9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC

by Unknown

  Beltane was the time for conception. All Hallows’ Eve, the time for birth, but there were all the months in between to take pleasure in. It wasn’t just the guild that needed new laws. The witches needed to make changes, too.

  Along with All Hallows’ Eve, Beltane was one of the most powerful times for a witch. She was fertile only in the spring and her scent drew the waken. It was age-old and irresistible. Choosing not to mate at Beltane was painful, especially for a waken.

  It was nearly impossible to achieve celibacy at this time.

  For the last three years he’d chosen to remain celibate during Beltane. He had no liking to scatter his seed to the four corners of Ru-Noc, or to leave a witch with a responsibility he secretly yearned to share. And mating once a year, although exciting, also left him dissatisfied, until now, he hadn’t understood the reason why.

  Yes, he’d suffered greatly for abstaining but at least he had peace of mind. As he’d grown older and wiser, he’d sought somewhere to go, anywhere away from Sanctuary, where witches waited with hope for wakens to father a child with them. Staying away from Sanctuary helped ease both the urge and the pain of needing to mate, but it didn’t completely prevent it.

  Talon nibbled on his bottom lip, deep in thought. He yearned to be a better father than his own had been to him. But there were those who didn’t care. Like warlocks. They were selfish beings whose only goal in life was their own pleasure and the torment of others.

  They cared not how many children they fathered or even concerned themselves with the child’s life. Many times, if the witch was as selfish and cold-hearted as the warlock, then the child was abandoned to fend for itself. It was cruel, but a harsh fact.

  He slid a glance over Saylym. She headed toward him, a trusting smile on her beautiful face. She’d never abandon a child. Her heart was too soft. Unwillingly, he stared at her belly. His groin tightened.

  It’d been a difficult decision to Handfast with her, mainly because there could never be a child. When they mated, she wouldn’t understand his refusal to give her his seed. Her natural instinct would be to conceive.

  Saylym stopped in front of him, eyeing him nervously. A wave of heat punched him. He shifted, uncomfortable with the aching hardness that throbbed urgently against his zipper.

  If they mated, he thought sourly.

  Even though he’d wiped away the memory of his attempt to steal her soul, she remained skittish as hell around him, as if she suspected he’d done something to her she couldn’t remember. If Saylym ever discovered he’d tried to take her spirit, she’d hate him.

  By the time he realized he couldn’t steal her soul, he’d already uttered the stealing chant. For at least the next twenty-four to thirty-six hours, until the chant weakened, the spell guaranteed the loss of her inner being if he so much as brushed his lips over hers.

  He fervently hoped his will-power was strong enough to conquer the strength of the hex. By kissing her palms, he’d reinforced the protective spell over her, but he was battling the natural pull of Beltane and the strong urge to mate. He shifted uncomfortably. Until the chant he’d uttered to steal her soul lost its absolute power over both of them, he had to be careful.

  His gaze fell to her inviting mouth. Damn, it wasn’t going to be an easy matter resisting this craving to kiss her.

  Black Drayke was right about one thing. It was a strong, dark force to taste a witch’s soul as it flew to absolute destruction. The power of the chant was strong. Not completing the ritual left him feeling hollow. The need to finish the spell gnawed at his gut. The need to mate had only grown stronger with the force of the hex he’d spoken.

  “Ready?” Saylym asked. She scanned him, her tri-colored gaze apprehensive.

  “Ready?” Talon cleared his throat. Hell, yes! If he got any more ready, he’d strip her and take her right here in the doorway of the shop. “Yeah,” he said in a stained voice, and reached for her arm to guide her through the open door.

  Saylym brushed past him and stepped onto the boardwalk. Her heady scent settled over him like a sigh. He took the key from her and locked the shop door. Shaking his head at the waste of time it was to lock a door in Sanctuary he turned to follow her, watching the gentle sway of her hips like a thirsty man in the desert.

  “You don’t have to walk me home, you know,” she said, glancing back over her shoulder at him. “I’ve walked it every day by myself for the last month.”

