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  Black Drayke laughed. “That hurt, darling? Ahh, well, let me try it again. I promise I can do much better.”

  She shook her head from side to side in silent protest, but nothing could prevent her spirit from spiraling toward Black Drayke’s waiting mouth. He slowly, deeply, inhaled, drawing her soul higher. Closer.

  Black Drayke sighed, his eyes brightening with ecstasy. He kept her pinned beneath his weight. Clamping his hands on either side of her jaw, he held her tight, lowered his mouth a scant breath from hers and drew a lungful of air. Black Drayke brought her spirit to the realm of his tongue, to the very edge of annihilation. There, he sampled and savored, licked and tasted the light and airy flavor of her soul. He held it captive, suspended in mid-life, while he tortured and teased it.

  His body quivered like a tightly drawn bow with the urgency to completely destroy what he tormented. How he wanted this. Needed this.

  The pure light of her soul glittered like a newly born star, so clean, so bright, he had to shut his eyes to keep from being blinded by the radiance, by the purity he sampled and would never acquire in his own black soul.

  His belly clenched with edgy need. His groin ached, throbbing with an urgent need to mate. Ah. Sweet. So very, very sweet. Her soul. It was right there, rippling, hovering, and stretching its ghostly arms toward him, ripe for the plucking. Close. So damned, close.

  Just one deep breath and he could own it.

  A single, long drawn breath and it would be over.

  Tempted. He was so damned tempted.

  Not yet!

  Not quite yet. He wasn’t finished having fun.

  He stroked the fine mist of her spirit with his tongue, taunted it with his cruel power, with the threat of extinguishing it. “Mmmm,” he moaned.

  Black Drayke dragged her soul to the very edge of destruction and left it teetering in a void of endless black. His body shook with the force of his sudden need. His balls tightened. Ached. Tasting a soul had never felt this good before.

  “Ahhh, blessed gods!”

  He released her mouth, released her spirit, and stared down at Helayne with wonder. He couldn’t believe how powerful and sweet her soul had tasted. “That was wonderful,” he said in a strained voice. “You have a beautiful soul, Helayne. No wonder Kallibus is so enraged over your betrayal.”

  Helayne’s spirit retreated, seeking warmth, searching for its sanctuary. She trembled, terror causing her heart to pound as she lay beneath him.

  “You thought I was going to steal your spirit?” Black Drayke laughed as he slid his tongue down her cheek, leaving a sticky residue. “I thought about it. But I’m not ready for this to be over yet.” He pressed a kiss to her forehead. “I did so enjoy the taste of your witch’s sweet soul. It’s the sweetest I’ve tasted yet, simply because you’re Talon’s mother, and he loves you. That is a pleasure unto itself.”

  Slowly, Black Drayke lowered his head and latched onto her throat with his mouth. He sucked deeply. Helayne bucked beneath him but he didn’t let her go until he’d stained her throat with his black mark.

  She sobbed, shuddering with each breath she took. Black Drayke released her throat and gave a long sigh, as if he was bored. “Have no fear, My Queen. No one will doubt you’ve been touched by another. My brand marks you for the betrayer you are. Kallibus said tell you it’s not over between you, darling. It’s a long time before dawn, plenty of time to play.”

  * * * *

  He’d stay the rest of the night—because he could.

  Black Drayke frowned, rubbing a hand across his eyes. He felt the whites of his eyes decrease in size, felt his pupils enlarge and grow blacker with each use of Black Magick. Colors in the room faded to gray around him.

  His world grew ever dimmer. Ever blacker. Ever colder.

  He sighed. So be it.

  Soon he’d see no colors at all. There was always a penalty for choosing one’s own path of evil. Everything in sight would appear black as the Underworld.

  What did he care?

  Black Drayke stood up, hovering over the queen’s sprawled body. “Get up, Helayne,” he ordered. A sneer twisted his thin lips as he looked down at her. “You look positively trashy lying there with your legs apart in invitation.”

  He smiled, allowing his gaze to harden with ruthless distaste. “Why, whatever would the king say if he saw you spread out like a banquet for my pleasure and my mark of ownership now covering his?”

