9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC (35 page)

“You’ll
call me a ball of fluff.”

“I
won’t,” he swore. “Besides, I’m sort of partial to all that blonde fluff and
the woman it’s attached to.”

She
felt the heat rolling off his body. His warmth surrounded her, closed her
within a wall of the rich, exotic scent of cyprinum and myrrh. The combined
scents mingled with his own unique muskiness creating a sensual fragrance all
his own.

It
was hypnotic, raw, and intensely sexual. And male.

Her senses skittered, bombarded by everything that was
him. Her blood thickened, saturated with a rare, mystical opiate that was
uniquely male, uniquely him. Her skin grew hot and seemed to come alive.

Saylym swallowed as his head dipped closer. He made her
feel as if she was balanced on the edge of a knife blade, one false move and it’d
all be over. Why did it always feel as though he was drawing the very breath
from her soul when he hovered close to her? “Please? You’re too close.”

* * * *

Talon
sighed and gave her space. Damn it! He wanted to crowd her. He wanted to be
inside her, crawl so deep inside her body and soul until he owned her and then
he would never let her go. The stronger Beltane became the more on edge he
felt. The more on edge he felt, the more he lost control. He was a walking time
bomb and one spark was all it would take to set him off. He dared not make love
to Saylym again. Not now, though his body yearned to do that very thing. Saylym
was the spark. If he took her again, next time there would be no stopping.

That
damned soul-stealing chant wasn’t helping matters any. It was still just as
potent, working full force and driving him crazy. He had to think of something
else to distract him.

“You
are lovely,” he said, touching her face.

He
knew immediately that wasn’t going to distract him.

Stroking
her eyebrows with a gentle touch, he lightly traced her lips, and slid a
fingertip down her smooth throat. Nope. No distraction there.

He
couldn’t seem to get enough of touching her. “I want you, Saylym Winslow, with
every thread of my heart. Everything that is me is starving to be inside you. I
ache. I hurt with the need to be buried deep in your heat. And once I’m there,”
he said hoarsely, “when at last, I’m seated to the hilt, I want to stay until
we are both sated.”

Saylym dipped her head in acknowledgement, but her eyes
were troubled. “So much is happening so fast. I want you, I do, but I need time
to think.” She took his hand in hers. “You aren’t human and that scares me. You
snapped your fingers and presto, you were dressed. One minute you were totally
naked and the next you were fully clothed. Abracadabra. How did you do that?”

“You
told me to dress, so I did.” He traced his lips down her throat. “But if you
prefer me naked—”

“No!” If he got naked—well, he’d have his way with her,
and it seemed she wasn’t ready for that.

His
tongue glazed a path behind her ear and down her throat, pausing to nibble at
her racing pulse. “Mmm. You taste sweet. Like cotton candy and sunshine.”

“Th-that
would…uh…be my perfume.”

“That
would be you, Saylym Winslow,” he whispered, and nibbled on her lobe, “your own
special brand of sweetness.”

She shivered with pleasure as he drew her against him and
nuzzled, licking the mark on her throat, but Talon paused and drew back a
little as the mark began to throb. Odd. He’d never heard any
waken
mention his claiming mark beating like something wild and alive. He leaned
further back, eyeing his handiwork. Shock surged through him. With that simple
stroke of his tongue, the purple smear had spread. It covered the entire side
of her throat, looking as if purple flames crept up the side of her neck.

He snapped his fingers, chanting words to shrink it. It
remained unchanged.

And blast it, it was his claiming mark. He had a feeling
it was there to stay.

Saylym’s
eyes widened. “What? What’s wrong?”

“I
don’t know,” Talon replied. “Nothing. It’s nothing.”

His brow furrowed. Hell, she was truly marked as belonging
to a member of the royal family. For anyone else to touch her guaranteed their
oblivion. She was his. And she was his forever. Talon shook his head. When she
saw the size of that mark, she was going to kill him.

“Are
you listening to me?” Saylym inquired.

Her
voice drew him back from his distracted wanderings. “Yes. You said most people
don’t just snap their fingers and abracadabra, they’re dressed.”

