Captive Witch
Twin Rivers Captive # 1
September Stone
Contents
Introduction
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Chapter 20
Chapter 21
Chapter 22
Chapter 23
Chapter 24
Chapter 25
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Also by September Stone
Copyright © 2019 September Stone, LLC
Cover Art by EmCat Designs
All rights reserved.
First Edition: July 2019
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each reader. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
For information:
www.septemberstone.com
A powerful witch. Four unlikely guardians. A curse that will create an unstoppable monster.
Enslaved for years by a powerful crime lord, Bryn has been forced to harness her elemental magic to create vile potions that have harmed countless supernaturals.
When the compound she’s called home is attacked, Bryn escapes and tastes freedom for the first time in more than a decade.
But when the sins of her past race to catch up with her, she realizes a taste might be all the freedom she’s destined for. Bryn’s unusually strong earth magic puts a target on her back, and when she’s hit with a deadly curse, her only hope comes in the form of four dangerously sexy supernaturals.
Taj, the fire-affinity witch who worked as her jailer. Poe, a panther-shifter assigned to bring in Bryn for a bounty. Silas, a daemon with a dark past. And Calder, a telekinetic and Bryn’s first love.
If the five of them can’t work together, the curse will claim Bryn’s life and her magic. If that happens, it will spell disaster for supernaturals everywhere.
Chapter One
Bryn
The knock on my door sends a chill down my spine.
As the initial taps echo off the four charcoal-pencil shaded walls of my cell, there’s no way to tell who’s on the other side. I can be assured of generalities only—it’s a guard, not Mona. The idea of Mona Ward stepping foot in my fluorescent prison is laughable. Why do herself what underlings can accomplish?
And while the guards are under strict orders to keep their hands to themselves as they escort me to my destination, most of them have the ability to make my skin crawl without laying a single finger on me. Aldridge and McDee are the worst. The way they look at me makes me feel dirty.
But when the door swings open, a swath of white light cuts across the sickly yellow hue cast by the bulb over my head. I glimpse a familiar tall form and sigh with relief. “Taj.”
Butterflies kick up a storm in my stomach as they’ve taken to doing whenever I catch sight of this particular guard’s unruly dark curls and lithe body. New guards aren’t added to my detail often, and each one I’ve had the misfortune of meeting has been creepier than the last. Until Taj. He was polite, but distant, during our early encounters. It wasn’t until his first time escorting me from my room that his professional demeanor cracked. He asked me about the sketches on my walls—monochromatic flowers, trees, and mountains. While the other guards have brought me new charcoal sticks every few weeks since I was isolated from Mona’s other “pets,” not one of them has ever commented about my drawings—aside from the occasional sneer about my blackened fingertips.
Taj’s face is impassive as he steps into the room, clicking the door closed behind him. But once he’s inside, his entire posture relaxes and a smile curves his full lips. “Hey, Bryn.” The lilt of his British accent is like music to my ears. “I brought you something.”
I jump up from my spot on the mattress, pushing my long blonde tresses over my shoulder. The move has nothing to do with my appearance; I just need something to do with my hands. My arms ache to reach for him. My desire to hug Taj—to feel the press of his chest against mine, to melt into him—burns brighter every time I see him. But touch is a luxury denied to me—except for the massage therapy sessions Mona schedules for once every few days. Although without those appointments, I’m sure I’d have gone mad long ago, even that contact doesn’t fill the emptiness inside me. The therapist doesn’t speak as she works, and although her hands are comforting, I have no connection to her. I long for an embrace that means something.
But I know better than to give in to my desire—even here in the privacy of my own room. Mona made her power over me abundantly clear the last—and only—time I shared secret kisses and cuddles with someone. She locked me away from all her other prisoners, but not before she sold him. She sold…
I dig my fingernails into my palm. I can’t bring myself even to think his name. Even now, after three or four years, it hurts too much to think about him.
Instead, I focus on Taj, whose dark chocolate eyes sparkle like they do each time he sneaks me a bit of contraband.
“Another book?” Although Mona has never come out and forbidden me from reading, I’ve never been offered a novel—or even a magazine—in the time I’ve been in solitary. While I’m not sure the material is off-limits, I always keep whatever dog-eared paperback Taj brings hidden in my pillowcase just in case.
He shakes his head. “Not today. It’s something else.” Taj unbuttons the flap of his dark blue shirt pocket and pulls out a circular brown object the size of my palm.
My mouth waters as he holds it out to me. “A chocolate chip cookie?” I don’t know the last time I had such a treat. My meals are always adequate, but bland: soup and bread, beans and rice, fish, yogurt and granola—plus enough vegetables to feed an army of fluffy bunnies.
I stretch out my hand to snatch the snack from him, but I stop short. “Wait. I have something for you, too.”
