by Morgan Hawke
Rowan could not tell what he was thinking.
He looked over at Rowan. Do it.
She moved swiftly to the side of the couch, crouched down and shoved the paper under the couch while pulling out her cigarettes. She lit one and walked to the back of the couch. She knelt with the silvered nail in one hand and her lit cigarette in the other. She stabbed the nail into the couch, blew smoke on it then whispered: “Blessed be.”
Draugar jerked on the couch.
Rowan walked over to Rick’s side and dug out the black thread. Closing her eyes, she reached into the thread with her senses. She couldn’t actually call Draugar’s magic prevented any outward magic. Gently, she presented an invitation. A black and oily vibration pulsed up her arm. She gasped, and opened her eyes. She looked at Rick. “I think he’s close.”
Draugar groaned and sat up on the couch. “That was unfortunate.”
Rick leaned forward in the chair. “What happened?”
Draugar wiped his hands down his face. “An assassination. I was not expecting it.”
Rick’s brows dipped. “What?”
Draugar set his elbows on his knees and rested his head in his hands. “It means that the trip to California has been cancelled. It will take seven days to know where I am supposed to be.”
Rick’s mouth fell open. “Seven days?”
“That should give me time to sort out my particular problem...” He stopped and frowned at the two of them, then suddenly focused on Rowan and her cigarette. “Witch, what have you done?”
Rowan answered before she stop herself. “It’s a ghost trap.”
Draugar sat back on the couch. “What did you hope to accomplish? Your small magics cannot hold me for long.”
Rowan set her jaw. “It’ll hold long enough.”
Draugar’s eyes narrowed. “Long enough for what?” He scowled. “Klaus.” He dropped his head and chuckled. “He cannot pass both your barrier and mine.”
Rowan lifted the eldritch thread from Klaus’s robe. “He can if he was already inside them when the spell was cast.”
Draugar sat up. “What?” He snarled. “You had better hope that Klaus is not already on his way back to Russia... I promise, both of you will be punished severely for this, if I get free before he gets here.”
A dark chittering that was more an unnerving feeling than sound echoed in the back corner of the living room. Darkness pooled and rose.
“I think you should have more concern for yourself.” Klaus stepped from the dark corner.
Draugar caught Rowan’s gaze and his expression was bitter. “Did you bring the chains?”
Klaus moved to Rick’s side. “Do you think they are necessary? Your heir is dead.”
Draugar looked at the floor. “I felt the passing.”
Klaus gave Rick a significant glance.
Rick sighed and got up out of the chair.
Rowan looked at Rick and her brows rose in question.
Rick shook his head and walked out of the living room.
Draugar sat back on the couch. “How do you intend to deliver me?”
Klaus tilted his head. “You can go willingly, without chains.”
Draugar raised a brow. “Even on the plane?”
Klaus sighed. “I can request it.”
Draugar nodded in defeat.
Rowan stared from one to the other. What was going on between these two; were they enemies, or not? This sounded more like a cop talking to a criminal than anything else.
Rick walked back into the living room with a glass full of red liquid in his hand.
Rowan frowned. Rick? she sent. You’re feeding Klaus?
Rick shook his head. Not now. He handed the glass to Klaus.
Klaus upended the glass too fast for Rowan to see. He handed the empty glass to Rick and focused on Rowan. “Release him.”
Rick set the glass on the floor and scowled at Draugar. “Have him release us first.” He held out his wrists where the ruby bracelets gleamed.
Draugar stared at the far wall. “You may break them.”
The bracelets crunched under Rick’s hand. He was more careful with Rowan’s bands.
Rowan walked behind the couch and drew on her cigarette. She released a breath of smoke on the nail. “Go in peace.”
Draugar rose smoothly from the couch. He turned to face Rick and Rowan. He gave a bow and a mocking smile. “Thank you for the...hospitality.” Klaus moved to his side. “Take me home, Klaus. I am...tired.” Klaus’s darkness swallowed them both then shattered into rags of smoke.
Rowan blinked. “They’re gone.” She turned to Rick. “Do you think it’s over?”
Rick groaned. “God, I have to re-sod my lawn. I have a business party here next weekend!”
Rowan gaped. “A business party?”
“Yep....and gimme that.” He tugged the cigarette from her fingers and tossed it into the fireplace. He slung his arms over her shoulders. “You get to be hostess.”
Rowan shook her head. “I’m a librarian, I have no idea how to be a hostess!”
Rick pulled her into a close embrace. “I’m sure you’ll figure it out. You’re clever.”
Rowan frowned. “There are limits to my cleverness.”
“Really?” He leaned down and took her mouth in a swift kiss. “Can we test those limits?” His hands slid under her shirt. “In bed?” His palms closed on her breasts. “Now?”
Rowan’s thought scattered as her body reacted hungrily. Her nipples came erect with violent haste. A wet throb in her core made her knees tremble. She groaned and dug her fingers into his shoulders.
Rick’s tongue caressed her throat as his fingers tugged on her aching nipples. “Mmm, so I was right, it is time for me to play sex toy.”
Rowan gave him a smile that was all appetite. “Do we have to use the bed?”
Rick grinned right back. His eyes ignited to copper flame. “What did you have in mind?”
Rowan grabbed the hem of her T-shirt and pulled it off. “I was thinking, the floor looks comfy.”
Rick’s brows dropped. “The floor looks comfy? It’s hard wood.”
Rowan licked her lips and reached for her bra clasp. “If I’m on top it won’t matter to me.”
Rick grabbed the hem of his shirt. “Who says you’ll be on top?” He yanked the shirt off.
Rowan released the clasp on her bra. “I do.”
