Wicked Pleasures

by Rhonda Lee Carver

  “If you two are done spitting sugar out your pie holes, maybe you can tell me why you’ve disturbed my beauty sleep.”

  Roark’s snort snapped the cool air. Bronte clasped his hand tighter. Pissing off Azelda wouldn’t make this any easier. “We’re sorry we disturbed you, Azelda. We’ve come to speak to you about something important.”

  Azelda’s face was partially hidden underneath the hood. Her toothless grin was visible. “You came to chit chat over tea and crumpets girly?”

  “I’ve come to ask questions about the spell,” Bronte said.

  The witch brought her wrinkled hand up and scratched her chin with a black fingernail. “I’ve told you everything. Go home,” Azelda stated tersely. She started wobbling toward the house when Bronte caught up to her.

  “We need your help,” Bronte urged.

  Azelda stopped and glanced at Roark. “Only one of you is in need of help.” She continued toward the porch. Bronte knew she had to stay focused.

  “I’m not leaving until we talk.” Bronte was adamant.

  “Bronte—” Roark stepped forward and Azelda lifted her hand to keep him still. “The girl wants to speak. Well then, who am I to deny a princess her request?”

  “Thank you,” Bronte said.

  “Time is precious. Follow me.” Azelda pointed at Bronte who gladly followed. At the threshold of the door, Azelda turned to Roark and stated through pursed lips, “Only her.”

  Roark’s expression hardened. “That won’t happen.”

  Bronte stepped next to Roark. “It’s okay. I’ll be fine.” She knew if Roark didn’t agree, Azelda wouldn’t talk to her.

  “You can’t do this, Bronte,” he insisted.

  She nodded. “I can. Stay here.” She kissed his cheek and gave him one last assured gaze before stepping into the lair. The décor hadn’t changed and the stink was atrocious. The house was lit with only a burning candle. Fear made Bronte tense, but she moved on with courage she never knew she had.

  As they entered the room where the cauldron boiled, Bronte couldn’t resist asking, “What is that?” She stared down into the murky liquid.

  “Don’t get too close, girly. I just tossed the alligator in an hour before you arrived. He’s not too fond of becoming stew.”

  Bronte jumped back and brought her hand to her chest. “Oh my.”

  “They make the best soup. I’d offer you some but it may kill you,” Azelda said as she swayed toward the back of the room to her potions. There were some things Bronte didn’t need to know. This was one of them she was sure. She moved past the pot and stood at the table.

  Azelda was busy at her potion station and Bronte didn’t want to disturb her. She waited patiently. Finally, Azelda brought her head up. “What do you want? Have you come for a tonic for the baby?” she asked.

  Bronte swallowed the graininess in her throat. “Baby?”

  “You mindless women say you know your body, yet you don’t know when it’s been implanted with seed. You spend too much time demanding equal rights and privileges yet lose the insight of a woman’s true rights.” Azelda shook her head, sending tendrils of oily hair around her shoulders.

  Reflexively, Bronte’s hand went to her stomach. “Are you certain?”

  “You don’t know?” Azelda asked. “Of course not. Yes, you carry the wolf’s child. Congratulations on the fur ball.

  “Will he be healthy?”

  Azelda sniffed. “I see many years before this child. She will lead her clan well.”

  “She?” Bronte’s stomach twirled.

  “Is there something wrong with girls?”

  “No.” Bronte was overcome with emotion.

  “So if that’s not what has brought you here then what can it be? A potion for dark circles?” Azelda started for the bottom shelf, perusing its contents. “Let me see here. I have just the thing. It has rat turds and frog semen—”

  “You know why I’m here,” Bronte stated sharply. “And nothing to do with my looks, thank you very much!”

  “Oh, that’s right—the curse that your stupid ancestor brought down on everyone.” Azelda took a seat. “I warned her, when one condemns her lover boy and his pack of dogs, nothing good would result.”

  “We all make mistakes. Jillian made one. Help me correct it,” Bronte said.

  “Impossible,” Azelda hooted.

