Coven: a dark medieval paranormal romance (Witches of the Woods Book 2) (22 page)

“You speak of men stabbing me. You said their swords punctured my body here, and here, and here.” Ulrich placed his hands on his tunic. I nodded. “You clearly see the weapons entering me and my blood being spilled?” I nodded again.

Ulrich lifted his shirt and once again pointed to the areas I’d seen him being stabbed. The nasty gash on his side was healing well, and the wound on his shoulder had closed up nicely. But he was right, something didn’t match up. I couldn’t believe I hadn’t noticed before.

Ulrich bore no wounds from the other cuts, and there was no way even magic could have healed him that fast. He had never been stabbed in those places.

I ran my fingers over the bare skin of his chest, just beneath his other shoulder, where I had clearly seen the sword enter. “So what I saw was false. It had to be. But how is this so?”

“I don’t know enough about magic to understand it, but my guess is that someone wanted you to believe I was dead. Perhaps they saw the vision of me being stabbed at another time, and then invented this new image, and somehow
projected
it so that you would see it when you were scrying.”

I frantically counted back the days in my head. “What day did you enter the dungeon?” I asked. “What time?”

“It was two weeks ago, on Sunday. The moon was high, but I don’t think it was completely full.”

I gasped. “Maerwynn and I performed the ritual on Monday. The scrying image is live, it is meant to show what happens at that exact time. You are right. I was shown a false vision. But by whom?”

“It had to be one of the witches in the coven. I do not believe there is another witch powerful enough to project a vision that powerful over a great distance. Plus, whoever gave you the vision would have needed to know when you were scrying.”

“Aunt Bernadine!” I cried, my chest flaring with anger. “It must be her. She always has it out for me, and for you. She wanted me to forget you, and gave me this vision—”

“I do not believe it was Bernadine,” said Ulrich.

“Then who? Surely not Maerwynn?”

“It makes the most sense,” said Ulrich. “Maerwynn craves power, and that is something you have in abundance. If you believe me to be dead, then you will stay with the coven, and she would have access to your powers.”

“That doesn’t make any sense to me,” I said. “For I wasn’t thinking of leaving the coven. Where would I go, when the whole land is in a witch-hunting frenzy? Besides, her vision would have proved false when you returned.”

Ulrich nodded. “You are correct. But maybe she didn’t believe I would return.”

“I do not think Maerwynn is the one,” I said. “There are others who do not seem to like me, especially now that Brunhild is dead.”

As quickly as I could, I told him about how the ritual to break the curse had gone wrong, and Brunhild had been killed. Ulrich nodded, taking the news stoically. “We should hurry back,” he said. “Tjard and Maerwynn will have already started to prepare the village for Damon’s attack. We must join them.”

I bundled my torn dress around me as best I could, and followed Ulrich outside the cabin. In the daylight I could clearly see that the dark horse that had conveyed us last night was Willow. She inclined her head toward me, and I scratched her head affectionately. “I am sorry for not recognizing you,” I told her. “But you blend so perfectly with the night.”

“That is why she is the perfect horse for me” said Ulrich, flipping the corner of his black cloak over his shoulder. “Tjard has Sycamore.”

Ulrich helped me up on to the saddle, then settled himself down behind me. As he reached around to grab the reins, he kissed a trail up the side of my neck, sending shivers of delight down my body. I pressed myself back against him, grinding my ass cheeks against his thighs. I knew the danger we faced was beyond measure, but I didn’t want to leave the cabin. I didn’t want to return to running and hiding and being afraid. I wanted Ulrich, again and again.

“I wouldn’t do that,” Ulrich growled in my ear, his breath tickling me more. “Things could go badly for you.”

Feeling bold, I wriggled harder.

SNAP.
Something stung my thigh. I glanced down. Ulrich held a black riding crop in his hand, the tip resting against my thigh, where he had brought it down. My skin smarted where the tip had tapped me.

“Just because we are in the woods, does not mean I have forgotten the ways of the dungeon,” Ulrich whispered against my earlobe.
The dungeon.
Our special place. I sighed deeply, remembering all the things he had done to me there, the way he had whipped me and made it beautiful. The way I wanted him to whip me again now.

