Invoking the Witch (The Faction Series Book 1)

by Lindsey Jayne

  He made his way into a large kitchen in a very similar state to the hallway—the place not only ripped apart, but blown to smithereens. Scorch marks lined intermittent areas of the wall, floor and ceiling as though someone lost control of a flamethrower… or magic, out of sheer, frustrated anger.

  Nothing else jumped out at him, so he made his way toward the stairs he saw in the hallway when they entered. He passed the living room and watched, in muted fascination, when Amelia bent down to examine the extent of some of the chaos in the room. Her dark jeans stretched across her pert arse and he stifled a growl. Damn, she is hot.

  Tearing his gaze away, he walked up the stairs to the landing. Three doors hung off their hinges and each room showed similar signs of destruction to downstairs. One door remained ajar, but Blake doubted he would find anything less than comparable damage inside.

  His hand stilled over the doorknob—he could smell burning sulphur in the air and something else. Like the smell you got during a rain storm moments before lightning struck.

  A force, hot and powerful, exploded from the room. It powered into his chest. Both he and the remainder of the door flew over the handrail and crashed down the stairs. He landed, dazed at the bottom with a heavy thud before the screech of tires tore off and a blurred shape shot by him with unimaginable speed.

  Amelia’s scream preceded an almighty crash. His fangs descended and he shot to his feet, drawn between going after the unknown, the car or making sure Amelia hadn’t come to harm. He didn’t need to think about it—he shook himself off and raced into the living room, but he couldn’t see the DCI anywhere.

  A strong gust blew debris around the room and Blake looked toward the window to see a jagged, gaping hole, the dark curtains flapping violently in the wind. Without a second thought, he pounced onto the sofa in front, straight onto the windowsill and out into the front garden.

  Amelia lay about five feet in front of him, face down and splayed out. Blake could see pieces of glass in her hair and on her back. He flew to her side, but didn’t dare to move her for fear of making matters worse.

  “Amelia, can you hear me?” His hand hovered over her stirring form. “Don’t move, I’ll call for help.”

  Muffled by the grass beneath her, she mumbled, “I’m fine,” while she struggled to get up.

  The effort proved to be too much and she only succeeded in turning over, landing awkwardly on her back, the wind knocked out of her.

  “What the hell happened?” She palmed a bloody patch on her head.

  “I have no idea. Whoever got here before us was still inside.”

  Blake looked down at her body and noticed a nasty gash near her shoulder where glass sliced through shirt and flesh. Other than that, and the cut on her head, she seemed otherwise unharmed—from the outside at least.

  “Why didn’t you go after them?”

  Blake’s fangs withdrew, knocked back by her question, or perhaps the truth behind his answer made him hesitate? “Because I didn’t know what happened do you.”

  “Since when did you care, big guy?” She half-smiled.

  Blake grinned back at her. “Come on. I think it’s safe to say no one is home. We need to get you seen to. Can you move?”

  “Yeah, I think so. My ankle feels a bit dodgy, and then there is the matter of my bruised pride.”

  Blake laughed at her, a genuine, hearty sound derived from his relief.

  ∾∾∾

  A faint knock sounded against my door. Placing my book down I pulled myself off the bed and moved to open it.

  I held back a gasp at the sight of Deacon’s beautiful, sparkling eyes.

  My tongue went cotton wool dry when I tried to speak. Words fired around my brain, but not one made it out of my lips to form a coherent sentence.

  He looked every bit the beefy hunk, even in grey track bottoms and a tight, white vest. His sculpted arms and shoulders glistened under the dim light with post workout perspiration.

  I drank him in with lust-fuelled hunger before I snapped my eyes back to his.

  “H-hi,” I stammered through my constricted throat. Must remember to swallow, must remember to swallow… must remember to breathe!

  “Hi, yourself.” His smile took my breath away.

  I stepped aside, “You wanna come in?”

  He glided into the room, closing the door behind him. “I’m sorry I haven’t been around much, I—”

  “It’s OK,” I smiled at him with reassurance, “you have a job to do.”

