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  "A pleasure slave?” Rowena repeated, recoiling at the very idea.

  It was said that members of the Coven sometimes enslaved witches after their powers had been absorbed. There had been reports that these slaves were used as sexual playthings.

  "Yes,” Merrick said stiffly.

  "But why? We're enemies. I know that there is a sexual undercurrent, but it's all talk. Thorne just wants to throw me off my game."

  "I'd wager he wants to disgrace you for standing up to him."

  "I see.” Her mind raced as she tried to process what she'd just heard.

  "I'm bringing this information to you, Rowena, because we ... well, my superiors feel that this a unique opportunity for us to infiltrate the Coven."

  Merrick and Rowena had never been on the same page—they probably weren't even reading the same book. He was an excellent sorcerer, but he was far too wary. That's why he hadn't risen far in the Alliance; he wasn't willing to take a few risks. She knew him fairly well and sensed that he had prepared her for a blow.

  "What is it? Just tell me, Merrick."

  "We've wanted someone on in the inside for a while now. A mole, if you will. We need to learn their identities and once we have that information, we can break them. Secrecy is their ultimate weapon.” He took a deep, fortifying breath. “The Alliance has decided that Thorne should be allowed to capture you."

  "What?"

  "You are going to be Thorne's pleasure pet."

  "Have you all gone quite insane?” she asked, her voice rising sharply. Several patrons stared at them, and she grudgingly lowered the volume. “This is ridiculous!” she hissed.

  The woman at the next table glared at them both for good measure, before turning back to her cell phone. She kept flipping her cell phone open and shut as she tried to place a call. Magical beings often played havoc with modern conveniences.

  "I agree."

  "Then why are you here talking nonsense?"

  "Because Rochester is poised to take over the mortal globe. He has a stranglehold on parliament, and now he has moved a puppet leader into the race for prime minister. They've clearly taken a leave of their senses, but at least let me explain the plan,” Merrick said gently. “Then you can decide what you will do."

  Rowena sat back in the chair and folded her arms across her chest. “By all means, proceed, but I'm not agreeing to anything."

  Rowena couldn't have been more wrong, or more foolish.

  Chapter 2

  Stonehenge, England

  All Hallow's Eve. The pull of magic in the air was palpable. On this very potent magical night the barriers between the world of the living and the world of the dead were opened, allowing them both to mingle.

  A wave of regret swept over Rowena when she realized this would be the very last night she would ever feel the lure of magic. As soon as her magic had been absorbed, she would be as defenseless as any mortal. Rowena would still have a longer life span and the ability to brew potions, but she wouldn't be able to cast spells. It was a lot to give up, but she had somehow made peace with it. She had set herself on a path and she would not yield from it.

  Determined to be the sorcerer who took down the Coven, Rowena didn't even think of backing down. Surely, sacrificing her magic wasn't too big of a price to safeguard the witches of the world and to avenge her father's death.

  She turned her attention back to the thick stones in front of her, all arranged in a mysterious pattern that had baffled mortals since the beginning of recorded history. While Stonehenge puzzled the mortal world, the magical world had used it for centuries. The structure called to the four elements: fire, earth, air, and water and the placing of the stones was a perfect conduit, causing the elements to converge in one area. Stepping into the center of the circle brought a magical being a great surge of power.

  The center was lit by torches embedded in the earth. This place held ferocious power, the kind that couldn't be harnessed without paying a price. That power penetrated the soles of her feet, humming under her skin. It was heady, seductive and oh-so-wrong.

  She watched the Coven as they entered the stones but only recognized one face. Damien Rochester. Rowena's jaw tightened as she watched him enter the circle. Every time they met, she got closer to killing him. She silently prayed that tonight was the night she would finally attain her goal.

  The rest of the warlocks were probably recent initiates brought in to get their hands bloody. Every year, the Coven sacrificed a young virgin to enhance their union. They planned to sacrifice the girl to a demon in exchange for protection.

