Guilt and pain were his constant companions. Following him wherever he went. Reminding him of a tragedy he would have sold his soul to avert. Intensifying, and catching up with him every time he returned home. But now, the wounds weren’t just stinging. They weren’t simply rubbed in salt. They were ripped open and bathed in acid.
Raven hadn’t even realized he’d taken two steps towards her the moment it appeared that people were about to disobey him and begin a public execution. He couldn’t let that happen. Alive she had to stay. Luckily, Nyssa had been there to prevent a disaster.
But it wasn’t Nyssa, Raven observed. His gaze was fixed upon a fearless creature, standing tall in such glory, despite the tatters and mud on her dress. Despite people threatening to stone her. She appeared more like a goddess than a murderous, abhorrent being. With her hair flying loose in the wind, her chin and shoulders raised high, her eyes without a single trace of surrender, she was untouchable. Radiant.
For a moment she was the only innocent in this, and he, the bastard who had tossed her to the wolves. The moment the thought formed in his head, Raven winced with disgust at himself. Mercy was something he couldn’t afford, he shook himself mentally. Not if he wanted his brother’s life restored. That much he owed. He’d sworn on his mother’s grave. Besides, she was perfectly capable of taming any ferocious beast she wished. That he knew with certainty.
Raven turned his back to her and marched through the door. He looked around and sighed. Everything was the same as he left. Just once, he wished coming home could bring joy and some kind of welcoming. His home, however, was just walls. Standing cold and distant.
Bright and clean, true; but somehow that light didn’t reach him. He shuddered every time he passed the hallway, its cold embrace torturing, mocking him. Despite the time gone by, he could still see the damned drama. Hear his mother’s cries, feel the same impotence. No more, he vowed. Soon the news of his captive would reach the ears of the witches and they would come. They had to come.
“Why on earth did you bring that poor girl here?” Martha inquired.
She was the housekeeper at his home, who had served his family for more than thirty years. She was the only one who knew him since childhood. Practically raised him. One of the few people to know about his brother, and care for him. The only person to berate Raven on his quest.
Raven looked at the old, grizzled woman and sighed again. “I believe you know the answer.”
“That is what I am afraid of.” She folded her arms over the chest and swayed her head. “Raven, my dear boy, you will only bring more suffering into this home.”
She was mistaken. He would bring peace into this home, not suffering.
“How is Dacian?” he asked uneasily.
Martha lowered her faded brown eyes. “The same, I’m afraid.”
“I will go to him,” Raven said, turning for the stairs, “and later, I would like a word with you.”
“Me too,” she nodded, making it clear he was to hear her opinion about the consequences of his actions. Like he needed it!—his fingers tightened on the wooden rail. He really, really didn’t. Not when everything inside him was already in turmoil. Worse still, the closer he got to the door, the faster his heart beat.
By the time Raven reached his goal, his heart was pounding like a sledgehammer against his ribcage. He wrapped his fingers around the knob, barely noticing the trembling in his hands, and twisted it, dreading the sight awaiting him behind those doors.
The not knowing what would greet him was killing Raven. Would his brother be lucid enough to recognize him, or would he be some pitiful, mindless creature? The same question crossed Raven’s mind every single time he found himself in this spot. He took a deep breath, and swallowing his anxiety, stepped in.
Dacian’s chamber weltered in darkness. No oil lamp, not a single candle was visible. Huge windows stood covered by heavy, dark drapes protecting Dacian’s curled-up body from the smallest ray of light.
Raven didn’t bother looking for a candle—his brother didn’t like light. It probably reminded him of the fire he’d been caught in. At least that was what half of the scars on Dacian’s body attested to. Truth be told, Raven had no idea what his brother had gone through. And the knowledge brought new wave of guilt. Something that invariably assaulted him the moment he entered this room.