  He avoided my gaze, but he looked disconsolate with sad, wide eyes, his breathing heavy. Work perhaps? Or is it me?

  “No, it isn’t you.” His words were hasty, and he turned back to me with desperate longing in his dovelike stare.

  Did he just read my mind?

  Hands on my hips, I looked into his eyes. Crap! If he could read my mind, what… Oh my God… my inner most thoughts about him, what I felt, what I wanted him to do to me.

  He took hold of my shoulders in his large hands and pressed his body close. With one long, hungry look he crushed his lips against mine in a swift, urgent movement.

  I melted against him and moaned into his mouth as his agile tongue found mine.

  He broke away. “I’m sorry, I didn’t…,” he stammered.

  I touched my tingling lips with a light caress. My heart melted when I looked back at the sadness in Deacon’s eyes.

  “Deacon, are you OK? You don’t have to apologise for what just happened.” Then I whispered, “I wanted it.”

  So many mixed emotions ran through my mind. Guilt ate away at me. His kiss left my legs weak and my stomach in knots, but being pregnant with another man’s child… should I want this?

  Every fibre of my being yearned for this man in front of me. A burning fire raged through me with one look from him. One touch batted my senses around my brain like a thousand bullets ricocheting off metal walls.

  But it felt unbelievably right—strong and very real.

  Despite the incredibly short time in which we’d known each other, every moment away from him felt like one half of my soul was missing. An emptiness clawed through my body. I couldn’t fight it, even if I wanted to.

  But Daniel remained in the back of my mind. His threat. Those he implied were after me. With my head in such a state; scared for the life of my child and me… it wouldn’t be fair to drag someone into this. This is my emotional burden to bear.

  Moving in closer, he whispered, “I’ll protect you.”

  A multitude of sparks fired off in my brain. His face so close, I could feel his hot breath trickle down my neck. Why would this man—this gorgeous, beautiful, strong man—want to protect me. When I placed a hand over my belly, he placed his straight over.

  “I’ll protect your child as well.”

  Deacon pressed the pad of his thumb to the single tear sliding down my cheek. I closed my eyes at the tenderness of his caress—familiar tantalizing currents roused my body.

  My heart pounded and endless sounds filtered through the open window—water rippled, owls hooted, animals scurried, trees rustled in the thrashing wind.

  Deacon’s laboured breathing overpowered my senses, his hand still touched my face. I opened my eyes and the noises subsided, but the sensations lingered. I stared at his luscious, pink lips—parted to let out his unsteady breathing.

  Shifting my gaze, I looked into his intense stare. “Deac—”

  He brushed his lips against mine—gentle, delicate, not desperate and rushed like before. My body went numb and he pulled me closer, holding me with his free hand. His tongue explored my lips, darted around my mouth and clashed with my tongue in the most sensual, erotic kiss. My stomach flipped and I throbbed in places long forgotten, experiencing urges not felt for years.

  Placing a hand on his hip, I used my other to grab at his shoulders, neck, face, before I brought them both up to run through his silky hair.

  I weakened at the growl rumbling in his chest. Disembodied, all I sensed, all I could
focus on were his lips on mine—I melted further into his hold when he snaked one hand from my face to the back of my neck—deepening the kiss.

  His impressive erection strained against my thigh and my mind emptied of all other thoughts, except for this man’s rock hard body pressed against me. How his powerful hands held me close and how his lips brushed against mine, so soft and moist.

  He broke away all too soon, and I moaned my disappointment.

  Placing his hand back against my cheek, he whispered, “I’ll protect you both, I swear on my life.”

  And I didn’t doubt his promise for a second.

  Chapter 10

  I ran, hard and fast, my breathing fitful, lungs ready to burst at any moment, but still I ran. My bare feet bled and my legs felt injected with lead, but I didn’t stop, not until I reached the clearing. Sweat bathed my body, while I ached and struggled for breath.

  Rocks were positioned in a makeshift circular pattern on the uneven, muddy ground. White rags caught in the surrounding trees flapped like wild spectres in the strong, blustering wind. Rain battered my face, ran into my eyes and round the contours of my mouth.

