by Hazel Hunter
“Guys.” When they both stared at her, Summer stood up and pointed at the spot where she’d been stabbed. “The blade he used was still stuck in me when I went over the cliff. Did either of you see it when you fished me out of the river?”
Michael shook his head, while Troy said, “No, but if it’s still in the water, I can find it.”
Summer frowned as she touched her side again. She’d awoken covered in Troy’s shirt.
“What happened to the dress I was wearing?”
The men exchanged an odd look before Michael said, “It was destroyed.”
“What? How?” When neither of them answered her Summer got to her feet. “I liked that dress. Aileen gave it to me. So how–”
She staggered as a flood of memories poured through her.
• • • • •
“Beauty,” Michael gasped, as he caught her before she fell.
Troy was immediately on her other side, both of them keeping her upright.
As she stared at them she saw another, fainter image of her limp, broken body in the sodden red dress. Two of her limbs were badly broken, and she wasn’t breathing.
“I was dead,” she whispered.
“No,” Troy said firmly, as Michael gently cradled her. “You had a pulse, sweetheart. You just had some water in your lungs, which I got out, right away.”
“And then you said to keep touching me.” She stared at Michael through the blurry, flowing images. “You knew it would bring me back.”
“I knew only that your power comes out when both of us touch you.” He caressed her cheek, and when he took his hand away it was wet. “When the words began to appear on your skin, they burned off the dress.”
“I’m not ready,” Summer said lowly, her voice quaking. She could hear herself speaking, but the words seemed to come from someone else. “Maman said so on the day they came for me. She begged me to forgive her.” The memory fragment vanished, but this time something was different. “It doesn’t hurt to remember anymore.”
Both men guided her back to the bed, where Michael lifted her onto the mattress. A moment later they lay on either side of her, their hands stroking her and their voices soft as they murmured words of reassurance.
They wanted to make love to her, Summer could feel that, but they held back, afraid it would hurt her. Deep inside she could feel the bones that had broken knitting back together, and the stab wound now sealed, but still tender.
“I wish I could make love to you both again, but you’re right. I think I need more rest.”
Michael drew his finger down the length of her nose.
“I’ve waited hundreds of years for you.” He lightly brushed her lips. “I can manage a few days more.”
“I have a better idea,” Troy said, eying Michael as he untied the belt of her robe. “Why don’t you let us take care of you for a change?”
Being sandwiched between her lovers made Summer feel more than safe, especially as their scents enveloped her. Troy smelled clean and cool, like the air after a light snowfall, while Michael exuded a darker, earthier scent, like a grove of dark trees. Together they made her think of walking through the woods in the winter sun, with all the promise of summer waiting just beneath the snow.
Am I the promise of summer?
She felt an ache and glanced down to see that her nipples had grown so engorged they looked like two little, ripe strawberries.
“What are you two planning to take care of?”
“Watch,” was all Michael said.
Her eyelids fluttered as both men shifted down and put their mouths to her breasts. Troy cradled her right mound in his long, beautiful fingers as he licked his tongue back and forth over her peak, while Michael stroked her belly as he fastened his mouth over her left nipple to tug on it gently. The sensations of having both breasts attended to at once made Summer forget about everything but her men, and how sexy they made her feel.
“When you’re feeling better,” Troy murmured as he slowly fondled her. “We’d like to try something new.”
“If you would like it, Beauty.” Michael gently rolled her over to face Troy, moving up behind her to rub his big hand over her bottom. “We know we would.”
They seemed to be entirely in sync now, and Summer felt their hunger for her like hot water flowing over her skin. Her own desires seemed to be blooming inside her like a secret garden of dark flowers.
“Why are we waiting?” she murmured, her head spinning.
“You need to rest,” Troy said lowly as he rubbed her thigh. He slipped his hand between her legs to slowly stroke one finger against her delicate folds. “Just relax, and listen, and feel.”
Though at first Summer thought Michael was rolling her back to him, he easily brought her on top of his big body. With her back resting on his broad chest, he cupped her breasts as he kissed the side of her neck. Troy bent over her to kiss her lips as he parted her and began working his thumb over the aching nub of her clit.
“When we take you next,” Michael said, his soft voice thrumming against her back, “we want to be in you together.”
Troy lifted his mouth as he pressed his finger into her clenching opening.
“I’ll stuff this tight little pussy with my cock,” he whispered against her lips. “I’ll pump it deep and slow, the way you like it.”
Summer shivered as she felt Michael caress her buttocks, and then trail a finger over the pucker of her rosebud.
“And while he does I will take you here,” Michael told her. “You will like having my cock deep inside your lovely ass while Troy fills your pussy. You will feel both of our rods stroking inside you, and it will make you come harder than you have ever done, Beauty.”
Summer gasped as their sensual threats added to the pleasure their hands were giving her, and then she imagined being between their big, muscular bodies as they both worked their shafts in and out of her.
“Now come for us,” Troy said, and lowered his mouth to her breasts.
“Yes, Beauty,” Michael added, pressing gently against her pucker. “Show us how it will be for you.”
