His long mahogany hair hung to his collar, the strands slightly ruffled. The goatee he wore was neatly trimmed, cheeks shadowed by newly grown stubble. Although a magic-caster, he was built like a Mack truck, tall, broad, and sturdy. It was to be expected. Scottish Warlock Judges were a rarity and were forced to rely on brute force equally as often as magic.
Trevor spun around when he had the icy mug in hand, asking as he brought it to his lips, “Is it that group you're worried about?"
"Yep.” Luke bobbed his head and then glanced at the door.
"You expecting someone else?"
"What?” He returned his attention to the bar.
"Are you looking for the wee lass that bumped into me on the way out? If so, she's busy introducing the Chimera tae the cement just outside the door there."
"You're kidding."
"Now, why would I want tae do something like that?"
The door swung open, allowing autumn air to drift inside. The girl shook herself once, then again, and peered around. She glanced at Luke and Trevor before averting her face and returning to the coven in the booth.
"Beautiful, is she no'?” Trevor mused and took a sip of his ale.
Luke knew he was gawking but didn't give a shit. “I've never seen anything like her."
"No, I doona imagine you have. Nor has anyone else. You've just set your sights upon a female you canna have, Lycae. Best tae walk away now."
He studied the female closely, staring directly at her. If she felt his gaze, she didn't let it show. She walked to the corner behind the group and relaxed against the wall, eyes forward. The black leather covering her body reminded him of the gear used by the Thymeria vampire human faction, intended to keep the body warm and unencumbered. She was thin but muscular, the definition in her shoulders obvious through the giving material.
"Oh no,” Trevor said as he comprehended the interest.
"How do you know the coven?” he asked, intentionally redirecting the conversation.
Trevor, seeming bored, relaxed as he'd hoped. “Everyone knows of them. They've been stealing the souls of the damned for centuries, banishing them tae the ever after in an attempt tae appease the gods and beg favor. They are not a threat tae you or the city. I imagine they've found a tainted soul wandering about and want to lay claim tae it. Samhain is the only night in the year that the damned can be enraptured. Doona worry. They'll leave as soon as the sun rises. They are nomads by nature."
"Why do they want to appease the gods?"
"They want tae resurrect their long-lost leader,” Trevor mumbled.
"And her?” Trevor asked, indicating the beautiful girl.
"What about her?"
"Who is she?"
Trevor's bored expression changed to one of warning. “Someone you best leave be. I'm no’ pulling your leash either, Lycae. You canna have that one."
Determined to learn more with or without the Warlock's help, he shoved clear of the bar, fully intending to walk across the room and introduce himself personally.
Trevor snagged him by the arm and said quietly, “They call her the Ice Princess, and there's a damn good reason for it. You canna go near her, Luke. Do you hear me? She's cursed. You add tae her suffering by showing interest. Do no’ remind the poor woman of what she will never have."
"Start explaining,” he demanded in a hushed growl.
"Take a seat, and I will."
Trevor released him and nodded when the waitress returned, indicating he wanted another mug. Luke sat down on the stool beside him and turned so that he could study her across the way as he listened.
"Her name is Onyx Blackthorn, and she was born of what was once referred tae as the Covenant. Have you heard of them?” When he shook his head, Trevor said, “They were a class of warriors that traveled here from London, trained tae protect the magically inclined races from harm. The Civil War all but wiped them out, and as soon it was over, they returned home and the Covenant dispersed. Most believe they lost their strength after they fled like cowards. True warriors don't run, you see."
Luke frowned. “But she's here. Why?"
"She has nowhere else tae go. Her curse will remain so long as the one she deceived remains in limbo. He's the only one that can remove the damned thing."
"Who did she deceive?” he interrupted before Trevor could finish.
Trevor's purple-blue irises flashed opaque and his lids thinned along with his mouth. He waited until Luke glanced at him before he said, “If you'd shut your gob long enough for me tae speak, I'll tell you."
"Sorry.” He looked away, returning his eyes to the girl that had yet to move. “Go ahead."
"She killed the leader of the coven two centuries ago. The rumor is that he was smitten with her and tried tae force her tae bind herself tae him. When he did, she poisoned him with the dagger intended for his enemies. Those from the Covenant become intertwined with the one person they choose tae lay with, and she would have been bound tae him forever. Once done, it canna be undone."
"And she was punished for this?” Luke demanded, turning from her and glaring at Trevor. “For protecting herself?"
"She swore a vow tae protect him, no’ kill him. She was aware that her life was forfeit the moment she pierced his skin."
Luke swiveled his head around and caught the direct stare of Onyx Blackthorn. A female who would gladly die before she gave herself to someone she didn't choose. Her face remained smooth, devoid of expression, but her eyes sparkled in the lighting. The silver orbs reminded him of moonbeams reflecting off quiet water.
"As you can probably imagine, she wants the same thing the coven wants,” Trevor continued, “tae see him returned tae life."
"Reincarnation?"
"No’ exactly. Alexander Clarisse weaved a spell before he passed, scattering his body tae the elements. If the gods will it, the pieces will merge and become whole once more. But magic such as this is granted rarely. I've only seen one soul returned tae human form after such a hex, and that was a fae princess who sacrificed herself tae save her kinsman. It's no’ a gift the gods take lightly."
