9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC Read online

  Pleased with his decision, he snapped his fingers, and vanished into the evening.

  * * * *

  Sanctuary

  Talon lifted a board and held it against the side of the millhouse he was remodeling. Dragging the hammer from the tool belt riding around his hips, he drove the nail in place with the first strike.

  Working with his hands was something he’d taken pleasure in since attending academy. Repairing and building things had first started out as a hobby and a challenge. He’d wanted to see if he could do it without the use of magic.

  When he learned he was gifted with the ability, it became more than a hobby. It was a satisfying experience that left his muscles aching, his body tired, but it also left him with a sense of accomplishment and purpose.

  Instead of waiting like a mindless buffoon year after year for the chance to mate, he’d occupied his mind and body with building and drawing blueprints of things he wanted to build. It felt good to do something besides sit on his royal ass or blindly obey the elders and his father.

  When he was finished with the outside of the millhouse, he intended to construct a workshop at the edge of his property line. There, he could design and make furniture. He’d already made a couple of huge rockers for the front porch he was eventually going to add.

  Living this close to Sanctuary, instead of in Droth, would probably make the witches nervous, but in time, they’d discover he meant them no harm, as long as he wasn’t under orders from the ancients to terminate one of them.

  His plans were crumbling before his eyes. True, he wasn’t yet ready to settle with a bond mate. The thought of remaining with one witch for the rest of his life made him feel as if he’d eaten a bug. Someday, centuries down the road, he wanted a mate and children, but not now.

  Right now, he detested being near Sanctuary, but he couldn’t stand to be in Droth at the palace. Katch had destroyed his light-hearted pursuit of Saylym. Thoughts of wooing and bedding her were now tainted with the appalling threat of her spirit removal.

  Worse, the possibility of a forced bonding for both of them loomed ahead!

  What in the world had possessed the High Wizard to make such a decision?

  The knowledge that he’d been crowded into such a choice left a sour taste in his mouth. And damn, if the female didn’t make his options even more difficult for him. If he didn’t know better, he’d swear the witch had deliberately set out to drive him crazy.

  In the week since he returned to the flat above her shop, he’d never witnessed so much inept use of magic. How one tiny witch could create so many different disasters was beyond his understanding. She never attempted to fix anything she broke.

  Most of the time he wanted to throttle her, but the sweet kiss they’d shared after Eldora’s birthday party had left him hungering for more. He wanted to kiss her deeply, touch and explore every creamy inch of her skin and body. He couldn’t get over how soft her lips had felt against his. Her taste lingered in his mind and there was no getting rid of it.

  He still smelt the fresh flowery scent of her hair as he danced with her, felt the gentle swell of her breasts when he’d held her close while they swayed to the music. Talon swore softly. Remember, the woman can’t cast even the simplest of spells or conjure an ordinary pot or cauldron.

  She couldn’t control inanimate objects.

  This entire week he’d been back from Droth had been damned miserable. Every time he was in the shop and Saylym was around, something floated wildly through the air, only to shake and crash to the floor or into the wall. He’d gotten into the habit of ducking.

  He doubted she knew even one little chant. She hadn’t a clue how to offer comfort or soothe an item so it’d settle down and return to its normal state. She didn’t know how to repair shattered items. He couldn’t remember how many times he’d caught her sweeping up broken pieces and tossing them in the trash.

  Physically sweeping, for the gods’ sake.

  When items floated in the air toward her, it was as if she suddenly got tunnel vision. Her expression became serene, and she turned away. She didn’t even flinch any more when things crashed to the floor and shattered.

  She simply hummed in a tuneless, off-key manner and reached for her broom and the dustpan. Hummed. His sweet, beautiful witch murdered, with complete disregard or conscious thought, every musical note ever created.

  Ah, yes, his perfect little witch had so many flaws, he’d stopped counting them.

  Of course, there were those times when the item didn’t crash, but became confused or angry because it didn’t understand her lack of commands. During those times, he’d find himself holding his breath, waiting to see what’d happen next.

