Which Witch is Wicked? (The Witches of Port Townsend Book 2)

by Kerrigan Byrne

  "I never thought you had a weakness, my cold, cold horseman," Lucifer hissed in his ear. "I never thought you had a heart...until now."

  Chapter Nine

  Whether one was a human, an immortal, or a deity, there still remains nothing worse than being denied something one wants.

  As one of the most powerful immortals known to the history of this universe, Lucifer, the morning star, the Devil, Satan, Old Scratch, Mephistopheles, The Lord of Darkness her fucking self was only ever denied two desires since the beginning of time. Those souls who were bringers of light and therefore were delivered to their respective heavens...

  And Julian Roarke.

  He wasn't the largest of the Horsemen, nor the most handsome. Though his body almost shimmered with pale perfection, and his Gothic beauty was, indeed, rare and brilliant, she'd fucked bigger immortals. Stronger ones. More skilled. She'd had Sidhe orgies that lasted for weeks of mortal time. She'd banged kings, queens (sometimes both at once), Gods, demi-gods, fae, demons, angels, and just about everything in between. She'd done it all, from every position. She'd taken the form of a man and fucked all the things. As a woman, she'd been fucked by all the things, sometimes simultaneously.

  She'd like to meet the being who would dare slut-shame Satan.

  She'd had the other Horsemen. Once they saw what she'd done to Julian, they'd relented.

  Nicholas Kingswood fucked like he wanted to pound his demons into her. Theirs was a power-play she'd likely never forget.

  War’s "sword" was one of legend. For a warrior, he approached sex with a strategy and didn't give up until he'd scorched the earth and wrung every last gasp of breath she possessed.

  Having Death "come" for her, was one of the darkest, most satisfying moments of her life.

  So what the Princess of Darkness couldn't figure out, was why she'd spent so many damned centuries lusting for Pestilence.

  It could have been because Julian Roarke was one of two men to ever resist her temptations, she supposed.

  She'd made certain that the other one was crucified.

  Rejection was inconceivable to her. She was literally the most beautiful woman on the planet. Flawless. Victoria's Secret models sometimes sold their souls to have a hip-to-waist ratio to rival hers. Her blonde hair was more than twenty different highlights of shimmering gold. She had the thighs of a dancer, the ass of a yoga instructor, and the mouth of a porn star. She was sin personified. Sinning was kind of her deal.

  And Julian Roarke never pitched even half a wood in her presence.

  What the eternal fuck was she supposed to do with that?

  She'd started with the usual seductions... innuendo, dancing, gifts, cajoling, enticing and so forth. She'd gone so far as to spread her legs on his bed once, and pleasure herself for him. And She did that for no man, for she was no man's object.

  Julian had been unimpressed.

  Then she'd gotten rough. Bonds, brands, curses, ad infinitum.

  And still it came to pass, that Julian Roarke was the most stubborn motherfucker on the planet. Also, because of the nature of their existence, the Four Horsemen were out of her particular purview. Sure, they worked for her from time to time. She may be more powerful than they were. She could, and had, made their lives a living hell, but she had limited power over them. She couldn't break them. She couldn't kill them. And she was unable to rape them.

  More's the pity.

  But after all this time, she'd had an ace in the hole, as it were. A dark, devious trick, of which she was quite proud, that turned Julian's own power against him. As one of the most deadly creatures in existence, he'd been created to control those powers. And she'd pounced immediately. He was different than the primordial men. He was no barbarian, nor was he politician. No conqueror, warlord, or tyrant. No artist, writer, musician, or bard.

  Julian, was a scientist. A shadow. A silent observer of balance and life. While other men pitted their strength and skill against their enemies, Julian felled them with a single-celled organism expelled from his breath. While other dreamers looked to the skies to contemplate the vastness of the universe, Julian held a universe of his own on the tip of his finger, inspecting and comprehending every last nanobe.

  The knowledge in his eyes fascinated and frightened her. He resisted her because he saw what lived in between the dark matter that comprised her being. She wanted to show it to him. Wanted to unleash it upon him. He was pure. He was good. He was rare. And she wanted him so much, it distracted her from her real purpose here.