Raven moved a wooden chair to the bed and positioned himself in front of his brother. For a few moments he just sat there looking into Dacian’s sad and distant eyes. Normally he would tell him about his travels, about things he’d seen and heard, about the people he’d encountered. But never about witches, or Venlordians, or even about his plans.
The first time Raven had killed a Venlordian, being barely fifteen, he’d felt blood on his hands for a week. He remembered telling his brother about it years later. Seeking confirmation and support for the path he’d taken more than he dared to admit. Dacian’s reaction, however, had been the opposite to what he’d expected.
Three men had to hold his brother, while he thrashed and screamed as Raven shoved medicine down his throat.
Raven hated such procedures. A far cry from a simple witch’s touch.
He pinched the bridge of his nose in frustration. Just great; now he yearned to have such a power; and partly not for his brother, but for himself. He hated seeing Dacian crazed. It was one of few things that still made his heart sore. Everything else just didn’t matter.
So from that day he never spoke about the gory part of his life. He only wished he could talk to Dacian, not just speak to him. Today however, words eluded him completely.
His thoughts constantly returned to that particular person chained in his yard, but damned as he may be, he knew he had to do this if he ever wished Dacian to get well.
“Soon, my brother,” Raven whispered—a promise he would move heaven and earth to keep.
He stayed with his brother a little longer, just sitting there, thinking about the day when the accursed witches would come; and especially the one who called herself Ethely, he hoped. When he would chop off her head and take her pitiable life, Dacian would regain what was stolen from him.
Of course, Raven knew it wouldn’t be that easy. She wouldn’t stand meekly awaiting her fate. She might not even come.
Good thing having a witch opened up new possibilities. All he had to do now—was wait.
Chapter 8
Every time Raven came home time seemed to drag at a snail’s pace, torturing him until the last moment he rode off, revenge the only mission in his mind. This time it simply froze. Worse, he couldn’t shake off the nagging feeling, the strange stinging in the area of his chest. Couldn’t seem to relax, even lying in a hot tub with his eyes closed.
He felt haunted.
The moment darkness swallowed him, his witch appeared.
Out of the shadows of the morning mist the dark angel glided on the back of a huge beast. Lightning pranced and neighed.
She looked tall and proud and fatally lovely. Like a conqueror come back for his soul.
She kicked free of her stirrups, swung her leg over the pommel, and jumped down.
It was like a memory of a dream. He could swear it was exactly what had happened the day before, but at the same time even the concept of her returning was ridiculous.
Raven tried to clear his mind, but his thoughts drifted away. Into the shadows. Into the darkness. She still found him. Reached him through the mist of darkness, radiating light, shining bright like a candle in his gloomy world.
Her eyes were glittering sapphires, her skin soft as silk as she reached for him and touched his face.
Raven swallowed hard; it was all he could do not to succumb to her gentle caress.
She stood taller and more beautiful than he ever remembered, if that was even possible. Her fingers sank deep into his hair, pulled him closer. Their lips an inch apart, their breaths mixing, the taste of her already in his mouth. She didn’t kiss him, though.
Come to me, a soft wind ca
rried the words in, her lips breathing his name. A whisper, sweet and hot, danced on his skin, leaving him powerless in her presence.
Her fingers caressed his tawny flesh, slowly pushing him over the edge. Pushing him to the point where both sanity and reason were no more. He no longer cared. If he was in Zcuran, the hell-realm, it was the sweetest and most diabolical torture he’d ever experienced. And by the Gods, he wanted more of it.
In an instant she was standing utterly nude, her shameless, brazen eyes full with welcome invitation. Raven bit his lip, trailing his gaze up and down her magnificent body, hardly believing the fantasy in front of his eyes. He felt his mouth go dry.
No longer able to fight his urges, he took her in his arms, thrusting his tongue deep into the velvety hotness of her mouth. Her lips parted in acceptance and surrender. Her soft moans tore away the last shred of his control.
