by Opal Carew
It would be time for Ms. Shaw to have another plasmapheresis treatment and a crisp hundred paid to one of the orderlies had confirmed that she would be arriving today.
As a black Jeep pulled into the parking lot for the hospital, Morales tracked its passage to an empty spot at the far side of the lot. He held his breath as he waited for the occupants to emerge and was not disappointed.
Caterina Shaw slipped from the vehicle along with a handsome Latino man. Carrera, he supposed since he had never encountered the man in person.
The couple met at the back of the Jeep and embraced. Shared a hungry kiss before joining hands and walking together toward the door to the hospital.
As they neared the entrance, the automatic doors swooshed open and a young woman exited the building. Petite. Wearing a lab coat and badge which identified her as one of the hospital personnel. Her dark good looks, so similar to the man with Shaw, identified her as family.
Beneath the canopy of the hospital’s entrance, the three embraced, happiness and love radiating from one and all.
Sickening, Morales thought, tapping his fingers on the steering wheel. Itching to rush out and grab Shaw. Finish what he had started.
But not today, he thought as the clueless trio walked into the hospital together, believing themselves safe. Believing that the nightmare was over for them, only . . .
Morales started the engine, cranked up the air conditioning and drove away, his smile as chilly as the air coming from the vents of the SUV as he thought, “It’s only just begun.”
Sins of the Flesh Copyright © 2009 by Caridad Piñeiro Scordato
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, or persons, living or dead, is coincidental.
All rights reserved. Except for use in any review, the reproduction or utilization of this work in whole or in part in any form by any electronic, mechanical or other means, now known or hereafter invented, including xerography, photocopying and recording, or in any information storage or retrieval system, is forbidden without the written permission of Caridad Piñeiro Scordato.
All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the non-exclusive, non-transferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, down-loaded, decompiled, reverse engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereinafter invented, without the express written permission of publisher.
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About the Author
NY Times and USA Today Bestseller Caridad Pineiro is a Jersey Girl who just wants to write, travel, and spend more time with family and friends. Caridad is the author of over 40 novels/novellas and loves romance novels, super heroes, TV and cooking. Caridad writes dark and sexy romantic suspense and paranormal romances for those who live to love on the edge. Her sweet, but still naughty side, Charity Pineiro, writes contemporary romances packed with emotion and humor. For more information on Caridad/Charity, please visit www.caridad.com or www.rebornvampirenovels.com. You can also find Caridad/Charity on:
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Spell Bound
by,
Stephanie Julian
Spell Bound Copyright 2011. Stephanie Julian.
Stephanie Julian
Published by Stephanie Julian
Cover by Melyssa Najouks
This ebook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This ebook may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person. If you’re reading this book and did not purchase it, or it was not purchased for your use only, then please purchase your own copy.
Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author. To obtain permission to excerpt portions of the text, please contact the author at [email protected].
All characters in this book are fiction and figments of the author’s imagination.
Dedication
To my guys, with love always
Acknowledgements
Many thanks to my agent, Elaine English, who believes in this book and in me.
To Judi and Deb and April and Daria and Adele and Marilyn and every single one of my writer friends who read and reread and listened to me bemoan the fact that this book that I love would never get published
Author’s Note
SPELL BOUND is part of the Etruscan Magic books, including the Magical Seduction, Lucani Lovers and Forgotten Goddesses series, but takes place before the events in SEDUCED BY MAGIC, the first book in the Magical Seduction series.
Glossary
Aitás – Underworld
Arus – magical power inherent in the races of Etruscan descent
Attonitum – looks like a cross between a revolver and an inoculation gun and would be useless in the hand of an eteri, a regular human. The iron grip warms to the touch, while the quartz crystal concentration chamber pulses with a pale pink light. The solid copper barrel focuses the magic.
Blood Bound – An ancient tradition tying two souls and their fates together for all eternity by mingling blood during sex.
