The COMPLETE Witching Pen Series, Boxed Set

by Dianna Hardy

  "I live here."

  "I meant, here in my dream."

  His eyebrows went up. "This is a dream?"

  "Yes. I dream a lot at the moment. They seem…" she hesitated.

  "Go on."

  "More real than real life. That must sound awful to you. I'm sorry."

  "Don't be." He stepped in towards her, closing the gap between them. His brown eyes, always liquid soft, searched her face – for what she wasn't sure. "This doesn't feel like it isn't real," he whispered, his lips just millimetres from her own.

  And then he kissed her. She closed her eyes and responded. It felt warmer than earlier – no, maybe that was because they were next to the fire … the fire … there was something important about the fire…

  "God, you're so beautiful," he murmured, then crushed her against him, knocking the wind out of her a little.

  What the hell…?

  The kiss turned hard, urgent, almost angry. The ferocity of it shot a bolt of lust straight through her, and she swore she felt static electricity sparking between their lips. She pressed her hands against his chest and gasped into his mouth in bewilderment. Hard muscle lay beneath her palms. Okay, this didn't feel like Paul anymore. She tried to open her eyes, but they refused to obey.

  The hot mouth made its way down her neck, making her skin tingle everywhere it touched.

  "I can't open my eyes…" she whimpered, although she couldn't tell if the whimpering was because of fear, or what his insistent lips were doing to the hollow of her neck. Good lord, his kisses were still doing that electrical thing, sending little vibrations buzzing across the surface of her skin.

  When he spoke, his voice was deep – it made her think of bottomless oceans, only the heat behind his tone had her imagining a desert oasis. "You cannot see because you've been blinded."

  "I'm blind?"

  "Yes. No memory, no vision."

  She should care more, really she should. This was clearly important information she was being given, but holy hell, what was he doing to her? It was like an awakening…

  "I'd love you to wake up, my little spitfire."

  "You can read my mind?"

  A baritone laugh thundered around in her head. "No, you spoke out loud."

  A memory pricked at her, so sharp it almost hurt. Familiar, this was so familiar. But she could barely concentrate. Her whole body thrummed with … with what? This wasn't just lust – God, no – this was need. She ached for some kind of … completion.

  "I need…" she whispered. "I need…"

  Why couldn't she finish the sentence?

  "Don't worry, little witch, I know exactly what you need."

  She almost hit him for calling her a bitch, until she realised what he'd actually said … which made no sense whatsoever. But then, this was her mind, right? She should be hitting herself for her own ambiguity.

  Before she could philosophise further, he spun her around and bent her over the arm of the sofa. Huge, warm, sure hands ran up her skirt, hoisted it over her hips, then wasted no time in delving into her lacy knickers.

  Her indignant gasp at the nerve of this man, was overshadowed by an embarrassing mewl of want that unexpectedly tumbled out of her mouth, as long fingers found private places.

  What the hell is wrong with me? Was I celibate in my previous life?

  Her sex was slick with moisture and … fuck … he stretched her, filled her, pounded into her with those digits, his rhythm relentless. His chest, which pressed into her back, rumbled against her as purrs of delight echoed in her ear. Heat engulfed her – so much heat.

  Somehow, he managed to push her jumper right over her head, and it got tangled around her wrists for a minute before falling to the floor. When he leaned back down against her, his body was scorching hot; God help her, she might be dying of a fever – maybe she was delirious – even dreams were never this good.

  A thumb scraped her left nipple through her bra, as teeth grazed the curve of her bare neck. Her moan was long and low. His fingers, his mouth, everything he was doing to her was turning her into molten lava; liquid heat gushed down her inner thighs.

  "I know exactly what you need," he growled against her skin, then he licked her neck with a rough, flat tongue. Breaking. She was ice, breaking, melting…

  His teeth were there again, strumming against a vein.

  Oh, God … Oh God!

  "Please…" she pleaded.

  "Tell me what you want," he said, his voice low, dangerous, promising a freedom wrapped up in forever – she felt it inside her, pulsating in time with his thrusting – freedom, freedom…

  "Please!"

