by Unknown
She moaned again and tossed her head from side to side as though she was climaxing. For the moment, she’d pretend to enjoy what King Darak gave her.
* * * *
Saylym gradually opened her eyes, looked around, and blinked. Overhead, a ridge of bumpy stone formed the ceiling. She frowned. A stone ceiling? She turned her head slightly to the right and slid her hand down the wall, rough stone as well. Puzzled, she patted the floor beneath her—dirt? Where was she? In a cave? She blinked again. Yes. She was definitely in some type of cave. But where was the cave and how far from Sanctuary was she?
Both frightened and confused, she drew in a deep breath and moaned as pain spread across her breasts. The back of her throat burned. She swallowed. No blisters. No blisters?
Then full memory slammed into her. She remembered the nightmarish, demonic creature touching her, drinking her blood. She breathed deeply and secretly smiled. Oh, but he’d made a terrible mistake and it would cost him.
By sending her into a magical sleep, and with the slowing of her heartbeat, he had given her the time she needed to heal and partially revitalize her powers. Day had changed to night and night to day. Hours had passed. She sat up and squeezed herself against the uneven wall behind her.
The creature must have heard her move, because he whirled around, giving her a facsimile of a smile, his hands wrapped around his thick shaft. “Ahh, you’re awake, at last. I was beginning to think I was going to have to fuck you and you out cold as a rock. Bet you’d still feel good. I waited though. I want to see your eyes, hear you scream, when I put my cock in you.”
He crouched, as if preparing to leap upon her. If she was going to stop him from raping her, the time was now.
She’d been too weak before, too sick from the powder he’d forced into her lungs.
She felt better and stronger now.
Slowly, she rose to her feet and chanted.
“Great Goddess of the moon and light,
Grant me powers in my plight.
Right away, take away, all of my pain,
And grant life to my athame.”
* * * *
Black Drayke snickered. “What are you chanting? You think your spells are stronger than mine?”
He snorted and walked toward her.
She stood there, facing him, eyeing him as if he was a piece of garbage. The little witch wasn’t the least bit intimidated by him. She arched a brow, at him, and waited, daring him to do his worst.
Only—it dawned on him he couldn’t do one damned thing to her.
He couldn’t see it, but he could hear the low, soft drone of a wall of magic surrounding her. By the gods, she had used magic and he hadn’t even been aware of it. If he could get to her, if he smashed through the magical barrier, he’d kill her. He’d rip out her throat with his fangs.
Black Drayke groaned and doubled over as agonizing pain stabbed through his gut.
He was in misery. Damn it! He needed sexual release. The craving to possess her was like a drug in his veins. Fierce. Intense. The clawing need was driving him insane. But the witch had outsmarted him. Fierce rage boiled through his veins. He pulled a ball of fire out of the air and flung it at the invisible shield. It bounced off, spun around and slammed against the cave’s stone wall before sputtering out. He couldn’t weaken the wall of magic.
Her lips curved into a taunting smile. Cursing, he threatened, stormed, and ranted but to no avail. He beat on the wall of magic, thinking to weaken it but it hadn’t given. Desperation clawed at him. His cock throbbed and ached. He needed to fuck her. Now!
No matter how he threatened, she stood there in the corner, calm as could be, and studied him, as if he was some kind of bug.
She was waiting on something. Waiting. Waiting.
But for what?
Then realization hit him.
She was generating power. Slowly, so she had to wait for it to reach its zenith. As though the bungler believed she would gain enough to combat him. And win. Him!
Black Drayke reared back, staring at her. He could feel the hum of power in the air penetrating the barrier and surrounding her. Protecting her. Keeping her safe from him. He cursed and pounded at the solid wall of energy that stood between him and his goal.
He had to get to her.
When that power reached its full zenith, she would destroy him. He could feel her silent determination, and feel her rage and her intent.
For the first time in his life, Black Drayke felt frightened and insecure with his own cunning and magic. He surged up and went back to his ceaseless pacing.
Who was this witch who, with very little effort, was destroying all his plans?
