Dangerous Love (Moon Light Wolves Book 2)

by Jasmine B. Waters

Ligeia fell silent. For a moment, there was no sound other than their feet crunching dead leaves. Henrik escorted her back to her small hut, and Ligeia locked the door before building a raging fire in the hearth. When the flames were as high as her shoulders, she tossed a handful of rosemary and lavender into the fire. The fragrant smoke soothed her, pulling into a headspace of magic and tranquility.

  Ligeia took her looking glass from the mantle and held it close to her face. ‘Show me the girl,’ she thought as she stared into the glass. ‘Show her to me; make me see what Henrik sees.’

  The glass fogged and swirled, as if covered with mist. But after a few seconds, the mist cleared and a girl – perhaps four and ten at the oldest – appeared to Ligeia. In no physical way did she resemble Prudence Arrowsmith. Her hair was light brown, and her face was round, almost chubby. But her eyes belied the same evil fire, the same ‘godly’ drive that Ligeia had seen so obviously in her younger sister.

  The sight was shocking. Ligeia felt the strength drain from her body as she focused harder and harder, watching as the girl’s thoughts opened to her. She learned that the girl was attempting to expose one of her friends as a witch – one of her friends who surely had powers but was likely still unaware.

  Ligeia set the glass down and closed her eyes. She breathed in the fragrant smoke, summoning Henrik to her cabin. After only a few seconds, his face appeared in the fire.

  “She is dangerous,” Ligeia said. The flames flickered in her blue eyes as she spoke. “You must stop her. We must bring the girl she seeks to accuse here and give her warning.”

  Henrik chuckled. “I am pleased to see you’re taking this seriously,” he said, “because we could all be in grave danger. Grave danger, indeed.”

  “You must spirit her friend, Monica, away,” Ligeia said. Knowledge was blossoming in her mind with each passing second, and she felt her body weakening with the force of the ritual.

  Henrik chuckled again. “Aye. She will be frightened,” he said. “Just as you were, Ligeia.”

  “She will survive,” Ligeia said dryly. “But we must hurry.”

  Henrik dipped his head in a signal of respect. “Aye,” he said. “Worry not. She will be safe, and so will we all.”

  “May it pass,” Ligeia whispered into the dying fire, “may this danger pass swiftly.”

  ---

  A day later, Henrik brought the girl to Ligeia. She looked even younger than Ligeia had suspected, with fine, blonde hair layered around her face and big, brown eyes. Ligeia chuckled. This girl had evident strength about her that seemed to radiate off her body in waves.

  “Who…who are you?” The girl swallowed. “I want to go home!”

  “Soon,” Henrik promised. “This is Ligeia Arrowsmith. She is the mistress of the coven.”

  The girl gasped. “Not you, too,” she said. “This guy keeps trying to tell me that he’s a warlock!”

  Ligeia chuckled. “Aye,” she said. “That may well be because he is indeed a warlock, but that isn’t any of your concern right now.” She patted the stone bench. “Come, child. Sit.”

  The blonde girl stepped forward nervously. Ligeia could tell she was fighting the power.

  “I won’t hurt you,” Ligeia said. “You have to trust me.”

  “I don’t have to do anything,” the girl retorted.

  “Child, what is your name?”

  “Monica,” she said defensively. “Monica Boer.”

  “And tell me, Monica, have you not noticed anything strange, anything unusual, going on around town?”

  Monica stiffened. “How…how did you know?”

  Ligeia smiled serenely. “You don’t think we could just spirit you away, do you?” She laughed at the surprised look on Monica’s face. “Dear child, we were behind the activity.”

  “You murdered a bunch of my neighbor’s cattle,” Monica said angrily. “Why?”

  “We sacrificed them to ensure your protection,” Henrik corrected. “Someone you call a friend is out to hurt you, Monica. Someone very powerful. Someone reincarnated from your worst nightmare.”

  Monica shivered. Ligeia put a homespun cloak around her shoulders.

  “Child, do not be afraid,” Ligeia said softly. “I was like you once. Afraid and surrounded by people who called themselves godly. But they were not godly at all. They were cowards and prone to making false accusations.”

  “I don’t believe you,” Monica said. She began to cry, and Henrik and Ligeia exchanged an annoyed glance as the girl sobbed.