  And while he resisted her, she'd cursed him. Because why the fuck not use the darkest magics to isolate him from any warmth, any touch, and especially, any other woman.

  So who did this de Moray bitch think she was? Lucy was glad she’d ruined their party. The moment the witch had made herself vulnerable, Lucy had used her influence to fuck with their good time.

  Watching the tart gallop away on Julian’s stallion, Lucy reached out and gripped Julian’s chin, hoping to capture his undivided attention. "You're hard, Julian," she purred into his ear, fitting her hips tightly against his.

  "Not for long."

  She could feel the length of him against her, the size and shape impressive, but... losing its potency.

  A familiar emotion speared her, and then was smothered by a tempest of rage that she hid behind a throaty laugh. It wasn't hurt. No one hurt the Devil.

  She rubbed her body against his, drawing her long, sharp nail down the stubbled angle of his cheek, she seethed at the way his pale eyes lingered on the path that had carried that de Moray bitch away.

  Those Druid descendants were more powerful than she thought.

  "Do you remember the plague of Cyprian?" she purred in his ear, and delighted in the instant rigidity of his muscles. She knew that of all his memories of her, Cyprian was the one he most hated. That he most feared.

  Julian's pale eyes darkened to the color of ripe blueberries as they gazed into the past. "I remember being entranced and charmed by the ingenuity of the Romans. I remember walking among them, watching them learn how to use medicines, and clean water, and discover galaxies, and create a civilization the likes of which the world had not yet seen."

  "Yes," Lucy hissed, rubbing her hand down his throat and across the broad expanse of his bare chest.

  The warmth of another's hand still lingered there. God how she wanted to fuck him.

  How she wanted to hurt him.

  "I remember how you trapped me there with your dark magic. How you used the Chymerian chains to bind me for twenty-five years."

  "That's nothing in the life of an immortal." Lucy waved his pain away.

  "That's a veritable eternity in a room with you." His voice dripped with sarcasm. "I remember that at the zenith of the plague, five thousand terrified souls died every day. How St. Cyprian was the only man who stood between smallpox and the world... and because of us both, he failed." Now his voice was hard and his cock soft. "I remember that I never hated anyone worse than I hated you then."

  "You've hated me ever since."

  He nodded, a quick movement of his sharp chin. "You would come to me whilst I was chained, rub against me, much as you're doing now, and offer to release me, to stop the carnage, if I would only submit to you. Lie with you."

  "I asked you why you eternally denied me there in that pit." Lucifer bit his earlobe. "Right before I handed you that baby, I asked you why. And do you remember what you said to me while that infant died in your arms?"

  With strong and sinuous movements, Julian disentangled himself from her grasp. "How could I forget?" he asked in a droll monotone. Though she didn't know why he bothered to. He knew she could feel his anger mounting. That when his heart had darkened and his blood seethed, she fed off those powerful emotions. As still and obsequious as Julian pretended to be, she alone knew the extent of his fury. She, alone, felt his pain.

  This is what she wanted him to feel. This is how she would defeat the draw of the only woman who would ever get in he
r way. If Aerin de Moray was strong enough to survive his touch, she was strong enough to break Lucy's curse. If one of the de Moray witches could do that, then the four of them together might just have what it took to defeat her.

  She either had to destroy them... or recruit them.

  And destruction was always the more attractive option, wasn't it?

  She crept closer to him, pleased to see the hesitation in his eyes and the circle of decay in the ground beneath his feet. "You told me that if you gave in to me, then a fate more horrible than five thousand daily casualties would befall humanity."

  "So I did."

  "And why was that, exactly?" she prodded.

  "Darkness," Julian murmured, turning from her as though he couldn't bear the sight of her. "You know that my powers are such that they not only infect others, but others likewise bind to me on a molecular level. Were I to kiss you, were I to take any part of you inside of me, or put any part of me inside of you, your darkness, your cruelty, your evil would infect me. I would never be rid of it, or you. And to be eternally rid of you is the thing that I desire most in this world."

