by Rae Morgan
Ewan McDonald was a man with a grudge, albeit a minor one. As a young, hot-headed witch, he had used his magick to punish some non-witch youths who'd taunted him at school. Drake had been the one to punish him for the improper use of magick and endangering the coven's anonymity. Ewan even though he'd attained a trusted position within the coven must have allowed his adolescent resentment at his punishment to fester and grow. Bettencourt only had to take advantage of the fertile ground and plant his seeds of disharmony and destruction.
Drake kissed Rhea lightly. “Thank you, my love. When I move, go to Boris and Igor, let them keep you safe.”
Rhea nodded and returned the kiss. “Stay in one piece. I'm beginning to get quite used to having you around, Drake Morgan.”
Drake laughed as he stood in one surging motion.
CHAPTER ELEVEN
As Drake stood, Ewan moved and grabbed the elder closest to him around the neck with one arm. In his free hand, he had an athame, its sharp point aimed at the old witch's throat.
“Stop right there, Drake!” Ewan shouted.
The room grew silent. It seemed to Rhea as if everyone, including her, held their breath. Ewan's eyes were crazed like those of a cornered beast. She had no doubt he would kill the old man and anyone else who got in his way of escape.
“Ewan, drop the weapon. Let Peter go. He's done you no harm,” Drake said, his voice modulated to a reasoning tone.
“Done me no harm,” spat Ewan. “Warrick was correct. The Coven of the Wolf has gone soft with all this peace, light and love crap. We're witches! We can control our environments!” Ewan shouted, his face growing red with his harangue. “We should rule the world!”
He paused, as if he realized he was losing control, then continued in a less strident tone of voice. “Your time is past. Midnight on Saturday will see a change in leaders. Those who choose not to follow Warrick will be eliminated.”
Rhea watched as Ewan moved the knife so that it drew blood on Peter's throat. He was going to kill poor Peter in front of them all. He had to know that Drake and the others would attack him as soon as he'd murdered the elderly witch.
She must have gasped, because he shifted his attention to her.
Ewan stayed the movement of his knife. “You, the one they call Rhea, come over here.”
“Rhea, stay! Don't you dare move,” Drake shouted. His voice held a mixture of fear and the expectation of her obeying him.
Rhea stood up. She couldn't allow this cretin to kill the old witch. She had the confidence that Ewan would not get far if he managed to leave with her. Plus, she had an advantage. She'd sensed the man was somewhat afraid of her. She would use that fear against him.
“No mistress!” Peter squeaked, as Ewan nicked his skin once more, the blood flowing more freely down his neck and over the hand of his captor. “Please, obey Master Drake. I am not essential to the survival of the coven-you are.”
“No, Peter. All members of the coven are of equal value,” said Rhea, as she ignored Drake's growls and curses and walked slowly toward the two men. “I could not live with myself if you were harmed and I had done nothing to stop it.”
“Rhea!” Drake's voice now pleaded. “No-”
Rhea stopped and turned her head away from Ewan and Peter. “Drake, did you not say that your power was mine and mine yours once we consummated the union?”
“Yes.”
His gaze questioned her. She shook her head in a very slight, almost imperceptible movement as she mouthed the words “Trust me.”
“But I heard Betsy say that you had not consummated,” Ewan said, his voice strained with tension and doubt.
“Drake, did we confirm Betsy's misapprehension?” With her back to Ewan, Rhea's eyes pleaded for Drake to play along.
“You are correct, my own. We did not. I know how sensitive you are about discussing our sex life in public.” Turning to address the room, his lips twisted whether in amusement or anger, Rhea could not say. “It's one of her rules, you know, not discussing sex in public.”
The people in the room seemed to nod and say “ahhh” in unison.
Drake turned back to Rhea, skewering her with a burning glance. “But, I still do not wish you to place yourself near that vermin. He might splatter all over you. Goddess knows where he's been and with whom he's consorted.”
“Ah, my love, I do understand your concern, but I'm sure between Egbert and myself we could handle any, umm, vermin I might encounter from Ewan.”
