Witch Hunter: dark medieval paranormal romance (Witches of the Woods Book 1)

by Steffanie Holmes

  "I think this would be better in the dark," he said, reaching up and pulling a woollen hood over my head. I cried out as the light of the chamber was extinguished. Now I was entirely alone with his touch.

  He flicked his finger over my clit, once, twice, then no more. I moaned, straining against the table. I wanted him inside me, close to me, buried within me, and yet still he teased. This was the most exquisite torture of all.

  He touched me again, his tongue this time, I think. Pressing and probing, flicking against me, swirling around my most sensitive bud. He took me in his mouth and sucked and pulled. A warm feeling spread out from my stomach, over my thighs, rising through my body like gas from the kettle. I ached for him.

  "Please!" I cried. "Please, Ulrich. I need you inside me!"

  My words were muffled through the gag, but he must've understood, because I felt him straddle the table, his thighs rubbing against the whip marks. I gasped as he entered me, long and hard as stone. Ulrich’s rough hands grabbed my ass, and he clutched at me as he ground himself deeper into me, pumping faster and faster.

  My body was so stretched and stiff that I could not more, I could only relish the sense of him riding me, filling me, while the welts on my ass stung and smarted under his rough touch. The warmth spread along my legs, into my stomach, across my chest, down my arms. I grew hotter and hotter until the warmth overwhelmed me. I cried out, straining against my bonds. Behind the hood, my vision swam with a thousand colours, and a series of convulsions rippled through my body. It was incredible.

  Ulrich grabbed my hair and forced himself inside me with a final, violent thrust, his weight bearing down on me as he ground himself into me, moaning under the force of his own orgasm. Finally, Ulrich collapsed against me completely, his warm breath tickling the back of my neck.

  "That was …" he puffed.

  "… mmmph …" I added. Ulrich reached around, lifted off the hood and pulled out the gag.

  "You are incredible," he said, pressing his lips to mine.

  "I cannot feel my legs."

  Ulrich unclipped me from the rack, and lifted me into his arms, cradling me as a father would a child. He sat down on the rack, and I leaned against his shoulders, relishing the warmth of his skin against mine.

  "That was amazing," I whispered. “Is this truly what it is like? This is not what the women in the village described to me-”

  "We can do this again and again," Ulrich murmured against my hair. "Every day we can bring each other to new heights of pleasure in this room, and no one outside can stop us or hurt us."

  "I don't understand," I whispered. "Why are you doing this? Why have you chosen me?"

  “It’s strange,” he whispered back. “I don’t feel as if I have a choice at all. I can’t explain it, Ada, but I feel … drawn to you. I feel as if I could lock us together in this room for the rest of our lives and still not feel satisfied.”

  “How did you make my body feel so… I mean, how did you know these machines could do such things to me?”

  "The life of a witch hunter is a lonely one," he said, pulling away slightly so he could see me. His brown eyes bore into mine. "I am an outcast, forced to live apart from others for the crimes I commit against human bodies. When you are kept apart from all the normal and good things in life, your mind ventures into dark places and seeks comfort and release in depravity. From a young age I’ve been privy to my father’s cruelty, in his dungeon I’ve seen beautiful women trussed up, whipped and poked and subjected to all kinds of humiliations. And although these acts abhor me, there is something also that draws me to the darkness -some seductive force. I love the feel of the whip in my hand, but only if the woman I wield it on is begging for me to take her.”

  “How many women …” I asked, not sure I wanted to hear the answer.

  “Several. Too many to name. Ever since I knew what sex was, I have always been a man of … unique tastes, and I soon realised that with a few modifications, these instruments of torture could become instruments of pleasure. So I have created my own instruments; devices that inflict pain, yes, but pain that also brings escape. I did not give this escape to all of the women who passed through here. Most I just kept in the cells until we could help them escape. But there have been a few who appreciated what I have been able to offer."

  "And you have truly never hurt a woman?" I could hardly dare to hope that this man who set my body on fire was truly innocent of the one crime that stood between us.

