The COMPLETE Witching Pen Series, Boxed Set (29 page)

"Turn over," he demanded, and roughly flung her around.

She felt disappointed for a moment that the connection had been lost, then he pushed her down and she cried out as her mutilated breasts met the floor. The pain shot a bolt of want to her clit, transforming that burning between her legs into a carnal ache that bloomed throughout her groin.

He reached under her for the button of her jeans, popped it off, her zipper was pulled down, then he was lifting her hips up, and sliding both her jeans and underwear off her.

She used this moment to peek down at herself, to see what exactly he'd done to her breasts.

My God!
She sucked in a breath. He'd safety-pinned them –
he'd fucking safety-pinned them!
Each one – right through the areolae, and it looked like he'd latched the pins shut too. Blood covered both breasts and some of her stomach.

He pulled her up so they were both kneeling, her back against his chest. His erection, still clothed behind his jeans, pressed firmly into her backside. His right hand delved between her thighs, stroked her wetness, then he drove his fingers inside her.

Mary groaned, half in pleasure and half in frustration – it wasn't enough.

He took one of her breasts in his other hand and played with the nipple, just like a lover would, as if he hadn't just speared a friggin' safety pin through it. With a wail, she slammed herself back against him at the sudden pain, but he was there, ready, holding her, keeping her steady…

And there it was. The orgasm stirred, growing fast out of that unyielding ache below her navel, and the intense pain in her breasts.

He pushed his fingers in deeper, brushed her clit with his thumb. Once … twice…

"Come on, honey," he whispered in her ear.

There it was.

Ecstasy coursed through her. She gripped his arm, he tightened his hold on her, and a long-awaited cry of primal pleasure left her, as tears slipped down her cheeks. Her climax rippled throughout her body, from her womb, to her toes, to her head, washing away not just pain, but the memory of it. She took everything she could from it, until there was nothing left, then slumped against Gwain, satiated.

Seconds passed, maybe a whole minute. He rubbed his cheek against her hair. "Are you all right?"

"Mmmm," was all she could manage.

"Good. Hold still." He trailed his hands slowly over her abdomen, then up her body until they were both hovering over her breasts. Lights, warm and low, emanated from his palms, a tingling sensation brushed over nipples, then cloaked her chest…

Wow, this is nice.

The safety pins disintegrated, and the holes in the sides of her breasts healed and closed up. Bizarrely, the blood coating her skin started to move. It gathered together from everywhere, streams of liquid joining – even the drops that had stained the floor, moved from the floor, onto her, as if they had life of their own – then
disappeared into her.
 

"That was really weird."

"Can't have you suffering blood loss … plus, the mess…"

"You're handier than Mary Poppins."

He let out a low, husky laugh. "I need to do your hands and arms next. Keep still if you can."

She kept still, and rested her head back against his chest as he worked his magic. The cuts along her arms disappeared, followed by the blood. He ran his hands down her arms, then took hold of her own hands. His warm, healing glow surrounded her fingertips as her nails were rebuilt. Then he worked on her head, and finally, eased her forward to fix her back.

"This is so good," she murmured. "Any chance you could do the same for my nightmares?"

"I'd love too, Mary, but I can't get a handle on them. They seem to be part of whatever destiny you have – I don't have access to them."

"Figures."

"Yeah. Okay, we're done here."

She turned to face him. "Thanks," she smiled, "but what about you?"

"What about me?"

She nodded at the still prominent bulge in his jeans.

"I'm fine. I don't need—"

"No. You've just given me so much. Fair's fair. And … no strings, remember?" She tugged at the button of his trousers. "If we leave it like this, I'll always feel like I owe you." Not that she could ever actually repay him for being able to do what no one else ever had.

"Hey." He stilled her hand. "There are no strings. You don't and never will owe me anything."

Maybe he finds what he just did repulsive – he was just cutting you up 'cause it's what you needed, not because he
wanted
to, you stupid girl.
 

