The Seduced

by Cheyenne McCray

  No, it’s too dangerous, Silver would say. You should only use it in dire circumstances.

  Whatever.

  Copper gathered her focus and her gray witchcraft and concentrated on the spell she’d just spoken aloud.

  Nothing.

  She chanted it again, louder this time, pouring more gray magic into the spell.

  The light from her wand dimmed and began to retreat, as if withdrawing back into the crystal. Copper held her breath for at least ten seconds and then she heard what sounded like a collective sigh around the meadow.

  Disappointment rushed over her, but then a feeling of hope, too. That was the most her wand had ever glowed during one of her chants since coming here. Maybe she was getting closer. Getting stronger?

  Since she’d been trapped here, she’d tried tapping into every bit of witchcraft she had, including her deepest gray magic.

  After yet another failure, she placed her wand in the shelter. Copper stripped out of her dress and stood by the small pool of water created by the stream. There was an upper basin that she used to drink from, and a lower basin that she used to cleanse herself.

  With shampoo, soap, and a soft grass sponge the Faeries had given her, Copper first undid her braid and washed her hair, then soaped her body. When she rinsed in the icy cold water, she shivered and wished for a nice thick towel. Once a week she used a cream that the Faeries had supplied that allowed her to remove hair from her underarms and her legs. She’d never been much for hairy legs, or armpits for that matter.

  After she ate a filling seedcake the Faeries had left her for dinner, Copper brushed her teeth using Faerie toothpaste that tasted like berries, along with a twig and grass toothbrush. Refreshed, she slid into her shelter and relaxed on the now overly familiar cushion of the dried vines, leaves, and grass.

  Instead of falling asleep right away, she stared up at the rock ceiling of her shelter and listened to the chirrup of crickets and other night sounds. She couldn’t really see the ceiling because it was now dark outside. An ache rose deep inside her. She missed her family, and both human and witch companionship.

  And she really, really needed to get laid.

  Right now any man would do. Well, not any man and not just any being. She could have had one of the sexy Drow, especially the king, but she didn’t want to go there.

  As a witch, she might be immune to Drow magic, but she didn’t want to take any chances.

  But she could certainly pick a dream man, and maybe in her sleep she’d have some fun.

  How exciting.

  Copper sighed before she rolled onto her side. She rested her head on one arm, using it for a pillow, and drifted away.

  4

  San Francisco

  * * *

  The Balorite high priest Darkwolf studied Sara, the warlock seer, who stood before him. Sara was brown-haired, slight of build, lovely, and she had a sweet jasmine scent. She wore snug jeans and a tight-fitting, low-cut shirt that molded her small but perfect breasts and gave him a fine view of her cleavage. Her brown eyes held a hint of something that made him wonder if she had her own agenda.

  Beside Darkwolf, Elizabeth Black perched on the edge of the mahogany desk, her elegant legs crossed, her arms folded across her chest, and a scowl directed at Sara.

  Darkwolf never forgot that inside Elizabeth’s beautiful shell resided a demon queen—Junga. And he never let her forget the sexual power he held over her. Just the thought of bringing this demon to her knees was heady. She was extraordinarily powerful, but it gave him incredible satisfaction that he knew her weakness—being sexually dominated.

  Darkwolf, Sara, and the demon-woman were in the private library of a wealthy and influential man who had once owned the mansion they now used for their lair. After they had fled the abandoned building they had been using temporarily, Darkwolf had picked this location as the perfect place for the warlocks and Fomorii to use as their headquarters.

  One of Junga’s demon underlings now controlled the wealthy former owner’s body, his shell. Junga ruled the Fomorii with such an iron will that none of the demons dared to defy her. She was queen, and Darkwolf had no doubt that not one of the remaining demons would even think of challenging her. They quavered when she was nearby and immediately took to whatever task she ordered them to perform.

  The library smelled of leather, cherry pipe tobacco, and lemon oil. At his insistence, before they entered the home, the Fomorii had remained in their human forms, so he didn’t have to smell the demons’ rotten fish stench.