  "What do you want?"

  I don't know! Bite me, fuck me, take me, all of it…!

  Then something shifted, like sand giving way beneath her. There was some kind of sinking feeling and he became less solid.

  No!

  He mumbled a curse. "Time's running out … I'm sorry … I've got to go." He sounded heartbroken.

  "No … stay…" Desperation coloured her voice – she couldn't help it – she'd been so close to something pivotal, she knew it.

  "I want to … I can't…"

  "No!"

  But time never stopped for anyone, did it?

  Desperately, she tried to open her eyes again – just to see him. She needed to see him. Nothing. She couldn't see a damn thing!

  She gripped onto his wrist, his hands still clutching her to him, but he was immaterial now – or at least it felt that way to her sightless senses – his skin, muscle, bone, all gave way beneath her touch. A sound, like fire fuelled by wind encircled her, heat coursed through her once again, his voice, barely a whisper now, reached out to her … "Remember…"

  Then he disappeared, taking the heat with him, leaving her thrown across the sofa in disarray. She tried to get her head together, but everything was too confusing, disjointed. Realities blurred. Was she still dreaming?

  "Are you all right?" came a voice, filtering through some part of her consciousness.

  No, I ache, I ache so much – I can't bear it!

  "I heard you screaming."

  Hands found their way to the small of her back, and something inside her snapped. She spun herself around, reaching out for what would take this God-awful pain away. What was it, even? It felt like loneliness, unforgiving, empty, cold; but it also felt so physical, like a knife through her heart, twisting…

  I need…

  She found skin, hair, lips, smashed herself into them…

  I need…

  A yelp of surprise sounded somewhere … in her head? From his mouth? Why was he surprised? He started this – this was his fault.

  She clung to him for dear life. The heat inside her was torture, the heat between her legs, marginally worse…

  Inside … inside…

  She grabbed the hand still resting on her back, snatched it away and forced it into her knickers, against the ache…

  Sod this! She tore the lace clean off her, giving him free access, and thank the powers that be, there was no hesitation from him this time. He was right there, pressing, rubbing, invading, groaning against her chest. They tumbled back onto the sofa, his weight pressing down on her…

  Yes! Harder … harder! "Harder!"

  He complied. Teeth nipped at one of her breasts, found their way around a nipple, tugged…

  So close…

  Her gums ached … which would have confused the hell out of her if she'd been capable of coherent thought; as it was, she let it pass – the ache will go soon. All the pain would go soon, if she could just get this.

  "Harder!"

  He groaned, then paused.

  Paused? God, no! Don't stop!

  A rustling sound, and then he pushed her legs apart, wide open, entered her once more, fuller, bigger, harder … yesss!

  The beginnings of an orgasm rippled somewhere deep within her belly, the pain in her gums and teeth for some reason, became so great she wondered if her mouth was bleeding … blood … the tho
ught of blood seemed to heighten her senses, the ghost of the metallic taste filled her mouth…

  Blood. I need … blood.

  No time to ponder on the weirdness of that right now … the heat inside her unfurled, exploded, her climax hit her fast and hard. She relished it, rode it out 'til the very end, aware of nothing, but reaching that completion she had been seeking … the completion that never came.

  Damn it!

  But that was so good … what's missing?

  With half of her sated and half of her still yearning for something intangible, she came down from her fiery bliss, confused, still … lonely.

  Realities became more solid, began to separate. The cloudiness of subconsciousness parted, giving way to conscious thought, giving way to reason, reeling her in from her dream world … and what a dream…

  Not a dream.

  What?

  Her eyes opened. Her stomach sank like the Titanic. She looked on in horror as she hit the iceberg of reality at full speed – both it and her shattered into a million pieces. This was wrong … so very wrong.

  Oh God oh God oh God oh God…

  "Paul?" she whispered, her voice sounding small, frightened.

  His reply was a post-coital sigh of pleasure, as he lay embedded deep inside her, followed by a soft, "Are you all right? That was amazing…"

  Oh, GOD … what have I done?

