Winter Souls: an Adult Paranormal Witch Romance: Sector 10 (The Othala Witch Collection)

by Angela Fristoe

  Elora’s plate wobbled, and she dropped it on the table.

  “Let me go,” she snapped and jabbed her elbow into the side of Nick’s stomach, effectively missing the roll of fat and hitting his ribs.

  Nick grunted and released her to rub his side with a sharp scowl. “Damn, no need to be rough. I was just having a bit of fun.”

  Elora glared at him then turned back to Mason.

  “Please. It’s important,” she implored.

  “I gotta get my gear together,” Nick said and rose from his seat. “I’ll meet you in an hour at the station.”

  “Don’t let Luce see you.” Mason took a bite of his bannock, then around the mouth full of bread said, “She’ll be mad as fuck that she had to cover your post while you were tooling around instead of being gone already.”

  Elora stood waiting until Nick left, then sank into the empty seat.

  “Mason ... I don’t even know where to start,” she said with a breathy laugh that quickly turned serious. “I’m so sorry about what happened.”

  He leaned forward, his eyes drilling into hers. “We both know I don’t really care about you being sorry, nor am I particularly angry. So if this is an attempt for you to assuage your guilt by spouting off some meaningless apologies, it would be better saved for those who were left behind to suffer from Niobe’s destruction.”

  “That’s not why I want to speak to you.”

  “Then get to the point.”

  “Niobe took your soul in order to create a Soul Rune.”

  “I figured as much,” he said.

  She leaned across the table. The new position tugged her worn shirt from her shoulder. His fingers itched to reach out and caress the creamy skin exposed, but he knew better than to give in to his physical desires.

  “Then you know you can get it back,” she said. “If we can find the Soul Rune, the Regent could reverse the spell. She could release your soul.”

  “Why?”

  His blunt question caused her to sit straight back in her seat.

  “What do you mean why?” She shook her head in confusion. “Without a soul ... you have no dreams, you feel nothing.”

  “That’s not true.” He picked up his mug and drained the last sip of ale. “I feel hunger, pain, desire.”

  “Those are physical. What about love, sorrow, anger?”

  He snorted. “Those would only interfere. As a guard, I’m highly efficient and effective in my position. Emotions would only weaken me, prevent me from making the decisions I need to make.”

  “You sound like your father.”

  “The Dealer is one of the top-ranked officials in the force. His priority is the same as every other Tank officer. To protect the barrier, eliminate the maximum number of ravagers, and ensure the survival of the human race.”

  “There was a time being like your father was the worst thing that could happen to you. You always said you’d never join the Tank.”

  “When Niobe ripped open the shield, ravagers swarmed the beach. By the time the Regent repaired the hole, most of the village guards perished in battle. Becoming a guard was what my father wanted for me. It was what the village needed.”

  “What about what you wanted? What of your dreams of becoming a Paladin?”

  “That was then. Now, I’m ... content with my post. I contribute to the Sector defenses.”

  “And that is what you want for your life? To mindlessly follow your father’s orders? Killing until you're killed?”

  He saw the pity in her eyes.

  Pity was a nasty word. He had felt pity before when he’d been a boy and watched a man trapped beyond the shield run from ravagers. The man disappeared into the trees before they caught him, but his screams had echoed through the area. Mason remembered the way his stomach clenched in horror as he listened.

  “Leaving my post would result in reduced barrier protection and increased risk to the lives of the villagers and anyone living in the Northern region. Perhaps it’s not the life many would choose for themselves,” he said with a shrug, “But it is the one I live.”

  “It doesn’t have to be,” she said in a pleading tone. “The only thing holding you here is the order from your father.”

  “I appreciate your concern for my future, but the fact is I have no interest in changing my current situation.”

  Her head lowered, and she gave a soft sigh. He understood why she was convinced having his soul back should be his top priority. People like her—who were emotional, impulsive, driven by their feelings—didn’t understand how freeing it was to be soulless. The only thing he had to concern himself with was performing his job in order to secure the necessities to meet his physical needs.

  “I should go.” She slipped from the chair and picked up her plate.

  “I’ll walk you back.” He stood and snagged his weapon from the rack behind him. “The Dealer should have told you not to be out after dark.”

  “He did, but ...” Her plate lifted a bit as she shrugged.

  He led the way out of the pub, waving to Norm as he passed by. The old man was crotchety, but Mason respected his commitment to the villagers. Norm fed most of the villagers lunch and dinner through the barter system despite the Regent’s orders that all services and products must be paid for with Sector-approved currency. While the currency system worked well for those employed with the Tank force and other Council regulated professions, most of those people lived in the South. Up here, trade was the only way to survive.

  “How did you pay for your food?” he asked as they stepped outside.

  She hesitated, glancing from the plate back to the closing door of the pub.

  “I ... I didn’t. I wasn’t even thinking.”

  “If the Dealer told you to get food, he’ll cover it. Don’t expect that to last, though. Get an account set up with Norm. Figure out what you're able to trade.”

