To Stir a Fae's Passion_A Novel of Love and Magic

by Nadine Mutas

  “Oh, come on,” Merle said, getting up and following Rhun out of the living room. “You have to admit—”

  Sudden pain made her break off mid-sentence and double over. Searing fire shot along her nerves, and she cried out, falling to her knees, the pain of hitting the hardwood floors just a blip compared to the agony wracking her whole body.

  Dammit, not now.

  Rhun was at her side in an instant, his hands warm on her clammy skin. “Merle? What is it?”

  “The…balance…” Had it been this long already? Hadn’t she just paid back recently?

  Rhun cursed. “All right, little witch. I’ve got you.”

  He lifted her, his arms under her knees and behind her back, cuddling her close while he carried her back into the living room to set her gently on the couch. She barely noticed. Her back was bowed, her skin on fire, explosive pressure building in her core. The Powers That Be were merciless in demanding she pay back for the magic she’d used, the energy she'd drawn from the layers of the world to supplement her own brand of witch powers. It was the responsibility and curse of all the heads of witch families—the greater the gift, the greater the cost.

  Her skin split. One by one, gashes opened up all over her, and she was bleeding magic. Her power-drenched blood dissolved in the air on a sigh of the Powers That Be, those forces holding the world together. She cried out. Sweat slicked her skin, her stomach turned, her jaw locked, and she dug her fingers into the fabric of the couch.

  “I’m right here, little witch. I’ve got you. It’ll be over soon.” Rhun’s voice was steady, his tone infused with reassuring confidence, but his hands—they shook while they stroked her, as he cradled her head with the utmost care.

  Merle had her eyes closed, couldn’t see Rhun’s expression, could barely feel his presence at the other end of their mating bond, her entire consciousness dominated by the pain wracking her. She could only hope and pray that this time upholding the balance wouldn’t take long.

  “It’s okay, Merle mine. You’ll be okay, you’re strong—” Rhun’s voice broke off, and something in it, an echo along the mating bond, made Merle snap to attention, even in the midst of the agony razing her body and mind.

  She opened her eyes, focused on Rhun, and her heart skipped a beat as she saw his expression. He was white as a sheet, horror in his eyes.

  “Rhun…” she ground out past the pain that was so debilitating she all but wanted to lose consciousness. “What…is it?”

  She followed his look to the cushion underneath her hips—and the bright red stain spreading across the beige fabric.

  Her heart stopped. Her stomach—already in turmoil—made a dive for the ground. She felt it now, through the pain and the magic leaving her body…the wet warmth between her thighs…

  The baby…

  Rhun stared at the pool of blood spreading underneath Merle’s hips. She was wearing black jeans, so he hadn’t noticed, had thought the blood he smelled was from the gashes on her body, her payback to the Powers That Be. He hadn’t noticed she was bleeding somewhere else…

  “Rhun…” Merle cried out again, and then she sagged against the cushions, her mind lost to darkness.

  Through their mating bond, Rhun could see, feel, sense her slipping into unconsciousness. And just before the link to her went numb as she fainted, he felt a weakening which promised to break everything inside him—the spark of life in Merle’s belly flickered, dimmed.

  No.

  Heart hammering a thousand beats a minute, he shot to his feet. It was day, his demon powers muted, but even at night he wouldn’t have the magic to heal her. His demon species’ powers weren’t of the healing kind. There was nothing he could do for her, or their baby. He jumped to pick up his phone from the table. Browsed through the contacts, dialed the number, and waited, with bated breath, his soul shattering into a million pieces.

  “Hello?”

  He’d never been so relieved to hear that voice. “Hazel, you need to come here ASAP.”

  “What’s going—”

  “Get the fuck over here right now.”

  He hung up, crammed the phone in his pocket, and rushed over to Merle’s side again. As he did not so long ago—and yet it seemed like a lifetime had passed—he closed his eyes, his hand wrapped tightly around Merle’s, and prayed to the Powers That Be, to those gods he’d shunned all his life, and who had nevertheless heard his fervent pleas when he had begged them to take pain and magic from him instead. They’d done it once, they could do it again.

