Of Bards and Witches
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Shifters in Seattle
True Alpha (Book 1)
Dark Alpha (Book 2)
A True Alpha Christmas (Book 3)
River Pack Wolves
Jaxson (Book 1)
Jace (Book 2)
Jared (Book 3)
Wilding Pack Wolves
Wild Game (Book 1)
Wild Love (Book 2)
Wild Heat (Book 3)
Wild One (Book 4)
Wild Fire (Book 5)
Wild Magic (Book 6)
Fallen Immortals
Kiss of a Dragon (Book 1)
Heart of a Dragon (Book 2)
Fire of a Dragon (Book 3)
Of Bards and Witches: Leonidas's Story (Book 3.5)
Chosen by a Dragon (Book 4)
Seduced by a Dragon (Book 5)
Touched by a Dragon (Book 6)
Loved by a Dragon (Book 7)
Marked by a Dragon (Book 8)
Claimed by a Dragon (Book 9)
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Of Bards and Witches (A Fallen Immortals Story)
Copyright © 2016 by Alisa Woods
August 2016 Edition
All rights reserved.
Sworn Secrets Publishing
No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or otherwise, without written permission from the author. For information visit:
Alisa Woods
Cover by Steven Novak
Of Bards and Witches (A Fallen Immortals Story)
Paranormal Fairytale Romance
London, The Year of Our Lord 1600
Leonidas is a dragon shifter, a century into his allotted five, and he’s entranced by Master Shakespeare’s theatre and the comely and lusty women of London’s bankside. But when he finds a witch in the practice of her art in clear view of the stage, he must act… for dragons are the keepers of the peace between the mortal and immortal realms. But never has duty been so sweetly sexy and delicious to the touch as a witch whose very skin sparks pleasure. He becomes lost in his bed, breaking his own cardinal rule—never seduce a woman for more than a night. As one pleasure-drenched night bleeds into the next, he runs afoul of a danger he ought already know… never cross a witch.
~*~
Of Bards and Witches is a short standalone backstory of Leonidas Smoke, prince of the House of Smoke, from the bestselling Fallen Immortals series. It contains flaming HOT dragon shifters and sexy witches—only readers over 18 should partake of this delicious romp back in time.
THE FALLEN IMMORTALS SERIES
Lucian and Arabella
Kiss of a Dragon (Fallen Immortals 1)
Heart of a Dragon (Fallen Immortals 2)
Fire of a Dragon (Fallen Immortals 3)
Of Bards and Witches (Fallen Immortals 3.5): Leonidas's Story
Leonidas and Rosalyn
Chosen by a Dragon (Fallen Immortals 4)
Seduced by a Dragon (Fallen Immortals 5)
Touched by a Dragon (Fallen Immortals 6)
Leksander and Erelah
Loved by a Dragon (Fallen Immortals 7)
Marked by a Dragon (Fallen Immortals 8)
Claimed by a Dragon (Fallen Immortals 9)
**Of Bards And Witches can be read independently of the novel series**
London, The Year of Our Lord 1600
Leonidas was drunk—not on mead or women, but the sublime magic of the stage.
Being a dragon, he was used to magic, but this wasn’t a dragon’s practical kind, nor the sort he could conjure with his fae-given senses. Nay, ‘twas a purely human magic, made of words and costumes, bawdy swordfights and lusty star-crossed loves, born entirely of human imaginings… but it entranced him nonetheless.
He’d traveled from his family’s keep in France to the bankside of London to drink it all in, and he scarce could force himself to leave. He’d stayed for a single season, and then two, but each round tempted another. And here he came once again to the Globe Theatre, putting his penny in the box with the rest of the groundlings, packing the pit and tramping the rush-strewn earthen floor to angle near the stage. His unshaven beard and rumpled collar fit well with the flopped hats, tight corsets, and loose skirts of the throng around him. The lords and ladies with their velvet coats and satin dresses kept to the wooden tiers above, avoiding the stable boys and scullery maids that smiled and sorted themselves below. Apples were passed and sold, although the plump breasts and unbound hair of the maids were far more tempting.
Leonidas came for the show, but London’s feminine delights were equally satisfying.
He’d made the rounds of the brothels, but he needn’t visit those to find a maid to happily fall in his bed—his build and fair face attracted them well enough. But he’d lived near a hundred years, and he was no fool. Whether a woman was common or noble, he knew it was his dragon that pulled her in—she sensed the magic within, even if she did not recognize what drew her like a moth to his flame.
And he was not one to say no.
The theatre alone had not bound him to London. He was long past the time he should have returned home to France, but tonight’s production promised an excellent and commendable tragedy as well as a full-fleshed lover for the night. Leonidas was already tasting the crowd, searching for the beauty who would fill his bed.
