Shadow Witch Rising (Copper Falls Book 1)

by Colleen Vanderlinden

  Calder glared at him, fists flexing. The warlock smiled. “Does she know you haven't let yourself touch a woman in years? Does she know that the last time you were with someone, you came very near to losing control of your beast?”

  Calder snarled, started walking toward the warlock.

  “Ah ah ah,” his prey cautioned. “That would be a bad idea. I could end you with a word, my friend. And you wouldn't care about that, because you want an escape. You live for the idea of freedom, someday. Death would be a reward.” Then he laughed. Marshall. Calder remembered the name through the haze of rage in his mind. “But that wouldn't happen. I'd stand here, and I'd let you hurt me, and I'd make damn sure she saw it. What will it do to her, to her chances of fixing your pathetic ass? Lightwitches. Useless bitches,” he said with a laugh. “She's weak, and you're even weaker.”

  Calder held himself still, knowing he wasn't lying, that she'd see and she'd know. And his biggest concern wasn't even Sophie's power anymore. It was that she'd see it and think less of him.

  “There we go. You're not completely stupid,” Marshall said. “She doesn't know, does she? That it's been so long that the chances are good your beast will lose control the second you touch her? Because she wants it. The whore wants it so bad it clings to her.” He smiled then. “Should I tell her?”

  Calder's beast was raging, wanting to be released, wanting to rip this smug bastard, who was daring to threaten his mate, into pieces.

  Wait, what?

  Calder shook his head. “What do you want?” he growled at Marshall.

  “Oh, nothing. Just wanted to have a chat, check out the competition.”

  “There is no competition, dickhead,” Calder said. “She's not a prize.”

  “Sure she is. Just ask your beast if it doesn't want to own her completely. We're not all that different in that way.”

  Even his beast had to snort in disbelief at that. “I'm going to end your ass,” Calder said, feeling a weird calm settle over him. “I'm going to find a way to make it happen. If I don't do anything else with my life, I'm going to do that much.”

  Marshall smirked. “Better not let her hear you say that. And I'd watch your tone, animal. Your father and brother are very much isolated and unprotected where they are.”

  “What are you doing here?” Sophie's voice came from behind Calder, and he turned to see her stalking up the driveway, staring at Marshall, murder in her features. He took a step toward her, wanting her as far away from Marshall as she could be.

  “He's being an asshole. Go home,” Calder said, hating how he sounded like a demanding asshole.

  “Butt out, Calder,” she said, not even looking at him. She was pure adrenaline again, rage. His beast could smell it, and it was practically salivating over her. “What are you doing here?”

  “Just having a chat,” Marshall said, smiling.

  Sophie didn't respond to him. She said a few words Calder didn't understand, and he watched as Marshall's expression went from smug satisfaction to sheer anger. Calder had to blink. It looked as if something, somehow, was moving Marshall. Even crazier, it looked as if the warlock was helpless against it, and Calder could feel what could only be described as energy around him. It swirled, and his ears popped. Even his beast was silent in its presence. Sophie was still saying words, her attention completely on Marshall, who was now shouting profanities at her, threats, trying to make her lose her focus.

  All at once, it snapped, and Calder's ears popped again. Marshall had been pushed back to the road, off of Calder's property, and though he tried to ram his way forward, it was as if an invisible wall was keeping him back.

  The same kind of invisible wall that had kept Calder away from Sophie the night before. He swung his gaze to Sophie.

  Damn.

  Her face was like marble, set into a determined, peaceful expression he didn't expect to see there. She practically glowed, the effects of her magic evident, the warm feel of it still surrounding him, though she'd finished speaking. She was watching Marshall, who was stalking away, then disappeared as if he'd never been there at all.

  “Whoa,” Calder said, then felt like an inarticulate asshole. There were no words to express what he was feeling, watching what she'd done. Her gaze flicked to him, and he swore he caught a glimmer of warm golden light in her eyes, but when he blinked, she just looked like Sophie. She rolled her eyes in typical Sophie fashion and stalked away, back across the road.