  Talon pressed the key into her hand, falling into step beside her. Frowning, he thought about Black Drayke, of the evil in the warlock, and glanced around at the gathering shadows. “It’ll be dark soon. It’s not safe for an unescorted witch after dark at the rising of Beltane.”

  “I told you, I’m not a witch.”

  “You live in Sanctuary.”

  “So?”

  “So,” he replied.

  She tilted her head up to him, laughing a soft sound that warmed his soul. He found himself smiling back at her, and a strange sensation settled in his chest. The suddenness of the hot desire racing through his blood caught him off-guard. He doubled over before he could manage to control the aching need and pain.

  Saylym gasped. The sound of her surprised breath escaped short and audible. She wrapped her arms around his shoulders to steady him. “What is it? What’s wrong?”

  He rose, searching her face. Maybe it was a side effect of the unfulfilled chant. Or perhaps Beltane was having an unusual effect on his body this season. There was nothing but innocence in her soft eyes, but somehow, she’d invaded his body. He could feel the soothing gentleness of her spirit comforting him. It felt like she’d leaped straight into his soul and she didn’t have a clue what she’d done to him.

  She brushed the damp curls back from his forehead. “You’re so pale. Are you sure you’re all right? I can walk home alone if you need to go back upstairs and lie down.”

  Talon shook his head. “I’m fine. It’s gone. Let’s get you home.”

  But I’m not fine.

  He felt weak and oddly sensitized. Hot. His skin itched and burned. His cock ached abominably. Sexual relief was a must, and soon, or he was going to explode. At the moment, there was nothing he wanted more than to press Saylym against a building, lower her pants, and take her hard and fast.

  He’d had centuries of learning how to control his basic urges during Beltane, but he’d never felt this out of control or so edgy before.

  Whatever was happening to him was new. He didn’t understand what it was about Saylym Winslow that gave him the hard-on from hell.

  * * * *

  Reaching to open the gate, Saylym paused in front of the white picket fence and eyed Talon. He was still pale, his skin shiny with sweat. She shook her head. “Well, here it is. Home-sweet-home.” She hesitated, biting her bottom lip. “Would you like to come in?”

  “Another time. I still have things to do before I’m finished for the day.” He pressed a kiss to the crown of her head. “Tomorrow’s Sunday. Would you consider going on a picnic with me?” Before she could respond, he said, “I’ll see you in the morning, La-Scheme. Sweet dreams, Saylym Winslow.”

  She nodded, watching him hurry away. He acted like a man on fire, one who couldn’t escape her fast enough.

  “He is a man on fire, dearie.”

  Saylym whirled to see Eldora approaching her. A big, floppy purple hat bounced on her frizzled head. Green-as-grass shoes with red jewels glittered on the leather that encased her feet. A bright turquoise skirt swept the ground while the brick-red blouse with ice-blue buttons down the front hugged her flat chest. The old woman’s bones creaked and popped with every step she took.

  Saylym bit her tongue to keep from asking if she’d like an oil can.

  “It’s too late for oil, dear. I’m afraid I’ll creak until the end of my days.”

  “You can read my mind!” Saylym gasped, blinking in disbelief.

  Eldora cackled. “Of course. I’m a witch. Now, about your handsome Prince Talon, he’s one fine waken.
Built to get the job done, if you know what I mean.” She held up her arms, spreading her hands a distance apart as though measuring something and winked. “A well endowed male, if the rumors are true.”

  Saylym stared at the old woman, determined to keep her expression blank. Built to get the job done? Bloody blazes! Why did she have to live next door to a twenty-thousand year-old Lolita with an over-active libido?

  “A great catch for any lovely witch to be proud of snaring.” Eldora rambled on oblivious to the fact Saylym tried her best to ignore her words. “If I were in your shoes, I’d get my hands on it…er…him, as quickly as possible.” She patted Saylym’s arm. “He’ll want to get his hands on you as fast as he can. You’re a very lovely witch, my dear.”

  Saylym counted to ten and then slowly exhaled. She felt like screaming. Why did everyone keep insisting she was a witch? “He’s not my prince or my anything. In fact, he’s been avoiding me.”

