Beyond Bewitching

by Mellanie Szereto

  Bewitching Desires 8

  Beyond Bewitching

  After more than three hundred years as an elder of the Black Triad, Patience Wyndham knows she must risk her life to destroy their leader, the evil snake-shifter Naga. When she travels through time in search of a false candidate to complete the weakened Triad, she is captured by two handsome bounty hunters. She is at their mercy until she discovers she has been Naga’s pawn for centuries.

  Sarah Pennymead may have changed her name to Patience Wyndham, but to horse-shifters Tanner Vale and John Grey, she’s still an evil Pennymead witch. Their job is to bring the beautiful witch to justice before the Xanthus clan. Surprised by the faint song that can only come from their yet-to-be-revealed mate, they examine the tattoo on Sarah’s back. The markings identify her as the woman who will save their clan from near extinction. But can they trust her with their love?

  Genre: Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Shape-shifter, Time Travel

  Length: 39,590 words

  BEYOND BEWITCHING

  Bewitching Desires 8

  Mellanie Szereto

  MENAGE AMOUR

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Amour

  BEYOND BEWITCHING

  Copyright © 2012 by Mellanie Szereto

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62241-994-4

  First E-book Publication: November 2012

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2012 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

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  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of Beyond Bewitching by Mellanie Szereto from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

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  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

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  This is Mellanie Szereto’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Szereto’s right to earn a living from her work.

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  DEDICATION

  I’d like to take this opportunity to say “Thanks” to all my readers, my fellow writers at IRWA, and my family for supporting me in this amazing journey. You’re the greatest!

  Oh, and a special thank you to my characters for never giving me the silent treatment :)

  BEYOND BEWITCHING

  Bewitching Desires 8

  MELLANIE SZERETO

  Copyright © 2012

  Chapter 1

  “It is done, Naga.” Patience Wyndham buried the elation squirming its way through her veins. “The Macska matriarch is dead.”

  “The witch took Kazzzmer with her into the afterlife.” The hissing accusation came from the most ancient of the Black Triad, the eldest of the now one-third defunct trio of shifters.

  As the other remaining elder of the Triad, Patience didn’t fear the wrath of her confederate. Destroying her would mean a weakening of his own powers beyond their current state. “He was careless. His desire for another…protégé distracted him from his goal.”

  Naga arched to fan his hood. “We musst sseek a ssuitable replacement. Go to the deepesst den of iniquity and find the mosst wicked of all men. Bring him to me.”

  Tossing off her head covering, she scoffed. “A man? Women are far more manipulative and prone to revenge.”

  “They are alsso unpredictable. Do my bidding.” Slithering across the sandy floor in a slow, hypnotic sway, he vanished into one of the side corridors of the catacombs.

  Patience bowed in deference to him before glaring at the pair of filthy servants lurking in the corner. “Your master grows irritable. Take him something to eat.”

  At her dismissive wave, the men scurried off in the direction of the cages. Naga would likely devour the offering and those who brought it as well. With his ability to shift to human shape temporarily disabled from the unexpected destruction of Kazmer, he was stuck in his cobra or another animal form until he absorbed enough souls to replenish his drained powers.

  The serpent was his appearance of choice. Before the formation of the Black Triad, he’d long been one of the snake worshippers, gaining the skill of shifting from his mentor. Little had the teacher known that his student would become many times more powerful than any of the priests of the ancient temples—and infinitely more ambitious.

  Patience had also lost the ability to change her physical being, but the state of it was another matter. With a single thought, she drifted into an ethereal cloud and returned to her current home. The conscious and subconscious musings of her brain weren’t private in the catacombs, and she dared not risk the breach.

  Another thought carried her to the lavish bedroom from which she ran Wyndham House. Yards and yards of midnight-blue velvet trimmed in silver braid and baubles hung from the four-poster’s canopy, draping the bed in decadence and shadow—rather fitting for the owner of a brothel who happened to be a dark shifter and former witch.

  Settling on the chair in front of the vanity dresser, she released the catch of her cape and let it fall from her bare shoulders. A few strokes of the brush through her thick hair brought the wild black mane under control from shifting and transporting. The black irises of her eyes slowly lightened to reveal their natural gray-green color in her reflection. She was almost herself again.

  A knock sounded at her door.

  The pervasive scent of Penelope’s perfume announced her presence, advising Patience her most active lady had arrived for afternoon tea. “Enter.”

