by Arial Burnz
Snap!
Broderick stalled, drawing his silver-plated Damascus steel, his eyes darting around the shadows. A breeze rustled through the trees, blowing a faintly familiar, acrid and musty odor over his face. He narrowed his eyes. A low growl rumbled behind him and Rick had just enough time to whirl around, swinging his blade in a wide arc. A yelp, very much like a dog’s, echoed through the air. The giant wolfman’s yellow eyes gleamed. Its hulking shadow, standing on its hind legs, rose at least a foot taller than Broderick. Those yellow eyes dipped and bobbed in the darkness as the beast came bounding toward him. Broderick side-stepped the snarling animal, slashing deep along its side. Half-growling, half-whining, the werewolf limped backward, blood flowing from its brown pelt, salted with gray. Broderick took one step forward, to pounce on the animal for the final kill, but thought better of it. The poor, dumb creature was acting on instinct. What little information he’d learned of werewolves from his Vamsyrian friend Laurent said they never remembered the bloody deeds they enacted in animal form. Though they had longer lives than a mortal and healed almost as quickly as a Vamsyrian, they weren’t immortal and they didn’t choose this life. Once bitten, they were cursed.
“Go on,” Broderick snapped.
The werewolf retreated into the forest and Broderick cleaned his blade before sheathing it and shaking his head.
He traversed deeper into the woods continuing to survey the area—in the opposite direction the werewolf had vanished—and wished he’d had the chance to ask Malloren what wolfsbane looked like. He was definitely going to need it. The werewolf may not recover from the silver blade as quickly as regular steel, so that bought him some time, but he would still be vulnerable while he slept. Luckily werewolves couldn’t change form during the day.
Peering through the trees above, he tried to view the moon but the sky was overcast. The night was indeed coming to a close. The pinkening sky on the horizon confirmed his estimations. Rick picked up his pace to beat the coming dawn and headed back toward the dock in Vollstadt.
* * * * *
Monika feathered her fingers over the deliciously perfect contours of his abdomen, her index finger tracing the soft trail of hair that disappeared into the waistline of his breeches. Easing her fingertips just under the material, she slid them along his waistband, touching the head of his erect cock.
He groaned and his lips brushed her temple. “Blossom.” His husky whisper sent tremors through her breasts and down to flutter in her stomach.
With eager hands, she stripped him of his pants, nibbling back up his body, along the corded muscles of his thigh, brushing her peaked nipples over his rock-hard staff. She smiled when he shivered and grunted.
“Och, woman!” he complained. “Ye’ll be the death of me.”
Giggling, she continued her torturous ascent, grazing her lips over his stomach but diverting her path to his side. As she licked and teased the succulent cut of muscle just above his hip, she straddled his thigh and pressed her mons against his searing flesh.
A rumbling moan vibrated from his chest under her palm resting over his heart. “You’re so wet,” he whispered.
She gasped when he grabbed her wrist and pulled her up to seize her mouth with his, muffling her laughter. He rolled her beneath him, his thick shaft stroking along her cleft as their tongues danced. The taste of this man, the scent of his skin and his breath, was a tonic to her soul. Musky. Spicy lavender. Heavenly.
She seized his erection and guided him to her swollen entrance , where he glided inside, both of them moaning a chorus of mutual satisfaction.
“Eternally yours,” he whispered, his sentiment thick with passion.
“Together forever,” she responded.
“Little treasure.”
Monika Konrads squeezed her eyes against the invasion. She waved away whatever incessantly pinched her shoulder, but to no avail. She had been roused from her decadent dreams and could not ignore the intrusion.
“Come, Monika,” her grandmother Wilhelmina coaxed, pinching the flesh of her thigh. “I must make haste, child.”
Monika rubbed her eyes and reluctantly pushed herself into a seated position. “Yes, Oma. I’m awake.”
Her grandmother rustled around their tiny cottage bedroom, gathering her basket of herbs and medicinal items. Someone must have sent for her. “Who is it?”
“A farming accident in Nordenham.” Mina glanced at her, and snapped her gaze to the shelves where they stored tinctures.
