soulofawitch_463-9e1.htm

by Soul Of A Witch (lit)

  He’d hoped his forbidding tone would make her desist. Instead, she merely continued to look up at him. He met her gaze, and felt as though he could drown in the dark pools of her eyes.

  It almost felt as though he were tipping and falling forward.

  "Will you allow me in?" Her voice was soft, beguiling.

  Not understanding her words properly, caught up in the glittering depths of her eyes, he hesitated. "I suppose so, but what--"

  He never got any further. Immediately he felt her slip into his mind, a warm presence, strong, determined.

  Searching.

  And all he could do was stand unmoving, as she invaded his memories.

  ~ * ~

  Floating in the black encasement, Wes tried to still the fear thrumming through him. The evil of Hortra was around him, permeating the very blackness of his prison.

  What had Beulah done to protect him? She’d surrounded him with a white light. Insulated him against the blackness, and the dark mystic.

  Focusing his thoughts, Wes tried to think of a white light surrounding him. It was hard, and Hortra’s mocking laugh seeped through to him.

  "You don’t have the discipline of forming or holding a white light, boy."

  He had to try. Wes fought to block out the laughter, thinking hard of a barrier to put between himself and the black walls.

  "Keep trying, boy." Hortra sneered. "Try as hard as you can. It amuses me."

  He concentrated for hours, refusing to give in. But nothing happened.

  When he eventually gave up, the walls of his prison swelled inwards until they touched him with a loathsome slimy feeling.

  Cringing, he tried to make himself smaller.

  The walls expanded and snapped back into their original form.

  And Hortra laughed again.

  ~ * ~

  The memories that Sinya had pushed to the back of his subconscious weren’t happy ones.

  Beulah saw his mother, a young woman who made her living from creating recipes from herbs, to cure the ill, or make the well sick, depending on what she was paid to make.

  Sinya’s father was a two-bit outlaw and a mean drunk, who beat his young son whenever he could get hold of him.

  Sinya seemed to have inherited only his mother’s dark eyes and his father’s brown hair. His lean frame came from his grandmother, his handsomeness from his great grandfather.

  There were many visions of him as a thin child, all arms and legs, and with a growing streak of meanness. Until his middle-aged cousins took him in hand, giving him employment at their store, and making him learn respect for others. From them he learned the meaning of love and loyalty, and they guided him through his early, troubled teens.

  Then Wes was born. His arrival was a source of great conflict, with Sinya’s mother shoving him into his crib for hours on end, ignoring the wailing of the hungry infant, or the need to change him when he was dirty. His father didn’t care, in fact, he stayed away more and more, drinking and whoring.

  Sinya took over care of the small infant, after coming home one day to the starving mite. Seeing in the helpless infant a reflection of himself, he gave his life over to caring for him, though only thirteen years old himself.

  He never got any thanks from his mother, who was more than glad to hand the care of the babe over to her other son.

  Sinya took his young brother to his cousin’s store when he worked there, and gradually it came to pass that he lived there. Young Wes grew stronger, but his strange way of viewing people, of crying when anyone got hurt, of saying secrets no-one could know, made the settlers eye him suspiciously. Eventually, Sinya and his cousins made the boy stay in the house adjoining the store.

  Suspicion was rife in the Outlaw Sector.

  One day Sinya took Wes home to visit his mother, and when he returned, his cousins were lying dead, and the store burnt to the ground. The witch hunt was well and truly on for the little boy with the curse, who the settlers were sure would bring them harm--if not spiritually, then physically. He’d unwittingly caused the death of more than one person by revealing a secret previously kept darkly hidden.

  Sinya fled back to his mother, who callously turned her back on them and shut the door. His drunken father yelled abuse as he fled, his little brother clutched tight in his arms.

  At the top of a hill, he glanced back to see the mob torching his home, and the dead bodies of his parents lying a little ways away. He felt no pity, merely turned on his heel and ran.

  He’d never stopped running until he reached safety.

  That was as far as Beulah got before she was thrust out of his memories.