But it was not to be. With one hand on the reins, Ulrich urged Willow onward, she started walking at a jaunty speed, and the movement ground me even harder against Ulrich. Strangely, the gait of the horse only seemed to excite me. She moved with a graceful rhythm, much like the rhythm Ulrich used when he pounded against me…

I could feel his cock pressed against me, hard as stone. I licked my lips, relishing this playful, slightly dangerous game. This was the old Ulrich, the one I knew from the dungeon. He urged Willow onward, his voice rasping against my ear, his words tinged with the strain of his desire.

SNAP.
Ulrich brought the whip down again on my other thigh. I winced as the pain arced through me, but it was quickly replaced by a throbbing between my legs. I wanted more.

Ulrich’s teeth grazed against my earlobe. Willow vaulted a fallen branch and as she landed, we bounced in the saddle and were ground together, even harder this time.

Ulrich flipped the whip in his hands, and moved the tip under my skirts, manoeuvring it so that it sat just between my legs. Having that thick leather shaft just sitting there made me ache even harder. I wanted him so badly that just the flick of the tip against me sent shivers through my whole body. I was already dripping wet and desperate for release.

As he urged Willow faster, Ulrich kept the tip of the whip just resting against me, so that every movement flicked and teased me. The trees whizzed by in a blur as my vision distorted, the heat of my approaching orgasm rising up through my belly.

As he bit down on my earlobe, Ulrich pressed the butt of the whip against my clit. I cried out. The world whipped past me in a blur and Willow drove onward, unheeding to my mewling. Ulrich began to twist the crop, grinding it against me. There was no softness about this, and yet, it was exactly what I wanted. Fire flared within my body as the orgasm drew nearer. I shoved back against him, my body bracing itself against the juddering horse.

Ulrich’s hand pressed against my lips. “Bite down,” he rasped in my ear.

I bit, as he thrust the tip of the crop against me one final time, and my body exploded with pleasure. The fire flared through my limbs, and I flopped about, out of control, the fear of falling only enhancing the thrill of the ride.

As the ecstasy wore away into a dull, warm ache, I slumped against the saddle. Ulrich’s arms wrapped around me and pulled me back against him. “You need to be careful,” he said, one arm holding me upright while the other held Willow’s reins. “Willow and I don’t want you to fall off.”

As the heat in my body faded, I glanced around us for the first time. We were trotting alongside the river, but I didn’t recognize any of the trees or landmarks. “Where are we?” I asked.

“About five miles west of the Haven.” said Ulrich. “We’ll be there within the hour.” I lay back against him, enjoying the warmth of his body, the hardness of his muscles, as he steered Willow around the larger rocks that marred our path.

We came to a clearing in the trees, giving us a view over the long forest valley, the stream winding through the thick trees. From the edge of the forest, I noticed a dark cloud curling upward. “What’s that?” I pointed.

Ulrich squinted. “Nothing good.” He patted the hilt of his sword, as if reassuring himself it was still there. ”We must hurry.”

“Why? What’s happened?”

“That black cloud is smoke coming from the coven’s camp,” Ulrich said. “And if you listen, you can hear the faint sound of swords clashing against sword, and of horse hooves thundering down the valley. I don’t know how they’ve done it, but I think my father’s men might have overtaken us.”

I gasped. “My aunts are down there!”

Willow flew down the valley, her black mane streaming behind her. I hunched low in the saddle, allowing Ulrich’s bulk to envelop me. My heart hammered against my chest.

As we neared the camp, my fears turned to cold, stark reality. In the distance I heard the unmistakable sounds of men laughing, of women screaming. My blood turned cold. I barely registered the last mile we rode to camp, the only thought in my mind was of my aunts. Were they safe?

Willow thundered into the valley and raced into the camp. Tears sprung to my eyes to see what they had made of it. The perfect tiny huts dashed to pieces, their roofs stoven in with battle axes. Fires leapt from tree to tree, their flames darting dangerously close to Willow’s feet as she stepped around them. I saw the hut my aunts were sleeping in, up on the crest of the hill, ablaze with great orange flames. A gang of men circled it, swords raised, bellowing something into the flames.

“No!” I screamed. Hot rage surged through my body. I took that rage and pulled it close to me, gathering it into my heart, where all the fond memories of my aunts resided. I pulled and pulled until my whole chest was a fiery ball of anger. And before I had time to consider my actions I
pushed
with my mind, and the rage soared out through my fingers, hurtling toward the men.

