9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC

by Unknown

  She did not realize MeLora had spun a listening spell in the witches’ meeting hall. The child heard the queen announce her decision to the coven.

  Miserable, MeLora detested living in the illumrof world. She resented losing the crown and she hated Elsbeth and her daughters. She contrived to steal Shy-Ryn’s throne, but first she had to be allowed back in Sanctuary. Forbidden to return, the only way she could cross realms was for Shy-Ryn to die.

  The child put plans in motion by making friends with the village girls her age and filling their heads with tales of witchcraft and falsehoods about Elsbeth and her daughters.

  ~Pages of history from the Winslow witches.

  In the Year of Samhain, 1691

  Sanctuary

  Saylym felt pleased that the house and everything in it remained quiet and calm as she readied herself for Talon's picnic. The cold snap had blown itself out. The sun once again promised spring. It was a beautiful morning. It was a wonderful morning.

  As she stepped out of the shower and patted herself dry with a fluffy, yellow towel, Saylym hoped it wasn’t a sign of bad things to come, like the calm before the storm.

  She reached for the red satin thong she’d laid out to wear, and eyeballed the intriguing little arrow of faux diamonds pointing in the direction of the land of milk and honey. Not that anyone was going to see said arrow or plow said land, but it made her feel sexy knowing it was there.

  She smoothed rose-scented lotion over her shoulders and legs and then stepped into a pair of cut-off jean shorts. Saylym hummed beneath her breath, grinning like a loon as she tied a knot in the soft blue shirt beneath her breasts. Black rope sandals completed her wardrobe.

  Quickly braiding her hair, she left the thick rope swinging down the middle of her back. A quick spritz of her favorite rose scented perfume, and presto, she was ready to face the world. And Talon.

  Not a hint of weirdness hung in the air to complicate her life. Everything felt downright normal. Her bed snored softly.

  “Yes,” she yelled and kicked one leg in the air like a cheerleader. She felt like dancing and skipping around in pure joy. She was even courageous enough to glide lipstick onto her mouth. Cotton-candy pink. Saylym licked her lips. Mmm. It even tasted like cotton candy. Sugary and sweet.

  The better to kiss you with, my dear. Hee-hee-hee.

  Well…why not?

  No reason I can think of. Hee-hee-hee.

  Good grief, Saylym. Get a life!

  I’m trying. Leave me alone.

  Saylym smiled as she tip-toed past the snoring bed. She barely resisted the urge to yell, “Wake up,” as loudly as she could, just to pay the freakin’ bed back for rolling her out of it. She left before she gave in to temptation. She made her way to the front of the house in time to hear a soft rap on the door.

  Talon.

  A rush of happiness slid over her.

  Whoa, girl. Take a step back and think about this. When did this self-proclaimed waken come to mean so much to you?

  Shut-up, voice, I’m not discussing anything else with you today.

  Was her life finally returning to normal?

  She smiled and pumped a victory fist in the air. “Yes-yes-yes!”

  Well, mostly. There was still the bed. Perhaps it was just a little too soon to celebrate. But she wasn’t about to let a little thing like a snoring bed ruin her day.

  Grinning in anticipation, she opened the door, her breath suddenly lodging in her throat. My goodness, he was handsome.

  A frown drew his brows together. “Something wrong?”

  “Wrong?” Saylym blinked. “No, nothing’s wrong.”

  She slid a wicked glance over him. He wore faded jeans that rode low on his lean hips. A navy blue tee shirt hugged his muscular chest and complemented the warm, gold tone of his skin.

  He removed a pair of mirrored sunglasses and hooked them on the neck of his shirt.

  “Ready?” he asked, smiling.

  Saylym nodded. The touch of his fingers as he slid a smooth arm around her bare waist and pulled her to his side sent a tingle up her spine.

  “How do you feel about walking?” he asked.

  “I love walking,” she said, her throat dry as parchment. “Where are we going?” Saylym fell into step beside him and they started down the boardwalk. “And where’s lunch?”

  “Nuh-uh, no questions. It’s a surprise.”

  He guided her toward the east end of town then down a narrow, winding path that cut through the woods.

