Still, she supposed it better to hang than burn. It would be done and over with and she would finally be free.
A figure appeared before Bridget on the scaffold. He strolled leisurely in front of her, his clothes that of a wealthy businessman. His beard was well kept, his lips drawn up in a half smirk.
How had he gotten up here?
“Good eve, Bridget Bishop.”
She considered him carefully, and then lowered her gaze, her face burning. “I’d hardly call it that, sir.” She twisted against the executioner’s grip, but found it steady behind her. Her eyes panned the crowd, but instead of the din, she found only silence, their hateful rhetoric frozen in a state of utter silence.
The stranger chuckled. “Well then. You’d be right about that. Seems they mean to hang you.”
Bridget lifted her eyes to his face. “Aye, sir.”
His lips curved up in a disarming smile. “Do you deserve to die?”
“I do not.”
“Did you bewitch those girls? The people in town?”
“Only those who wanted to be.” That was the most honest answer she could give. The marks on her arms burned, licking along her flesh like flames beneath her shift. Yes, she’d paid for their curses; and now, they wanted to kill her for their sins. The accusations they made were lies to cover up the real truths—that she had worked her curses for those who needed her help. And now, she would hang for it.
“So you admit your maledictions are what brought us to this crossroads. Don’t you agree?”
“I agree to nothing.”
“Would you die here today, or live?”
She sealed her lips shut, even as they trembled. To open them now was to either scream of the injustice done her, or to lash out at the ugliness she saw in the faces around her. Samuel Gray she’d believed in, until he treated her like a stray dog meant to be put down. How she wished she could wind a curse around his fate. One as appropriate as what he had done to her.
“There is.”
Bridget started. Who was this man?
“I know what you’re thinking; and the insolent cur deserves it.” His eyes spanned the crowd and found Gray. A tiny smile curled up the corner of his mouth. “There. Now you won’t bear the mark of that curse. It’s my gift to you.” The stranger stopped in front of her and gripped her by the chin. “I believe you already know who I am. But alas, you didn’t answer my question.”
“What did you do?” Bridget whispered, dread snaking through her churning guts. She was talking to the Devil? She must be mad to imagine such a thing. Maybe they were right to hang her.
“Yes. You guessed correctly, but you, my dear, are by far the least deserving of this noose.” He tugged on the roughhewn hemp, curling his lips in distaste. “I merely showed him a mirror of the beast inside his soul. Nothing more. Nothing less.”
A tear slid from her eye and she tried to jerk her face away but he held fast, his gray eyes staring into hers, unflinching. “I didn’t want…”
“Didn’t you? Weren’t you just now wishing you could even the deck stacked against you by the petty lies of foolish folk? Tell me, how much of your land do they get if you and your husband are sentenced to hang?”
“He left me.”
“That isn’t what I asked you. He will be dealt with in his own time, never fear. Time is all I have, and I use it most judiciously.”
“They would get it all. Why are you helping me?”
A reddish glow lit up his eyes as he stared into hers. “Do you want to live, Bridget Bishop of Salem? Or should I say Bridget Mangus?”
“Yes,” she whispered. “Yes.”
Chapter One
Salem, Briarwood Manor 2016
Duncan Gray paced in front of the massive fireplace in the Great Hall. Flames licked within the cavernous maw, the shadows in the room making them look larger than life. His gaze flickered up toward the painting of his father, Samuel Gray, knowing he was likely spinning in his grave. Duncan’s wife Julia sat still as death, perched on the edge of the settee, waiting for him to acknowledge her.
She had changed from the absurd robes he found her in, now in jeans and a sweater, the wolf shining in her eyes. He had bitten her years ago in defiance of his father’s wishes. Theirs was a forbidden romance made passable by her promise. She was to refrain from using her powers. If she didn’t cast a spell, then she couldn’t be a witch and his father couldn’t condemn them. But blood was blood, and now hers had outed itself. As Alpha of the Briarwood Pack, he had a choice to make. She thwarted his edict with her outright defiance and now he had to deal with his mate in one way or the other.