  They’d been lucky the seer, Sara, had foretold the coming of the D’Danann and she had suggested this manor as their refuge. He couldn’t have asked for better accommodations than what they now commanded.

  Elizabeth-Junga flicked a speck of lint off her clothing. She was of course wearing a fitted suit in her favorite color, blood red. And beneath that skirt—at his orders—he knew she wore only garters holding up her sheer stockings. Just the thought of her naked made him ache.

  Elizabeth’s gaze immediately returned to the warlock seer. Darkwolf saw the jealousy in her eyes, and it almost made him smile. He wanted Sara, and Elizabeth knew it.

  Darkwolf focused on the seer. He leaned his hip against the desk and crossed his arms over his chest. His blue T-shirt stretched taut with his movement. He wore black boots and faded blue jeans and his dark hair curled slightly at his nape. He was aware of everything, including how his looks and presence affected women.

  The warlock seer’s gaze moved to the stone eye resting on his chest and he saw the hint of a smile curve the corner of her mouth. This one was special—she always seemed intrigued by the eye, rather than fearful.

  Sara was new to his Clan, a former D’Anu apprentice he had seduced into his fold. Darkwolf had every intention of initiating her further by taking her, making her scream with her orgasm, and begging him to take her again. He took what he wanted, when he wanted, and made sure the women enjoyed every minute of it.

  Darkwolf knew Sara wanted him, but he had drawn out the wait, intending to make her desire him so badly that when he finally took her it would be a moment beyond her wildest dreams.

  The seer had been somewhat of a surprise. When he had first persuaded Sara to join his Clan, he had thought her to be somewhat meek. But she had proved to be a much stronger woman than he had anticipated, and she showed no fear of him or the demon queen. He found that intriguing—and arousing.

  The stone eye at Darkwolf’s throat warmed and he sensed Balor’s presence in his mind. A sharp pain shot through his head as it often did from Balor’s intrusion and Darkwolf gritted his teeth. He never showed any outward emotion at the pain. He must always give the appearance of control, confidence, and dominance.

  Ever since he had found the stone eye on the shores of Ireland, the ancient sea god’s essence had possessed Darkwolf, driving him to do the god’s bidding.

  At times Darkwolf had flashes of his old life, when he was simply Kevin Richards, a white witch. And sometimes he wondered if there was a way to turn back time—a way to take off the eye and set himself free.

  But no. That white witch was no more. Blood stained Darkwolf’s hands and dark sorcery stained his soul. Balor’s possession of him had changed his life forever.

  “Tell me what you saw,” Darkwolf finally said, drawing himself back to the moment.

  The stone eye against his chest began to glow deep red with Balor’s power and Sara smiled, almost as if she knew something about the god that Darkwolf didn’t.

  “I saw the witches and the D’Danann.” Sara’s eyes appeared unfocused for a moment, as if she were recalling the images. “They found a piece of parchment at the place we just left.”

  Sara paused and glanced at Elizabeth whose scowl deepened. The seer gave a smile that could almost have been described as catty. She returned her gaze to Darkwolf. “The parchment had a rectangle and a circle within a circle on it. Silver Ashcroft used her cauldron to scry, and I believe she learned a great deal o
f what you have planned.”

  She tilted her head. “I also think she may have found clues to where we are—but nothing that would give us completely away. Not yet.”

  The sharp pain in Darkwolf’s head intensified, but he ignored it. “Thank you, Sara.” He gave her his most sensual smile. “You will be rewarded well for your service to Balor.” Sara gave him a slight bow before her eyes met his again. Her tongue darted out to touch her lower lip. “Thank you, my lord.”

  Every time she said my lord, he hardened. He reached out and took her small hands in his, keeping his gaze focused on hers. “I thank you,” he said, before drawing her fingers to his lips and kissing the knuckles of each hand. Sara’s eyes seemed to turn a deeper brown and her expression was more than seductive.

  Sara cast a sly glance at Elizabeth who gave what sounded like a low growl. Darkwolf smiled at the woman’s—demon’s—jealousy.