  “You’re lying.” Bronte didn’t care at this point if she offended the witch. “You know a solution. I need to know what can be done.”

  Azelda’s haunting gaze settled on Bronte. “Be careful what you ask for, girly. You keep muddling in the mess and you’ll reap the disdain as the pale haired lass had. Yet, I see her blood pours through your veins.”

  Ignoring the witch’s reference to Jillian’s blood, she continued. “So you’re fine with allowing innocent people to die?” Bronte asked.

  “Of course not.” She sniffed as if she were hurt. “I’m not a killer. You’re pregnant; therefore the curse will lift.”

  “I’m talking about what you saw in Roark’s blood. You saw his demise. Help me, Azelda. You must be as tired of this spell as we all are.”

  “What are you wanting?”

  “Who are Roark’s enemies so that we can stop this. They are who destroy him, right?”

  Azelda’s gaze narrowed. “You seek justice because you believe you can live with the wolf and the half-breed child as a happy, loving family. Your dreams deceive you, child. It’s not possible. You have human blood running through your veins. A hunter of the night doesn’t belong with humans. Even if your Roark is half human.”

  “Then why is it that you told him we shall come together and a child shall be born between us?”

  Azelda hesitated. She seemed perplexed. “Your looks are similar with Jillian, but there are many differences. She easily sentenced the man she loved, yet vengeance isn’t in your blood. The greatest loss I hear a parent suffers through is the loss of a child. The child will be born and you will have paid the biggest price for the wrongdoing of the past.” Her words were whispered.

  Bronte grappled with the truth. “Is that what this is about? That I must make right what had happened years ago?”

  “Each of us has a price we must pay.”

  Tears threatened to fall but Bronte refused to let the woman see her cry. “I won’t allow this to happen. I won’t leave my child.”

  Azelda broke into laughter, vibrating the walls. “You believe you are stronger than magic, child?”

  “Love will always overcome evil.” Bronte jumped up, the seat went flying back and hit the wall in a loud bang. “I didn’t choose the spell, but now I shall keep it from destroying another person.”

  “You have spunk. You’ll need it.” Azelda rose too. She scooted to the pot and with the long wooden spoon, she stirred the bubbly liquid. “Humans don’t understand that fate holds a higher hand than magic. We don’t control life or death. We can only control the path that takes one to the end. All I could offer Jillian was a release from her pain.” She stared into the pot, as if she could see directly into the past. “Just like when your mother died. You thought there was something you could have done, but there was nothing anyone could do.”

  Bronte thought back to her mother lying in bed. Her thin, frail body only an image of the beautiful woman she’d once been. Bronte had grown scared to even approach the bed in fear of seeing her mother in pain.

  “Your sadness and anger settled into your bones like an iron of torment. Upon her death, you became enraged. That gives you an understanding of what the pale haired lass was feeling when her father met his death.”

  Bronte picked up the chair and sat back down before her legs gave out. “I wouldn’t turn against Roark. Not for any reason.”

  “Easier said than done. Because Jillian’s father feared he’d lose Jillian as he had his wife, insanity got the best of him. He couldn’t even manage his affairs. His once thriving business suffered. He’d made foolish decisions and he was heading for doom. He
made a pact with a young gentleman who was fancy on manipulation.”

  “A pact?” Bronte asked.

  “The devil wears many shades of color, child. And so does the wolf. He doesn’t always wear big teeth and fur as you certainly know.” Azelda stopped stirring, but she still stared into the cauldron.

  “I need to know everything Azelda,” Bronte urged.

  The aged woman went back to her chair and sat down. “The young gentleman warned Jillian’s father that she was being led down a wrongful path. The man promised her father that if he could have her hand in marriage, he’d keep her safe from harm’s way and the father’s financial woes would simply vanish. In dire straits, the father agreed.”

  Bronte’s mind spun with the details. “With what man?”

  Azelda didn’t seem to hear. “Her father realized he’d made a huge mistake. He recanted the pact, yet he was fearful of his daughter’s relationship with the unsavory pack of wolves. He followed her that night. Little did he know that the manipulator held great anger toward the father for renouncing the engagement.”