  Lucifer let the acid in his words slide off her skin as she went in for the kill. "Darkness," she repeated. "Do you know how I'm going to win this, Julian? Do you know just who is my secret weapon? Do you know who will have to delve into the darkness that is a part of her soul, that is a singular component to her element? Do you realize, Julian, that which you abhor, and that which you desire are one and the same?"

  Letting her fingers wave in the air, she stirred a wind to ruffle the uncommon locks of Julian's black and silver hair. "Darkness, Julian. Darkness and the Devil have always walked hand in hand, and guess which element I've always commanded? Guess which of the de Morays has my same penchant for darkness?"

  Julian whirled back to look at her, a stricken expression shadowing his masculine features. "No," he denied. "Don't say it."

  She didn't have to, but she couldn't help herself. "Aerin de Moray.”

  Chapter Ten

  Aerin mowed down three zombies with her car, well, Tierra's car, before zipping into the Maison de Moray's drive. She’d left a peaceful Victorian mansion for a clandestine meeting with a forbidden would-be lover, and come home to the zombie-fucking-Apocalypse.

  From a distance, they looked like neighbors filtering into a party, but from close up the undead were storming the gates.

  She sprang from the car and made a running dive for the wrought-iron gate Claire slammed behind her as the horde reached it and poked their arms through in a parody of the TV walkers.

  "Thank God, you're okay!" Aerin flung her arms around Claire.

  "Why wouldn't I be?" she asked. "You know, except for the horde of zombies at our front door!”

  "Where have you been?" Tierra demanded from the lawn where she brandished a shovel and rake like weapons, balefully eyeing the undead attempting to climb the six-foot iron fence.

  "The corner of business and none of yours," Aerin answered. "Where's Tommy?"

  "Tommy?" Claire echoed. "He's the least of our problems." She turned to the crowd shaking the gate. "Get bent, you creepy fuckers!" She grabbed Aerin's hand and walked toward the garden where Tierra stood. "What do you think they want?"

  "Look what I found!" Moira emerged from the shed, their trusty ax in one hand and a chainsaw in the other.

  "Dibs!" Claire and Aerin both spoke at once.

  "Guess again." Moira jogged up to them in her usual bare feet and cutoffs, weighed down with her lethal loot. "Chainsaw's mine, bitches. Stonewall Jackson and me are fixin’ to relieve some zombies of their chitlins." She tossed the ax the very short distance between them and Aerin caught it and wielded it like a bat. "You ready to get your hands dirty, fancy pants?"

  "I am now," Aerin said with a dark smile, wrapping her fingers tightly around the handy padded grip of the ax.

  "Hey, where's my weapon?" Claire scowled.

  "I got you a rake." Tierra handed the garden tool to her.

  Clare dubiously inspected it with her nose wrinkled. "Gee, thanks."

  "Let's not try not to use magic,” Tierra said. "The last thing we want is to open another seal seeing as how this is the fallout from the last one." She looked around at the lovely gardens, anxiety wrinkling her delicate brow. "And keep them away from the garden, especially my peonies."

  "Fuck your peonies, I'm keeping them from eating my face, “Claire said.

  "Yeah," Aerin agreed. Then stopped to think. "But also, lets try to avoid breaking the new windows."

  "Says the woman who blew them all out in the first place," Tierra muttered.

  "Shut up."

  Moira stepped to Tierra. "Do ya'll think Tierra should be out here fighting, what with the baby and all?"

  Tierra scowled and lifted her shovel. "Don't you dare try to make me sit in the house while you fight zombies."

  The gate rattled as one of the denizens of the grave flung a leg over the spiked top, ignoring the fact that he impaled his taint as he began to scramble down the other side. A few of the ghoulish faces appeared almost alive, as though they hadn't been in the grave very long. Others barely had skin covering sunken skeletons, and ranged between several different stages of decomposition.

  For zombies, they were all impeccably dressed. Nice suits, military dress uniforms, and colorful frocks that loved ones had buried them in.

  "At least they ain't naked zombies," Moira observed.

  "Yeah, because that would be the weird part." Claire rolled her eyes.

  Cat calls and dirty words were flung through the iron bars as the growing crowd frenzied with panic because one of them had finally gotten through.

  The one staggering at them now.