  Things became lively in her presence, and practically everything she awakened took an instant dislike to her. The item either hid from her, or it was so hostile, she was in immediate danger. Magical items didn’t like bumblers of magic any more than his father and the guild it seemed.

  Anyone near Saylym when her magic went awry was in a radius of danger and the threat went right over her blonde head. It was only this morning he’d had to duck a pair of flying scissors, which had slammed into the wall and buried to the hilt beside his head as he came downstairs.

  “Oops!” Saylym gave him a weak smile. “Sorry. They uh…slipped from my hands.”

  “Uh-huh.” More like they’d escaped in fear for their life.

  He managed, eventually, to pull the scissors out of the wall. To keep from strangling her, he stormed out, slamming the shop door behind him. She’d had the nerve to yell, “Hey. Give me back my scissors.”

  The woman was her own worst enemy. Why couldn’t she see the risk to herself, and to him? He’d kept the damned scissors all right and he wasn’t about to return them. He couldn’t teach her how to control her magic, for it was a natural ability. A witch either had it or she didn’t. If she didn’t…

  His thoughts trailed away from that painful thought. The problem was he’d allowed things to slide. By calming the upsets as best he could, he’d only drawn out the inevitable. He was in trouble here, worse; his witch was in bigger trouble.

  Her complete lack of magical skills baffled him.

  Sometimes it took a variety of chants to counteract one hex, as when he’d tried to pull the scissors from the wall. A simple enthrallment should have worked, but it’d taken him the better part of an hour to release the scissors from the spell.

  Talon wasn’t certain he could reverse her magic again. It was perplexing, to say the least, and as annoying as Dym’s Underworld domain. A waken should be able to cancel out a female witch’s spells with ease.

  What made Saylym so different from other witches, other than the fact she was an Impure? He still had no idea, but he knew in his heart there was more to her. The necessity of reporting weekly to the guild members sickened him. Time was rushing by like the sand in an hourglass, and the ancients grew increasingly anxious. He could no longer ignore the facts or his duty. Saylym’s magic was a dangerous thing for Ru-Noc.

  His pending betrayal of her made him feel lower than a worm. He’d tried to put distance between them by dropping the easy teasing and his pursuit of her. That left him feeling as if he was an Observer spying on her.

  After the first day of his return to Sanctuary, he’d shied away from the shop. Inevitably, there were times when they were both there, but he avoided Saylym as much as possible. But that had to stop now. In clear conscience, he could no longer sidestep the situation, or his coming decision. Something had to be done.

  How he loved the joy of her laughter. He needed that in his life. Talon kept picturing Saylym sitting in a porch swing, rocking gently in the late evening breeze. He couldn’t get the sound of her sweet voice from his mind or the resonant joy of children’s laughter ringing in the air as they chased weeble bugs in the gathering dusk of night.

  This was the life he wanted, and he wanted it with her, except for the children. Not a true bonding, but a relationship where they
were totally involved with each other, yet maintained their freedom. He had to remain free if he wanted children someday. Diluting his bloodline by having wee ones with Saylym was not even a consideration.

  If he didn’t bond with Saylym, then he’d be free to breed another witch someday. The thought of kissing another witch, let alone bedding one and giving her his child, sickened him right now, but he had to leave the option open, for the crown's sake.

  If he bonded with Saylym, she’d one day expect to bear his child. If he bonded with her, he could take control of her powers and manage them himself, but he still couldn’t breed her. If he refused to bond, then there were no other options left him. She’d lose the essence of her spirit. Damn his soul to Hades and back again for what they wanted him to do to this witch.

  He wasn’t worthy of her.

  Talon drove a nail in place with one smooth stroke of the hammer.

  How could he be worthy of her if he spied on her? Betrayed her?

  He drove a second nail with a furious slam of the hammer.

  Simple. He couldn’t.

  A third nail riveted in place.

  There was no relationship to be had. He had to steal her soul. Put an end to all doubts.

