Witch and Werewolf: The Fire, The Pursuit, The Reckoning (BBW Paranormal Shifter Romance)
Authors: Sage Domini
WITCH and WEREWOLF
The Complete Trilogy
By Sage Domini
Copyright 2013
All rights reserved
This is a work of fiction. Any similarities to persons living, dead or somewhere in between is purely coincidental.
Now read the complete story of the illicit passion between Witch and Werewolf! Includes an exclusive prologue which depicts the turbulent first meeting between Alicia and Deston as teenagers…
In
The Fire
witch Alicia and werewolf
Deston succumb to a forbidden lust…with bloody consequences.
In
The Pursuit
, Alicia and
Deston encounter fresh dangers which test the strength of their passion.
The Reckoning
will spell the most perilous confrontation yet as the coven seeks to destroy the illicit lust which would spell their doom…
10
Years Ago…
He tri
pped over a barrel cactus. A small cry of pain escaped his lips as needles pierced his skin but he couldn’t stop running. They were gaining. He wasn’t sure how many of them there were. They used their magic to soar through the desert night at a speed twice what he could muster. He was strong, but still only a boy. The witches had the advantage here. If they caught him, they would destroy him. It would be painful. The thought of the fire ritual, the means witches used to kill, drove a stake of fear into his heart and drove him onward through the black desert.
I will not die tonight. I will not die tonight
.
Rick
Deston wished he and Gregor had not separated. Gregor had keener senses, had heard the witches calling to one another in the plaintive wail of their hunt. Gregor had pulled him out of the arcade. Once outside the mall, Rick could hear them, a whole coven out for the blood of his kind.
Gregor
had looked at him with wide gray eyes. Rick saw his own fear mirrored in the face of his friend. He swallowed. “There isn’t much time.”
Gregor
bit his lower lip. Shook his head. “No.”
Rick
looked up at the night sky, expecting to see a tribe of ghoulish witches bearing down. They were gathering numbers, calling as they flew. A family exited the mall, weighed down with shopping bags and the smell of fried food. They would only see two teenage boys, normal-looking boys speaking in low, serious tones about something critical; girlfriends or school. Rick coughed. “Too dangerous to try for home.”
Gregor
agreed. “Too far and they might attack the entire pack. We’re on our own.”
Rick
figured if they could make it several miles to the mountains outside Phoenix it would be easy to hide amongst the caves and hoodoos until morning. Witches never hunted in daylight. It had been foolish for the two boys to go out on their own. Pack scouts had been bringing back reports of a particularly fierce coven which had settled in the valley. The elders would have by now discovered the absence of the two boys.
Rick
hoped Gregor was having an easier time than he was. With the legs of the wolf Rick could run fast, far faster than a human. He galloped furiously over the rough terrain. His strength, like his body, was a long way from mature. At full strength he would be capable of clawing any man, beast or witch to bloody pieces.
If he lived that long.
***
When the coven spread out to cover maximum
ground, Alicia turned instinctively towards the mountains. She kept up the chant under her breath as the vague shapes of the desert wilderness blurred beneath her. Magda would scold her for this. Being only an apprentice, she was not allowed to seek such confrontation. But didn’t Magda also brag that she had never seen a more shrewd and gifted witch? Alicia had confidence in her wisdom, in the inner power cultured by years of training and discipline. If she met with any of the beasts, she was certain victory by fire would be hers. Just to the west she glimpsed the telltale flame circle which burst from the deep quiet night in a violent flash, and then was gone. So, the sisters had caught one of the wolves. And now it was up to her to take the other one.
He was tiring. His gait was erratic, desperate. Alicia overtook him easily, landing in front of him so sharply he skidded and tripped. The young beast gasped and tried to scramble to his feet. Alicia saw her prey for the first time, illuminated by the bright glare of the desert moon.
The young wolf issued a grim yelp of fear and cowered in her shadow.
Only a boy.
Indeed, he was young. This thin body and gangly legs identified him as an adolescent, perhaps even younger than herself. For the first time she felt a twinge of remorse. Of course, he still must die. She had seen what the beasts were capable of when they reached maturity. Though this beast was still young, he would soon grow to manhood.
Quickly Alicia conjured a circle around him so he could not escape. She prepared to call the fire.