  Stepping into the centre of the circle, the wind stopped whirling my hair around my face, the rain ceased to pound at my body, yet it still went on outside whatever bubble I walked into.

  After a few deep breaths, I ran my hands over my face to wipe away the water. I heard a muffled cry and I stopped, cocked my head to the side and tried to make out where it came from.

  I noticed a shallow ditch nearby. I advanced toward it with caution. I sensed something bad—a feeling of dread rushed up my body, making me shiver. The cry came again. Is that a baby? I couldn’t leave a baby out here in this cold.

  Approaching the hole, branches cracked under my weight and mud squelched in between my toes. I knelt down beside it. A bundle covered in dark-stained rags lay within. My outstretched hand stilled; I swore I heard someone whisper my name—a female someone. A voice I didn’t recognise. But then, would I recognise something so inaudible?

  It didn’t come again, so I reached into the pit and dragged the tattered rags out.

  A baby lay beneath, eyes closed while she cried. I picked her up and wrapped her in the cloth used to shelter her from the elements. She looked so tiny and innocent, who would leave her outside in this?

  Cooing her, I tickled under her chin, she tried to smile and grab for my finger. I heard my whispered name again and gasped. Swiping my head from left to right, I looked around the dense wooded area. I couldn’t see or sense anything, nothing at all.

  Dropping my gaze back to the child, I resolved to take her out of here, but when I looked at her, her eyes rolled back to reveal milky white orbs and her mouth opened in a silent scream. I shrieked and the baby wriggled from my grasp, but just before the girl hit the ground, she turned into an owl and flew off into the night, screeching an ear piercing sound.

  For long moments I stood rooted.

  My surroundings melted together into an all-consuming blackness. My body dropped and I plummeted into depths unknown. My arms and legs flailed around as I tried to gain a control that didn’t exist.

  I landed on my back on a mound of pillows and lay there for a few seconds while I gained my composure. ‘Elora’, I heard it again, more distinct this time; female for sure.

  Sitting bolt upright, in an underground chamber of sorts, I eyed the monastery-type surrounding. I spied monk-looking characters ambling about the place. Their brown robes looked familiar.

  They hovered near an altar and I dragged myself up from the ground to take a closer look. Something lay on the altar—something small and very fidgety.

  Holy Hell, another baby! A dreaded sensation swirled in the pit of my stomach, and I tried to cry out. No sound erupted from between my lips. In fact, no sound came from anywhere. I looked at the screaming baby, but I couldn’t hear its cries.

  I grabbed at my stomach… shit! Oh, God no! My bump, where is my baby? Realisation smacked me straight in the face. I looked back at the altar, wide-eyed with sickening fear, my mouth open in shock and disbelief.

  I didn’t need to find my voice when I saw one of the robed figures draw a knife from their belt and aim it at my child! I lurched forwards, but one of the cloaked bodies turned towards me, threw out their hand and emitted a burning ball of white hot fire. It hurtled straight for me and hit me square in the chest.

  I woke screaming in agony, my entire body bathed in sweat, my chest tight and heavy. Clutching at it, I writhed around the bed.

  “Ellie, what’s wrong?” Deacon’s terrified voice panicked me.

  I couldn’t answer him, though—I only wanted to scream until the pain went away. I clutched my chest tighter and Deacon put one hand to it while the other went to my forehead. His cold skin soothed the raging inferno gushing over my body.

  “Jesus, you’re on fire, and your heart is going a million miles per hour.”

  With squinted eyes, I watched Deacon drag the covers off of me. He stared at me with a look of sheer horror on his face. His nose twitched and flared and his hand went up to cover his mouth.

  “Holy fucking Christ, Elora, you’re bleeding!” he exclaimed, before grabbing his phone.

  ∾∾∾

  Amelia hated hospitals; she associated them with sadness and death. The Compound’s medical institution, however, didn’t creep her out quite so much. The usual antiseptic aroma didn’t linger, and the decor—ultra sleek and hi tech—definitely did not belong in your run of the mill hospital.