  “Andrea D’Amico is a powerful girl,” Ligeia said. “She is a descendant of my sister, Prudence Arrowsmith.”

  “That doesn’t mean anything to me,” Monica sobbed. “I wanna go home! I don’t care!”

  “Child! Cease this,” Henrik said sharply.

  Ligeia glared at him. “I promise, you are safe,” she said softly. “But you must listen to Henrik and myself. You can go home very soon – as soon as you understand.”

  “Understand what?”

  “You’re a witch, Monica,” Ligeia said softly. “You have very strong powers.”

  “Aye,” Henrik agreed. “And you may not have believed me, but you ought to listen to the mistress. She is wise, child. She knows.”

  “What happened to you?” Monica sniffed.

  “I was born to a Puritan family in England, but my family moved to Ipswich to seek their version of religious freedom,” Ligeia said. “The people in England were too worldly – too bold – and my father thought they were all damned. He thought we, too, would be damned if we stayed. So, we left.”

  Monica listened, obviously interested. Her tears dried up, and she pulled the cloak tightly around her shoulders.

  “My younger sister, Prudence, was born shortly before I had to leave home,” Ligeia said. “My parents gave me to a family in Salem, a wicked, rich family who sought to make me miserable. I escaped because of Henrik. He saved my life.”

  “That was hundreds of years ago,” Monica said slowly. She reached out to touch Ligeia’s shoulder, the cold tips of her fingers brushing Ligeia’s cloak.

  “Aye,” Ligeia said. “But the powerful do not age like normal humans, Monica. We do not shrivel and die – we can sustain ourselves for long past a normal human lifespan.”

  “My fanatical sister has been reborn as your friend, Andrea,” Ligeia said softly. “And unless you work with Henrik and myself, everything is at stake.”

  Monica shook her head. “That…that can’t be true,” she said slowly. “Andrea’s crazy, but she’s not that crazy. She wouldn’t, like, hurt anyone.”

  “Are you positive about that?” Ligeia stroked Monica’s back. “Can you not recall a time when you angered or frightened her?”

  Monica’s eyes glazed over, and after a few moments, she nodded.

  “The séance,” Monica said dimly. “It frightened Andrea so badly that she wouldn’t speak to me for months.”

  Ligeia nodded. “Andrea does not realize that witches are not evil,” she said slowly. “She is just like the Puritans of my time: hell-bent on destroying anyone who isn’t like her.”

  “But what if I talked to her?” Monica swallowed. “Isn’t there some way I could make her understand that she’s wrong? I don’t want to hurt her,” she said fearfully. “I mean, I don’t like her. But I don’t want anything bad to happen to her, either.”

  “Harm shall come to everyone unless you help,” Henrik said strongly. “You must accept your fate, Monica. You are one of us, and you will help us…or else everything you know, life as it stands, will change forever. Your town and your home and your family will all be destroyed if Andrea has her way.”

  Monica blinked. “I don’t believe it,” she said slowly. “I don’t believe anything that bad could happen.”

  “It is true,” Ligeia said. “Jaffrey will be the scene of the biggest witch hunt of all time unless you intervene. You must work with Henrik and myself.” She paused. “I could forc
e you, but it would be better if you agree.”

  Monica’s brown eyes shone with fear. “And what if I consent? What then?”

  “Then you get to go home,” Henrik said. “For a time. You will watch Andrea. You will observe her every move. You will ensure that she remains in the dark.”

  Monica looked frightened.

  “‘Tis for the best, child,” Ligeia said softly. “‘Tis what must be done.”

  As Henrik led a mute and dazed Monica back toward her home, Ligeia sat in front of the fire, contemplating her next move.

  ‘I will not let you win, Prudence,’ Ligeia thought as she stared into the licking, hungry flames. ‘I will not let you triumph over my coven.’ ’

  THE END

  Book 2: The Ritual

  Chapter One

  Elizabeth – Present Day

  You know that moment right before you wake up, when you’re almost still dreaming? You can see the light and the shadows playing in front of your eyelids, and you’re warm and wrapped up and comfortable?

  Sometimes, I wished I could stay like that forever. It sounds crazy. Even I know that. But sometimes, I can’t shake the thought of how much I want to disappear from the world.