Rhea swung back around and resumed her slow walk toward Ewan, who'd paled considerably. The hand holding the athame now shook. The untold power bit must have set him to thinking. Even Warrick Bettencourt did not have that kind of magickal potency.
Rhea held out her hand to Peter. “Come, change places with me.”
"I really don't want you near him. Rhea! Talk to me! What in Hades do you think you are doing?"
"Drake. Trust me. You know, I've always had the desire to shoot balls of fire from my hands-ever since I read about them in grandmother's grimoire. You are going to help me satisfy that desire. Now."
"I'm beginning to understand why Keir spanks Betsy on a regular basis. If you are going to do this, visualize what you wish to do and I will help in any way I can. And, Rhea?"
"Yes?"
"Count on that spanking later."
"Yes, Drake. Whatever you say. Let's just help Peter. He looks awfully scared-and he's bleeding."
Peter looked beyond her. What he'd seen in Drake's face must have reassured him somewhat. He attempted a smile, but failed. Instead, he said, “At your will, mistress.”
“No! At my will. Come here, bitch!” Ewan's shrill cry told her the man was close to losing it. She had to make her move before he harmed Peter further.
Rhea moved forward. When she stretched out her hand, Peter collapsed against Ewan. As Drake had instructed, she concentrated and visualized. The energy rose up through her into her hand. Through their link, Drake poured his energy into hers. When she could no longer control the pulsing energy, she took her shot. A fireball of blue-green, red-violet and yellow streaked from her out-stretched palm, hitting Ewan in the upper chest. The resulting impact forced him to drop the knife. Peter fell away as Ewan doubled over in pain.
Someone pulled Peter to safety.
Someone else grabbed Rhea and pulled her out of Drake's path as he roared by to tackle Ewan.
The fight was short and sweetly dirty-and totally lacking pugilistic art or magick. After a few well-placed punches, a profusely bleeding Ewan went to the mat. Drake stood over the downed man, flexing his hands and breathing heavily, whether from anger or exertion, Rhea couldn't tell.
“Someone take him to a secured area.” Drake snarled out the order. “I want to question him.”
Several security guards rushed forward and took Ewan into custody. Peter and one of the other elders followed them out of the room.
“They're going along to help with the protection wards,” Betsy whispered in her ear.
Rhea turned and realized that Betsy was the one who had tugged her out of Drake's enraged lunge toward Ewan.
“Thanks for moving me out of the way”
“No problem. It was the least I could do after you saved Keir. Besides, Drake wouldn't have hurt you.”
No, he was just going to paddle her rear end sometime in the near future. She could live with that. Saving Peter had been important. And shooting balls of fire had been fun.
Drake, his anger checked now that Ewan was out of the room, strode over to Rhea and grabbed her upper arms, then lightly shook her. “Don't ever place yourself in danger again!” Before she could defend herself, he pulled her to him for a deep, hungry kiss.
"Rhea, my love. I thought I'd lose you. You don't know ..."
He didn't bother to hide his fear and anguish. Both emotions swept through her like a cyclone.
"Drake, I may be new at this, but I do learn quickly."
"I know that-now. Your plan was brilliant. You're brilliant.”
“Well, I thought it was rather clever.”
“Yes. But please, next time, don't wait until you're in the midst of a dangerous plan to clue me in.”
“Uh, I forgot for a second that I could talk to you like this.”
“Don't forget again.”
“I won't. Did I thank you for letting me shoot fire balls?”
“You're welcome.”
"Uh, Drake, if you don't stop kissing me, we'll be embarrassing at least one of us in a room full of our people.”
Drake's frustrated groan echoed her own as he broke off the kiss. Several of the women in the room sighed and a few of the men chuckled as they broke apart.
“Have you or haven't you consummated?” whispered Betsy.
“Betsy, my love, I really need to remember to give you your spanking much, much earlier in the day if you continue to embarrass our leader and his mate,” said Keir, as he pulled his wife away and into his arms.
“It's under control, Betsy,” Drake assured her. “I'm on top of the situation.”
