Flight of the Crow

by

MELANIE THOMPSON

TORRID BOOKS
www.torrid books.com

Published by
TORRID BOOKS
An Imprint of Whiskey Creek Press LLC

Whiskey Creek Press
PO Box 51052
Casper, WY 82605-1052
www.whiskeycreekpress.com

Copyright © 2014
by Melanie Thompson

Warning: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is illegal. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 (five) years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.

Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author's imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author or the publisher.

No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without permission in writing from the publisher.

ISBN: 978-1-61160-772-7

Cover Artist: Gemini Judson
Editor: Fran Mathieson
Printed in the United States of America

Other Books by Author Available at Torrid Books:
www.torridbooks.com

Erotic Flights of Fantasy I
and
II
take you on an erotic safari through different times, different places and alternate realities. Elves, vampires and crazed inventors fill stories set in the past and the future, with sexual adventures of every kind. Sit back and be prepared to be amused and aroused by these sexy little bites. Each story is complete in itself and sure to titillate your fancy.

Flight of the Zeppelin
In New Orleans, steam power runs the world. A desperate Bryn Sahir searches for an emerald that will release her and her sister, Fenix, from a curse. Draak Priest is also after the stone which belongs to a voodoo priestess. Time is running out. The curse must be ended.

Dedication

To my daughter, my writing partner, and my best friend, Melanie Fraser.

The chug of the steam engine turning the huge brass screws of the racing ship slowed. “We've reached Le Havre,” Quinnten Blade said to his traveling companion, Bryn Sahir.

Beautiful beyond words, with black hair and violet eyes, Bryn held a babe, with bright red hair, in her arms. The child's golden eyes glowed with an intelligence Quinn knew was unnatural. When the baby stared straight into Quinn's eyes, he looked away. The tiny girl's name was Fenix Sahir and she was Bryn's twin sister.

As the ship drew abreast of the town and entered the Seine estuary, Quinn put his arm around the black-haired beauty holding the babe. She allowed this show of affection, resting slightly against his chest. “Taking care of an infant will slow us down,” she said. “We must procure a reliable nanny at once.”

“What about Fingle?”

Bryn shook her head. “No, we're going to need him to track down Priest.”

Quinn straightened and frowned. Fingle was a strange man. Once a familiar, Samantha, his witch companion, had granted him humanity. Fingle used to be a hound dog and now was human…most of the time. “How about Sam?” Samantha Kennis was a witch Bryn had saved from being burned at the stake. She invented strange steam-driven devices that aided Bryn who was an outstanding cat burglar and jeweler.

Bryn laughed and as Fenix fussed, moved her to a shoulder and began patting her back. “Samantha plans to work with Tomlinson perfecting another flying machine. They wish to exhibit it at the World Exposition. Samantha is in a tizzy about the tower they've constructed at the Exposition. She assured me it's over a thousand feet high.”

Quinn laughed. “God forbid anything should stop the construction of another flying nightmare.”

“His flying machine saved us once,” Bryn said. “Perhaps it will again.”

Quinn's memories of that wild ride through the New Orleans night were anything but pleasant. “We almost died in the crash.”

“If he had not flown you to the zeppelin, we all would have died. Priest would have killed me and Fenix and escaped with the
Coeur de Flamme.”

“He escaped with the damned stone anyway, but I would not have lost you for the world.”

“I so wished to end this curse,” Bryn mused as the ship slid into its dock. “Draak Priest has much to answer for.”

Quinn nodded. Bryn and Fenix were both cursed. Ending their suffering was the driving force in Bryn's life. She would do anything to stop her sister's endless cycle of dying on her thirtieth birthday in a flaming pyre only to arise from the ashes once again a babe.

“We need to hurry,” Bryn said. “Sam telegraphed one of her friends and they are meeting us with a fast team of horses. It's imperative we get to Paris immediately.”

“Why do you think Priest is in Paris?” he asked as they walked rapidly to their stateroom.

“The catacombs,” she said over her shoulder. “That and snail eggs. The only place where they are raised is the town of Rungis, which is just south of Paris.”

“I'm afraid to ask,” he said as they entered the suite of rooms they had been in for the past four days. “But why the catacombs?”

“Cardinal Malenfant, the most evil and vicious of all the inquisitors. He was responsible for torturing and murdering in a most vile fashion thousands of men, women and children. Priest will use the Cardinal's bones to regain his mortality.”

“How delightful.” Quinn could not imagine any ritual that would use bones. Of course his imagination was limited. He had no paranormal powers of any kind and still had trouble believing Bryn did.

Pandemonium reigned inside the stateroom. Packed bags sat by the door along with assorted paraphernalia needed to care for an infant. Samantha was arguing hotly with Quinn's assistant, Arthur Tomlinson.

“You can't continue to use your alcohol-based fuel,” Sam snarled. “It exploded when the aircraft crashed.”

“But we must have a fuel that will take up as little space as possible and burn with a concentrated heat hot enough to produce the required amount of steam to propel the machine.”

“I will make one,” Sam expostulated. “The fuel I invented for the zeppelin could work.”

“Sorry to interrupt this discussion,” Quinn said with a smile. They'd been listening to much of the same for the entire journey. “It is time to disembark.”

“I believe Johnston's ship has set a new record for the crossing,” Tomlinson said as he picked up a portmanteau, a crammed valise and a suitcase.

Sam nodded. “It's the size of the brass screw he installed.”

