The Soother (3 page)

She dropped her arms and stilled when the atmosphere shifted. Courtesy of magickal teleportation — also known as flashing, a visitor would show up in one … two … Carrine appeared before her with a vibrant smile. Calliope rushed into the open arms of her mentor.

“So good to see you, my child.”

“Still calling us children, I see.” She breathed deeply, comforted by the jasmine scent that always accompanied the elder witch.

“Mmm.” Carrine stepped back and held Calliope at arm’s length. “Now tell me. When did you get back and where’s your sidekick?”

Calliope shrugged. “Who knows? Bevva didn’t say where she was going.”

“And you’re okay alone?” Carrine inclined her head toward the house. “You two are usually inseparable.”

Knowing she wouldn’t approve and not quite ready to explain her actions, Calliope mentally strategized how to keep the stranger a secret from Carrine. Plan formulated, she said, “I’m fine, and you know what?” She forced a full smile. “I could really use a walk. Let me grab my boots and then we can head into town. I’m dying to see what they’ve come up with this year.”

“Hmm? Not going to invite me in?” Frowning, Carrine cocked her head and lifted her brows. “No matter. These old bones could use the exercise.”

Old bones, my ass
. Carrine may have a couple hundred years on her in the age department, but her bones and every other part of her body were far from old. Most would think she and Calliope were sisters or close friends. She could probably have any number of men from the veiled community at her beck and call. And the human men would never stand a chance. If Carrine allowed it, they’d all be falling at her feet.

Knowing full well the beautiful and wise witch suspected something, Calliope hurried into the house and grabbed her boots before shutting the door and locking it behind her.

Plopping down on the steps, she yanked the boots up over her jeans and cinched them tight. Through hooded eyes she watched as Carrine tapped her foot. If she didn’t get her out of here fast, she’d be busted with a capital B. How could Calliope explain what she didn’t yet understand?

• • •

Krystoff fought through the fog and clawed his way back to consciousness. The trek from the abyss that skirted the edge of death had not been an easy one, but the angelic voice crooning to him in chanted whispers gave him a reason to slay his demons and open his eyes.

He pushed to his elbows and lifted his head off the pillow. A sharp stab to his gut and spinning vision forced him back down. How quickly he’d forgotten the severity of his wounds. Considering what Eron had done to him, Krystoff was fortunate to be alive. Part of him had wished for death. The part that wanted to extract vengeance on his mother and Scout. He couldn’t ask for a better disguise than death.

Dust motes fluttered above his eyes, dancing through the trail of sunshine streaming in through the bedroom window. They reminded him of woodland fairies sprinkling magick throughout the forest. Or, they could be spies. One never knew.

The crackle of flames drew his gaze left. A bundle of dried wildflowers hung above the stone mantel, which held various forms of star-themed knickknacks. None held his attention more than the orange and blue flame serpents, hissing and snapping at one another. Why anyone needed to burn a fire in the middle of summer was beyond him. If his energy weren’t so tapped, he’d chuck the pitcher of water sitting on the bedside table at the fireplace and douse the blasted inferno.

Determined to get vertical, he clenched his jaw and swung his feet to the floor. His bones nearly splintered with the impact. Krystoff panted through the pain.
Need to go slow.
The familiar scents of yarrow and burdock wafted through the air. He breathed deeply and smiled. So his angel wasn’t an angel after all. He glanced down at his torso. The jagged wound was almost sealed. The witch knew her stuff. His mouth watered as his groin tightened, but he swallowed past the gnawing hunger and shoved it to the bottom of his to-do list.

Chances were, she had just the ingredients he would need to whip up a healing spell that would have him good-to-go in ten seconds flat. His cravings would have to wait to be sated. His gaze drifted to the chair next to the bed. Reaching out, Krystoff skimmed his finger over the chipped paint and imagined her sitting there while she tended his wounds, her blue eyes intense as she focused on the task at hand. The seat held two floral pillows — both in need of more stuffing and a stitch or two. Other feminine touches were added here and there throughout the bedroom. Frayed throw blankets, cracked crystal vases and scuffed purple combat boots. Interesting mix.

Krystoff shoved off the bed, wincing as his muscles stretched and twisted. He shuffled out of the small room and into the kitchen, pulling all the curtains shut on his way. Though the sun wouldn’t kill him, the heated light made his skin itch. Just another half-breed perk.