Keir's shout of laughter blended with Betsy's more tinkling tones as Drake swept Rhea into his arms and carried her into the elevator. As the door closed, the room erupted with happy cheers.
* * * *
Yorrick had not hung around the lower levels of the building after Ewan released him. Instead he'd taken the main elevators to the highest floor he could, then magicked his way through the locked doors of the private stairs leading to Drake Morgan's penthouse suite. The elevator to the penthouse was biologically coded to hand-prints. Even magick couldn't defeat DNA.
As he'd suspected, the apartment was empty. He'd have time to conceal himself and his presence from Drake and his consort. Yorrick didn't know how she'd known, but the bitch had sensed him coming at her house. Her magick was more evolved than Bettencourt and he were led to believe. He would have to exercise more caution.
As he moved about the apartment, he sought any protective wards Drake might have set in place. He found remnants of a barrier spell which had recently been broken, but no illusion traps or other obvious wards. Using Drake's own sage candles, he covered his magickal essence with their scent, then hid in the shower. A small stream of water would mask his energy from the bitch.
He chuckled. Fools. Their carelessness in not properly warding the apartment would cost them. He hadn't told Ewan, but his orders were not to return until he had the woman in his possession. Unlike Headley, Galen, and Ewan, he didn't intend to fail at his assigned task.
* * * *
Drake opened the door to the penthouse. Rhea, Boris and Igor preceded him into the room.
Rhea headed straight for the small kitchen located just off the living area. “Anybody hungry?” She rummaged around in the refrigerator. “I'm famished. Magick burns up a lot of calories.”
Guess taking up where they'd left off in bed was not on the menu. Still feeling some guilt over the fact he'd neglected to tell her about the three preconditions for a successful conjoining, he'd give her some space. They still had some time before he had to confront Bettencourt. Besides, he was confident that two of the three conditions had already been met. Her actions in the basement proved she already trusted him and believed in her magick. And he was fairly sure with her continued concern for his safety that she already cared for him. Love would soon follow.
Drake smiled as Boris and Igor resumed human form, quickly dressed, and rushed over to the counter. The twins were known to be bottomless pits when it came to food.
“Nothing for me,” he said. “I need to get back down to question Ewan about Saturday night. He sounded like he knew what was going down. I'll grab something from the employee cafeteria.”
“Drake,” Rhea called out as he turned to leave. “Watch Ewan. Remember he cast the spell on Keir.”
“Why not Yorrick?”
“Yorrick's energy is darker, thicker and smells like decayed meat. This spell was greener and smelled more like pond scum.”
Drake recalled seeing a gray-green aura around the tangled yarn. He hadn't noticed the smell, but didn't doubt that Rhea was correct. As Betsy always said, female witches seemed to sense evil more easily. And they tended to classify everything in colors and smells, whereas male witches would talk in terms of power levels.
“I'll pass that on to the elders,” Drake said.
“Drake!”
The concerned tone in her voice warmed him.
“I promise. I'll be careful.”
Drake left the apartment and placed a protective spell on his apartment's perimeter. He chuckled as he waited on the elevator. Rhea was extremely concerned about his safety. Maybe love had already entered the picture.
CHAPTER TWELVE
Psychic vampires are the predators of the astral plane. By their actions, they relegate themselves to lower dimensional levels. -OBE: Deviant Behaviors, page 35.
Rhea watched in amazement as the twins started in on their third round of grilled cheese sandwiches and tomato soup. The two slender men could certainly put away the food. Shapeshifting must really burn the calories.
Her hunger satisfied, she yawned. A nap sounded like a good idea. She was pretty sure Drake would take up where they'd left off with their lovemaking, and she wanted to be fully rested for that event. Something told her he wouldn't be happy with just one joining. His out-of-body forays had proven that.
“Guys?” Rhea waited until she had the attention of both twins. “I'm going to take a shower, then a nap. If Drake needs me downstairs, just wake me up.”