Where had she gained her powers?
Had MeLora been right after all and this witch was of royal blood?
To conceal his fright, Black Drayke paused in his pacing and whirled once again to glare at her. He rubbed his aching cock. “When I get my hands on you, I’m going to ram this in you hard and deep. You’ll think I’ve pierced your body with a mighty sword!”
Saylym eased to her feet. Inconspicuously, she slid her hand from behind her skirt. The wall of magic between her and the creature fell away. Black Drayke whirled to face her. A sneer tightened his lips. “What have you got there?”
He started toward her but paused as she held up a dagger. Smirking, he stared at the beautiful Celtic knot work on the hilt. “That is the source of your magic?” He threw back his head, laughing. “I know that athame. That belongs to Talon. What are you doing with—?” His words ended abruptly and he uttered curses. “You’ve already bonded with him.” He sniffed the air, his lungs filling with the scent of unborn babies. He threw back his head and roared his rage. He’d intended to plant his own seed in her.
Furious at having his plans thwarted again, he glared his hatred at Saylym. Then he sniffed the air again to be certain. “You carry double. What magic is this? That is impossible.”
Saylym slid her palm across her belly in a protective gesture. “Anything is possible when you descend from a royal bloodline.”
Black Drayke hissed his fury as fresh rage and frustration slammed into his gut. “Impossible! I don’t care what you claim. There are no royal-blooded witches left.”
Damn MeLora and her sneaky conniving. She must have known for certain that the Winslow witch descended from royal ancestry. She’d let him go after Saylym knowing what he would come up against. The bitch!
Saylym’s gaze turned wintry as morning frost. “According to whom?”
Black Drayke surged toward her, his rage uncontrollable. Incredulity spread across his dark face as she sliced the top of his hand with the athame. He yelled with shock and pain, staring in stunned surprise at the deep cut. Blood, black as death, flowed freely, spilling onto the cave floor. Black, sulfuric smoke belched from each droplet as though something evil and noxious had been spilled.
“That is for daring to touch me,” Saylym hissed between clenched teeth. “If you ever touch me again, I’ll slice off that thing you’re so proud of and stuff it up your ass, then you can fertilize yourself!”
Black Drayke screeched like a wounded animal. With a clenched fist, he struck the invisible barrier Saylym flung back up. “Let me in! I’m going to kill you! Kill both you and the brats Talon planted in you! His offspring are dead! Dead! Do you hear me?” The soil hissed from the poison he spat upon the ground near the edge of the barrier. “Don’t think being descended from royal blood will save you. There’s one more powerful than you.”
“There’s one who believes she is more powerful. That is her mistake.”
He blinked, unable to believe his hearing. She’d answered so calmly, without fear.
“Go, Black Drayke. Go to your MeLora. Tell her I’ll be at the village square tonight. I’ll be waiting for her. If she harms Talon, I’ll come after her with a vengeance that will make what the coven did to her seem tame in comparison. Go, while I’m still in the mood to allow you to live!”
Black Drayke
backed away from her, then, drawing a deep breath, he ran straight toward her like a frenzied animal, leaping at the wall of solid magic. He slammed into the invisible barrier, bounced back, and wilted to the floor like a deflated balloon.
Teeth clenched, he jumped up, snarling and snapping his fangs.
Saylym waved her hand, removing the magical barrier, and with a dainty flick of her wrist sent the athame flying through the air straight at Black Drayke’s face. The tip was lined with rows of tiny, sharp steel teeth. The athame halted a hair’s breadth from his right eye, the steel tip so close, he could see the fine point quivering as it hovered there in the air, steel teeth snapping like a rabid animal. Waiting. Threatening.
“I’m leaving, Black Drayke. I wouldn’t move if I were you, not until I summon the athame back to me. It has a hex on it. It will stab you through the eye if you so much as blink. It will pierce your brain if you move a scant inch. If you try to touch it, it will bite off your hand.” She smiled, her eyes rimmed with frost. “I promise you.”