  The Coven wore long crimson ceremonial robes—the color of freshly spilled blood. Their faces were boldly uncovered, because they know held more powerful positions in society. They formed a tight circle around the young woman. Rochester stood in the center of the circle, next to the victim.

  The warlocks tied the unresisting young girl to a slab in the very center of the structure. She was probably fourteen or fifteen, judging by her appearance and it was obvious that she had been drugged, but it wasn't to lessen her suffering. They had done it to subdue her so they could slice her skin in a strategic pattern.

  Rowena had cloaked herself in an invisibility spell and stood just behind the warlocks. They couldn't detect her because of all the stray magic in the air—All Hallow's Eve was both a boon and a disadvantage to the warlocks.

  The Alliance routinely attacked the Coven on this night, in order to stop the sacrifice. Tonight was no different. She shifted, drawing her wand from the back pocket of her tight leather pants. Normally, Rochester wouldn't have deigned to come to a ritual as mundane as this. Tonight must be more auspicious than she had realized. The Alliance had been thwarted before by their magical barriers that blocked good magic from entering Stonehenge. They had tainted the ancient circle with their blood magic decades ago.

  Luckily, she had gotten to the sight at dawn, before the barriers were set. The early bird gets to kill the worm.

  She had often thought that they were fighting a losing battle. The Coven was willing to murder for power while the Alliance weren't. How could the Alliance hope to win a war against an opponent who cared nothing for life? But then her father had taught her that some fights are worth fighting, even if she lost in the end—although, Rowena had no intention of losing.

  Twelve warlocks stood around Rochester—a perfect coven of thirteen males. She knew right away that these weren't members of the inner sanctum. They might be growing bolder, but they would never risk a full meeting out in the open.

  Rochester disrobed and his followers did the same. Like many rituals, the sacrifice had to be performed sky clad or naked. It was a sign to the deity being worshipped that the spell caster was honest or truthful. She found that amusing, because the word warlock literally meant oath breaker in archaic English.

  She kept her gaze firmly focused on their faces as Rochester raised his hands to the sky.

  "Touch of darkness. Touch of night. The blood spilled is yours by right. We offer this girl—innocent, virginal, and light. Satisfy your hunger. Come to this site."

  She made a sound of disgust in the back of her throat as Rochester sliced through the white cotton shift the girl wore. He bared her pale skin to the moonlight before bringing the dagger to her breasts and trailing it between them. “You won't die in vain, mortal. Your blood will nourish the demon and bring us great—"

  That was Rowena's cue.

  "She won't die in vain? And here I thought she was about to be murdered so you cowards could get a little power boost."

  The air shimmered around her as her as she became visible. Her wand was at the ready.

  Rochester's eyes widened, but he covered his alarm quickly. He was an older wizard, probably a hundred and forty or fifty and his hair was still black and long, falling around his face in waves. Rowena found his dark eyes disturbing. They were black and bottomless, like two gaping holes in his face. As terrifying as his eyes seemed, she didn't allow herself to look lower tha
n that. She had no desire to see him naked. That would have been truly horrifying.

  "Well, if it isn't little Rowena.” He smirked. “Hello, poppet."

  Rowena really hated that moniker. She knew that he wanted to make her feel unworthy, like a child out of her depth.

  "Rochester,” she said through gritted teeth.

  "What brings you here?"

  Somehow, she found his civility to be more disconcerting than anger. “Haven't you heard? There's a national holiday today. It's Thrash Your Father's Murderer Day."

  His eyes flared.

  Ah, there's the anger. That's much, much better.

  "I really should have waited ‘round until you got home from school that day, poppet. I could have added another headstone to your family graveyard."

  She trembled with rage, a rage so thick it kicked her adrenaline into overdrive. Her fingers shook from the urge to use her wand, but she held back. “Well, we all have regrets, don't we? Speaking of your regrets, I've got another one for you.” She aimed the wand at the young woman. “I call the sun, by light of the moon. Shine down. Protect her now."

