The COMPLETE Witching Pen Series, Boxed Set (94 page)

Her smile widened. “Not an option. You’ve got me forever.”

“Forever’s not long enough,” he grinned, then squeezed her against him as he kissed her. The kiss deepened, growing urgent, and … “Mmmmm…”

Mary laughed and wriggled out if his embrace. “No time for that now, Mr Insatiable – we have work to do.”

“Who are you calling Mr Insatiable, Ms Ravenous?”

She glared at him in mock admonition, and damn if that didn’t get his blood boiling with all sorts of inappropriate thoughts.

Her laugh became a hoot as she read his mind clearly. “Come here, you.” She grabbed his backside and pulled him to her, then reached into his back pocket and retrieved his small dagger.

“If you reach into my
front
pocket you’ll find a bigger—”

“Hey! Enough of that.” But desire filled her eyes behind her smile. Hell, she had
way
better control than he did.

She looked at him with meaning, then sliced the palm of her hand, and then did the same to his. “Ready?” she asked.

“Always.”

They joined their hands. Their blood mingled and they both gave in to the momentary ecstasy as skin, muscle and bone merged. The planet around them shifted; spun without order; grew smaller, yet bigger with the expanse of the sky a little nearer, until everything settled back in place … although they now saw everything with new vision.

The Dragon roared with appreciation at its release, the fire that breathed worlds into being leaving its lungs and clearing a path for change – the only constant.

With laughter filling its consciousness, it bent its hind legs, spread its wings…

And soared.

The End

Bonus Short Story Prequel:

Wilted

(This story takes place ten years before the events of The Witching Pen.)

Elena stared at the daffodils in her window box. They were starting to wilt, as if the weight of the grey sky was pushing down on them. She hated it when flowers wilted – they looked so sad that way, as if they were crying and no one could tell.

The energy in her body hummed and coursed towards her palms, lighting them with the subtle green glow she was so familiar with. Instinctively, she walked towards her window.

Surely this isn't the same as bringing an animal back to life, right? This is a plant – plants are different.

Who was she trying to convince? She damn well knew that if her mother found out, she'd be in for it big time. Still...

She leaned across her sill, and hovered over the window box, her hands coming up of their own accord, or so it seemed. Bollocks to it, she just couldn't help it – this is what she did best: heal things. Bringing one, tiny plant back to life could hardly unbalance the world, could it?

Her hands glowed more brightly.

A car sped by in the road below, reflecting its colour in the window as it did so. She ignored it, but was startled out of both her thoughts and her healing trance, when across the street and five doors down, Karl came – half-running and half-limping – out of his house. A tirade of verbal abuse followed him, tingeing the air with its malice.

One glance at her best friend's stricken face was enough to have her hurtling out of her room and down the stairs, already opening the front door with her magic.

Another thing mum would kill me for,
she winced.
Mustn't use magic frivolously.
 

Her heart hammered in her chest. Karl never looked distressed – not even at the worst of times. She was the panicky one – he was the rock.

She reached the front door, just before he reached the steps leading up to her porch.

“Elena…” he panted.

“God, Karl, what is it?”

“Dad…”

And that was all he needed to say.

Elena ushered him in, closing the door behind him. His legs didn't seem to be holding him up too well, and when he stumbled over his own feet, Elena caught him under the arm, and offered him her shoulder. She might be two years younger than him, but at fifteen, she was tall – almost as tall as Karl – and her wiry body, which she so often hated when looking at her friends' blooming breasts and hips, always surprised her with a physical strength it didn't look like it should be capable of.

Karl's dad had beaten him; she was sure of it, despite her not being able to see any bruises.

“We need to go to my room,” she told him.

He groaned as he glanced at the stairs. “I don't know if I can climb…”

“Mum'll be back soon, and you know how she gets when you're around. We'll have more privacy up there. Come on – lean on me.”