“I'm sorry,” Tomlinson tossed over his shoulder as he entered the narrow passageway. “I am quite sure it has more to do with the fuel he used to feed his boiler. Perhaps I should consult with him regarding our needs.”

“Don't you dare!” Sam said as she followed him out. “We will use my fuel and it will work.”

Bryn pressed slender fingers into Quinn's arm. “Wait, I must make sure we've left nothing behind.”

She put the sleeping baby into a portable bed so she could walk through the rooms. After searching under the bunks and in the innovative water closets, she appeared carrying a sparkling foot-long piece of black petrified wood. “Fenix's wand. I almost left it behind.”

Quinn stopped her at the door and drew her against his body. “I need you,” he whispered into her ear. “I want you with an ache I cannot assuage.”

She tried to push him away and he held her tighter. “You must give in to me eventually. I love you more than my life.”

When he tried to press a kiss to her perfect lips, she turned her head. “This way leads only to your death.”

“I don't believe you. You torture me to no purpose.”

Her violet eyes flashed with anger. “Have I ever lied to you?”

He dropped his head. All of the strange and terrible things she'd told him about herself had been proven truth. She was a witch and Fenix was cursed. He believed Samantha was also a witch. But he balked when Bryn told him she could not make love to him because he would die upon completion of the act. How could such a thing be true?

“No you have not,” he said with a sigh.

She took pity on him, placed a small hand on each side of his face, drew him close and kissed him. The kiss was so delicious, his knees grew weak with need and his cock pulsed against his flat stomach. “There, that must keep you until I can convince Sam to welcome you to our bed once again.”

He closed his eyes as he followed her out the door. “I do not want Sam. I want you.” He grabbed her arm and spun her around. She allowed him to take her in his arms again. “What matters if I die after we make love? If I can't, I shall die of the need.”

She patted his cheek with a black-lace gloved hand. “Help me break this curse and you shall have all of me you can handle.”

* * * *

Bryn's heart ached for Quinn. He couldn't understand or believe in a curse that affected him so closely. It was as though he were cursed as well as her. She hated to deny him the solace and joy of lovemaking, but he hadn't experienced the horrendous results as she had. A beloved husband, newly married, on the first night of love and at the moment of completion had burst into flames to die screaming in agony. The flames were an unnatural violet, the color of Bryn's eyes. And this was why she always wore the color, to remember Joseph, gone for centuries but ever remembered in her heart. She would not allow that to happen to Quinn. In the past, she'd used the awfulness of her curse as a weapon. By doing this, she had cemented her knowledge of the details of her curse. She knew with exactitude the precise moment her lover would incinerate.

Ridiculously handsome, Quinn's broad shoulders tapered into a narrow waist, and his long legs were usually encased in form-fitting buckskins. Thick blond hair flowed from a widow's peak on his wide white brow. His smiling eyes, under finely arched brows, were a steely gray with flecks of green. She'd caught herself staring into them on more than one occasion. On top of these glorious attributes, his mouth always seemed drawn into a sardonic smile and he possessed a dimple in each cheek.

She'd given up fighting the attraction she felt for him. It was a useless pursuit. She wanted him as much as he wanted her. They shared the frustration but only she totally understood the repercussions of her curse and try as she would, he refused to comprehend them.

Bryn held Fenix close to her heart as she followed Quinn and the bags down the gangplank. Sam led, for it was her friend, an acquaintance from the Parisian coven, who had sent the carriage. Justin Rouillard was a wizard of the first order. If he said he was sending fast horses, they were undoubtedly so.

As she stepped off the walkway from the steamship to dry land, she saw Sam wave to the driver of a huge traveling chaise drawn by four restless black horses. The driver whipped them up and tooled slowly toward their mountain of baggage. When he reached them, he clambered off the box, bowed low and pulled his forelock but said nothing. He helped Fingle and Tomlinson load the bags onto the top of the chaise and strap them down. When everything was stowed, Quinn handed her into the chaise.

She settled in one of the seats and held Fenix, bundled against the suddenly chilly weather, on her lap. When all but Quinn and Fingle were in the chaise, the driver made grunting noises and pointed. Bryn could see him through the window. There was a group of balloons ascending above the buildings of the city. Of course Tomlinson and Sam had to climb out to observe the colorful hot air balloons rising on the morning breeze. The driver and Quinn were watching as well while Bryn remained inside with Fenix. A sudden clatter and chug startled the high-spirited team and the chaise began to move. Bryn cried out to Quinn and he ran to the horses' heads along with the driver and Fingle as a horseless carriage swept around the corner of the Boulevard Clemenceau at a spanking pace.

The sight of the huge steam-powered vehicle sent the horses into a panic. The three men fought with the crazed horses to keep them from bolting with Bryn and the baby. Terrified for Fenix, Bryn scampered out of the chaise just in time. The horses tore out of the men's grasp and thundered off down the Boulevard.

Sam and Tomlinson ran to the motorized vehicle without a backward glance. The driver stopped it and climbed out. He wore a long tan driving coat with several capes, tall riding boots. A dashing beret covered thick wavy black hair. His florid countenance was creased and weathered. “Do they even know we just lost the carriage with all our bags?” Quinn asked her.

“I doubt it,” Bryn said.

The owner of the horseless carriage led by Sam and Tomlinson approached Bryn. “I'm so sorry,” he said in French as he bowed low and swept off his driving hat. “Most of the animals along the waterfront are quite used to my vehicle. I thought I would be safe driving here today.”