He had to have her. Nothing else existed, except the feeling of her soft skin as he ran his fingers over her body. Except the honeyed scent that filled his nostrils, intoxicating him like a drug. Nothing existed, except the need to pull her closer, reach her even deeper. To taste her … forever.
A strange sound assaulted his ears, bringing him back from the land of fantasy.
Raven lifted his head to see Ethely standing just a few feet away. Laughing. Her rough, dry voice ignited his disgust … with himself. Her cursed face mocked him.
His hands suddenly felt empty, his fingers curled into fists aching more for the loss of his dream angel than for the blood of the witch.
“You are a fool, always were, always will be,” Ethely sneered.
Raven didn’t hesitate for another second. He charged. He grabbed her tightly, but she disappeared into the night, leaving his clenched fists strangling the thinness of the air. He tried to search for her, all in vain. Only a rippling laughter came crushing down on him. Bringing him down to his knees, cursing the blasted hag or himself—he wasn’t sure which—but he knew one thing—he was going mad. A few more days like that and he would join Dacian in his insanity.
Just as if to drive home the point, another sound reached him. This time, not the raspy voice of Ethely, but a melodious tone, an angelic sound reverberating someplace inside him.
Raven jerked his eyes open and looked around. He was still in his home, lying half-submerged in already cooled-down water. He stroked his fingers restlessly through his hair, trying as he could to recover from a nightmare. His chest moved heavily as his breathing raged. Damn the blasted hag, Raven’s fist came crushing down into the tub, splashing water everywhere on his wood-blocked floor. He knew it was futile, but couldn’t stop feeling somehow cheated.
For a moment he held what he’d desperately sought for years. He had his brother’s life in his hands. For a moment it wasn’t a dream. He also held an angel and, despite everything, he could still feel the sweetness of her kiss. He yearned and he longed, and … Raven took a deep breath, reminding himself it was his brother who mattered, not his own needs or wants. But when he heard singing in the same melodious voice, every desire he tried so hard to quench rose again.
This can’t be real—must be dreaming, Raven tried to convince himself, but deep in his heart he knew he was not. He quickly rose from the water and stepped over the edge of the tub. He was in such a hurry, he failed to notice the towel. Raven all but ran into his bedroom, swiftly pulled the quilt from the mattress and wrapped it around his lean hips. Yet the last few feet he crossed slowly.
He walked to the window and, pulling the curtains away, looked down. His witch was standing there, face lifted towards the sky, singing in a strange language that seemed to be just as beautiful and exotic as she was.
* * *
How was this possible? Amira breathed heavily.
Damn him. The man was not supposed to … what? Remember it? Fight it? Turn it against her?
Yes, yes and most definitely yes, her mind screamed as she resumed singing. He was not even supposed to notice it.
Apart from the fact that it was troubling, terrifying, and unfathomable, it was also amazing. She could not remember the last man, except Immortals of course, thousands of years ago, to be capable of control in the dream plane. And to think she’d thought it would be easy. Probably her fatigue talking there.
Though who could blame her after her day of imprisonment. A day she didn’t want to drag on into infinity. The unknown had made her uneasy. The possibility of a night spent chained to the damned pole, with only her torn dress to shelter her, had convinced her to try anything. She’d thought she couldn’t worsen things. As if! Now she could only roll her eyes heavenward.
Minutes before, she’d been weighting her options quite differently. What was she supposed to do?, Amira had asked herself. Break the ties and turn any man who tried to hold her into a stinking mushroom? Not without the godly interference.
What she could do—had to do—was reach him. Somehow. Shake down his fences.
The answer was simple and easy. Something she had learned in one of her prior lives just for the fun of it. With Raven, she had a purpose. And a connection, Amira was convinced she should not have. Yet, it was there. She had only to think about him and it seemed she was right beside him. Even when physically he was far, mentally even farther. Astounding, in a scary kind of way.
That should have been the danger sign, cautioning her to rethink. But had she listened? No. She’d swiped her hand through the air, dismissing all possible hazards in the undeniable link between them. So stupid. As if she were a child with no comprehension of human will, nor of the possibility of falling into her own trap, nor simply of the danger of rash behavior.
