Passion of a Witch

by K. D. Friedrich

“What in the hell are those things?” He stood on the couch, pointing a shaking finger at the two raccoons.

  Summer crossed her arms over her chest. Two fury beasts brought down the big, bad human. “Those are my sister's loyal pets.”

  “Loyal pets? They're overgrown rats.” Snow growled at his comment. Kian backed against the wall behind the couch. “Are they rabid?”

  “They're harmless, unless you threaten my sister. Then I'm afraid they become feral.”

  They both jumped on the couch beside Kian, sniffing his feet. Snow tipped her head and glanced at Summer as if to say, “This human is different.” She had to agree.

  “Come on; get out of the way, you little beasts. I have to tend to his wound.” She shoved them off the cushion. With the threat detained, Kian sat. Grunts and groans filled the room. Once seated, he took a deep, pained breath. Her knuckles brushed his thigh, and he shivered.

  Both raccoons stopped in front of Winter and sat, taking their positions as her pint-sized guardians. A sudden crash made them all jump. They relaxed when they discovered it was one of the shards from the broken window that had come loose and crashed onto the table.

  Summer shook her head and sighed. A sudden buzzing noise pulled her attention away from the mess to Kian's lap and her hand resting inches from his manhood. When had I grabbed him?

  His bulge grew before her eyes. She yanked back her hand. With heated cheeks, she lifted her gaze to find Kian staring at her, grinning ear to ear. “Find anything interesting? Because, baby, I'm fascinated.”

  “Not particularly.” She narrowed her eyes. “And, please refrain from coming me baby. I've been out of diapers for some time.” Not to mention, the endearment on his lips did things to her it shouldn't.

  He chuckled, reached into his front pocket, and pulled out his phone. He rolled his eyes when he looked at the display and ignored the continued beeping.

  “What is that?” Winter stared at the contraption in his hand.

  Kian's eyes opened wide. “Are you serious? Umm… it's a cell phone. You've never seen a cell phone?”

  Summer answered. “We have, just not often. Our parents refuse to use them.”

  “What? Why?”

  Summer shrugged. They didn't need them. Witches could use spells to send messages, although many supernaturals chose to indulge in human contraptions. Most modern electronics were unnecessary to a skilled witch. They had a few appliances, an old radio, a rusty van, and a personal computer for her parents’ use, but not much else in the way of contemporary human devices. She figured coven members used them to fit into current society or appease their curiosity, not out of necessity.

  Winter responded before Summer had a chance. “They believe too much technology hinders the energy of the surrounding natural elements.”

  “Winter,” Summer snapped.

  Her sister pulled her bottom lip between her teeth. Her innocence often made her impetuous.

  “Yeah… okay… wow, sucks for you. I wouldn't survive a day without my phone or laptop.”

  “Why did you bring him here, Summer?” Winter asked with a sulk. “Mom and Pop will be so mad.”

  “I'll explain my reasons later. Right now, we need to tend to his leg.”

  “Where are your parents?” He glanced around as if waiting for them to jump out of the shadows wielding wands.

  She massaged his ankle. “They are away on… business. Family business.”

  Winter continued to eye his phone.

  “Hey, you want to see it?” In seconds, she snatched the gadget out of his hand and ran to the nearest corner with her small treasure, fiddling with the buttons. He chuckled. “She reminds me of Gollum.” Summer titled her head and pursed her lips. What in the world is a Gollum? “You know… the little weird guy from The Lord of the Rings movie… He always says, 'My precious.'“ He lowered his voice and drawled out the last word. She frowned, and he rolled his eyes. “Forget it.”

  Summer grimaced. “Let's keep the chatting to a minimum.”

  “Fine by me.”

  She manipulated the swollen ankle underneath her palm. A moment later, she heard him moan. Her attention shot to his face. Kian's massive frame leaned back against the couch, his eyelids shut tight as if pained. Yet she sensed no discomfort. His full lips parted and beads of sweat formed on his brow.

  Did he have more injuries? She studied him. Her narrowed gaze traveled over his thick chest, taut abdominal muscles, and skidded to a halt on the large bulge between his thighs. Goddess be, the man's erection filled out the front of his jeans.