Sure enough, the erection pushing against his zip seemed to be less prominent.

Idiotically, she found herself blinking back tears. "Okay," she said, removing her hand, but he didn't let go of hers.

"Mary, don't. I know what you're thinking…"

"Then unknow it," she snapped, standing up.

He rose with her. "God damn it, do you really think I find you repulsive?" he shot back angrily, marching her backwards 'til she hit the wall. "Do you really think I could do what I just did to you, if I found any inch of you repulsive?" Still gripping her hand, he pressed it against his cock.

Her mistake – no shrinkage there. "Then why—"

"I have my reasons. And none of them have to do with you being undesirable, believe me."

She wasn't convinced, but let it go. This wasn't the right time or place for her to get her knickers in a twist over something she wasn't even sure was ever going to happen again. Best just move on.

She shot him a look as she stepped around him and reached for her clothes.

"Oh … my top. Any chance your angelic glow can fix clothes?"

"Not one of my talents I'm afraid, although Elena could, I'm sure. Do you want me to take it to her?"

"And tell her what, exactly?" she asked, as she pulled her trousers on. "Just bin it. It's not special."

He undid a couple of the buttons on his shirt, then pulled it over his head and handed it to her. "Here."

Mary let her eyes flicker over his muscular chest for a split second.

It's a shame you can't get aroused from pleasure, 'cause
that
is one pleasing body,
teased the voice in her head.

"Hey," she noticed suddenly. "You look … younger … or something."

"I received some unexpected healing of my own today, too," he replied with a half-smile.

"Sounds interesting." She wondered what specifically that had involved.

Mary did up the buttons on her borrowed shirt, then smoothed it down. "I'm impressed – not even the tiniest stain of blood. What do I tell the prison guards when they realise I've suddenly changed my top?"

Gwain laughed. "Let them wonder."

"Has Pueblo found Amy yet?"

"Yes. He's gone to get her. With any luck, she'll be home before dawn. Listen, I'm sorry we can't get you out right now, but as soon as Amy's back—"

"I understand – it's not like I'm going anywhere."

"We're going to work on it all tomorrow and try to find out what's going on with these murders."

"Fine, thanks. So … when do you think the guards will wake up?"

"I'd give it another ten minutes or so."

"Okay."

Silence.

There were no articles of clothing left to put on, and nothing else to say.

They both shuffled uncomfortably.

"So," mumbled Mary. "Thanks … for…"

"Any time," said Gwain. "Oh, here…" He reached into his pocket and pulled out her necklace.

"Oh, my God," she gasped, reaching for it. "That's totally made my lousy night!"

"Thanks," he said, dryly.

"No,
that
wasn't lousy – that part was good," she grinned. "How did you get this?"

"I rummaged where I shouldn't have. You fidget with it every five minutes; figured you'd be missing it."

He turned to leave.

"Wait…" She took his hand. Opening his palm, she dropped the necklace back in it, and closed his fist around it. "Keep it safe for me? They'll only take it off me again if they find it."

"I'll keep it safe for you," he nodded. "'Bye, Mary."

"'Bye."

He locked the cell door behind him.

Only after he'd left, did she fully understand the implications of what had just happened: he had left her his shirt, and she had left him her necklace. The 'no strings' plan may as well have just left the building, along with the only man – or angel – she knew who could deal with her nightmares.

She exhaled sharply. This was so
not
on her agenda.

A tinkering noise sounded somewhere off to the left outside her cell. She looked around as far as she could see. All the guards were still out for the count.

"Gwain?"

Did he forget something?

The lights flickered overhead, then went out, plunging everything into darkness.

"Gwain?" she called out again, a little less sure this time. Her heart hammered in her chest. Something was off. It didn't help that she couldn't see a damn thing.

An enormous hand clamped over her mouth, and an arm as thick as a tree trunk wrapped itself around her waist. Her muffled screams went nowhere. She writhed and tried to kick, but could barely move, her assailant was so strong – and probably not human judging by the size of the body she could feel against her.