  Black Drayke chuckled as he witnessed the horror cross her face at the thought of Darak seeing her now. He shook his head. “Don’t fret, my love. As I’ve said, King Darak already knows I have you. You needn’t worry about him seeing you, my lovely. Because at this very moment, he’s busy fucking MeLora. He’s not thinking about you, lovely Helayne. He’s loving his new queen. Loving the son they made together.”

  Smug with his ability to inflict pain, he relished the bruised hurt he saw in her eyes. “Don’t worry sweeting. It’s my babe who fills her womb.” He held Helayne’s face between his hands. “But the king believes it’s his seed ripening her belly.”

  Black Drayke waved his hand, parting a veil of mist and a distorted vision of King Darak and MeLora appeared. Darak stood behind MeLora, naked and massaged her swollen belly.

  Drayke reared back, laughing deep in his gut as Helayne attempted to scream, shaking her head in denial. He watched the multiple expressions of pain cross her face as she watched her mate turn MeLora in his arms and kiss her deeply.

  “You see, my dear? Darak is in fact, enjoying what is happening between him and the beautiful MeLora. I do believe he’s enjoyed MeLora as much as I’m enjoying you. The truth is the king isn’t missing you at all. He abandoned you to my tender mercies. He will introduce his new queen and announce the pending arrival of his son at the next meeting of the guild.”

  Black Drayke snickered. “Your reign as queen has come to an end. And when I’m finished with you, why…I’m going to taste the witch your son wants for his mate, then I shall seek the lovely Princess Kali.”

  Helayne stumbled, sobbing as he shoved her toward her bedchambers.

  “But for now, I am content to sample the delights before me. Tasting is what I do best. It will please me to move my tongue over your spirit many more times before this night is finished.”

  Chapter Nineteen

  Increase Mather returned from England, bringing with him a new charter. He also returned with the new governor, Sir William Phips.

  ~Salem Witch Trials

  May 14, 1692

  Sanctuary

  Saylym smiled contentedly and flipped over the OPEN sign in her shop window.

  Mondays usually sucked. But not this Monday.

  Today was going to be another glorious day of spring-like weather. No unexpected snow or ice storms would be moving in to dampen the warmth or spirit.

  There was a man in her life. A lover. A fantastic lover.

  Yeah. Life was beautiful. Life was wonderful and rosy.

  If customers kept her as busy today as they had the previous week, then she’d soon have her books in the black in no time at all.

  “Come here.”

  Saylym jumped at the sound of a young boy’s voice. She looked around, until she determined the voice came from across the aisles near the bookshelves. No way. She really, really, wished she’d quit hearing strange voices. Glancing wistfully toward the staircase, she wished Talon was standing there.

  But nope. He wasn’t there. The voice wasn’t his. Hummmmm. Darn. The humming wasn’t going to stifle her curiosity.

  “Saylym Winslow, I bid you, come forth.”

  I bid you come forth? No way! She refused to come forth. Strange things happened to her when she came forth and too darned nosy for her own good. Come forth, my ass!

  She shook her head. Wasn’t happening.

  Who had summoned her?

  In her case, what had summoned her would be the better question?

  Saylym glanced wildly around the shop, then gave a
deep sigh of resignation. Well, so much for a normal, conventional, mundane Monday. Curiosity won out every time.

  Mondays sucked! Especially, this Monday, because that voice sounded suspiciously like it was coming from a book.

  Could it be the book, the-one-who-had-talked-to-her-a-couple-of-Saturday-mornings-ago book, screaming the word, ‘waaa-ken’ like a town crier?

  Nuh-uh. She didn’t think so.

  This voice was different. Older. Adolescent.

  She moved cautiously toward the shelves and immediately spied a book with two green eyes and a big blue mouth. My goodness, it even had a nose. Things were improving. Why not just give it an entire body in her deteriorating mind?

  “Are you going to mate with the prince or not?”

  “I beg your pardon?” Saylym gasped, jumping back. “What kind of question is that?”