  Realization struck Bronte like a lightning bolt of knowledge. “The manipulator was a wolf too. He attacked Jillian’s father then pushed him off of the cliff, right?”

  “The others, they did not know that one of their own held such an evil spirit,” Azelda whispered.

  Bronte scooted to the edge of her seat. “The manipulator you speak of, he was part of the wolf family. That means the spell was placed on him as well.”

  Azelda nodded. “You are powerless in this matter, girly.”

  Bronte tried putting the pieces together. “But you can help me right a wrong.”

  Azelda giggled behind her hand. “People think I find fortune in another’s misdeeds. The pale haired beauty wanted revenge, but love clung to her heart. I gave her what she truly wanted—a second chance. If her heart was strong enough she’d come again, to love a man who’d held her in his heart for many years. A child brought into this life with the blood of Roark and the blood of Jillian’s descendant would be the key to peace. Yet, there is no peace for a heart that holds great anger.”

  “Are you talking about Roark’s anger?”

  “Look inside your heart, girly. The answer is there.” Azelda clasped her hands in her lap.

  “Why are you being so vague, Azelda? You’re talking in riddles.” Bronte’s frustration grew.

  Azelda squinted. “When the time comes all truth will be revealed.”

  “The wolf that killed Jillian’s father, is he still a threat?” Bronte asked. Her time with the witch was coming to an end and she still had so many questions.

  “His hatred is great for Roark. To this day it runs like the fire of a volcano flowing through his veins. He wishes for Roark’s success to crumble. And he has followers who will do his evil bidding”

  “Why is there such great hatred?” Bronte asked.

  “Some men are dangerously malicious and jealousy sparks them into insanity. Roark is the prince of the pack, the true leader of all time. By sentencing Roark to unyielding pain and suffering, he will be brought to his knees. Roark will walk away and forever be destined to unhappiness, right up until his death.”

  “Roark’s safety is in jeopardy and his death looms. And so are mine and our child’s.” Bronte’s fear made her stomach turn.

  “Wolves and humans still have no place as one. Roark understands this. He will send you away. He carries the scars of the past.”

  “What do I do, Azelda? How can I protect Roark and our unborn child? Because if they don’t want Roark as their leader, they would feel the same about his child.”

  Azelda blew out a long, ragged breath through thin lips. “Only you have the strength, girly. Roark wields great command, but you child, you can destroy evil. This is your destiny. Roark has only one goal now and it is to keep you and the unborn safe. The baby you carry has made you resilient, more than you understand. Your child is safe until she is born.”

  “If I destroy the evil, then my child’s life will be safe, right?”

  “But you won’t destroy evil. It’s strong and is on the prowl.” Azelda’s voice was dangerously low. “I was in love once myself. I thought I could change what people thought, but it’s impossible. He was killed by a jealous and wicked man. And this is what anger and resentment gets us.” She swept her hand through the air.

  “Then you understand love, Azelda.”

  “All too well.” She seemed to drift into thought.

  “Hear me well, Azelda, I will save Roark and my baby. All I need is for you to give me a name.”

  Azelda cackled. “Are you a brave girl?”

  Bronte looked her directly in the eye. “Try me.”

  “You’ll need this.” Azelda got up and took a glass bottle from the top shelf. “Drink it and you’ll have all of your answers.”

  Bronte took the bottle but didn’t make a move. “Why would I drink this?”

  “Do you want your answers?”

  “I can’t trust you. And if you plan to harm this baby—”

  “Scrabblenuts! Do I need to pinky promise that I’m not going to hurt you?”

  “Is this a concoction of rat turds?”

  “No, only tree bark and a few secret ingredients, which none are from a rat,” Azelda said.

  In the scheme of things, Bronte had no choice but to trust Azelda. Uncapping the container, Bronte downed the liquid. It burnt all of the way into the pit of her stomach. “Let’s get this started,” Bronte said.