  The air glowed around the girl as it enveloped her in a protective energy field that only good magic could cross. Rowena had just saved her life. Her colleagues were on their way and they would make sure that she was returned to her family and her memory altered. The girl would sleep peacefully tonight, unaware of warlocks and witches.

  Rowena turned her attention to Rochester. “Well, my work here is done. I saved the girl.” She tucked her wand in the holster at her waist and dusted her hands off. “It's a bit anti-climatic, really."

  Rochester appeared to be unconcerned. “I wouldn't congratulate myself too much if I were you. This is the first girl the Alliance saved, but there's always another girl—like you, for instance. He cast a glance in the shadows beyond the fire lit stones as though he expected a legion of sorcerers to appear. “Where are your brothers and sisters in arms, poppet? I know that the Alliance is far too afraid of us to attack alone."

  By design, she had arrived alone. This wasn't about rescue, it was about revenge.

  "I didn't really feel the need to involve any one else. I figured I could take on the lot of you without too much fuss,” she bragged.

  There was an angry murmur in the air, sibilant voices full of fury and ghastly desires. Rochester's own expression was livid.

  "Seeing as how I'm here now, why not step on up and give me a go?” Rowena said, pressing her luck further. “I always did enjoy a good laugh."

  "Arrogant little bitch, aren't you?” Rochester withdrew his wand, circling her. “You remind me a great deal of your father."

  At last. Rowena withdrew her wand. “Thanks for the compliment!"

  Rochester's smile could make paint peel. “He was boastful too, but he ended up begging for his life at my feet. Frankly, I've never seen such a spineless display of abject fear."

  Then, he blasted her with his wand, sending Rowena crashing into the stones at her back. A sharp pain flared in her side, and she slumped down to the ground with an anguished cry. She thought she might have snapped one of her ribs.

  "I must say that I'm looking forward to a repeat performance."

  "You're lying. My father never begged and I won't either.” Rowena managed to get to her feet, but the pain was excruciating. “Besides, I'm not being arrogant if I can back it up.” She hit him with a surge of energy from her wand, sending him against one of the other slabs of stone.

  That's when they all began to close in on her.

  She was outnumbered. His followers stalked closer, wands aimed at her chest. It would have been even more threatening if they weren't naked. If she hadn't been so upset, she would have found the situation funny.

  "Don't touch her! I have plans for the little bitch!” Rochester fumed, as he got to his feet.

  "Is there a chill in the air?” Rowena asked pointedly, staring downward. “Or does dark magic take a toll on your manhood?"

  Another collective hiss sounded from the mob.

  Rochester dusted himself off. “I've had enough. You need to be taught some manners, poppet.” He stared at his hand and a swirling ball of fire formed. It rotated in his palm, gaining speed and energy, a thing of malevolent beauty.

  Harnessing fire was an impressive power, even more so when Rochester flung it at her.

  Rowena fell to the ground and the fireball arced over her head, landing in the grass behind her and igniting it. She jumped to her feet as he tossed another one, but it only singed the end of her hair as she ran. She reached the other side of the stones and hid behind one, her breath coming in panicked puffs of air. She felt like her heart would explode from her chest. That had been far too close.

  "Where's your bravery now, poppet?” Rochester crowed. His followers laughed.

  Another fire ball hit the stone and splattered, sending a shower of sparks shooting over the ancient monoliths and Rowena frantically put out the flames with her hands, hissing as they singed her skin.

  Fear quickly turned to anger.

  Every instinct she possessed urged her to attack him. Rowena retrieved her athame from her boot. She wanted Rochester's blood. She wanted to kill him, but that's not what sorcerers do. They apprehended warlocks and tried their best to rehabilitate them, but at this moment she didn't give a bloody damn about any of that. Not when it came to Rochester. She wanted to hear him plead and scream for mercy, but she planned to show him as much as he'd shown her father, Richard Black.

  Victory would come later. Now was the time for surrender .

  Just. Let. Go.

  "I give in!” she gasped, cringing at the words so alien to her nature. She forced herself to walk slowly out from behind the stones with her hands in the air. It took all of her willpower not to wrap them around Rochester's throat.