He tilts his head as I turn to my desk and sift through my most recent drawings. For years, I’ve been limited to sketching faces and places I remember from before my time here, but recently I’ve dabbled with creating settings out of the books Taj brings.
When my fingers dance across the one I’m looking for, my gut tightens with both fear and anticipation. I’ve given Taj only two sketches before, and he’s been complimentary and thanked me for them, but part of me still worries he’s just being kind.
Swallowing down the lump in my throat, I turn, handing it to him before I can lose my nerve.
He takes the paper with his free hand, holding it gingerly by the corner as his eyes sweep over the lines and shadows shaded in charcoal pencil. After a few moments, the corners of his mouth upturn. “Is this the Shire?”
Relief sweeps through me, and I release a breath I didn’t realize I was holding. “Yeah. Do you like it?”
“Do I like it? The Shire is my favorite place in all Middle Earth. I love this.”
Warmth blossoms in my chest, along with another urge to hug Taj. Instead of indulging the fantasy, I turn my attention to something tangible—the cookie still held in Taj’s right hand. His grin broadens as I take the dessert, his white teeth
contrasting beautifully with his bronze skin. “They were in the cafeteria. A celebration for someone’s promotion or something. I thought you’d like it.”
“I love it.” My eyes sting and I blink to keep any tears at bay. Crying over a cookie would be silly, but it’s more than just the food. In my tiny world where everyone seems to regard me as an object or a tool, Taj sees me.
A sigh escapes me as I taste the first bite. I take as much time savoring it as I dare, taking my cues from the number of furtive glances Taj casts toward the door. Guards aren’t permitted in my room when the door is closed—a rule even the most lecherous among them abide by, albeit resentfully.
As I swallow the last bite, Taj straightens his back. “Well, then. I should get you down to the workshop, yeah?”
The bubble of happiness filling my chest deflates in an instant. I’ve never enjoyed crafting potions on Mona’s orders, but in the last few months, almost every brew I’ve created has left me feeling sick to my stomach. It’s probably because I’m an earth affinity witch who hasn’t stepped foot outdoors in years. Using my magic without connecting to its source is making me sick.
“Please don’t make me.” The plea tumbles out before I can stop it.
Taj’s brows crease and he presses his lips together in a tight line. “That’s not up to me.”
Although I didn’t expect a different answer, the words still come as a blow. My throat tightens and the corners of my eyes burn. No matter how much Taj may want to be kind, he can only do so much in the confines of Mona’s unforgiving world. I try to nod and put on a brave face, but all I manage is to pull in a shaky breath.
Taj steps forward, standing so close that the warmth of his body fills the air between us. His right hand cups my cheek and he peers down, his dark eyes full of an emotion I can’t identify. “You’ll get through this. I promise.”
I lean into the gentle pressure of his palm. The touch is firm and sure, so unlike the accidentally-on-purpose grazes from the other guards. Something deep inside me sparks to life at the contact, like a long-slumbering dragon stirring in the depths of a dark cave. For an instant, I’m sure Taj is about to lean down and kiss me.
I don’t think I’ve ever wanted something more in my life.
But in a blink, the spell is broken. Dropping his hand, Taj clears his throat and steps toward the door. “We really need to get going. If Mona drops in and you’re not there…”
He doesn’t need to finish the thought. I’ve been around long enough to know if Mona pops by and finds me absent, Taj and I would both be punished.
Taj cracks open the door and peeks into the hall before ushering me over the threshold. I walk two paces ahead of him—far enough away that he’s not stepping on the backs of my slip-on shoes, but close enough that he could grab me if I tried to make a run for it. Not that I’d attempt it. Even if it were someone else behind me with his eyes glued to my rear, I wouldn’t try to escape. While there are no guards down this stretch, there’s no telling where I’ll run into some. They patrol every inch of this building. Or, at least, I assume they do. I only ever see the section between my cell and the workshop. Since both rooms are windowless, I don’t have the slightest clue where within the building I even am. Trying to escape would be useless.
I stop at the familiar gray door and wait as Taj swipes a keycard over the sensor panel beside it.
“Directions and ingredients are inside, as always.” As he pushes open the door, black curls spill across his forehead. My fingers itch with the desire to push them back into place. “Hit the call button when you’ve finished, and someone will come get you.”
Instead of simply nodding and stepping inside, I hesitate, biting my lower lip. “How much longer are you on duty?”
His brown eyes flick to mine and the corners of his mouth twitch. “Why?”
Butterflies beat their wings inside my stomach. “Because… I want to finish up before your shift is over. I’d like it if you could walk me back to my cell.”