  “A need-to-know question. Answer me.”

  “I will not,” Saylym replied indignantly. “What are you?”

  A long sigh. “Not a what. Who? I’m a who, damn it! And it’s very important I discover if you are willing to mate with Talon.” A pause. “So are you?”

  “Don’t swear,” Saylym ordered, frowning, “you’re too young to use such language.” Her curiosity got the better of her in spite of it all. She edged closer. “No. I’m not mating with Talon. What a question from a young man…er…book to ask.”

  She just knew she’d regret asking but couldn’t help herself. “Why do you need to know something like that?”

  A longer sigh. A heartfelt sniff.

  She swore she saw the sparkle of tears in the book’s green eyes. Oh, dear. What could possibly be wrong in the book’s life? From her viewpoint, her life was much worse. She was going crazy.

  “Because, if you don’t mate with him, I’ll never be born.”

  Well, yeah, not getting born might be a worse problem than going crazy, all right.

  “Why?” She had to ask it. Why couldn’t she just put a zipper on her mouth?

  Were books actually born in this part of the universe?

  “Have you no sense of family?” A huff of impatience.

  “What?” Saylym blinked.

  She was still mulling over the question as to whether books were born or not and not paying close enough attention to what the book said. At a total loss, she wondered just exactly what it was trying to tell her.

  Right, like said book could really talk to begin with, let alone be born. Hummmm!

  “Hello? Are you listening to me, witch? I’m your son, stupid!”

  * * * *

  An ear-piercing scream reverberated up the staircase, sending Talon into knee-jerking wakefulness. Flinging back the covers, he leapt out of bed, tangling his feet in the blanket and comforter as he staggered across the room.

  That was Saylym. Merciful, gods, what was wrong?

  And why was she at the shop so early? It wasn’t time to open yet.

  A second screech rent the air, louder and more piercing than the first.

  Talon took off down the stairs two at a time, tripped halfway down, and nearly toppled the rest of the way, before he stopped himself from falling.

  “Damn narrow stairs,” he muttered. “A man could break his neck.”

  Saylym whirled to face Talon as he skidded to an abrupt halt behind her. Her mouth gaped open in preparation of rendering another ear-splitting shriek. Those strange colored eyes of hers were round and huge as saucers. Her entire body shook, as though she had palsy. The few endearing freckles scattered across her nose stood out against the pallor of her skin. She looked as pale as a ghost at All Hallows’ Eve.

  Talon stilled. “What is it? What’s wrong?” He looked cautiously around the shop but didn’t see a thing to cause her to scream like a banshee.

  Saylym’s shoulders shook. “I’m going to give birth to a book,” she cried.

  “What?” The woman was totally, utterly mad. And she was driving him mad. “What are you talking about?”

  She sniffed, sounding so pitiful, it broke his heart. “If I mate with you, I’ll be the mother of a book. It told me so.”

  Talon grabbed the book from her and read aloud, “Ye Olde Book of the Future.” He exhaled slowly, allowing the relief to slide over him. She wasn’t injured nor had anything attacked her. “It’s a predicting book, Saylym, sort of like scrying the future. You aren’t actually going to give birth to it.”

  She blinked.

  He snarled. “Under all that blonde fluff on your head is a brain. Use it! A scrying book, for the gods’ sake!”

  She blinked again. He saw a hint of color returning to her cheeks.

  “Blonde fluff?” Temper blazed in the look she flashed him. “Is that your way of calling me a dumb blonde?”

  “I never said you were dumb.”

  “You implied it.”

  He ran a hand through his sleep-tangled hair, trying to control the urge to shake her for giving him such a fright. “A scrying book is like…you know, like your crystal ball?”

  She shook her head wildly. “I don’t have a crystal ball. Well, I do, but I don’t believe it’s possible to look into the future.” She eyed the book warily. “It said plainly it’s my son.”

  “For the love of—” Talon broke off his sentence. “Son?” A slow grin spread across his face. “Son? Did it say I’m the father?”

  She snorted and traced her gaze over him.