Summer’s climax radiated inside her with the intensity of an inner sun, burning through the fear and doubt and worry to consume her with the heat of their shared passion. She shuddered violently and uncontrollably, and felt both of her men stiffen as the pleasure spread from her to them. Their stiff, swollen shafts pulsed and jetted inside their trousers.
When it all drifted to a warm, loving glow, Troy glanced down and chuckled.
“I don’t think I’ve come in my pants since I was a teenager.”
Michael leaned close to whisper in Summer’s ear, “I did it once while I was watching you in the park, but I admit, my hand may have helped a little.”
Troy grinned at him. “This is why Wiccans don’t have confession.”
Michael nodded thoughtfully. “My mentors always claimed it’s why all pagans are going to burn in Hell. Do you think there will be room for me, too?”
As Troy chuckled under his breath, Summer reveled in the small laugh that moved Michael’s chest. She drifted in the moment, languorous and warm.
“I think I will take a shower now,” Michael said after they had finished laughing, and gave her a quick kiss before climbing off the bed and heading into the bath.
“Do you want some more tea?” Troy asked as he stroked her hair. “I can go and brew a fresh pot.”
“No, I’m good,” Summer said, and sighed. “But there’s something else I have to tell you about last night.”
CHAPTER TWO
DAWN CREPT LIKE a ghost over the horizon as Troy sent a final surge of his power into the river. While searching the water he’d located innumerable coins, fish hooks, beer cans, and even an ancient tackle box still stuffed with lures, but no dagger.
“Son of a bitch.”
The blade had either fallen on land or had been swept down river so far he couldn’t sense it––or the bastard had come back sometime during the night to retri
eve it.
Troy worked on tamping down his temper as he climbed up the cliff side and walked toward the pavilion. He intended to have a civilized talk with his father––if that were possible––but first he wanted to see Ewan, who had once lived in France, and knew the covens there better than anyone else. Once he reached the yard he headed for the wood shop, where he found the older man measuring a length of golden oak.
“Troy,” Ewan said, beaming as he gave him one of his hearty bear hugs. “Erica told me you’d left last night to look for Summer. Did you find her?”
“Yes.” Troy filled him in with a brief recounting of what had happened, although he left out how Summer had transformed after they’d rescued her. “Michael is with her now, and we’re not letting her out of our sight again.”
“That seems wise, considering.” Ewan sighed heavily. “Poor girl. She must have been so frightened. Well, I’m sure you and your friend will prevent anything more from harming her.”
“Michael is also the reason I came to see you,” Troy admitted. “We now believe that he was born Wiccan, possibly in France, and that his birth name may have been Michele Charbonneau.”
Ewan looked surprised. “I thought he was a Templar.”
Troy nodded. “He was raised by them since he was an infant. But it’s possible the Templars killed his Wiccan family, or abducted him from them. Can you reach out to your contacts, and see if there are any Charbonneaus still among the covens?”
“Right away.” The older man stroked his chin. “You know, if your friend turns out to be Wiccan as well as a Templar, it may create even more difficulties for the three of you, especially with your father. Perhaps we should keep this between us for now.”
“Good idea.” Troy glanced through the window at the main house. “One more thing, Ewan. Be careful around Lachlan. I don’t trust him anymore.”
“My boy, I am too old and useless to be of value to anyone but the dogs,” the older man said. “But I think you should watch your back. Lately Lachlan has become very unpredictable.”
Troy thanked the old warlock before he left the shop and entered the main house through a side door. He could hear Erica preparing food in the kitchen, and headed there only to find Aileen working at the counter.
“Good morning,” she said, eying him. “Are you looking for Wilson?”
“No.” He closed the kitchen door and came to inspect the bowl of strong-scented oatmeal she was mixing. “If you put anymore ginger in there it’s going to bite you back.”
“It’s for Erica. Ginger is the only thing that settles her stomach when she’s upset,” she chided. “Would you get down the honey for me? You know she and your father spent half the night arguing about your new, ah, relationships.”
He handed her the jar. “You disapprove?”
“Are you kidding? One woman with two handsome lovers? I’m jealous.” She gave him a droll look. “I don’t agree with your father’s rather nasty, narrow-minded assessment, either, but then I know exactly how much you like women.”
“That you do.” His smile faded. “Where is Lachlan?”
“I don’t know. I haven’t seen him since the fight last night.” Aileen reached out and touched his arm. “Don’t get into another tussle with him or my husband, okay? It’s not worth it.”
“It’s not about that.” He told her about the attack on Summer, and then said, “Lachlan disappeared a few minutes before she was stabbed and dragged through the woods. It’s possible he was the one who tried to kill her.”
“He’s such a sniveling little coward I can hardly believe he’d work up the nerve.” She scowled. “Spying on you and tattling to Abel is more his speed. Lachlan is a snake; always slithering around and poking his nose where it isn’t wanted. But to stab and throw a woman over a cliff––that’s truly sick and twisted.”
Troy knew she didn’t like his father’s apprentice, but the bitter loathing in her voice made him frown.
“Ash, did Lachlan do something to you?”