A smile stretches across his face. “You just want me to bring you another cookie. Speaking of which…”
In one fluid movement, he steps closer and brings his hand up to my face. My skin thrills as the pad of his thumb brushes along my bottom lip to the corner of my mouth.
His lips part and he sucks in a breath, but he doesn’t pull away. “Crumbs,” he murmurs.
Something inside me wakes at the touch. The butterflies in my stomach transform into hummingbirds, making my whole body thrum. These last months, Taj has become a friend—but it’s only now that it dawns on me how much that friendship means. And how much deeper it goes.
On impulse, I close the space between us. Giving in to the longing that threatens to strangle me, I wrap my arms around his middle. The feel of his muscled torso pressed firm against me stills my fluttering insides, and when his strong arms loop around my back, it’s as if something inside me clicks into place.
I haven’t felt peace like this since before Mona relocated me into solitary. Back then, I shared a room with three other girls, and I got to spend time with Mona’s other “pets.” And even though I was as much a prisoner then as I am now, things didn’t feel so bad. Back then, I had him. Calder.
Once he was gone, I assumed I would never feel the same connection with another person. But Taj has shown me just how wrong I’ve been. I bury my face into his neck, inhaling the cardamom scent of his skin. He exhales, and I feel the brush of his lips against my ear along with the tickle of his breath. Something tightens low in my belly and I imagine testing the softness of those lips against my own.
Scuffling footsteps echo against the walls and Taj jumps back, putting an arm’s length of space between us. Goosebumps rise up on my arms at the sudden loss of his warmth.
“Just what in the hell is going on here?”
The voice sends a shiver down my back. I turn to find Aldridge swaggering down the hall toward us. He stops less than a yard away, hooking his thumbs into his belt loops, accentuating the round stomach stretching against his button-down shirt.
Aldridge licks his lips, his eyes raking down my body in a way that makes me feel exposed. “You know the rules about this one. Look, but don’t touch.”
“She tripped,” Taj says smoothly. “I caught her, that’s all.”
“Not what it looked like to me,” Aldridge mutters as he steps in closer. The harsh scent of peppermint clings to him. “What do you think Mona’d say if she heard you were getting handsy with her prized possession?”
Taj crosses his arms over his chest. “My guess is she’d be more upset to have someone wasting her time with a lie.”
His voice rings with such conviction that I’m tempted to believe his version of events. Indecision flickers in Aldridge’s eyes for an instant before his full attention turns on me. “Don’t you have work to do?”
I fight the urge to glance at Taj as I turn and step into the workroom. Before I can turn around, the door closes behind me, and the click of the lock rings like a death knell in my ears.
If Aldridge reports what he saw to Mona, will she take him at his word and fire Taj? After his kindness and the way he treats me like a person instead of an unattainable conquest, I don’t know if I can go back to a life where my only contact is with Aldridge and his ilk.
I turn my attention to the workroom. The quickest way to find out what’s happening outside these walls is to make the potion Mona ordered. Maybe when I hit the call button, it will be Taj who comes to collect me. In any case, there’s no use focusing on all the what ifs. If there’s one thing I’ve learned in my time here, it’s that obsessing over what could be is the quickest way to go crazy.
While nowhere within Mona’s compound has ever felt like home, this workshop is the place I feel most at ease. With the bundles of dried herbs hanging from strings suspended from the ceiling and the plastic tubs filled with various semiprecious stones and crystals, this is the closest I’ve been to nature in years. Although the thrum of magic isn’
t as potent as it would be if I were allowed to step outside, it’s present. My guess is that Mona knows the exact amount of plants and minerals needed to keep my potion-making abilities sharp while muting the part of my magic that would allow me a degree of control over the items around me.
A tablet sits in the center of a long folding table, beside a ceramic cauldron the size of my head. I unlock the screen to view the day’s task.
She never tells me what the potions are for, and I don’t know enough about the ingredients to guess. My mother’s affinity was for water, and she never did much potion-making, so I never got the chance to learn from watching her.
I begin collecting the required elements. Waxberry, belladonna, hemlock, red pepper. I place each into the cauldron, following the directions the way I have countless times before.
But something is different. The indistinct energies that always accompany plants and minerals is sharper than it’s ever been. A shiver runs up my arms as I stir the ingredients, and shadowy dread hunches my shoulders.
I harbor no misconceptions about Mona. She’s no humanitarian, and I’ve never presumed the potions I make at her behest are harmless, but I always figured the worst of it was a sleeping draught or an elixir for confusion or pliancy.
But the dark energy pulsating off this brew will do far more damage than either of those would.
Two arguments war inside me. The first is self-preservation. I have to make this potion or I’ll be punished. I’ve only endured a few of Mona’s disciplinary measures over the years, but they’ve been enough to convince me to do what I’m told without asking questions.
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