The Soother: The Brennan Coven, #2

By Elle J Rossi

A WITCH WITH THE GIFT OF LIGHT 

Calliope the Soother is a witch devoting her life to easing the pain and misery of others, drawing out the darkness and replacing it with light. 

A HALF-BREED WITH THE CURSE OF DARKNESS 

A powerful wizard by birthright, Krystoff Dubhar s tainted blood carries shadows destined to possess his mind and soul. Only with outlawed, dangerous blood magick can he hold the shadows at bay. 

HIS SHADOWS WEAKEN HER 

In the shadowed realm of Mistropa, Krystoff falls to overwhelming odds. Just as the Queen of Shadows is about to claim his power - and his life - Calliope hears the foreboding cry of the banshee, and the Soother becomes the wizard s savior. As Calliope heals her mysterious fanged enemy, her heart is sent into overdrive. Is her accelerated pulse prompted by fear or desire? Either way, Krystoff's shadowed presence proves dangerous. His sensual words ignite a fire long held dormant. His kiss reveals a forbidden passion. 

HIS HUNGER MAY VERY WELL KILL HER 

Seeking vengeance, the Queen s dark army turns the Soother s village into a battleground rife with death and destruction. Calliope fights to save her coven. Krystoff fights to save the Soother who has captured his heart. One bite changes everything. Can love survive the never-ending battle between light and dark?

• Language: English
• Publisher: Elle J Rossi
• Release date: Mar 15, 2015
• ISBN: 9781505600513

Elle J Rossi

Elle J Rossi is a gypsy at heart, always searching for the elusive, always seeking the real meaning of truth. Along with weaving tales that help her escape from the daily grind, she creates cover art for authors around the world. For fun she cranks country music and sings to anyone who will listen. Her husband, two children, and three cats keep her company along the way and guarantee she doesn’t get permanently lost in the Enchanted Forest.   Connect with Elle at: https://www.facebook.com/ElleJRossiAuthor   https://twitter.com/ElleJRossi   http://www.ellejrossi.com

Book preview

One

Just one more time, Calli. Please?

For the love of witchery, that’s what you said the last time. And the time before that. And the time—

Bevva stomped. All right, I get it. It’s just that I’m bored. Full, nude lips formed a well-rehearsed pout—a beautifully pitiful sight amidst the charred surroundings.

Calliope Brennan studied her older sister and wondered, not for the first time, how it was possible they were even related. Two more opposite witches could not exist. Bevva was a redheaded, anger-prone, flame-shooter whose middle name may very well have been Antagonizer. Said antagonist—and master caster—had once again roped her into a bout of trickery. All in the name of fun. If you could call hopping realms, scaring the hell out of the first creature they came upon, and then running for their lives before the creature could retaliate, fun. Calliope had barely made it out of the last realm with her fishnets intact. Her shirt hadn’t been as fortunate, leaving her dressed in her black bra and plaid skirt.

Crossing her arms over her nearly bare chest, she said, You’re always bored. You need to find a hobby. Besides, aren’t we getting a little old for this? Sometimes Bevva made her feel like they were still teenagers, which wasn’t always a bad thing. But today? Calliope blew her bangs out of her eyes and gave her sister a serious stare down.

Don’t bulge those baby blues at me. Bevva jutted her chin out. Her curls bounced in response. I know exactly what you’re doing. You’re trying to tame me. Not gonna happen. And as far as age? She shifted her weight from one four-inched heel-shod foot to the other. You’re only as old as you feel, oh ancient one.

Very true. Still, she let the dig roll off her heated back. Better that than having the maturity level of a six-year-old.

Bevva laughed, deep and throaty. Calliope fed off the joy of the sound, instantly feeling lighter. Just like that, she forgave her sister—again—for missing her intended target and instead scorching her with a fireball. As a soother, Calliope possessed the power to calm even the most agitated of beings. Side effect: soothing drained her. Negativity sickened her. Soothing her own kind merely made her tired, whereas shadows attached themselves to her like the blood-sucking leeches they were. So, she jumped on sunshine-and-lollipop situations anytime the opportunity came along. Laughter had proven over and over to be better than any drug the humans or veiled had ever made.

Um, you may want to make that sixteen. I happen to like boys. A lot.

Yes. She. Did. Though most of those boys had turned into men centuries ago. Calliope shook her head in resignation. So what if Bevva would probably never be the responsible sister? At least they still had Meera. They’d only found her recently, and though Meera had just discovered her powers, she’d taken her new role as Luminary—a powerful witch tasked with keeping the peace amongst the veiled community—very seriously.