  Using her shoulder to push open the door, the young woman carried a tray into the room. “You wanted to see me, ma’am?”

  Gesturing to the chest of drawers, Patience gave a curt nod, waiting for the prostitute to set down her burd
en. “Will you pour for us, Penelope? I’d like to discuss a business proposition with you.”

  The redhead’s hands froze with the teapot poised to pour, and she turned her full attention to Patience. “Do you mean… Are you…leaving?”

  Considering the number of times she’d made known her wish to buy out her employer if the opportunity arose, Penelope seemed utterly shocked that the time might have actually come.

  Patience stood to assist her with the tea. “This venture has been a successful one, and I’d like to travel before I get too old to enjoy the sights. I’ve always wanted to visit New Orleans.” She left her intent to go to the city fifty years into the future unsaid.

  “Too old?” Penelope looked at her as if she’d lost her mind. “I hope I can still turn men’s heads when I’m twenty-five years old.”

  Twenty-five? The poor girl would have an apoplectic fit if she knew Patience was closer to a hundred seventy-five in this time. When she left 1840 Texas for late nineteenth-century Louisiana, she’d be over two hundred years old.

  She took the pot from Penelope to fill two china teacups. “Thank you for the compliment, dear. Come sit. We have details to work out.”

  The piles of red curls on her head bobbed as Penelope nodded, and she retrieved the straight-back chair from the writing desk. “Yes, ma’am.”

  Handing the young woman a cup, Patience sat in the padded armchair at the vanity dresser. “You’ve been very active in the four years you’ve been living and working at Wyndham House. Many of your clients return to you time and again. Do you believe your earnings have been sufficient to purchase the business and all it entails?”

  “Oh, yes, ma’am. I’ve saved almost every penny. Your generosity in providing room and board in exchange for me asking my customers to partake of a meal or drink from the dining room has allowed me to put aside quite a nest egg.”

  “And would you be willing to continue my policy that any woman in need may reside here without requiring her to entertain visitors?”

  “Of course. Those of us who see to the men’s needs don’t want to have to do our own cooking and cleaning as well. The others are welcome to stay if they’ll keep up the house.” Penelope tipped up the teacup as Patience had taught her when she’d first arrived, her pinkie finger extended. She’d come a long way since showing up with nothing to her name but the clothes she wore and a nasty blemish on her reputation.

  Sipping her own tea, Patience studied Penelope’s eyes for any sign of dishonesty. Reading a person’s soul came easy to an elder of the Black Triad. Wicked intent left black stains, and true evil recognized its comrades. Only one with an essence totally lacking in light could ever became a leader of the Triad.

  Satisfied the girl told the truth, she set her cup on the saucer. “I’ll have Mr. Dawson draft the contract. Perhaps we can finalize the transfer of ownership by Monday.”

  “Really?” Penelope’s heavily penciled eyebrows rose, her excitement obvious. “Not that everyone won’t miss you—they will. You’ve been a wonderful mentor and protector to us all. Too bad that tornado carried Ilona off with Mr. Gallagher and Mr. Campbell. I think she would’ve been very popular with some of the men. As hard as I tried to entice them, Quayde and Paxton never showed any interest in coming upstairs until Ilona arrived. They would’ve been her best customers.”

  Giving a nod, Patience turned her attention to her tea. What the young woman didn’t know wouldn’t hurt her. She most likely wouldn’t believe Ilona Macska, Quayde Gallagher, and Paxton Campbell had survived the twister by time traveling a hundred seventy-five years into the future—where the Macska witches came from. The trio had taken the vows of love, life, and loyalty administered by the matriarch a month ago, after Kazmer had failed to kill his target.

  His third true attempt to prevent a prophesied joining destined to produce two heirs to the Macska legacy, but not his last.

  Prior to Ilona, he’d caused the shipwreck of a pirate vessel carrying Orsolya, the first female offspring of an Elemental warlock in two hundred years, and her mates, a pair of witch Protectors. Kazmer had also caused the framing for a new wing of the Macska mansion to collapse, nearly taking the life of Ilona’s cousin Jolán and the men with whom she’d been fated to join. The other three witches he’d interfered with had been the recipients of only minor meddling.

  With the seventh Macska daughter in the cycle, he’d almost succeeded in destroying her clan. Heléna’s insecurities had made her the perfect target for his last chance at destruction for another seven years. Kazmer hadn’t counted on the matriarch’s ability to persuade her great granddaughter that her powers were stronger than she believed. Having had a hand in leading Heléna to the preordained place at the set time, Patience had guided providence without taking sides, as she had with each of the seven witches. No one could guess her motives since she’d neither helped nor hindered Kazmer, the Macskas, or the Elementals.