  So he prayed, and prayed, and fucking prayed. Take it from me… Take my blood, take my magic… Spare her. Take it from me instead…

  Nothing happened. Nothing but more gashes opening up all over Merle’s body, more of her blood, her magic, pouring out, widening the pool of angry red on the couch cushion.

  No! No, you fuckers. Take it from me.

  He sat on the couch, pulled Merle onto his lap, and rocked her, holding her tightly in his arms, feeling the life drain from her body—both lives.

  He didn’t know how long he sat there, how long he rocked the ravaged body of his witch, of his unborn child inside her, before the front door burst open, and in stormed the intimidating force of a concerned Elder witch.

  “She’s pregnant,” Rhun called out. “She’s paying pack to the Powers That Be, and I think she’s losing the baby.”

  “Give her to me.” Hazel ran to Merle’s side, took her from Rhun’s arms.

  Cradling Merle in one arm, she laid her hand on Merle’s abdomen, closed her eyes and murmured words of magic, the meaning of which flew right past Rhun’s tortured mind. A glow formed around Hazel, visible to his eyes even with his dulled daytime senses.

  The Elder witch worked her magic like a madwoman, the glow around her blinding in its intensity. The gashes on Merle’s body closed, and she stopped bleeding magic. Had her other bleeding been stopped as well? Rhun couldn’t tell, because the air was drenched with the smell of blood to the point that—with his dulled daytime senses—he couldn’t discern whether there was any fresh blood. Merle’s skin was so white the freckles on her face stood out starkly.

  He couldn’t read her aura, and he couldn’t feel anything from her. Rhun’s only way to tell how Merle was doing was through their mating bond, and that link lay silent. He didn’t dare ask Hazel how she was doing, for fear of interrupting her focus. He had to wait, he had to fucking wait for Hazel to be finished with whatever she was doing for his mate before she could tell him whether Merle and the baby would be okay.

  The minutes ticked by. It seemed like forever. He swore his heart couldn’t beat this fast for such a long time without exploding in his chest.

  Sweat broke out on Hazel’s forehead, her face scrunched up as if she was struggling. She kept muttering spells, most of them in Sanskrit, the ancient language used for many charms. And Rhun didn’t understand a single word of it. He couldn’t tell if she was making progress.

  Then, finally, Hazel took a shaky breath, and withdrew her hand from Merle’s abdomen. She was shaking all over. Rhun got up, and knelt next to his mate. Hazel opened her eyes and looked at him, the white around her irises bloodshot, with dark circles under her eyes that hadn’t been there when she arrived. She seemed to have aged years within a matter of minutes.

  “Is she…?” croaked Rhun, unable to ask aloud what he most feared.

  Hazel signaled for him to take Merle from her arms, and he did so without a moment’s hesitation. Cradling his fiery witch volcano against his chest, he looked at the elder witch in trepidation.

  “She will be fine,” Hazel said, her voice weaker than Rhun had ever heard it. “And I managed to save the baby. The bleeding has stopped, and, from what I can tell, the pregnancy is stable again.”

  Rhun sagged against the couch, exhaling an enormous sigh of relief. He closed his eyes and rested his forehead against Merle’s.

  When Merle came to, she was enveloped in the heat of Rhun’s arms, cradled by his love. The mating
bond pulsed with his concern for her, feeding her strength. Her eyes fluttered open to behold a face of stark male beauty, set in harsh lines of worry and anger. When he noticed she was awake, the hard mask of his features softened, taking on that special expression he only ever showed when he beheld her.

  “Merle mine…” A low murmur, pitched for her ears alone.

  “The baby…” But even as she said it, she sensed the tiny spark inside her, felt its life glowing, growing, taking root. “Oh, thank the gods…”

  “The gods have nothing to do with this one,” Rhun growled. “In fact, if it weren’t for Hazel, your precious gods would have taken our child’s life, along with your magic.”

  “Hazel…” She frowned, sat up a little in his arms, looked around.

