The Witch of the Prophecy

by Victoria Jayne

  Rori’s hand went to his belly, and he sighed. His mouth watered as he watched Divina. She had been the most decadent flavor ever to grace his tongue. What wouldn’t he give to lap at her vein once more. Feeding from strangers, or people he didn’t care about, sparked no emotions within him. They were merely food. However, with Divina, the combination of their connection and her witch blood, had been addicting. Even the thought of her blood sent shivers through him.

  His focus on the night, the witches, and Divina faded. He fixated on Divina’s throat. He studied the pulsing blue vein in her neck. He had tapped into that vein many times before. His mouth watered at the thought of sampling her once again.

  “You look a bit peckish,” a familiar feminine voice broke into his thoughts.

  Rori refocused.

  “Are you offering to remedy the situation?” he asked of the redhead.

  He wouldn’t deny the state of his hunger. It was written all over his face. And peckish, well that was an understatement. He turned his attention on the young witch.

  The redhead blushed and shook her head while simultaneously looking away from him.

  “I was merely going to suggest that you have time to feed properly, while we speak with Divina,” she said.

  “And leave her here? With you?” he asked.

  He lifted nodded his chin in the direction of the conversation he could no longer follow due to his hunger.

  The redhead offered him a knowing smile. “There is no safer place for a witch than with her coven,” she said.

  Rori scoffed. “She hasn’t accepted your coven.”

  The redhead laughed. “You and I both know she will. It is her place. It is why we sent you to her; to start her on her right and true path, freeing you, for yours.”

  Rori hesitated. Freeing him? From what? Divina? Why did he need to be freed? The word “free” didn’t seem right.

  The young witch furrowed her brow at him.

  “You are famished,” she said.

  “I’m old,” Rori flicked his gaze toward Divina. This whole thing didn’t feel right.

  “You’re not that old.”

  Rori clenched his jaw. Why was the witch trying to get rid of him? He turned his ire-filled gaze upon her.

  With having so little blood in his system, his emotions tended to be exacerbated by the hunger.

  “I’m old enough that if I wish to oversee my Divina, I will,” he said through clenched teeth.

  The redhead’s face went unreadable. Her jaw twitched while she eyed him.

  “You’re meant for power, not Divina,” the witch reminded him rather coolly.

  Rori clenched his fists in defeat. The Throne. Did the witch believe he’d forgotten about the throne? Did she have to keep bringing it up?

  His gaze slowly rose to Divina at the center of the witch coven. A coven. Her coven? Divina needed a coven. She needed the proper guidance to grow her strength. He could never be the mentor she needed in that, no matter how much he wanted to be. He wasn’t a witch.

  His expression softened, and he lowered his gaze. He couldn’t look at Divina without feeling the hunger intensify. He felt the lure of her blood like a knife to the gut. The hunger for her flesh ached as much as his need for her blood. Both tugged at him so hard it was all he could do to stand in place.

  Rori released his fists. The faint trickle of blood on his palms indicated he had tightened his fists to the point his nails had cut into his flesh. The slight sting brought awareness to it.

  The hand that patted his forearm drew his attention. The redhead gazed at him with sheer empathy.

  “We will keep her safe. You go feed,” she urged him. “It is what is best. When you return, you won’t look at her like a starving man looks upon a perfectly prepared steak.”

  The sparkle in her eye unnerved Rori.

  However, as much as he wanted to, he couldn’t argue. He needed a clear head. In his state, he wouldn’t be able to think rationally. He hadn’t been this hungry in a long time. There was something about Divina, about being around her that took all his energy.

  Rori put it out of his mind. He turned away from the redheaded witch without so much as a word. He stalked his way down the corridors and through the museum. He would get some blood. He would come back. He would continue his mission to become Emperor.

  The pink and purple hued sky signified the end of a long day. The night would be upon them soon. Aric said his goodbyes to his pack mates/employees. Chuck and Ted were trusted to close up the work site.