  Her lips pursed, and she nodded slowly, obviously unsure what she had to trade. As far as he could tell, she had no possessions, only her body, and as practical as it would be to sell herself for food, he doubted she’d even consider it an option. Not that Norm would take her up on such an offer. He was devoted to his wife.

  They walked in silence to her cabin. When they arrived, he followed her inside, watching as she placed the food on the small round table. She immediately began eating, tearing the bannock into bite-sized pieces. The cabin was cold, and he realized the wood stove had not been lit. He went outside and around the corner to a woodpile sheltered between her cabin and the next.

  He grabbed a few logs and a handful of kindling and went back in. After arranging the kindling around two logs, he started the fire with a long matchstick he found in the cabinet above the ice box. The cabins weren’t the most comfortable, but the fire would keep her warm enough to stave off hypothermia.

  “Thank you,” she said and gestured to the stove. “It’s been so long since I’ve used one. On the island, we only had the fireplace, and Niobe used a spell to control it.”

  “I have seen some in town do the same.” Mason prodded the logs until he was satisfied with the flames licking them. He was about to leave when she spoke.

  “I know you, Mason.”

  He turned to her and crossed his arms over his chest, wondering where she was going with this.

  “You’ve been gone a long time. Like you said earlier, I’ve changed.”

  She moved toward him, stopping only inches away and he could almost feel the warmth of her body.

  “My father loved to read books from before the divide,” she said staring up at him. “He’d spend our weekly rations on trading for books from the Capitol. Then after reading, he’d tell me what he learned, how the writing had altered his thinking. The more something changes, the more it stays the same. That was his favorite.”

  “And you think I’m the same person I was when I had a soul?”

  “I do. I think you lied about not wanting your soul back. I think you miss having it.”

  “Mis
sing isn’t something a person does without a soul.”

  “Maybe not, but there is a void inside of you. One you can’t fill with food or work or anything.” She raised a hand and pressed it to the side of his face and there he felt the slight friction of her smooth skin against his stubble.

  He reached up and grasped her wrist, intending to remove the gentle touch, but instead, he let go and traced his fingers up her arm and behind her neck to tangle in her thick waves. He gently tugged Elora’s hair to tip her face up to his and in her delicate features, he found an intoxicating blend of shock and lust.

  “You're wrong,” he said, his voice turning gruff. “There is one thing.”

  His mouth closed over hers. Her body shivered against his as excitement reverberated through her, and his adrenaline surged. His tongue traced the seam of her lips, tempting them to open for him, and he plunged in. Her tongue met his hesitantly, as if uncertain how to play this game. Yet the way she slowly suckled at him and the sweet taste of her drove him on.

  He wrapped his free arm around her and pulled her body flush against his. His cock hardened and instinctively he rocked forward, seeking her feminine heat.

  Both her hands were woven through his shaggy hair, holding him to her. He lifted her until she was on her tiptoes and turned so her back was to the door. He slid his hands around to her waist, then fanned his fingers until his thumbs brushed the underside of her breasts.

  He paused a moment, giving her a chance to protest. Her back arched, and he accepted the unspoken invitation. His hands cupped her breasts, letting the weight of them rest in his palms as he squeezed them. She moaned as he swept his thumbs across her nipples. Through the threadbare material of her shirt, the tightened nubs caught on his rough skin, tugging them to the side.

  Panting, he tore his lips from hers and gazed down at her. With her eyes closed and cheeks flushed, he’d never seen anything so beautiful. His cock urged him to continue, to draw her in with lust and quench his body’s need.

  But he had things to do.

  Stepping back, he let go of her. Her eyes flew open as she caught herself on the rough wood behind her.

  “Unless you're willing to fuck me, I suggest you stop worrying about how you can help me deal with having no soul.”

  She gasped, and he used the moment of shock to make his exit. Once outside, he took a deep breath of the cool evening air and then reached down to adjust his now snug pants over the lingering evidence of his body’s desire.

  Her lack of experience had been noticeable in the unskilled response of her body. It should have left him craving Luce’s much more skillful response. Yet, all he could think about was Elora’s natural sensuality as passion took over her.

  At the sound of footsteps behind him, Mason turned to see Nick making his way from his cabin next door.

  “We could push it back thirty, if you're wanting to head back in there and sample the goods,” Nick offered.

  “I’m good. Besides, the longer we wait, the greater the chance Luce will spot you.”

  The two men wound their way around the back of the station house. Just as the front and sides of the building bore dozens of Enochian sigils, so too did the back. The difference there was the one located at the western base of the building.

  A teleportation sigil was a complex symbol to create. The base symbol consisted of two horizontal parallel lines, intersected by a vertical line just right of center. Above the top horizontal line was a small rectangle. The lines were enclosed in a double circle with the spell written in Enochian around the outer edge.

  There were a number of similar images scattered across the outside walls, but there, beneath the white paint, was the blood of the Regent, capable of pulling the transport out of reality and into the interdimension and then releasing them into the desired location. The power to control the destination of a teleport was one only the Regent could create.

  It was that power that required two people to use the sigil. The transport and the porter.

  Nick adjusted his pack over his shoulder and checked the dagger holstered at his waist. At first glance, Nick looked like a typical trapper. Few would guess he was one of the fiercest Tank officers north of the Capitol.

