by Unknown
He saw her frown, obviously still unsure of his feelings and intentions, but he knew he could not take any more just now. He stepped away from her. “Is there a basement or cellar here? Maybe there’s a valve system somewhere below the building.”
Saylym blinked at the change of subject, and took a minute to respond to his question. “Yes. There’s a cellar below. It’s spooky. I stopped at the third step and came back up the day I purchased this shop.”
“That has to be where the shut-off valves are.” Talon looked around. “Where’s the door?”
“Through my office, back here.”
They stepped through a pair of beaded curtains and into Saylym’s cramped office.
“There’s no lighting down there, except for torches,” Saylym informed him as she pawed through the drawers in her desk.
“Torches?” Talon questioned.
“Strange, huh?”
“Yeah. Very strange.”
Saylym pointed at the door on the far wall to her left. “Through that door.” She found the lighter and handed it to him. “I used that to light a torch.”
Talon took the lighter, grinning, then opened the door to gaping darkness. “Damn, it’s black as the pits of Hell down there.”
“Be careful.” Saylym shivered. “The steps are damp and slick.” She didn't relish this trip to the underworld of the cellar.
A torch poked out from a narrow fissure in the rock wall. Talon grabbed it and flipped open the lighter. As soon as he lit the torch, shadows leaped off the moist stonewall. Rancid air, icy as hoar frost, whooshed up from the cellar and Saylym recoiled. She had been so right in her conviction that this place should be let alone. Too bad Talon didn’t share it.
He lowered the torch and swung it back and forth so she could see there were at least a dozen steps leading down into the black hole. He switched the torch to his left hand and pressed the flat of his right palm against the rocky outcrop of wall and took the first step. The flames danced and flickered, creating murky silhouettes on the walls before settling, leaving darker, wavering shadows in the room. Saylym followed, matching him step for step.
“This torch must be hundreds of years old,” Talon said, as he reached the last step.
Saylym stopped right behind him. “I thought that the first time I lit it.” She let him steady her with a hand on her arm as they surveyed the cellar. It wasn’t a large area, somewhere between nine and ten feet wide by twelve feet long. A row of antique wine racks stood upright against the wall to his left and three ancient-looking wine barrels set to the far end of the racks.
“Ah!” he grunted with obvious satisfaction. “There it is.”
There what was? Saylym swiped at the centuries-old spider webs that clung tenaciously to her face and hair. Her eyes narrowed as she considered the heated kisses she and Talon had shared.
After he’d kissed her, his words had been so thick she could barely understand him.
But it was his single-minded determination to get her to agree to bonding with him that worried her.
And just why did he want to bond with her? He claimed she wasn’t good enough with her diluted bloodline, so why make the commitment?
They were hot together, no doubt about that. He was dark and subtly mysterious, and he openly admitted he wanted her.
So why did she persist in having doubts?
Though he was mostly gentle when he touched her, there were times when the element of danger emitting from him was strong. She thought his gentleness was a facade. Yes, he just might be a bit of a wolf; a sleek, powerful predator on the prowl, and if she made the wrong move, the wrong choice, he would gobble her up for a tasty snack.
That was it. He was a wolf, and she didn’t believe for a single moment he’d allowed her to make the decision of bonding with him. He might not want to, it may not be his preferred style of seduction, but she thought he’d have his way with her one way or the other.
The thought was frightening.
She didn’t think she could bear it if he forced her to have sex with him. Relationships were a matter of choice, built on trust and love. He wanted her, but he never said he loved her.
She nibbled on her bottom lip.
Why hadn’t she realized how important the difference was before now? Now that she was alone in a near-dark room where no one could hear her cries for help if she needed it?
Well, idiot, maybe you were too busy noticing other things about him.
Like what?
Like the mouth-watering ridge in his pants he teased and taunted you with just a little while ago. Duh!
Oh, shut up! Do you always have to be right?