  A fourth and fifth nail slammed in place.

  The sixth nail split the board.

  Talon jerked back, swearing beneath his breath as he ripped the board off with his bare hands and flung it across the yard.

  “You have to make a decision, Prince,” Vox said in a grim voice. “I know you still have a few days, but it’s too perilous to continue waiting. The witch is a terrible hazard, to herself and to others. We’ve both witnessed her dreadful magic. The fact I can find no history of her in any of the archives is cause for grave concern.”

  His chest heaving with ragged breaths, Talon glared at the owl. “I know, damn it!”

  “She’s an unknown entity, Prince. You must put aside the temptation to bond with this Impure of unknown origin. If by chance she got with child, your offspring could have serious afflictions. You cannot place the crown at that kind of risk.”

  “I know,” Talon snapped. “Don’t you think I’ve said this to myself over and over again?” He flung the hammer across the littered yard, then dropped to his knees. His shoulders slumped. “Damn it, Vox, I feel low as a sheeahta beetle. I have no honor left inside me. I know I’m rough around the edges. I’m not noble.” He bowed his head, his thick hair falling around his face in wind-blown tangles. “I can never match Stry with his royal dignity and courtly manners. I’ve never even tried. I might have objected, but I’ve always done as the ancients instructed.”

  His tortured gaze settled on the owl. “But I’m not a cold-blooded murderer, Vox. All I think about is her. She invades my sleep and my dreams. She’s with me every waking moment. I kissed her. She makes me crazy, and still I find I want to kiss her again. I want to drive my body into hers until we’re both sated. I don’t know what to do.”

  “You must do the right thing. You can’t put your needs above the needs of the people, above the safety of the crown, or even what the guild demands of you. It is your conscience you must answer to.” The owl cleared his throat. “But you’re lucky, Prince. You’ve been given a choice. Only you can choose what is right.”

  “I know. She’s a threat to our world. I’ll take care of it.”

  “When?”

  “Now. Today. When I return to the shop.”

  “I’m sorry, Prince.”

  Talon nodded, turning away from the Futhar and rose to his feet.

  “Prince?”

  “Yes?” Talon stiffened.

  “You’re wrong, Prince. You have honor. You’re noble. Perhaps the noblest man I know.”

  Talon gave a curt nod, his heart aching. For a long moment, he couldn’t speak, then voicing a soft chant, he cleansed his body and changed into clean clothes, refreshed in the waken fashion.

  Drawing a deep breath, he took the winding path through the woods to Sanctuary. He rehashed all the times he’d seen Saylym’s magic fail and cringed. There was no recourse but to steal her spirit.

  And damn his soul to the Underworld because of it.

  * * * *

  Saylym glared at the crystal ball in her hands but she saw nothing inside the cloudy orb. Humph, so much for seeing her future! There was probably no Prince Charming on the horizon anyway. Certainly, no Prince Talon, the big lug. He’d made an obvious point of avoiding her.

  What had she done to make him go out of his way not to see her?

  The bell chimed over the door, and she glanced up. Well, well. The prince returns.

  She bit her tongue to keep from saying the waspish words, but she couldn’t prevent herself from casting a sullen glance in his direction. The effort was wasted. He wasn’t even looking at her.

  Instead, he was leaning back against the door, eyes shut, panting. His chest rose and fell with each hard breath. Saylym frowned. What was wrong with him? He looked like a man who’d been chased by a ghost.

  His lips curved with displeasure and dark shadows lurked beneath his eyes.

  He looked tired.

  He looked in desperate need of cuddling.

  She’d missed him, she realized, missed his teasing, missed hearing his thick accent, and seeing that devil-may-care smile. She’d barely glimpsed his face these past few days. He’d acted strangely ever since he returned from his sudden trip to visit his parents. He had no reason to steer clear of her, but he’d done exactly that. He was rigidly polite and always in a hurry.

