Szereto, Mellanie - Two from the Triangle [Bewitching Desires 7] (Siren Publishing Ménage Amour)

TWO FROM THE TRIANGLE

Bewitching Desires 7

MELLANIE SZERETO

Copyright © 2012

Chapter 1

If life was fair, Heléna Macska wouldn’t be staring out the window at the knee-deep blanket of snow on the day of the first full moon after her birthday. The outside world was celebrating Christmas, but she’d prefer a tropical beach with her very own pair of cabana boys. Tanned, muscular, and ready to fulfill her every fantasy.

I wouldn’t even care if they weren’t my true mates.

Instead, she was trapped in a new suite of rooms that only reminded her of her raging hormones, the lack of available males, and the length of seven years.
Two thousand five hundred sixty-nine days until the next full moon that matters.

Why had Great Grandmother insisted on the move when the entire Macska household was under lockdown after Kazmer’s last attack? Having her own three-bedroom apartment would hardly serve any purpose if Heléna had no opportunity to lose her virginity during her first fertility cycle. She was snowed in, locked in, and dying for a pair of men to break in. Her sisters and several of her cousins had two lovers, so why couldn’t she wish for the same? It seemed fated for this generation of witches.

Retreating to her bedroom, she eyed the book on her nightstand with contempt. After twelve months of reading and experimenting with every toy in her box of sexual aids, spending the week of her fertility cycle without even a single mate was beyond anticlimactic. Her temper flared at the very idea of resorting to a vibrator for an orgasm—a temper that hadn’t existed until today.

Stupid hormones.

A cold shower wouldn’t help. She’d already tried that. Twice. Her family had shooed her upstairs when she’d gone to the kitchen to burn some restless energy preparing lunch. With no ability to concentrate, she couldn’t consider attempting any of her favorite spells and charms.

Hopeless.

She flopped on the king-sized bed and let out a frustrated sigh. Why couldn’t she declare herself unmated this cycle and be done with the whole depressing non-event?

A knock told her the time had come to stand before Great Grandmother Romána and the other full-fledged witches. Heléna was required to recite the oath of the coven, accepting the title of Macska witch and its responsibilities.

Straightening her skirt and sweater as she rose, she trudged to the apartment door.
I don’t want to be a witch anymore.

“You don’t have to be.”

The whisper seemed to come from inside her head, but she scanned the sitting room for the source. The couch and two matching armchairs were as empty as she’d left them minutes ago. No one stood by the window, the tables, or the teacart, and the entrance to the second bedroom was still closed.

Goddess, I’m losing my mind.

She pivoted back to the door, grasping the knob. It wouldn’t turn. Making another quick scan of the room, she twisted the knob again, her pulse thumping in her ears. Why wouldn’t the door open?

Another knock sounded over her quick, shallow breaths. She opened her mouth to speak, but no words came out. Panic washed over her.
What’s wrong with me?

“You’re not meant to be one of them.”

Forcing her hand to squeeze tighter, she tried the knob a third time. It finally rotated, and she flung the door wide, making her cousin jump.

Margita’s eyes widened. “Are you all right? Great Grandmother asked that you come to the library now.”

Biting the inside of her cheek to keep from blurting out that she wasn’t all right, Heléna nodded. “I’m fine.”

“Are you sure? Your hands are shaking.” The younger girl offered a smile. “Nervous? I would be.”

Heléna grasped at the lifeline of an excuse. She wasn’t hearing voices. Her nerves had her so tense, she was imagining a way out of her fertility cycle. “Very nervous, but I’m ready.”

A slow inhale and exhale calmed the tremors enough for her to walk with Margita along the wide hallway and down the staircase to the first floor. Heléna aimed for the library as her cousin crossed the foyer to head toward the dining room. After the induction, the full-fledged witches would join the rest of the family for a celebratory lunch.

I’ll be the only witch in the room with full powers and no mates.

Swallowing to relieve her dry throat, she paused at the entrance to the library. Great Grandmother Romána stood surrounded by her three daughters, all but one granddaughter, and half a dozen great granddaughters. A very pregnant Orsolya—the only non-blood member of the family and a powerful witch in her own right—sat on the settee sipping a cup of tea. Every one of them had known intimacy with a man, something beyond Heléna’s reach for the foreseeable future.

“Come in, Heléna.” The matriarch’s gentle voice silenced the quiet chatter. “We welcome you as the newest witch into our fold.”

Heléna’s relatives formed a circle as she entered the room, leaving an empty space directly across from Romána. The inviting shape should’ve eased the doubts in her mind, but Heléna continued fighting the bothersome insecurities that had plagued her for several months. Wasn’t being accepted into the inner circle a step forward?

“You need the triangle.”

Stiffening her neck, she refused to glance around for the disembodied voice still taunting her. Or was it a different one? No one else seemed to have heard the clear declaration.

Her stomach churned, and the smooth wood floor burned the soles of her bare feet with every forward step. An invisible vise squeezed the air from her lungs, making spots dance in front of her eyes. She froze midstep in hopes of stopping the waves of apprehension from drowning her.