  Her own spacious room’s three walls were frosted glass, but the back—housing the bed—soft oak panelling. The adornments were all modern and very tasteful, high-gloss, white units—one of which held a brand new LCD TV.

  She sat beside Blake on the large bed. The pain from her ankle subsided, but her head comprised a couple of butterfly stitches, and a gauze pad dressed the gash below her collarbone.

  She stared at the floor, her mind replaying the night’s events.

  “Did you see anything?” Blake broke the silence.

  Her head snapped up and she squinted her eyes against the throb of her injuries. “Yeah… my life flashing before my eyes as I careened through a glass window! What the hell did you think I saw?” She glared into his eyes.

  Blake balked at the vehemence in her voice and opened his mouth only to close it again seconds later.

  Amelia put her head in her hands, careful to avoid her wound. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to snap,” she sighed, running her hands over her hair before looking into his eyes. “I’m just frustrated that they were there… right in our grasp, and I let them slip by.”

  “It wasn’t your fault, Amelia. Even I couldn’t get a hold of whoever, or whatever, was there. I should’ve known; should’ve helped you.”

  Amelia slid off the bed and paced the ward with a slight limp. She swung back around to face Blake. “You couldn’t have done anything. Whatever hurtled me through the window wasn’t human.”

  “I know. But that means… .”

  “The witches have someone working for them, and we need to find out who or what it is.”

  Amelia jumped when the Faction’s Doctor, Jacob sped past the open door with a gurney, several staff members at his heels. Moments later he ran back with someone on the table, screaming in agony. Deacon rushed close behind, his face contorted in anxious panic.

  “What the hell… .” Blake’s statement hung in the air while he and Amelia made their way out of the room to follow the procession.

  Amelia struggled to keep up while Blake, Deacon and Jacob used their speed to get to their destination. She slowed down when she saw Jacob enter the operating theatre. He instructed Deacon and Blake to remain behind.

  She caught the last part of Jacob’s instruction.

  “… nothing you can do right now, Deak. Sit down. She’s in good hands.”

  Deacon growled, his fangs descended. He smashed his fist through the wall next to the doors Jacob disappea
red through. Plaster and dust erupted from the gaping hole and the vibrations shook the surface, reverberating around the room.

  “What’s happened, bro?” Blake’s hand faltered over Deacon’s heaving shoulders.

  Amelia knew Deacon held a good hundred years or more on Blake—their strength grew with age—and it would be wise for Blake to refrain from causing Deacon to lash out without a thought.

  “Was that Elora?” Amelia panted.

  “Yes,” Deacon answered through clenched teeth, hand still splayed beside the hole he created.

  “Is she… OK?” Blake hesitated.

  “I don’t know… the baby… .” He spun around, fangs rescinding while he ran a hand through his dark hair and grabbed the side of his head with both palms, his frantic, wide eyes darting from person to person.

  Blake and Amelia stared at a despairing Deacon while he paced the corridor. He stared at the floor, fists now balled at his sides.

  A few minutes passed before all three were startled when another set of doors burst open and Bernie rushed through.

  “Where is she? Is she OK? What’s happening to her?” He almost collided with Deacon in his haste to reach his daughter.

  “I-I don’t know,” the warrior stammered. “I went to see her, she asked me to stay while she slept. She started thrashing about and woke up clutching her chest. I could smell blood, a lot of it, and when I drew back the covers the sheets were soaked in it.”

  Amelia and Bernie gasped, but Bernie recovered first.

  “Is the baby… ?” His stricken face paled.

  Deacon hung his head, “I don’t know.”

  “She’s lucky you were there.” Blake risked putting his hand on Deacon’s shoulder. “Jacob’s the best at what he does. He’ll make sure she’s OK.”

  The minutes stretched into an eternity before Jacob walked through the operating theatre’s doors. Amelia wished her frame of mind could appreciate his masculine good looks.

  He wore a dishevelled lab coat over his green combat trousers and grey tank top.

  He removed the coat and stepped further into the corridor and Amelia could almost admire the sculpted curves of his well-toned body. Tattoos ran up both arms, but stopped before his neck line.