“That’s
right.” Saylym nodded.

“That’s wrong, Saylym. Most people I know do it exactly
that way. I’m a
waken,
sweetheart.
Wakens
do these things. So do
female witches and you’re a witch. Just snap your fingers and you can dress or
undress.”

“I don’t think so. Sheesh, what a way to try to get a
woman naked,” she said, rolling her eyes.

“Damn
it, Saylym, if I wanted you naked, all I’d have to do is snap my fingers.”

“Don’t
you dare,” she yelped, grabbing his fingers between her own and holding them
tight. She pushed him out of her way and slid off the side of the bed. “I have
to go to work.”

She
marched across the room, then stopped abruptly. “You didn’t snap your fingers,”
she accused him. “That means you don’t want me naked?”

Talon
gaped. “Hell, yes!” He scanned her from head to toe and back, settling his gaze
on her breasts. “You naked. Me naked. Us…naked together.” He held up two
fingers in preparation of snapping them. “Shall I?”

Shaking
her head, Saylym groaned. “Behave yourself.”

“Yes.” He grinned at her. “The answer is yes, Saylym. I
want you naked. I want you beneath me and my cock buried deep inside you. More
than you can ever imagine.” Their gazes collided, locked. “I love it when you
blush,” he added huskily.

She stared at his zipper, behind which his cock was surely
visible as it lengthened. “Uh… your…er…language,” she stammered, her gaze
locked in place.

Talon drew a ragged breath. “Don’t look at me where you’re
looking,
La-Scheme
. My control is stretched thin. And the timing is a
little off, my lovely witch.”

“I’m
not a witch,” she said quietly, looking up. “And I’ll prove it.” She snapped
her fingers. “See? Nothing. My clothes are still on. So much for magic.”

She’d
barely taken a step when the overhead sprinklers clicked on. Icy water burst
over them both. She glared at him, suspicion on her face. “Did you do that?”

Talon grinned, shaking his head. “It’s not my fault.”

“It’s not mine, either!”

He chuckled. “Oh, sweetheart, maybe the sprinklers came on
by accident, but I doubt it. I think you did do it.” Snickering, he didn’t
attempt to hide his laughter or pay heed to the deluge of water soaking him. “I
hate to rain on your parade…no pun intended …but as I see it, you
are
a
witch.”

“No,
I’m not. I’m not. I’m really, really not.”

“Sweetheart. Stop denying your heritage. You’re a witch.
Witch-witch-
w
itch!”

She clenched her fists at her sides. “I’m not denying
anything. I’m stating a fact. I’m
not
a witch.”

“You
are, darling,” he insisted. “You’re a witch, just not a very good one.”

Chapter
Twenty-Three

Martha Carrier, Wilmott Redd,
John Alden, Elizabeth Howe, and Phillip English were
examined before
Hathorne, Corwin, and Gedney.

~Salem Witch Trials

May 31, 1692

Sanctuary

Where
the hell was the shut-off valve for the sprinkler system?

After
nearly two hours of searching for it, Talon felt like gnashing his teeth with
frustration.

Saylym
had long ago thrown up her arms in despair of his ever figuring out how to shut
off the water. An expletive slipped from beneath his breath and he flashed an
impatient glare in her direction. Her pacing drove him nuts. He should have
known better than to encourage her to embrace the fact she was a witch.

Damn it! He knew she avoided facing the reality. It hadn’t
taken him long to puzzle out the reason she got that serene look on her face
and hummed like an idiot. The woman was determined to ignore her hopeless
bungling of magic.

And this just damned well proved she hadn’t an ounce of
control in her fingertips. Ho, not that that fiery blast from her fingertips
when he first met her hadn’t been a great, big, whopping clue. He had just been
too love-sick to let it bother him. More stupid him.

Temper getting the better of him, Talon flung down a
wrench and directed his frustration on her. “Why is it you can do the weirdest
things, and yet you are never capable of
undoing
them?”

“Excuse
me?” Saylym stopped pacing long enough to fling an irritated glance in his
direction.

“Chants!
Don’t you know the simplest little chants to correct your magic?”