  I wanted so badly for him to say yes, that when he turned his head away, tears flowed down my cheeks.

  "I cannot claim thus," he said, softly, not meeting my gaze. "For there was one woman, when I was a teenager and still worked under my father. She was an elder in my village, much respected and feared by many of the men. There was a matter put forth to the council, a dispute over land that two men claimed to own. One of those men was my father. This woman spoke on the side of the other man, who was her brother, and she gave evidence so persuasively of her brother’s rightful ownership of the land that she turned the vote in his favour. My father, who truly believed he had been cheated of his property, got it into his head that she must be a witch, and I–" Ulrich paused.

  "Please," I whispered. "I must know."

  "He knew that he couldn’t accuse her of witchcraft while his case was at the assizes, it would look too suspicious. So he asked me to follow her to her home, to discover something that he might use against her, or to persuade her to change her story. He said I was to use any means necessary to obtain what he needed. He was my father, and I could not disobey him. So I went.

  "When I arrived at her house, she sat out in the garden under the moonlight, as though she waited for me. As though she knew I would come. I approached her, and drew out my sword. 'I do not want to hurt you,' I said. 'But I have come on behalf of my father. He will have your land.'"

  "'So you acknowledge then, that it is our land,' she replied, ‘Is it not interesting that even the witch hunter’s own son doubts him?"

  "I stepped closer, and raised up my sword. ‘If you would but change your story,' I said. 'Tell the bailiff that you spoke without knowing all of the facts, that the boundary stones had been moved before my father purchased his farm. I'll make sure no harm comes to you from our family.'

  "'Are you asking me to trust you, who has come to my house wielding a sword?' She narrowed her eyes at me. 'You'll need to do what you came here for, boy, then be on your way."

  "And because I was a coward, and I did not want my father to beat me, and she was staring at me with such calm eyes, I sliced her hand off."

  I winced in his arms. "That's awful."

  Ulrich sighed, his eyes dark. "Yes. It is. As I left, she was screaming at me, clutching her bleeding wound. I went straight to my father and told him what I'd done. He was very proud of me, but I felt awful. Her screams haunted my nightmares that night. The next day, we returned to court, my father confident in his victory, and …" his voice trailed off, his eyes clouding over, as if he'd forgotten I was there.

  "What happened next?"

  Ulrich cleared his throat. "There she was, standing with her brother on the other side of the courthouse. She saw me and smiled. Then she raised her arm and waved at me. She waved at me with the hand I'd cut off."

  "You mean she–"

  He nodded. "It was as if I'd done nothing to her. But I'd felt my sword slice through her skin, severing her hand. I don't know how she did it, but there she was, waving at me and wriggling her fingers where there should have only been a bloody stump. Her brother won the court case, and my father beat me viciously for lying to him. From that day onward, I knew it was a sign from the gods that a woman could be a powerful and formidable foe, so it is best to keep them on your side."

  "You didn't answer my question." I said. "Why me? Why did you choose me?"

  Ulrich swung me around so that we faced each other. I noticed a pool of tears gathering in the corners of his eyes. His voice wavered when he spoke. "Beau
tiful Ada. You are special. I knew it from the moment I saw you in the grove. I have never met someone like you before, and never felt this way about any woman before. I cannot bear the thought of never seeing you again."

  "We met only briefly. How can your feelings be so strong?" And yet, I knew how, for my feelings for him were even stronger. I wanted nothing in the world but to remain in his embrace.

  "It was enough for me," he said. "You have enchanted me, Ada. I am at your mercy."

  "But Ulrich, you know that I am … what they say I am. Can you be true to the vows you have taken and also be with a witch?"

  His brown eyes met mine again, and I trembled. I couldn't read his expression. Had I said too much? Did he realise what I was?

  "I don’t believe in witches.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “Witches don’t exist. If they do, I have never met one, not in hundreds of trials. Not even the woman whose hand I cut off. That was some kind of trick.”