  ~ * ~

  Wes sucked in a deep breath, shaking his head. Fire burned, and fire flared, and his parents died. He should have felt pain, but he didn’t. Because it was only a memory, nothing but a memory.

  Sinya must have been remembering.

  "Sinya," he whispered. "Come and get me. Please."

  ~ * ~

  Hands gripping her upper arms with bruising force, Sinya glared down at Beulah furiously. "How dare you?" He snarled. "How dare you intrude where you had no permission to go?"

  "You gave permission." Ignoring the discomfort of his grip, Beulah gazed calmly back up at him.

  "You know I had no idea of what was going to happen! I didn’t even bloody know what you meant to do!"

  "There has been no harm done--"

  "No harm? You tricked me!" Shoving her away, he fisted his hands.

  As angry as he was, she didn’t fear him. But she knew he was right, and felt an unaccustomed twinge of conscious. "I had to know, Sinya, and you weren’t going to tell me."

  "You should respect my decisions, not use your witchy powers and take that right from me!" Swinging around on his heel, he started for the door.

  Unwilling to let him leave in a fury, Beulah hurried after him. "Sinya, please, try to understand. I--"

  "Don’t even think to try and explain right now!" Sinya bellowed, swinging around and throwing his arm out to point at her. "Damn it, Beulah, you--" A loud slapping sound broke off his cursing.

  The momentum of his arm being thrown out, combined with his spinning motion, made the back of his hand crack against her cheek with enough force to make her stagger aside. She crashed into the wall, and remained upright only by grabbing onto the handle of a cupboard just above her.

  Her cheek stung, the smarting of it bringing tears of pain to her eyes. Bowing her head, she cupped her cheek gingerly and closed her eyes, gritting her teeth against the after burn of the blow, and the tears threatening to spring from her eyes.

  She’d never been struck in her life, and the shock of it left her knees shaking.

  "My God! Beulah!" Sinya was beside her, easing her hand from her cheek. "I’m so sorry! I didn’t know you were right behind me!"

  "It’s... all right..." Her voice was low. Teary. Wobbly.

  She turned her face away from his perusal, keeping her eyes closed, not wanting him to see the tears. With her other hand she gripped the handle, not entirely certain that she could remain upright if she let it go.

  "You’re shaking." Remorse filled Sinya’s voice. "Shit!" This last was added when he carefully turned her face around enough to see the mark he’d left on her cheek.

  "It’s all right." She tried once again to turn her face away and cover her smarting cheek.

  He moved, and the next thing she knew, she was being hugged gently to him, his arms around her. He pressed her uninjured cheek to his chest, and she felt him rest his chin on top of her head.

  "No, it’s not all right." His regretful voice, deep and husky, vibrated through his chest. "It’s never all right to get hit. Never."

  Her first instinct was to pull away, but when she made the attempt, his arms tightened. Not hard, but firm.

  "Don’t," he said softly. "Please."

  Hearing the guilt and sorrow in his voice, she stayed where she was. He just held her, rocking her slightly, and slowly she felt herself relax
.

  The shock of the blow receded, but her limbs still trembled, no matter how hard she tried to stop it. Leaning into Sinya, she allowed his warmth to seep into her chilled body. Concentrating, she steadied her breathing, and slowed the pounding of her heart.

  The seconds ticked past with no sign of Sinya releasing her from his embrace, so she finally lifted her head and said, "I’m all right now. You can let go."

  He didn’t release her. His eyes dark eyes pools of unhappiness, he gazed down at her. Then he bent and brushed his lips lightly across her unmarked cheek, whispering as he did so, "I’m so, so sorry."

  The touch of his lips sent a small warmth through her, but she focused on his feelings, not her own. "It’s not your fault."

  "I hit you."

  "It was an accident."

  "I still hit you." Resting his cheek against hers, he closed his eyes. "I swore I would never hit a woman or child, not even in anger. That I did it to you..."

  "I intruded upon your memories, Sinya. You were hurt, you tried to leave. It was I who chased after you." Unable to bear his obvious overwhelming guilt, Beulah raised one hand to gently stroke through his thick hair. "This whole mess is my fault."

