Wicked Thorne

by K Loraine

  He chuckles. “You’re the one hanging out in a cemetery.” His grip tightens, pulling me closer to his chest, and I swear, he smells me. Fear clutches my chest. No one knows I left. They won’t know where I’ve gone. Maybe this was Thea’s curse. My darkest fear. Death by handsome British man. Because with a voice like his, there’s no way he’s not hot.

  3

  Silas

  “How the fuck did I end up here?” I mutter, staring down at the lovely woman in my arms. She’s all long dark hair, lush curves, and pillowy lips. Basically, my kryptonite.

  But it’s not simply having a beautiful woman cradled against my chest that’s got me off kilter. It’s where I am. In the middle of a centuries-old cemetery rather than inside my home. She smells of sage and lavender, and then there’s the trace of blood on her. It’s pure temptation. I should feed from her and leave her to sleep off her headache in the lobby of the nearest hotel. Instead, I hold her closer and let her hide her face against my chest.

  I stride down the sidewalk, leaving the cemetery with a sense of familiarity prodding at my mind. I’ve been here before, but I’ve lived a very long time and small towns always seem the same. But the streets are filled with people in full costume. Witches, vampires, ghosts and ghouls parade through the busy town. It’s then I see the truth of where I am. Every shop, every street, decorated with witches on broomsticks, signs calling the town “Witch City” with offerings in their shop windows of shirts with sayings like “I got stoned in Salem” and “I put a spell on you.” The town of Salem, Massachusetts has changed.

  I have to get this woman taken care of and get the fuck out of here. This is a place I’d sworn I’d never return to. I made an oath. Every step I take has me breaking that promise.

  Walking through the doors of the Historic Salem Waterfront Hotel, I stride straight to the concierge and lock gazes with the woman behind the desk.

  “Your best room.”

  She frowns, but my ability to compel is still strong, even if I’ve been weakened in other ways. “Certainly, sir. May I have your name?”

  “Silas Black. I’m certain you’ll see it on your register if you look harder.”

  Her fingers fly over the keys before she smiles and nods. “Ah, yes, there you are, sir. We have you in our King Suite for…”

  “Just the night,” I finish for her, unsure how I got here, but not willing to leave this woman in my arms alone on the streets.

  “Very good.” She passes me a booklet with a keycard and directs me to my room. All the while, my charge is whimpering in my arms.

  I hate that she’s in pain. I want to do something to soothe her. Taking her to a hotel room will likely not win me any points, however. She already asked if I was a serial killer.

  The room is blessedly quiet, and as I dim the lights, she stirs and her brow furrows in a pained expression.

  “What do you need, sweetness?” I ask her, my voice low and hushed.

  “Dark. Silence.”

  I carry her into the adjacent bedroom and slide the lights down to a faint glow.

  “All the way,” she whispers.

  In total darkness, I can still make her out. The swell of her full hips, the generous helping of cleavage her dress offers, and I have to fight my body’s instinct to react to her. My fangs ache and so does my cock. I have to get out of here before I get attached to her. She’ll be safe here until she feels better. I’ve done my good deed for the night. Now I have to return to my home in London. But part of me screams that I need to stay and see to her. Though, why I care, I don’t understand. I’ve only just met her.

  “Natalie,” she says faintly.

  “What?”

  “My name.”

  I can’t help but smile. “Silas,” I tell her as I back away.

  She reminds me of someone, but I’ve known a great many someones in my long life. Placing her resemblance won’t come easy.

  My phone rings from its place in my breast pocket, causing her to moan at the noise. I silence the device and move out of the room and into the sitting area of the suite before I answer.

  “Where the fuck are you? I’m standing outside your house and you’re nowhere to be found.” Lucas Blackthorne’s voice flows over the line. My cousin. It’s been a long time since I used the Blackthorne name, but Lucas and I have almost always been in contact. Something about being the black sheep of our families brought us together.

  “Fuck,” I mutter. “I’m sorry. I was there, until…I wasn’t.”