“I
don’t know any chants at all. And I don’t use magic. What are you talking
about?”

“You don’t know
any
chants?
At all?”
Devil’s
toenails! She was her own worst enemy. And his. “How can you not know any
chants? You’re a witch for the gods’ sake!”

“I am not a witch! And if you say I’m a witch just once
more, I-I’m liable to hurt you.”

“Right,
sweetie.” He snorted.

“Don’t
call me sweetie in that slurpy tone of voice,” Saylym snapped.

“Slurpy?”
He muttered beneath his breath.

“Patience,
Prince. She’s a young witch with unskilled powers. She’ll learn.”

Talon
threw a furious glare toward Vox, who had managed to find the only dry spot in
the shop, a far corner where the sprinklers weren’t spraying water.

It
isn’t you getting your
ass
soaked, Vox. And stop invading my mind.

My
feathers are a bit damp.

Yeah?
Well, I’m a bit damp all over.

And
angry. You don’t want to hurt the little witch’s feelings.

“Yes,
I do
.”

“What?”
Saylym asked. “Yes, you do what?”

Talon
picked up the big wrench, then flung it back into the box he’d dug it out of to
begin with. “What?”

She made a sound that reminded him of hissing.
Hissing,
at him! She was going to drive
him to the utter brink of madness. It was just these sorts of uncontrolled
magical demonstrations that concerned the guild. She could hex the water on,
but couldn’t hex it off. What the hell kind of magic was that?

What if she did something terrible and then couldn’t undo
it?

This could very well force the ancients into canceling his
right to decide if she kept her soul or not and order her immediate
termination. She had to learn to harness her magic. For the gods’ sake, s
he
had to learn chants.

Oh,
and of course, there was the teeny, tiny little fact that she managed to cross
realms in the first place. That was a mind blower, since she didn’t believe
that she now existed in the Ru-Noc realm. And wasn’t about to admit she’d
crossed dimensions.

Would
she want to return to the
illumrof
world if she ever fully accepted that
she had indeed crossed into another realm?

No. He couldn’t allow her the choice. She was here. She’d
crossed realms of her own free will. Whether consciously or subconsciously—it
made little difference—she’d made that choice. By doing so, she no longer had a
choice. She was here to stay.

Talon
brooded over the fact they were going to have to bond. If they didn’t have the
bonding ceremony soon, it would be certain oblivion for Saylym. And he knew
without doubt, they couldn’t fake a bonding.

Black
Drayke’s arm was long and cruel. So were the elder’s.

Should
he and Saylym attempt a fake ceremony, a fake bonding, Black Drayke would
discover it. Without the guild’s orders, Black Drayke would justify taking
Saylym’s spirit, simply because of the threat she posed for their race.

The bonding had to be real. The ceremony had to be real.
And there had to be witnesses. Once they were bonded, no one would dare touch
her.

How
was he ever going to persuade her to bond with him? She wouldn’t cooperate,
mainly because she didn’t believe she was a witch. She wouldn’t understand the
urgent need for their Handfasting.
Sheeahta!

Talon
slicked his wet, tangled hair back from his face. He could force her. Take her
against her will. That’s what he’d been ordered to do.

Force.
The word felt dirty in his mind.

What
if he injured her? He couldn’t bear to hurt her.

He looked around, raking his mind for another way of
solving this crazy dilemma. He’d never felt such an overwhelming sense of
desperation or defeat in his life. There was no game plan because this was no
game. It was serious, and he would just have to improvise to save her beautiful
neck—and possibly his own neck.

Talon
sighed long and hard.

Water, at least a foot deep, covered the floor. There
wasn’t anything on the shelves that wasn’t soaked, and of course, so were they.
He opened his mouth to say something harsh, something he knew he probably
shouldn’t say to her, but the stricken expression on her lovely face had him
clamping his jaw shut.

The
cloud of desperation, the feeling of utter defeat, fell away from his shoulders
like leaves tumbling from the branches of a tree at Mabon. He couldn’t bring
himself to hurt her feelings.

Why
did it twist his guts into knots every time something upset her?

If
he didn’t know better, he’d think he was a
waken
in love.