  “Return to your duties,” he told Sara, “and I trust that you will come to me the minute you have another vision.” Sara’s eyes held his for a moment. She gave a small bow of her head. “It is my pleasure to serve you in any way, my lord.”

  With a final look into his eyes, she turned and walked out of the library. Darkwolf couldn’t resist watching the sway of her ass, the way the jeans molded her perfectly.

  When Sara was gone, the library door closed with a thump as Darkwolf gave a flick of his fingers, using simple magic. For a moment he stared at the double doors. The stone eye against his chest cooled and the sharp pain in his head receded.

  “Must you fuck everything that walks?” came Elizabeth’s voice from beside him.

  He slowly turned to look at her, giving her a cool stare. “I fuck you, don’t I?”

  Elizabeth literally growled, a fraction of her demon side coming through. Her fingers elongated into claws, her teeth grew longer and sharper, her voice deeper. “Watch what you say, warlock.”

  Junga was far from intimidated by him. Except when it came to sex when she was in Elizabeth’s form. Then she took all that he dealt out to her. She couldn’t get enough of his sexual domination. She loved to be spanked, flogged, and reveled in other forms of sexual pain.

  Except for sex, she was the proud warrior queen. She consistently went against his will. Despite his orders that for now they remain as low profile as possible, she insisted that her demons feed on human flesh and had them take over the shells of more influential, powerful people.

  Darkwolf gave Elizabeth a dismissive wave. He knew her weaknesses, the power he held over her. He had no fear of the demon that resided within the beautiful woman’s shell. At times he thought about the fact that the woman he took was a hideous-looking demon when in her natural form, but he chose to ignore it and preferred to dwell on his ability to control her.

  He kept his amusement from his expression as he rounded the desk and once again bent over the map of Otherworld and its barrier to Underworld. “The door.” He frowned. “Surely the Dark Elves will reach it soon.”

  His gaze met Elizabeth’s. She had retracted her claws and her teeth returned to normal proportions. She was once again the bitchy but beautiful woman. “Do you—”

  Elizabeth paused and the expression on her features shifted. Concern? Fear? “Do you think it wise to release creatures other than the Fomorii, and such a powerful being as Balor?”

  Darkwolf managed to control his surprise and attempted to keep the god, Balor, from reading his thoughts. It would not do to have him mistrust Elizabeth when Darkwolf needed the queen. “Balor would not be pleased to hear what you’ve said.”

  The Fomorii queen gave what could have been taken as a casual shrug, but he knew it was not so casual. “How do you know we will not all be destroyed by these beings?” She looked away from him for a moment before returning her gaze to his. “Will Balor sacrifice us in order to regain his rule?”

  At this Darkwolf hardened his expression. “We serve Balor. We do as he commands through the essence in his eye. You know such a great god would not so casually strike down those who serve him.” He met Elizabeth’s gaze head-on and wouldn’t let it go. “Will you continue to serve him?”

  “Of course.” Elizabeth pushed herself from the desk. “Are you certain he will grant the Dark Elves’ request for their part in finding the door?”

  “Yes.” Darkwolf tossed the map aside. “Balor will not forget the Drow as long as they serve him well. He’ll allow them to live aboveground again, so that they can walk in sunlight.”

  Elizabeth paused as if considering what he’d said. “When will the Drow king return?”

  Darkwolf scowled. “We’re to meet him at the pier in two days’ time.”

  Elizabeth clenched her fists—she had often expressed her distrust of the Dark Elves. “If the parchment with the symbols had not been lost, we would eventually have had them deciphered. Surely this Drow would have found us an interpreter.”

  Anger flashed through Darkwolf and the pain in his head grew sharp enough that he could barely keep from wincing. The map keeper had paid with his life for losing that scrap of parchment. The lost paper had accidentally been torn from a page of a brittle, ancient spellbook.

  Darkwolf had been directed to the spellbook when Balor first took over his body and mind in Ireland. He had found it in a cave so old and dank that it had been beyond eerie. He hadn’t known the importance of the parchment or spellbook until recently when Balor had revealed the information to him through his thoughts.