“Wait!” The wolf receded and the boy’s face looked at her beseechingly. His voice cracked. He tried to step forward, but the circle kept him contained. Alicia had her arms raised; the fire call was on her lips. She only need speak a few words and the fire would claim this beast in a brilliant burst of terrible light. In a moment there would be be one less werewolf to worry about.
He was speaking now in low tones of pain. “I’ve never hurt anyone, I couldn’t. I d
on’t want to die.” His voice held an agony that tore at Alicia’s heart. Never before had she flinched at killing one of them. But never had she been confronted with one so young. The pale light allowed her to see the square lines of his face, the thick set of his shoulders. One day soon he would grow into an impressive creature. And a dangerous one.
He was breathing heavily, looking at her with wide eyes which seemed to reach into her soul and linger over the last remains of tender instincts nearly washed out by years of hardened conditioning. Alicia lowered her arms. The words which wou
ld call the fire of death lingered unspoken. This boy trembling before her would soon evolve into a powerful mortal enemy to herself, the sisters, the very vastness of mankind.
Yet I cannot destroy him.
Alicia could hear the sisters calling in the darkness. They had found victory once tonight, they would seek it again.
Alicia released the circle. “Go,” she whispered.
The boy hesitated.
“Go. Now!”
The boy launched into a run. The mountains were a mere mile away. Alicia knew there were unnumbered places in which he would be able to hide and wait. She sighed in the dust stirred up by the young werewolf’s frantic sprint. She waited to feel disgusted with herself for this sudden weakness but only felt relieved and strangely hopeful. The boy was now out of sight, halfway to the mountains. Alicia prepared to take flight.
Pray I don’t regret this moment.
WITCH AND WEREWOLF
***
R
ick Deston lay naked on his bed and listened to the howling, so different from the normal desert coyote yips. The elders would allow only a few out per night to satisfy those ancient urges, even in a full moon. The taste of blood would be followed by the beat of mating. He felt the familiar pressure of his rising manhood and fought it. If Deston allowed it he could lose himself in the primeval instincts. He could allow the change in his body and run with the hunting pack. The elders would not refuse him. Indeed, they would welcome his eagerness. He had been troubled and human for too long, unnatural for a werewolf. But tonight the gruesome find on his afternoon perimeter ride left him bothered.
They tore him
to fucking shreds.
For two decades
his people had lived restlessly on this desert commune an hour outside of Phoenix. Sometimes reports would surface among the human populace about wolves, enormous wolves. The curious might venture too close to the pack and would need to be dealt with. But the werewolves, long exiled from their European origins, had learned through time and trial that blood wasn’t always the best solution. In these modern times the silence of neighbors and pesky news crews was easily bought. And so the pack survived.
Deston
heard a scratch at the door of his trailer and Ryah entered without knocking. She allowed the strap of her silky black nightdress to slip from her shoulder, uncasing one high, pink-tipped breast. “Hello, sweet,” she purred and raised her arms in a wide stretch, raising her hemline and allowing Deston to glimpse the feminine triangle which was ready for him. She had been trying to entice Deston for ages.
Deston
threw on a pair of boxers, cursing his body’s unwitting response. He willed the swollen muscle to relax as the fabric of his shorts strained to hold the growing demand. The flesh resisted, for as of late Rick Deston had not only denied himself the blood hunt, but other pleasures as well. Deston breathed deeply. “Were you on the hunt last night?”
Ryah
eyed him. “So?”
“So
I found the mess out by the west fence.”
“Another lost hiker?” She shrugged. “We’ve covered men before.”
“You are all becoming careless. The witches will not like it.”
Ryah
spat. “The witches. Let them come, damned dried up crones.” She took a step closer and licked his chest. She allowed her covering to slip completely, touched the pale concave of her belly and let one finger to dip into the golden triangle beneath. With her other hand she began to massage the hard swell of Deston’s maleness.
Deston
tossed his head back as Ryah’s blonde head bent low, her red lips searching for his released organ. How easy it would be to succumb, to let the strong wolf emerge, to run and taste the blood of a wild horse or a lost cow. Then to mount the wolf maidens in a heady animal musk of pounding base need that was without conscience.
“No.” He pushed her away.
A rage-filled baying filled the night. Then another. And another. Deston, startled, looked out at the uncovered window. The hunters had not traveled into the desert. They were close. Deston peered outside and saw a smattering of lit windows from the various trailers of the pack’s occupants. “What the hell are they up to?” he whispered.