How about that sexy, delectable bottom lip and tight ass? You know you’re dying to clench your fingers into those firm buns.
Go away!
Oh, but she could think of other things that drew her to him. The purposeful way he moved, like a jungle cat on the hunt, silent, perilous with deadly intent, and without wasting an ounce of energy. He was streamlined perfection. And he’d hunted her…his green/gold eyes focused on one aim, her seduction.
Oh, yeah. She’d been too busy absorbing details, soaking them up like a greedy sponge, to pay close attention to his pursuit. Sexy beast that he was, it was all she could do just to keep from jumping his bones.
Saylym focused her attention on the monstrosity across the dim room. Against the far wall stood a gigantic, ancient, rusty valve extending through the wall behind it. The valve stood upright, perched atop a huge iron wheel with oversize iron teeth.
Talon stood beside it, waving the torch back and forth. He twisted and tugged the valve. It squeaked and groaned in protest, but didn’t budge.
“It’s rusted tight,” he said needlessly. “Damn.”
Handing Saylym the torch, he pointed. “Stand over there against that wall. I may have to use magic to turn the valve and sometimes things explode.”
“Great,” Saylym muttered. “That’s all I need.”
Talon frowned, placing both hands around the huge valve and grunting as he tried to turn it. “It’s not going to budge.” A sigh. “All right. Close your eyes, baby.”
“Why?”
“Because there are going to be flashes of light, and I don’t want to damage your eyes.”
Saylym closed her eyes and leaned against the wall behind her.
Her eyes popped open as she felt him kiss her lips. “Oh, I’ve been blinded by the light, all right.”
“For luck,” he whispered against her mouth and nudged her with his groin. “Don’t pout, even though that bottom lip looks sexy as hell when you do that delicious little sulky thing you do with it. It makes me horny. You have no idea of the erotic dreams I’ve had of your mouth doing yummy things to my cock. But I don’t want to be distracted right now.”
He didn’t want to be distracted?
Talon grinned. “You can watch, La-Scheme. There will be lights, but they won’t blind you. I was teasing.”
He took a single step forward. Stretching out his hands in a theatrical gesture, he pointed his fingertips toward the rusty valve and wiggled them.
Saylym rolled her eyes. “You’re forgetting to say hocus-pocus.”
Her jaw dropped as gold sparks flew from his fingertips and danced around the valve like twitching bolts of electricity. The valve groaned and then slowly rotated counter clockwise.
“Hocus…pocus,” he said slowly, then turned to face her. He leaned nearer to close her mouth with a fingertip.
Saylym slapped his hand away. “You just had to go and prove you’re a witch. Didn’t you?” She pressed herself against the wall behind her. “An honest to goodness, dress-me-in-black, voo-doo,” she panted…“wa-wa-waken!”
His teeth flashed. “I’ve been telling you that, La-Scheme. You just haven’t been listening.”
Chapter Twenty-Four
Initial session of the Court of Oyer and Terminer began. Bridget Bishop was the first to be pronounced guilty of witchcraft. She was condemned
to death.
~Salem Witch Trials
June 2, 1692
Sanctuary
Talon’s smile abruptly faded as the wall behind Saylym suddenly groaned, trembled violently, and then gave a deep-throated roar and collapsed backward.
Saylym’s arms flailed wildly in imitation of a crippled windmill, and then with a short, startled scream, she plummeted backward with the wall.
“Saylym,” Talon shouted, lunging for her. “Merciful, gods!” Talon grabbed for her thrashing arms, but his grasping fingers closed around flimsy material that ripped in half. He stared blankly at the piece of yellow cotton fabric in his hands as the light faded. “Sheeahta!”
The torch Saylym held pitched down along with the echo of her terrified screams renting the air. Talon shuddered as the Stygian dark closed around him. His ragged breathing broke the abrupt silence. Chills froze the marrow in his bones. “Saylym!” He roared her name, fear slamming into his gut like a clenched fist.