“I’ll be there tonight,” he yelled, clenching his fists. Frustration gnawed at him that she’d won this round, but he knew he didn’t dare blink or move. “You cannot defeat the both of us. We’re a team, MeLora and I.”
Saylym arched a brow. “I hate to disillusion you, but I don’t think MeLora’s much of a team player. For that matter, neither are you. The two of you deserve each other and whatever curses you place on one another.”
Black Drayke stared at where Saylym had been standing. The witch had merely waved her hand and she’d vanished in a cloud of misty smoke. In seconds, the athame flew through the air toward the cave’s entrance. He released a shuddering breath and slid down onto the dirt floor, gulping in deep drafts of air. His body shook with the force of his fury.
He would kill her. Given the chance, he would rip her flesh off her bones one inch at a time. But at this moment, his confidence was too shaken to go after her.
Chapter Thirty-Eight
The General Court of the colony created the Superior Court to try the remaining witchcraft cases which took place in May, 1693. This time there were no convictions.
~ Salem Witch trials
November 25, 1692
Sanctuary
Saylym’s entire body shook when she popped inside her home, athame in hand.
What had just happened? She’d moved her hand, whispered the word, ‘Home’ and presto, here she was, holding the athame. She slipped it inside its case and took in a deep, ragged breath.
How and what had just happened?
How had she protected herself from whatever that bloody warlock had become?
How had she known the hex for the athame?
The thought to send it straight for his eye had just popped into her mind out of nowhere.
She shook her head and finally admitted that there had been two hexes; one to keep him from being aware she had the athame strapped to her thigh when he was feeling beneath her skirt, and the other gave her the power to send the athame flying straight for his eye.
It was just like before when she’d known to respond when the statue compelled her. She’d known the chant to connect with Queen Shy-Ryn. She’d just known. The certainty of that knowledge straightened her shoulders, grounded her in truth. She knew.
Somewhere, deep within her soul, the knowledge had been there forever.
She’d just never remembered that she knew, until now.
Memories raced through her. They mixed with the terror congealing in her gut.
A battle brewed, a war of magical skills, and the very idea of it terrified her. What if she failed? Her proficiency in the use of magic was chaotic and limited at best. She was learning, but she wasn’t fully prepared, and she knew it.
Suddenly the hairs on the back her neck lifted. The air in the room stilled. Even the pendulum on the clock stopped swinging. From out of nowhere, two tomes dropped onto her sofa.
Saylym stared blankly at the over-sized books. What in the bloody hell?
“Don’t just stand there. Open us, stupid!”
Saylym jumped back. Magic or no magic, witch or no witch, she was never going to get used to things talking to her that weren’t supposed to talk to her!
She swallowed and took a wary step toward the first book. Silver eyes with swirls of violet fastened on her. The matching faces had chubby baby cheeks, and tiny, rosebud lips that twisted into identical half-smiles. Her sons. The smiles looked so sweet, Saylym could have wept, if she could still weep, that is.
“Hello, Mother. I’m Markuz, your firstborn son.” His gaze turned to the second book. “That’s Grey-Gori, my twin and your second-born. We’re here to help you with your magic.”
“Hi, Mother!” Grey-Gori chirped. “Just call me Grey. Grey-Gori is such a mouthful. Don’t you agree?”
Saylym gasped and nodded. “Yes. I shall call you Grey.” She realized this wasn’t really her sons, but a way for them to communicate with her. But they sounded real, their babyish voices adorable. She smiled. Happiness flooded her battered heart. “Hello, my boys.”
The first book seemed to arch a disgruntled brow at her, and the face looked so much like Talon’s, Saylym laughed. “You are your father’s son, that’s for certain.”
“Yours as well, Mother,” Markuz replied.
“Ye Olde Book of Truthe,” Saylym read aloud. “Well, that you get from me. I’m not so sure your father knows about truth.”
“He knows, Mother,” Grey-Gori argued in an endearing voice. “I am the seeker of all truths.”
Saylym eyed the second book. “Ye Olde Book of Justice.”