  “But, you’re a witch hunter. You’ve watched your father convict hundreds of witches.” How could he not believe in magic? That was like not believing in wind. Just because it couldn’t be seen, didn’t mean its force wasn’t everywhere. How could he be a witch hunter and not believe in witches?

  “I have, and I’ve heard hundreds of cases myself, not a single one based on real, empirical evidence. Never once have I seen a woman shapeshift or turn into fire or command the elements. What I have seen is frightened farmers, petty housewives and jealous neighbours using the courts to get their own ends. It’s exactly what they’re doing to you, Ada - you are the scapegoat for their fear, because it’s easier to burn a woman at the stake than to believe God has sent this terrible pestilence.”

  “But … folk have been using magic for centuries to heal the sick and divine the weather-”

  Ulrich shook his head. “Witchcraft is but a folk superstition, a forgotten remnant of the ages of darkness, where man walked in ignorance and was blind to the truth.”

  “It’s not, though. Witchcraft is as real as the trees and the earth. I know. I am a witch.” As soon as I said it, I wished I could take it back.

  He laughed deeply, his whole body rippling with mirth. I sat back, stunned, not certain what to do next.

  Ulrich saw my expression, and his laughter cut short. “You are serious?”

  I nodded.

  “You shapeshift, and speak the language of snakes and black cats, and copulate with demons beneath the full moon?”

  I felt my cheeks redden. “No. That much is nonsense. But I come from a long line of magic workers.”

  “You work magic and cast spells?”

  I nodded, my chest tightening with fear.

  “Prove it.”

  I hesitated. I’d never even spoken about magic with someone outside of my family before, let alone tried to work a spell. The only spell I’d cast that had ever actually worked was the one that brought Ulrich to the grove. Ulrich leaned forward, his mouth a stern line.

  “I’ll try.” I said, hesitating. “I’m actually pretty bad with spells. I once tried to fill up the well using a water spell, and instead, I tripped and fell into a large puddle…“

  “That sounds like a tall tale to me,” Ulrich laughed again, but his laugh sounded a little forced. “Go on, if you’re a witch, prove it.”

  He wasn’t going to take no for an answer. Nervously, I grabbed a candle from the edge of the rack, and held it up in front of me. The flame had gone out some time ago, and the wax near the wick had hardened once more. I stared at the cold wick, feeling stupid. I’d once spent hours sitting on the floor of our cabin, staring into the cold fireplace, trying to move the energies and create a flame. All I managed to do was make smoke come off the end of my fingers.

  But now, with Ulrich’s touch still lingering on my body and a new boldness in my spirit, I felt that maybe I could do it. I focused my gaze on the flame, trying to block out my surroundings. I pushed aside my trepidation, and instead remembered the euphoric feeling I’d had in the grove, when the Goddess had come to me. I closed my eyes, and constructed the candle in my mind, casting my thoughts outward, grabbing the hidden energy of the Goddess from the air. Wilful fire, I commanded the flame, Come to life! My body hummed with energy, and I could feel heat running up through my limbs, like a waterfall flowing upward.

  I pushed with my mind, forcing the energy out of me, down my arm, and up through my fingers into the wax. My eyes flew open, and I saw a tiny flame leap from the wick, the orange droplet flickering in the dim light of the chamber.

  At first, staring at that flickering light, I felt triumphant. I did it! I can really do magic now! Wait until Aunt Bernadine sees this. But then I noticed Ulrich's face, the darkness that clouded his features.

  Ulrich dropped my hand.

  “It’s true?” he whispered, stumbling backward.

  I nodded, fear clenching in my stomach once more.

  “But if you’re a witch …” Ulrich took another step back. “Then why did you seek me out in the grove? Why would you not hide yourself from someone so dangerous?”

  “I … I didn’t know what you were …”

  “And what about the way I feel? This heavy feeling that sits inside me, like a lead weight rolling around in my stomach? The way my chest tightens when I’m around you, as if it’s being pressed in a vice. Is that witchcraft?”