The trumpet sounded, heralding the start of the production, and the sorting of final places began in earnest. He worked his way forward until he’d obtained a perfect position near the front. The stage was small and cramped, the floor gloriously packed, and the twitterings and whisperings fell off as the players took to stage. It was Hamlet, and Leonidas had seen it at the opening, but the players were different tonight, and it looked to be less grand already—the two watchmen on stage appeared lost.
“Who’s there?” The sentinel, Barnardo, resembled a screeching owl.
His fellow guard replied with a snarl. “Nay, answer me. Stand and unfold yourself.” They were quarreling like an old married couple.
A disappointment. Leonidas let his gaze wander the crowd—they were eager for the playwright’s words and drama, no doubt fresh to their ears. He used his fae senses to gain a magical taste of the night’s offerings. They were the usual sort—the maids still in possession of their virtue, the women of ill repute from across the river, and a few married dames with rounded bellies great with child. A night in his bed would be an innocent reprieve from their oft-dull days of routine and worse. There was no chance for an unwanted child, and he kept their passion to a single, love-soaked night, so all was well and good as long as he didn’t cross paths with said ladies again. At times, he had to make his exit quickly, but tonight the field was ripe for plowing—not a single fair face was known to him.
The new troupe of players, as tawdry as they were in talent, had brought in a new audience.
Hopeful of redeeming the evening, Leonidas made a more determined search. The plump-breasted redhead to his left was well-used in her station at the brothel. The blonde-headed slip of a girl to his right would lose her virtue to him, should he choose her. Her future husband could thank him for the experience she would gain. But he’d had plenty of prostitutes and inexperienced maids—Leonidas was looking for something fresh. A challenge, of sort
s. But as he swept further into the hundreds-fold groundling crowd, he nearly choked when he tasted…
A witch.
Not only that, but a witch in the act of magic.
His sight of her was blocked by a thick column on the stage—it held up the balcony from which the upper production was conducted, but he could taste her presence regardless. Leonidas knew of witches, of course—there were three covens in Paris alone—but he’d never consorted with one. Dragons had their hands full with remaining hidden while hunting the various demon classes that still haunted the villages, and occasionally, the larger cities. Witches and vampires and other shifters all dwelt among humans, but not so openly… and certainly not displaying their magical wares so brazenly.
Although it was likely only brazen to him, with his ability to sense what others could not.
Regardless, as a prince of the House of Smoke and tasked with keeping the mortal and immortal realms at peace, he must needs investigate her presence. And perhaps, if luck would have him, her person as well. Leonidas shuffled through the crowd, edging toward the tucked corner in which she stood—between the stage, behind the column, and mashed against the wall of the theatre. It was a terrible spot for viewing the play, but a wondrous one for conducting magic in a packed theatre while going completely unnoticed.
What he tasted of her was not just the blue crackle of her dark art, but a delicious assortment of experiences in bed. She was no lady of ill repute, although her bed had been frequented often. She seemed in command of that soft pleasure realm, something that drew him in almost as much as the taste of magic strong upon her. As he crept up to her hidden spot by the stage, he saw why so many men had been drawn in before him—that porcelain skin, those full cherry lips, her cascading hair like a river at midnight. The simple blouse with the loose neckline did nothing to hide the ample mounds underneath. As he drew up behind, a soft sigh of separation all that stood between them, her feminine scent tickled his senses. His mouth ached to taste her with his flesh and not just his magic.
The play tolled on. The two guards were having their arguments and disbeliefs about seeing the ghost of the fallen king.
Leonidas leaned forward, making his presence known with a whisper. “I hear Master Shakespeare is on stage tonight.”
She startled and froze, the silent motions of her hands—the ones conjuring whatever spell she was after—going still. She said nothing.
The sentinel on stage, Marcellus, spoke, “Peace, break thee off. Look where it comes again!” The ghost entered the stage. The crowd silenced, its breath held.
The second guard replied, “In the same figure like the king that’s dead.”
Leonidas smirked, keeping his words close in their corner. “It’s whispered that the Master is the ghost in his own Hamlet.”
The witch slowly turned, eyes wide and luminous, sparkling with a blue as crackling as the magic that would spark from her fingers, given a spell and a chance.
Leonidas’s smile grew. “But then witches are not afeared of ghosts.”
Her hands dropped from their twisting... then she grabbed her skirts and dashed past him, heading for the side stairs.
“Wait—”
But she was already causing a stir, and his raised voice would only do more. And the panic on her face before she fled… he sighed and went in pursuit.
She pushed through the crowd, then went up the stairs, heading for the lord’s rooms. What mischief was she getting up in there? Granted, he should not have so boldly called her out, but she was performing magic in a theatre—or at least attempting to. The public was already twitchy to burn a witch or any woman who gave cause for suspicion. And many with no cause at all. Her coven should have instructed her better.
