Isle of Shadows: We Witches Three, #8

By Humphrey Quinn

The battle with the Feyk is ended, but the scars left behind have changed the Howard Witches, and The Demon Isle, forever. And all the Howard's want: a break. A moment to catch their breath. To mourn. To heal. And move on. Instead, they are scurrying to protect everyone on the Isle from the sudden appearance of a bloodthirsty serial vampire killer. 

 

Melinda is having nightmares of the non-prophetic kind, the worst being when vampire, William Wakefield, tells her he is leaving. And when he disappears from The Demon Isle she believes this is true. Until a disastrous line of events unfold that put the vampire as suspect number one in the case of the serial killer, who has murdered at least three people so far.   

 

Will the Howard Witches have to kill their friend, and family protector? Will they be forced to end the life of the vampire responsible for saving Melinda, along with so many other Howard's? Melinda is already facing a future of loving William from the shadows, but now, the only way to truly love him, may be to end him.

 

** We Witches Three is part of Demon Isle Witches, the YA/Teen Edition of the Series... 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Rachel Daigle
• Release date: Jan 11, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393190905

Humphrey Quinn

Ruby Raine writes steamy supernatural witch mysteries... 

Book preview

CHAPTER 1

The moon hovered high in the night sky; bright, crisp, and full.

The sand underneath Melinda Howard’s bare feet cooled after the day’s sun. The beach deserted, other than a bonfire surrounded by a small party who were laughing, drinking, and having fun.

Her brother Charlie sat on the ground with his back against a rock drinking a beer, with Lizzy and Lucas Deane sitting and talking nearby. Not far away, Michael was dancing with his girlfriend, Emily Morgan. They’d had a little too much to drink and toppled over onto the sand, giggling. Smooching. Happy.  

This was where the normality of Melinda’s dream ended.

Not that this setting was normal either. She could not recall the last time her family had spent the day together doing something fun. Something non-witch and non-work, related.

Melinda’s gaze shifted right, where Grace, the owner of the Wicked Muddy Café, stood behind her coffee counter, which for whatever reason was sitting out in the open on the beach. She picked up a serving tray balancing steaming mugs, approached Melinda, and handed her one.

I just know I got it perfect, Grace promised, tossing her a wink.

Melinda lifted the mug to take a sip and caught her breath.

A thick red liquid sloshed inside.

Blood.

Her stomach rolled at the sight. The rusty stench of it stuck in her nostrils.

Grace moved on to serve the others. Everyone clinked their mugs together in a toast before downing the contents. Bile threatened to surface in Melinda’s throat.

What a bizarre dream. She was certain, not prophetic, just bizarre.

It was such an odd thing to be so present and aware inside her dreams while sleeping soundly in real life. And to wake rested no matter how fitful her dreams became.

Mackenzie Briggs, The Demon Isle’s sheriff, called Mack by her friends, emerged from the darkness and thrust out her hand. A roll of yellow police tape snaked out of her palm, streaking across the shadowed beach. She pivoted a few feet and threw out another long strand, and then another, and another, until there was so much tape weaved around them, nothing could get in, or out.

Gotta keep those dang reporters from gettin’ their picture. She laughed raucously, proud of her handiwork.

Could I sell ya on a Mug of blood? Grace called out to Mack.

Why don’t mind if I do.

In another blink Grace and her coffee counter shuttered into black and white, like a scene from some old TV show. She swiped a bloody hand down her frilly apron, the red of it harsh against the white of the cloth. She poured Mack a mug of blood and the sheriff proceeded to spoon three heaping mounds of sugar, mixing it in.

Curse my sweet tooth, she joked, taking a sip. Mmm, mm. Sure is delicious, Grace. Like a rusty nail. Really hits the spot.

The bile in Melinda’s gut rose a little higher.

Grace had a ridiculous frozen grin on her face, a shine in her eyes and a gleam on her teeth. She winked at Mack, her black and white scene shuttering into and out of the dream.