The whisper invaded her mind again. “You can choose to deny them.”

Choose?
Heléna studied the out-of-focus gathering of her sisters in witchcraft. Only the quartz crystals ringing them showed with clarity. Her insides pitched with the overpowering scent of herbs and spice, sending her toward the hall. “I can’t.”

Rushing back to the foyer, she flung open the front door and ran outside, letting the snow cool her scorched feet. The crisp air dispelled the sickening odors and brought her vision back to normal. She slogged through the deep drifts toward the gate that prevented the outside world from entering the Macska estate without permission. It also barred her escape.

A bitter wind whipped her skirt around her legs, and the burning heat changed to frigid cold, raising goose bumps on every inch of her skin. Her teeth chattered as she tried to slip through the narrow openings between the iron bars of the gate. Even as thin as she was, she didn’t fit. Shivers wracked her body when another gust tried to knock her off-balance. The rush of wind smothered her, and tears trickled down her cheek from her watering eyes.

“You can spell yourself to your triangle.”

Could the whispers be the voice of reason? Did she have the strength to incant herself out of the protection spell that kept her family’s enemy from getting in?

The two I seek will make us three.

The triangle is my destiny.

Take me there without delay,

And with me they will always stay.

Blessed be and harm to none.

Goddess, let thy will be done.

Snow whirled around her, obliterating her view of the road on the other side of the gate. Colored spots flickered on and off in the near blizzard.

“Heléna! Where are you?” The muffled calls had her turning to glance over her shoulder, but the squall blocked out everything more than a few inches in front of her face. “Heléna!”

The flickering grew faster and brighter, and the wind carried away all sound but its own howling and whistling. She closed her eyes against the brightness and repeated the rhyme once. Twice.

The gale faded as a new noise drew her attention. Besides the intermittent rumbling of an engine, a frantic baritone call came from behind her. Vibrations jarred her body as jolt after jolt tossed her sideways against a wall. Winter chill no longer penetrated her clothing. In fact, the heat was stifling.

She opened her eyes, almost afraid to discover where she’d landed.

“Mayday, mayday, mayday! This is the November-Charlie-Seven-Six-Niner-Echo. Our heading is twenty-six degrees, fifty minutes north by seventy-six degrees, eighty minutes west. Altitude is one thousand feet and falling. Visibility is near zero.”

The motor noises stopped, and what reminded Heléna of pouring rain on the metal barn roof echoed in her ears. She seemed to be in a cramped closet, still leaving her uncertain of the spell’s destination in the darkness.

“Engine’s out! We’re going down!” A different voice called out the dire-sounding warning.

Another buffet sent something shifting above her. She raised her arms to protect her head as a heavy but soft bundle landed on her. A squeal escaped.

“What the hell was that?”

“Jesus, this day keeps getting better and better. See if you can hold her steady while I find our stowaway, Owen.”

“With this tailwind, you have about a minute, two tops.”

After several seconds of no conversation, light flooded her tiny prison, and she blinked against the sudden brightness.

A hand reached for her, dragging her to her feet. “Come on, doll. We gotta get buckled in before we hit the water.”

She shoved the bundle away and stumbled along behind her rescuer. He pulled her down onto his lap, jerking straps over her shoulders and across her waist, tugging the seatbelts until every muscle and appendage in his body pressed against her back, bottom, and legs. One arm held her in place, while the other flipped a switch on the console in front of her. Warm breath puffed down her neck.

The man in the seat beside Heléna glanced at her, his hands gripping a U-shaped metal pipe so hard all the blood had drained from his knuckles. “Hold on tight, honey. We’re in for a rough landing.”

Raindrops pelted the windshield, concealing whatever lay beyond the glass. Although she’d never ridden in one, the strange steering control and excessive number of dials suggested they were in an airplane—and about to crash into a lake, or maybe an ocean.

Oh, Goddess, what did I spell myself into?

“Brace yourself, Heath!”

The rain eased, giving her an indistinct view of a huge blue-green expanse flecked with white. The arm at her waist tightened as she spotted a pale area growing closer with every second.
Water? Aren’t airplanes supposed to land on...land?

“Fuck, fuck, fuck.” The murmured words in her ear pushed her panic button.

Goddess, with your—

Impact with turquoise sea slammed the incantation from her brain. The straps and Heath’s grasp would’ve forced the food from her stomach if she’d been able to eat breakfast that morning. Her body tried to lunge forward, but her bonds halted the momentum and dug into her middle.

A wave swept over the windshield, swallowing them whole. The plane finally bumped to a standstill under the water. They hadn’t died in the crash, but they would likely drown.

Heath swore again and fumbled with the latch holding them in the seat. “Hell of a landing. I hope you know how to swim, doll.”

He shoved her to her feet, pushing her toward the panel labeled “Exit.” Lowering the handle, he heaved a shoulder against the door. It budged only enough to let in a trickle of seawater.