The Spring Witch (Season of the Witch Book 2)

by Karpov Kinrade

  “Adara, it’s a pleasure to meet you,” I say, gripping her hand with affection.

  “Thank you for inviting us,” she says. “Your kingdom is beautiful and the people are so kind.” She leans in, lowering her voice. “I can see why you fought so hard to protect them.”

  “It was easy with inspiration like yours,” I tell her with a conspiratorial smile.

  She squeezes my hand. “I’m glad I could inspire. Us witches have to stick together.”

  The ring on my finger glows with the energy that flows between us, and I nod because she’s right. Witches are a special sort of magic, especially those that work with the light.

  Soon, Tyler returns to collect me for a dance. Then comes cake and desserts and more dancing. By the end of it all, I am pleasantly exhausted. When the grandfather clock chimes midnight, I think of my mother’s words about fate. It certainly did change that night, and I send her thoughts of gratitude for what she did to help me.

  As the clock finishes its chiming, Tyler slips his hand into mine and tugs me toward the exit. “Come, before they notice,” he whispers.

  I laugh. “We’re king and queen. Surely that means we can leave when we wish.”

  “Have you seen your miniature captain of the guard? If that kid finds me again, I won’t be able to refuse whatever he asks of me. We need to make our escape now.”

  I laugh again, but when he pulls me toward the doors, I follow willingly. Living a life of banditry, while dangerous, was rewarding to be sure. Living the life of a nomad brought me a certain joy I’ll never forget. But this is the true journey of my heart--to follow and to lead, in turn, wherever love takes me.

  AND THEY LIVED HAPPILY EVER AFTER. THE END.

  Thank you for reading our fairytale-esque fantasy. If you enjoyed it, we would be so grateful if you left a review on Amazon and Goodreads.

  For more in the Season of the Witch series, check out The Winter Witch on Amazon. These are standalone fairytale mash ups with a paranormal/fantasy romance twist, all set in the same world.

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  TEASER: Forever Bound by Karpov Kinrade

  Chapter 1: Otherwise Known As That Time I Made The Wrong Life Choice And Ended Up A Human Sacrifice

  Why am I tied to a tree in the middle of a freezing Ukrainian forest waiting for a god to come devour me?

  Funny story.

  Let me start at the beginning. I'm Evangeline Love. Yes, I know, it's the corniest name in the history of names, but it's mine and I love it…pun always intended. My friends just call me Angel. Or Love. Depends on how long we've been friends.

  This is my last year of grad school. I'm nearly done with my thesis and will soon be a practicing Marriage and Family Therapist in the Greater Los Angeles area.

  All my dreams are about to come true.

  So how did I wind up in my current predicament, so far from the concrete jungle of Los Angeles, where my biggest problem was rush hour traffic?

  Because I made the wrong life choice a few months ago when I agreed to join my Ukrainian roommate for a trip to her homeland for the holidays. She and I have been through a lot together since the night we met as freshmen, equal measures scared and excited, but I've never seen where she's from, and this seemed like a good time. I have no family and no significant other with claims to my Christmas, so this was a welcome invite, and I've been anticipating this trip with excitement for months. I was packed before Thanksgiving.

  In the understatement of the year, I didn't anticipate the fate that has befallen me.

  Yana and I left LAX at two in the morning for an exhausting sixteen-hour flight with one layover.

  We were at the tail end of our journey and both asleep when the plane began to jerk in the sky in ways you really don't want the shit ton of steel you're flying through the air in to do.

  The voice of the pilot came on to warn us that we were experiencing turbulence.

  No shit.

  We were over Ukraine at the time. So close to our final destination.

  Yana woke, her seafoam-colored eyes wide with alarm.

  I reached for her hand as the emergency air bags dropped from above us, and a flight attendant gave instructions in English, Ukrainian, and Russian. I couldn't hear her though.

  Because the plane was dropping from the sky at an alarming rate.

