by Donna Grant
Jarin used his staff to help him get to his feet. He stood beside her. “Is the light close?”
“Aye.”
“Then I know where they’re at,” he said with a sigh.
Leoma cut her eyes to him. “A Witch’s Grove?”
“Worse.”
“Worse?” she repeated, trepidation gnawing at her.
A shadow of unease ran over the warlock’s face. “It is their Temple.”
“A structure?”
“Not as you would imagine. This place is where witches are initiated, where the council gathers to send out their wishes to the others. It’s a place where wills are broken, and unholy alliances are made.”
She held back a shudder—barely. “It sounds like a place I’d rather not go.”
“I don’t even want to go there,” Jarin said. “The Coven will have the advantage. It’s their consecrated ground.”
“You’re not making me feel any better about going in there.”
He shot her a crooked grin. “But think of the entrance we can make.”
Despite the dire situation, Leoma found herself smiling. It faded as she looked back at the crimson light Braith was shining for her. She never expected to live to a ripe old age, not while hunting witches. And if she were going to die for what she believed in, then dying not just to save those she cared about, but also for love was a good way to go.
“Shall we?” she asked Jarin.
The warlock smiled. “Oh, aye.”
They moved through the trees like ghosts. They made no sound, left no sign of their presence. She led the way, her gaze locked on the light shining straight up into the sky.
The closer she got to it, the more the forest changed around them. The leaves were beginning to change colors, indicating that the trees were alive, but they seemed lifeless. As if they were merely enduring each day with their heads down.
And just like a Witch’s Grove, Leoma knew the instant she crossed the threshold into this Temple, as Jarin called it. Her heart hammered against her ribs, her breaths coming quick and hard.
There was no time for pain or discomfort, no time for rest or repose. Her mind was focused on Braith and the upcoming battle. She would need all her wits about her. Every morsel of training ever given to her would need to be at the ready.
Without a doubt, the witches would outnumber them. Not only did her foe have the advantage of the terrain, but also numbers. Any commander would know the disadvantage and withdraw from combat to face the enemy on another day.
But she didn’t have that luxury.
Death might await her. For all she knew, Braith had already been killed, but that didn’t matter. She was still going to the Temple to fight. Because it’s what she did.
It’s what Braith would do.
She pushed aside those emotions and any others that made her forlorn. There was no room for such feelings in battle. There was blood, and there was death.
There were losers.
And there were victors.
She slid to a halt when she came to a barricade of trees that seemed to reach far into the sky. The trunks had grown together like a wall, the limbs tangled like a maze.
“I’ve never seen this before,” she whispered.
Jarin was breathing heavily as he looked unhappily at the trees. “We’re here.”
“How do we get in?”
The warlock began to climb the tree. Leoma rolled her eyes. He could have just said that. She threw her cloak over her shoulders and started after Jarin.
Soon, they were ducking and crawling through branches, moving ever inward toward the light. The woods seemed to go on and on, their interlocking canopy never wavering.
“I see a red light,” Jarin whispered from up ahead of her.
She crawled faster before grabbing hold of a branch and using it to jump. Leoma landed on a thick limb beside Jarin. She knelt and peered through the boughs to see a man on one knee before a sword.
Braith.
“The promise I asked you to make me before we fought Eleanor still stands,” Leoma said as she looked at Jarin.
The warlock glanced at her. “This battle will only have two outcomes. Either we both die, or we win.”
“I prefer to win.”
Jarin’s smile was slow. “Me, too.”
Chapter 31
He knew the moment Leoma reached him. Braith opened his eyes and looked at the skull. The ancient witch had given him the ability to sense when Leoma was near. If the Blood Skull had such potent magic as a relic, he couldn’t imagine what the witch had been like while alive.
But it wasn’t just knowledge of Leoma that the Blood Skull gave him.
He got to his feet and pulled his sword from the now dry ground. The blood that had run so freely while drenching the ground was gone, but the magic had been absorbed into the steel of his weapon.
Finally, he had a blade that could kill witches. And his sword couldn’t wait to bring retribution to the Coven.
Braith turned his head toward Leoma. He didn’t see her among the dense branches, but he didn’t need to. He also detected another with her. Most likely the man who’d wanted to battle Eleanor at the cavern.
“Not yet,” he whispered to Leoma.
It wasn’t time for her to reveal herself. Not until the others arrived. Even though the skull had shown him a glimpse of what was to come, Braith still fought not to go to Leoma.
He wanted one last chance to hold her, kiss her. To feel her body against his. To open his heart and allow himself to think of a future with her by his side. It was the one dream he’d never allowed himself to consider through all his years of war. Then Leoma had unexpectedly come into his life and turned it upside down.
Leoma. His beautiful warrior.
He turned his back to her lest he forget everything the skull had shown him. He was a battle-hardened knight, a man born of blood. A killer, who offered death to all.
The hilt of his sword warmed—a warning from the Blood Skull. It hadn’t spoken to him since the cavern, but the witch communicated in other ways. It was because of her that he had a distinct advantage over the Coven. That advantage was what would save Leoma.
