body. Damp heat surrounded him and his mind blanked out. All he could do was feel the sensations she aroused in him. Lightning arced between them, sizzling in the air, charging them both with magic, as rich and pure as anything he had ever felt before.
Making love here in Haven, where centuries of magic had lived and thrived, seemed to magnify what lay between them. As they joined, power sang in the air. He looked up at Shea, her branded breast bare, her head thrown back, her long, silky hair lifting in the rush of magic. Her arms swung wide as if accepting a gift being handed to her.
She rode him, rocking her hips to his, engulfing him, taking all that he was inside her-and when her first release crashed down on her, he experienced that torrent of sensation right along with her. Her sheath fisted around him, holding him tight, squeezing him until at last Torin gave himself over to the undeniable force of the last stages of the mating ritual.
The next few days passed in a blur of awakened memories and gathering magics. Shea worked with her aunt, practicing the ancient rituals, reacquainting herself with the witch she had once been. But it was more than magic and the ability to wield it. She fought to become a warrior witch, training with both Torin and Damyn. Her aunt’s Eternal was strong and patient and between him and Torin, they managed to give Shea the rudiments of self- defense in an extremely short amount of time.
And through it all, Shea grew and expanded. Her mind, her heart, her soul, all responded to being within Haven’s walls again. It was as if she was reconnecting, not only with her former self but with her sister witches. The women who had gone on before her.
Etched into the passageway walls that snaked throughout Haven in a dizzying maze of corridors and rooms were images of long-dead witches. Their features carved into stone and outlined in silver, they seemed to look out on the present from the mists of the past. Their gazes were fixed and compassionate. When she recognized her own features from past incarnations carved into the wall, Shea felt a sense of continuity. She had been here before and now she had returned. This time, she thought as she looked into those faces of the past, the coven would redeem itself. This time, the memories they made would be of pride and fulfillment.
There was safety here in Haven, she thought, sitting near the fire in the chamber she shared with her lover- her mate. Tradition. There was a peace that called to Shea even as she prepared to leave to complete her quest. And there was Torin.
Above and beyond all else she was feeling, there was her connection to her Eternal. This man for whom she would risk anything. This man from whom she was hiding her darkest fears.
“Shea,” Torin whispered in the firelit darkness, “you should be sleeping.”
“My dreams woke me up,” she said, not adding that it was the dark thrill that had called to her soul, had shot her from a dream-filled sleep into a guilt-induced terror.
He left the bed, came to her and knelt at her side. “A dream? Tell me.”
Shea reached for his hand and clung to the hard, solid strength of him. Her fears ratcheted in her chest until drawing a simple breath became a fierce act of will.
“You know,” he said, firelight playing across his features. “You know where we must go.”
“Yes,” she said, meeting his gaze and hoping he couldn’t see the dark edge of hunger shining in her eyes. “I know where I hid the Artifact.”
“Then we go. First thing in the morning.” He stood, drawing her to her feet, to lead her back to bed.
“Torin, wait.” She leaned into him, wrapped her arms around his middle and burrowed in close. “Just hold on to me for a minute, will you?”
“For eternity,” he pledged, his arms closing around her.
She hoped so, Shea thought, closing her eyes, only to see again the dark images that had awakened her.
Shea saw herself holding her shard of the Artifact high, moonlight glinting off its dark surface. She felt the push of the black silver as it crept along her skin, sinking into her heart, her very bones. She watched helplessly as her eyes and hair turned black.
As her mouth curved into a smile and her hand reached out to strike Torin down.
Chapter 46
The blackened ruins of a long-dead castle stood on a cliff overlooking an angry sea.
Torin had drawn on the magic and in a long series of jumps had flashed them all the way to southeastern Scotland. The trip had taken two days, since they’d rested to ensure that both of their energies weren’t overly drained. It would have been too risky to be close to the black silver in a weakened condition-not to mention the fact that they had no idea if their pursuers would once more ambush them.
Shea had worked spells and used astral projection, but she hadn’t seen any trouble coming. Only long days and one long night spent in Torin’s embrace. The mating sex was richer, deeper now, as if each of their souls had claimed a slice of the other, bonding them so completely that there was no Shea without Torin. No Torin without Shea. As it was meant to be. Their minds were attuned. They didn’t need to speak their thoughts to be heard. And still the mating connection continued, incomplete yet overwhelming.
The wind moaned as it ran through the knee-high grasses and across the rocks. A sudden slash of sunlight spilled out from behind a cloud and the baaing of sheep in the fields made the scene seem like a painting come to life.
Only ten miles from St. Andrews and the tourists who streamed through Scotland, this cliffside ruin might as well have been on another planet.
Shea stepped out of Torin’s arms and took a deep breath of the cold Scottish air. The scent was familiar, teasing a series of vignettes to spring to life in her mind. A blazing forge with a blacksmith bent over the fire. A maid hurrying down long hallways with fresh linen. A kitchen boy stealing a cookie and dodging a slap from the cook. Tiny things all, taken separately, were no more than a blink’s worth of time. Taken together, they were, simply, a lifetime.
“It’s still here,” she whispered, her gaze taking in both the castle and the cliffs beyond. “I was worried that maybe erosion would have sent the castle sliding into the sea.”
Torin stepped up behind her, laid one hand on her shoulder and asked, “The shard is here?”
“Yes,” she said, speaking quietly enough that she wouldn’t disturb the ghosts still going about their daily business. Even though she couldn’t see them, she felt them. Spirits who either couldn’t or wouldn’t move on, but instead clung tenaciously to the familiar. “It’s on the chapel wall.”
“A church?” Torin turned her in his arms and looked into her eyes. “You put a shard of the Artifact that Lucifer himself was after in a chapel?”
She smiled and lifted one hand to cup his cheek. “Hate to use a cliche, but as I recall, it seemed like a good idea at the time.” Shea turned to look at the castle again. “I was scared, Torin. After that battle with the demons, we’d literally had the hell scared out of us. We each knew how potent the black silver was and how important it was to hide it where it would be safely kept for eight hundred years.”
“And you chose this place.” His gaze lifted to sweep the surrounding area, searching, as always, for a potential threat. “Why?”
Shea looked up at him. “Now it’s you who doesn’t remember.”
He frowned and shook his head. “Remember what?”
“This castle.” She swung one hand out to encompass the hulking skeleton of a once-fortified, lovely place. “The Mackay built it for one of his daughters, Nessa. We came to her wedding here one spring. And it was here we first-”
A slow smile curved his mouth as he ran one hand up and down her arm. “I remember now. It was the first time you came to my bed.”
“Yes, but it was more than that, Torin-it was the first time I felt completely safe. In your arms, I didn’t think about witchcraft or power or knowledge. There was only you.”
“If that were true, love, none of this might have happened,” he said quietly.