  We were going to crash. I knew it in my bones.

  Yana and I both closed our eyes and gripped each other with everything in us as the air pressure in the cabin changed and the plane began to tailspin mid-air.

  The rest comes to me in flashes.

  Screaming.

  Blood.

  Hanging upside down from the seat belt.

  Purses and laptops flying through the cabin.

  More screaming.

  A child crying.

  The same child tragically going silent.

  A parent sobbing.

  Panic flooding me.

  I couldn't think past the shock of falling from the sky.

  None of us would survive. We were all doomed.

  And then.

  Nothing.

  I remember nothing after that moment until I woke up tied to this tree, freezing my ass off in the middle of a forest.

  It was light when I first woke, though the sun had just begun to set. I was gagged and hanging limply from my restraints. Rope dug into the exposed flesh of my arms, wrists, and legs. My lips were pulled into a grotesque joker smile by the cloth shoved into my mouth and tied around my head, and something viscous dripped into my eyes, stinging them.

  Given the pounding headache that had me nearly in tears, my guess was blood.

  And when I tried to wiggle out of the restraints, I felt every cut, bruise and strain that falling seven miles in an airplane would inevitably cause. I pushed through the pain, struggling more fiercely, but not only did I make no progress in loosening the ropes, I rather unfortunately caught the attention of whom I suspected was the dude in charge.

  Which is when it fully registered that I wasn’t alone.

  The man standing before me was dressed in a similar fashion to the other men gathered, if not a little fancier. He wore dark baggy pants, a white shirt with intricate red embroidery that Yana had told me is an important tradition and art in Ukrainian culture, an embroidered vest, and a thick sash with fringed edges around his waist. His steel grey eyes were hard and his face impassive as he stared at me. He looked to be in his mid-60s and clearly commanded respect amongst the other villagers, who waited to see what he would do now that I was awake.

  As details around me came into focus, the music that had drifted into my subconscious while I was passed out started back up again.

  A small group of villagers began to play on string, percussion, and wind instruments that held hints of familiarity but weren't immediately recognizable. One guy looked like he was playing a guitar, but it had too many strings and the shape wasn't quite the same.

  As the folksy music picked up, men and women gathered around a large bonfire and began to dance.

  The women wore red tunics with matching aprons and open skirts underneath with white embroidered skirts below that. Their red leather boots matched their tunics, and they each sported headbands made of flowers and flowing ribbons. They made quite the sight as they spun, and I would have appreciated the beauty of this cultural moment if I wasn't… you know, tied to a tree and possibly bleeding to death.

  I mean, I'm all about the authentic local experience when traveling, but this was a little too authentic.

  So head honcho dude noticed I was trying to weasel my way out of this seriously shitty situation and proceeded to slap the left side of my face with a thin wooden rod.

  What the actual f—


  Another whap!

  I could feel the gashes in my face oozing fresh blood, the pain exploding in waves. I was going to kick that man’s ass when I got out of this, I vowed.

  But of course, I’m not Rambo, and I don’t have any supernatural abilities that I know of, so all my outrage in the world didn't save me.

  Obviously, since here I am.

  The man who assaulted my face spoke rapidly in Ukrainian, but I’m more fluent in Russian, and even that’s stretching things. Yana taught me the basics. I can say hello, goodbye, where's the bathroom, and make very basic conversation. I had a feeling I would need a hell of a lot more language skills than that to talk my way out of this, assuming I was ever allowed to speak again.

  Oh gods, I could die without ever uttering another word.

  What a strange thought.

  What would my last words be if given the chance? I thought hard about this as the angry man screamed lustily at me, spittle flying from his lips, which sat in the middle of his face like a toad’s mouth surrounded by hair.

  But I did catch a few words.

  And they left me paralyzed with fear.

  Sacrifice.

  God.

  Death.