  Chapter Three

  It was the groaning coming from his left that stirred him into consciousness.

  Oh, hell…

  His head was pounding, as if his ears had been boxed.

  It took Pueblo a few seconds to take in his surroundings. The first thing he realised was that he felt bruised all over; the second was that his clothes were waterlogged, even more than before, from the quicksand; and the third, was that he had landed on his front and was lying on a large, uncomfortable stone.

  No, wait… In his disoriented state, he shifted his weight. The stone didn't move. He was lying on his own fucking erection.

  You've gotta be kidding me… While I was knocked out?

  Then the dream came back to him – abstract images at first: blonde hair, lace underwear, hot, smooth skin, beautifully soft, her scent … her scent… Amy!

  He sat, bolt-upright, and grimaced as his spine cracked. That was one evil portal.

  The others!

  "Karl?" he called out, his throat feeling like sandpaper.

  The groan sounded to his left once more.

  "Karl?" He scrambled over towards the sound and found him, about eight feet away, looking surprisingly good despite his wet clothes – not a mark on him. "Man, you okay?"

  "I think this is why angels don't travel into demon dimensions," he mumbled.

  "Can you move?"

  "Yeah, I think so. I just don't really want to."

  "Come on, man, up you get."

  Karl grabbed his outstretched hand and hauled himself up to sitting. "Ugh – my head feels like it's been in a vice."

  "Me too."

  "Elena…"

  "I can't see her."

  They examined their immediate environment. Powdery, red, rock walls and a dusty floor were brought to life by naked orange flames – torches that sat in carved out holes in the walls, marking the entrance to three, maybe four passages.

  "Elena?" called out Karl. The fiery light played with the fear in his eyes, just as a voice, wispy and cold, bounced off the rugged surfaces.

  "Fee, fi, fo, fum, I smell the blood of a witch – yum, yum."

  Karl was on his feet in mere seconds, anger replacing the fear on his face. "Who are you? Where is she?!"

  The female voice echoed from one of the passageways in front of them, but it was too dark to see anything within them, even with Pueblo's excellent night vision … although, he thought reluctantly, if he allowed his cat out to play, he may be able to see even better.

  "Scaredy-cat," teased the voice, a laugh rippling around the edges of the words. "It's your fear that will kill her."

  The panther inside him arched its back at the insult and tried to claw its way out.

  Amy – she's talking about Amy.

  Pueblo gritted his teeth and forced himself still. Shifting now may not be such a great idea when he didn't know what he was facing.

  "Where's Elena?" repeated Karl.

  The blackness beyond them gave way; shadows emerged. The first one took on the shape of a woman, all curved hips and breasts, clad in some kind of sheer material that fell to her feet. She walked with the grace of a viper, her red hair looking positively poisonous under the torch-light.

  Floating beside her on her back, unconscious so it seemed, was Elena.

  Pueblo heard Karl's intake of breath. "Take it easy," he warned him. Then he turned to the Brujii demon. "Your Highness?"

  She nodded. "I am she who rules over the Brujii."

  "We don't mean any harm to you or your tribe. We have simply come in the hope that you may be able to help us."

  The demon smiled. "Been a long time since I've seen a Dessec…" Her hand snaked down Elena's arm and encircled her wrist. She brought it up to her face and rubbed her nose along the pulsing vein. "Even longer since I've smelled the blood of a Shanka, and never have I come across it so potent with magic before." A forked tongue flickered out from behind her lips and licked Elena's wrist.