Wolves and witches were never destined to be together, but they’d defied fate. At least, he thought they had. He’d met others over time that made their relationships work. For the Briarwood Pack, however, it seemed the rules were different. They were cursed by the moon and the women who thrived by its unholy light. The betrayal stung, and his heart felt as if it were breaking.
“Witches are the origin of all things evil. How could you choose her? How? When you know a witch cursed us with this?” His father held up his hand, now shifted into a claw, his eyes burning with moon fire and rage. “Kill her now, lad, or you’ll be sorry.”
Why hadn’t he listened? His father had been right. He wanted to believe something different, that Julia wasn’t like the woman who cursed the pack all those centuries ago. His father was a bitter old man and he hated more than he’d ever loved anyone. But this… God. He hated that Samuel had been right all along. The knowledge sickened him.
“Duncan, please. You have to speak to me.”
“I don’t. What you’ve done… there are no words.” He stopped, his gaze flickering over her, then moving away.
She knew how he felt about witches and spellcasting. Not all wolves were bound by the moon as they were. Most were natural in their dual nature. But him? He was here because of a brown haired witch who didn’t die when she was supposed to have swung at the end of a rope over three hundred years ago. His family was cursed. The moon sickness took his mother when he was a boy and his father a brief two years ago. Unnaturally long lives, with more than enough time to think about what had befallen them, and the insanity that would soon claim them. If the witch wasn’t in league with the Devil, he didn’t know what to believe.
His father told him of what he saw, and the flurry of events that transpired when Bridget Bishop was to die. A part of the crowd, he watched for the temptress to be put down when his father saw him: the man standing where no man should be, next to the accused on the scaffold. His eyes were ablaze and Samuel knew at once who it must be. The Devil, come to take his bride home.
As if summoned by the thought alone, the man directed his gaze to Samuel. The Devil smiled and then a chill crept through his bones. A cold that didn’t stop till the fires of Hell changed him into a beast in the waning hours of the day. The moon was full that summer night and she called to him, coaxing him out of his human bonds to show him another side that was more in tune with his soul. It drove him to the brink of madness and back again. Over and over, each month when the moon reached its zenith.
He had become a hunter with blood on his hands. Duncan had heard the tale often enough to know it by heart. From then on it was he who was fearful, terrified the people of Salem would find the wolf in their midst. So, he built walls around Briarwood. Fences of wrought iron to keep him inside of his lands when the moon madness struck—and a barrier to keep the curious far, far away. For their sake, and for his.
Duncan knew what it was to be hunted and it all began with a witch. Their kind had been enemies long before his birth. How his father had wanted to see Bridget Bishop burn. She may call herself something different now, but he knew it was her and he had his wolves looking for the witch. His three most loyal pack members, formerly four. Roark, the Master Vampire of the city and Fenris, the Fae Queen’s guard had killed Cain, but Richard, Ben and Michael were still on the prowl. He’d had to be careful.
If his Beta found out about his activities he would be forced to come out in the open, or kill him, and neither were favorable options. He would suffer no witch to live. One by one he would pick them off and send them back to their Goddess.
Oh, he and the Protectorate played nice before the Witch’s Council. It wouldn’t do to have any outright feuding. But Julia knew, and to bring sorcery into his household… Words failed him and a killing rage nearly took him over.
He’d come home early to find his wife locked in her inner chamber, a book of spells open on her dressing table. What he found wasn’t some ordinary hedge witch brew of herbs that tasted like rotten yard clippings. This was something that curled his gut and made the wolf inside him whimper in fear. She was locked in a spell, a summons on her lips, the air filled with a sulfurous odor reeking of Hellfire.
Another table had been pulled close, a slaughtered rabbit resting in a basin full of blood, and a pile of what appeared to be bones scattered across the surface of a wooden tray.