Pulling a stick of homemade chewing gum out of her skirt pocket, she pondered its sopping wet state before discarding the idea. Speaking of boys, Calliope lifted one brow and shoved the ruined gum back in her pocket, I ran into Thane last time I visited Meera. Thane was one of the guardians who had helped them save Meera, and the perfect match for Bevva. Why Bevva didn’t see it that way was just one of the mysteries that made her uniquely complex.

And? Bevva spun on her heel and took off, presumably in search of the next portal.

Deciding this would be the absolute last one of the day, Calliope conjured up a witches rock T-shirt and followed. And...he asked about you. Maybe Bevva had shagged a shifter or two since she’d seen Thane, but she suspected that had been her sister’s attempt to replace images of the guardian.

So?

Ah. If this was how she wanted to play it, fine. Shrugging, she said, So nothin’.

Bevva stopped, turned and chewed on her lip. After several moments of consideration, in which Calliope watched flames flicker in her eyes, the telltale sign of feelings that ran the gamut from curious to furious, Bevva bit the bullet. What did he want to know?

Thought you weren’t interested?

Definitely not inter—oh, there’s another one. Let’s go. Bevva bee-lined past Calliope and jumped between two shimmering trees.

Last one, Bev. I’m serious.

Husky feminine laughter enveloped Calliope as she dove through the portal, feeling light and carefree. She realized a second too late the impact this particular realm would have. Crushing anguish sucked her out the other side and threw her to the ground. With a splash, she’d entered Mistropa, a land full of shadowed cast-offs. She knew she wouldn’t make it out unscathed.

Eyes wide, Bevva shoved her curly hair away from her face. Oh, Calli. I’m so sorry. I had no idea. Let’s get out of here. Bevva pulled Calliope to her feet and tugged on her arm.

Every bit of worry Bevva felt multiplied at least a hundred times before it reached Calliope. Calliope took a deep breath and forced tranquility into her sister’s body through their skin-to-skin touch. She had enough of her own anxiety without adding Bevva’s to the pot.

Bevva pulled her hand back, narrowed her eyes. Knock it off. Don’t soothe me. We’ll both feel better once we get you the hell out of here.

Doubled over, Calliope’s ragged breath echoed off the surrounding trees as foul-smelling water dripped from her now soaked clothes. The emotions, all the sadness was too much. She’d heard tales about this dark place, but had never thought she’d have to learn first-hand what the land’s death and destruction could do to a soother. If you don’t lighten up...we’ll never make it...out of here.

Okay, okay. Bevva cleared her throat before singing a horrible rendition of Don’t Worry. Be Happy.

The singing may have been corny and bad—all for effect—but the ending result was a slam-dunk. Calliope nearly giggled in relief as her ribs loosened their stranglehold on her lungs. Better, thanks. Let’s beat it, shall we?

Calliope took that moment to fully absorb her surroundings as they searched for the exit portal. It had been at least a decade since she’d landed in a place full of so much misery. Fighting with Meera and the others in the underground kingdom of the slayers had been bad.

This?

Much, much worse.

Dark and twisted trees dripping with moss and sprouting fungus the size of a berserker’s combat boot made up the bulk of the environment and allowed ample opportunity for mist and shadows to prowl and weave in between the tree trunks. Murky water covered the floor of the forest in pools so dark no reflection could be seen. The same rank water she’d fallen in. The breeze carried the scent of mold and death, making it ever so delightful to breathe through her nose. Not.

Each time Bevva paused for a breath between song phrases, Calliope’s ear latched onto another sound and her shoulders sagged with the heavy weight of gloom. Before she could figure it out, her completely dry and gorgeous sister jumped right back into another verse. How had Bevva landed on her feet?

Bevva, shush. I hear something. She batted an enormous mosquito-like insect away and cocked her head.

What you hear is a diva ready for the main stage.

True, Calliope said to placate her sister. But I hear something else.

Two seconds later a distinctive high-pitched wail forced them to cover their ears and take a step back.

Oh, no. Bevva latched on to Calliope’s elbow and pulled.

Digging in her heels, she said, I have to help.

Bevva nailed her with a not-on-your-life glare. This is none of our business. Let’s just get out of here.

I can’t. Complete truth. Perhaps her soother needs had crushed any sense of logic, but with what could only be called an unrelenting gnawing in her gut, Calliope had no choice but to follow the howl of the banshee and either try to help the death spirit’s quarry escape the claws of the reaper, or soothe those left behind. Resolved and ready to attack her mission, she shrugged and gave Bevva an easy out. Go if you want. I can handle this one alone.

A mass of curly hair seemed to spark and sizzle as Bevva whipped her head around to glare at Calliope. As if.

Deep down, she knew Bevva would react this way, but it still did her heart good to know she could always count on her sister.

But if we’re doing this, we’re going in stealth. Bevva narrowed her eyes and pursed her lips in thought.

