Wicked Good Witches- Complete Series Bundle

by Ruby Raine

  He let go of the table and slid to the floor, leaning his back against one of the desk legs.

  If only his emotions could turn off like they’d done when they’d first discovered Emily’s father dead, and she, missing.

  If only none of this shit mattered and he could live a normal life.

  If only, if only, if fucking goddamned only.

  A soft movement told him he was no longer alone. He opened his tear-filled eyes to see Emily sitting cross-legged in front of him.

  “I’m sorry,” he sniffled, sitting up straight.

  “No. I’m sorry,” Emily returned. “I’ve been so wrapped up in my own misery I haven’t even asked you once, how you are. I didn’t mean to get so angry at you. I’m being the worst girlfriend ever.”

  “Never,” he tried to smile.

  There she was, in front of him. His Emily, at least, in part his Emily. More so than he’d seen in days.

  “I don’t see how, Michael. It’s not clear to me at all right now. But we will get through this. Right?” She wanted to comfort him, but her confidence was shaken and she had no comfort to offer.

  He leaned in and grabbed her hands. “As long as we’re together, Emily, we will make it through this. But right now, I have no idea how, either. I’m just trying not to fall to pieces. And I’m waiting for you to. Please don’t hold back because you think it will hurt me.”

  “And you can’t hold back waiting for me.” She smiled, sadly, and caressed his cheek, wiping away tears. He grasped her hand, holding onto it as if his life depended on it.

  “I thought he was coming back,” he whispered coarsely.

  “I know.” Emily understood he was talking about his dad. “Neither of our dads are coming back, Michael.” Her tone took on a sudden flatness. She was saying it. Admitting it, aloud. But still wasn’t ready to believe it, and live it. To do so meant she was alone. With no relatives still alive. No more blood relations. This left a person feeling vulnerable. And so very alone, no matter how many friends or non-blood related loved ones they had around.

  Michael had no choice but to accept the truth. He’d had to live through losing his parents once already. Living through it a second time sucked so much harder. He swore his empathic ability feeding off everyone else’s emotions was taking years off his own life. He’d talked about this to Emily; before all this Feyk turmoil had gone down. Before he’d realized she might take that conversation to heart, so much so she refused to mourn around him fearing she’d add to his suffering.

  But he was anyway. Because until she was able to live her life again, he’d continue to suffer. It would be brutal to get through, but he’d survive it if he knew she’d be okay when it was done.

  He sucked in, and held it for a few seconds, letting it out slow. He had to lock it all back inside. This was all the time he got to mourn. But letting out even that much, combined with the whiskey, he was overcome with exhaustion.

  Emily leaned back against a bookshelf, her gaze hollow. Michael had no choice but to live with this life. It was his heritage to be a protector of The Demon Isle. But Emily only came into this life because she’d met him, and because her family had moved here after finding out she was a spirit vessel capable of allowing spirits of the dead to use her body to speak with the living.

  But with her ring, now in the hands of that bastard, Stricker, she could have chosen to live in peace anywhere. There were plenty of magical hot spots around the planet that would have strengthened her ring; The Demon Isle was not the only one. But she’d ended up here.

  It hurt to think it, but Michael wondered if she’d be better off living somewhere else. Anywhere else that was not The Demon Isle. That thought frightened him more than any other right now. Living here, without her. It was selfish. But she was one of the few good things worth staying for.

  Emily wasn’t only dealing with the loss of her father and the reality of this life, but also living in danger of having spirits unwillingly take over her body. Which was something Eva Jordan had done and it nearly killed her. Emily wasn’t ready to face these realities yet. He wished he could do it for her.

  “How about we crawl into bed?” This was a much easier idea than reality.

  Emily nodded, emptily, and got to her feet. He followed her up the stairs and they slipped under the sheets. There were no more tears that night. Just hushed breaths as each tried to drum out the memories and nightmares they were forced to relive. And could not seem to forget.