The group at the booth stood and began gathering themselves, preparing to leave. Luke stood straight, unwilling to let the female go, desperate for the opportunity to touch her. One brush of his skin upon hers would tell him if what he felt was real or imagined.
He started to move, and Trevor stopped him again, grasping his wrist. “What are you doing, Luke?"
"I need just a moment with her,” he answered evasively, yanking his arm free.
Trevor didn't try to restrain him but rose from the stool and barred his path. “And what will you do when you have that moment?"
"I have to know if she's mine, Sheriff. That means I have to touch her."
Trevor smiled, but the expression accompanying it was anything but jovial. He shook his head and lowered his eyes, clasping Luke's shoulder with a loose hand. When he let go, he lifted his head, and the smile was long gone.
"Don't you want tae know what her curse is?"
He shrugged impatiently. “She turns into a frog at midnight?"
"She canna be touched. Do you hear me? No’ ever.” Trevor emphasized the last two words, gaining Luke's attention. “She rejected the advances of one that wanted her above all others, and he made sure she would yearn for the one thing she refused him. Tae touch her skin is tae touch the ice trapped within. That is why she is called the Ice Princess."
The Warlock made sure their eyes met before he finished.
"Onyx Blackthorn is nothing more than a beautiful object doomed tae an eternity of being coveted from afar."
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Two
Onyx moved away from the wall as the coven prepared to depart and waited patiently while they gathered knapsacks and hooded capes. None of them spoke to her, passing by as if she didn't exist. She was accustomed to it. To them, she was little more than a ghost. A residual of what they lost.
When the last person stepped awa
y from the booth, she glanced at the large man across the way, catching him staring at her yet again. For a moment, she allowed their eyes to meet. It was a luxury she didn't permit often. The eyes were the windows to the soul, and the pain of isolation was so much worse when reminded of what she would never have.
He was stunning, a superb specimen of what a man should be. His massive frame stood several inches over six feet, and his broad shoulders were as wide as the entranceway to the pub. The dark hair gracing his head was thick and wavy, and the jeweled set of hunter green eyes peering out of his masculine face were as brilliant as the dew basking in the first rays of dawn.
His brows came together, and he frowned, as if he could sense her suffering. She quickly averted her eyes, retrieved her black leather jacket from the back of the booth, and rushed to keep pace with the last stragglers of the coven as they escaped the confines of the pub.
"Onyx.” Terrence, waiting outside of one of the many cars rented for the trip, ordered her over. He passed a satchel to her and instructed, “Go to Lafayette Cemetery and place the stones around the perimeter. They must be in place before we perform the ceremony."
She slipped the black strap around her neck, draping the satchel across her chest and clutching it at her right side. “Do you require anything more, my lord?"
"No."
He turned from her and slid into the seat of the Mercedes, closing the door. The assembly line took off, in the direction of the Quarter.
She sighed and adjusted the strap, following behind on foot. It was a damned good thing she'd Googled maps of the area before their arrival. Otherwise, she'd be completely lost.
Not that the coven would care.
She had learned a very long time ago that she needed them, not the other way around. Though her promise of protection was welcome, her presence was not.
Lifting her head, she peered up at the waning crescent and experienced a profound surge of hope. After all these years, the opportunity to restore Alexander was at hand. All of the required sacraments had been merged, and the fundamental elements necessary to twine the magic were in order. Now the coven needed to procure the souls of the dead and ask their assistance in guiding the way back to the mortal realm by the darkness of the new moon—the symbol of new beginnings.
Even as hope found life in her chest, it was quickly smothered. As much as she longed for the curse to end, she feared the return of her former master. She knew the price he would expect to put an end to her misery.
But was it worth the sacrifice?
She could remain as she was, unable to love, kept apart from everyone and everything around her. Or she could submit and allow Alexander to lay claim, giving in to her miserable need for contact and comfort.
Even if it meant the touch came from a man she would never crave.
The dreams she suffered were bad enough. Alexander always appeared at some point, brushing his fingers and hands against every inch of her. Even in sleep, she yearned for touch, turning to him as her heart rebelled against the very act itself.
The buildings blurred and became passing shadows as she contemplated her future, and she resolved herself to one irrefutable point of fact. Whatever she decided, Alexander would return as a man of flesh and blood, and when he did, he would pick up where he'd left off.
When she arrived at the cemetery, the gate was closed. She didn't bother entering the perimeter. Instead she shoved her hand into the bag and removed several of the dark objects within. She brushed her gloved thumb over the smooth black surface and welcomed the anger that arose when she realized the stone was the very one her name was derived from.
The coven had chosen to remind her of her betrayal. They wanted her job tonight to signify something.
Biting back a curse, she started tossing the small onyx stones onto the ground, directly inside the cemetery. She kept them spaced far enough apart that the magic would stretch if need be, walking around the edge of the fence and dropping each blackened orb to the shorn grass below.