He called to the shadows swimming in his blood and wrapped them around his nude body. The cool blanket had him sighing in bliss. How quickly he’d changed sides and actually welcomed the shadows he had always detested. A metal pot with freshly cut flowers adorned a white kitchen table surrounded by mismatched chairs. Leaning against one of them, he sucked in the heavy air and tried to catch his breath. Eyes closed, he briefly gave in to the fatigue threatening to suck him back under. When the room spun, he opened his eyes and pulled his vision into focus. The bright colors dancing around the room assured him this witch held no shadows within her blood.

Then why had she saved him? Their magicks were from two entirely different worlds. He’d yet to meet another magickal being willing to help out someone from the
other
side. Until now. His angel had crossed that line and he intended to discover her motives. Just as soon as he felt up to it.

With that thought in mind, he scrounged through her cabinets, pulling out herbs and powders to suit his needs. The lack of labels didn’t surprise him. Scents and textures alone would be sufficient for any witch or wizard considered worthy. Just how worthy was this particular enchanter? He mulled that over while he heated water on her stove and added the ingredients one by one.

Physical components weren’t enough — not when it came to
real
magick. To truly make a spell work, elementary science had to play a part. Krystoff had learned the basics at birth. With the knowledge and power he’d accumulated over the years, he’d challenge any being to a magickal duel.

Blood magick was proving to be another animal altogether, but he had no doubt, given enough time, he would master that new element as well.

The shadows slid over his body with each twitch of his muscles, caressing, eagerly awaiting the moment he would let them take over. Krystoff hoped that time would never come. If it did, he would truly be lost to the monster within. Just as his mother wanted. Dragging a hand down his face, razor-sharp bones and torn skin scraped at his palm.

He made a decision then and there. He would no longer think of her as his mother. Riona Dubhar, queen elect of Mistropa, was now enemy number one.

Krystoff’s relationship with Riona had always been rocky at best. On a good day, during the rare occasions he had to visit his birthplace, they stayed clear of one another. Yet the tie between them remained, anchoring him to Mistropa like the deepest roots of a giant oak tree.

Sliding his tongue over his teeth, he stirred the mixture with precise movements. Ten times to the right, twenty to the left. He wouldn’t make a mistake.

Not this time.

Riona and her cronies would be looking for him. When they found him, he had to be at full strength. This second chance had given him the motivation he needed to take them all down. One by one if necessary. His soul already belonged to another. What else did he have to lose?

If Eron hadn’t destroyed Krystoff’s staff, the spell would have already been cast. But until he was able to create another, he had to work from the basics. The shadows sighed as he dipped the ladle into the pot, then summoned the energy quietly coursing through his body to meld with the potion. The air crackled with power. Krystoff closed his eyes, lifted his chin. He drew the bitter contents into his mouth and let the hot liquid slide down his throat.

Drums sounded in his head like a million soldiers marching to battle. He rolled his shoulders and cracked his neck. One side, and then the other. He drank again and the darkness rose from the depths. His jaw shifted. His stomach cramped. His injuries healed.

A feeling akin to ants crawling over his skin, accompanied with the heat now warming his backside, warned him he was no longer alone. A hitched breath followed by an accelerated pulse had his own breath clogging his throat.

Krystoff turned, smiled and flashed his fangs. “Hello, angel.”

Riona Dubhar slid her newly acquired crown off her head and set it on the pedestal next to her bed. She smoothed her ebony hair back into place, pulled it to one side and began arranging her pillows, readying for bed. With her fists clenched tight enough to expose the bones of her knuckles, she fluffed the pillows with vigor. But taking her frustration out on the bedding did little to temper her mood. Each breath she exhaled seemed hotter than the last. Incompetent. The lot of them. What good was being queen if her followers weren’t worth the coin she’d spent to amass them?

“Eron,” she called. Clasping her hands, she spun her thumb ring until the solitaire diamond rested on top. Eron had disappeared moments after the witches had launched their attack. He’d sworn it wasn’t to save his hide, only to ease into the darkness and follow their trail. Soon enough, she would know if he had spoken the truth.

One solid knock sounded at the door before Eron shoved it open. “My queen,” he said with the briefest of bows, his black trousers pulling tight across his thighs. “How may I be of service?”