Ryah
shrugged, annoyed. “Kristoff found a stupid witch wandering inside the fence. Can you believe it?” She laughed. “He is having some fun before he tears her to bits.”
Deston
went cold. This was bad. A witch murdered inside the wolves’domain! An uneasy truce had reigned for years between the witches of Phoenix and the werewolf pack. Deston did not know how or why the witch had found herself within their boundaries but it would not matter. The wrath of a thousand witches would rain upon their heads. There would be a war.
“Fuck!” he swore
. Where were the elders? Why were they not stopping this foolishness? But they were becoming weak, too ineffective. And the power of the pack was shifting.
Deston
’s heart pounded. “They’ll come. Her coven is likely mobilizing at this moment.”
Ryah
shrugged again. “Let them.”
Deston
was thunderstruck. He wanted to throttle this daft little she-wolf. “Is that so?” He took a menacing step forward. “You’ve never seen them call the fire. I have. I saw what they did to Gregor. They caught us beyond the fence. We got separated. One of them found me but she was young enough to still feel pity. Mercifully she allowed me to live. But the rest of them…” He grabbed her arms. “They circled him and called the fire. They burned him while he screamed.”
Ryah’
s lip curled. “All the more reason for the trespassing witch whore to die.”
Deston
shoved her away and sprinted through the flimsy door of his trailer.
Kristoff
and his damned recklessness.
But he admitted
Kristoff was more than reckless. He had a cruel streak, a perilous indulgence for a werewolf. Deston thought of the man at the fence, or rather the pulpy mess which had once been human. He had buried him under a mesquite tree. He could do nothing else for the man.
The witch was another matter.
He inhaled the night, finding the scent of the stranger, the witch. It was coming from a small cluster of beat up trailers at the southern perimeter of the pack’s ten thousand acres. Deston ran, allowing the wolf to take him, to run on four wolf legs. There was still time, but not much.
***
The three Beasts circled around her, snarling. Two were changed completely, fur bristling, fangs bared. The third was enjoying the spectacle too much. He savored a slow change into his animal self. He was the largest. They called him Kristoff. He had been the one to creep up on her, gagging her mouth, deftly tying her limbs. Unable to chant or let her fingers form the ancient symbols, she was helpless. In a forced kneel, with her hands bound behind her and tied to her ankles, Alicia couldn’t move. She still expected to be killed.
“Well you are a lovely
thing.” Kristoff spoke in mocking gentle tones and pushed a finger between her large breasts. “All this flesh that cries out to be ravaged, it’s nearly a shame.” He was close enough for his hot breath to bathe her face. “Nearly a total fucking shame.”
So they were going to torture her first. Alicia fought the fear which threatened to dro
wn her, steeling against panic as she had practiced all these years. They would not crack her; she would remain stoic until her last breath. And it seemed it would be a painful last breath.
Kristoff
ran a thick claw over her collar bone, then lower, down her shirt. He tore the thin fabric with a flick of his wrist. His eyes were terrifying; melting from a hard brown to a savage yellow. Thick fur rose on broadening shoulders as his shirt tore and fell. He leaned toward her ear and bayed, a long terrifying sound. Yes, that was intentional, she knew. He meant to terrify her.
A
licia had not seen beasts this close. Except once, long ago. But those circumstances had been different. Little more than a boy, and he had been the prey, she the hunter.
Kristoff
, now full werewolf, pushed her violently to her back. Her head cracked painfully against the floor. Her breasts were bare. She closed her eyes. Unbidden thoughts crowded in, memories of the tiny fishing village where she had lived a happy childhood until Magda had found her. Magda, how would she react to the death of her prodigy?
They chuckled, the three of them, a uniquely horrifying human/wolf noise.
She knew; they would savage her now in a hundred ways, and then rip her body apart.
She felt the sudden tensing of the three creatures. A throaty wolf whisper, “Who the hell is that?”
A low, hoarse voice growled from the other side of the door. “It’s Deston. Open the mother fucking door.”
Kristoff
seemed pleased. His wolf features faded. He smiled. “Cousin! We can share, can’t we boys? There’s enough of her to go around.” Husky laughter. “For now.”