Boschetta – a group of thirteen streghe
Enu – humans of magical Etruscan descent
Eteri – Etruscan for foreigner, used to describe regular humans
Fata – mythical beings of magical Etruscan descent such as folletti (fairies) and linchetti (night elves)
Goddess Gift – magical abilities including but not restricted to scrying, healing, far-seeing, affinities to herbs and crystals
Grigorio – a male born with enhanced senses and strength and an affinity to metal; in ancient times, the grigori were warrior priests and guardians of the Etruscan race; they were thought to have died out
Involuti – Founding gods of the Etruscans, those from whom all other Etruscan deities are descended
Lucani – Etruscan werewolves; they form the Etruscan army, based on the ancient Roman Legion
Priestesses of Menrva’s – originally a group of thirteen unmarried women who pledged their lives to the Etruscan Menrva, Goddess of Wisdom, and kept safe her most sacred gift to the Etruscans, the twelve Nails of the Ages; through the centuries, they handed down their duties to their nearest living female relatives
Strega – (plural streghe) Female of Etruscan descent endowed with Goddess Gifts
Stregone – Male of Etruscan descent endowed with Goddess Gifts
Salvanelli – one of the races of the Etruscan Fata, thought to be extinct
Versipellis – literally “skin shifter,” shapeshifters including Etruscan lucani, Norse berkserkir (bears) and French loup garou (wolves)
Prologue
Tuscany
1495
“You bitches.” Brown eyes red-rimmed and blazing, Fabrizio Paganelli shook with grief and fury. “You killed him.”
“No.” Dafne, the boschetta’s leader, bowed her head, sorrow etched in every line of her normally placid expression. “We could do nothing for him. His illness was too advanced.”
“You lie.” Paganelli clutched his youngest son’s body in his arms, Christo’s beautiful face finally peaceful in death. Such a stark contrast to his father’s madness. “I came to you for help.”
>
From her position in the circle around the bed, Celeste’s heart hurt for the grief in the man’s voice. But her skin crawled at the evil underlying his tone.
Could the other twelve members of her boschetta not hear it? Or did they hear only their soft prayer to the Etruscan Great Goddess Uni for Christo’s safe journey to Aitás? Celeste mouthed the words but watched the distraught father with wary eyes.
“I begged you to cure him,” Paganelli raged. “Instead your magic killed him.”
“I am so very sorry, Fabrizio.” Daphne reached for him but Paganelli drew back, as if she might contaminate him somehow, his mouth twisted with a sneer of disgust and anguish.
“Sorry does not bring back my son!”
And neither could Paganelli’s great wealth, though he had tried to buy Christo’s health. Celeste knew he’d spent a fortune on modern physicians for cures that failed. By the time Fabrizio had begged the streghe to save Christo with their magic, the young man had been too ill.
She had been shocked when Dafne had gathered the women to attempt to heal him anyway. Though the streghe ministered to the villagers on a daily basis, the Paganellis, the largest and wealthiest landowners in the valley, had never approached them for anything.
Celeste had argued against it. She did not think it wise to reveal the boschetta’s true power to Paganelli. They were not like other streghe, women of Etruscan descent who used their Goddess Gifts to heal and make small spells and potions.
Their boschetta alone had a secret and sacred duty to Menrva, the Etruscan Goddess of Wisdom, handed down to them from their mothers and their mothers before them. As Menrva’s priestesses, they protected her most sacred gift to the Etruscan people, the Nails of the Ages, and waited for the day she once again demanded their duty to her.
For more than a thousand years, her priestesses had waited.
Celeste’s hand crept to the leather thong around her neck and the iron key hanging from it. They should have said no to Paganelli, but Celeste’s younger sister, soft-hearted Andrea, had begged them to help Christo and no one could deny her anything. Even though Celeste, a healer, had sensed the black tumor in his stomach was too advanced to heal.
“No, Fabrizio,” Dafne continued to try to calm the distraught father. “We tried—”
“Charlatans! Whores!” Paganelli’s voice bounced off the walls of the lushly furnished bedroom in the Paganelli’s huge manor. “I’ll make you pay. You will all pay.”
Celeste’s bile rose at Fabrizio’s fast-building fury. That angry emotion felt like black smoke in her lungs, nauseating her.
“Please, Fabrizio,” Dafne pleaded. “I understand—”
“What do you understand?” he raged, one hand slashing out in front of him. “You understand nothing. Your children live. How can you understand my pain?”
Celeste felt a sliver of pain strike at the center of her heart. She and her mate had not yet been blessed with children. She sometimes wondered if they ever would be.
Great Goddess, please, grant us a child—
“Fabrizio, try to remain calm,” Dafne said. “You’ll cause yourself injury. I know your pain is intense but you must think of your remaining sons. They need you now.”
The old man’s mouth pulled back in a snarl, thick white hair shaking around his face in his fury. “Christo was the most precious, the most powerful of my sons. You have robbed me of him.”
Rising from the bedside, Paganelli jerked a knife from the sheath on his belt and cut his dead son across the arm.
The thirteen women of the boschetta gasped as if with one body, several members stepping back, breaking the circle.