  “Thanks,” he managed to call after her. She answered him with a middle finger raised into the air as she walked up her front steps.

  Sophie stalked into her house, full of adrenaline after using her magic that way, full of anger and irritation at Calder, full of rage toward Marshall, for daring even to look at Calder, let alone talk to him. She smiled in satisfaction. He wouldn't get near his house again.

  When she'd gone to the mailbox and heard his voice from across the road, she'd felt a cold fury roar through her. All she could think of was the fact that he'd murdered David, that one man who cared for her had already died at Marshall's hands. And while Calder didn't care for her that way, clearly, he was still part of her life and she'd rather die than lose anyone else to Marshall's particular brand of evil. As she'd run across the road, images, nightmares, of the sights that might greet her flashed across her mind. Calder, bloody. Calder, broken. Calder, in pain.

  He was a jerk, and she was more hurt than she'd been in a long time. She'd forgotten how much more those you loved could hurt you than those you hated, and she was pretty sure she didn't want to speak to him ever again. He messed her up inside, and the things he'd said to her that morning had cut deep.

  But she sure as hell wasn't going to let Marshall hurt him. So when she'd seen him there, looking smug, she'd sent a silent plea to her magic to work. No preparation, no gems or herbs or candles, all of which she'd always used to create a ward.

  Her magic came unbidden, almost as if it could sense that she really, really needed it, that she was protecting someone who needed it, that she was working directly against the Shadow. When she'd felt her ward begin to take form, when she'd seen Marshall getting repelled, bodily removed from Calder's property, she could have cried with gratitude.

  She stood in her house, trembling, sending a prayer of thanks to her ancestors. She was focusing on her breath, on keeping herself calm. As heady as it had been to use her magic that way, the crash afterward, that sense of emptiness she'd felt since waking up that morning felt all the worse now.

  She was leaning against the front door, eyes closed, trying to find some kind of sense of calm. Once she felt like she wouldn't just erupt into screams or ridiculous sobbing, she opened her eyes and pushed herself away from the door.

  The journals from the attic sat where she'd left them on the kitchen table, and she went over to it, glanced down at the books. That would give her something to focus on, at least. She put on some water for tea, forced down a handful of late strawberries from the garden, then sat down with her cup of tea and a pencil and paper. She glanced at the notes she'd taken the other day, the spell to enable her to translate the journal.

  She lit a white candle, then realized everything felt wrong, unbalanced. She lit one of her smudge sticks, walked through her cabin with it, letting it cleanse the negative energy from her home. When she was done, she felt calmer and more focused.

  That done, she settled herself at the table, set her intentions, issued an honorific to her ancestors, appealing to them for assistance. She launched into the spell, murmuring the words she'd memorized until they became a chant, until they took her to a place where she almost felt as if she wasn't even in her own body anymore. She was apart from herself, her mind clear. When she opened Migisi's journal, the one she'd written in Ojibwa, the previously unreadable words made sense.

  She smiled, let herself sit with her gratitude for a moment. And she began reading.

  Spells, recipes for teas and potions. Every single thing Migisi had written about, even h
er most personal thoughts, indicated someone who truly lived in the Light. Even her thoughts about a man from her tribe whom she found attractive were imbued with Light. “I want to worship him in the best way. His mind does nothing for me, but he is gentle and beautiful to look at. For a night or two, I know we would find joy in one another. Once upon a time, that kind of behavior on my part would have earned gossip, shock. I have, apparently, reached a certain status at which such behavior is attributed to my 'eccentricity.'” Later, she'd written about a French missionary who had also caught her eye, and her descriptions of making love to him read almost like a prayer.

  Sophie felt the spell starting to waver, but was determined to keep reading. She was nearly through the smallest of the journals. Clearly this was pre-Luc, but she was reading it hoping to find out about the woman, trying to see if there was any indication she'd turn so horribly later.