  She ripped her gaze off the erotic sight, a challenge considering she had never seen a man with such impressive assets. Her attention locked to her task. The quicker she finished, the sooner she'd be rid of the bitter temptation.

  Warmth emanated outward from her core energy. She forced her gift into his body, past his flesh and muscle to inspect the damaged bone. She found a slight fracture. Nothing serious. Her thorough inspection prompted another deep groan to cross his lips. Each second of their connection grew more intimate. Healers often stimulated sensations when they released their powers, but this was ridiculous. He didn't appear content. Kian appeared aroused.

  While ignoring his pleasured moans proved difficult, she continued to focus on her task. She needed to get this done. She searched deeper within and wrapped his injury with her energy, mending the fracture in seconds. He'd suffer no lingering effects.

  She found him eyeing her with emotions hovering between fear, curiosity, and lust. “What did you do?” His words came out hoarse.

  “I examined the damage. You have minimal swelling, a mere sprain. I'll apply medicine and then wrap it for you. You'll feel fine in—”

  “No.” He shook his head. “The damn bone had to have damage… When you touched me, my skin got hot and—”

  “Nonsense, I massaged the area on a few select pressure points, nothing more.” She didn't dare maintain eye contact. One glance and her lie would bleed out through her gaze. She never developed the ability to lie.

  She grabbed a jar of healing ointment from her bag, spread the ancient salve on his ankle, and wrapped it with cheese cloth. One final inspection and she stood.

  “Now if you'd excuse me, you can let yourself out. We have a lot to clean before the night is through. Good evening, Mr. Lancaster.”

  He must come back. He must learn.

  There was the pesky voice again. The Goddess had never been so chatty.

  Come back? Are you serious? He is a terrorist. He desecrated our home. Damaged our property. He belongs in his human jail.

  She refused to invite him into her home again. He didn't deserve her friendship or hospitality.

  The Goddess's request became a severe demand, making the hairs stand on the back of Summer's neck. He will come back.

  Kian stood. With hesitation, he tested his ankle, putting his weight on it. “Wow, you are a miracle worker. Okay, well, thanks for helping me out with my sprain. Can I get my phone, pretty girl?” He held his hand out to Winter. She ran over and handed Kian the device.

  You will invite him back. Do so now, Summer.

  She groaned. “You will come back tomorrow.”

  He laughed. “Um… no, I won't.”

  “In fact, for the next week, you'll be cleaning the mess you created. Fix the windows, paint over the filth, and repair any other damage, or I'll report you to the authorities. I can't have the house looking like this when my parents come back.”

  “Sorry, but I have the resources to get me out of whatever trouble you can cause.”

  Her grin widened. “Do you know Colin MacGlenn?” He paled. “Well, he’s my uncle.”

  Kian swallowed hard. “Fuck me.”

  “Excuse me?”

  He ignored her. “Your uncle is Colin MacGlenn?”

  “One call and you'll be swallowing through a straw for months. Your father could be the king of England and it wouldn't matter to Colin.”

  She wasn't lying. He
r uncle by heart, not blood, ran the police department in these parts. Most counties had a supernatural being in law enforcement. It helped hide their existence from humans, and lucky for her, a shifter with a bad reputation, who happened to be her father's best friend, guarded her community.

  “Guess you got me by the balls.” He stared at her with a narrowed brow. “What time do you want me?”

  With her shoulders back and her spine straight, she smiled. “Nine sounds good for me.

  Chapter 3

  Kian limped into the still house and closed the door behind him. The click echoed throughout the empty room. His ankle ached, but to his surprise, the pain settled into a tolerable annoyance, nothing more.

  He tossed his keys in a bowl resting on a side table beside his mother's favorite Tiffany lamp. He hated that damn lamp. Thick, chunky panels of random color were stuck together with little order. He wanted to fling the monstrosity in the closest garbage can years ago, but he didn't dare touch it. One scratch would break her heart, and he'd never dare hurt her in any way.