Markuz nodded what might have been his head, if a head really filled the cover of the book. “That would be me, Mother. Now, let’s get down to business.”
By six o’clock, Saylym was ready to fling her arms in the air and surrender to her baby sons. She was never going to get this business of magic down. She’d broken out every window in the house with mis-directed bolts of energy. There wasn’t a piece of furniture left that didn’t duck, run, or scream when she came near it. And the entire time, she could hear her sons whooping, whistling, and cheering her on, as if she was truly performing awesome feats of magic, instead of bungling almost everything she attempted.
By the time she dressed, it was nearly seven o’clock, but she’d decided to play her role to the hilt. She wasn’t about to face MeLora looking washed-out, drab, or like a drowned rat. Not like she’d looked last time. Mumbling some words, she conjured up a short-skirted, black velvet dress with a scalloped neckline and thin straps. Elbow-length, black evening gloves fitted her like—well, like gloves. Around her right wrist a diamond bracelet glittered.
At the last moment, she waved a hand over her hair and changed the color to a soft, sable brown. No one was going to call her a ball of blonde fluff again, not when everything depended on the outcome of this battle.
Nerves quivering, she left the house, a wobbling bowl of gelatin. Although the tomes had vanished as quickly as they’d appeared, her sons were still sending waves of love, warmth, and support. They assured her she looked divine.
Because it was early spring, the evening sunlight had already given over to the approaching gloom. It left the small town of Sanctuary in shadows that the old-fashioned street lights couldn’t dispel. The darkness crept in, slow and ominous. Saylym shivered, and suddenly remembered something her birth mother had once said, “Shadows are a bad omen.”
She paused, recalling that voice. The gentleness. The sound of her laughter. “Mum,” she whispered. “I didn’t even know I missed you.”
She shrugged off the sorrow. She didn’t have time for self-pity, but she made a silent promise that wherever Elsbeth was, she’d find her.
Spring’s chilly fingers reached out, requiring everyone to either wear or carry a cloak. As Saylym made her way past Eldora’s cottage, she wondered where the seemingly harmless old lady was. Eldora missed very little, so maybe she was at the town square already.
She hoped so. She had a lot to discuss with this cunning, manipulative old crone.
Biting her lip, Saylym shook her head, hesitating as she neared the town square. The somberness of the large crowd standing at the edges of the boardwalks brought Saylym to a knee-jerking halt. She couldn’t see over the crowd, but the low, disturbing murmurs of discontent caused her stomach to clench with fear.
“Look, that’s MeLora at the king’s side,” someone said with disbelief. “I haven’t seen her in centuries. What’s going on? Where’s Queen Helayne? She’d never stand for this.”
Saylym pushed her way through the throng until she stood near the edge of the square and had a better view of what was taking place. Eldora stood across the street, waving frantically at her. She gave a sigh of relief and crossed over to where the old crone stood waiting.
“Whew! What a gathering.” Eldora sounded breathless. “Don’t you look pretty, but you’re hardly dressed for a battle, my child.”
“Yes, I am.”
Eldora grinned. “Yes, perhaps you are. I never thought I’d ever live to see the day a prince would be put on public display to be whipped.” A frowned creased the old lady’s forehead. “Nothing good can come of this I tell you.”
“Why is MeLora with the king? She’s—” Saylym shuddered as a gust of pure malevolence flowed from the king’s consort, “—evil.”
An odd look crossed Eldora’s face as she slanted a quizzical eye at Saylym. “You don’t want to tangle with that one, honey. She’s bad through and through. Always was. Took after her daddy, she did. Pure evil.”
Eldora suddenly gasped as her gaze locked on the emeralds embedded in Saylym’s fingernails. “Oh, baby,” she said tenderly, holding Saylym’s hands up and taking a closer look at the brilliant stones. “It’s happened. The first transference has taken place.” She squeezed her eyes tightly, fighting tears. “I knew the time was drawing near. MeLora’s your cousin, Angelmine, but an extremely dangerous—”