Bring on the Witches!
Witch’s Bane
The
Witch Chronicles, Book 2 By Ann Gimpel
Book 1, Witch's Bounty, is an Amazon Top 100 bestseller in Fantasy Romance
Genre: Dark Paranormal Romance
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Two stubborn people—a witch and a mage—come together with a fierceness borne of desperation. Can passion trump their intense need for independence? Will they live long enough to find out?
Roz, Jenna, and Colleen are the last of the demon-stalking witches. So far, they’ve escaped disaster, but their luck is running low. When demons strike in the midst of Colleen’s wedding, Roz launches desperate measures because she and her sister witches are Earth’s only hedge against being overrun by Hell’s minions. As she shape-shifts to keep one step ahead of the demons, at least it takes her mind off her other problems. Personal ones. She burned through a couple of marriages with a string of loser men before, after, and in between. Though she wants to be happy for Colleen, the jealousy bug bit deep and hasn’t let go.
Ronin Redstone unwound his arm from Roz and
gripped his hands together in his lap to lessen the temptation to touch her
again. Where he figured most of the guests were anxious to see the bride, he’d
been interested in Roz. Probably too interested since he’d bounced to his feet
the moment she entered the room and had even spun the mildest of spells to
coerce her to sit near him. He pressed his lips into a flat line as he wrestled
with his thoughts. Ever since he’d met the tall, imposing witch at his home in
northern England a couple of weeks before, he’d been able to think of little
else. She even entered his dreams with her silky black hair, pronounced
cheekbones, and hawk-like nose. In those dreams, she was naked, her bronze skin
glimmering in moonlight.
Her heady scent, pine forests and jasmine,
tickled his nostrils and made him wonder what she’d feel like in his arms. Once
he kicked the door open to that slippery slope, his cock sprang to life,
clearly eager to find out. He tried to clip his libido before things whirled
out of control and she noticed his arousal, but his cock wasn’t in the mood for
negotiation—or retreat. He wove the tiniest don’t
look here spell and draped his lower body with it.
In years past, he’d simply have created a love
charm, imbued it with compulsion, and bedded the woman. That probably wasn’t a
good idea, though. Roz would sense his magic, be outraged he tried to coerce
her, and that would be the last he ever saw of the striking witch. Never mind
she had good reason to not want much to do with him since he’d been one of the
key players two hundred years ago who’d suggested foisting demon stalking onto
the witches. He tightened his jaw muscles. Who could have guessed his little
machination to get his kin out from under a highly unpleasant task would nearly
be the death of the few witches who’d inherited the power through a magical
version of gene splicing? Of course, he’d also been the one to send Duncan to
fetch one of the witches to quell a demon uprising in the U.K. last month. That
was how they’d discovered only three of the special witches remained…
No wonder
she’s not overly fond of me. Ronin
grimaced, not liking the truth in his thoughts. An inner voice huffed,
reminding him it wasn’t his fault the witches in question hadn’t produced more
offspring, but he shushed it.
Surely I can
at least charm Roz out of that sour expression on her face.
He forced his breathing into a regular pattern
and glanced toward Duncan and Colleen at the front of the room. The resident
witch had completed her part of the ceremony and Titania was speaking in Gaelic
so old he had trouble following it. The Sidhe binding ceremony lasted at least
half an hour, so he let his thoughts drift. Anywhere but to his cock, which
still throbbed uncomfortably.
As de facto leader for the Sidhe, a post he held
more because no one else wanted it than because of any special skills on his
part, he sensed they stood at the edge of a cataclysmic event. Abbadon and his
henchmen, the Irichna demons, had grown appallingly strong. Capturing them one
at a time and shepherding them to the Ninth Circle of Hell where they were
trapped for all eternity wasn’t a workable solution anymore. There were too
many of them, and maybe not enough space in the bottom of Hell.
Because he was afraid of a firm answer regarding
Hell’s demon storage capacity, he hadn’t asked Titania, though surely she’d
know. If they couldn’t dump Irichna behind the Ninth Circle’s gate, he had no
idea what they’d do with them. And if Abbadon consolidated his full power,
Earth would be laid waste. Ronin clamped his jaws together. Apocalypse didn’t
come close to describing what would happen if Abbadon were freed from
protecting his demons and could concentrate on taking over Earth.