Monika narrowed her eyes. “You look very tired, Oma. I thought I heard you up in the middle of the night.”
Mina she rifled through some sachets. “I was restless. I could not sleep.”
Monika nodded. Being a Luft Hexe—an Air Witch—her grandmother had the knowing about such things and, based on her agitation, something was wrong closer to home. This was about family. “It’s Papa, isn’t it? I want to go with you.”
Mina shook her head vigorously. “No. You are needed here. Herr Fischer’s wife will birth her babe any day now.”
Monika nodded, and fought the tears stinging her eyes. “Why can’t I see him?”
Mina sat beside Monika on the bed and held her hand. “You know he doesn’t want you to see him like this.”
She nodded and bowed her head. “Tell him I love him.”
“He knows, child. But I will tell him. He’ll return after the cycle as he always does.” She patted her granddaughter’s knee and rose to finish gathering her supplies.
Well, with Oma and Papa gone, at least I can finally do my ritual.
Mina whirled and raised a silver eyebrow. “You will be fine, eh?”
Monika rubbed her face, praying her grandmother wouldn’t—just this once—be so observant. Yawning, she stretched and tugged at her bed gown’s neckline falling off her shoulder. “Yes, I will be fine.”
Her grandmother looked askance, suspicion in her youthful-looking eyes amongst her wrinkles. “Behave, child. I know that glimmer in your sapphire eyes. Stay out of mischief.”
Monika grinned and her cheeks warmed. “Now why would I do a thing like that?”
A raspy chuckle flittered from Mina and she patted her granddaughter’s cheek. “Sprite.” Donning her shawl, she kissed Monika on the brow. “I should return within the week, but I am not certain how badly he is injured. I may be longer.”
“I understand.” She hugged her grandmother. “Be well, Oma. Love and light be with you.”
“And you, my child.” Bustling out of the room, Mina whisked through the cottage and Monika escorted her out the door. Her grandmother’s hunched figure scuffled across the courtyard, past the well and little bench, a rustling breeze following in her wake. Still in her bed gown, Monika peered around the door for modesty sake as Mina approached Helmut’s shop on the opposite side of the platz. The blacksmith nodded and hung his apron on a peg, then waved to Monika. She waved back. Their old friend never failed to accompany her or her grandmother to any of the surrounding towns when someone needed the aid of a healer. Mina was, after all, the one who delivered him from his mother’s womb…as she did almost everyone in this town.
Easing the door closed, Monika paused with her palms against the wood and sighed. She clasped her hands under her chin and fought to contain her excitement. For months, her nights were filled with sensuous dreams of a dark lover. His deep Scottish brogue whispered words of endearment that moved her soul. Ah, to find a love like that…so passionate, so fierce, so complete and consuming. “A love worth dying for,” she breathed.
She stripped her night clothes over her head and scurried to the bedroom to complete her ablutions. Donning her chemise, skirt and bodice, she laced her bust tight, then braided her long, brown hair and tied a kerchief over her head. She hurried through breakfast, warming some bread by the hearth, eating it with smoked fish and washing it down with some small beer. Once the table was cleared, she bustled around the cottage, performing her morning chores and duties—gathering herbs from the small rear gar
den they cultivated in the fenced space of their meager property; replacing the rushes on the floor; dusting the jars of tinctures, herbs and remedies on the many shelves in the front common area where the table, chairs and hearth dominated the space. Monika hauled a few jugs of water from the well and dumped them into the barrel by the hearth. Then she visited her pregnant friend, Irma Fischer, to help her with the chores at her father-in-law’s dairy. Once finished, she returned home, with fresh cream, milk and a small portion of the butter she helped Irma churn. She grinned, finally done with her daily responsibilities, and set about to perform her exciting errand.
Monika gathered the supplies she needed for her ritual and, basket heavy with her wares, grabbed three woolen blankets and slung them over her shoulder. She placed a quivering hand upon the latch at the door and paused. Sex magick was a powerful force, but what scared her more than anything was performing it in the open. I can do this. Think of him. Breathing deep, she imagined his large hands cupping her breasts, his thumbs brushing her nipples until they peaked. A delightful shiver rippled up her arms and shoulders to cascade over her breasts. A love worth dying for.