Melinda’s family along with Lucas and Lizzy joined in Grace’s and Mack’s revelry. They stepped into the black and white of the beach café, the only color, red of the blood. They smashed mug against mug in a toast to each other. Red globs sloshing up over the sides, splattering all over their clothes, and faces, and down onto the sand.

There was a sizzle when it hit the flames of the bonfire. Which was still in color. In another blink, the black and white went away and they’d all somehow come to stand in a line about ten feet in front of Melinda. Side by side, flat gazes aimed her direction. Bodies streaked with blood. Laughter intensifying, with mouths hung open, the sound escaping taking on a canned antique quality as they gaped in a freaky statuesque pose.

Melinda wrapped her arms around her middle, forcing off a shudder and holding herself together. I’d like to wake up now. This dream was going from good, to strange, to creepy, and she suspected scary was coming next. It had been like this for days.

Another blink.

Another blink.

Another change.

No more bonfire.

In its place, a pile of wood. A pyre, unlit. A stake rising from the center.  

Melinda staggered backwards only to fall into something both hard and soft. Strong hands unpeeled her arms from around her waist and new arms slid around, possessively pulling her in.

Lips nuzzled her neck. A voice whispered in her ear.

You have to choose, Melinda. It can’t go on like this, forever.

It was Riley Deane.

He withdrew his arms and twirled her around, his eyes drunkenly taking her in, admiring her with a gaze and a smile that reminded her of the first time she’d seen him in town. Straddling his motorcycle, shooting her a grin that buzzed electricity from her head down to her toes.

Eyes locked on each other, baby blue seeping into molasses. She breathed him in, a hint of brown sugar at the back of her throat.

His gaze ordered her answer.

I cannot choose, she replied forlornly.

I can convince you to choose me. Riley sank into her lips with a greedy kiss, pulling her body against his in a move that would have melted her legs to jelly, if she could still move them.

A gasp.

Her eyes flew open. Body, no longer moving under her control.

Riley’s warmth gone.

Tied up.

Bound, to the stake jutting out of the unlit pyre.

Helpless. Unable to stop what was about to happen.

The only thing she could move was her head, and only as far as her shoulders allowed. She planted the back of her head against the stake; it was as far from Riley as she could get.

The dazzle in his eyes darkened, replaced with a wild abandon and intoxicated simper. He backed away, but it was more like his body floated.

Choice. Made. His voice echoed grimly as his body landed on the ground soundlessly.

A group of seats appeared behind him. Theater style. Her friends and family fought eagerly over who would get to sit in the front row.

A slithering voice crawled out of the darkness.

Come one, come all! The show is about to begin.

Sir Tinkham Sickereaux, the Feyk otherwise known as Stricker, rolled out of the shadows in a summersault to the clanging of symbols. He bounced to his feet, slapping on his top hat with one hand, swirling a cane in the other. His vile smirk fixed on Melinda like she was the star of the show, and he, the announcer.

In this case, more like the executioner.

With the flick of his hands, the cane tip burst into flame. He lunged forward, faking an attempt to light the pyre, teasing the wood, threatening to ignite it, a wretched gleam in his eyes.  

It’s almost time to burn, witch.

This dream sucked hardcore!

Melinda’s heart pounded so hard she swore it was knocking at the wooden stake behind her. If only she could learn to wake herself up! Or dream like normal people.

You should have chosen me, Riley called out from the beach below. His untamed grin stared up at her, and he did nothing to stop Stricker from teasing the wood with his lit cane. She closed her eyes, firmly, wishing she’d wake up. Perhaps if she focused really hard on her good memories of Riley, she could change the dream. Get out of this freakish nightmare.

A warm hand caressed her cheek and her eyes fluttered open, Riley in front of her again.

But same dream. Same nightmare. Still bound to the stake.

Still helpless, powerless, and unable to stop the inevitable.

Even in her dreams.

Blink. Blink. Blink.

Riley wasn’t going away, his face just inches in front of her. Hand stroking down the side of her face. Trailing down her neck, trickling across her chest.

We could have so much fun with you all tied up.