  Eldora drew closer, her eyes widening as she ogled Saylym’s throat. She snickered. “Pish-posh! That’s just a waken’s last desperate attempt to hold on to his freedom. It never works. The man can no more stay away from you than a bee can resist a flower. I’m betting he’ll pollinate you the very first opportunity he gets. He has claimed you, I see.”

  Saylym rubbed the tingling spot on her neck before she thought better of it. “Something bit me.”

  Rolling her eyes, Eldora whooped. “He sure did! Oh, and he has done a fine job of the claiming. It’s the size of a witch’s moon dollar and a beautiful shade of royal purple. It’s no wonder the poor prince is feeling the Flaymes of Eternal Life scorching him already. He’s more than ready to bond with you.”

  Saylym felt her jaw drop. “Bond?”

  What was the old lady rambling about now? Was that a term they used for having sex at the turn of the century? Or in Eldora’s case, centuries?

  The old lady in question reached for Saylym’s hands and turned them over, palms up. Her eyes widened. She shook her head. “Oh, this isn’t good at all. Well, it’s good, and not so good,” she hooted. “Your prince is going to be quite miserable before he can chant the bonding ritual with you and extinguish the Flaymes. Oh, indeed. He’s going to feel the fire, all right.”

  Saylym jerked her wrists free and stared at her palms. For the life of her, she couldn’t see a thing. “He’s not my prince! I’m not a witch! And good grief! What fire are you talking about?”

  Eldora laughed. “The fire, dearie, the one and only fire that counts at Beltane…the breeding fire. Ho-ho. It worked. My spell worked!”

  Saylym stared at her. She had no idea what the woman was rambling on about. “What spell?”

  “Oh, don’t you worry none, dearie. I’m looking after your interests. And you’re wrong, dear, on all counts, but for now, you’re safe.” She looked thoughtful for a moment, then gave a long sigh. “The prince must care for you very much. He’s done his best to protect you. He placed a shielding spell over you. He’s marked your palms with the imprint of his lips.” She gave a deeper sigh and clutched her hands to her scrawny bosom. “It’s so romantic. No one can kiss you but him. Even though he’s probably in denial, he’s ripe for bonding. He can’t kiss you himself, at least, not until whatever spell he chanted weakens.” Eldora paused, her old eyes wise and thoughtful. “That’s sad, because wakens love kissing pretty witches.” She rubbed her chin, thoughtful. “Now I wonder why he’d do such a thing. He’s going to be in so much discomfort and at a time when Beltane is escalating.” Her eyes suddenly widened and she gasped. “Ohhh! Pissel-poot! Maybe it’d be best if you avoid him, dear. He may not be the right waken for you after all. Such a shame, too, he’s so handsome–no doubt quite good in bed, too. Vigorous. Very vigorous. And virile. Oh, yes. He’s prime–a fine specimen with a big wand to get the job done. Why, he can’t be much over six hundred years old.”

  Saylym choked. Air caught in her lungs, trapped, and made her wheeze. She tried to breathe, but her lungs wouldn’t fill with air.

  Eldora beat her on the back with her knobby fist. “I know exactly how you feel, dearie. Why, it was just last Beltane I had to give up a fine, sexually potent waken, had one of the biggest cocks…er…well…can you believe it? Raulan’s nearly five thousand, and he’s still a mama’s boy.”

  Saylym nodded, her eyes watering and, for the moment, speaking was beyond her capability. She couldn’t reply if the Devil himself stood behind her jabbing her in the ass with his pitchfork. At last, gasping, she drew a deep, whistling breath and quickly exhaled.

  What in the world was wrong with Eldora? One minute she was ooh-ing and aah-ing, verbalizing Talon’s outstanding attributes. The next, he was worse than castor oil.

  Six hundred years old?

  Bloody hell! By the stars in heaven, the old hag was way ahead of her with her insane ramblings. Eldora was definitely losing it.

  “Losing what, dear?”

  Saylym jumped. On the edge of bursting into hysterical laughter, she clapped a hand over her mouth. Gaining control, she said, “Miss Eldora, would you please refrain from reading my mind? And-and we’ll have no-no further discussions about the size of a man’s—” She raised her hands and quickly lowered them. “You know.”