  Sophie found nothing like that. Late in the journal, Migisi noted that she felt she'd lost interest in physical relationships, that even those men who once had looked at her with interest now saw her only as a healer, a witch, as Nimaamaa. She felt they'd stopped seeing her as a woman. “I am conflicted,” she'd written. “For is this not what I've worked for my entire life? To be seen as a dedicated woman of the Light? And now I am, and I find myself missing the days when men and women alike would look at me and just see a woman. We are never happy with things as they are. Or, perhaps some people are. I am not. I have not learned how to be content. Perhaps I never will.”

  Her magic snapped on her as she turned the last page, and Sophie shook her head, shaking off the effects of using her magic for so long. Her head was pounding, and her eyes were blurry. Her body even ached, as if every muscle had been held taut as she focused on keeping her magic steady enough to translate the book.

  She looked with some trepidation at the thicker book. The one written in French. The one with Luc's name in it.

  She almost didn't want to read it. She was finding she liked Migisi. She was thoughtful, intelligent, observant, clearly dedicated to the Light. She also had a dry wit that was enjoyable to read. In that way, she reminded Sophie of Layla.

  She didn't want to read about her losing control.

  “You're getting morose,” she told herself, standing up from her seat at the table with a grimace.

  She headed out the back door. Fresh air would help. She needed to do something that had nothing to do with curses or Calder.

  And she was not, absolutely not, going to think about him, she told herself.

  Chapter Fourteen

  August 18, 1852

  Migisi walked along the river beside Luc, his huge form casting a shadow over her, like walking with her own personal sun-shield. The air was humid, too warm, too quiet. It seemed to Migisi that everything around her had a sad, wistful feel to it. Late summer was the worst, she'd long ago decided. It spoke of loss yet to come, of shortening days and the trees around her looked tired, as if they, too, languished.

  “So deep in thought, little ghost,” Luc said, glancing at her, his usual mischievous gaze serious. She was warmed by the nickname. Little ghost, he'd begun calling her almost immediately, referring to the way she'd haunted his steps, ruined his traps, like an angry spirit. “What troubles you, that you haven't said a word to me in over an hour?”

  Migisi shook her head. He was leaving, and she felt empty.

  “Are you angry with me?” he asked, pressing the matter.

  She shook her head again, not trusting her voice. If she spoke, she feared what would come out, that she would beg him to stay with her. She'd never begged anyone for anything, and it frightened her that this brawny trapper had come to mean so much to her in such a little time. That just a look from him was enough to bring her to her knees.

  “Migisi,” Luc said, stopping and taking her hand in his. She looked down at their joined hands, her small tan one in his large, strong, calloused one. “I will be back.”

  “I know you will,” she said, willing her voice to stay steady, willing herself to keep the desperation out of her voice. “This area is a profitable one for you.”

  “Do you really believe that's the reason I'll be coming back?” he asked quietly.

  She didn't answer for a moment. “Of course. You are a businessman. And now that we have worked out where it's appropriate for you to trap, you would be foolish not to return here.”

  “Why are you so silent with me lately?” he asked her, not releasing her hand. It became almost difficult to breathe, standing that close to him. They'd seen each other almost every day since the night they'd met, had walked the woods and talked about his work and her work, places he'd been. As the weeks had gone by, the initial attraction she felt toward him only grew, until he was almost everything she thought about.

  It was a foreign state for her and she was not fond of it.

  “Maybe you are just talking too much, and I cannot manage to get a word in,” she said, trying to make light of the matter.

  He usually appreciated her humor, but this time, he just continued watching her, looking down at her with those eyes, so reminiscent of the nearby lake, a deep blue storm that threatened to drag her under. “Migisi,” he said again.

  She didn't answer, and, instead of letting her go as he usually did when this moodiness came upon her, which seemed to happen more and more often, it seemed, he held her hand tighter. And then he pulled her toward him.

  “I need to know, before I leave. I need to know, my little ghost, if you feel even a tiny bit of what I feel for you. I have been patient, I have waited for some sign that what we are goes beyond friendship. But you are mysterious and silent and I wish I knew your mind.”