He stood at the edge of the drop, straining to hear the sound of her voice. The absolute quiet was deafening. “Saylym! Answer me, sweetheart!”
Fingers of silence crept into the dark as icy and desolate as a crypt.
“I'm coming!” He snapped his fingers, but knew instantly, it was no use. When the wall crumbled, for some odd reason, so had his ability to perform magic. Although he knew it was useless, he tried again and again until he panted and dripped with cold sweat.
Never in all his years had his powers been so totally drained. He felt vulnerable and half-alive, as if part of his soul was missing. Now he knew how a witch felt when her spirit was stolen.
Losing one’s spiritual essence wasn’t a pleasant feeling. He didn’t know how he was going to accomplish it, but he had to get out of the contract he had with the guild. His days as an assassin were finished.
Eventually, he returned to the water-soaked shop and looked about, numb with fear. It was a feeling he’d never felt before and hoped he never felt again. Violent tremors shook his body. His wet clothes stuck to him, clammy and cold as the grave.
Terror clogged his throat as the numbness began to wear off.
How ironic that he had come here to eliminate Saylym’s spirit and how paradoxical it would be if her spirit shifted into another plane from the fall, just when he’d realized he was crazy about her.
When had he begun to care about her?
After considering it for a moment, he knew exactly when it had happened. From the first moment she called for her Prince Charming, he’d been a goner. He’d known then he had to have her. He hadn’t cared that she was an Impure. Oh, he’d made noises about her illumrof blood, but deep down, he hadn’t cared enough to stop his pursuit. But that was lust.
Her soft laughter and her graceful twirl had called to him. That was need.
He needed her in his life. He needed her softness, and her gentleness.
She owned property now. She owned him and his heart. She’d taken half his heart prisoner when she took the time to help celebrate a lonely old witch’s birthday. She captured the rest of his heart when she cared for a little boy and his scraped knees. He belonged to her from those moments, and he hadn’t even known it.
Shivering, Talon searched frantically through boxes of junk and clutter beneath the counter where Saylym’s cash register sat perched like a griffin. Maybe he could find something useful to aid him in reaching her.
The gentle wisp of Vox’s breath touched his cheek as the owl settled on his shoulder.
“She’s alive, Prince. Injured and rendered unconscious, but she is breathing. The drop isn’t as far as you feared.”
“How far, Vox?”
“I do not know how far, Sire. Several rope lengths, I believe. Mayhap, two or three stories deep.”
“Two or three stories? That’s too far, Vox. She could have broken every bone in her body.”
Dragging down box after box and scattering the contents across the floor, Talon held up a second lighter with a grunt of satisfaction. He couldn’t suppress the hiss of triumph as he spotted a length of coiled rope beneath the counter. “Thank you, gods,” he muttered.
He hadn’t had a clue as to how he was going to get to her without it. He couldn’t just leap into the black hole and follow her.
Without much hope, he focused on the front door and mumbled a soft chant. The lock slid silently into place. Thank the gods! His magic seemed to work in the store. The last thing he needed was intruders distracting him.
Quickly, he looped the rope across his shoulder. It seemed as if Saylym had been down in that bloody hole for an eternity. She hadn’t responded to his frantic calls. He had no idea how seriously she was injured.
Talon made his way back down the slippery stairway to the cellar. Thank the gods there was a second torch stuck in a slot near the water valve.
“Saylym!” No reply. He swore softly. The injuries she’d sustained might not allow him to move her to safety. He didn’t know what he’d do then.
Looping the end of the rope around the water valve, he tossed the other end into the gaping cavity. Leaning over, he waved the torch back and forth, but he couldn’t see. There was nothing but a black fissure that even the flames couldn’t penetrate.
Hell, the rope might not have even reached the bottom. He prayed he wasn’t left dangling mid-air with nothing but open space below him. He had no way of knowing until he descended, but no matter what, he couldn’t leave Saylym alone there in the dark, injured.