  When I keep feeling like that for more than a few minutes, the guilt starts to seep in. ‘I have a great life,’ I think. ‘I shouldn’t want to escape from everything.’

  But I can’t help myself. That’s part of being human.

  The morning after my twenty-second birthday, I was in one of those moods. Spring had come early, and the windows were open. A fresh breeze was blowing in, the kind that we normally wouldn’t get until much later in the season. Steven or Karen or someone had done laundry that week, and the duvet still smelled like fresh cotton. ‘This is heaven,’ I thought as I nuzzled the pillow, refusing to open my eyes. ‘I wish I never had to get up.’

  The second that thought flashed through my head, the bedroom door opened with the same creak as always. We lived in an old house, and the wood was always swelling and bloating with the change of the seasons.

  “Morning, beautiful.” Steven’s voice was raspy. The pillow next to me was cool, but I could tell that he hadn’t been awake for long.

  I yawned, covering my mouth with both hands and rubbed my eyes.

  “You gotta stop doing that, babe,” Steven said. He reached for my hands and held them tightly in his own. “You’re gonna ruin the skin around your eyes.”

  I snorted. “Come on,” I said. “I’m only twenty-one. Don’t you think I have a few years left to worry about that?”

  Steven snickered. I felt the bed shifting with his weight as he leaned over and kissed my forehead. He smelled good – musky, but in a clean way. Almost like sandalwood.

  “You’re twenty-two,” Steven said. He tapped the tip of my nose with his finger. “Or did you forget that, too?”

  I opened my eyes and laughed. Already, the desire to vanish into half-sleep for eternity was starting to fade and seem ridiculous. It always did when I was around people. Whenever I had to make conversation or think about the real world, I couldn’t disappear inside my subconscious.

  “I remember,” I groaned as I sat up in bed and yawned again, stretching my arms over my head.

  Steven shook his head. “You still sleep like a kid, though.” He snorted. “That was some storm we had last night. You hear that?”

  I shook my head and frowned. “What storm?”

  “It was huge,” Steven said. He ran his hands through his thick, brown hair. “Thunder and lightning. Shit, I think there was hail.” He raised an eyebrow at me.

  I blinked. “Wow! I must have really been out.”

  Steven nodded. “Six cocktails before dinner will do that to ya,” he said. He pulled me into a clumsy embrace, rubbing my back with one of his oversized hands. “How ya feelin’, kid?”

  I licked my lips and swallowed. “Hungover.” Actually, until I said that, I hadn’t been feeling particularly bad. But now that I was sitting up in bed, my head ached like it was filled with wet cement. My lips and tongue were dry and papery, and I was so thirsty that my gut was cramped and twisted.

  “Poor kid.” Steven handed me a cup of water. “I put this here last night, but you didn’t even wake up.”

  I drank greedily until my stomach felt like it would burst. Burping softly, I wiped my lips and handed the cup back to Steven.

  “You okay?”

  “Yeah,” I said. “I’ll be fine.”

  “Good.” Steven flashed a big grin toward me. “Because I have a plan for today.”

  “You do?” I frowned. “I have to study, remember? The GRE is next week.”

  Steven looked guilty. “So, I may have done something about that,” he said uneasily. He shifted forward and crossed his fingers in his lap. “Remember how you told me the other day that you weren’t sure if you’d be ready by next week?”

  I nodded.

  “Well, I called the board and rescheduled your test for next month. I know your internship is over in a couple of weeks, and since I’m making more now, I thought you could use the extra free time to study.”

  My jaw dropped. “Steven!” I grinned. “I can’t believe you did that!” I shook my head and laughed. “I know that should probably piss me off, but I don’t care. Wow. Best birthday present ever. Why didn’t you tell me yesterday?”

  Steven shrugged. His face lit up with a shy smile – the kind I hadn’t actually seen in years. All of a sudden, I was fifteen years old again.

  “You look happy,” Steven said. He grinned, and all traces of the adolescent gawkiness disappeared.

  “I am,” I said. “Why, do I normally not look like it?”

  Steven opened his mouth and then shrugged. “I know you’ve been under a lot of stress lately,” he said. “But I bet when you get into grad school and really get settled, things will be easier.”