She smiled at the flaming twinkle in Bevva’s eye. I couldn’t agree more.

Calliope lifted her arms above her head and locked fingers with Bevva. Together they quietly chanted. Make us one with the dark. Make us fly like a lark. Give us strength for our task. Nature goddess, this we ask. 

The air shimmered with magick. The two witches working together, melding their magickal capabilities into one magnified the effect. The tingle of magick coursed through Calliope’s veins as their call was answered. With both sisters now dressed from head to toe in black, including cloaks to cover their skin and Bevva’s unruly hair, they blended with the dark atmosphere. The banshee cried once again, signaling an imminent death. This time the sound rocked Calliope’s soul and had her taking one last deep breath before running straight into the unknown.

c

For the love of— Krystoff’s words, as well as a chunk of flesh, were cut off with the slice of the whip against his cheek. The taste of blood filled his mouth. He turned his head and spit it out, narrowly missing one of the lurking creatures that stood just inside the stone circle. Too bad the wind hadn’t carried his spit a foot farther. How had a simple spell gone so completely wrong? He should have been able to flash away. Cursing himself to the underworld and back again for the mistake he had yet to identify wouldn’t save him this day. Nor would he undo his deed if he could. A promise was a promise, after all. What he needed right now was a little magick and a lot of luck. Or a lot of magick and a little luck.

As the shadows of the Mistropans crept closer, Krystoff heard the high-pitched cry of the banshee and was fairly certain his luck had all but run out. Her tortured moan raised shivers along his spine and had his tainted, half-wizard blood growing ice-cold. A banshee only cried like that when someone was about to die. Present circumstances what they were, he had no doubt she wailed for him. Though he couldn’t see her, he knew she sat somewhere amongst the shadows, waiting for him to draw his last breath.

Menacing eyes cast judgment from near and far in Mistropa—the realm his mother called home. Who knew the creatures she now considered family would ultimately be the death of him? Yes, while he may despise it, he’d finally come to admit—if not accept—his lineage was at least in part, shadowed.

A ghostly form stood in the distance. Speaking of promises...Scout, Krystoff’s one and only friend, stepped forward, yet not close enough to stand inside the circle. Hope blossomed. Scout was a nomas, a species of drifters who had the power to flash, track, and kill undetected from realm to realm without the need for a portal. Considering Krystoff had bailed Scout out of more than one situation, he was certain Scout would do the same for him.

A dark figure approached. Have you changed your mind, Krystoff?

Many Mistropans were a bunch of half-breeds, quickly cast out of their circles for their impurities. According to his mother, this one would soon be a member of her court. A purebred. Powerful. Malevolent. Dark features, dark skin and long, black hair framed the hard lines of an unmarred face.

I have not, Eron. Krystoff’s head snapped back with another flick of the whip. Clenching his teeth against the sting of pain, he knew he’d bear a matching pair of scars should he survive. Death or not, he refused to do the bidding of his mother’s people. And where was she now? Ah, yes. His eyes locked on hers. He defiantly held his mother’s frigid gaze, refusing to allow her to disappear in the forest of shadows and mist. She’d come out to watch her only child be tortured, and now she’d have to look him in the eye as he died. That would be his one and only gift to her. If he could find a way to haunt her from his grave, he’d do that, too.

Then you will die here and now.

So be it. Krystoff’s words were directed at the woman he had never understood, the woman even a son couldn’t love. He meant every word. If today were his day to die, he would die with his head held high. That didn’t mean he’d go down willingly. Scout’s presence aside, he still held hope he could get himself out of this hell.

Eron tied a large barb to the end of the whip, then smiled and held it over his head. He brought the whip down in a wide arc. The fall cut into Krystoff’s chest and dug deep. Eron pulled down and the barb on the end filleted Krystoff wide open. White-hot pain shot through his body. Krystoff roared, the sound full of brutal anguish. If he hadn’t been strung up, he would have fallen to his knees in blinding agony. Surely his innards were now lying on the ground. He fought to stay conscious, glared at the female who bore him. His vision grew clouded. He shook his head and forced his eyes open. Found Scout’s pale face again. Scout glanced at the queen of Mistropa, then looked at Krystoff and gave a quick shake of his head. A second later, he disappeared. Krystoff waited for him to return. He did not. The pain quadrupled with the rejection. Scout had just sealed his fate. Now Krystoff had two people to haunt—and hunt—from the underworld.

Eron swung again. Krystoff gnashed his teeth in anticipation. Before the leather made contact, a fireball shot out of the woods and disintegrated the whip. Eron was left with nothing but the handle knot in his hands.