  RILEY PARKED HIS MOTORCYCLE after traveling around the block a few times to find a spot, put his feet on the ground and gave them a minute to stop vibrating. He hadn’t pulled over to take a break in too long. His ride was comfortable as motorcycle’s get, but it was the longest ride he’d ever taken and his muscles quaked unhappily at the beating they’d taken.

  His feeling had brought him into the heart of the French Quarter. And although only early evening it looked like the party had started hours ago. A group of mischievous looking young women saw him straddling the bike and looked his way, expectantly. Each wobbly on their legs, drinking since who knows when.

  Any other day I’d be joining them.

  He cast his gaze downward, slipping the helmet off his head and got off the bike. He ran his hand through his thick molasses colored hair and took in where he was. On Conti, in between Bourbon and Royal. He needed to find a place to sleep, some food, and after, a job. If his feeling let him stay here long enough.

  He caught the women giggling and making eyes at him.

  He grinned. Chuckled. Shook his head.

  Any other day, his thoughts repeated.

  But the ladies were not going to give up so easily.

  “Hey, hotty on the motorcycle.” He lifted his gaze only to catch his breath, having forgot where he was. Four shirts raised, four sets of perky mounds waving seductively at him. Their shirts dropped, straws sunk back into their mouths.

  “Sorry, Ladies.”

  They pouted, but moved on, unrelenting in their search for fun.

  “I really am a mess if I turned that down.” He spun in a curious circle, unsure where to go next. His feeling had brought him here and proceeded to fizzle out. He frowned when minutes later he was still standing around looking like a lost puppy.

  He didn’t have his cell phone, and therefore no easy way to look up a place to stay. And where to start looking for a job? He wasn’t qualified for much. His head cocked to the side, staring at a deserted alleyway. At the end of it, a door. Unassuming, surrounded on all sides by brick walls, and he’d swear, neither the alley nor door there a minute ago. He squinted upward, reading a dilapidated sign plastered on the brick sidewall leading into the alley, that said, Sorcier Street. He’d never heard of that street. Especially not being in between Bourbon and Royal, two famous streets in the Quarter.

  Riley sighed, wishing he could ignore the fiery tingle igniting in his chest.

  Instead, without wondering why, because why bother, his feeling took him where it took him, he pulled the helmet back over his head, straddled the bike, and rolled it down the alley. His feeling was all but ordering him to go through that door.

  He stopped, balanced on the motorcycle, staring at the closed door about fifteen feet in front of him. He wondered how to open it. Wondered why no one else seemed to notice it. He twisted his neck, peering behind him at the busy street. Passersby ignored this alley. Almost like they didn’t see it.

  He gave his engine a quick vroom; not one curious peek in his direction.

  His face came forward again.

  The door was open as if waiting for him to drive through.

  He narrowed his gaze trying to get a look inside, but all that came back at him was a dark tunnel. His heart strummed, nerves on high alert. And yet he had to go through. His feeling was practically willing it to happen.

  So he sucked in, held his breath, gave the motorcycle some gas and spun into the dark tunnel. He came out before a complete blink, screeching to a quick stop. Riley plante
d his feet on the ground but kept the bike engine on, just in case this had been a mistake and he needed to turn around and, shit. The door had closed. He had a terrible feeling it would not open as easily to let him out.

  He let out that breath he’d been holding.

  Okay. So I’m here. Where ever the hell here is, other than Sorcier Street.

  It wasn’t so unlike the Quarter, the architecture the same. But the street here was cobblestone, unlike the tar of the ones he’d just been on. Rather than electric lights, there were old style lanterns hanging from posts. Their orange glow barely noticeable in the evening light. But then off to the right an electric light buzzed to life. A pub, opening for business.

  And was that a horse drawn carriage that just passed through an intersection a block down the road? It was a strange mix of old and new. Oddly reminiscent to The Demon Isle. Even the people were hard to place in a specific time as some were dressed in modern attire, while some in clothing he’d never seen in anything other than period movies or TV shows.