No, Celeste thought, he wouldn’t dare…
As the knife dripped red, Paganelli slashed across his chest, mingling his blood with his son’s.
“I, Fabrizio Paganelli, curse you to outlive your loved ones so that you, too, can feel this agony.” He snarled the words, biting them off like a dog tears into meat. “So that you may know the pain of watching your children die while you stand helpless. And I demand Veive, God of Revenge, forbid you to bear another female child. You will produce no more streghe. No other father should fall prey to a strega’s lies. You’ll pay. You’ll all pay…”
Chapter One
Present Day
Blood. Everywhere. The floor, the walls.
Her dad.
Blessed Goddess, no…
Thick, dark. On her hands, her clothes. The metallic odor in her nose. Overpowering.
Her mother…oh, gods, what did they do to her mom?
Can’t breathe. No air…
Too late. She’d been too late.
Wait…Someone here? No, someone in her head, whispering. Her mother…
In the basement.
Sneakers sliding in—No, don’t think. Move. Basement. Dad’s workroom.
Beneath the workbench.
Her mother’s voice. Her dead mother…Oh, Mom—
The spell.
Runes beneath the table. A spell of concealment. The ancient Etruscan language rolled off her tongue in fierce bites. Knife across her palm, her blood on the runes.
The workbench slid away from the wall.
And she screamed and screamed as blood poured out…
* * *
Shooting straight up in bed, Shea Tedaldi gasped for air in the semi-dark bedroom, tears in her eyes.
The bed creaked as her hand shot to her left. Warm, soft skin, rising and falling in the rhythm of sleep. Leo’s small body huddled on his side under the covers.
She breathed a sigh of relief.
Just a dream. Another dream about that awful night that left her terrified and shaking.
Whoever was on their tail was getting closer. The voices in her head—those maddening, unintelligible, buzzing voices in the back of her mind—were frantic.
It was time. She and Leo needed help or they needed to leave this dingy apartment in Reading, Pennsylvania, and run like hell. Just like they’d done four months ago in Atlantic City.
The voices had put up a clamor then, too, so much so she’d decided to move here and finally look up the man her mother had believed she could entrust with Leo’s life.
So why are you thinking about running again? Without even talking to the guy?
Well, that was easy. Because five years on her own had taught her that people screwed you all the time. Since running away from home at seventeen, she’d learned to rely only on herself.
Yeah, and how’s that working for you so far?
“Oh, just shut up,” she whispered as she slid her legs off the side of the bed and sat on the edge, willing the shakes and the tears to stop. No need for them. Leo was fine. At least, as fine as a six-year-old with monsters on his ass could be.
Turning, she watched her brother sleep, his too-long hair inky black against the stark white sheets.
Everything about him was growing fast. He needed a haircut. And, since shopping wasn’t exactly on her to-do list, he needed new clothes. His ankles had started to show beneath his jeans. He’d need new shoes, too, and socks, because his were full of holes.
But mostly, Leo needed not to worry about boogeymen who wanted to cut out her heart and turn him into a monster. He needed his parents…
She took a deep breath and straightened her spine, twisting her neck back and forth until it cracked.
Time to get off your ass.
Because the men who’d killed their parents were getting close again. And the man who’d ordered their murders, Dario Paganelli…he wanted Leo.
Her stomach rolled and she rubbed it with her hand, trying to ease the ache. But nothing helped.
Dario Paganelli was the boogeyman her parents had whispered about behind closed doors, the monster who had forced them to live like hermits. He was the cause of Shea’s every fear and heartache.
He’d made her life hell without ever meeting him. And now that monster wanted Leo, a little boy who looked like an angel but controlled enough power to burn a
house to the ground.
Goose bumps danced on her skin. Paganelli was a cold-blooded monster who would break Leo, remake him in his own evil image. Then turn him loose on his own people.
Great Goddess, he’s only six.
Sighing, her gaze shifted to the small round table in the corner.
The altar at their home in Wisconsin had been made from the base of a lightning-struck walnut tree from the dense woods enclosing their property. Nearly five feet in diameter, that altar had dominated the small clearing where her parents had held their rituals for the Great Goddess Uni. Passed down through the millennia, those rituals connected them to the Etruscan Mother Goddess, renewed their faith in Her and Her protection over them.
Shea prayed every day, just as her mother had. But so far, she’d gotten no guidance from the supposedly all-mighty Uni. No inspiration. No help.
Which was why she’d moved them here. To get help. And to hide.