He dashed after her, plunging into the lord’s room. It was empty with everyone out on the balcony. Leonidas caught a glimpse of moonlight before the back door closed. He raced after, flinging open the door and catching sight of her again, rushing down the cobblestones, her dark hair catching the moon’s light. His pounding boots made her look back… and when she spun forward, she stumbled and barely caught herself on a pile of crates stacked haphazardly against the wall. He was almost upon her now—
She shoved the crates toward him. He leaped back to avoid the tumble. She turned to run again.
Enough of this. He leaped into the air, shifting into dragon form, but cloaked so as not to cause a stir, then winging quickly up and dropping down to cut off her escape from the alley. He shifted human again, decloaking and suddenly appearing in her path. She shrieked, threw up her hands, and stumbled backward against the wall.
Terror was alive on her face.
Leonidas grimaced and held up both hands. “I mean you no harm.”
She tried to flatten even further against the wall. Her blouse was slipping to one side, down her shoulder.
“I only want to know what sorcery you were attempting in the theatre.” He kept his voice low to keep from spooking her further.
“I am not a witch!” The touch of panic in her voice wrenched him. Of course, denying it was sensible, but she had just seen him perform feats. It should be clear that the pretense could be dropped.
He eased toward her, hands held up in surrender, but the paleness of her cheeks spoke of her fear. Plus he could scent it on her… and that was far from the reaction he desired.
“Come now,” he said softly, still moving closer. He could nearly reach out to her, but he held back. He peered down into those blue-magic eyes. “I can taste the witch in you. And you might have tried harder to hide it. There’s no point in denials.”
She visibly swallowed, her eyes even wider now. “I pray thee, don’t… don’t say a word.”
“I’m not here to expose you—”
“I’ll do whatever you wish!” The fear in her voice made it sharp. Her eyes darted over him, her lips pressed tight. She reached to the sleeve that was slipping but instead of pulling it right, she slid it further down, revealing a pink-tipped breast of exquisite beauty to the moonlight. “You can have what you like,” she said, her voice grim with resolution. “If you keep your tongue about what you saw and banish it from your mind.”
He sighed and lowered his hands. She was offering herself to keep him quiet? Why not at least attempt to turn him to ash? Any witch worth her salt would be capable of it, or at least, so he’d heard. She couldn’t actually harm him—a dragon’s magic was far more powerful, and he was no ordinary dragon—but why not at least try? Did she not know her power?
He peered at her defiant blue eyes—oh, to taste this one! But this wasn’t an honorable proposal, and he couldn’t let her think he would stoop to it.
“I’ll not accept such an offer,” he said, then let his gaze linger over the beauty of her chest. “More’s the pity.” He reached out to her sleeve—for all her bravado, she twitched—but he just pulled it right again, sliding the thin cloth up and over her nipple, puckered against the night. “But your secret was already kept with me.”
He patted the sleeve in place at her shoulder… then a charge of energy leapt between her skin and his! It jumped where they touched, sparking blue magic in the dark and surging a flush of sweet pleasure through him.
His eyes flew wide.
She gasped in a breath. “What was that?”
“I know not.” But he surely desired to find out. He slowly reached a single finger to her skin—the touch sparked anew. The small sound from her lips echoed his own pleasure. What magic was this? He held back the eagerness of his smile and ran the tip of his finger along the soft spill of her skin, tracing a line from her shoulder to the lovely curve of her neck. The whole length of it spun some kind of delicious energy, a pure magical power that roused the dragon within him, as well as the stiffening rod below his belt.
Her lips parted, her breath coming quicker as well.
“Well, now,” he breathed, moving close enough to kiss. His finger laid against the pulse on her neck. “This is something altogether diffe
rent.”
“What is it?”
“Magic. Although I know not what kind.” He leaned closer. “But I want to find out.”
He moved in—a chaste kiss on her cheek was like the most rapturous locking of lips with the most beautiful of maids. His breath caught as he brushed his lips along the sweet magic of her skin. Her whimper called to his cock. When his lips finally found hers, he was already short on breath. The spark only grew as his tongue dived in to plunder her mouth. She opened for him, moaning into him, her hands winding his hair, roaming his face, finding bare skin and sparking pleasure doubly there. He felt her urgent need ripple through him like a thunderstorm, whipping sound and power between them. The ache in his mouth was hard to satisfy with tongue alone, so he let his hands wander, finding more pleasure with each touch—they went into her hair, down her neck, and to the deliciously warm breast pressed tight against his chest.
He broke the kiss only when the need for air was too great. Even then, he kept hold of her, hands to face, craving more of that harrowing pleasure.
“What are you?” she asked, breathless.
“I am made of magic.” He shuddered between words, needing more. “Like you.”
Her wide eyes peered up at him. “Are you a witch, then?”
“No.” How to explain? “But close.” He ran a thumb across her bottom lip, still parted and panting with the same urgency rippling through his body.
One thought ran clear through his mind—he must bed this woman.