  Aerin knew she was running out of time. She had to tell her sisters the information she'd gleaned from Julian. "These zombies are not just after eating our brains or whatever, they're after our souls. Our powers. They need to die...like, again." With that, she rushed the interloper, knowing that hacking his head off wouldn't stop him, but it would slow him down long enough for them to make a plan.

  "What do you mean, they're after our powers?" Tierra chased after her, brandishing her shovel. "How do you know that?"

  Aerin ignored her question, lifting her ax and holding it behind her like a batter waiting for a pitch.

  The zombie, a man in his mid-fifties with an accountant hair cut, gave her a bone chilling smile, even when she swung her ax. He moved at the last moment, and the blade missed his neck, but embedded in his shoulder, nearly hacking his arm off.

  "I don't need all my limbs to kill you, girl," he said, reaching for the sleeve of her blouse. "I've killed plenty of women. You should see who's buried in my basement."

  "Pastor Bill?" The note of horror in Tierra's voice was almost drowned out by the rip of a chord and the roar of a small but powerful engine. "How?"

  "Always had my eye on you, little Tierra de Moray." Disgusting excitement flashed in his dead, dead eyes. "Always wanted to take you to the basement, I was waiting for you to ripen to the correct age, but I died before you hit puberty."

  "Die again, you chicken-fucker!” With a war cry that would have impressed a kamikaze, Moira leapt past them all, sinking her chainsaw into Pastor Bill's head. Chunks of flesh and carnage flew everywhere like a blender turned on high with its lid left off.

  Pieces of Pastor Bill hit Aerin’s suit pants, and she fought the sour bile crawling up her throat.

  Moira didn't stop until the man had been cut clean in half down the middle, his two parts melting to the ground.

  "Well, if that doesn't stop them, then nothing will," Aerin said.

  "Damn right." Moira revved the chainsaw engine. "I liked that more'n I should have."

  Tierra made a strangled noise, and they whipped around.

  "You going to be sick?" Claire asked. "Do you need to sit down?"

  "No," Tierra looked at the pieces of zombie that was tossed at her feet. "Maybe. But I just can't believe this.
Pastor Bill? He was always so nice to Aunt Justine and me. I can't believe he's a... that he did... that he's such a..."

  "Such a fuck," Aerin spat on the corpse—one of the halves anyhow—the limbs of which were still twitching. "They all are." Sweeping her free hand to encompass the undead pressed against the locked fence, a few managing to climb half-way up the gate, she addressed her sisters. "The souls of all these corpses are in hell. They're the damned, only reanimated, and they're after us because if they consume the organs that contain our powers, they'll be granted them. And if they consume the rest of us, they'll take our souls."

  "Ew," Claire grimaced, then paled. "That's why you were asking for Tommy?"

  "Yes, he's one of them, Claire."

  "Well, yeah, he's a zomb...he used to be dead, but he didn't go to hell. Tommy was a good man. It's my fault he's dead."

  "How do you know all this anyhow?" Moira asked Aerin, the chainsaw idling in her firm grip.

  Three identical, suspicious russet eyebrows lifted in her direction.

  "We have zombies to kill," Aerin said, and turned to the gate, brandishing her ax.

  "Aerin," Tierra's voice held a note of dangerous warning, one she'd never heard before. "How do you know?"

  "Okay, I asked Julian!" Aerin flung her arms out, forgetting for a moment that she was gesturing with a very sharp ax. "What?" she asked in defense against their stricken looks. "He's all immortal and smart and shit. I figured he could help us out."

  "Goddess damn it, Aerin, keep it in your pants around the ones who are trying to annihilate us, would you?" Tierra wagged her shovel in Aerin's direction. "And I know I'm knocked up by Death, don't think I don't realize, but things are different now. I haven't seen him since... mostly."

  "Point is," Moira cut in. "We can't trust a thing those Horsemen say."

  "Julian wasn't lying," Aerin defended. "I would have known. I can feel when someone's lying, remember? He said that the blood of the martyrs is the fifth seal, and those who reap their vengeance and belong to their heavens will return there immediately. Those who are in hell are somehow being kept here. These zombies are damned...literally."