Words rumbled from its throat in a language she didn't understand. The ground began to shake, then it cracked, right across the middle of her cell. The air around them went from room temperature to scorching hot. Red light beamed upwards from the split in the floor – a portal?

Then the ground gave way, and she was trying to scurry backwards, only the thing holding her wouldn't let her move.

The crack had grown and become a huge hole in the ground. The thing holding her dragged her towards it.

NO!
She flung her head back as hard as she could and succeeded in hitting something solid. Whatever was holding her lost its grip a little, and she took that moment to elbow it as hard as she could where she thought its solar plexus might be. The thing made a horrendous noise and let her go.

And now a Roundhouse to the head,
she thought, as she swung her leg. It caught it and twisted. Mary yelled, dropped to the floor then froze in place. She could see it now that she was facing it – the light from the portal painted its face red.

What. The.
Fuck?!
 

It was the walrus demon from her dream. Only this time she wasn't dreaming. She knew this, because there was no pain. She was pain free. That meant this was real.

Screaming in blind panic, she made for the cell door, but it was locked and everyone was still sleeping and there was no way out. It came at her again from behind and she side-stepped it, but it caught the back of her shirt. The shirt tore. Buttons flew everywhere. Gwain's shirt.
Gwain.
 

"Gw—"

She was yanked back by her hair, and her head smacked the ground. She heard something crack – her skull? Her vision swam, and she was moving. No, it was lifting her – towards the hole in the ground. She tried to speak, but blood filled her mouth and she choked on it.

It held her over the yawning.

No, please…

Then it dropped her.

Chapter Ten

Amy's body thrummed with her anger and magic.

Don't kill Etienne, don't kill Etienne, don't kill Etienne…
If she repeated the mantra enough times, maybe she'd actually listen to it.

He appeared before her as mist in the first instance, that quickly solidified into the eighty-two year old Elder of The Witch Council – the man who had abducted her when she was five, wiped her memory of it, brought her up as the only father she'd ever known, then locked her away in 1956 with no memory of any of the previous. What an utter dickhead.

He looked straight at her, all snow white hair and mud brown eyes; standing tall despite his years. The lines of age on his face were etched deeply, giving him a countenance that looked cold and heartless … or maybe that was just him.

She could see through him slightly – he was immaterial, not corporeal.
Guess I won't be killing him after all, then.
 

"You evil son of a bitch," she began, without even attempting to hide the shaking in her voice. Now that she saw him, here, in front of her, she couldn't separate all the emotions fighting for purchase within her. Anger, hurt, the deep cut of betrayal and the well of grief for the loss of her childhood and her mother, all tumbled around inside her like caged beasts.

His eyes held a deep regret within them, but she was all out of sympathy. He didn't deserve an ounce of her compassion.

"I trusted you … I
trusted
you, with
everything
I had." Her eyes brimmed over with tears. Furiously, she wiped them away. He didn't deserve those either. "What the hell is
wrong
with you, that means you could do this to someone? Did I ever mean
anything
to you?"

"Amy—"

"No! Don't you say my name, you
never
get to say my name again after what you did. You stole it from me, took my memories … you took my mother." Half a sob escaped her, breaking up her last word. And truly, her mother must have been broken all those years ago.

"Your mother is alive. Her name is Felicity Langdon. She lives in the Cotswolds. She's never stopped looking for you."

Oh, shit.
She sank to her knees, not able to hold herself up, as flood gates opened and twenty-two years of grief poured out of them.

She was unable to contain it, to contain herself, and thankfully, Etienne just stood there. If he approached her now, or threw any magic her way, he'd kill her, because all her defences lay on the floor, under the weight of her sorrow.

"I'm truly sorry. I'd hold you right now if I could," he said.

"I'd kill you right now if I could," she replied.

A far-reaching hurt swept over his countenance, but was quickly overcome by the usual lack-lustre expression she'd grown accustomed to.