  And rather glumly, all these people had taken on still poses, their gazes firmly fixed on him in what he guessed was shock, of the non-happy kind. Regardless, his feeling had brought him here. So he pulled the bike off to the side of the road and removed his helmet.

  “Where the hell am I?”

  The people continued to stare like they hadn’t seen someone come through that door in ages. And were not supposed to. And were not happy about it at all. But they kept their distance, eyes glued, as if waiting for him to make the first move.

  A woman Riley estimated to be in her forties exited the newly opened pub. One of those females where it was hard to guess, as there was an aged gleam in her eyes which pegged her as much older, but outwardly her beauty was non-arguable. Perfect skin, not a single age spot or wrinkle. Lustrous, long, dark hair. Inviting smile. Clothes that were long and billowy. Modern, and yet not. The best he could describe her was hippie chic. Relaxed, and yet perfectly put together. Sort of like a walking piece of artwork.

  “Comment ca va?” she called out in eloquent greeting. Riley recognized the accent and greeting as French, Canadian style, not uncommon in New Orleans, but was confused by her personal flare to it. Like they knew each other. “About time you got here, young man.”

  Was she really talking to him? The woman motioned for him to come with her. He glanced around thinking she meant someone else. He got off the bike, put away the helmet, and approached her once he saw there was no one but him.

  “Are you talking to me?”

  “Who else would I be talking to? Ca va?” she repeated again.

  “It’s just, um, I’m fine, I guess,” he answered her in a raised question-like tone. Comment ca va was an informal how are you between friends, and he’d never seen this woman in his life.

  “Glad to hear it. We’ve been expecting you.”

  “How?”

  She leaned in. “You see all the people staring at you?”

  “Um, yeah. Kind of hard not to.”

  “You don’t want them thinking you just happened across this place now, do you?”

  “But that’s exactly how it happened.”

  “Is it?” she eyed him with an unreadable grin. “Come.” She shifted direction and disappeared inside the pub she’d exited a moment ago. Riley noted the suspicious stares and nodded uncomfortably in greeting, pretending he was expected, and followed the woman. His feeling wasn’t giving him anything, but his gut told him it was the smart move.

  “Have a seat,” she told him, pointing with her head to a stool at the bar. “Annie,” she called out.

  A young woman came out of a back room wiping her hands on a towel. Bright, was the best way to describe her. She gleamed, beamed and shined from her glossy hair, glowing perfect skin, warm smile and body that glided rather than walked. A younger version of the woman who’d brought him in here, he assumed her daughter.

  The young woman eyed the older woman in silent question.

  “Tiguidou,” the woman who brought him in told Annie. Riley wracked his brain to recall what the word meant. He’d had a friend in school who came to the States from Quebec and had learned a little of the slang he always spouted. He thought it was a term meaning all is well, or no worries, something like that.

  Whatever it meant, Annie accepted it at face value.

  The woman smiled kindly. “Get the young man a beer and a sandwich. He’s traveled a long way.”

  “How do you know that?” Riley muttered. Befuddled.

  The woman did not reply. Annie tossed him a wide smile, looking him up down. And hold up, was she smelling him? Behind the brightness was something else he couldn’t put his finger on. He’d expected Annie was the woman’s daughter, but when she spoke she had an American accent, not French. Still, they had to be related in some way. They carried themselves so similarly.

  “Aren’t you delicious.” It was a statement, not a question. And bold, thought Riley. “I could eat off you for days.” Annie licked her lips.

  No, wait, not lips, teeth.

  Did I say teeth?

  Those are not teeth she’s licking.

  Holy shit, those are fangs.

  Riley choked out a breath, certain he’d just made some huge mistake. If he wasn’t wrong, the only thing separating him from a vampire was a wooden bar. He spied for any loose pieces to use as a stake.

  The woman who brought him in cleared her throat and placed her hands on her hips. “Crisse, Annie,” she cursed, pissed, but also amused.

  “Sorry, Jean.” Annie didn’t sound sorry. “I can’t help it. We haven’t had any fresh blood in an age. He smells like...”

