the Dark One. He had stripped naked, shaving his torso to be marked with the symbols for the spell. The preparations were complete. This time, she would be honored and impressed.
He traced his finger down the page. His lips moved as he repeated the words to himself. Over and over, he repeated the curse until he was certain he’d get the rhythm correct. He must be perfect. She must be pleased. He must not disappoint her.
Hand shaking, he took the athame and ran the blade across his palm. He didn’t flinch as the razor sharp steel of the ritual knife sliced into his flesh. Unblinking, he stood mesmerized as blood drizzled down the tips of his fingers and dripped into the awaiting chalice.
He brought a neatly tied bundle of reddish blonde hair to his lips for a kiss before adding it to the cup of blood. Then he sprinkled some powder from a brown, folded packet, smiling as the contents bubbled and hissed. After tucking the cup beneath one arm, he walked in a counterclockwise circle around the table full of sputtering candles. The choking incense filled the room. Fists pounded the inside of his head. The smoke from the candles stung his eyes; he blinked as his sweat also blinded him. He breathed in more smoke. She would strengthen him. If he remained steady, she would return to his dreams.
He dipped his fingers in the murky concoction and smeared the symbols on his torso. He muttered the curse under his breath as he circled about the table. Nine circuits he made around the table, chanting the ancient curse. Nine times, he called out to the darkest power to give him the magic he desired. Nine times, her voice echoed inside his mind. She promised him if he did her bidding, all he asked for would be his.
Her voice stroked him like a lover’s hand, warm as brandy flowing through his veins. She promised him power. She promised him women. She promised him the ability to do the darkest of magic. She had one small request of him, assuring him he would find great pleasure in it as well. But he must be patient. The time would be soon. She wasn’t ready for him to prove his loyalty yet. She would call upon him soon.
But until then, there would be other women for him to enjoy. After all, he needed the practice…and she craved to feed upon their fear.
Chapter Eight
Nessa soaked up the vista of the rugged hillside as though it were her last day to walk the earth. The dusky blue crags spanning the horizon framed the rock-strewn meadow stretched out before her. The wind soughed through the nearby pines as it rushed to whisper the Highland’s mysteries against her cheek. Her soul sang as she drank in the crisp, sweet air. She’d arrived home at long last. She belonged here. She’d known it from the beginning. She’d never been this contented before in her life. Peace settled to the marrow of her bones. Satisfaction hummed through her veins.
Even the nightly visits from her silent Highlander had changed since her arrival in Scotland. They were more vivid, more realistic, and more sensual than they’d ever been since he’d first made his presence known.
A smile tickled at the corner of her mouth. A shiver of lust stirred in her belly as she remembered the latest dream. His hands, his mouth, the way the man knew every delicious pleasure spot and every nerve ending set her body thrumming.
Nessa inhaled a deep breath. She mentally shook herself and forced herself to put the dream to the back of her mind. When she opened her eyes each morning, every detail remained vivid. Her soul-shattering orgasms branded themselves in her mind. His visits were becoming almost sensual torture. There wasn’t the tiniest part of her body he hadn’t kissed, tasted, or caressed.
Nessa picked her way over the rocky hillside, unbuttoning her jacket to the cooling air. She had hoped the cold air of the fading day would tamp down her smoldering passion to a bearable level. Her dreams had become so increasingly vibrant it was a
He traced his finger down the page. His lips moved as he repeated the words to himself. Over and over, he repeated the curse until he was certain he’d get the rhythm correct. He must be perfect. She must be pleased. He must not disappoint her.
Hand shaking, he took the athame and ran the blade across his palm. He didn’t flinch as the razor sharp steel of the ritual knife sliced into his flesh. Unblinking, he stood mesmerized as blood drizzled down the tips of his fingers and dripped into the awaiting chalice.
He brought a neatly tied bundle of reddish blonde hair to his lips for a kiss before adding it to the cup of blood. Then he sprinkled some powder from a brown, folded packet, smiling as the contents bubbled and hissed. After tucking the cup beneath one arm, he walked in a counterclockwise circle around the table full of sputtering candles. The choking incense filled the room. Fists pounded the inside of his head. The smoke from the candles stung his eyes; he blinked as his sweat also blinded him. He breathed in more smoke. She would strengthen him. If he remained steady, she would return to his dreams.
He dipped his fingers in the murky concoction and smeared the symbols on his torso. He muttered the curse under his breath as he circled about the table. Nine circuits he made around the table, chanting the ancient curse. Nine times, he called out to the darkest power to give him the magic he desired. Nine times, her voice echoed inside his mind. She promised him if he did her bidding, all he asked for would be his.
Her voice stroked him like a lover’s hand, warm as brandy flowing through his veins. She promised him power. She promised him women. She promised him the ability to do the darkest of magic. She had one small request of him, assuring him he would find great pleasure in it as well. But he must be patient. The time would be soon. She wasn’t ready for him to prove his loyalty yet. She would call upon him soon.
But until then, there would be other women for him to enjoy. After all, he needed the practice…and she craved to feed upon their fear.
Chapter Eight
Nessa soaked up the vista of the rugged hillside as though it were her last day to walk the earth. The dusky blue crags spanning the horizon framed the rock-strewn meadow stretched out before her. The wind soughed through the nearby pines as it rushed to whisper the Highland’s mysteries against her cheek. Her soul sang as she drank in the crisp, sweet air. She’d arrived home at long last. She belonged here. She’d known it from the beginning. She’d never been this contented before in her life. Peace settled to the marrow of her bones. Satisfaction hummed through her veins.
Even the nightly visits from her silent Highlander had changed since her arrival in Scotland. They were more vivid, more realistic, and more sensual than they’d ever been since he’d first made his presence known.
A smile tickled at the corner of her mouth. A shiver of lust stirred in her belly as she remembered the latest dream. His hands, his mouth, the way the man knew every delicious pleasure spot and every nerve ending set her body thrumming.
Nessa inhaled a deep breath. She mentally shook herself and forced herself to put the dream to the back of her mind. When she opened her eyes each morning, every detail remained vivid. Her soul-shattering orgasms branded themselves in her mind. His visits were becoming almost sensual torture. There wasn’t the tiniest part of her body he hadn’t kissed, tasted, or caressed.
Nessa picked her way over the rocky hillside, unbuttoning her jacket to the cooling air. She had hoped the cold air of the fading day would tamp down her smoldering passion to a bearable level. Her dreams had become so increasingly vibrant it was a
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