  “What the bloody hell is that supposed to mean?”

  Dragging a hand across the back of my neck, I sigh. “It means, I was there, in my flat, waiting for you to arrive. Then I was here. I literally blinked once and…poof.”

  “Poof?”

  “Yes.”

  I can practically feel his scowl over the line. “And where is here exactly?”

  “Salem.”

  “On Samhain? You were magically transported to Salem—on fucking Samhain no less—and you didn’t think to call me?”

  “Why would I immediately call you? What could you do?”

  My cousin laughs. “Obviously you’ve never bedded a witch before. There are many, many things I could do. Trust me, cousin. Find a witch, or warlock, depending on your preferences, and fuck until you have to go to ground or risk burning to cinders. It’ll be the best night of your existence. Mark me.”

  The line goes dead, and I toss my phone onto the couch to my right. Find a witch. The idea of that makes my skin crawl. The last witches I knew were hanged hundreds of years ago. I should know. I watched them swing.

  4

  Natalie

  My mouth tastes weird. Like a mixture of cotton and alcohol. I open my eyes and blink into the bright light of morning that slices across the bed. A bed that is very soft and comfortable. I don’t remember much of last night, except the curse. Thea set a curse on all of us and, from there, my memories are spotty at best.

  “Hello?” I call, terrified I’m going to come up against a one-night-stand I don’t remember. But there’s no one in the room, even after I get up and wander the space. Just the strong scent of bergamot and a vague memory of a strong pair of arms.

  I find my boots under a chair in the corner of the bedroom and slip them on before grabbing my velvet purse and making for the door. I got lucky last night. Whoever found me took care of me rather than taking advantage, but that was stupid. I was defenseless. I didn’t even have enough control of my mind to use magic to protect myself.

  As soon as I’m in the elevator, I pull my phone free of my bag and sigh at the tiny sliver of battery life. The red bubble notification on my messages screams the number fifty-two, and I’ve got half that number of phone calls. Shit.

  I check the first message thread and see they’re all from Truly.

  WHERE ARE YOU?

  COVEN EMERGENCY.

  Are you okay?

  I’m calling Bettina.

  OMG she’s not answering either. Please answer your phone. I heard there was an attack.

  I don’t keep reading, but only because my phone goes black as the battery gives up the ghost, and the elevator dings as it opens on the lobby floor. Hot embarrassment creeps up my neck when I realize I probably have to pay for this room. I can’t pay for the room. There’s no way. Head held high, I walk at a brisk pace through the lobby, past the concierge, and make a break for the door.

  “Miss,” a woman’s voice calls out. “Miss, wait.”

  I think I can outrun her, but what if she calls the cops? She’s got my description by now. Turning, I offer a sweet smile. “I’m sorry, I really am in a—”

  “Mr. Black wanted me to give you this when you came down. And here’s an extra room key. I hope you’re feeling better today.” Her smile is so kind, genuine, and without judgment, I wonder if she practices in the mirror every morning.

  I take the envelope, thick creme card stock, and the offered key. “Thank you. Much better this morning. Did Mr.…Black s
ay when he’d be returning?”

  “Oh, not until tonight.” Her cheeks turn bright pink. “At least, that’s what he told the night clerk. I haven’t seen him.”

  I smirk. Interesting. “Thank you,” I look at her name tag, “Lorna.”

  Then I turn away and stride for the door, tempted to drop the envelope in the garbage on my way out. But something stops me, and I think it’s a sense of…gratitude? The man saved me from myself. I should at least read what he has to say. But not until I get back to Magnolia House. Once I know what I’m dealing with, I’ll be able to thank him properly. I need to get with the rest of the witches and figure out how the hell I’m going to break this curse before the thing I fear most gets ahold of me.

  There’s a valet stand to my right, the young guy manning the keys and tickets fighting the last dredges of adolescence. It’s obvious by the acne spread across his jaw.

  “Can you call a car for me?” I ask.