In addition
to not inquiring too closely about the Irichna, I also haven’t asked about
Oberon. Ronin grimaced again. If the
King of Faerie were truly so tired of immortality he’d let himself fade into
the Dreaming,
Ronin didn’t want to know about that, either.
When did I
turn into such a craven I avoid unpleasant answers?
Even though he wasn’t expecting one, a response
popped up anyway. He’d loved a human woman once, but she’d died bearing their
son, who’d perished right along with her. The major vessel serving her heart
had ruptured, and no amount of Sidhe magic could heal her or breathe life into
their dead child. Ronin withdrew from the other Sidhe after that, mostly
because he didn’t want to hear their lectures about the whole debacle being his
own fault. After all, they weren’t supposed to mate outside their blood. When
he finally picked up the reins of command a couple of centuries later—or maybe
it had been three—he held himself aloof and avoided confrontations with anyone,
about anything.
He ground his jaws harder together. His internal
inventory was damned depressing; it forced him to take a harsh look at himself,
and he didn’t like what he saw. He glanced at Titania. She clasped Duncan’s and
Colleen’s hands between her own, and his eyes widened. Had he truly spent the
entire ceremony sunk in memories and self-pity?
It would
appear so, he thought dryly. In moments, Titania would utter the final words,
Duncan would kiss Colleen, and the ritual would be done. He barely had time to
wonder why Titania hadn’t kicked up more of a fuss about Duncan marrying a
mortal, when the bridal pair kissed.
The tiniest sigh escaped Roz, and he looked
sidelong at her. Her full lips were parted in half a smile, and she looked
captivated by the ancient binding that had unfolded, mostly without him paying
one whit of attention to it. She leaned toward him, her earlier ire apparently
forgotten. “They make such a lovely couple,” she whispered.
Ronin narrowed his eyes and looked hard at Duncan
and Colleen, wrapped in one another’s arms and kissing enthusiastically. He
didn’t know about the lovely couple
part, because he didn’t view the world that way. “They do look happy,” he
whispered back because he thought he ought to say something.
Bubba, who’d been standing off to one side, made
a grab for a bag Ronin hadn’t noticed before. The changeling reached inside and
Ronin’s internal alarm went off. The changeling was about to throw something at
the couple. Had the creature been co-opted by demons? It wasn’t unheard of
since their race contained a smattering of demon blood. Afraid if he hesitated
he’d be too late, Ronin pulled strong magic and rose to his feet.
Before he could loose it, Roz fastened a hand
around his lower arm. “It’s just rice,” she said, her voice still low. “He’s
going to throw rice at them. Stand down.”
Ronin met her dark, luminous gaze. “What sort of
custom is that?” he demanded. Magic thrummed around him, making the air shimmer
in iridescent hues. The changeling indeed tossed rice high in the air,
showering everyone within a ten-foot radius of him, laughed uproariously, and
then did it again.
“An old one.” Roz tugged on his arm and he sat
reluctantly. “Bubba adores Colleen. He’s laid his life on the line for her a
bazillion times. He’d never hurt her.”
“Better safe than sorry,” he muttered, feeling
like an ass. “How was I to know?”
“It’s okay.” She let go of his arm and patted one
of his hands.
As long as he was in an apologizing mood—they
were rare for him—Ronin exhaled sharply and said, “I’m sorry I, um, suggested
you sit next to me.”
She cocked her head to one side and quirked a
brow. “If you’d only suggested, it
would have been fine, but you did a tad more than that.”
Flutes and guitars began to play Mendelssohn’s
“Wedding March.” Colleen and Duncan turned and floated up the center aisle with
Bubba right behind, still throwing rice. Even Ronin had to admit they looked
radiant. He’d known Duncan his entire life, and he’d never seen his fellow
Sidhe look so carefree and besotted with joy. In one wild, unrestrained moment,
before he glossed his emotions over with rationality, he wanted the same for
himself.
Ronin felt Roz’s gaze still on him and knew he
couldn’t ignore her comment. “You’re right,” he said stiffly. “I did do more than
that.”
She repositioned herself so he had to look at
her. “Why?”
Because I’ve
wanted to strip you naked and worship your body from the day I met you. He cloaked his mind, hoping he’d been fast enough
and she hadn’t read his thoughts. “I’m not quite sure,” he stumbled over the
words, because they weren’t the truth.