Duncan scented the blood first. He’d run down the hall, thinking something had happened to Julia, only to open the locked door and find a scene out of his deepest nightmare in its stead. It rocked him back on his heels. He left the room without a word, the bones in his hands shifting into claws. He would control his fury and not let the madness take him, but in his heart—he knew what must be done. He could not suffer a witch to live.
His father had also told him of another creature present that day. An albino man who looked from the witch to the stranger, and back to him, only to vanish moments later and leaving a single feather in his wake.
The kind of being that made the bones of a man shrivel in on themselves, and the sort to manage the dealings of humankind like the pieces on a chessboard. A creature that his father learned was called Nephilim. Part angel with elements of demonic power that defied the holy beings they sprang from. How he learned of this, Duncan wasn’t certain, but if this being was involved in the politics and inner workings of witch kind, he would be on his guard.
Julia had beckoned forth something much worse than any demon. She’d summoned the spawn of a fallen angel—one that trafficked in human suffering the way a modern day stock broker dealt in commodities. Duncan’s stomach heaved and he took a deep breath to try and calm his nerves.
Fear slid through his belly. The Nephilim hadn’t arrived yet. Perhaps he had gotten to her before she’d had the opportunity to finish the spell, but inside, he knew the truth. Something wicked was coming and there was no stopping it. Not now. Not without help.
He glanced at his wife now clad in a pair of jeans and an elegant sweater, her hair pinned up neatly as if nothing were amiss. Gone were the robes and smears of blood, but he knew the rest still had to be dealt with. There wasn’t time for anything else.
“You knew how I felt about witchcraft, and still, you did this. Why?”
He would call Roark and Fenris. They would help him. With shaking hands, he slid his phone out of his pocket, his gaze snapping to the picture window and the movement he caught out of the corner of his eye. Alistair and Laurel would be back soon from their patrol of the grounds. He had that long to take care of this before the entire pack became involved in his wife’s perfidy.
Tears slipped down Julia’s face and she placed her hands over her stomach. “You know. Do you really want me to spell it out for you?” She wiped angrily at her tears and stood up to face him.
Horror spread through Duncan. “You did this because we couldn’t get pregnant? That was your reason?”
“Yes,” she choked out and turned away. “I didn’t know what else to do. You knew what I was when you married me. Don’t you ever forget that.”
“How could I? You promised in your vows to never practice again. We were happy with just the two of us. Our pack was our family. God, Julia. We could have adopted.”
A harsh laugh burst from her lips. “Adopted? What adoption agency would ever give us a child, Duncan? All they would have to do is send one of their watchdogs here during the wrong time of the month and it would all be over. No. No government agencies.”
“We could buy one.”
The offer was met in stony silence. “I will not buy a child like a stray cat from a shelter. How do you have the gall to suggest such a thing?”
“Wealthy people do it all the time. How dare you curse my house with this… this horror?” Duncan waved his hand toward the upstairs room. He’d locked it to prevent any of the staff from going inside, but if he scented the blood, there was a good chance they would too if he didn’t get it cleaned up quickly.
“What horror is that? Like the kind you perpetrate on my kind when you think no one is the wiser?” Her eyes met his and, this time, she didn’t back down. Cold ferocity burned in their depths and, for a moment, Duncan knew fear.
Did she know?
Fury curled through him that she would dare defy him, even now. Duncan started toward her, his hand poised to strike, when a chill wind rippled through the room. A lone figure in white appeared before the now open French door leading out onto the balcony. His eyes were as cold as the ice melting in his glass, and Duncan knew fear once again. Julia opened her mouth to speak, and promptly shut it.
“Your bargain is not yet complete, Julia Gray. I expect you to uphold your end of it.”
“No. No, please. I had till Samhain. You promised.” Julia blanched, moving backwards as the Nephilim approached and nearly tripped on the foot of the settee in her haste.
“Get out of my house. You weren’t invited.” Duncan swallowed. It was a lie and he knew it. Julia had brought the abomination to his door and now there would be blood.