  “Just asking.”

  A peculiar expression crossed Saylym’s face. She stilled and sucked in a sharp breath. The silver swirls in her eyes shimmered like skeins of silk. “Holy shit,” she bellowed, her gaze shooting downward. “Oh! Ohh!” Her mouth worked, but no further sound came out. She jerked her head back up and stared at a point just over his left shoulder. Saylym panted as if she was giving birth to said book at this very moment.

  Talon spun around, expecting to see someone or some thing sneaking up on him. There was nothing. When he turned back, she’d lowered her gaze and was pointing a trembling finger at him.

  “What?” he bellowed. She was driving him to distraction.

  “Y-y-you’re naked.”

  Talon released an impatient breath, folded his arms and rocked on the balls of his bare feet. “Yes, La-Scheme, I am. You saw me naked yesterday.”

  She waved her arms in denial. “Well, I…yes and-and no. I didn’t actually look at it.”

  “Have you never seen a naked man before?”

  Her lips parted.

  He held up his hand, halting her. “Don’t answer that.”

  “Don’t be ridiculous. Of course I’ve seen a naked man before. I’ve looked at Playgirl. But it’s different, seeing the real thing dangling. The men didn’t seem quite so naked…or…up close and personal.”

  “No?” His grin quickly changed into a frown. “What the hell is Playgirl? Just how naked, is naked? Did any of these men touch you? And what are you doing looking at naked men?”

  “What?”

  His body grew taut with an unspoken challenge. How dare she look at another man naked. “You said not as naked as me. How naked were the men you saw before me? How close did they get to you with their…exposed…danglers?”

  Saylym smiled, a mysterious curve slanting her mouth. “Wu-ell,” she drew out the word. “There’s naked…and then there’s naked. You’re the ‘then there’s naked sort.’”

  Her gaze seemed to say, And so…just what are you going to do about it, big boy?

  Talon knew what he’d like to do about it, but the look of admiration was fading from her face, to be replaced by apprehension.

  “What?” he asked.

  “Wu-ell, Mr. Waken, now that I’ve had a good look at it, if you think for one second you’re poking that big thing in me again, think again, buster. I’m not giving birth to a book, that’s all there is to it. And for heaven’s sake, put on some clothes. You’re creating a draft in here.”

  Talon tugged at his sleep-tousled hair. He couldn’t take much more of this nerve-wra
cking business of trying to soothe a frightened witch. Especially, when said fright was now based on the size of his cock. “I’ve already had it inside you, baby. You took it just fine.”

  “No,” she denied, shaking her head wildly. “You had a tiny bit of it inside me, you said so yourself. You were barely in. That is different. Just do me a favor and cover it before someone walks in. Anyway, it…it’s alive.”

  Talon snapped his fingers. “Presto! Now, it’s decently covered.”

  Saylym’s sharp gasp surprised him.

  He looked up in time to see her eyes roll back in her head. Her legs wobbled and she crashed toward him, limp as a rag doll. He sprang forward, wrapping his arms around her as she toppled like a felled tree. “Well, hell.”

  Lifting her in his arms, he glanced down at her and sighed. He hadn’t considered his nakedness would shock her enough to send her keeling over in a dead faint. He grinned as he suddenly appreciated her words. Big thing? All right!

  And she had insinuated that it was the cause of said draft?

  His grin widened.

  He glanced at her pale face as he moved up the stairs to his bedroom. Placing Saylym gently on his bed, he brushed a silver curl back from her face. Standing up, he lifted a single brow and stared down at her.

  “Oh, yeah, La-Scheme, I have every intention of poking that big thing in you, and I promise you, kieran, I won’t stop next time.”

  He sighed, touching a fingertip to the scattering of freckles across the bridge of her nose.

  Giving birth to a book?

  Where in the world did she come up with her convictions?

  The woman was a hundred percent daft.

  Chapter Twenty

  Mary Easty was released from prison. Yet, due to the outcries and protests of her accusers, she was arrested a second time.

  ~ Salem Witch Trials

  May 18, 1692