  “Ulrich, I …“

  “No. That can’t be true. Not even a witches' magic could cause such intense desire," he said, but his voice sounded unsure. "Ada, now that I've met you, I can't imagine my life without you. That's my heart talking, not your magic, isn't it?"

  When I didn't reply, he shook my shoulder roughly. This time, when he spoke, his voice was sharp. "Isn't it?"

  "I don't know," I confessed. "I have never been a particularly successful witch. Most of my spells have been utter failures, so I do not know exactly what affect a love spell has on a man. When you came to the grove, I was so surprised to see you, and so happy that I would be able to fulfil my duty to my family, that I never completed the ritual. Ulrich, what –"

  Ulrich cupped my chin between his fingers, holding my face close to his. "Do you mean to tell me you summoned me to the grove? That this is some kind of spell? An enchantment?"

  I gulped. "Not … exactly."

  His eyes narrowed. "How have you enchanted me?"

  "I- I- I- was in the grove that day performing a rite. It required me to sleep with a man, and I had no luck finding someone willing in the village–" I laughed bitterly, remembering my attempts to seduce Simon. "–so I went to the grove to ask the Goddess for help, and you–"

  Ulrich let out a growl from deep in his throat. His grip on my shoulder tightened. "So everything that I feel for you … is part of a spell?"

  "No, no! That's not what I'm saying at all. The spell I cast doesn't work like that–"

  "So you admit, you cast a spell on me?"

  "Ulrich, you're hurting me."

  Ulrich’s hand on my shoulder was as hard as iron. He wrenched me up. "I was a fool," he growled. "All this time, my father was right. Witches do exist, and they have powers even more dangerous than the church realises. The power to corrupt the minds of men, to bend them to their will."

  "Ulrich, please–"

  He let out a roar, his voice hoarse with rage and pain. He lunged at me, grabbing my body and tossing me over his shoulder. I screamed, and tried to grab a hold of the rack, to stop him from dragging me away, but he moved too fast, practically sprinting from the room. I kicked and punched, screaming at him to release me, but my weak, flailing fists barely grazed his broad shoulders. Without a word to me Ulrich carried me down a winding flight of stone steps to the dungeons. Ulrich pulled open an iron door and tossed me inside.

  "Stay there and rot, witch." he hissed, and stomped away.

  "Ulrich, please listen!" I tried to reach through the bars and grab him, but he growled again, and stomped on my hand. I cried out as he twisted h
is heel on my fingers, grinding them into the stones. Tears welled in my eyes. Ulrich strode away down the passage. He did not look back.

  I clutched my injured hand, tears streaming down my cheeks. My whole body ached from my bruises and cuts and from being tied up for so long. What had happened? My time in the dungeon had been amazing, incredible, beyond anything I could imagine. There seemed to be some kind of deep energy that passed through us whenever we were together – I could feel it sizzling between our bodies. And yet, one little mistake, and I had ruined everything.

  Ulrich had truly, honestly not believed that witches existed. And one tiny flame had completely changed his worldview. Now he had to face the fact that his evil father was right all along. No wonder Ulrich hated me. And since he held the key to my salvation, I was now doomed to die a horrible, painful death.

  I lay my cheeks against the cold stone floor, holding my hand to my face and watching the bruises form on my fingers. The tears came thick and fast, and I howled as I mourned the loss of my family, my life, and the man I could be in love with.

  Ulrich

  I ascended the jail steps two at a time, desperate to escape that cold place, although what I really wanted to do was escape the truth that had just been revealed to me. Ada’s voice pleaded with me over my shoulder, but I closed my ears. My chest felt as if someone were squeezing it in a vice, the muscles clenched tight, never to move again.

  Ada is a witch.

  A real witch. She even freely admitted it, as if it were an honorific title, like Lord or Lady or Master. I’d had many women in my chamber before, all of them quaking with fear at the sight of the torture devices, but not a single one had ever admitted to being a witch.

  Of course, it would be Ada, the only woman I’d ever met who made me feel like I didn’t want to be alone. Of course she would be a witch, and she would do something as unnatural as create fire from thin air.