  Sex with Selene had washed away the previous night’s questions. Aric chalked it up to the Jameson. He made a mental note not consume so much of it next time. He just needed to figure out exactly how much he had consumed.

  As he pulled his pickup out of the yard, his phone vibrated on the seat beside him. He furrowed his brow as he read the message.

  I took the liberty of giving myself your number.

  Selene had entered herself into his phone. Aric wasn’t sure how he felt about that. He responded. Nothing stalker-ish about that at all.

  His wolf responded with unease, pacing within Aric. Something wasn’t sitting right with him regarding this Selene.

  I planned on coming back for seconds. Her quick and flirty text said.

  Well, that got Aric’s attention. His downstairs even twitched a bit. His wolf, on the other hand, wasn’t as intrigued. If Aric didn’t know better, his wolf was against the idea. Aric, though, couldn’t resist the stroke to his ego.

  No whiskey this time. Aric fired back a response despite his wolf’s misgivings. The animal within him rarely was at odds with him regarding meeting such primal needs.

  Does that go for me as well?

  Aric snorted. She was funny. Why was his wolf acting so weird? How often did a funny, sexy, willing woman show up naked in his bed?

  Absolutely not. You can drink mine. He responded in defiance to his wolf.

  The following text was just a location and a time. Aric smiled while shifting in his seat. His human side looked forward to meeting up with Selene again. He wished he knew how to get to the bottom of why his animal side was against it. It wasn’t like the beast could talk.

  Perhaps he would need some whiskey to quiet the animal. The disconnection of his wolf and his human sides regarding getting laid was out of character for his wolf. It ate at Aric. It was usually his wolf that was the driving force behind his pursuits of females.

  As he pulled onto his land, he made it a point to leave a voicemail for a pack elder. They were good for this sort of thing. Bruce had been around a few hundred years or so; he’d seen a thing or two. If anyone knew about a wolf being at odds with his human regarding a female, it would be him. If not, Aric had no idea who else to ask.

  Chapter 13

  Having walked to the block behind the convent, Rori found a strip of bars bustling with tourists. The sound of carnival jazz boomed from the band on stage. The crowd of people, mostly humans, congregated toward the performers. It allowed for a brief reprieve between the stage and the bar.

  The smell of colognes, alcohol, and sweat permeated Rori’s nose. The bar was an ideal place for hunting. It was New Orleans. There wasn’t a place in the world that was more supernatural friendly than New Orleans. For this reason, not all romance novels about witches and vampires set there were works of fiction.

  Rori’s gaze panned the crowd of mostly human patrons, the majority of which looked as though they were on vacation. Tourists tended to dress in bolder fashions, matching their indulgent attitudes. They tended to be freer, more risk-taking, and very accommodating. Tourists could sustain a vampire in any region.

  While Rori’s ideal meal was a holistic vegan who ate organic, he doubted he would find such a tasty morsel in a dimly lit and overcrowded bar. He had resigned himself to sampling several drunken co-eds and the second-hand buzz that would accompany such a late night snack.

  That was until he spotted her.

  Their eyes locked from across
the bar. The tight, azure crop top left little to the imagination. Her long, flowing blond hair perfectly accentuated her heart-shaped face and was held back by a tie-dye scarf. The long, chunky earrings drew Rori’s eyes to her neck.

  His mouth watered at the sight of her; even more so when he saw the telltale sign of healed puncture marks. She was someone’s pet, or had been. Someone had fed from her frequently enough to leave a mark.

  The way she looked at him, gave him the impression she either wasn’t someone’s any more or it wasn’t an exclusive sort of thing. That was okay with Rori. His fangs had already distended, and he had a hell of a time keeping his mouth closed to hide them.

  Rori stalked through the crowd, eyes on his prey. He delighted in the fact that she returned his intensity. The heat between them was static through the air. To his surprise, Rori’s groin seemed to be paying attention as well. Only one other female had elicited such a visceral reaction from him, and now he wasn’t only curious about her taste but also her intentions.