  He headed toward the hall. Each heavy step provoked his temples to throb. He squinted the second the light sensor detected his movement, bathing the glossy tiles in bright, white radiance.

  Jesus, his head hurt. Did he hit his skull when he fell?

  No, moron. You drank cheap whisky and smoked dirt weed Eddie grew out of a damn flowerpot in his room.

  He hadn't smoked a joint in years, and as he rubbed his throbbing temples, he remembered why.

  He seldom caved to peer-pressure. His stubborn nature gave orders, it didn't take them, but with an unwelcomed future looming in the distance, he needed the quick artificial joy the recreational drug supplied. Besides, getting drunk in the woods had brought him back to a time long forgotten. A happy time when having fun took priority over responsibility, when a guy's worst worry centered on finding the next party and bagging the next babe. His long walk home helped dissipate the comfortable numbness he worked hard to achieve, leaving behind the empty reality he'd grown used too.

  Kian grabbed the last cigarette tucked in his pocket, brought it to his lips, and lit the tip. He took a long pull before flinging the lighter on top of his keys. He scanned the shadows of the hall as he blew out the contents of his lungs with a long sigh.

  Jesus, he hated coming home to this place now.

  He pulled off his shoes and socks, tossing them over to the corner. Cool air blew against his face as he passed the vent for the central air conditioning. The marble tile chilled his bare feet. He moved further into the room, back toward the dark kitchen. Since his mom left for the hospital, the house had all the charm and warmth of a tomb.

  He grew up here, loving the old-world charm and modern convenience, from the hardwood floors to the spiral staircase to the acres of land surrounding them. Without his mom's love of life filling the square footage, the home was a waste of space.

  Her hard work and dedication made this building a home. The sound of her voice as she sung a sweet tune and the way she skipped through the garden pruning those damn rose bushes, along with the bliss in her eyes when she sat in the yard stargazing, gave life to these four walls. She was the soul of the manor. Without her, the structure felt lifeless.

  He missed seeing her standing by the kitchen window, basking in golden sunlight every morning.

  Smiles and laughter came easy for his mother. Well, before her damn disease sucked the spark right out of her. She said she'd be okay, but he recognized the doubt hidden behind her faint smiles and kind assurances.

  Weight shed off her in thick layers. Her bones popped out on her back and shoulders, pushing against her pale skin, and a constant chill radiated off her. The signs pointed to an outcome…

  “Don't even fucking think it. She’s gonna be fine,” he scolded himself.

  He said the words even though he didn't believe them. She slipped further away each day, and there wasn't a damn thing he could do to save her.

  With a quick shove, he pushed his grim thoughts back behind his wall of denial. He moved into the kitchen, stopped by the phone, and glared at the blinking light on the answering machine. The flashing little red light made his hands curl into tight fists. Either the care facility called about his mom or his dad was looking for him. He didn't welcome either call.

  Jesus, his head pounded. He needed to take something before he pressed the button on the machine. He grabbed a bottle of ibuprofen on the counter, dropped two gel caps in his palm, and tossed them in his mouth, swallowing them dry.

  The usual calm, laid-back Kian disappeared, shoving in his place a neurotic mess with a volatile temper. Between taking care of his mom, little sleep, and dealing with his estranged father, his well-controlled demeanor shook with the force of an earthquake, each aftershock worse than the last. God help the person in front of him when the big one hit. They might not make it out alive.

  Every time his cell phone went off, he cringed. The second his mother’s favorite song, “Let It Be” by The Beatles, emanated from his pocket, his fists clenched. The last time her doctor called, she had fallen several steps, trying to escape out the back door to the gardens. She suffered a couple bruises, nothing more. Next time, she might not walk away.

  He took a long drag of his cigarette then exhaled. The smoke swirled around the kitchen, disappearing into the shadows. The best doctors in the country cared for his mom, devoted to finding a cause and cure for her deteriorating health. This offered Kian peace of mind, but what good was waging a war when your enemy remained unnamed? How did you battle a silent killer? Each lead so far came to a dead end. Months later, still no answer. Hope became a stranger.

  At least she's getting the best care money can buy.