She left her cottage and trekked down the south road leading out of the village and into the forest. Trees towered overhead and a waving breeze rustled through the branches, raining a shower of brown leaves, tumbling, turning and spinning through the air. The nights were growing cooler. The days more overcast. Monika smiled. Autumn is coming. Her favorite season.
Hiking through the woods, she stayed away from any trails and roads, navigating deep into the forest where the trees were dense and difficult to see through. The kind of ritual she would perform needed privacy, so she traversed a great deal of ground to find the perfect spot. After what seemed like an hour of crunching through the brush, Monika approached and assessed a small clearing, no more than six or eight feet wide, a copse of thin-trunk trees so close, one couldn’t walk between them except through a small parting. It had to be an old faery ring, as no signs indicated the fae were still using it. This will do nicely and might even give me a little magickal boost. She grinned, fear and excitement bubbling within her belly.
Quickly, she gathered a bundle of long twigs and brushed the dried leaves to the edge of the clearing, exposing the bare dirt. She left one blanket near the center on the ground, and draped the other two spare blankets across the break in the trees—one where she’d entered at the north of the small clearing; the other to the southwest. She placed four candles around the clearing, one at each directional point—north, south, east and west. Collecting and arranged a few stones in a circle at the center, she then tossed within it the twigs and some dried leaves and knelt on the blanket. With a single strike of flint against steel, the kindling caught. As her grandmother was an Air Witch, Monika was born a Feuer Hexe—a Fire Witch. She started a modest fire, holding her shaky hands toward the tiny flames and coaxing them higher.
Concentration was crucial for her task. The mood and state of mind were important when using a sexual climax to focus intent. Her heart thundered in her chest as she glanced around the forest, certain strange eyes were upon her. I can’t very well do this so jittery! She inhaled deep and closed her eyes. Think of him.
He nuzzled her hair away from her ear, his hot breath sending waves of desire across her neck. She shuddered when his tongue drew her lobe between his teeth for a sensuous nibble. Monika pressed her breasts against his chest and sighed when he moaned, loving his response to her.
Yes. Her stomach fluttered with anticipation. Raising her hands above her head, palms to the sky, she imagined the light and love of the divine Father through the sun and sky pouring into her, winding down her spine and into Mother Earth below, grounding her to nature in this union. Sex was a natural act of all species, so tied directly to the energy of the earth. A peace settled over her heart and the corner of her mouth turned up in appreciation.
She grabbed a long twig, held the end over the fire until it caught and carried the flame to the north candle. Lighting it with her left hand, she concentrated her intentions and love into the wick and said, “I invoke the north and the element of earth to my purpose, asking for your love, light and protection.” The flames surged a few inches higher in response. With her right hand, she drew a pentacle in the air, the five-pointed star enclosed within a circle, in one continuous line. Walking deosil—clockwise—around the circle to the next point, she lit the candle and repeated the phrase and pentacle, addressing the east and the element of air. To south, she invoked the element of fire and the flame flared much higher in response to her own natural elemental state. Then to the west she invoked the element of water. Completing the circle back at the north, she continued deosil to stand before the center fire pit once more.
After spreading her blanket beside the warmth of the flames, Monika stripped her clothes from her body with trembling hands, folding them neatly and setting them aside. She glanced around the clearing self-consciously, her heart pounding within her ribcage. A subtle breeze moved through the trees, caressing her bare bottom and swirling around her waist and breasts, stressing her nakedness and giving her great pause. Oma can read the wind, but will this breeze reach her in Nordenham? She swallowed her apprehension, forcing herself to continue. When will I ever get another chance to do this? The sun was continuing its descent, the forest around her growing darker with shadows. Time was slipping from her.