Her dark gaze never left him as she weighed his
statement. Finally she nodded, almost to herself. “When you figure it out,” she
said and winked broadly, “be sure to let me know.”
Heat rose from his neck and swooshed over the top
of his head. Damn! He was a Sidhe and a warrior. It was unseemly to blush like
a love-struck maid. He opened his mouth to stammer some sort of reply, but she
got up, along with the rest of the guests. “Come on,” she said. “I’m starving.”
He’d been afraid the second the ceremony was
over, she’d race away from him as far and as fast as she could, but she’d just
invited him to eat with her, at least he thought she had. He bit back a smile
until just the edges of his mouth twitched. Maybe she didn’t abhor him as much
as it seemed when she’d shot him that poisonous look once she sensed his magic.
I learned
something. I have to ask her, not simply push her to do what I want. He hurried
after her swishing skirt, not wanting to lose her in the crowd. He could always
locate her, but the less magic he used until she got to know him, the better.
*
Roz caught up to Jenna just inside the dining
area and hugged her. “Wasn’t it just perfect?” she gushed, still caught up in
the mystical pull of dual wedding ceremonies.
Jenna hugged her back and nodded. She
disentangled herself and eyed her friend. “What the hell, Roz? It isn’t like
you to fall all over yourself.”
Roz settled her face into its usual, stern
planes. “There. Is that better?”
Jenna grinned. “Yup. There’s the grumpy witch I
know and love. What happened to you anyway? I looked back and you were trailing
after that hunky Sidhe.”
“He snared me in a spell.”
“Ooooh.” Jenna clapped her hands together. “He
must be interested.” She leaned close. “What did he do during the ceremony?”
Roz felt her face redden. “Nothing. I got mad at
him once I realized he’d bamboozled me. Hush. Here he comes.”
“Awesome.” Jenna practically vibrated with
enthusiasm. “He can eat with us.”
“I already invited him.”
A knowing look crossed Jenna’s face and she
opened her mouth, but Roz hissed, “Can it, sister,” just before turning to
Ronin and asking, “Where would you like to sit?”
He half-bowed—a courtly, old world gesture that
drove home just how old he was—lifted Jenna’s hand to his lips, and said, “Nice
to see you again, Miss Jenna. Anywhere the two of you wish to settle is fine
with me.”
“Maybe we should get our food first,” Jenna
suggested brightly, “since the tables will fill fast.”
“Good idea,” Roz snapped, feeling unaccountably
jealous. Ronin hadn’t kissed her hand, but he’d been quick enough to snatch
Jenna’s.
“If you
don’t want him…” Jenna spoke in their telepathic speech.
“I thought
you were interested in Tristan.” Roz led the way to a buffet table and picked up
a plate.
Jenna smirked. “I am, but he’s not here.”
Roz dished up an interesting looking salad,
brimming with shrimp and crab, and followed it with a few slices of rare beef
and a roll. They found a table beneath a leaded glass window and laid their plates
down.
“I’ll get us something to drink.” Ronin smiled.
“Preferences?”
“What are you getting?” Roz asked, avoiding
Jenna’s gaze.
“Mead,” he answered. “It’s what I prefer.”
“I’ll take Irish whiskey,” Jenna trilled and
settled into her seat.
“Just bring me a glass of one or the other,” Roz
muttered. “I’m not picky.” As soon as Ronin was out of earshot, or close
enough, she glared at Jenna. “Leave him alone.”
“But you’re not even sure you’re interested in
him,” Jenna protested.
“And how would you know that?” Roz stuffed a
forkful of salad into her mouth, chewed with a vengeance, and swallowed.
The other witch dropped her gaze, looking
sheepish. “I, um, peeked.”
Roz slammed a fist on the table hard enough the
dishes rattled. “You looked inside my head without asking?”
“’Fraid so. Sorry.” Jenna started eating with a
studied nonchalance.
Roz exhaled and then did it again. Both of them
were lonely; getting angry with her longtime friend wouldn’t serve any purpose
other than creating bad water under the bridge they’d have to clear at some
point. “Jenna. It’s the wedding ceremonies. All the old magic in them makes us
want what Colleen and Duncan have.”
“I suppose you’re right.” Jenna’s hazel gaze met
hers and she looked repentant, her brows drawn together. “I’m sorry.”
“Me too.” Roz smiled crookedly. “Let’s not fight.
Not today.”
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