  Rochester watched her with greedy eyes, bloodlust burning in them. What if she'd miscalculated? Surely, he wouldn't kill her. She was too big of a prize.

  "Let's sacrifice her, Sire,” one of the initiates suggested. “Her death will bring us power."

  Any moment, the demon would arrive and demand his due. She sincerely hoped she hadn't saved the girl only to take her place. Being eaten by a demon was a hard way to go. She'd much rather be taken out by a wand.

  "No, death is too kind a fate for this one.” Rochester turned to see her reaction. “Besides, she isn't a fit sacrifice for the demon. She isn't a virgin. Isn't that right, poppet?"

  "Well, I wasn't saving myself for you."

  "I have something far more appropriate in mind. Consume!” Rochester hit her with a power sucking spell, and she crumpled to the ground. She could literally feel the magic being pulled from every pore, every cell of her body.

  She didn't give Rochester the satisfaction of hearing her scream, but the effort it took to remain silent was monumental. It was as if someone was slowly wrenching her soul from her body. When it was over, she lay prone on the grass, nearly insensate to anything but the pain of it all. She was bleeding inside, her magic ripped from her core. Was this what she had inflicted on warlocks? It was unbearable. Her magic, her heritage—all gone in a few seconds.

  Rochester stood over her and his wand glowed red as he spoke some ancient language, primordial and immoral. His wand blazed as it began transferring the energy to himself, pooling it in his body.

  But she didn't cry or scream. Instead, far from being humbled, she lay there and returned his gaze levelly, jaw clenched, hatred burning in her eyes..

  When it was over, Rochester deliberately stepped on her wand, breaking it in two. She cried out at the loss, in many ways more painful than losing her ability to cast spells. Her father had fashioned it for her from an oak tree in the glen. She would never be able to use it again. Gone forever. Just like her magic. Just like her father.

  Rochester grasped her chin in his hand. “Was it good for you, poppet?"

  Rowena spit in his face.

  His fist came down on the back o
f her head and the world faded to black.

  Chapter 3

  Strongholde Castle, Scotland

  One week later

  When Galen Sinclair entered the infirmary, he found her where he had left her, chained by her ankle to the small cot. Judging by Rowena Black's expression, Galen was grateful the cot had been bolted to the floor, because he had no doubt she would have hurled it at him.

  "How are you feeling today?"

  "How do you think?” she snapped. She wore a thin white hospital gown and paced the floor like a caged panther, sleek and dangerous. Even though her powers had been taken, Rowena was still a formidable adversary.

  "Yes, it appears your mood has not improved, but I need to examine your injuries."

  "Fine.” She untied the knot at the nape of her neck and let her gown fall to her feet. She kept her hands at her sides, but her expression was mocking, as though she knew the effect it had on him.

  Galen sucked in a breath at the sight of her. She'd been with him for days and he was intimately acquainted with her body, but not as familiar as he'd like to be.

  "Very good,” he said hoarsely. “Let me see your hip.” He tried to keep his touch professional as he examined the purple burn mark on her snowy white hip, but it proved to be difficult. “That's healing nicely."

  Galen tried to ignore her pubis, which was covered with a thick thatch of black hair, but it was impossible. He imagined how lovely she would look, shaved and smooth. He couldn't wait to open her legs and gaze at her soft pink pussy. He imagined that it would be as delicate and pink as her nipples.

  Galen cleared his throat. “Now, let's examine the welts on your torso.” He removed the bandages and checked to make sure the cuts and abrasions weren't infected.

  When he glanced at her face, he saw gallows humor in her eyes. “Are you planning on examining me with your cock next?"

  "Remember your place,” he admonished. “You are a prisoner and a slave.” Rowena had been enslaved and he would not tolerate disobedience. During his tenure with the Coven, he'd found that he enjoyed submissive women, at least in the bedroom. He loved controlling the situation, bringing them exquisite pleasure in the process.