Riley, no. My family is watching. Yours too. Even in a dream, Melinda had no desire to play voyeur in front of anyone, least of all her family! Her plea fell on deaf ears, as so did his lips, nibbling, caressing, tasting.

I just want to have some fun. Before you burn.

Melinda had no control over the disgusted gasp that came out of her, that idea reviling on so many levels. She squirmed against the bonds but they refused to loosen. If anything, the harder she tried to escape the tighter they squeezed. Sucking out the limited breathing room she had.  

Riley growled in displeasure at her attempt to get away.

Her need to escape him.

Please let me go, she begged. This isn’t you, Riley. It wasn’t you. And this is only a dream.

Stricker danced around the back of the pyre, snickering, and Melinda heard the crackle of flames. Smoke reached her nostrils, and soon, so would the heat and flames.

Instead of letting go, Riley grasped her hair yanking her head back until it hit the stake, and thrust his mouth at her. Each crush of his lips branding a terrible memory into her brain. Reminding her of all the vile things he’d said and done when she’d been imprisoned on the pyre in real life.

There was nothing romantic or loving about this kiss.

Only claiming. Owning. And saying a spite-filled goodbye.

Melinda exhaled breathlessly, cool air against her face. No more lips attacking her. No more heat licking at her toes. No way to wash the defilement of his kiss off her. And Riley, shoved off the pyre landing on the sandy ground with a hard thud.

A shiver at her neck, hair swinging behind her shoulder.

Icy breath.

Riley groaned but bounded to his feet, jaw hardened, gait determined.

He strode forward only to stop when a presumptuous voice snarled out, You will not touch her.

William, right behind her. So close, but not quite touching her.

Riley scowled. Always the bloodsucker to the rescue.

Icy fingers groped Melinda’s neck. She exhaled sharply.

She belongs to me, snarled William. The dominating nature of his tone did nothing to calm Melinda into thinking she was about to be saved. In a swift movement that stole her breath bonds tore away, the stake yanked out of the pyre.

William moved so fast it all happened in a blur.

What remained: his own body now the stake, his arms her new binding.

A forceful hand pulled her neck to the side, icy lips slammed against her skin, fangs sinking into her pulsing vein. Melinda screamed, unable to stop him from drinking her, or his thoughts from invading her mind.

"I am a vampire. Never a man, but a monster. Do not ever forget this."

Their captive audience clapped, enraptured by the show’s change in climax. A twist that had them on their feet hooting and hollering.

Only it wasn’t the end of the show. Melinda wished it was; this dream was sucking her dry. Literally. Blood gushed out of her body into the crazed vampire’s mouth. And she was helpless to defend herself, again. This was her lot in life, she supposed. To be powerless. To depend on others. Not to trust in her own strengths.

What strengths?

She had no power against curses. Or vampires. Or those tricksters, the Feyk. She was a witch who had never properly trained for the job.  

Ugh, would this dream ever end?  

The sucking continued, Melinda growing weaker.

But it wasn’t over yet.

Overhead, the sky swirled, sinking in on itself forming an inky vortex. Her family and friends screamed as dark arm-like veils shot downward out of it, wrapping around each of them, stealing them up into the sky.

The Soul Hunter, come to claim them all.

Melinda’s eyes fluttered closed to the sight of everyone she loved screaming silently, imprisoned inside the Hunter. Her body went limp. Death was close. A minute away, or less.

William wasn’t stopping, sucking every last drop.

A swish of air across her skin.

Followed by a flash of movement and sudden alertness.

Her heart pumped strong again. Had the dream ended? Had she finally awakened from this nightmare? Had she died? If she opened her eyes, would it start all over again?

Melinda lifted her eyelids apprehensively. Her breath coming out in cautious relief. She was still on the beach, however, all that remained was sand, the moon, a clear sky, and the waves crashing gently against the shore.

No more bonfire, or pyre, or storm, or Stricker, or the Hunter.

Or her friends or family. Or Riley.

Only, William... His name slipped off her tongue like she’d tasted him.