  "No."

  "Yes." She patted him comfortingly. "You take upon yourself a guilt which is not yours to take. Sinya, look at me."

  He obeyed, but it was reluctantly. Shame was evident in every line of his handsome features.

  "Don’t look like that." She brushed his cheek with her thumb. "If anyone should feel shame, it’s me. But I don’t. I needed to know, and you--"

  "--should have told you."

  "You had your reasons. And you’re right, I tricked you into letting me into your memories. I can’t say I’m sorry I did so, but I am sorry that it caused this calamity."

  Sighing, Sinya shook his head. "You asked me to trust you. You warned me it wouldn’t be easy, what we had to do. I should have told you what I could. It’s me who is sorry for being so stubborn and overly sensitive. It’s for Wes I do this, and I must keep that uppermost in my mind. Beulah, can you forgive me for striking you?"

  "There’s nothing to forgive." She smiled slightly up at him. "Forgive me for tricking you, and intruding in your private thoughts?"

  "Always," he replied. "My memories are open to you, Beulah. Whatever you need for Wes, take from me."

  "Thank you."

  Beulah moved slightly, and her breasts brushed against Sinya’s naked chest. A little spark shot through her. She felt Sinya give a small start. They gazed at each other, and Beulah saw his gaze soften, the expression on his face changing to something she wasn’t used to seeing on the face of any man.

  He was aware of her as a woman.

  She could see it in the red glow that started around his aura, right before she blocked off seeing it. A person’s aura was private, for it gave off everything they felt, and she didn’t allow herself to look at a person’s aura unless it was imperative.

  Otherworldly threats she could deal with without flinching. But sexual awareness from a man was totally alien. Sexual awareness from herself was alien.

  She was alarmed.

  And curious.

  Sinya’s dark-eyed gaze drifted over her face before coming to a stop on her mouth. She felt the slight tightening of his arms around her, and nervously licked her suddenly dry lips. The action made his gaze sharpen, and she felt his chest draw in a deep breath. The movement made her nipples graze against the material of her gown, and she felt them pebble and press against the muscles of his chest.

  His gaze flicked up to her eyes, and the hot intensity within made her heart leap in anticipation. She knew what he meant to do as soon as he started to slowly lower his head towards her, but not for anything could she call a halt to the proceedings.

  She wanted him to kiss her.

  Involuntary, she closed her eyes as he came nearer, then his lips pressed against hers. The touch was light as first, moving gently, the merest brush of skin on skin. Then he pressed a little more firmly, molding his lips to hers.

  A quiver went through her, and she was highly sensitive to his aura invading her own space. The red flickering she knew would be there merged with her own, and now she could feel not only the heat of his body, but the fire of his sexual attraction to her. Combined, it made a heady sensation.

  One of his hands slid down to her waist, rubbing almost absent-mindedly, while the other came to rest between her shoulder blades, pressing her closer to his body until they leaned into each other from breast to knees.

  Delicious anticipation shivered through her when she felt his lips become more demanding, his tongue stroking a questing path along the seam of her own lips.

  "Open," he whispered, breath hot against her sensitive skin.

  She did as bidden, just the tiniest bit, uncertain of what exactly he was going to do.

  He didn’t give her time to close again. She felt him sweep through her mouth with a surety that was at once tantalizing and almost predatory, taking her essence without hesitation and leaving his own clean taste in her mouth.

  Sparks skittered through her, sparking through her veins in little spats of fiery pin pricks, and with a soft moan, she opened her mouth fully, allowing him to take what he wanted. Without thought, her hand slid up into his thick hair, spilling the length from the tie holding it back, glorying in the feel of the silken strands spilling through her fingers.

  When he finally drew his mouth from hers, it was to lean his forehead against hers. His eyes were still closed, but she saw when the heavy lashes lifted and his dark eyes stared directly into hers. For long seconds he held her gaze captive.

  Breathing a little unsteadily herself, she drew in a deep breath, and immediately his masculine scent, fresh and clean, filled her senses.