  Was she something more than a potential snack to him? He didn’t recall the prophecy mentioning another woman. Perhaps the prophecy didn’t know all.

  He sidled up to her at the bar. Another gratuitous once-over had him swooning. The curvaceous woman was a treat for the eyes. The two drank in each other’s appearance. Rori did his best to hide his fangs when he licked his lips.

  “You are familiar,” Rori said as he curled a lock of her hair around his finger.

  The sensual smile grew on her painted lips. “You’re thirsty.”

  “I am,” Rori whispered bringing his mouth closer to her ear. “But this,” Rori reached to stroke the puckered flesh. With his thumb poised to graze over the slightly raised bite marks, his remaining fingers collared her neck.

  Rori jolted. He recoiled, stepping back from the female. The sharp shock from their touch was familiar. It was the same one he had felt when he touched Divina. How was that possible?

  Her gaze remained intent upon him.

  “You have permission,” she crooned before stepping away from the bar curling her finger at him. “Come,” she beckoned. “Not here.”

  Confused, Rori hesitated. He glanced down at his hand, expecting to see a burn. Nothing. His fingers were fine. He looked back at her, but she wasn’t there.

  Frantically, Rori scanned the crowds of people. He couldn’t lose her. He had too many questions. It took a moment to spot her again.

  Rori snaked through the crowd following her. Though she kept a few paces ahead of him, she never looked back to ensure he followed. Rather, she kept going until she reached the side exit, then she was out the door.

  Rori found her in the alley. She had her back to the brick wall of the club. If he weren't so intrigued by the sensation, which still had him rubbing his fingers together, he would scoff at the cliché of a vampire intending to feed in an alley in the streets of New Orleans.

  When he approached, he kept his distance from her. He didn’t want another unpleasant experience. Her chin tucked down a bit so she could eye him from beneath her brow.

  “You haven’t lost your thirst have you?” she asked with a pout meant to entice him.

  “What was that?” Rori demanded, sure she knew of what he spoke.

  She chuckled in amusement. “That couldn’t have been your first time.”

  Rori eyed her skeptically. “Who are you?” he asked.

  “Selene,” she said. She lifted her hands, so the palms were up, and gave him an innocent shrug.

  Rori lifted his hand. He extended it, intent on gripping her arm, to jostle her. To show her that she shouldn’t be fucking with him.

  But, he didn’t. In an exasperated cry, he lowered his hands. Unable to bring himself to make contact with her again, for fear of the shock, Rori snarled at himself and her.

  “What was…” He paused, frustrated he couldn’t find the right word. “That?” he repeated.

  She canted her head, smile still there.

  “When two fates cross paths, it can manifest itself in quite a sensation. Especially, if the two paths cross in a manner that is not intended,” she said, as though he should have known that already.

  Rori narrowed his eyes. “You’re a fucking witch.”

  No one else spoke in riddles like that.

  Once again, the innocent shrug. “Guilty as charged,” she snickered playfully.

  His gaze flicked to the marks on her throat. Not uncommon for witches to feed vampires. Their blood was laced with indescribable power. On a vampires tongue, the power was a unique flavor specific to the witch. Rori had fed from a few witches in his time. From the look of those marks, she was well sampled.

  “Drink from me, Roricus,” she urged extending her arm, wrist up.

  Rori’s eyes landed on her offered wrist, his fangs still distended as though they had a will of their own. The blue veins called to him.

  “That.” Rori couldn’t bring himself to label that feeling. It hurt. It burned. It felt as if electricity blazed through him. If she were to be believed, he felt that feeling with her and Divina, because it was wrong. He went against what was intended. What was intended for him and this witch? What was intended for her and his Divina?

  He looked to Selene for answers like she could hear his thoughts.

  She smiled at him, only moving to jut her wrist toward him again.

  “Once the blood flows, it won’t be as bad.”

  Rori salivated at the thought of witch blood. His willpower was at a hundred year low. He took her wrist in his hand and gritted his teeth as jolt went up to his arm. His entire body stiffened.