  Don't ask me how I know these words in Ukrainian and not basic shit like how to order coffee. It involved a night of heavy drinking and watching Game of Thrones with Ukrainian subtitles.

  At any rate, I was clearly doomed.

  I was a George RR Martin character who had done the right thing and so obviously must pay with my life.

  And now I'm waiting for a god to come and kill me.

  Likely I'll just end up dying of hypothermia and blood loss by morning, and that will be the end of Evangeline Love.

  I blink through blood again, which is mixing with my tears now.

  The man seems satisfied I won't be making an escape anytime soon, so he turns his attention to a woman who joins him. She speaks harshly, her aged face lined with years and disapproval. He grunts, then proceeds to ignore her, much to her clear annoyance.

  I feel ya there, sister.

  But there can be no camaraderie right now. Since I'm still gagged and all.

  Is she making an appeal for my release?

  What is the point of all this?

  I know Ukrainians aren't backwards people who use human sacrifice as a religious experience. From all Yana has told me, it's a beautiful country with kind people, despite its political turmoil.

  There were no Yelp reviews that prepared me for this kind of treatment. I mean, I know Yana said to make sure I take my shoes off when entering someone's home, and to not show the bottom of my foot to someone when sitting before them, but One: I'm pretty sure I haven't had a chance to break any social niceties, and Two: this kind of punishment would be a tad overkill.

  My wavering thoughts flicker to the poor souls who shared the plane with me. What happened to Yana? To the rest of the passengers and crew? Are they all dead? Did no one else survive? Or were they maybe found by a less sadistic village? That would be nice, if extremely optimistic.

  My heart lurches at the memory of Yana’s smile. Her laugh. Her unique way at looking at the world.

  She can’t be dead. It’s not possible.

  But of course it is.

  We all die eventually. And none of us are guaranteed another day with any certainty. I should know that more than most.

  My thoughts are interrupted by a man standing to the side of the group holding an extremely long horn of some kind. He blows into it, and the music instantly stops, as does any dancing and chatter.

  Everyone turns towards the forest, which is now darkening with long stretches of shadow cast by the rising full moon.

  Something shifts in the energy of the villagers. The smell of fear catches on the wind, and people begin to fidget.

  They clearly believe something big is about to happen.

  Goosebumps form on my cold skin, despite my rational mind arguing that nothing scary is going to come out of that forest.

  But does it really matter?

  I'm going to die one way or another—that much is becoming clear.

  At least dying by a mythical god-like creature in the Ukrainian woods would be more interesting than dying from the cold.

  Is this how my parents and sister felt, I wonder? Did they know the end was coming, or was it as sudden and instant as the police said it was?

  Is it better to know the moment of your impending death, or to be surprised by it?

  Right now I'd rather be surprised.

  Knowing isn't making this experience more fun.

  As the final rays of sunlight disappear, the villagers follow suit, slipping into the shadows as torches are put out.

  It only takes a moment before I am completely alone.

  The blood in my eyes obscures my vision, and the pain from my injuries is making me dizzy and nauseous. I rub my head back and forth against the tree, and finally manage to loosen the gag.

  The world around me spins as my head lolls to the side, my neck no longer strong enough to support itself.

  Snow begins to fall, thick and heavy, quickly coating the world around me with powdery white magic. It would be a sight to behold were I not dying.

  I can't even feel the cold anymore. My body is going into shock, and I know I won't survive much longer. My head wound seeps blood. My face is raw and cut. Everything in me aches. The rope digs deeply into my skin, cutting flesh.

  I'm nearly unconscious when I first see him stepping out of the shadows of the forest and into the moonlight. The god these villagers fear and worship in equal measure. He looks like a man from a distance. A tall, muscular man with a wild mess of short dark hair that accents his pale skin and clear blue eyes.

  He wears a long black cape, black pants and a black shirt.

  As he comes closer, I get a better view of him, and I startle at his face.