  "You smell so good," she whispered.

  "You taste so good," he returned, and then laughed softly. "And you kiss exceptionally well for a novice."

  A blush crept up her cheeks, and she dropped her gaze, feeling suddenly shy and awkward. What does one do after something like this?

  He must have felt her confusion, for he lifted his head. "Beulah, I didn’t mean for this to happen." One of his big hands ran down her hair at the back of her head. "It’s all right."

  "Is it?" Stepping back out of his arms, she folded her arms before her and glanced up at him.

  His dark eyes still held a smoldering of arousal, though he obviously had it under control.

  "Yes."

  There were so many questions she suddenly had, so many new emotions she had never felt before swirling through her. Her heart still raced, her lips tingled from his kiss, and heat still simmered in the depths of her body.

  Somehow she didn’t think the questions were ones that a woman asked a man. She glanced up at Sinya once more, and sighed inwardly. Especially this man.

  He was standing with lean legs braced apart, his arms bent with the thumbs hooked into the waistband at the back of his pants. Calm, in control, and so sure of himself. And so sinfully handsome. He was the epitome of manhood in his prime.

  She glanced up further, past the square jaw covered with the elegant goatee, up past firm, full lips, the thin mustache that lent him the air of a rakish pirate, and up into dark eyes. A lock of hair fell across one arched brow.

  His gaze was seriously regarding her as though just seeing her for the first time. The expression was almost unreadable, but she saw the quizzical spark in them.

  "Beulah--" he began.

  "Ahoy there!" A voice crackled over the intercom. "Ahoy I say!"

  Beulah and Sinya blinked at each other.

  "Sinya, my boyo, are you there?" The cheerful voice crackled again. "Or are you too busy ravishing some pretty wench to even bother answering? Come on, you sex-starved hound, answer me!"

  "Fredrico." Sinya sighed. "He always did have lousy timing."

  Beulah wasn’t so sure it was lousy timing. She wanted time alone to sort through her feelings without loo
king at the disturbingly handsome pirate who had just awoken those sensations.

  Catching her hand, Sinya drew her with him to the door. "I’m sorry, Beulah. We’ll have to finish this another time."

  He led her down the staircase, and voices from below diverted her attention.

  "Sinya!" Franc looked up from the control panel as they came through the door. "Fredrico..." His voice trailed away as his gaze fell on Beulah.

  "I heard," Sinya replied. "How close is he?"

  "Three thousand miles and closing fast. He’ll be here in the next ten minutes."

  Drake was staring at Beulah with an incredulous expression on his pale face.

  Franc stood up slowly. "What happened to your cheek?"

  Drake frowned.

  Franc looked accusingly at Sinya.

  Sinya looked uncomfortable. "I--uh--I hit her."

  "You what?" Franc bellowed.

  "Not on purpose," Sinya growled. "You should know me better than that."

  "How could you possibly hit her by accident? What were you doing, waving your bloody arms around like a windmill?"

  "You should never hit a lady," Drake scowled. "Even if she is a witch."

  Sinya’s lean cheeks flushed, and anger glittered in his eyes. "Listen, you pair of bast--"

  "It’s true." Beulah stepped forward quickly, laying her hand on Sinya’s arm. Her other hand was still in his grasp. "He was turning around and didn’t know I was so close behind him--"

  "Must have been a bloody hard swing," Franc said dubiously.

  "I made him angry--"

  "Stop." Sinya squeezed her hand, but kept his gaze on his two friends. "You both should know me enough to know that I would never strike a woman. This was purely an accident."

  "That’s true." Franc nodded suddenly, and resumed his seat. "So, do you want to talk to Fredrico?"

  "That scum bag and his useless crew of cut-throats." Drake huffed and flopped back in his chair.

  Just like that, the conversation changed. All anger left the three men, and Beulah found herself watching them as they conversed. It seemed that men were a puzzling lot. How could they be accusing each other and arguing one minute, then talk as though nothing had happened the next?

  Shaking her head, she left the cabin and returned to her own room. She had a lot to think about.