  “And what is it you feel for me?” she asked quietly, “because I cannot tell you whether I feel the same until I know what your feelings are. And you are just as much of a mystery to me.”

  His face softened, and he brought his other hand to her face, traced her jawline gently with such tenderness it became impossible for Migisi to breathe. “I thought it was plain. I can't look at you enough, can't touch you enough. You're my reason for breathing, you're every dream I've ever had. But I think you are far too good for me. I have nothing to offer you—“

  “That is not true,” Migisi said. “You are everything.”

  He leaned in, slowly, carefully, and the first touch of his lips was like a breath of air, like fresh water quenching a thirst she thought she'd never be rid of. She trembled as he kissed her, as his mouth made love to hers, cherishing her, making her feel beautiful and desirable. Pleading, worshiping.

  “Migisi,” he whispered against her lips, and it went straight to her heart, the need in those three quiet syllables. “I am coming back,” he repeated, kissing her between his words. “And when I do, I am going to make damn sure you never question how much I need you.”

  Chapter Fifteen

  Sophie was repairing Merlin's fence again, trying to shore up the spots he was slowly but surely trying to work his way through. She heard gravel crunching on her driveway and looked up to see Calder coming around the side of the house.

  “Go away,” she said, looking away from him.

  “I need to talk to you.”

  “That is not my problem.”

  He approached the pen, and Merlin went insane, butting the fences, trying to get to him, trying to protect Sophie. Sophie glared at Calder, shoved at Merlin, who bleated angrily at her. She went through the gate, closing it quickly behind her as the goat tried to run out, determined to cause some pain to Calder.

  “Can you leave now?” Sophie asked, still trying not to look at him. “You made it clear this morning what you think of me. This isn't a game, Calder, and I'm already sick of playing.“

  “Can you let me say what I wanted to say?”

  She went to walk past him, and he reached out and took her arm in his hand, pulling her back, not letting her go. She finally glared up at him. “I want you to leave.”

  “Sophie,” he sai
d, his tone gentle, his hand warm on her arm. “Come on, kitten. I'm sorry. Put the claws away for a while, all right?”

  “Stop calling me that,” she said, coming back to herself, forcing her breath into a more normal pace. The second he'd touched her, her heart had started pounding, a pleasurable shiver working its way through her body.

  “I can't help it. You do that, get all bristling and skittish around me. Like the feral kittens I used to see in our barn when I was a kid.” He smiled. “If you really want me to stop, I will. I'll still think it, though.”

  “What's with the attitude change?” she asked, yanking her arm out of his grip and heading toward the back door. She opened it and went inside, and he followed. She sighed in irritation, noting numbly that the wards had let him though this time. She walked into the kitchen.

  “I acted like a jerk,” he said.

  “You think?” she asked incredulously, turning and looking at him.

  “My point still stands. I could have hurt you, and you put yourself in a really, really bad position by doing what you did. I don't want to hurt you, Sophie. You get that, right?”

  “Then don't,” Sophie said, meeting his eyes.

  “I won't. When I'm like this, when I'm myself, there's not a chance in hell I'd ever hurt you. Ever, in any way. Okay? But when I'm like that… You saw me, Sophie. You heard me. You know damn well I wasn't in control.”

  “I know,” she said softly.

  “And even after. I don't remember walking into my house. I don't remember getting into bed. I don't even remember shifting back. The last thing I remember is standing in your woods, raging that I couldn't get to you. And then the next thing I knew, you were lying in my bed. And the first thing I thought was to panic that somehow I'd overpowered you…” He trailed off, shook his head. His jaw was tense again, his hands fisted at his sides.

  The fight went out of her, just as quickly as it had come on. She rested her hands on the kitchen island, which was between her and Calder. “I'm sorry. I didn't think of that, that you wouldn't remember. I didn't want that. I just wanted to make you feel better. You were so out of it, Calder.”