  Karl was trembling beside him, he presumed from anger, although he daren't take his eyes away from the Brujii to check on him. He'd heard their stories. All demons grew up knowing the fabled histories of all seven demon tribes; they were mostly stories that were banded about in an attempt to scare your friends or to laugh over – no one ever took them that seriously. Maybe they had once upon a time, but not in his lifetime … all 305 years of it. It was the result of seclusion. The demon tribes had not co-existed since they'd lived together on Earth – all of them bar the Shanka – over ten thousand years ago. After Lokoli's murder, wars had broken out amongst them. And then the humans had grown in numbers, and the 'fallen' had come. Demons became outnumbered and were, over the centuries, shunned – kept at the periphery of existence, until, eventually, the remaining demons decided to leave altogether. They segregated into their own six tribes (the Shanka never having lived amongst them, but banished to the shadow world) and passed through Lokoli's Veil – a gateway to which the six tribes alone knew how to open, having been handed the secret of the Veil down from Lokoli herself – and into their own separate dimensions. Having disappeared from the face of the Earth, each demon tribe became all but a myth to the others.

  Now, staring at the Brujii Queen in front of him, with her flashing citrine eyes, ruby red hair, shit-scary tongue and lightning quick reflexes, he wished he had paid more attention to the fables growing up.

  She stared pointedly at Pueblo. "I want her."

  He struck out his left arm, laying his palm on Karl's chest before he could take a run at the woman. "She's not mine to give. Besides … we don't trade our own."

  "She's a Shanka. What does a Dessec want with a Shanka? They are hated amongst us all."

  "Then why do you want her?"

  She pouted. Which just looked plain creepy. "Do you not know, Dessec? Did you skip Demon Sunday School?"

  He searched his memories for the tales of the Brujii that he'd grown up with.

  Oh … there was one that stood out, if he remembered correctly. He snuck a sideways glance at Karl. This may not play out too well.

  The Brujii reached a hand over her back, behind her neck and the next thing he knew, her dress – if one could call it that – had fallen to the floor.

  "Does this jog your memory?" she asked, silkily.

  "Er … Pueblo?" Karl sounded confused, understandably so. The female standing naked in front of them – apart from the waves of red cascading from her head – had no hair on any inch of her naturally bronze-coloured body, no nipples or areolae upon her perfectly domed breasts, and no belly button decorating her navel. If Pueblo cared to look, which he didn't, h
e knew he'd find no folds or opening where her vagina should be. She was just one curvaceous form of continuous, rich brown skin, that shimmered orange in the fire-light.

  Despite her nudity, she exuded no sexuality, and no sensuality. No lustful feelings traversed him as he looked upon her, and he'd bet his bottom dollar that Karl was experiencing the same lack of sensation. In turn, Pueblo looked at Elena. She was giving off waves of sexual heat and blasting pheromones all over the place, even in her fully clothed, unconscious state – something he could see quite clearly as a demon and control his reaction to, to a certain extent. Human males, however, wouldn't know why they might suffer sudden hard-ons within metres of her vicinity.

  Fuck it. He cleared his throat. "The Brujii have no erogenous zones."

  Karl looked at him in bewilderment. "Come again?"

  "They have no erogenous zones. They also have no oestrogen or progesterone, no sexual hormones of any sort. They cannot feel lust. They cannot feel pleasure.

  "Lokoli gave each demon tribe a gift to master. The Brujii were given the gift of magic. Magic utilises energy. Sex utilises energy. In a bid to ensure the Brujii only ever used their energy for the mastery of magic alone, Lokoli stripped the Brujii from the ability to feel pleasure, particularly sexual pleasure, which accounted for the most amount of wasted energy as far as Lokoli was concerned." He looked at Karl, who was still staring at him as if he'd just seen two barracudas do the Tango. "If you ask me, she just wasn't doing it right."

  The Brujii moved towards them, floating Elena along with a wave of her hand. She stopped about five yards away. "The only time I was with a Shanka – far too long ago now – was the first time I'd ever experienced sexual pleasure, such is the gift of the succubi. But Lokoli was right, I was without my magic for months after – months. But this one…" she stroked Elena's hair, "this one is imbued with magic – I can feel it. I want her. She can give me what I need without my losing what is rightfully mine."

  "Your Highness, I understand your pain, and the terrible injustice that Lokoli saw fit to carry out upon your race, but you cannot have her."

  She hissed at Pueblo, her tongue waggling at him in defiance. Then she extracted a pair of hidden canines. "Just a taste…"