The beast
they called Deston opened the door. Alicia watched as the animal in him faded. Even in her dangerous position Alicia could appreciate the raw look of him, at least six foot five, heavily muscled everywhere, faultless. She could also appreciate the way the other three took cautious steps backwards. They were wary of this one, this Deston.
He rubbed his chin thoughtfully, drinking in the scene.
His eyes flitted across her naked breasts but he showed no emotion. He was utterly nude and seemed indifferent to the fact. Between his muscled thighs his pride hung casually. Deston grinned at Kristoff. “Let me have her.”
Kristoff
roared in amusement. “Ah, the animal is unleashed.” He gazed at Deston. “Go out and hunt your own. Then have a good fuck over it. Hell, have five or six.”
Deston
didn’t smile. “Think of your children.”
Kristoff
growled. He flashed Alicia a look of pure violence. “This is for my children!” He grabbed Alicia by her long black hair and yanked savagely. “Murdering crow, she is, I do this for them! And for my brother. Or have you forgotten Gregor?”
Deston
smirked. “No, cousin. And I am not asking for mercy for this creature, this
thing.
But let me dispose of it. It isn’t your hunting night. Go home to your mate, enjoy her body. I will clean up this mess.”
The other two grumbled. Kristoff scowled but seemed
hesitant. Without wasting a second Deston heaved Alicia over his broad shoulder. He did not await Kristoff’s response, carrying Alicia easily into the night as if she were a slight waif instead of a womanly puzzle of solid flesh. To his burden, still bound and gagged, he uttered two soft words. “Be still.”
***
He had recognized her immediately. Her face had matured from the soft lines of girlishness. On that terrible night in the desert so many years earlier she had regarded him with curiosity and empathy. The night Gregor had burned. The night she had forsaken her coven and allowed him to live.
Go,
she had whispered and had flown off into the desert dark, even as her pursuing coven had cornered Gregor on the other side of the wash and called the fire.
He dropped her carefully onto the floor of his trailer. “Your life is not in danger.” He reached around and grasped the ties of the crude gag. “I would like some assurance that mine is not either.”
Her eyes were inscrutable as he met her gaze directly, willing her to see past the icy cast of a ‘Beast’ into a soul that would never do her harm. After a moment something shifted in her depths and she nodded. She did not wince when he cut the cruel bonds, though Deston saw soft skin of her wrists was badly bruised and marked. He watched her carefully, ready to spring if she gave any hint of conjuring her powers but she merely stared at him, her shirt still raggedly open, her large, luscious breasts inches from his naked chest. His own body responded with ferocious intensity. He took a shuddering breath and pulled on a pair of jeans. Bedding a witch was unthinkable. He looked out the window, worried.
“I need to get you out of here.” He looked at her, held out a hand. “Rick
Deston. You can trust me.”
She said nothing, did not accept his hand. He sighed. Time was essential. The elders will have been informed by now.
Deston was unsure what they would order. The witch must cooperate if she wished to live. Yet he knew they were trained throughout their long apprentice years to be cold, unfeeling. He had heard of their trials, of the privation they inflicted upon their novitiates to toughen them into full witches.
“My name is Alicia.” Her throat was terribly dry. The words came out as a cough. She touched her chest and realized how exposed she was.
Deston again felt a deep tug of wanting. Her face was beautiful, crowned by waves of dark hair, her body an ample collection of interests which begged exploration. Still, he would need to treat her carefully. No matter how he desired her, he was still in the company of an enemy. He brought her a glass of water and a flannel shirt.
“C
over up and drink. Then we absolutely need to leave.”
She took a sip and spoke again. “My name is Alicia. You know what I am so you would also kn
ow that is the only name I have.” She did not seem to remember him. He could forgive that. To her, beasts were likely all one and the same. She looked down. “I don’t know why you did it but I am thankful for my life.”
Deston
found the keys to his ancient Chevy pickup. “You know what your sisters would have done had you been killed here.”
She spoke truthfully. “Yes. Even the youngest would not have been spared.”
Deston nodded. “So I made the rational choice.”
“
Beasts
aren’t necessarily known for their reason.” She spat the word. It was what her people called his, and he recalled how she saw him, what he was in her calculated witch mind. He turned away, willing his anger to subside. There was no point in raging against the inevitable. He knew what witches thought of werewolves.