all vampires suffered blood lust now and again. Shifters were animalistic, violent, even wrathful when they shifted to their animal counterpart. Angels were prideful on a level Ivy couldn’t even wrap her head around. Demons were lazy to a point where they would never defeat the angels.
Only in the seventeen hundreds did the witches and warlocks begin to think of themselves as different species as their spellcasting differed greatly. If she were asked, witches suffered from envy, often seeking what others could provide – such as help with time travel magic. Warlocks were gluttonous with most of their magic based around personal gain.
One box. Seven new species and centuries of hiding all blown in a quick video.
“That is why we aren’t telling them.” Genevieve, Lita’s mother and the eldest in the room, scowled at Sherry Lyn. “The simple fact we seek to do it is dangerous enough.”
The older woman never failed to share her opinions, and was full of piss and vinegar. “Which is why out of ove
r three hundred witches in the New Orleans area, I’ve only rotated those involved with this project sparingly.” A strong pulse began to twitch at Ivy’s temples. “My mother was taken too soon. Her time as High Priestess was not complete. My training was not complete.”
“Then we should call on those from London, or any other coven.” Genevieve did not let up with her assault. Silver-grey eyes that matched her hair narrowed in obvious annoyance. “If you are so certain you are not ready to lead, you should have sought help.”
“Mother,” Lita hissed, putting a hand on her mother’s shoulder.
But Genevieve wasn’t done.
“You will mind your manners when I am speaking.” Genevieve waved her hand and a sparkle of yellow electricity danced there. A moment later, the lights in the room were on, though the candles still flickered. “Do not call upon me again. I am tired of this. Your mother was a dear friend. She would not be pleased to see you draining your energies on this.”
Turning on her heel, Genevieve marched to open the unpainted wooden door, tugged it open, and left. The remaining sets of eyes turned and focused on Ivy.
“She isn’t wrong,” Carmine, an Italian witch who moved to New Orleans mere years ago, tucked a strand of ebony hair behind her ear. “Perhaps it is time to let go of the past, and redirect your energies and casting creations toward bettering the present.” The words were not hard to understand despite her thick accent.
“My mother always led by freedom of choice. I’ve done the same. Just speaking as those in the room, do you all agree that it is time to let this quest die?”
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