Although he clearly hated the idea of putting his weight on her, he did it anyway, and allowed her to support him as he dragged his feet up the steps. When they finally made it to her room, he tumbled inside and aimed straight for the bed, where he lay on his back, hands covering his eyes. They were shaking slightly. Elena wondered if he was trying not to cry.

She closed her bedroom door, and stuck her dressing table chair under the handle for good measure – her mum could be a little unpredictable when Karl was around, and without a doubt, she'd be able to sense he was in the house as soon as she got home.

She perched on the edge of her bed, with her hands on her lap, and waited.

Eventually, Karl's trembling ceased. When he looked at her, his blue eyes burned hot, making him look like he had a fever. He was holding back tears.

Her own eyes welled up in response. “I'm so sorry.”

He took her right hand in his. His touch was gentle, but when he spoke, his voice broke with anger. “Don't you
ever
apologise for him. Fucking bastard.”

She flinched. Karl didn't get angry often. He avoided anger like the plague, because anger was everything his father was, and everything he swore he'd never be.

She squeezed his hand in comfort. “What happened?”

He bit his lip, shook his head, and then took in a deep breath. “Mum knocked over his whisky glass. It broke. He went mental – he hit her, then pushed her onto the shards of glass on the floor.” His voice went up a notch as he forced the words out. “I lost it … I lost it, Elena.”

“It's not your fault.”

“I grabbed his shirt, pulled him off her, and barrelled him into the kitchen away from her. I got a good punch in, but … well, look at me…”

Karl wasn't exactly a buff seventeen-year-old, despite all the time he spent on the athletics track – he was only just starting to fill out. Maybe in a few years he'd have a chest as wide as his outstretched arm – his ex-army father certainly did – but not yet.

“He pounded me. When he'd brought me to my knees, he started kicking me in the stomach, then …
Christ
…” He ran a hand through his sandy blond hair. “He started
jumping
on me – he jumped on my legs.”

Elena grimaced at his story, and then realised she was squeezing his hand too tightly – or maybe he was the one squeezing.

“He just kept jumping. He didn't stop until the phone rang. I can't believe I walked out of there.”

“Actually, you sort of stumbled,” she said, in a vague attempt to lighten his mood. Anyone else would probably have thought the remark callous, but Karl knew her like the back of his hand.

His lips tilted upwards in a small smile. “I did stumble, didn't I?”

She nodded. “Like your legs were made of dental floss.”

He laughed. “What a sight for all our neighbours.”

“I don't think anyone else saw.”

“I'm sure they heard.”

She placed a hand on his thigh.

He winced.

“Can I see your legs? I can heal them.”

“I was sort of hoping you'd offer … but I hate asking you…”

“Don't be daft. Always ask, okay?”

 He shot her a grateful look, and then undid his trousers. With a cry of agony, he lifted his hips up and slid them down over his backside.

Elena pulled them the rest of the way down to his ankles, ignoring the building heat in her cheeks. It had not escaped her notice that in the past few weeks, she would occasionally become flustered around her best friend, and she had a sneaky suspicion she knew what that meant. But it was also a little startling, and more than a little frightening, because they'd known each other since she was five and he was seven. They'd shared paddling pools and baths; they'd shared popcorn at the cinema, and pizzas over homework … it was a friendship she couldn't bear to lose.

Pushing the thoughts out of her head, and hoping her face wasn't noticeably red, she brought her attention back to Karl's legs.

“There's not a mark on them,” she stated, and she wasn't surprised. Karl was one of those people that just didn't bruise. In all the time she'd known him, she'd never seen a bruise on him once. A cut, yes – he bled like a normal person – but even his cuts had never welted blue and purple around the edges.

“Well, the bones feel broken,” he said, his voice laced with pain.