“Should we tell him, witch?” The Nephilim raised an eyebrow, a humorless smile stretching across his lips.
“Please. No.” Julia shook her head.
“There is no backing out of this bargain, woman of clay and claw. This,” he indicated all around him with a smile twisting up the sides of his mouth, “started before you were born. Either of you. We whose fathers flew with the archangels of the heavens. You do not dictate to me. You who are lower than dogs. You deserve no mercy. The Devil was right to give you his due. Now grovel like the beast you are.” His cold eyes flashed and he snapped his fingers. He pointed toward the Alpha, bringing him to his knees with a howl of pain.
Duncan fell to the floor. In the thrall of his change he scrambled to get to Julia, but he was beyond help, his bones twisting in the dance that held him captive each month for as long as he lived. She was his wife. No one would touch her but him. He growled in fury, his pain shifting it to a howl of agony.
Julia stared him down, her expression one of cold control. “Leave him be. I can stop this. I can call the one even you won’t cross.”
The Nephilim raised a pale blond eyebrow. “How is it that you weren’t paying attention? You invoked me. We have a contract. That is the be all and end all of it.”
“You’re wrong.” Julia gathered something from the pocket of her jeans. She sliced open her left arm, blood arcing out in a circular spray. She cast a circle around herself with the art of someone adept at the practice, one who never stopped. She glanced over at Duncan. “Forgive me. I only thought to secure us a family. I didn’t see it coming to this end.”
“Perinium maledictorium!” Julia drew a sigil in the air and, reaching behind, pulled her phone from the back pocket of her jeans. She snapped a picture and, with a burst of light, it disappeared. “I call you, lord of shadows and light. The one from the between and the dark of ever. Come to me in my hour of need. Earth. Air. Sea. Sky…”
“You don’t get to invoke his name. You lost that right when you stepped over the boundaries and invited me in.” The Nephilim smiled, his cold amusement a horror to behold. “You think you are a witch, little wolf, but you are no more than a child playing at the adults table.”
Julia trembled before him, but raised her chin in defiance.
He started for her and she leapt free from the cir
cle, the wild magic she’d begun to cast rioting around the room. The being drew a blade from the scabbard around his waist. “Stop this.”
“Too late.” She wound the curse and invoked another name. “Malodictus Mephistopheles. Now the Devil will walk these halls and you will have no quarter.”
The Nephilim advanced on her and, wielding his blade like an extension of his arm, separated Julia’s head from her body. She collapsed on the marble floor in front of one of the bookshelves, blood pooling around her corpse.
The Nephilim knelt down, dipping his finger in the blood, marking Julia’s forehead with a sigil of his own. His whispered a word and stood, nodding at Duncan. “She is mine, foolish wolf. Try to take her from me in death. You or the Devil.”
“No!” Duncan writhed. He struggled against his body. His protests morphed into howls as he finished his transformation, the beast inside of him taking over. He launched himself at the Nephilim, knocking him down, but the creature was too strong, even for an Alpha werewolf. With a single touch, the wolf in him subsided, leaving him naked and shivering in the doorway.
“I shall see you soon, Duncan Gray. Until then, I wish you well. Shake hands with the Devil. It is he you should fear; not the witches.” With that, the Nephilim bowed and took his leave.
Duncan crawled back to the body of his wife and wept.
***
Alistair rounded the corner, the scent of blood nearly overwhelming him. He reached for his radio. “Laurel. Stop what you’re doing and get in here.”
“Where are you?”
“I’m about to arrive in the Great Room. Meet me at the outer door.” He entered the room, almost slipping in the pool of blood.
“Fuck. Alpha?” Alistair raced forward, his fingers shifting into claws. His nostrils flared as the scent of blood grew stronger. He assessed the room, every angle and threat that could come from the shadows. There was an unfamiliar scent in the air, but he couldn’t detect anyone else in the room.
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