  It's chiseled from stone, beautiful in its way, but covered in scars that mar that beauty with unspeakable pain.

  His gaze latches on to mine, and once he is a few feet from me, he stops.

  He speaks, saying something in Russian, though with a strange accent I don't recognize.

  I try to speak, to explain that I speak limited Russian, but my words are mumbled. My mind is cloudy, and I can't find the words I need, so I switch to English. "I don't understand you. Please… help me. I'm… dying."

  The taste of blood coats my tongue as I cough. Alarm spreads through me, filling my veins with adrenaline. Panic wells within me, and I use the last of my strength to strain against the ropes.

  The god-like man surprises me by speaking again, this time in broken English. "What crime you committed?" he asks, standing so still it's like he's become a part of the landscape.

  "Crime?" I shake my head, a sob choking me. "My plane crashed. I didn't…" I cough again and more blood sprays from my mouth. "I didn't do anything wrong."

  At least not here. Not now. Not this time.

  I push away thoughts of my past. I don't want to die with my deepest regrets haunting me. I'd rather think about the happy moments in my life. Those are the memories I want to carry into the afterlife, whatever that may be for someone like me.

  The man steps forward and leans down, bringing his mouth to my neck. He sniffs at me, as if testing a fine wine, then pulls back. I gasp when I see his mouth. His teeth are elongated unnaturally, and his eyes have turned black as night. "You innocent?"

  Innocent? That's a hard word to unpack for me. The short answer is no. The long answer is yes I'm innocent of anything he might accuse me of, but there's so much more to me than this trip.

  But I can't explain all that. I'm too far gone. I just shake my head.

  As darkness engulfs me and I resign myself to my fate, I feel the ropes around me release and my body collapses into strong arms that lift me up and hold me close.

  "You innocent," he whispers, and then he runs through the forest as I drift into darkness.

&nbs
p; Grab Forever Bound today on Amazon to keep reading! This is a standalone fantasy romance that you are sure to love if you enjoyed The Spring Witch!

  TEASER: Midnight Mate by Heather Hildenbrand

  Chapter 1: Easton

  My mom waved from the screen door as I rolled to a stop beside her aging SUV. In the graying twilight, she looked older. Sad. I hesitated, but then she blinked, and the drawn lines were gone, replaced by a wide smile. I got out of the car as she descended the steps to meet me. She looked as fragile as glass if I looked closely—so I didn’t look. Instead, I hugged her tight and let her smooth my disheveled hair. I’d ridden for hours with the windows down, hoping the fresh air would do me good. But now that I was here, that familiar heaviness had already settled in my gut. And the scent that hung around this place—all of it added up to one thing.

  The feeling of home.

  Fuck, this was going to suck.

  “Easton. It’s so good to have you home.”

  I made some weird noise that wasn’t even English, but she didn’t care. Looping her arm through mine, she dragged me toward the house. “Come on. Dinner’s almost ready.”

  “Where’s Dad?”

  The question alone left a sour taste in my mouth.

  “Working late. He’ll be home soon.”

  I bit my tongue. We both knew he wasn’t working and he wouldn’t be home soon. But I’d lost that argument a long time ago.

  “Andy.” A goofy mutt greeted me at the door, tongue first. I laughed and bent low to let him slash his tongue across my arms and neck.

  “That’s enough, Andy.” My mom batted him away.

  “Good to see you, buddy.” I hoped my enthusiasm for the dog didn’t outshine my enthusiasm for her.

  “He’s still got more energy than any of us.” She led the way to the kitchen.

  I followed my mom down the hall, avoiding direct eye contact with a single family photo. If I was careful, maybe I wouldn’t notice I’d moved back. Then again, the brick in my stomach said otherwise.

  By the time I got to the kitchen, my leg had already started to ache. I settled on a barstool and watched as my mom set a brown glass bottle in front of me. I took it, swigged appreciatively, then set it down again, frowning as the taste of beer registered.