When finished, she adjusted the empty satchel and started making the long trek to the French Quarter. Terrence didn't divulge where he would lodge for the evening, but she imagined it would be somewhere posh and extravagant. The coven came from old money passed down through generations. Sound financial planning and investment had ensured they would live comfortably.
She rounded the corner and froze, standing tall and alert while cursing the chaotic thoughts that blocked out the world and allowed her to be followed. The Chimera from the pub was back, and he'd brought friends. The half-men, half-lion creatures circled her, fanged incisors lengthening. Her heart sank when she noted the gloves covering their hands to the wrist, which meant they knew who and what she was.
She went for the holstered daggers beneath her arms when the strap across her chest tangled in her fingers, prohibiting access, and they attacked simultaneously.
She managed to survive the first volley by blocking punches and stepping out of the way, but the second time they fought smarter, coming at her one at a time. The man from the pub delivered a punch that sent her barreling to the right, into the waiting fist of another Chimera who had predicted where she would go. Stars speckled her vision, miniature lights floating behind her eyelids. The third approached, and she closed her eyes, spinning on her heel and rotating her body. She delivered a roundhouse to his face that sent him directly to his ass and hoped like hell it bought her some time.
As she backed away from the two advancing, she tugged at the gloves covering her hands, desperately trying to rid herself of the obstruction. Her curse, as wretched as it was, could also be used as a weapon.
Something smashing into the base of her skull created a blunt pain that seared from the top of her spine to the tips of her toes and sent her headfirst into the harsh arms of concrete. She couldn't cry out, unable to breathe as the air left her lungs on impact. The world threatened to go black, the cool pavement beneath her face going blurry. She winced when a hand wound in her hair and dragged her away from the ground. A horrible-sounding growl pervaded the air, sending shivers down her spine, and the hand in her hair vanished.
Her face kissed the harsh surface of the asphalt, creating more brilliant stars and glimmering lights. She didn't move, struggling to stay conscious. A thin line of warm blood seeped past her cheek, winding around her chin and soaking into the ground.
The sounds of a violent scuffle echoed through the night—furious howls, angry roars, and the sickening crunch of bones being rent in two. It seemed to go on forever, but she knew by the small pool of blood that remained wet against her cheek that it was over in a matter of moments.
When the area went quiet, she fought against the ever-consuming dizziness and lethargy that sapped her strength. Any moment now, she would close her eyes. After that, they may or may not ever open again. It wasn't fair. In less than twenty-four hours, she would be able to plead for her freedom. Only now she was being robbed of the very life she had suffered in silent misery for nearly two centuries.
A gentle hand grasped her jacket and turned her onto her back. She couldn't make out the muffled curse as she gazed up at the starry sky, her ears identifying syllables but little more. A dark shadow blocked out the night, blending with the blackness that rose to claim her.
The last things she perceived before she lost consciousness were soft whisperings of reassurance and twin pools of liquid emerald, stark and vivid against the dark, staring down at her.
[Back to Table of Contents]
Chapter Three
"You have to help me, Sheriff,” Luke said and then bit back a yelp of pain when the bright light of the casting wand glowed and pulsed.
"I am helping you,” Trevor snapped, wrapping a hand around his forearm.
He shifted his hips, breathing through unfiltered agony. “You know what I mean."
"I doona have tae do anything except help you keep those fingers. Now, hold still."
Edgy and tense, he did as he requested, keeping h
is arms extended as Trevor worked his magic and closed the agonizing wounds. His hands had turned black by the time he'd made it to the Bacchus pack compound with the female he'd managed to rescue in tow, the skin cracked and leaking blood. It was as if he'd touched ice that burned and consumed, the horrific prickles spreading and killing as they ate away at the skin.
But the misery, though absolutely wretched, had been worth it. He knew his instinct was guiding him now, just as he had suspected inside Greyson's.
Onyx was indeed his.
She was damned lucky he had decided to follow her and that Trevor had tagged along for shits and giggles. Those Chimeras would have torn her limb from limb for embarrassing one of their own. They weren't a very forgiving race, eager to both start and finish a fight. And when they arrived upon the scuffle, the cowards outnumbered her four to one.
Thankfully, the majority of the pack was still out patrolling the city when he arrived home carrying the unconscious female. He didn't have the time or patience to explain, not now. He had to find a way to claim her, to ensure she would never feel alone again. It was his responsibility and privilege as her mate.
Her mate.
The knowledge that he had discovered his other half created a sensation unlike any other. Before, he had been aimless and off-centered, existing each day but nothing more. Now, he had a purpose, a reason to greet each day.
He lifted his eyes toward the ceiling and his nose flared as he searched for her scent, reassuring himself that she remained safely upstairs in his room.
In his bed.
His cock hammered, coming to life at the thought. That brief touch to access the damage at the back of her head was too short, too fucking brief. He wanted more—needed more.
"You're a damned fool,” Trevor grumbled, intent on his task. “I told you tae stay away from her."
He hissed as a large portion of separated skin connected and then sealed closed. “I couldn't stay away from her, even if I wanted to."
"A whole lot of good it's going tae do you."
Trevor finished and plopped the wand onto the table. Then he slapped his hands on either side of the aged wood, bending at the waist and glowering at him.