  His coolness had left her with a hollow ache that wouldn’t go away. They’d shared an evening together, a kiss, shared laughter. Granted, it wasn’t that much, but she’d thought it was the beginning of something wonderful.

  Obviously, she’d thought wrong. A stab of disappointment spread through her. Seeing him leaning against the door, she couldn’t help wondering what had happened to the man who flashed his dimples at her and flirted with such ease.

  Why was it every time he entered the shop, everything inside her and the store quivered with fear and the hiss of a whispered, “Waaa-ken,” that echoed around the room? Once that word was spoken, everything grew quiet and still. Cautious. Sensing danger.

  She wanted to know what was going on, and Talon, just like everything and everyone else, wasn’t going to tell her a darn thing. Sighing, she set the crystal ball carefully on the counter and straightened her shoulders. Forcing a smile, she wondered if he’d open his eyes if she spoke to him. It was worth a try.

  “So, Mr. Waken, you’re early today. How nice of you to fly in. You look like crap. Is everything all right?”

  * * * *

  Talon slowly opened his eyes and glanced toward Saylym. Her artificial smile and falsely cheerful voice told him he wasn’t high on her list of favorite people.

  Maybe that’d make things easier.

  “I was beginning to believe you were avoiding me,” she snapped, her lips tight with disapproval.

  Right. There was no mistaking the bristle in her tone. She was as full of quills as a pissed-off porcupine. He wasn’t exactly in the best of moods himself. He sure wasn’t up to soothing a witch who brimmed with prickly spines and was dying to jab them in his ass.

  “Cut the bullshit, Saylym. You’re my landlord, nothing more. I’m not your friend, boyfriend, or your lover. I don’t owe you any explanations as to where or how I spend my time. I’m not required to report to you.”

  He heard her sharp breath and knew he’d wounded her. Well, wasn’t that his intent? Talon rubbed a hand down his face so he wouldn’t have to see her eyes. He was doing the right thing, but it felt like he was squashing a helpless butterfly.

  More daring than he felt, he risked a quick glance at her. The serene, blank look, the one he’d dubbed ‘the humming face’ settled on her countenance. Sheeahta! She was blanking him out. She was excellent at not facing things or dealing with the truth in front of her.

  “If that’s the way you w
ant it, you can use the back entrance to get to your room from now on,” she said, stepping around the counter. She busied herself with something at the cash register.

  “There isn’t a back entrance.”

  “Well, make one,” she said in a wobbly voice. “You’re the great waken here!”

  “Yes, I am.” He clenched his fists and walked toward her. There was no way in hell this was going to be easy. Saylym reached for the crystal ball and gripped it. She moved from around the counter, closer to him. He wondered if she intended to bash him over the head with it.

  “I do believe it’s time for me to lock up and leave,” she said. She started past him.

  He stayed where he was, refusing to give way. Slowly, he removed the crystal ball from her hands and set it back on the counter. Locking his fingers on her shoulders, he drew her closer. “Look, I—”

  She peeped at him through a veil of tears. “You made your point, Prince. You don’t want anything to do with me. Fine! Now let me by.”

  “Don’t cry,” he said, squeezing her shoulders. “You can’t cry. Witches don’t shed tears. I’m sorry. You haven’t done anything wrong. It’s me.”

  Her lips trembled. “No, I’m sorry.” She lowered her gaze. “It’s none of my business what you do. I shouldn’t have taken things so seriously. You kissed me, but it was just a kiss, a brush of the lips, nothing more.”

  He muttered, swearing quietly. “But it was more,” he insisted, refusing to let her go even though she struggled to pull out of his hold. “I’m sorry for the things I said to you. I didn’t mean them.”

  “You don’t owe me an apology. Like I said, what you do is your business, and the kiss…it was nothing. No harm done. No lasting impression.”

  “Then let me try again.” Torn, Talon wondered what he was doing. Did he want to kiss her to make up for the first one, or to begin the spell? Uttering a curse, he closed his heart against the truth, accepting what he knew he had to do.