  It was the drawing of the runes that, with the right ceremony, would open the door to Underworld. Not only would more Fomorii be freed, but other creatures that would answer to Balor.

  The loss of the piece of parchment didn’t matter. Balor would tell him what they must do.

  He hardened as he studied what was currently a beautiful woman standing beside the desk. Her black hair lay softly about her shoulders. It was easy to forget she was a demon—a hideous demon—within that shell. The fact that he could dominate her in this form gave him a sense of power that made him afire with it.

  “Get over here,” he demanded.

  Elizabeth gave him a fierce look. “You do not order me around, warlock.”

  Darkwolf had to remind her who was in control. He strode over to her. Immediately he palmed her full breasts. He knew the moment he touched her in her Elizabeth shell, she would give in to his dominance.

  Elizabeth tilted her head back and moaned. At Darkwolf’s command the demon-woman unbuttoned her fitted suit jacket and tossed it aside, baring her breasts as she wore no bra, something that he insisted upon and that she enjoyed.

  After dropping her skirt to the floor, she was naked save for the garters, stockings, and high heels. She was a goddess in Elizabeth’s form, her naked body near perfection.

  Darkwolf smiled at the expression of subservience she now wore.

  Control and dominance. That was the key to keeping every being within his power in line.

  5

  Otherworld

  * * *

  Tiernan gasped for breath the moment he walked through the veil to Otherworld. His chest seized and his vision blurred. He wanted to claw at his throat. His eyes felt as if they were bulging from their sockets—

  He could breathe again.

  Tiernan leaned over, his hands braced on his thighs, and he fought to steady himself. Even before he raised his head he knew he was home just from the sweet scents of pine and wildflowers, as well as the sounds of Faerie song and grumbling Dwarves in the distance.

  When he finally did straighten, he realized Cassia, the Elvin Witch who had escorted him through the Veil, was no longer by his side. He whirled to look behind him and saw only a great mound of earth, as well as the bushes, trees, and flowers of his homeland. Cassia and the bridge had vanished.

  Tiernan faced the direction of the village. He breathed deeply of the scents of rich earth, moss, and unpolluted air. He unfolded his wings and took to the sky.

  It was not long before he landed in th
e village and folded away his wings. Peasants simply nodded to Tiernan, murmuring such things as, “Good day, my lord.”

  As soon as the peasants acknowledged him, they continued with their tasks. It wasn’t their place to converse with him. Only gentlemen and ladies of the court could do that freely—and the ladies would never be seen in such a common place as the village.

  Only the warrior class could move freely between those very separate worlds, and he was that rare Fae—a warrior, but also of the court.

  Tiernan generally liked the village and enjoyed being with other D’Danann warriors, drinking ale and eating trenchers of beef or pork while sopping up the juices with freshly baked bread.

  He also enjoyed observing the vendors as they hawked their wares, the smell of smoke from the forge, and smells of roasted meats and vegetables coming from many a cooking fire.

  He had quite often slaked his desires in the building at the far end of the village, one of the well-kept Pleasure Houses, where he had spent much free time taking beautiful women.

  His thoughts turned back to the disparity between classes. A warrior’s life he lived, yes, but there was always a sense that he did not fully belong in their world.

  Tiernan strode with purpose past the Chieftains’ large gathering chamber at the far end of the village. Behind the chamber stood enormous black gates that kept out all but the D’Danann hierarchy. Manor after beautiful manor was ensconced within the brown walls that blended in with the forest.

  Guards at the massive entrance bowed as they opened the gates to allow Tiernan to pass through. He scarcely gave each guard a nod and barely noticed the surroundings that had been a part of his life for centuries.

  Beautiful gardens, flagstone paths, and natural waterfalls he had known since the D’Danann left Ireland to form their own Sidhe. Sounds of water roaring over rock and crashing to great pools, and the chirp of birds met his ears. And if he was not mistaken, he heard Faerie song as well.