  “Here.” The Elder witch, as dear to Merle as an aunt by blood, leaned closer and grasped Merle’s hand, squeezed. “I’m still here. It’s only been a few minutes.”

  “You fucking scared me, little witch,” Rhun rasped. “If Hazel hadn’t been able to come so quickly…”

  Hazel shook her head. “Merle would have survived.” Her unflinching stare slammed into Merle’s, a haunting truth written in it. “But your baby wouldn’t have.”

  Merle’s hand instinctively covered her abdomen. “How…? Why did this happen? Paying back hurts, yes, and it’s always a burden, but it shouldn’t end anyone’s life.”

  Hazel’s brows drew together. “I’m not sure. I’ve been thinking a little while you were recovering… It’s always the oldest living witch who becomes head of her family, and as far back as I can remember, I’ve only ever seen witches who were past childbearing age take that position. It’s the natural order of things.

  “Which means that it should never be an issue that the head of a family—with the obligation to uphold the balance of magic—would become pregnant, and the pregnancy be at risk because of the excruciating process of paying back. I have never heard of a case like this, but then again, there wouldn't be many. It is so very unusual for a witch of Merle’s age to be the oldest surviving member of her family and have to take the leading position. I have to look into this, see if I can find any precedents in our history.”

  “I will research in our library, too,” Merle said, a sinking feeling of foreboding churning in her gut. “I never thought…”

  “Merle.” Hazel’s tone was so, so quiet, as if she was unwilling to fully voice what was on her mind. “Even without having done any further research on this, I can already tell you that the next time you have to pay back to the Powers That Be for the magic you’ve been using, I might not be able to save the baby. Even now it was a close call. There was a moment…” She took an unsteady breath, closed her eyes for a brief second. “I just barely managed to save her. As far as I can see, upholding the balance jeopardizes your pregnancy, and unless you stop using magic right now, and avoid using magic for the rest of the pregnancy, this baby very likely will not survive.”

  It took a moment. Then the words hit Merle, crashed through the numbness saturating her mind, her heart, her soul, and smashed her nascent bud of hope. Stop using magic… To do so would mean—

  “It’s time to end the deal with Arawn, then.” Rhun’s anger vibrated along the mating bond, underlaid with a terror so profound it shredded Merle’s tenuous grasp on her composure.

  “No.” A whisper, a desperate rebuttal.

  Rhun shifted on the couch to face her, his eyes glittering cold. “The deal with him means you have to put your magic at his disposal, and he’s been taking advantage of it—a lot, and mostly for trivial shit. As long as you keep the deal with him, you’ll have to keep using your magic, which means you’ll have to pay back to the Powers That Be.” His neck muscles corded, and his nostrils flared. “Which means our baby will die.”

  Merle shook her head, feeling too much for her cracking heart to keep in. “I can’t,” she rasped. “I can’t just send Maeve to that…that monster.” Tears clouded her vision as she looked at her mate, her husband, her lover. “Don’t ask me to make that decision.”

  Rhun made as if to say something, but she laid her hand over his mouth. “Please…not now. I can’t do this right now.” She turned to Hazel, who still sat in her chair, cloaked in awkward silence. “Does Maeve know?”

  Hazel shook her head. “She’s gone to the movies with Keira, Lenora, and Anjali. She had her phone turned off, so I couldn’t reach her.”

  “Don’t tell her.” Merle’s voice was as husky as her baby sister’s, her throat tight with anguish. “Don’t say a word to her about the pregnancy and the risk. I…need to think before I discuss it with her.”

  Hazel hesitated, shifted her weight on the chair, but then she nodded. “Sure. We’ll look into this, Merle. We’ll find a way to make it work.”

  A muscle ticked along Rhun’s jaw. “You better do it fast. Considering the rate at which Arawn has been using her magic, we have about a week before she has to pay back again.”

  Chapter 11

  The midday sun filtered through the canopy of trees, painting a lazily moving filigree of gold on the forest floor. Birdsong and the rustle of animals in the undergrowth surrounded Basil as he followed the fae in front of him down the path, the comforting sounds of the woods a stark contrast to the silence of his traveling companion.

