BloodWitchInferno

Mary
C. Moore

Mira is trapped in the past. As a child she witnessed the
demonic abduction of her mother. For years she’s been searching for answers,
despite her grandmother’s warnings to let the past remain buried. Desperate,
Mira performs a spell she doesn’t understand and summons a demon—a hot, horny
and bound-to-her-will demon. Before she knows what’s happening, they’re wrapped
in a carnal embrace that smolders, sizzles and knocks her flat on her back in
the best way possible.

Karnon is stunned when a blood witch summons him to the
human realm, but nothing could prepare him for her request that she return with
him to Hell to search for her mother. Emboldened by her faith in his word and
the way she touches him—both in and out of bed—Karnon takes Mira to Hell,
willing to stand between her and every danger, familial and otherwise. He can
do no less for the woman who, despite all the risks, he’s beginning to love.

A
Romantica®
paranormal erotic romance
from Ellora’s Cave

Acknowledgments

For Heather, Alison and Dayna.

Thank you for reading and always being supportive.

The stars were icy in the sky outside her window. Trembling,
she snuggled under her quilt with her teddy bear. Something was wrong.

“Mommy?”

Silence answered. Mira slipped out of bed and padded out
into the hall. Her grandmother’s snore came from the room at the far end. Her
mother’s door was open.

“Mommy?” The little girl tiptoed into the bedroom.

The bed was empty. Mira clutched her bear to her chest. She
knew where her mommy was. Her mommy was practicing again, without Grandma.
Grandma would be mad. Mira paused at the bottom of the stairs to the attic.
Mommy shouldn’t be up there without Grandma. The glow of candlelight flickered
from the attic door, beckoning.

The little girl climbed the stairs.

The flickering candles created a dance of wicked shadows on
the wall. The dark nooks and crannies in the shelves full of books and jars
seemed to hide evil, laughing creatures. Mira’s mother sat cross-legged in the
back of the room, chanting, a book open beside her. A dark cloud gathered
around her. The wicked shadows grew larger, grasping for the little girl. She
shrank back.

“Mommy?”

“Mira?”

Her mother jumped up and stepped toward her. There was a
flash of light. A red hand broke out of the smoke and gripped Mira’s mother.
Mira screamed. The room went dark.

“Mommy!”

Her eyes filled with lamplight. Mira blinked, her face was
swollen with tears. Her grandmother stood over her, lips pressed in a thin
line. The floor was charred black with the remnants of a salt pentagram
scattered like snow. A thick book lay open in the center.

“It’s my fault Mommy’s gone,” Mira whispered.

Without a word Mira’s grandmother gathered her up in her
strong arms, pressing Mira’s face to her bosom and carried her away.

The rest of the night she silently rocked Mira until the
little girl fell asleep.

The Calling

Mira sat in the circle of salt, exhausted. Her glasses were
foggy, her hair frizzed around her temples. A drop of sweat slithered down the
back of her neck.

“It’s never going to work,” she muttered.

In response the candle beside her spluttered in its pool of
wax and winked out. The others had already gone cold. She stared through the
dim light at the book open in front of her. The spidery script was unreadable.

It wasn’t giving up its secrets.

She got up, her bones creaking from holding one position for
too long, and flicked on the light. Her living room, with its stained carpet, old
but clean sofa and bare walls, became dull once more.

The book mocked her from the floor. Cursing, she kicked it
and stubbed her toe on the spine. Angry tears welled up. She didn’t have the
knowledge to work the spell.

“Why couldn’t you teach me, Grandma?”

Her grandmother’s words echoed in her head.
Remember,
child, remember your mother, remember that night. Do not seek the blood-witch
knowledge.

The morning after the incident she had raced up to the
attic. Empty. The candles gone, the circle gone, the shelves bare—everything
had disappeared. The room had been stripped naked of what it had once been. The
magic, good or bad, was no longer there. And it was her fault.

There had been inquiries about Mira’s mother. A missing
person report went out. Strange women had visited, carrying brooms or baskets
or small animals, but they were sent away. Her grandmother never spoke of magic
again. She never really talked much again about anything. When Mira asked why
she couldn’t learn, she always got the same answer.

Because, my child, I want you to be safe. I will not lose
you like I lost your mother.

Mira looked around the living room. Empty as the rest of the
house. Mira’s grandmother was gone, passed away in her sleep a month ago, but
not before demanding with her last wheezing breaths that Mira not seek out her
heritage.

She was alone.

Mira wiped her eyes. Not time to wallow in pity, she had
done that plenty. It was her fault her mother had disappeared and her
grandmother had given up magic. Now it was time to find out what had happened.
She wouldn’t give up. She would teach herself the ways of the blood-witches and
find her mother. She nudged the book shut with her toe and gave it a last kick
for good measure. Tomorrow would be a new day.