  He blinks and stares, and I realize I’m still dressed for the ball, dressed to impress. My gown is cut so low this guy is seeing a lot more than a decent swell of breast. If I breathe too deeply, he might get a full show.

  “Well, can you call one, or not?” Impatience colors my tone.

  He blinks again, then clears his throat. “Yeah. Yes. Where to?”

  “Magnolia House.”

  His gaze goes to my bag-less hands, then back to my face. “Where?”

  “Magnolia House. It’s not far from the French Quarter. We have to be close.”

  “The French Quarter? Isn’t that in New Orleans?”

  My gut churns. “Wait. Where are we?”

  “Um, this is Salem.”

  I frown. I didn’t know there was a Salem in Louisiana. “Salem…”

  “Massachusetts.”

  My stomach rolls as nausea grips me. “Thanks.” I’m dazed as I begin walking away but he calls out to me.

  “Did you still need a car?”

  I shake my head and wave him off, trying to get my bearings. What the hell happened last night? Why would the curse bring me here? I remember pain, a cold, dark cemetery. A man with a velvet voice, and strong arms. I tuck the card from my savior into my purse and turn on my heel back to the valet. “Where can I get a phone charger?” I ask.

  He points across the street to a row of shops. All of them have various witchy paraphernalia displayed, and I roll my eyes at the theme this place has taken on. With a curt nod, I leave him, striding across the street, skirt flowing behind me, the chilly air making me wish I’d brought a coat. But why would I have done that? I’m supposed to be in New Orleans, not Massachusetts.

  When I enter the first store, everyone stops to look at me. I’m shivering, in an evening gown, and I’m sure, I look more than a little crazed. I have seventy-two dollars and thirty-five cents in my purse, one credit card, and no battery life on my phone. That’s all. I should go home, hop in a cab and go to the airport. But I was brought here for a reason, and chances are, if I try to leave, the curse will see to it I fail.

  Grabbing a replacement phone charger and a sweatshirt that says “Salem, a wicked good time” across the front, I make my way to the clerk.

  “Long night?” she asks, ringing me up with a smirk.

  “The longest.”

  She cuts the tag off my sweatshirt without me asking and hands it across the counter. “It’s cold out there. You got a place to go?”

  I cock a brow. “Not yet. I’m trying to figure it out. Any suggestions?”

  “I might. If you’re seeking aid from your sisters.”

  Hope flutters in my chest. “Yes.”

  She takes a sticky note from the square to her left and scribbles an address with a pen that looks like a broom. Then hands the fluorescent orange paper to me. “Here. Tell them Anthea sent you.”

  My chest tightens. “Thank you.”

  “I can sense the curse on you. Don’t thank me. This isn’t going to be easy.”

  I hold out a hand, offering to shake, but she won’t touch me. She’s right to be cautious. The curse is real and all over me. Swallowing hard, I turn and walk out of the store as I shrug into the hoodie. My stomach rumbles, reminding me I haven’t eaten since last night. I need to charge my phone, get some food, and make a better plan than my current one—wander aimlessly and try to find this address.

  At least now only the lower half of me looks out of place. I’m getting fewer weird looks from passersby. As soon as I find a little cafe, I order some food and plug in my phone. I have to call Truly and tell her where I am, what’s happened. I sip a lavender latte and wait for the phone to power up enough to turn on. My fingers play over the heavy paper envelope in my purse. The note from Silas. Now’s as good a time as any to read what he has to say.

  I pull it free of the bag and open the envelope, sliding the card out with my heart pounding. I don’t even remember what the man looks like, and still I’m excited to read his words.

  Angular, hard handwriting is scrawled across the surface. A short note, and his phone number. That’s all. And heat rushes over my skin as my fingers trail the lines of ink.

  Should you be in need of me to take you to bed again, call.

  -Silas

  Phone in my hand, I power it on and smile in relief at the sight of a fifteen percent battery indication. Then, I look back to the card, swallow down the anticipation blocking my throat, then type his number in my contacts. I consider calling. Offering thanks for his help. Asking him to meet me for a drink. Just to hear him speak again. Instead, I call my sister.