“Okay … keep still.” She lay both her hands on him, one on each thigh, again ignoring the way her heart sped up a fraction. Closing her eyes, she concentrated on the energy that so naturally flowed from her palms. It was warm – beautifully warm. She worked with it, the energy and her in unison. It travelled out of her and into him, and in a way, so did she. In her mind's eyes, she saw her green, healing glow wrap itself around his legs like bandages, the light seeping into him, connecting with nerve and muscle … but she needed to go deeper to mend bones. Focusing harder, she pushed further … strange … the bones didn't
seem
broken… Nevermind – the healing couldn't hurt, so she sent it into his bones as well. The sensation was actually a little shocking; she was so deep inside him. She worried her bottom lip with her teeth – was that her breathing that had turned ragged?

“Elena…”

She felt a tug on her wrist, and with effort, mentally disengaged herself from Karl.

“Elena, stop now…”

“I am … give me a minute.”

Whoa … she felt hot. She could do with a drink of water.

When she opened her eyes, they rested on her friend's face. The look on it froze her to the spot, even as his gaze burned into her. His eyes were hooded, his lips parted, his chest rising and falling in rapid succession, his blushing neck the colour of a red sunset.

Her stomach lurched, and her hands gripped his thighs tighter of their own accord.

He also tightened his hold on her wrist. “Elena,” he whispered, “please let go.”

Confused, she looked down at her own hands, and had to practically will her fingers to uncurl. At the same time, she suddenly noticed that, at some point, he had thrown a corner of the duvet across himself, and he now held it firmly over his boxers as if his life depended on it.

Oh, God!

“Okay,” she squeaked, and all but threw herself up to standing. “I'm sorry,” she blurted out.

His eyebrows furrowed. “No, don't be sorry … it's fine – I'm fine. I just need to think of … er…”

“Horrible things that make you want to puke?”

He looked at her, amused. “Yeah. Margaret Thatcher in a bikini, for example…”

She giggled. “Your dad in a bikini?” she offered.

“It would suit him better than the whisky,” he retorted.

He leaned forward for his trousers. “My legs feel better – there's still pain, but it's less – thank you,” he smiled at her.

“Good,” she nodded.

There was an awkward pause. Her heart sank. They rarely had awkward pauses … was this the beginning of the end? It was no secret that Karl had 'feelings' for her, although they never talked about it. What
was
very much a secret, was that it seemed she was developing feelings for him too. What did she do with these? If it meant the end of their easy, close friendship, she was ready to bury them forever. God help her, he was the closest thing to …
anything
… that she had in this world. When she had started her period two years ago, it hadn't been her cold, unfeeling mother, she'd gone running to first … it had been Karl. She couldn't lose him – she just couldn't.

His attention-grabbing cough brought her out of her silent distress. He had the waistband of his jeans in one hand, still clutched the duvet with his other, and was looking at her quizzically. “Do you think you could…”

“Oh! Right, of course,” she swivelled around to face the door so he could dress himself, the rustling denim and sliding zipper sounding ridiculously loud as he did so.

“So, what's going to happen when you go back home?” she asked, glad to steer her thoughts – both their thoughts – onto a different path.

Karl snorted. “Dad will be slumped in front of the TV ignoring everything but the football, and Mum will be fussing over him, pretending nothing even happened.”

“And what will you do?”

“Eat pizza with you. It's Thursday – study night. You're still coming over after dinner, right?”

Relief melted her insides. Their study nights were utterly pointless for him, because he was two years ahead of her and knew everything anyway, but he still insisted they have them, and if he wanted to meet tonight, that meant all wasn't lost.

She whirled around, unable to stop tears from springing to her eyes. “So we're still friends?”

He looked at her, surprised, and then his face softened as he walked towards her and briefly took her in his arms. “Of course we are, idiot.”

She guffawed.

“I'm sorry I…” he paused, then met her gaze with nothing but openness and honesty. “I find it hard to control myself around you sometimes. But you don't have to worry.”

He flashed her that smile she knew so well, and for the first time she could ever remember, it made her insides go gooey.

“You don't have to control yourself all the time.” It was out of her mouth before she could stop it. Sirens went off in her head.

What the hell did you just say?!

His smile faltered, and that same look he gave her on the bed resurfaced for a second before he fought it back. “Erm…” He looked confused.