  She got up and left Azelda, Bronte’s thoughts flying through her mind. Roark must have sensed her confusion because he’d asked a hundred times on their way home if she was okay.

  They walked through the front door and she turned to Roark, “I need some time alone to gather my thoughts.” He agreed. She climbed the stairs alone and went to her bedroom.

  Bronte climbed into bed. She couldn’t understand why she was exhausted and her mind swirled around Azelda’s words. She’d told her that the answers were all inside her heart. Bronte thought that was ludicrous considering not one thing made sense, but instead became more baffling.

  Damn potion! It didn’t do anything to help her memory. The witch had lied.

  Her heart sank. She was no closer to the truth and Roark was in danger. Their unborn child was in jeopardy. She couldn’t sit back and allow a one hundred year old curse to take away the man she loved.

  She loved him!

  Her brain became fuzzy.

  Closing her eyes, she drifted to sleep.

  Chapter 13

  ROARK WALKED INSIDE his den and wasn’t surprised to see Shelby sitting at the desk, his feet propped on the corner. “Comfortable?”

  Shelby dropped his feet to the floor and stood up. “It seems I’ve run into a slight problem, Roark.” Shelby rounded the corner.

  “Yeah? Is that right?”

  “I think you know what I’m referring too.”

  “Enlighten me,” Roark said as the hair on the back of his neck lifted.

  “The blood in the vial wasn’t the woman’s. It was yours,” Shelby said.

  “You wanted to run her blood to see if she is pregnant.”

  Shelby laughed and Roark wanted to tear him to shreds. “I guess the cat’s out of the bag, but honestly, I didn’t check it. The witch did.”

  “The traitor has been found out. I guess I found out what I needed to know. The blood of Jillian and her father stains your hands and I shall see that you pay for the crime,” Roark took a step forward.

  “Not so fast, friend. Aren’t you curious if your beloved is pregnant?” Shelby asked.

  “It no longer matters. My concern is you.” Roark clenched his hands into fists, ready to attack.

  “I’m not the one who killed Jillian, or her father,” Shelby said.

  Roark looked into Shelby’s eyes and saw truth. “Then who?” His throat hurt as he spoke.

  Thwack!

  Roark fell to his knees in pain. Someone ha
d hit him from behind. Then another shot came to his back, splintering through his body and he dropped to his stomach. He couldn’t die! Bronte needed him!

  “I did. I killed them.”

  Roark heard the voice but didn’t recognize the man. He tried lifting his head but a boot to the middle of his back made him cringe in agony.

  “Your time as leader has come to an end, Roark,” Shelby said.

  ****

  Bronte stirred. A strong feeling came over her like she was being watched. She stretched and fluttered her eyes open, expecting to see Roark standing above her. It was the burly man who’d kidnapped her from her office.

  She jumped up from the bed. “What are you doing in here? Get out!”

  “I’m Shelby. Do you remember me?” the man asked.

  “You came into the building where I work and you kidnapped me.” She couldn’t control the bitterness in her voice. Disgust filled her as she looked at him. This was Roark’s friend, but she knew him as the one who grabbed her, and knocked her out. She didn’t trust him. Her instinct warned her that he meant her harm.

  “Don’t be afraid. I’m not here to hurt you,” he said in a calm tone.

  Taking a step back, she cringed. He seemed sincere enough, but she wasn’t falling for the sweet smile and twinkle in his eye. To her he was the devil in disguise. She went to the door and peeked down the hall. Shelby was alone and that was odd. “Why are you here? Where is Roark?”

  He stuffed his hands into his front pockets and sighed. “Roark sent me alone. He wants me to take you home,” he said.

  “Is this a joke? He’d never send me away like this.”

  “That’s his request,” Shelby said.

  Bronte stayed by the door. “Tell Roark I want to speak to him,” she demanded.

  Shelby hesitated before saying, “He doesn’t want to see you. He made that clear.”

  Swallowing the tightness in her throat, she blinked back tears. Why would he send her away? “I—I can’t leave—,” she said.