The COMPLETE Witching Pen Series, Boxed Set (11 page)

“Mm-hmm,” she nodded. “I'm going to do this is one go, okay?”
 

Before he could answer, she drove herself down the rest of the way.

A little cry of agony left her throat, as a groan of ecstasy escaped his. She didn't slow down, but moved herself up and down his length again, and again. The grimace on her face broke his heart just a little.

“Wait, it's okay; just wait for a minute. Let your body get used to it.”
 

She stopped, letting her full weight fall on him.

Another moan of pleasure escaped him. He moved his hands to her hips, holding her still as he began to rock in her just a little.

She emitted a little sound of surprise, then followed his lead. It wasn't long before they had a rhythm going, slow at first, then becoming more furious in pace. Her little gasps turned into long moans that were music to his ears.

His hands left her hips and made their way up to her breasts. This earned him something close to a growl from her, and he realised, with some chagrin, that he wasn't going to be able to hold out for much longer. He began to change their rhythm, but she slammed a hand against his chest.

“Don't you dare.”
 

“Elena, I'm close...”
 

“So am I – Don't. Stop.”
 

Her eyes were closed. She threw her head back and rocked faster, harder...

Jesus
… this was so fucking wonderful – no way was he going to last.
 

“Elena...”
 

Her insides gripped him.

Oh, shit, I'm gonna come.

“Elena, I'm—”
 

When she looked down at him, her eyes were radiating bright, green light.

Everything that happened next was a blur in Karl's mind: he saw Elena smile, and tell him he was glowing again – he had no idea what that meant, and anyway, he was trying to tell her about her eyes – the words never made it out of his head. The green disappeared as she squeezed her eyes shut, and he heard her scream out his name as her climax hit her. At the same time, the most powerful orgasm of his life racked through his body, coupled with the most terrible pain he'd ever felt. Ecstasy and torture warred with each other in his body, as he wondered what the fuck was happening. His hands gripped her in anguish. He tried to scream at her to stop; he tried to throw her off – nothing worked.

She rode him to completion, both hers and his.

A sickening tearing sound filled Karl's mind, he finally managed to let out his scream, and then his world went black.

Chapter Nine

Elena fell forwards and slumped onto Karl's chest, completely sated, allowing her face to nestle in the crook of his neck. “Oh. My. God. That was … is it always like that? That was
amazing.
I've heard it's usually crappy the first time – that was so
not
crappy. I wasn't expecting that bit at the end – you
glowed,
as in, really glowed. Everything was gold all around you – I felt the light
enter
me. I can still feel it – you – inside me. Was it good for you? Was I okay? Karl?”
 

She glanced up at him.

“Karl?”
 

He looked … not quite right. His smooth face seemed smoother than usual, his eyes were open and still, no – wait – his entire body was still. Her mind started to piece together what she was seeing, and a cold dread she'd never experienced before seeped into her.

“Karl?” Her voice shook as she fought against the scene in front of her.
 

No … this is a joke. Karl likes to joke.

“Karl, stop it.” She reached up and swatted her hand right in front of his eyes. He didn't blink, or flinch – not a single muscle moved in his body.
 

No, no, no no no no...

“Karl!” She shook him by the shoulder, then poked him in one of his open eyes, a ridiculous action that would have had her laughing at any other time.
 

Nothing.

“Oh, no! God, no!”
 

Pulse … feel for a pulse!

She grabbed his wrist between her unsteady hands, then remembered that it would be easier to feel for the beat in his neck, so she jammed her two forefingers there instead, right against the carotid pulse – or where it should be, anyway.

Tears welled up in her eyes, and she had a vague sense that she was losing it. Nothing. She couldn't feel a damn thing! She pressed harder, moved her fingers around a bit. Thirty seconds passed.
Oh, God! Hold it together, Elena – Karl needs you to hold it together...
 

She climbed off him and shuffled beside him on the bed. Tilting his head back, she cleared his airway, then sealed her mouth around his and breathed.

Breathe!

And breathed.

Breathe, for fuck's sake!

She clasped her hands, one on top of the other, and prayed she had the right spot before pushing down hard into the centre of his chest. She continued the compressions … how many times was she supposed to do this? Fifteen times? Thirty? She went for thirty, then breathed into his mouth again. Then started on his chest again.

“He's dead.”
 

With a startled cry, she whirled around to face the all too familiar voice behind her, and saw nothing but shadows … of course.

“Show yourself, Shanka!” she demanded.
 

“My name, is Nathaniel.”
 

“I don't care what your name is. What did you
do
to him?”
 

“I did nothing.”
 

“You're lying.”
 

“I don't lie – there's little point in it.”
 

“He's not dead.”
 

“I can't sense a life force, can you?”
 

Life force? An image of the butterfly she'd resurrected sprang to mind and hope flared in her chest. “Life – I can bring him back to life.”

“No you can't.”
 

“Shut up! Better still, fuck off.”
 

His laugh rippled around the room, surrounding her in waves of that incubus energy. She ignored it – he was just a shadow. Unless she was dreaming.
God, please let me be dreaming...
 

But the starkness of everything around her told her she wasn't. She closed her eyes and thought of the butterfly; thought of herself as a child. She'd never resurrected anything after that day, too frightened her actions would unbalance the world or something. No such fear lived in her now, nor had it when she'd held the butterfly in her hands all those years ago … with Karl beside her.