  Saylym grinned as she caught the soothing sounds of running water. A delighted gasp slipped past her lips as a flat-boarded millhouse came into view. Twin waterwheels brought to mind of an easier, more tranquil time. She looked around—taking pleasure in the ideal spot Talon had chosen for their picnic.

  A faded, patchwork quilt lay spread upon the ground near the placidly turning wheels. Tiny star-shaped flowers covered the ground with an enchanting red blanket. An old-fashioned wicker picnic basket nestled on one corner of the quilt, along with a chilling bottle of red wine in a wooden bucket overflowing with ice.

  “How delightful.” Saylym turned to face Talon. “It’s beautiful.”

  It was incredible. Romantic. A woman would find it hard not to fall for a man who could set up something so picture-perfect. “You’re forgiven for the week of ignoring me.”

  “Am I?” Talon’s voice sounded strained.

  He tilted her chin up with a fingertip, swallowing hard. “This is a happy moment,” he said. “Not a time for feeling blue. Witches never cry. Remember that.” He pulled her down on the quilt beside him. “Feed me, woman. I’m starving.”

  He stared at her mouth.

  “What?” Saylym questioned as she unwrapped thick roast beef sandwiches and a paper plate with an assortment of cubed cheeses. A second plate held fingers of sour pickles and tempting green olives stuffed with pimento. She popped an olive into Talon’s mouth, and he grinned as he chewed. “I want food, woman, not little red and green snacks.”

  Saylym laughed. “You packed the lunch, sir. Not I.”

  “What was I thinking?”

  After a moment, he reached for the wine bottle, popped off the cork, and poured the dark red liquid into paper cups. “I couldn’t find wine glasses, but the cups will suffice,” he said.

  Because she was admiring her surroundings, she shook her head and pressed a thick sandwich into his hands, then took a bite of her own. “Mmm, delicious.” As she chewed, she looked around. “I hope the owner doesn’t get upset with us being here,” she said, swallowing. “It looks as if he’s doing some repairs on the house.”

  “He won’t mind,” Talon replied, biting lustily into his sandwich and washing it down with wine. “I talked to him first, and he said, ‘Go for it, Talon. That’s one beautiful witch, and you should do something special for her.’ I agreed.”

  “He did not.” Saylym laughed. “You’re making that up.”

  “Swear to the gods,” Talon said, grinning as he held up his left hand. “I bought the place a few days ago,” he confessed between bites of roast beef. “I’ve been doing the repairs myself. I enjoy working with my hands. I want to fix it up, and move out of the palace into a place of my own.”

  “Palace, huh?” Saylym rolled her eyes and took another bite.

  Talon sighed. Clearly, she still did not believe he was a prince or that she was a witch. He shook his head, finished off his sandwich, and poured a second cup of wine for both of them. They nibbled on cheese cubes and let the soothing sounds of the burbling water drift over them.

  And Talon watched Saylym.

  Watched…and ached to touch her. He wanted his hands on her. He wanted to be on her and in her, rocking them both to completion. Heat licked at his groin, a trail of liquid fire.

  To occupy his mind, he kicked off his black canvas shoes and twisted around until he could lay his head in her lap. Idly, he touched a strand of her hair that had worked free of the braid, amazed as the shiny curl seemed to come
alive and wrap around his finger of its own accord. He inhaled deeply. Her hair smelled like wild roses and he knew that for eternity, he would always associate the fragrance with her.

  He stroked a finger up and down one of her smooth legs, settling just beneath the edge of her shorts. “You have the sexiest legs.”

  Saylym choked on a bite of her sandwich.

  Talon paused, enjoying the faint color rising to her cheeks. “Tell me about you, Saylym,” he drawled, and touched the edge of her thong.

  She jerked and took a deep gulp of her wine as his finger did a slow probe beneath the thong, edging closer to the land Down Under, all without benefit of faux arrow.

  “Nothing to tell,” she gasped.

  She clamped her fingers around his wrist as he edged toward his quest.

  He lifted a brow. “No?”