He set the tip of his sword on the ground and rested both hands on the pommel. His gaze was directed in front of him to where the trees began to moan, and the ground vibrated. A great yawning divide opened in the woods as the trees leaned away from each other and a path was revealed.
Mist rolled over the pathway like the breath of a great beast. It billowed out once it reached the vast circular area he stood in. The fog remained along the edge, wrapping around the base of the trees and waiting.
Braith knew what it was like to be in the mist. He recalled how alive it felt, how it had wanted to hurt him. Just as it did now. But it was controlled by masters who kept a tight leash on it, at least for the moment.
His attention moved to the figures that formed out of the cloying whiteness on the path. The delight he saw on the witches’ faces reminded him of his enemies across the battlefield. He had defeated those foes.
And he would annihilate these.
Five witches took positions around the area. He ignored them since his true targets had yet to show themselves. Braith kept his gaze on the path as an eerie hush fell over the area.
The woods had been quiet before, but this was different. This was a precursor to evil.
He tightened his grip on his sword. Heat flashed on his palms from the metal pommel an instant before he felt breath on his neck.
“A gift,” a woman purred behind him.
Out of the corner of his eye, he saw fingers unfurl with long nails that were black in color. The nails, filed to points, grazed his face.
He remained calm as another whispered in a singsong voice in his other ear. “Such a handsome gift.”
With both witches stroking his face and neck, Braith remained still and calm. The storm had yet to arrive.
Leoma was still reeling from hearing Braith tell her tha
t it wasn’t time yet. As if he had known she was about to go to him.
She hadn’t been the only one to hear it either. Jarin hadn’t questioned it, merely grabbed her arm to stop her from moving.
“Wait,” Jarin urged.
She looked Braith over and saw that he hadn’t sustained any injuries. In fact, he looked healthy. But there was something different about him. She couldn’t pinpoint what it was. Yet.
“What’s he doing?” she asked when Braith put his back to them and rested his sword tip on the ground.
Jarin unfastened his cloak and let it fall from his shoulders. “There’s no sign of Eleanor.”
“I’m glad of that.”
“Aye. But an elder only comes to the Temple when they’re all to meet.”
Leoma jerked her gaze to the warlock. “Are you telling me the rest of the council will be here?”
He nodded his head slowly.
Dread filled her as she returned her eyes to Braith. “He’ll never survive. As good as he is, he doesn’t have a sword that can kill witches. And he’s too far away from me.”
“He has the Blood Skull.”
She frowned as her head swiveled to him. “That the council wants.”
“Leoma, any bones from the first witch are powerful. But the skull is twice as strong. There’s a possibility that the Blood Skull chose him.”
“For what?” she demanded.
Jarin shrugged and shook his head. “I could not even begin to imagine. One of the Varroki long ago used to tell stories about how if the Blood Skull were found, she could choose a Warden.”
“Is this Blood Skull good or evil?”
The warlock glanced at Braith and the skull that lay on the ground. “There are varying stories of the first witch. Some say she was good. Others, evil. Still others say she was a mix of both.”
“This isn’t making me feel any better about this scenario.”
Their conversation halted at the loud groaning that came from across the space. Leoma watched in wonder as the trees bent away and mist came pouring in.
Jarin held out his hand and whispered something as the mist reached them and began to climb up the tree toward them. Whatever the warlock said halted the mist.
She began to thank him, but Jarin put his fingers to his lips then pointed toward Braith. Leoma unhooked her cloak and turned her head as witches filed out of the path opened by the trees. There were five in all stationed along the edges of the forest.
Leoma sucked in a breath when a witch suddenly appeared behind Braith. She had long, red hair that fell past her hips. No sooner had the witch materialized than a second joined her. This one had blond curls that hung down the middle of her back.
“Elders,” Jarin whispered.
She frowned and glanced at him. The witches weren’t aged as Eleanor was. These women were young and vibrant and beautiful.
He leaned close and said, “Each elder uses their magic in different ways. Trust me. They are the council.”
“How do you know?”
“Look how the others bow their heads.”
Leoma let her gaze roam around each of the other five witches. “We’re missing two elders.”
Jarin exhaled, his expression flat as he returned his gaze to the others.
Restlessness settled over Leoma. Everything inside told her to withdraw her sword and jump into the fray. But she held back, waiting for the right moment, even though it went against every instinct she had.
“Ladies,” a husky voice said. It filled the area and sounded as if the women were standing right next to Leoma.
That’s when she spied mist gathering together at the pathway and swirling faster and faster as it grew taller. The mist fell away to reveal a woman cloaked in black.
Braith stared at the new arrival as she reached up and grasped the hood of the cloak with both hands and drew it back over her inky black hair. Her beauty was almost impossible to look at for more than a few moments at a time.
She smiled and came to stand a few feet in front of him with the skull between them, her black eyes locked on his face. “I’m Angmar. That is Matilda and Catherine behind you.”
He didn’t bother with a reply.
Angmar’s lips curved into a smile. “I sense no fear in you. At least, not about us.”