She grabbed her basket and sat on the blanket where she laid her ingredients around her. Pouring a small portion of the rose water into her hand, she rubbed it into her skin. “Father God, Mother Earth, I come before you this day, asking for your blessing to find my soul mate, the one you intend especially for me.” She inhaled the heady rose fragrance. Corking the bottle, she set it aside and assembled the herbs, mortar and pestle. Into the mortar, she sprinkled the herbs, swirled and crushed the ingredients with the pestle. As she stirred and blended, she focused her intentions into the herbs based on their properties—bay leaves and elfwort to attract her soul mate; caraway seeds to increase lust in her and her intended; basil for love; lavender for undying love and devotion; yarrow everlasting love; and thyme for affection. She set the mortar down and cupped her hands over the bowl, using the heat of her body and the desires of her soul to infuse the herbs with her heart and her hopes. His lips claimed hers in a hungry kiss and she melted against his solid frame.
Scattering the blend of herbs over the small fire, she whispered, “As the fire burns and purifies these herbs, so my soul and heart are purified toward my goal. As the smoke rises to the heavens, so do my wishes and intentions. Bring to me, Mother and Father, the perfect man of my heart, the one you intend for me as my soul mate. So mote it be.”
After placing her mortar, pestle and herbs back into the basket, she set the basket aside and lay on her back. The fire flickered orange light against the trees framing the darkening sky. Her heart beat a rapid staccato in her breast and Monika inhaled deep, closing her eyes.
His tongue darted out to taste her lips and she opened her mouth, eager to feast on him. She swooned as his fingers laced through her hair to cradle the back of her head. His other hand slid, strong and possessive, to the small of her back, pulling her body against him, his tongue delving deep into her mouth.
Monika smoothed her hands over her belly, then feathered them over her ribs. She caressed her breasts, pinching her nipples until they peaked.
His mouth kissed a fiery path to her throat and down to her breasts where he sucked her nipple into his mouth and flicked one bud, and then the other, until they ached with need. Nibbling a wet and hungry trail down her belly, his erection brushing against her thigh as he moved lower, and he positioned his head between her legs. Nipping her hip, his teeth grazed the tender flesh, then his mouth hovered over her dark curls. Hot, moist breath wafted against her mons and she whimpered. With a groan, he parted her nether lips with his thumbs, exposing her to him.
She slipped her fingers between her legs, parting
her lips and swirling the slick wetness over her clitoris, and moaned.
Her dark lover fluttered his tongue over her sensitive bud, stroked along the length of her cleft, then returned to flick and suckle her clitoris. Long, sweet, sensuous strokes, then fast, torturous flicks over her nub.
Monika mimicked her dream lover’s tongue with her fingers, imagining his stubbled cheeks grazing her thighs, his mouth making love to her and her sex clenching in response. Stroking, fluttering, and thrusting, she crested and her thighs trembling as she continued to stroke her wet, hot folds, drawing out her climax…envisioning her release surging from between her legs, through her heart and pouring out into the universe, directly toward her soul mate.
Panting, Monika lay on her blanket and opened her eyes, gazing at the pink and purple streaks painted across the sky by the sunset. She smiled and drew her bottom lip between her teeth. Considering her purpose, even though she was a bit nervous about performing the sexual ritual due to its potency, it seemed the perfect approach to her desires.
She sat up and hugged herself, then glanced around her space in the woods, illuminated by the dying embers of the fire. Kneeling, she raised her hands to the sky. “Thank you, Mother and Father, for your blessings.” Taking the small jar of cream, she uncorked it and poured the white fluid into the earth, which greedily soaked up her offering. “Please accept this gift as my thanks.” She replaced the jar in her basket, stood and dressed, then pointed an open palm to the north, twirling widdershins—anticlockwise—and wiping her hand around the circle as she imagined the protective barrier around her space coming down. When she finished at the north, she held her arms up and whispered, “This circle is now broken and my intentions are sent forth with love and light. So mote it be.”
The crickets chirped around her. A breeze sighed through the trees, bringing the sweet apple-like scent of chamomile to greet her face with a loving caress. Peace warmed her heart and soul and she grinned. She had faith she would be blessed.