  It took more strength than he thought he had to lower his head slightly, keeping his eyes on her. He struggled to position his mouth to meet the wide, blue vein on the inside of her forearm.

  Selene whimpered, and her eyes rolled back into her head when his teeth pierced her skin. As he sucked in the spicy flavor that was Selene, the witch, the pulsing electricity raged on. He attempted to block it out while she moaned in the ecstasy of his bite.

  Rori had dealt with quite a few familiars, or exclusive vampire food sources, who seemed to get off on being bitten. Though he had to admit, Selene was his first witch to experience such gratification from his bite. This woman was quite the enigma.

  Between the pain from their touch and her moans, Rori’s stomach rolled. It wasn’t right. Something deep inside him told him it wasn’t right. However, the taste of her blood made fireworks burst before his eyes. He couldn’t stop drinking. Not yet.

  When Rori could no longer handle the intensity of their touch, he broke free of her. He stumbled back panting with his hand going to his heart. The beating, a lazy thrum normally, became a violent rap in his chest.

  What had she done to him? Questions swirled in his mind about the meaning of it and his connection to her. Could there be more to the prophecy that he had not yet been told?

  Eyes wide, he looked at her. Had she just caused his heart to beat? No, that couldn’t be right. Divina brought the rhythm back to his heart. Rori licked his lips to get the last bit of the woman’s blood into his system.

  Selene kept her body flat against the wall. She too breathed heavily as she looked at him. Despite her relative paleness from the feeding, her entire body was flushed, which surprised him, considering how much blood he had taken from her. He had taken enough to make her dizzy but not enough to cause her any serious medical concern.

  “You are remarkable.” Her eyes sparkled as she worked to catch her breath.

  Rori’s heart slowed slightly, and he lifted his chin. He told himself not to worry about the pace of his heart as it slowed. He wrote it off as the excitement of tasting a witch’s blood. Plus, a witch’s blood could sustain a vampire much longer than a pure human, something Rori had learned from Divina.

  Rori swallowed the last of her flavor from his mouth. “How exactly are our fates entwined?”

  She smirked. “I’m the witch of the prophecy.”

 
; “Bullshit,” he scoffed.

  “I brought a dead heart to life,” she said smugly.

  “How charming to think you had such an effect on me, but alas, someone beat you to that,” Rori smirked confidently.

  Her face fell. The amusement she found in him gone. “How self-absorbed to think you are the only one, Roricus Fromm.”

  At the sound of his full name, Rori straightened. Narrowing his eyes, which had the supernatural ability to see deftly in the low light of the moon, he fixated on the marks on her neck. Yes, she was familiar to someone, and perhaps that someone was the one who also possessed a beating heart in his or her chest.

  “The prophecy is vague for a reason. But I assure you, I am the witch. We have found the wolf. We will take our seats on the council,” she said before she stepped away.

  Rori’s eyes narrowed. “Perci,” he whispered. Rori took a step to follow her.

  Mischief danced along her features as she walked backward away from him. “The Ember Witches are playing against fate.”

  “What do you know—” Rori stopped himself. Any witch worth her salt would know the Ember Witches. Wrong question. “Are you an Ember Witch?”

  “I will take my place at the table in time.” Her fingers trailed along the dirty bricks of one of the walls in the alley.

  Rori took another step in her direction.

  She canted her head. “I wonder what they offered that you chose it over your destined mate.”

  Rori stopped dead in his tracks. “She was never meant to be mine,” he said.

  The witches had attempted to convince him of that. Though he seemed less and less sure of it the more he thought about it.

  Selene looked up at the sky as though to consider what he said.

  He hissed.

  She scoffed. “Mmmm. Or was she?” she said slyly.

  Rori didn’t like her tone. He didn’t like the way her brow arched. He didn’t like the look on her face. He wasn’t sure how much more of these witch games he could play. He wanted straight answers. The manipulation had to end.