  Yeah, thanks to his father, a development that surprised the shit out of Kian. His father, real estate tycoon and mean-ass bastard Maxwell Lancaster, offered his financial support. Call him crazy, but his father's sudden spark of charity set off alarm bells.

  Maxwell held no love for his ex-wife, Lorena. During their divorce, he called her a money-grubbing bitch, an accusation so far out from fact, even the divorce court judge laughed.

  So why did he help her now?

  She was weak, an easy target. The man pounced on weakness with lethal enthusiasm. He played with his prey, wearing them down until no fight remained, and then he went for the kill. Kian knew his father wanted something for his generosity. His father didn't give charity out of the kindness of his heart. Maxwell didn't have a heart.

  When the contract arrived by registered mail a few days earlier, Kian had his answer and confirmation of his father's coldness.

  In exchange for setting up Kian’s mother in the most prestigious residential care center in the country, Kian must sign over his life to the one man he despised.

  By summer's end, he'd become the new VP of operations at Lancaster Properties.

  Jesus, what the hell did Mom see in Maxwell anyway?

  His mother and father were polar opposites. She never cared for the flashiness. His father revered it. He drove around in limos. She preferred a simple compact sedan. Maxwell flaunted his power and wealth at every turn. Lorena preferred modesty to superiority. Why she married him remained a mystery.

  Kian… well, he hovered somewhere in the middle between humility and supremacy. Kian was a person you could count on, but he became one mean son of a bitch when crossed.

  He seldom saw his father during his childhood. Shit, the man could have passed him on the street and Kian wouldn't have recognized him. He hadn’t seen his dad for more than a few minutes since grade school. Their interaction had been nothing more than the monthly checks his mother received. Then his mom got sick, and to Kian's shock, Maxwell Lancaster wanted to play the devoted father.

  With the bills piling up and his mother getting worse, Kian ran out of choices. He wasn't broke, but he wasn't rich either, and full-time care for his mother ran in the tens of thousands each month.

  He built a few custom motorcycles o
ver the last two years. Word got around, and now his hobby earned him enough money to pay for itself.

  He had planned to open a garage, but his dreams cost money and time. Money that he didn't have, and time he couldn't spare.

  Without his father's help, he wouldn't be able to take care of her the way she deserved. His mom deserved the absolute best, and his resources just weren't enough. So, he signed the devil's contract, assuring his servitude. As long as Maxwell sat his ass on the thrown of Lancaster Properties, he'd sit by his side.

  For his mother, though, he'd do anything, even if it meant selling his soul to the devil of real estate.

  He pressed the button to see which hand fate had dealt him tonight.

  His father's voice shattered the silence. Kian cringed.

  “'I have left you twenty voice mails and you haven’t responded. Do I have to remind you of the legal promise you made or the consequences of breaking such a contract? I have no time for your juvenile antics with those losers you call friends. We have business to discuss. Tomorrow morning, I want you in my office first thing. I'm having the car sent there to retrieve you at dawn. Catch me, son?”

  Click. The message disconnected.

  ““Yeah, I catch you, you prick.”

  He had little respect for the sperm donor who supplied his genetics. The man treated Kian's mother with the emotional depth of dirt. He cheated on her and then left her for a tramp, a poster child for ditzy blonde bombshells. When his little sister, Alana, died, his father didn't make the funeral. He was in Paris on business and couldn't make it back. Although, he blamed my mother for Alana's death when he finally showed up. Fucking bastard.

  His sister's death was no one's fault. Born frail, Alana suffered through doctor visits most of her young life. His mother tried everything to help her, but nothing worked. She died a few days shy of her tenth birthday. Images of her gorgeous, dimpled smile and her infectious laughter haunted him every day.

  Jesus, he missed her.

  Memories of his sister brought an image of the little cutie Winter to his mind. She was older, but she wielded the same spunk as Alana. He despised seeing the fear in Winter's eyes. Kian didn't blame her though. Eddie's taunts rattled the woods. By the time, he realized Eddie's intent, rocks flew, glass shattered, and his friend's cruel words stained the front of the sisters' quiet home. Eddie needed to learn being stoned was no excuse for being an asshole.