As Talon lowered himself over the side of the wall, he thought about her denials of being a witch. How could she own and operate a magic shop and not believe in magic? Did she simply maintain the shop for believers of the Wiccan, occult, and Pagan without believing herself? Knowing Saylym, that was probably so.
But how was it possible that she didn’t know she was a witch?
And why?
How could she not know such a thing?
It was as if her mind had been completely erased of the knowledge of what she was. He stilled. Shit! That was it. She had a hex on her. Her memory had been tampered with. If he ever got his hands on the person guilty of such a thing, he’d ring their damned necks!
It was no wonder she bungled her magic. A witch who didn’t know she was a witch was indeed, very dangerous. With her bungling magic, she could accidentally cast a spell that brought down the walls between the illumrof and Ru-Noc realms. She could create catastrophic storms, gigantic tidal waves. There were endless possibilities and all of them tragic.
The illumrof could come to realize there truly were witches and existing worlds parallel to their own. They could become aware of faeries and leprechauns, vampires and werewolves, gods and goddesses.
They would realize there was an Underworld ruled by Titan, the King of Death. That Dym, his son, could be merciless when forcing the Chosen Ones to keep their appointment with Death.
Panic and mayhem would rule, because illumrofs were not ready to accept these other worlds.
All the existing realms would be cast back into the Dark Ages. The destruction—the chaos and slaughter—gods, the slaughter would be worse than the Salem tragedy. Much, much worse. And it had been far worse than the illumrof remembered or history indicated.
He had no choice but to report what he’d discovered about Saylym to the Guild, but not before their bonding ceremony. By then, it would be too late for the Guild to act. Without knowing who had placed the spell on Saylym, he couldn’t reverse it. There was always the possibility of hidden traps and hexes. He could end up causing Saylym to go insane. Not that she wasn’t crazy already.
The ancients wouldn’t dare order the death of his mate, especially if she was carrying his child. Therefore, if he wanted to save Saylym’s soul from oblivion, he had to bed her and breed her.
She would despise him for that bit of trickery, but he didn’t have time to romance her or to discuss the finer details of their relationship. That chance had now come and gone.
Before he retur
ned to face the guild with the incriminating information that she wasn’t aware she was a witch and she was hexed, the bonding and breeding must have already been accomplished. There were just too many things piling up against her.
Then there was Black Drayke. The warlock was unpredictable and deadly dangerous.
Sooner or later, he was going to have to kill the warlock and that wasn’t going to be easy. Black Drayke was strong and his powers came from the dark side of magic.
Talon took a moment to wrap the rope around his wrist, and with one hand, he worked his way down the wall. The muscles in his shoulders screamed in agony, but he dared not let go of the torch in his other hand.
The circular walls closed around him. It was like descending into an ancient well or the belly of the Underworld. The walls were made of cut stone, jagged, and uneven. Water seeped through crevices, icy cold on his fingers. The hand-sized fissures were crusted with damp, slimy moss making handholds dangerously slick.
It took forever to reach the bottom, but at last, his foot touched the ground. The soil squished wet and mushy beneath his boots, but it was better than thin air.
As Vox had reported, it wasn’t quite as far down as it appeared from the top, just very dark. Talon swung the torch around, searching the darker shadows nearest him.
There she was.
Facing away from him, Saylym lay crumpled to one side of the drop. He jabbed the end of the torch into the soft mud and hunkered down beside her. Gently, he turned her toward him.
“Please,” he muttered. “Please, be alive, baby.”
Her soft moan eased the tension and fear in his soul. Tears stung his eyes as he saw her bruised and scraped face. Dirt and blood caked one side of her cheek. There was an inch long gash over her right eye that ended in her hairline and blood oozed from it, thick and sluggish. Her right wrist was misshapen, bruised and swollen, obviously fractured. She was wet and mud covered her clothes and hair but to him, she’d never looked more beautiful.