* * * * *

“Did you like the book I lent you? Mira’s coworker Tink
asked. She pushed the cart of books to a stop in front of Mira’s desk.

“It’s interesting,” Mira said, keeping her gaze on her
friend’s colorful full-sleeve tattoos that covered her arms to avoid meeting
her eyes. Mira’s friend was a self-prescribed witch, or at least what humans
thought were witches. She lit candles, grew herbs and followed the Solstices
but no real magic flowed through her veins.

“It’s not the kind of book you find in here.” Tink winked,
nodding to the shelves behind them. True, the old spell book would be out of
place in the modern library. Mira couldn’t believe Tink had one. Tink had no
idea about the true nature of witches and yet somehow a true Book of Shadows
had found its way to her.

When Mira had first touched the cover her fingers had
tingled. As she’d flipped through the yellowed pages her heart had begun to
hammer in her chest. She knew it was the book, the same book her mother had
been using on that night. Her grandmother had gotten rid of it, the final act
of defiance to her blood.

“So you want to try out some of the rituals?” Tink put her
elbows on the desk, toying with her short, pink hair, and leaned close to Mira.

Mira hesitated to answer. With Tink there the rituals wouldn’t
have any power. Humans couldn’t be involved in blood-witch rituals.

“We could do it at my house. I know you have a lot of
carpet,” Tink said, interrupting Mira’s musing.

“What?”

An older librarian shushed them. Mira’s face warmed and she
slunk down in her seat.

Tink giggled. “Rituals are performed on four types of
surfaces—stone, ice, soil or wood,” she whispered. “I have wood floors.”

Mira cursed her stubborn grandmother. That explained why the
attic was the only place in her house without carpet. She should know this, but
instead she had some human explaining it to her.

Mira smiled across the desk at her friend. “Sure, maybe
sometime next week?”

Tink smiled back, her grin stretching through the silver
hoop on her bottom lip.

* * * * *

Mira climbed the stairs to the attic, her pulse racing. At
last. In one arm she held Tink’s book to her chest, in the other she carried a
basket with a bag of salt and candles. The book, warm against her breasts, sent
jolts of electricity into her bloodstream. This was it, she could feel it.
Tonight she would to find out what had happened to her mother. She would make
amends for breaking up their family.

She pushed open the door to the attic. The hinges squealed
from lack of use. The room was as she remembered it—bare, sterile and scrubbed
clean. Her grandmother had been vigilant that no magic would be used up to her
death.

The old witch’s warnings ringing in her head, she opened the
book to the now-familiar page. She read the instructions again to make sure she
had it right. Her hands shaking, she spilled out the salt into a large circle
with a star in the center. She placed the candles at the point of each star and
at each of the four directions.

She winced as she made a small cut in her finger. A drop of
her blood trickled into the center of the pentagram, the blood of a true witch,
the one ingredient Tink would never have. That much at least she knew,
remembering her mother and grandmother always had bandages on their fingers
before the incident, and of course as a little girl she had pestered them about
it.

She settled cross-legged at the northernmost point and lit
four more candles around her. The book lay open next to her. Tension and
anticipation filled her. She looked down at the script. This was the spell, the
last spell her mother had used. It would be the first Mira ever did. The
Calling spell. To call what, Mira didn’t know, but she had to try. She had
spent too much of her life hiding in her grandmother’s shadow.

She spoke the first line. A low hum vibrated underneath her.
Fear lurked at the back of her mind, whatever had taken her mother could take
her. But excitement pushed it back and if she was taken at least she would know
where her mother had ended up. She spoke the second line. The hum got louder.
She spoke the third line, her voice falling into a chant, the power of the
words taking control.

The vibration became a wail. The candles burned fiercely,
filling the room with a blaze of light. Sweat dripped down her back as she
chanted. The power exhilarated her. She no longer cared that what she was doing
could be dangerous. The sensation was too wonderful. Her blood sang.

A bead of light appeared, hovering over the center of the
pentagram. The bead pulsated and grew, consuming the candles. Mira’s arms rose
of their own violation, her palms floating above her seated figure, reaching
out to the orb. Her chanting rose to a feverish pitch, her voice growing
hoarse. The magic had taken over. She was no longer Mira but an ancient and
potent being whose blood was rooted in the Earth’s power. The orb grew bigger
and the light became so bright that Mira had to look away. Energy tingled
through her veins. She spoke the last word written in the spell.

“
Come.
”

Lightning sliced through the room. Mira shielded her face.
All went dark.

The candles staggered back to life. She lowered her hands to
see what she had done.