Two cloaked figures entered the circle. Krystoff smelled the familiar earthy scent of magick and a small part of him rallied. Perhaps his luck hadn’t completely run out, but with his guts spilling onto the ground below, he had to wonder if luck had appeared a little too late.

Fireballs continued to arc across the sky, illuminating the circle and the surrounding woods. Eron vanished. Screams drew Krystoff’s gaze to the heated show playing out in the stone circle. Shadowed beings dove for cover. Smoking hides proved some hadn’t managed to move quickly enough. A gust of wind blew the hood off the fire wielder’s head. A wild mass of hair the same color as the fire shooting from her hands spilled out.

Her partner stayed hidden beneath the cloak. Krystoff watched that one closely while fighting against his restraints. The banshee wailed louder. The would-be rescuers covered their ears. He didn’t have that luxury. No doubt his ears bled from the impact of the piercing sound. Not much time left. The life source of his magick was slowly leaching out of his body even as he fought to contain it. All the pain had him mentally bellowing right along with the death phantom. But that sound he kept inside. Outwardly, Krystoff clenched his teeth harder and lifted his chin.

The cloaked form reached up and shoved her hood back. A pale face with black stars forming a crescent shape around one eye, tilted up, and this time his eyes met a sea of blue. His breath stuttered, from death or from her unique beauty, he did not know. She placed her hand over his heart and for a moment it was as if all would be well again.

She closed her amazing blue eyes and took a deep breath, then stood on her tiptoes and placed her other hand against his bloodied face.

Open those eyes, angel. While unable to speak, Krystoff hoped she could hear him. He no longer wished to see his mother when he passed to the afterlife. This one, the one with the angel eyes, was all he wanted to see.

Her eyes popped open, wide and questioning. What did you do? Why would they do this to you?

Such empathy. Such sadness. All for him. For that, he would give her the truth. Blood... magick. They...want. Gave...my...soul.

Two

Calliope still had no idea why she’d done it. But with the help of her sister, she’d cut the dying man down and carried his body through the forest and straight to her bed. She hadn’t heard the cry of the banshee since. Oddly, they hadn’t encountered any resistance from the shadowed creatures after their initial attack either. With her help, the prisoner may have cheated death. For now. Perhaps he’d deserved to die after all.

Carrine, the Brennan sisters’ mentor and confidant, had always told her to pick her battles wisely. This had probably not been the wisest of choices. He’d played with fire and sold his soul. Technically, he’d said he’d given his soul, but no one did that. Not willingly. There was always an exchange. His words had been so stilted and cryptic. Maybe she’d misunderstood. She didn’t think so. Even now, shadows prowled beneath his skin. Exhausted from the gloom within the sleeping man, Calliope shook her head and sighed. Blood magick should never be toyed with.

Unless he found a way to recover his soul, the shadows would grow until they consumed his body, ultimately turning his mind as dark as the realm they’d just left. The odds weren’t in his favor. History showed once a soul had been removed, the chance of getting it back was nearly impossible. And yet she had brought the soulless man into her home.

Shadowed creatures rarely had redeemable qualities. But something about him called to her, and she held out hope he would live and find a way to conquer his demons. Her pulse jumped at the thought. She cursed her romantic heart.

Calliope hadn’t heard from Bevva in a week and already missed her terribly. After toting the heavy body for hours and arguing about where to take him, her sister had reluctantly agreed to help take him to Calliope’s house. Then with a chaste kiss to the cheek, she’d hit the road. But not before she’d nicknamed the poor man Charmer, swearing he must have charmed Calliope for her to take such a risk. Calliope disagreed, but the nickname stuck. And Bevva flew the coop. Fight, then flight, seemed to be Bevva’s motto. Hopefully she’d head over to the realm of Saharren and let a certain guardian help her refill her magickal well. The two were destined to be together, whether the fire witch wanted to admit it or not.

Calliope studied Charmer now, stretched out on her queen-sized bed with his arms tight against his sides, and dried yarrow leaves she’d ground into a powder covering his stomach wounds. She might have bathed him in burdock to ward off infection, and she might have burned angelica root to call upon the angels, but no way would she do more than that to ease his obvious pain. Singing to him, bathing him and brushing his hair didn’t count. At all.  Not even a little.

For no other reason other than something to do, Calliope readjusted the sheet over his legs and gently pulled it up to his waist. She kept her eyes on his face, a face she’d memorized over the last several days. Dark eyebrows had yet to relax and she knew if Charmer ever opened those eyes again, they’d be the color of rain. His black hair, just long enough to comb her fingers through—not that she’d done that more than once or twice, or a thousand times—currently laid in a disheveled array upon her blue pillow. His caramel-colored skin lacked the luster that came with good fortune and health. His torn cheeks, so gaunt, reminded her just how long he’d been unconscious. How much longer could he survive without eating?