“No.” She tossed the spoon she was using into the sink. “But if he ever does, I’ll be doing some stabbing and cliff-tossing of my own.” She immediately made a face and rested a thin hand on her swollen belly. “I’m sorry. I’ve never liked him, and I’m tired. Tired of all this conflict, bickering with my husband, worrying about a traitor among us––and if I don’t soon have this baby, I’m pretty sure I’m going to detonate.”
Troy kissed her brow. “It won’t be much longer.”
From the kitchen he went back to his father’s study and knocked once before stepping inside.
Abel looked up from a scroll he was writing.
“So you’ve come back to apologize? Or are you looking for another fight–”
“Someone tried to kill Summer last night during the last one,” he said flatly, and related the details of the attack before he added, “I want to talk to Lachlan. Now.”
His father’s dark brows arched. “My apprentice did not attack her. Perhaps your pet Templar is jealous over the attention you give that little whore.”
“Call her that again,” Troy said softly. “Please.” When his father said nothing he folded his arms. “Sex is sacred to us, in case you’ve forgotten, so why would you object to me sharing Summer with Michael? It isn’t about Michael, is it? It’s Summer.”
“What kind of woman wants two men at the same time?” Abel countered. “She can’t mate both of you––and what if there is a child? Who is the father?”
The thought of seeing Summer’s belly swell made Troy smile a little.
“I suppose any child of ours will have one mother and two fathers.”
“There is no such thing.” Abel got to his feet. “The covens will soon be arriving, and I have no more stomach for this.”
“You’re having the gathering here, at Silver Wood?” Troy almost gaped at him. “Why would you be so reckless?”
“Under the circumstances it is the safest place for it,” his father said. “But what we do here is no more your concern. Just take your witch and your Templar, and go.”
“And what if I want to stay, and take my rightful place, the place you’ve been training me for all my life? If I send Summer and Michael away, will you give me rule over the coven?” Troy watched his father’s expression change from disgust to satisfaction. “That is why you told Summer last night that you’d hurt Michael, isn’t it? So that she’d convince me to become Coven Master when you step down during the winter gathering?”
“I never said–” Abel broke off as the water from his glass rose and formed a circle around his head, and began to solidify into a halo of icy spikes. “What are you doing?”
“Actually I’m trying not to kill you.” Troy walked up to the desk and flicked his fingers. The razor-sharp shards of ice flew away from Abel’s head to shatter against the walls and furniture around them. “It’s becoming the toughest battle I’ve ever fought.”
Eyes as blue and cold as his own stared back at him.
“You think it has been easy for me? Time and again you’ve gone out of your way to defy me, when all I have ever wanted was to see you become the leader you were meant to be.”
Troy stared at him. “I may look like you, Father, but I’m not you. I don’t want power or position. I certainly don’t give a damn about preserving your precious Atwater succession of coven master. I never have.”
“Don’t you dare speak of your birth right that way.” Abel slammed his fist on top of his desk. “It is your destiny to rule.”
“I’d rather dig ditches for the rest of eternity.” Troy braced his hands on the desk and leaned over it. “My future is with Summer and Michael. We were brought together for a purpose, and I will never leave them.”
“You’d give up the coven, and the chance to someday rule as Master of Covens, for endless perversions with a brain-damaged witch and a fucking Templar.” Abel shook his head. “You are no longer my son. I disown you.”
“Good.” Troy straightened. �
�Then maybe you’ll finally notice your other son. Wilson loves Silver Wood. He’s taken a wife, and already begun the next generation of Atwaters. He’s always supported you, no matter what you’ve done, even when he didn’t agree with you––and all the while knowing he would get nothing from you for his loyalty.”
Abel’s expression grew shuttered. “Wilson cannot be Coven Master.”
“Why the hell not?” Troy demanded. “He’s a good man, devoted, fair-minded, strong––everything you always wanted me to be––and he loves this coven, and you. He’s the one who will carry on your name. The son you’ve completely ignored. The brother who despises me only because I’ve forsaken everything he’s dreamed of having. Wilson.”
CHAPTER THREE
AFTER DISPOSING OF a trunk full of dismembered human body parts by gleefully chucking every bloody bit save one into a lovely reservoir, Gideon Edmunds continued his personal crusade into the White Mountains of New Hampshire. Cutting up the car’s owner with his own chain saw had put Gideon in very good humor, and he was determined to hang on to his merry mood until he found the witch who could cure him.
“I am a very ill man, you know,” he mentioned to the severed head of the car’s owner, Nick, which he had carefully tucked face-up in the passenger seat. “My brain is being eaten by immortality sickness. Or perhaps it is a small army of bugs that have nested between my ears. It is difficult to say which, as much of the time I am mad.”
Gideon glanced in the rearview mirror. His mouth twitch had grown so pronounced that he appeared to be either sneering or pouting. Yet he was still so handsome that the involuntary animation of his features could not truly detract from his good looks.
“Fear not, my friend, for my unhappy state is soon to end,” he advised Nick’s head. “I need only to find a pretty wench and rape her until she restores more of my mind, and tells me where I might find the green witch. Once the witch leads me to the Emerald Tablet, and uses it to heal me, then Gideon Edmunds shall be himself again.”