Dark Witch Read Free

impressed. The girl learned so quickly.
    The image tried to form, in the hollows and valleys of the flame. A fire within a fire. Silhouettes, movements, and, for a moment, the murmur of voices from so far away.
    She saw the intensity on her daughter’s face, the light sheen of sweat from the effort. Too much, she thought. Too much for one so young.
    “Here now,” she said quietly. “We’ll do it together.”
    She pushed her power out, merged it with Brannaugh’s.
    A fast roar, a spin of smoke, a dance of sparks. Then clear.
    And he was there, the man they both longed for.
    Sitting at another fire, within a circle of stones. His bright hair braided to fall over the dark cape wrapped around his broad shoulders. The
dealg
of his rank pinned to it glittered in the light of the flames.
    The brooch she’d forged for him in fire and magick—the hound, the horse, the hawk.
    “He looks weary,” Brannaugh said, and leaned her head against her mother’s arm. “But so handsome. The most handsome of men.”
    “That he is. Handsome, and strong, and brave.” And oh, she longed for him.
    “Can you see when he comes home?”
    “Not all can be seen. Perhaps when he’s closer, I’ll have a sign. But tonight, we see he’s safe and well, and that’s enough.”
    “He thinks of you.” Brannaugh looked over, into her mother’s face. “I can feel it. Can he feel us thinking of him?”
    “He hasn’t the gift, but he has the heart, the love. So perhaps he can. To bed now. I’ll be up soon.”
    “The blackthorn is blooming, and the old hag did not see the sun today. He comes home soon.” Rising, Brannaugh kissed her mother. The dog trotted up the ladder with her.
    Alone, Sorcha watched her love in the fire. And alone, she wept.
    Even as she dried her tears she heard it. The beckoning.
    He would comfort her, he would warm her—such were his seductive lies. He would give her all she could want, and more. She had only to give herself to him.
    “I will never be yours.”
    You will. You are. Come now, and know all the pleasures, all the glory. All the power.
    “You will never have me, or what I hold inside me.”
    Now the image in the fire shifted. And he came into the flames. Cabhan, whose power and purpose were darker than the winter night. Who wanted her—her body, her soul, her magick.
    The sorcerer desired her, for she felt his lust like sweaty hands on her skin. But more, more, she knew, he coveted her gift. His greed for it hung heavy in the air.
    In the flames he smiled, so handsome, so ruthless.
    I will have you, Sorcha the Dark. You and all you are. We are meant. We are the same.
    No, she thought, we are not the same, but as day to night, light to dark, where the only merging comes in shadows.
    So alone you are, and burdened. Your man leaves you a cold bed. Come warm yourself in mine; feel the heat. Make that heat with me. Together, we rule all the world.
    Her spirits sagged, the ache and pull inside her twisted toward pain.
    So she rose, let the warm wind come to blow through her hair. Let the power pour in until she shone with it. And saw, even in the flames, the lust and greed in Cabhan’s face.
    Here is what he wanted, she knew, the glory that rushed through her blood. And this was what he would never have.
    “Know my mind and feel my power, then and now and every hour. You offer me your dark desire, come to me in smoke and fire. Betray my blood, my babes, my man, to rule o’er all, only take your hand. So my answer to thee comes through wind and sea, rise maiden, mother, hag in trinity. As I will, so mote it be.”
    She threw out her arms, released the fury, fully female, whirled in, flung it toward the beat of his heart.
    An instant of pure, wild pleasure erupted inside her when she heard his cry of rage and pain, when she saw that rage and pain burst onto his face against the flames.
    Then the fire was just a fire, simmering low for the night, bringing a bit of warmth against the bitter. Her cabin was just