  She wasn’t certain if he was asking about progressing to what lay beneath the thong or if he was replying to her statement that there was nothing to tell. She swallowed hard and cleared her throat. “You first, Prince Talon,” she teased.

  “Honey, you can do anything to me you want. I don’t mind.” He brought her hand to the top button of his jeans. His eyes darkened to forest green. “Touch me anywhere you want.”

  Saylym let out a deep breath. Well, guess that answered what he was referring to with his ‘No?’

  She nibbled on her bottom lip. “I didn’t mean that.”

  “I did.”

  He was seducing her, she thought wildly. And she was going to let him.

  Her heart pounded in her chest.

  How could she stop him?

  Did she even want to?

  No. She wanted this man. She’d wanted him from the moment she saw him.

  Talon hesitated, flicking his lazy gaze over her before releasing her hand. Then he shrugged. “Sure?” he asked grinning.

  She nodded, licking her lips. He stifled a moan, then continued, “Well, I’m the younger son of King Darak and Queen Helayne, the royal rulers of Ru-Noc. I have one brother, Stry, who is heir to the throne, and a younger sister, Kali.”

  “Ru-Noc?” Saylym took a sip of wine. “I think you’re making that up.”

  He searched her eyes, a slight frown on his face. “Perhaps.”

  “You have no desire to be king?” she teased.

  “Hell, no! Although they’re my family, I detest the guild’s damnable games of intrigue and politics.” Talon’s brows drew together. “I love my parents, but it’s time I moved into a place of my own.”

  He took her cup and drank from it, pressing his lips where hers had touched. He drank slowly, watching her over the rim of the cup. Saylym stared back, observing his throat as he swallowed. She wondered how he could make the simple act of drinking and swallowing look so incredibly sexy.

  He gave her a slow grin, handing her the empty cup. She shook her head and reached for the bottle to refill it.

  “My sister Kali,” he said slowly, ogling her as she drank from the cup, “will probably live with them forever. She’s spoiled rotten and one day she’ll make some unsuspecting waken’s life miserable.”

  “Why is that?” Saylym asked, curious about his sister.

  “Because she’ll show him no mercy. Kali’s hot-headed and stubborn as hell. She’s in need of taming.”

  Saylym laughed. “And, of course, the sons are not spoiled rotten? Don’t you think you need to be domesticated?”

  “No, to the first question. Yes, to the second. You want to tame me, La-Scheme?” Talon arched an eyebrow. “Anytime you’re ready, kieran, come and get me.”

  Saylym blushed and shook her head. “You, my prince, are incorrigible.”

  He brushed a soft curl behind her ear. “Yes, my little witch, I am.” His face darkened with unbidden regret and pain. “My father and I butt heads consistently. But Mother…Mom…is a special lady. She’s the peacemaker. She never says a word against Father, but I can read her eyes. Sometimes she can’t hold back the laughter. She makes me laugh when Father and I are at our finest hour of arguing.”

  Talon flinched as the sudden urge to bring Saylym’s mouth to his slammed into his gut. Gods, but he needed to get his mind off seduction and get it on business. He was here with her to learn more about her life, present and past. He needed the information for his report to the Guild. Then he could demand they leave her spirit intact. He could mate with her and forget about bonding.

  What about a child?

  All right, a child—the risk of conception was pretty high at Beltane—especially since Saylym was fertile—He’d just have to be careful.

  Saylym took another sip of wine. “In the early years, we moved around a lot and I developed a habit of picking up slang expressions. Eventually, England became home.” She frowned slightly. “It was always just Mum and me.”

  Talon grinned. He’d heard of this England, but since he never ventured into the illumrof realm, he’d never been there. Taking her hand and bringing it to his mouth, he whispered, “Mum? Ah, that accounts for the accent I keep hearing in your words. I’ve heard of this Britain accent.”

  “British,” she corrected. “And I wouldn’t talk about accents, Mr. I ‘vant to dreenk yur blood.”

  Talon threw back his head, laughing deeply. “I’m not a vampire, darling, that’s what their males say when they get ready to mate. My accent is very old. Quite ancient, in fact.”

  She nodded, her pupils constricting as he dipped her index finger in her cup of wine and then licked the liquid off it.