  My secrets are my own.

  The clink of Penelope’s teacup against the saucer reminded Patience she wasn’t alone. The sooner she left for New Orleans, the better. She’d learned long ago not to trust anyone or anything. Everyone she’d ever known had their own agenda, and she wouldn’t risk revealing hers.

  Setting aside her china cup, she eyed the large trunk at the end of her bed. “Thank you for sharing tea with me, dear. Would you be so kind as to send one of the kitchen girls to fetch Mr. Dawson? I see no reason to delay our transaction.”

  Penelope rose from her seat, returning the tea service to the tray. “Yes, ma’am. Shall I send him upstairs when he arrives? Or would you prefer to meet him in your private study?”

  “In the study please. One doesn’t conduct business of this nature upstairs.”

  “Of course, Miss Wyndham. I’ll let you know when he arrives.” The young woman’s cheeks flushed nearly as red as her hair. Balancing the tray on her arm, she left the room, the door clicking closed behind her.

  Was I that naïve at her age?

  No, Patience had already been accused, tried, and found guilty of practicing witchcraft at twenty-two years old. That it was the truth was beside the point. She hadn’t used her abilities to harm anyone—not until after she’d managed to escape the fire that burned down her prison the night before she was to hang. The townsfolk had thought she’d died in the blaze, but she’d run away, stealing food and shunning human contact to survive. At twenty-five, she’d spent so long living day to day and developing a deep distrust of humanity that she’d been ripe for Naga and Kazmer’s picking of a new third member to form the Black Triad. She’d had no light left in her soul.

  Over three hundred years of wreaking havoc had taught her many lessons, but she’d learned the most important during her witch trial in 1692. She could depend on only herself. Her search for a replacement for Kazmer meant finding another person with the same sense of self-reliance and utter contempt of civilization.

  Unfortunately, she’d have to leave the relative peace of 1840 in the newly independent Republic of Texas to do it, and she couldn’t simply shift and transport herself wherever she wished to go. In order to make her departure believable, she’d have to drive a horse-drawn wagon east out of town.

  Going to the trunk, she lifted the lid. The gowns would hardly be fashionable where and when she was going, but she’d deal with her wardrobe later. She needed to be sure the hidden compartment in the bottom still held the items required for her task. Rubbing her fingertips along the bottom of the velvet lining, she bumped over what seemed to be a decorative tack holding the fabric in place.

  The opening.

  A knock at her door interrupted her examination, and Penelope’s voice carried to her ears. “Mr. Dawson is waiting for you in the study, Miss Wyndham.”

  “I’ll be down momentarily.”

  “Yes, ma’am.”

  Patience withdrew her hand, unwilling to rush the inventory of her necessities. She’d return to the job after her meeting.

  A quick glance in th
e vanity mirror assured her that she looked presentable for her guest. While her own opinion of herself mattered more than anyone else’s, she preferred to appear as a proficient businesswoman to the men of Encanto, Texas. Respect meant they didn’t bother her and they treated her boarders well when they frequented the brothel.

  Moving at sedate, ladylike pace, she descended the stairs to the main parlor, nodding a greeting at the patrons as she passed through the adjoining dining room. The men tipped their hats in response. They knew she didn’t tolerate raucous or impudent behavior in her establishment. Only after a thorough interview process did she even allow prospective clients onto the premises for meals and entertainment. If the males visiting Wyndham House wanted good food and satisfying sex, they had to follow her rules.

  She continued along the hall to her private study.

  Mr. Dawson stood as she entered, removing his hat as he greeted her. “Afternoon, Miss Patience. You wanted to see me?”

  Settling on the settee, she waited for him to sit. “I wish to have a legal contract drawn up between myself and one of my boarders for the purchase of the business and the property. I’ll gladly pay your usual fee in exchange for your expertise.”

  His bushy eyebrows drew together above his hawkish nose. “You’re selling out to one of your girls?”

  “Yes. I’ve decided to do a bit of traveling. How soon do think you can have the contract ready?” She resisted giving him a mental nudge toward the answer she wanted.

  “I’ll need to make some notes on the selling price, the parties involved, and the particulars. I can have it ready by Saturday morning, but we’ll have to wait ’til Monday to handle the bank transaction. Is that soon enough for you, ma’am?”