Coming Soon to Extasy Books:
Enchantment in Crimson
- Book Two -
Burning Shadows
“Um, I know this is kinda late to be asking this, but do we have something to call this ghost from? Something that belonged to him or something from his grave?”
“Oh yes...” He stopped and waved her into an opening in the wall to the right. “We have the king himself.”
“Whoa!” Rowan nearly tripped. A heavily carved wooden sarcophagus was sitting in the center of the stone-lined room. Rowan walked around the body-sized box. The wood was scarred and black with age. “This is...” She swallowed. “This is the King’s body?”
He nodded. “Knyaz had me remove it from the cathedral four decades ago. No one even knows it is missing.”
Rowan looked up. “He stole his own ancestor?”
He gave her a tight smile. “Among other thing...”
“What’s it doing here?”
“That in none of your concern.”
“Fine, whatever...” Rowan shrugged, then frowned. “You mean he’s had the body for four decades and he hasn’t been able to raise the ghost in all that time?” She shook her head. “I don’t get it, it’s not hard to raise a ghost; it’s basic witchcraft. People do it by accident all the time.”
“The problem is not calling on the ghost. Every conjuration has been successful. The problem is that the ghost has proved fatal to the conjurer before the question of his demon could be asked.”
Rowan stared at the box. “I see...” She squinted at the deep carvings. They looked like some form of weird wri
ting. “In that case, I bet there’s a booby-trap.”
His brows shot up. “A what?”
Rowan dropped her coat on the floor then her scarf. “Some kind of magical trap designed to kill the person that calls the ghost.” She walked back over to the sarcophagus and rummaged in her red velvet bag. Her hand came free with a pair of small leather packets. Both held silver-dipped horseshoe nails. She frowned. Why these? They were used primarily to set boundaries...Her brows shot up. “Did the other witches cast a circle?”
He tilted his head. “A few.”
“Did they make a circle around the box and then a second one around themselves?” She stuffed her hand back in her bag. “Give me what I need,” she said under her breath and dug into her bag. Her hand promptly tangled in the silk scarf wrapped around the crystal spectacles.
He nodded. “That too.”
“Okay...” Rowan continued to dig through the bag, but couldn’t untangle her hand from the scarf. Frustrated, she pulled the scarf and spectacles out. She looked at the sarcophagus holding the dead king and frowned. The decorative carving all over the box was in fact writing. I wonder if the spectacles can read this, but... She looked over at her watcher then at the sarcophagus. Fuck it, this is my life we’re talking about here.
Rowan unwrapped the spectacles and set the wires over her ears. She stretched to peer at the top of the box. The carvings came into focus and slowly began to rearrange themselves into legible script. Oh yes, this was writing all right.
“What are you doing?” His voice sounded suspicious.
“Reading.” Rowan frowned. “How many witches used blood in their spell?”
“All of them.”
Rowan yanked the spectacles off. “Then I found your problem.” She gave him a tight smile and rewrapped the spectacle in the scarf. “The coffin clearly warns against shedding blood anywhere near it.”
He stepped away from the wall. “You read that, just now?”
Rowan snorted and shook her head. “I told you before that I could read this stuff.”
“So you did...” He crossed his arms and stepped back to lean against the wall. He frowned at Rowan. “However, that was not medieval Ukrainian.”
“So?” Rowan scowled. “Do you want me to raise this ghost or not?”
He gave her a tight smile. “By all means.”
Rowan dug into her bag and pulled out a black cigarette then lit it. She drew on her cigarette, then looked over her shoulder. “You may want to wait outside the doorway, I’m going to need room to work.”
He looked at Rowan. “You’re using a full ritual? I thought you did not require one?”
“Normally, for raising a ghost, I don’t.” Rowan nodded grimly. “But, I’m not in the mood to take chances with a ghost that kills.”
To Be Continued...
About The Author
For me, Writing is more than a passion, it’s an obsession. The stories crowd into my head. I write them down so I can get some peace. According to my mother, I was writing stories before I began Kindergarten with any pencil, pen or crayon that I could get my grubby little hands on. Any piece of paper with enough blank space became a place to draw my little pictures telling stories about mermaids with long beautiful tails, witches who could fly and wild horses.
To this day my mother likes to gleefully recite to all her friends, the tale of how I cried over losing a particularly good mermaid picture that I had drawn on the back of the phone bill. She still insists that the lady who took the bill thought it was wonderful, too—but no, she couldn’t bring it back. The copier had yet to be invented at that time.
I published my first story in a magazine during my sophomore year in High School; a nice little horror story about a ghost dog and revenge against his murderer. Very lurid and very gory.
I am a voracious reader of Romance, Science-Fiction, Fantasy, Horror and Erotica, so naturally my stories follow along the lines of what I want to read.
Where do I get my ideas from? Rampant curiosity. I play the game of ‘What If?’ with everything I encounter.
Everything I do and everything I see triggers a story to be told:
What if the waitress being hit-on by a pushy guy, is really a Succubus? ‘Night Waitress’
What if Satan uses all those souls he collects for Demonic assignments? ‘Demoness’
What if you were seduced and discovered that you caught a rare STD: Lycanthropy? ‘Snow Moon’
I have lived in seven states and spent two years in England. I have been an auto mechanic, a security guard, a waitress, a groom in a horse-stable, in the military, a magazine editor, a bellydancer and a stripper.
These days I work as a copywriter / editor for an adult entertainment Internet company, so I guess you could say that I write for a living. I write promotional material for my company and my non-fiction articles are published in Klixxx Magazine and AVN Online magazine. Last year I became associate editor for a regional adult entertainment magazine ‘V2’. A very interesting experience. I learned a lot about ‘writing to order’.
Why do I write? I write to keep my sanity.
~*~