Matilda ran her long nails against his cheek again. “I want a taste of him.”
Catherine leaned close and inhaled as she ran her nose up his neck. “I smell desire.” The smile in her voice died when she added, “For someone else.”
Angmar raised a thin, black brow. “Eleanor vowed she would deliver the Blood Skull. However, I wasn’t expecting to find you along with it.”
“Eleanor couldn’t touch the skull,” Braith stated.
Angmar’s head cocked to the side at hearing that. Then she squatted before the skull and studied it. “There is no blood.”
“There was.”
The witch’s dark eyes jerked to him. “Why did it stop?”
“You’d have to ask it.”
Beside him, Catherine laughed. “It’s a relic. It cannot talk.”
“It has power,” Angmar said with her hand hovering over the skull. “That means it could talk. To the right person.”
Braith waited for the witch to touch the skull, but she lowered her hand to her side and stood instead. Angmar must be the leader of the council. Already, she showed she was smarter than Eleanor.
Angmar moved to him. As she drew near, the other two moved away. Angmar put her hand on his arm as she walked around his back to his other side, her fingers trailing over his shoulders and back. “You brought the Blood Skull here.”
“You know I did.”
“Where is Eleanor?”
Braith shrugged as he looked at her. “You’d have to ask the skull.”
“I would know if Eleanor was dead. I’d feel it.”
He leaned to the side, putting his face close to hers and said, “You should’ve left the skull alone.”
Angmar parted her lips to reply when she and the other two elders gasped. Angmar’s black eyes widened as she whispered Eleanor’s name.
There was a strangled cry that rose up from the ground before it was cut off. A shockwave blasted outward and knocked everyone down but Braith, the force originating from the skull.
His eyes were locked on Angmar. The witch wore hatred and fury like the wings of reckoning. She climbed to her feet, joined by Catherine and Matilda on either side of her.
“You killed Eleanor,” Catherine declared.
Braith smiled. “Actually, I didn’t. But I do plan on killing you.”
Matilda started laughing. She pointed to him and asked, “With what? We’re witches, you imbecile. We cannot be killed.”
“You will feel the full force of the Coven’s wrath,” Angmar stated as she raised her hands above her head.
Braith grasped his sword and spun around, lifting the weapon to block the magic directed at him. He smiled at Angmar when his blade halted the spell directed at him. “You should’ve left the Blood Skull in peace. Now, you will pay.”
The scream of the witches deafened Braith as he swung his sword toward Angmar. The witch sucked in her stomach as she curved her back. He watched in slow motion as his blade cut into her black gown but missed her.
Chapter 32
The time had come. Leoma leapt from the trees, tucking her body into a roll to land with bent knees. She straightened as she unsheathed her sword and spun to face one of the five lesser witches that came at her.
She swung her blade, but the witch was quick and ducked before coming up with a hand on Leoma’s back with an added punch of magic. Leoma gritted her teeth against the pain and tried to keep her feet, but her knee buckled.
A pair of boots suddenly landed beside her. She saw the end of the staff slam into the ground. A moment later, the witch screamed and burst into flames.
Leoma jumped to her feet and gave a nod of thanks to Jarin before turning to the next attack.
She wanted to get to Braith since he was alone with the three elders, but the other four witches came straight for her and Jarin.
She heard a witch running up behind her. Leoma reared back and slammed her elbow into the witch’s face. Leoma then ducked when the second witch sent magic toward her. The blast slammed into the first witch, who convulsed and fell to the ground as her skin began to burn.
“I’ll kill you for that!” the second woman screamed. “She was my sister!”
Leoma jerked up her sword to shield herself when she saw the ball of orange flames come at her. She batted the first one away, but the second grazed her right thigh. The sting of the magic was instantaneous, but she couldn’t let it stop her. Not now, not when they could end the Coven once and for all.
She heard a bellow and glanced over to see Braith impale the blonde elder on his sword and lift her over his head. He tossed her away, her body burning by the time it hit the ground.
Shock reverberated through Leoma. Somehow, Braith’s sword had been spelled—and the only one who could’ve done that was the Blood Skull.
“Leoma!”
Jarin’s yell reminded her that she was in the midst of battle. She turned, but the witch was already upon her. Leoma grabbed the flat side of her blade with her other hand and held it before her as the witch slammed her back against a tree.
Flames licked perilously close to her face. She smelled burning hair and knew it was hers. Only her sword stopped the witch—but it wouldn’t halt the magic.
Leoma peeled back her lips and pushed against the witch with all her might while the woman smiled in triumph. Sweat dropped from Leoma’s face as the heat of the fire singed her. If she remained, she would burn.
She jerked up her knee, ramming it into the witch’s stomach. At the same time, she shoved the woman to the side and dove away. When she got to her feet, the tree she had been held against was burning.
Leoma ran to the witch as she got to her feet and plunged her sword into her stomach. The witch’s eyes widened as the magic she had been casting in her hands faded with her life.
Leoma kicked the witch off her blade and looked over to find Jarin putting out the fire on the tree with his staff. She spotted the two witches he had been fighting burning, as well.