  Isa had barely spoken a word to him all morning, had reverted to being his professionally distant guide and protector in Faerie. Gone were all traces of the desire she showed him last night, of the lust and longing he felt in her kiss. He hadn’t imagined it, had he? She had welcomed his kiss, had responded in kind, revealing a streak of fiery passion underneath her usually calm facade.

  She wanted him, that much was clear after last night. Desire such as she displayed didn’t just fizzle out over a few hours. For whatever reason, she was reluctant to admit her attraction to him, and put up a front of indifference, acted as if nothing happened.

  Well, now. That didn’t mean all hope was lost. The possibility of winning her affection was worth fighting for. At the very least, it was worth another shot, another attempt to find out if those doubts of hers would truly keep her from acting on her desire for him, or if they’d dissipate when she got to know him better. He’d barely begun courting her, so he’d give her more time, would respect her boundaries—while at the same time making sure she knew, felt, believed that he appreciated her, and would love to make her his.

  If she truly didn’t want him, if she rejected him completely, he’d back off, of course. But until she told him to go to hell, he planned to do his damnedest to woo her off her feet.

  “By the way, who is your source?” he asked, referring to the fae they planned to tap for information about Rose. They’d been hiking for a few hours now, drawing close—according to Isa—to the informant’s dwelling.

  Isa threw a quick glance at him as he caught up with her. “He’s a collector of rare and extraordinary objects. Buys and sells all sorts of things that are hard to come by, which means he often hears the strangest rumors from people all over Faerie and beyond. Chances are he picked up something about a witch changeling. Or knows someone else who might have heard.”

  “Do you think he might have something to eat, too?”

  She blinked, stopped short. “You’re hungry? Didn’t you just eat a whole bag of dried meat? And two apples?”

  “Well, yes, but that was a snack. We are going to have lunch soon, aren’t we?”

  “You had two breakfasts. Two!”

  “Which is the way it should be. Just ask any hobbit.”

  “Any what?”

  He sighed, closed his eyes, and shook his head. “Seriously, we are going to have to watch so many movies.”

  Something flickered through her slate gray eyes, there and gone again within a heartbeat. “I’ll see if I can bag a rabbit later.”

  She resumed walking, and he followed, his attention inexorably drawn to her hips, to the firmness of her butt, so deliciously revealed by the tight fabric
of her pants. Her legs were elegantly muscled, a testament to her active lifestyle, to the strength of a hunter. He indulged himself in blissful visions of how those legs would feel wrapped around his hips…or his shoulders…while he dove in and tasted her. Would she squeeze him tight, pull him closer? Would her thigh muscles quiver and flex in response to his licks? Would she be sensitive in the dip at the juncture of her thighs?

  His body hardened, desire pumping hot through his veins. He wanted to explore her, every tiny bit of her. He wanted to learn what made her sigh, moan, which touch made her writhe, what move would make her look at him with eyes turned to candescent silver by the force of her desire. And what would she do to him when he gave her free rein?

  By the gods, he’d never felt such a powerful craving for a female before. The little taste of her he sampled when they kissed? It had kicked off an avalanche of need, a longing so strong it bordered on addiction.

  He took deep breaths of the chilly forest air to clear his head and cool his desire, savored the fragrance of the most recent rain shower. Winter in the Pacific Northwest meant lots of moisture and mild temperatures, which he didn’t mind at all. He’d take months of rain over snow and ice any day.

  The path opened onto a meadow, lush green, and rolling out toward wooded hills. A hawk’s cry echoed across the glade, and Isa stopped abruptly. Her face turned toward the sky, she smiled, then whistled a melody. The hawk cried again, almost as if in answer. Basil blinked when she held out her arm, and a few seconds later the bird of prey swooped down and settled on the wrist guard on her forearm.

  Isa murmured something in her language to the hawk, her face graced with an indulgent smile. The bird tilted its head, and when Isa touched its beak, caressed its feathers, the raptor nibbled at her hand in what was clearly a display of avian affection.

  “Uh, I assume you two know each other?” he asked, one eyebrow raised.