The possibilities ran amok, sending delicious shivers across her skin. To mask her reaction, Riona crossed to her dressing room and donned her red silk robe as if the air in the room were only cold instead of swirling with innuendos. Keeping Eron close had proved to be a very wise decision. “You may sit.” She gestured with one perfectly manicured finger, pointing out the leather bench at the foot of her bed.

“I’ll stand.”

Riona lifted her hand and sent dark power pulsing throughout the chamber. “You’d do well to remember who’s in charge here.” She watched as Eron’s anger flared, giving him a dangerous look that appealed to her shadowed blood. He quickly masked it. Impressive. He definitely had potential.

Eron nodded, his eyes hooded, his face now void of expression. He crossed the room, brushing her arm as if the bulk of his muscles stretched the four walls. Or perhaps she had leaned into him. Semantics.

With narrowed eyes, she followed and perched on the bed behind him. Her robe parted, exposing several inches of bare skin. Either he wasn’t affected, or Eron pretended not to notice. She inwardly groaned and forced herself to calm down. With a curt nod, she drew the dark energy back to her, sighing as it caressed her skin before slipping inside.

She could quite simply command Eron to pleasure her, or cast a spell that would have him on his hands and knees if she preferred. But this dark warrior intrigued her, and Riona had never been one to turn down a challenge.

“Tell me what you’ve learned of these witches. Where have they taken my son?” she asked, leading the direction of the conversation. Her plan for seduction would have to wait.

Eron lifted his brow. “Son?” he asked. “You’re still claiming him?”

She fisted her hands. “Yes. My son. He may be a traitor and a disrespectful oaf, but he is still my son.” Her only child, and a poor excuse for one at that. From birth, she’d known they would never be close. Krystoff was something she could never be and she hated him for it. People had flocked to the baby’s side, fawning over him like he was a long-lost and revered king, a savior, their knight in glistening shadows. As he’d grown, he’d commanded more attention simply with his presence. Krystoff had what Riona wanted more than anything. Power.

The Mistropan male stifled a laugh. Exactly what he found amusing, she didn’t know. Riona chose to ignore it. For now.

“The witches are from the Brennan coven. The same coven the new Luminary claims.” He shoved off the bench, unfurling to his full height. “I believe they have taken Krystoff to their home.” Jaw locked, he spun on his heel and leaned down, bracing his hands on the footboard.

Riona leisurely pulled her gaze away from the corded muscles in his arms. His dark eyes pulsed with emotion and her heart skipped a beat. So what if she were several centuries his elder? He would do nicely. What did bother her was the mention of the Luminary — a witch born with such extreme power that bright light practically seeped out of her pores. Tasked to keep the peace among the veiled, if she became involved, Riona would have more of a project on her hands than she had planned.

“I’d be surprised if he survived the trip,” Eron continued.

She smiled. “You were quite the beast, weren’t you?”

He pulled up, stared into her eyes. Pride — and perhaps a little madness — shone brightly. “Yes, I was.”

Ah, there it was. She may have found the key to seducing him after all. A little stroking of his pride went a long way. If only there weren’t more pressing matters. As queen, she would have plenty of time to lure Eron into her bed. Maybe one day, she’d make him her king. On second thought … Why share her reign?

“Yet, he managed to escape, didn’t he?”

Eron stiffened. Her blow had struck hard. It was best to keep him under her thumb. Besides, she enjoyed mixing compliments with a little backhand now and then.

Riona stood and snapped her fingers, drawing Eron out of his thoughts. If they moved quickly, they’d have the advantage. “Gather the troops, Eron. We’re going on a witch hunt.”

Eron flashed her a smile. “I can’t think of anything I’d enjoy more.”

Pity
, she thought.

Calliope stifled a gasp while grabbing on to her inner magick to help her body remain still. Enchanted energy unfurled from her core and searched for an escape. She obliged by wiggling her toes inside her boots. Her magick would have to be satisfied with that for now. She’d expected to have a few moments to herself before encountering her previously bed-bound patient. Whether he was friend or foe had yet to be determined. Better to appear unfazed. Feigning nonchalance wasn’t easy, especially in the presence of a completely naked man, standing in her kitchen, of all places. The doorknob felt cool against her palm, though her cold sweat could have been to blame. The sight of his fangs weren’t what had Calliope wanting to run the other direction. She’d seen vampires before. She hadn’t expected Charmer to be one, but the veiled were often full of surprises. The shadows, though …