The flames leapt outward from the cabin, knocking down the men. Their triumphant bellows turned to screams as the flames consumed their clothing and tore at their flesh. Bodies flailed everywhere, their screams assaulting me. The smell of burning flesh permeating the smoke-clogged air.

I felt no remorse as I watched them burn, only cold, bitter anger.

One man rolled down the hill, bouncing down the beautiful steps Maerwynn’s women had sculpted. He pulled himself to his feet and staggered into the water. But even there, he still cried with agony as his skin burned. These were not ordinary flames. The water did nothing to quench them.

We dismounted and raced through the chaos toward the cabin. Ulrich reached the house before me. “Aubrey! Bernadine!” He called. Aubrey’s stricken face appeared at the doorway, holding her skirts tight around her in an attempt to keep them free of the flames. “It’s Bernadine,” she croaked. “She’s collapsed. I cannot move her.”

Ulrich grabbed Aubrey’s thin wrist and pulled her from the flaming building. He shoved her into my arms, then ducked in through the low door and emerged a few moments later carrying the limp body of Bernadine.

“No!” I cried as I saw my aunt flopping in his arms, her eyes closed, her arthritic hands relaxed. Ulrich carried her to the edge of the steps, as far away from the house as we could get, and there he set her down.

Aubrey laid her sister’s body out, tilting her head back and opening her mouth. She placed her hands on Bernadine’s chest, and closed her eyes. I thought she was going to reach her fingers into Bernadine’s mouth and tickle her throat, which is what the village doctor did whenever someone stopped breathing. But instead, Aubrey began to chant. Her words were so quiet I could not make them out. As she chanted, she pressed her hands down on Bernadine’s chest, stimulating her heart beat.

Tears streamed down Aubrey’s face as she pumped harder, her mouth chocking on the words. Bernadine didn’t move, didn’t stir. Her face grew pale, tinged with a horrid blue I knew to be a sign of approaching death.

I placed my hands on top of hers. A warm rush of energy slid up my arms. I pushed again with my mind, forcing the heat in my body back down through my fingers, back into Bernadine.

Don’t die. Please don’t die.

Just as I was ready to sink to my knees in despair, Bernadine sat up, coughing violently. Aubrey sobbed with relief, throwing her arms around her sister and crushing her against her breast. I sank against Ulrich, my own body wracked with relieved sobs.

“Allright, allright.” Bernadine croaked, trying to clamber to her feet. “Give a witch some air.”

I stepped back. Ulrich stood beside me, his fingers searching for mine.

“Where are they now?” Aubrey asked, as her eyes darted around.

“It looks as if Maerwynn’s archers have chased them over the hill,” Ulrich said, his own gaze scanning the destruction. “We must move soon, for they will be back to capture any survivors.”

Behind me, I heard a horrifying cry, a sound like the soul being sucked down a sinkhole. I turned, dreading what horror I would encounter next.

Maerwynn knelt on the alter stone on the bank of the river, staring with glazed eyes over the haven she had created, now burning and broken before her. She raked her nails through her blood-soaked hair, and
howled
– a horrid sound, like an animal snagged in the claws of a trap. The body of Gussalen draped across her knees, her eyes glazed, her face still. A dagger blade protruded from her breast, the beauty of her crystalline features marred by dark splatters of blood.

“
You.”
Maerwynn growled, as her gaze fell on Ulrich. “You did this.”

“He didn’t!” I cried. “He was trying to save you. He came back to warn you—”

“He led them here,” she screamed. “He killed my coven, my children. They are dying because of you!”

“Ulrich didn’t do this,” Aubrey said. She let Bernadine rest against a standing stone, and stepped up to the altar. She reached up to help Maerwynn down. But Maerwynn was inconsolable, and she howled, tearing at her hair, beating her chest. The sound was inhuman.

More of the witches came out of the trees. Catrain scrambled down from the branches, an empty arrow quiver clattering against her shoulder. They formed a circle around Maerwynn, chanting in a low, mournful tone. They were singing a dirge for their departed sisters.

Ulrich gripped my shoulders and pulled me tight against him. “I am sorry,” he whispered, his eyes closed. “I am so sorry.”