  “Wine on your fingers,” he said softly, moving to the next digit.

  “Are you telling me that vampires actually exist?”

  “Of course, they’re from this plane, but they choose to live in the illumrof realm, food, you know?”

  Saylym opened her mouth, but forgot what she was going to say as he drew her face down to his and nibbled at one corner of her mouth. “Sliver of olive.”

  “Uh—”

  “Don’t interrupt this seduction.”

  “Uh—”

  “Sshh…cheese crumb,” he breathed slowly, moving to the opposite corner of her mouth and licking.

  He rolled her beneath his weight and snacked his way down her throat, lingering at the pulsing mark he’d left branded on her throat.

  The knot on her shirt came undone, and he parted the sides. There was something hot and savage on his face as he raised his head and looked into her eyes.

  “Red is my color,” he said hoarsely, releasing the front catch on her bra with an expert flick of his fingers.

  Along with her shirt, he slipped the red satin straps off her shoulders, wadded it up and thrust the bra inside his jeans pocket. “Beautiful,” he moaned, before creating a moist trail to the soft under curves of her breasts. He closed his mouth around a tightly puckered nipple. “You are mine, Saylym Winslow. Never doubt that for a moment.”

  * * * *

  Saylym flinched as his mouth closed hotly around the aching bud. He suckled strongly, nipping the nipple with his teeth. Heavens. She was headed straight to hell.

  “Strawberries and cream,” he whispered, and swirled his tongue around the aching bud.

  Oh, yeah, straight to hell in a handbag. No directions required. Free passage. She had her boarding pass. All she had to do was get aboard.

  Talon wasn’t a man to play favorites. He moved to the other breast, bit gently on the straining little berry, then soothed the slight sting with an expert flick of his incredible tongue.

  “Sweet,” he breathed and fed deeply, rolling the nipple beneath his tongue, savoring the delicious taste of her.

  Without conscious thought, Saylym slid her fingers into the silky strands of his dark hair and held him against her bared breast. “I…uh…oh…stars,” she cried as he brought his full weight on top of her.

  He felt divine and smelled like sin. Rich, inviting sin. He moved his hips in a slow, rhythmic thrust as old as time itself. Slowly, he pressed her knees apart and allowed the hard ridge t
o settle snugly between her thighs as he rocked gently, moaning against her breasts.

  Saylym felt his fingers slip to the waistband of her shorts, release the metal button and zipper, and then dip inside. “I have to touch you, La-Scheme,” he whispered against her throat. “Let me touch you.”

  “Ah…I…” she gurgled, unable to form a complete sentence.

  The cutoffs fell away with a brush of his hands. She saw his pupils dilate. His nostrils flared at the sight of the tiny, studded arrow pointing the way.

  He choked.

  Not that he needed direction, she thought wildly. He seemed to be blazing his own trail pretty darned well.

  Talon slowly followed the direction of the glittering arrow with his index finger, paused at the very tip of it, before sliding underneath to stroke the tiny bud hidden beneath the red satin.

  “Ah…I…” she couldn’t seem to get past those two words as she arched her body against the slow stroking of his finger. He slipped a second finger inside her, gently stretching her, stroking smoothly in a steady rhythm.

  Saylym bucked beneath his touch as he explored the silken sheath of her womanhood. She felt him hesitate as he bumped against the proof of her purity. He muttered something, then slid a hand beneath her buttocks, lifting her hips. Slowly, he stroked the tiny button with his thumb, his fingers thrusting and stroking the velvet heat within.

  She moaned, clawing at his shoulders, his hair. “Talon,” she gasped his name. Her body convulsed wildly. “I-I…”

  “That’s it, baby,” he encouraged. “Come for me, Saylym. I want to feel you unravel.”

  A tiny whimper slipped past her throat. He stroked faster, deeper. She shattered in his arms, her body quaking as he held her tightly. “Ssh…it’s all right, baby. It’s all right.”

  Tiny whimpers escaped her throat as he withdrew his fingers. “Ssh,” he whispered, pulling her close to his bare chest, rocking her until she settled. “I need you, Saylym.”