  “What’s wrong with discussing the size of a waken’s cock? Why dear, you certainly want a good-sized one, long and firm and thick. You don’t want a shriveled, dried up old wiener, lifeless as hell poking at you.”

  “Eldora!”

  The old witch hooted. “Oh, all right. I’ll try to refrain from mentioning a waken’s joy tube. But I can’t help reading your mind. You do broadcast your every thought. Of course, not much of it makes sense. I haven’t lost anything.”

  “Right.” Saylym sighed and glared at her house. She dreaded going inside. No telling what lurked in there waiting to read her mind or attack her. She glanced at Eldora. The alternative—no. She took a step closer to her front gate. Six hundred year old wakens, hell, a five thousand year old waken and still a mama’s boy. And a horny old lady who claimed to be a witch!

  She giggled. Hysterical laughter bubbled up and gurgled over as she clutched her side. Wiping tears from her eyes, she mumbled the words, “Double, double, toil and trouble. Fire burn and cauldron bubble.”

  Eldora jumped back, staring at her as if she thought Saylym had lost her mind. “Careful what you chant, young woman, the last thing we need is toil and trouble bubbling over from a cauldron. A witch’s brew can easily get out of control.”

  Saylym doubled over with laughter. A second refrain rushed through her mind, reminding her of something from her childhood she couldn’t quite remember, couldn’t quite grasp, something to do with a young girl, a scarecrow, and a yellow brick road.

  Oh, and a tin man and a lion.

  Now, how did it go?

  Yeah. Now, she remembered.

  Witches, warlocks, and spells. Oh, my!

  Chapter Thirteen

  Nehemiah Abbott, William and Deliverance Hobbs, Edward and Sarah Bishop, Mary Easty, Mary Black, Sarah Wildes, and Mary English were examined before Hathorne and Corwin. Nehemiah Abbott was the only one cleared of charges.

  ~Salem Witch Trials

  April 22, 1692

  Page Entry…

  Queen Shy-Ryn refused to discuss with the coven what Kran did to her that Beltane. But we saw the bruises, we all knew, we all hated, and we all vowed revenge. None of us doubted he’d been brutal in his determination to force his child on her.

  True, the queen was with child, but Kran’s triumph was short-lived. He’d fathered a daughter, not the son he coveted. Livid with Shy-Ryn’s failure to produce a male heir, he swore she’d give him a son the next year.

  The coven realized the grave danger this left Queen Shy-Ryn in. Every Beltane, Kran would force another child on the beloved queen until she conceived his son. The coven agreed–they’d not allow this repugnant act to take place again.

  ~Pages of history from the Winslow witches.

  I
n the Year of Samhain, 1555

  Sanctuary

  A loud rumbling jarred Saylym from a sound sleep. She swore the entire house shook.

  Earthquake!

  “Bloody hell!” She scrambled for a hold on the sheet as she flew across the bed. It swayed from side to side like a hammock strung between two trees.

  “Ge-ron-i-mo!” a deep voice bellowed in the darkness.

  Saylym shrieked as the bed tilted to one side and dumped her onto the floor. She rolled across the carpet in a flurry of blankets and pillows. “Ouch!” Puffing a strand of hair from her eyes, she thrust the covers and pillows out of her way. “Ouch-Ouch-Ouch!” She wrinkled her nose and rubbed at a painful lump rising in the center of her forehead. Flinging a glare at the unfriendly bed, she rose to her feet. “Are you crazy?”

  Maybe she’d been dreaming or having a nightmare.

  “I warned you about that snoring, witch.”

  She muttered beneath her breath as she reached to snap on the bedside lamp. Uh-huh. There it was. That single red eyeball in the center of the headboard had a pleased smirk upon its thick lips.

  “You,” Saylym shouted. “You’re back.”

  “Me,” the bed replied, smacking its lips together with satisfaction. “And I never left. Don’t even think about crawling back on me. Until you learn to control that infernal noise you make, sleep on the sofa.”

  Saylym snatched the blanket and pillow from the floor. “Fine.” She whirled, to leave the room. “You’re lumpy, anyway.”