  Riley stumbled off the stool, cutting off her description of how he smelled. “You- you’re a vampire.” Obviously, dumbass, his brain responded.

  “Excuse my loose tongued Annie. There’s always nicer ways to break it.”

  Riley spun and saw the woman named Jean smiling, two fangs extending out of her gums.

  “Um. I think there’s been a mistake,” stuttered Riley.

  Yeah, they had something in common all right! Vampires!

  He started for the door.

  Jean was there before he got two steps.

  “Go. Sit.” Her voice was kind. Her fangs retracted. “You have nothing to fear here. My daughter teases. Everyone in Sorcier is a supernatural of some kind. Annie is my adopted daughter. She is my most precious gift, though not tactful.” She eyed the young woman sternly again.

  “Sorry, new guy,” said Annie. “Freaking out the unawares is the only real fun I get around her. And yeah, yeah,” she aimed at Jean. “On it. Beer. Food.”

  Riley made his way back to his stool. Although apprehensively. “So, um, you’re vampires, but you run a pub that serves non-vampires?”

  “Everyone’s got to eat. And who says we don’t serve our kind as well?” She nodded to a tap at the bar with a red drip.

  Riley shuddered. Why the hell had his feeling led him here? He’d had enough dealings with vampires to last a lifetime. And what happened to vampires can’t go out in the day because sun would burn them? It was evening but there was still light. Problem for another time, he decided. Current problem, surviving. Getting out of this pub before his blood got sucked dry.

  Jean took a seat next to him and grabbed a bottle of tequila. She poured him a shot. He gladly downed it, wincing at the initial burn across his dry throat, at the same time thinking, dang it, I hope this isn’t poisoned. He half expected to pass out, wake up their prisoner with blood draining out of him... but he’d already swallowed it.

  “You don’t trust much? Do you?” Jean reached out and stroked his hair, like a mother who’d just found a lost child. He flinched, she pulled back gently.

  “I’ve never had much reason to.” And hello, you’re a vampire!

  “You are safe here. You’ll see in time. What’s your name?”

  “I’m surprised you don’t already know,” he cracked.

  “I was
not expecting you. But I saw you come through with that lost puppy dog face, knew you’d been brought here for some reason. A reason I’m sure we’ll figure out with time.”

  Man, this place was strange.

  “My name is Riley,” he said after a minute.

  “A nice, strong name. Welcome to the Sorcier Colony, Riley, who just happened upon this place. Our colony is a one of peace. A safe haven for Supernaturals wishing to escape the perils of the outside world. But newcomers do have to earn the trust of others.”

  What Riley heard was, the trust of me.

  “A colony for Supernaturals? Of all kinds? And you live in peace?” He found that near impossible to believe. Even so, his nerves calmed some. Or maybe that was just the tequila talking. Or the poison yet to kick in...

  Annie came out with an iced mug of beer and a sandwich. His stomach rumbled out of sheer want of the food. It looked more appetizing than anything he’d eaten since leaving The Demon Isle.

  “Eat,” ordered Jean. “I’ll let Annie tell you about our home. I have a few fires to put out.”

  Jean was gone in a flash and Annie laughed and shook her head. “What she really means is lying to people and telling them she asked you here. So people don’t cast you out, or something.”

  “Or something?”

  “Like she said, not everyone here takes kindly to strangers who show up out of the blue. We get travelers, but usually not unannounced.”

  He took a sip of beer and a bite of food, his brain straining to understand.

  “So how did you find us?” she asked, dying to know.

  “That is difficult to explain.”

  “We don’t drink from humans,” she stated bluntly. “If you were worried about that. It’s one of the rules for living here. I’ve never had a drink of human blood in all my time as a vampire. My parents were quite strict. But I dare say you’d taste even more delicious than you smell.”

  Riley choked down his beer. Her easy, bold nature sending his blood pumping through his heart at full pace.

  “When you say parents, I’m assuming you mean the one who sired you, and the woman, Jean? Or did she sire you and then adopt you?”