The center of the pentagram held a naked beast of a man. His
shoulder muscles rippled and gleamed in the candlelight. She gasped. He was
magnificent.

“You called me,” he said, his deep voice caressing her.

Her body reacted to his voice. Warm desire surged. She
shivered and staggered to standing. He towered over her, watching her with
black eyes as she paced around the salt circle. His hair was dark, true black,
and it swept back underneath curled horns that wrapped around the back of his
head. Horns?

She had cast her first spell and brought a demon. A man with
deep-russet, almost red skin and a body that rippled and glistened. Had to be a
demon. She caught her breath. And she wanted him. She wanted to fuck him. No,
her body wanted to.
She
wanted to run away. What the hell was going on?
Had she cast the spell wrong? Had he cast a spell on her?

Her gaze traveled down his taut stomach. Her eyes widened.
His cock was erect.

“You called me?” The question rumbled and hung in the air.
He was waiting.

Her body responded to his voice, her skin slick with sweat
and desire. Her mind screamed that she was crazy, her nerves screamed to take
him. It was the spell, had to be. She didn’t feel out of control, just primal
and aroused. Female, and here stood a male, waiting, beckoning her.

He didn’t move—almost as if he couldn’t. She stepped
forward. And realized her mistake. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him.
The fog of desire fled and she screamed. Her mother had stepped forward. The
salt line. She had stepped over the line and that’s how she had been taken. And
now this demon would do the same to Mira.

He let go of her, his expression shocked. She stumbled back
to safety across the line.

“You called me?” he asked almost plaintively. He stared into
her eyes. She went limp, falling into the depth of his gaze. Pools of black,
they smoldered with power and lust. The desire surged back.

Mira nodded. She
had
called him, after all. She
couldn’t remember why staring into his eyes.

He smiled a wicked smile that thrilled her very soul. The
spell urged her toward him, back into the circle. He reached for her and
crushed his lips to hers. Sparks of electricity pattered through her head and
down to her belly where they puddled into buttery warmth.

This thing she had conjured up was kissing her! Feebly Mira
attempted to pull back but the desire had overwhelmed her. He found the hollow
beneath her ear with his tongue and she moaned. The spell took over. He grabbed
her butt, squeezing it and pulling her closer to him. Her pulse roaring in her
ears, she pressed herself against his hard chest, inhaling the spicy
cinnamon-like smell.

He traced her mouth with his finger. Her lips parted and her
tongue wrapped around the finger, drawing it in. She delighted in his shuddered
response. Somehow something told her she was in control of him. With this
realization she succumbed fully to the desire.
This is your plaything
,
the spell seemed to whisper.

As if hearing the same command, he stroked the line of her
cheek, leaving a fiery trail along the side of her neck, into the hollow of her
throat and down to the first button of her shirt. He looked at her, a question
in his eyes. She licked her lips.

“Yes,” she whispered.

With one swift motion he hooked his finger into the collar
of her shirt and ripped it open, the buttons scattering across the floor. Mira
stared down at her exposed chest. Her breasts, pale in the candlelight, spilled
over her bra. She admired the way they contrasted with his dark-red hands. The
last lingering doubt in her head floated away. The spell had her and she had
this demon.

Her bra fell to the floor. He flicked his tongue across her
nipple, sending shivers through her. He nibbled and sucked each bud, toying
with the other with his fingers. Her head fell back, streaks of pleasure racing
through her, reality forgotten.

His stiff shaft prodded her belly, breaking through her
haze. She reached down, grasping him. He lifted his head and groaned before
pulling her closer to him. She thrilled in the hardness of him as he probed her
mouth. Nothing mattered except the two of them, here, now. Her pussy ached and throbbed.
When a finger brushed between her thighs, she gasped. He rubbed at her clit and
her legs melted.

Slowly he knelt before her. Something ancient and primal
filled her as she looked down at the horned god bowing before her. She laid her
hands on his head and drew him to her. He found the folds of her pussy eagerly
with his tongue. Her body reacted swiftly as he plundered inside her. She was
ready for him. Whimpering, she knelt down and flung her arms around his neck.
He growled and they slid to the floor, wrapped in each other.

She wrapped her legs around his waist, her hips thrusting
against him, insistent. He gave her what she asked for, pushing his cock deep
inside her. The musk of their sex filled the room. Their bodies collided and
strained, thrusting together until carnal waves broke over her, racking her
body with spasms. He released with a bellow that shook the walls and she bucked
in response. Panting, they hung in the moment together until she slid down to
the floor, their mingled juices streaming out of her.

The lingering residue of the spell wrapped her in a
post-orgasm cocoon of warmth and her eyes grew heavy.
Why would my
grandmother deny me this?
flitted through her mind before she fell asleep.