Frankly, she hadn’t been just blind, she’d been tempted. Or maybe she’d been blind because she’d been tempted to see how his world looked like. Either way, she’d ignored everything, thinking he would not notice it. Wouldn’t even remember. At worst, think of it as a dream, a figment of his imagination.
With that thought, she’d taken a deep breath, letting go of her shackles. One moment she'd been standing firmly on the ground, and the next, floating in the air, glancing down at herself—at the body chained. Her eyes had been empty, bones stiff, mouth—singing.
Amira remembered closing her eyes, thinking of Raven and the next moment appearing in front of him—gazing at his powerful body half-submerged in water, drowsing in his bathtub. She should have paid more attention to the state of his mind, instead of touching every inch of his mouthwatering body with her starving gaze. She could not help it, though. Droplets of water had glistened on his tanned skin, urging her to lick every one of them, taste the texture of his flesh. She had shivered as she glided toward him, every nerve ending in her body prickling. Her body, for goodness sake, when it had been outside, far from him.
Amira had trailed her eyes to the relaxed features of his face. His eyes had popped wide open then. He looked at her as if he could see. She’d ignored that warning as well, saying now or never; and had reached out, invading his still-unawakened consciousness.
Darkness had overwhelmed her, shadows assaulted her. Amira had fought them back, finding him one more time.
It was the most intense journey she had ever experienced. With him fighting at first. Losing eventually. But contrary to her hopes, his loss had not been her victory. She’d lost control and he’d gained power. He’d become the master, and she—the slave.
Even now she trembled at the memory of how they ended up standing naked, toe to toe, face to face. Shake it off, the sane part of her had screamed, break the connection, while you still can. Amira couldn’t. Most importantly she wasn’t sure she wanted to. She’d been his for the taking, and he most definitely had been doing just that.
She hadn’t wanted to lose his hot embrace, his burning lips—mouth savoring her without remorse. It had felt heavenly. Yet, transformed into hell the moment he’d stopped.
His gaze had changed, body stiffened, and his sole focus had shifted to a witch standing a few feet away. In a splash of
a second, he’d let go of her, and Amira had found herself back in her chains. Singing.
She always sang when leaving her body. It was part of the transformation, part of the spell, if one could call it a spell. Her singing was her guide, her way back out of the darkness. This time, once back, she didn’t cease. She kept singing, determined to succeed even if she had failed at first.
He was awake now; she could feel it, her voice could reach him.
If she could unleash his inner feelings... If only she knew what she was up against...
Unfortunately this was not an empty forest, the one and only place she normally sang, but a place with dozens, maybe even hundreds of people. And her voice was as raw and uncontrolled as nature had created it. Capable of driving people crazy. Capable of killing.
It was affecting everyone around, giving them headaches, tearing them apart. But then, what did she care about people, who were willing to stone, gut, and burn her? It would serve them right, a part of her snorted. Only a small one. Apparently her conscience was not as dead as she’d thought. Amira sighed.
It was hard and draining to separate such a big crowd from the influence of her song, but she managed. Leaving Raven alone in his struggle.
After the next verse, Amira glanced toward the mansion, noticing a man’s figure framed by the second-story window. He was garbed in nothing but a counterpane of sorts, his broad chest dripping wet.
Their eyes met, gazes tangled, her toes curled under the piercing stare. Hot, so hot.
She sensed emotions dancing through him, hundreds of them. So close and yet so far. She couldn’t read them.
Amira focused everything she had into the song, letting her voice travel through time and space. Ignoring danger once again, she allowed it to grow and reach everything it could. Finally touching something deep inside him, something he had buried long ago.
It also made her realize a part of her was still with him, even though her spirit was trapped in her body again. With the sound of her voice they were together. He was still touching her, kissing her.
Till Death And Beyond (Witch World) Page 6