  I bit my lip. “I hope you’re right.”

  “Anyway, get dressed,” Steven said. He stretched and bounded off the bed in a single fluid motion. “Wear something comfortable,” he said with a wink.

  I giggled. “I can’t believe you’re trying to surprise me,” I said. “This is so not like you!”

  Steven flashed me a grin before walking into the hall. “I know, babe,” he said. “See you soon.”

  When I was alone again, I yawned and rubbed my eyes. My little moment of selfish escapism had passed, and I was already starting to emerge from the fog of my hangover. At twenty-two, I wasn’t exactly old. ‘Still,’ I thought weakly as I climbed out of bed, ‘really shouldn’t be pounding tequila whenever I have the chance.’

  Remembering Steven’s advice on dressing comfortably, I pulled on my favorite distressed-boyfriend jeans and a flowy peasant top that hung off one shoulder. I grabbed a jacket – spring in New Hampshire feels like a warm version of winter, even on sunny days – and went into the bathroom to brush my teeth.

  Downstairs, I found Steven and Karen sitting at the table together. Steven was sipping coffee and glancing down at the news on his tablet. I laughed, and he looked up.

  “What?”

  “Nothing,” I said, sliding into an empty chair. “You just look so much like a teacher right now. It’s funny.”

  Steven smirked. “I am a teacher,” he said smugly. “At least, I like to think so.”

  “Hey, Elizabeth,” Karen said. “I made bacon. Want some?”

  My stomach rumbled, and I nodded. Karen passed me a plate loaded with greasy slices, and I grabbed a few. The salty, savory taste spread through my mouth, and I closed my eyes.

  “Thanks,” I mumbled. “This is good.”

  “Not a problem.” Karen smiled politely before getting up and walking out of the kitchen. I glanced after her for a few seconds before turning my attention to Steven.

  “What’s up?”

  “Nothing,” I said. “She’s nice. She’s a good roommate.”

  “Especial
ly because she makes bacon,” Steven teased. “But yeah, she’s fine.” He yawned. “Still hoping this whole place will be ours someday.”

  I frowned. I loved the big, old farmhouse where we all lived, but I couldn’t see just Steven and myself living there. I knew that I wouldn’t exactly be making much in grad school, and Steven made a decent salary as a teacher, but it wasn’t the kind of money that could buy a house. Until recently, we’d had another roommate, Paul. But he’d left for a military deployment. We’d found Karen on Craigslist about two weeks later, and, while she was quiet, I thought she was a good fit.

  “Come on,” Steven said before I had a chance to ask him about it. “Let’s go.”

  --

  Steven drove us out of Jaffrey toward Pitcher Mountain. “I thought we could take a lazy hike,” he said. “Then maybe we could go into Peterborough for lunch. There’s a new deli that looks good – lots of craft beer on tap.”

  I nodded. “That sounds nice,” I said. I closed my eyes, enjoying the sun’s warmth on my face. I wasn’t much of a hiker – Steven was by far the more athletic – but I loved the idea of spending a lazy day in the sun with my boyfriend.

  To my relief, Steven suggested the easier path. Pitcher Mountain wasn’t huge – only a little more than two thousand feet – and in the summer, it was covered with patches of blueberries. I had to admit that it looked beautiful in the early spring. Buds covered the trees, and the grass was just beginning to glow again from a long, dreary winter.

  We walked together in silence. Steven reached for my hand and squeezed. “I know I don’t tell you a lot,” he said in a low voice as we rounded a corner and started uphill. “But I appreciate you, Elizabeth. You mean so much to me.”

  I bit my lip, smiling self-consciously. “I know,” I said softly. I squeezed Steven’s hand, and he squeezed back. “We’ve been through a lot together.”

  “We have,” Steven said. He cleared his throat, and I waited, wondering if he would say anything else. But then he swallowed. I watched as a muscle ticked in his jaw.

  “I’m happy we’re together now,” I said. “I hated when you weren’t here.”

  “I know.” Steven sighed. He ran a hand through his hair. In the sun, it looked almost blond again, like it had when we were kids. “But maybe I had to go away for a while, you know? I had to realize how much we meant to each other.”