  Truly answers on the first ring. “Where the fuck are you?”

  “Salem.”

  “Are you serious?”

  “Yes. Thea dropped the curse, and I ended up in a cemetery in Salem.”

  “Well, come home. I’ll pick you up from the airport.”

  I drum my fingers on the table. “I’m not sure I can do that just yet.”

  “Why not?”

  “There’s a coven here. The curse sent me to Salem. I need to talk to them. Maybe they can help me.”

  “Okay, well, if you need me… I have zero power, but I’ll come.”

  “Thanks, Truly.”

  “Be careful,” she says before hanging up.

  I take a deep breath and type the address for the coven into my phone. It’s only a ten-minute walk. Ten minutes and I’ll be closer to some answers.

  I’m not sure how this is going to go, how this new coven is going to react. I’ve seen curses before, helped attempt to break them, but usually, we failed. A curse is strong and requires sacrifice order to be broken. But the sacrifice isn’t easy to nail down. It could be anything. A sense of hopelessness washes over me as I walk the path toward the coven. My head throbs, the left-over effects of my migraine? Or the curse? On instinct, I reach into my purse and run my fingers over the raised metal of the pentacle charm. I need it to ground me. Instead, it does the opposite.

  My vision swims, and icy panic races through my veins. The feel of magic running through me has my body humming. This is big magic. Demanding. Desperate.

  A young woman, prone on a rough wood table, writhes and grips the edges.

  A rush of power flows through me, making my hair fly around me as though a strong wind fills the room. The girl screams, but nothing comes out of her mouth. Her veins glow golden, growing brighter and brighter as the spell activates. Her eyes roll up in her head, her back bows, and something like sunbeams escape her fingertips before dying down to nothing.

  Relief floods me; she’s not dead. I didn’t witness some horrible curse being laid down. The I hear Sarah’s voice fill the room, only it’s coming from my lips. “It’s done. You’ll be the end of the vampires.”

  I come back to myself with a sharp gasp. Had I just witnessed the beginning of my coven’s feud with vampires? I’d always heard stories about the blood spell. The magic woven into one bloodline that could kill a vampire from the inside out with a single taste of bewitched blood. But det
ails were few and far between, and the story became legend, then simply a warning against vampires.

  Pain blossoms in my knee when it connects with something solid. I wobble, uneasy as everything comes back into bright focus. I’m standing in the center of the graveyard again, staring at the headstones, heart hammering, head throbbing. This is not safe. It’s not okay. I thought Gran’s charm was supposed to be a gift. Instead, it might be a risk I shouldn’t have taken.

  “Natalie Good. So Anthea wasn’t telling stories.” An old woman, hair wispy and white, pulled into a top-knot on her head, stands at the edge of the cemetery. The same place my British hero had been when I arrived here.

  “Who are you? How do you know my name?”

  She smiles. “My name is Persephone. I’ve known your grandmother since we were children. Now come with me so we can figure out how to get you out of this…situation you’ve found yourself in.”

  5

  Natalie

  Four members of the Salem coven sit in the living room, their expressions dire.

  “Go upstairs and get changed, Natalie. The first bedroom on the left is my granddaughter’s. There should be clothes that fit you in the closet. Then return to us so we can measure the depths of Thea’s vengeance curse.” Persephone offers me a faint smile, but there’s fear behind her cataract-fogged blue eyes. She’s not confident. She seems like someone who is always confident.

  I swallow past the lump in my throat and nod, rushing up the stairs as soon as I reach them. I can feel their gazes on me, heavy and ominous. This is not good. Not at all.

  I’m eager to get out of this gown and hoodie combination. I hurry around the room they’ve offered in search of something appropriate to wear for an impromptu coven gathering. I settle on a full skirt in emerald green and a black sweater. “Thank God her granddaughter is my size,” I mutter. I run my fingers through my hair, letting the long, thick mass of waves fall down my back, and murmur the incantation I always use to style my locks, but nothing happens.