“Sure, Rhea.” She thought it was Boris that answered. He seemed to be the more talkative one. Other than that she couldn't tell them apart. “We'll just hang out here. Drake told us not to leave the apartment.”
Igor stopped eating, lifted his head, then sniffed. He turned to his twin and must have communicated telepathically, because Boris added, “Igor wants to know if someone burned sage candles in here recently.”
Rhea frowned. A flicker of a memory wisped through her conscious mind-Betsy's voice saying something about sage.
“Yes, I think Betsy did. I'm not sure why, though.”
Boris grinned. “You need to take Herbal Basics from Egbert or one of the healers. Sage is used to cleanse the atmosphere and ward off evil spells. Helps with evil on the ethereal plane, too, especially psychic vampires.”
“Psychic vampires? What are they?”
“Someone who initiates sexual encounters with unwilling ethereal bodies.”
She blurted, without thinking, “Like what Drake did to me?”
Boris's pale complexion reddened. “Uh, no. I'm sure Drake did not attack you on the plane, probably more than likely ... he seduced you. Plus, if you had called a halt, he would have backed off. As living projectors, Drake and you possess the same ethics, morals and feelings as you would if the experience happened on the physical plane.”
He coughed, then looked at his brother as if willing him to take over the conversation. Igor just shrugged, so Boris continued, “A psychic vampire is a living projector who attacks any ethereal body it comes across. He has no morals or ethics. He does not respect that body's unwillingness. In fact, he's a rapist. Afterwards the victim may not recall the astral plane experience, but subconsciously she might feel depressed, used, maybe even suicidal.”
“What do you mean if the victim remembered? I remember each encounter clearly.” And that would be an understatement.
Her face must be as red as Boris's by now. She couldn't believe she was talking about sex so casually, but she was interested in learning about the astral plane.
Igor spoke softly, “That's because you are destined for Drake. Two people who meet on the astral plane and experience memorable sexual encounters are more likely to be lovers on the real plane. The out-of-body experience supplements the physical. There are shared feelings of intimacy, desire ... love involved.”
“It sounds like you boys know a lot about this out-of-body sexual stuff.”
Both twins jus
t grinned and nodded. Now that she had thoroughly broken her life-long rule of not talking about her sex life with total strangers, she decided to exit gracefully.
“Okay, well, thanks for the lesson on sage. I'll remember that.” And probably recall this totally embarrassing conversation each time the herb was mentioned.
As Rhea entered Drake's bedroom, the sight of the rumpled bed covers reminded her of Drake's lovemaking. No one had ever brought her to orgasm before by just wetting and blowing on her nipple. The man should be labeled dangerous.
The mere memories had her wet and aching for his touch. Later-they'd finish what they'd started. At this point she couldn't care less why they were making love-she just wanted him more than any man she'd ever known.
Yet, this feeling had to be more than lust. She'd lusted after several men while in college. But what she felt for Drake was more than the need to satisfy her body's aching hunger. She wanted the closeness with Drake. His laughter. His belief in her strength, her intelligence. When he'd touched her mind and called her brilliant, she'd gotten so aroused that she could have attacked him right there and then-if they hadn't had an audience.
If this was what love felt like, then she must be in love.
Sighing, she straightened out the sheets and the comforter. Then, she took off her clothes and folded them carefully and placed them on the chest of drawers. She would have to arrange to bring some of her clothes over here. She couldn't wear the same thing day-after-day. Who knew how long it would take to defeat Bettencourt?
As she was about to enter the bathroom, something hit her. A wall of dark energy threatened to engulf and pull her into its bottomless depths. She'd experienced this foul spirit before-it was Yorrick. He was here.
She stopped and backed away slowly so as not to warn him that she realized he was inside. The smell of rancid meat permeated whatever boundary he'd erected to hide his presence. Now she knew why the sage had smelled so fresh to the twins.
"Drake! Come to me. Now!"
As she sent images of Yorrick hiding in the bathroom and continued to back away, Yorrick came through the door at a run. He leaped for her, grabbed her by the waist, and began to spin counter-clockwise, mumbling words in a language she'd never heard.