  “I’m sorry,” Nick said.

  “For what?”

  “I know you’ve been wanting to go to the Capitol. Maybe we could talk to Dealer. Get him to send you instead.”

  “No.” There was no point, no need. The decision was made.

  He waited as Nick took his knife and slid it across the palm of his hand. Using a rag, he absorbed the blood and then handed the cloth to Mason. Careful to keep Nick’s blood from dripping, Mason traced the outer edges of the sigil and then clenched the rag in his hand. He tossed the rag to the side, and with Nick’s blood on his hand, he placed his palm in the center of the marking.

  The stone beneath the ancient symbol illuminated with pure white light and Mason turned his head to the side, avoiding the harsh glare. A few feet away, Nick’s body glowed then in a flash of brilliant light vanished. Mason continued contact for a few more minutes as he waited for the glow to fade.

  Vanquishing sigils didn’t require the same level of extended contact. They were designed to simply transport a person to a different destination. This symbol created by the Regent, however, allowed the teleporter to select their destination during their time in the interdimension. Breaking contact before the light faded could’ve left Nick stranded there, unable to find an exit in the vastness.

  There were tales of those who’d been stuck there suffering from the deafening emptiness. When they finally managed to escape, they were beyond help. Mason had met a woman once who’d been trapped there for years. While her body had returned, her mind had been lost, consumed by the dimension.

  He grabbed a handful of the wet snow and washed Nick’s blood from the sigil. Giving his hand a shake, droplets were flung through the air and landed on the snow-covered ground in a splattering of red. The teleportation had been the easy part of Nick’s journey. Now, at the edge of the Capitol, Nick would begin his quest through the city to find a Mage.

  In his mind, Mason saw Elora’s face, the look in her eyes as she told him his soul wasn’t lost forever. She truly believed they could find a way to return his soul to his body, yet he knew it wasn’t that easy. With the Dealer refusing to send Mason to the Capitol, there wasn’t a single person in the village who would dare to help them.

  Any other sigil could leave them stranded somewhere even more remote than they already were.

  That left the only other option. By land. Many trappers made the trek in the summer. They traveled the old highways to the North that were now abandoned and left in decay. It was a journey Mason had never taken and one fraught with dangers not only from the weather and nature but from the people who lived within the wild and the ravagers that somehow managed to slip through the cracks in the barrier.

  Mason shook his head. Worrying about a journey he would never take and the consequences of defying the Dealer were pointless. He didn’t need his soul. This was his life.

  5

  Isolation had dominated Elora’s time on the island. At first, it suffocated her, drowning her in the silence and the loneliness. As it consumed her, she’d found ways to hide it from her mind. She had existed in her memories. Then the memories faded, and she accepted the solitude Niobe forced on her.

  Nine days she had been back on the mainland. Nine long, endlessly-quiet days as isolation swept over her again, though worse as she watched life continue around her.

  The day after she arrived, she’d stayed hidden in her cabin only venturing out to the pub at midday for food, overwhelmed at the sudden freedom and space she had. She thought there’d be questions, answers to be given, but as the days passed and she moved through the village, no one asked. They walked by her, looking through her as if she were nothing. She was shunned.

  On the island, she existed. She could imagine that back on the mainland people though
t of her, spoke of her. Being shunned … She may have existed, but the people wished she didn’t.

  Elora pulled on her moccasins and parka then gathered her plate and cutlery from the drying rack. Stepping out into the frigid mid-day light, her eyes closed, and she drew in a deep breath of the crisp air. She’d been forced to spend most of her time on the island outside; she never imagined she’d hate being indoors so much.

  Crossing the dirt road, she headed to the pub—the one place she actually felt some sort of welcome. Norm and his wife, Abby, were about the only people in Ironshore who would speak to her. Then again, they were quite possibly the only people who hadn’t felt the sting of loss because of her actions.

  “Elora,” a voice from behind her called.

  She swiveled around and found herself face to face with a feminine version of her father. She’d wondered if her aunt Tina would still be in the village. It had seemed a vain hope, one that dwindled as days went by with no sign of the older woman. Elora’s father had been Tina’s only brother and with him dead and Elora gone, there’d been nothing to hold her there. Yet, she’d stayed.

  Tina rushed forward, wrapping Elora in her arms. Elora held herself stiffly for a few moments taking in the fragile embrace. Then with a quivering sigh, she gave herself over to it and the comfort of memories that poured through her.

  “I thought … I feared you were dead,” Tina said, her tears audible.

  Part of Elora had died. The Elora who existed six years ago—the foolish young woman—was gone. In her place … She didn’t know what she was anymore.

  “You stayed,” Elora said. “Why didn’t you go to the Capitol?”

  Tina pulled back from the embrace and lifted her hands to smooth Elora’s wild curls back from her face.

  “Come,” Tina said. “You look like you are on your way to the pub.”

  They walked the last few yards in silence and then once inside found a table near the fireplace. Elora took her plate and cutlery to the bar, passing them to Norm. He gave a vague grunt, and she responded with a gentle smile before returning to her aunt.