Karl.

A terrible anguish washed over her, but she pushed it aside and concentrated harder.
Focus!
 

She knelt beside him and lifted his head, cradling it in her arms, stroking his hair. She felt the power of life and death surge inside her, and she willed it to travel into him.

It didn't.

It should have flowed through him, as if they were one, but for some reason the life force she was emitting hit a barrier. She tried again to no avail.

“I can't … oh, no...”
 

Reality finally sank in. A deep wail that sounded nothing like her, wrenched itself out of her throat. Grief dominated her, as her tears streaked rivers down her dead lover's face. Dead.

Dead.

“Karl's d-dead...” she uttered between sobs.
 

“Yes.”
 

“Why c-can't I b-bring him back?”
 

“Because you were the one that killed him.”
 

The room was filled with her stunned silence.

She shook her head. “No...”

“Haven't you figured it out yet? What you are? What you can do?
Succubus...
”
 

Dumbly, she continued to shake her head.

“Your father was a Shanka. Your mother never told you. You, Elena, are half-Shanka demon, and half-thirteenth generation witch.”
 

“You're—”
 

“Lying? I already told you, I don't lie – your mother's the one that does that.”
 

“Mum...”
No.
It was too much – this was too much to take in. She looked up at Nathaniel with a determination that surprised her. “You have to leave now. I want you gone.”
 

“I can bring him back … for a price.”
 

She paused.

“A Shanka cannot bring back that which was taken by his, or her, own hand, but they can ask another Shanka to do it.”
 

“And the price?” she asked, flatly.
 

“Come with me. Be my bride. Be mine.”
 

Her laugh came out hard and shallow, sounding alarmingly like the demon's own, now that the truth had taken seed. She tightened her hold on Karl. “Never. Nathaniel, I will never be yours.”

The single candle flickered in the room as the demon let out a growl of frustration. “You
are
mine, Elena. I'll come for you when you next sleep, and this time,” he spat out, “your lover won't be there to save you.”
 

“Go to hell,” she whispered.
 

“I suggest you flip your pillow over, witch.”
 

She stared him down, hiding her confusion, and then he disappeared.

The silence in the room grew oppressive. Elena stared down at Karl, reached across his face and brought his eyelids down. There. He looked so peaceful now.

She could feel another sob caught at the back of her throat – she wanted to cry, to howl, to pour out all this pain – but she suddenly felt strangely numb. Her mind was overloaded with information, and her body was still overloaded from her earlier orgasm. A brief hope lit her up when she wondered if writing with the pen would bring Karl back … then she remembered that he'd hidden it. She could try to go find it, but that would mean leaving Karl. No, she didn't want to leave him – what if...

What if, what, Elena? What if something happens to him? He's already dead.

One by one, she felt her internal processes begin to shut down. She had no idea what to do next. So she reached over to her right and flipped her pillow over. A bulge under her pillowcase caught her eye. She reached inside the pillowcase and pulled it out.

She thought Nathaniel must have put it there, but when she opened it, it was her mother's handwriting she saw.
A diary … this is my mother's diary. What's it doing in my pillowcase?
 

With a sense of trepidation, she began to read. Nothing made sense at first, but odd words and phrases jumped out at her: Shanka, seduced, in love, Darius, father, mother, Elena, daughter, demon, powerful, the power of life and death, succubus, kidnap, kill, hide … and on and on it went, for pages and pages.

Three quarters of the way through the book, some part of her brain started to piece the story together. Not only that, but that same part began to remember her childhood – the butterfly, the moment she began to menstruate, her mother explaining about her sacred virginity...

She looked down at Karl again. Then at her own hands. She flexed them, willing them to produce that healing light she so often used. It did. She still had her magic. Karl was dead.

Glancing down at the book, one final word caught her eye – the word that fit the final piece into the jigsaw: Lie.

Her life, her past, her future, all shattered before her eyes. Rage, like she'd never known, coursed through her being; her hands glowed red. She smelled burning flesh and realised she was burning Karl's face with her hands. With a cry of alarm, she let him go and stood up.

Her fault … this was her fault.

Karl was dead...

And I killed him!

Her hands itched. It felt like her blood was boiling, and she let it, because her rage was the only thing she had left. Looking down at her fiery hands, she noticed the skin on her arms had started to crack and turn grey, like an old pavement.

She saw black, and the anger erupted from her in a scream that would have put banshees to shame. Her windows cracked, shards of glass sprayed everywhere, her room shook, and the building that she lived in exploded in a gigantic ball of fire.

~*~

Amy was standing outside Elena's flat wondering what on earth she should do. Her conversation with Etienne had been so brief, she knew it wasn't over. But Etienne had received a vision shortly after arriving at her home. Etienne's visions were always abstract, coupled with a 'sense' of what was happening rather than the full-on, 3D version. This vision had been no less strange: he'd seen a butterfly dying. That was it. But his senses told him Elena was involved, so he'd asked Amy to come here. Why he couldn't come himself was beyond her.

Irritable, tired, with her head still aching, albeit less painfully, Amy – still unable to teleport –  had jumped on a tram from Croydon and made her way to Wimbledon. It was quarter to midnight, and the residential street she stood in was quiet and empty – almost empty. Out of the corner of her eye, she caught a movement on the other side of Elena's apartment building. She wasted no time in wrapping an invisibility shield around herself.