What a strange, strange, dream. At least he wasn’t sucking the life out of her now. This dream version of the vampire had her securely wrapped up in his arms. He stared down intently, his faultless pale features focused entirely on her.

This William was not the wild one who’d just sucked her dry. This was the version of him she trusted, and loved. This was her vampire to the rescue. At least her addled brain had gotten something right.

You’re having bad dreams, the vampire stated flatly.

She nodded dropping her head against his chest. The worst.

The vampire tensed under her relaxed demeanor, but she figured her dream, her rules; if she had any control before the nightmares inevitably returned.

William’s tension slacked off, his entire body sighing over the fact she was having nightmares. I’m sorry I cannot stop them, Melinda. I’m sorry I seem to be the cause of them.

Stop. She placed her fingers over his lips. Unconsciously he kissed her hand. You saved me like you always do in the end. Her head lifted to see his emerald eyes, her hand leaving his lips to slide down his chest. His mouth didn’t stay deserted for long, her lips tangling with his, daringly. Her dream. Her rules. If only for a few minutes until she either woke up, or the nightmare restarted again.

She tugged at his lips, determined to stay locked within this moment as long as possible. William expelled a tempted groan. His response tentative at first, then giving in and matching her intensity, to a few seconds later in charge as if kissing her had been his idea all along.

It ignited heat into places Melinda tried not think about, seeing as she’d nearly died in this dream a few minutes before. What a bizarre dream. But if she lucked out and got stuck in this part of it...

The kiss cut short, Melinda suddenly on her feet struggling to find balance with William out of arm’s reach.

Um, she blinked rapidly, heart strumming both in the pleasure of his kiss and the dread that the nightmare was about to reset. William’s fangs punched out against his lips, eyes, black and hungry.

But then his fangs shortened, retracting. Eyelids shut, a tense breath released.  

I’m sorry, Melinda.

He took a few seconds to regain his composure.

When his eyes opened they were the emerald green she loved so much.

I should not have allowed that to happen. I fear you think I am a dream.

Um, Huh? And, dang it, was um, suddenly the limit of her vocabulary?

This conversation was different. Her eyes fixed on him in realization.

Oh my God. You’re not a dream. She’d kissed him thinking it was all still an illusion. Her cheeks got hot, now out of embarrassment rather than ignition being lit. Her skin got tight. Lips tugged at by her teeth, nervously. The beach way too big with nowhere to run and hide.

I’m sorry, Melinda. I did not mean to startle you. It was not my intention to intrude into your dreams unannounced, however, in this case perhaps my timing was perfect. And the fact she still desired to kiss him had nothing to do with that, he insisted in silent sarcasm. 

I... I’m sorry, William. Her heart stuttered across a few beats, both from being in his arms as well as humiliated he’d witnessed her chaotic nightmare. Never mind she’d acted like a crazy woman with no self-control and kissed him, after they’d promised never to do that again.

William’s jaw ground together in response to that all too familiar heart flutter that was so distinctly his. She tore her gaze away. Digging deep for control of her hormones. Dreamworld or not, they were ruling her every instinct right now.

It’s not your fault, Melinda. I should have made you aware the moment I tore you off that pyre. And out of my fangs.

Popping into her mind to see himself sucking her dry is not what he’d expected. And it disgusted him to his core, even if only a dream.

It’s all good, William. And the nightmare, it’s not your fault. None of this is.

Are you okay? he questioned, his feet unconsciously shuffling through the sand inching closer to her.  

She nodded, but it didn’t look convincing at all. I’m okay. Really I am. The nightmare is my mind trying to, I don’t know what. Work through everything I guess. In its very messed up, human way.

He smiled kindly. But there was a weariness behind it. It’s been a long time since I’ve dreamed. I recall little about the process. I’m sorry for slipping into your mind unannounced like this, but I needed to speak with you. You are sleeping at the moment and I did not wish to wake you.

That’s right. She was currently asleep in the hospital. Hard to hold onto that reality when you’re nearly burned alive or sucked dry by a vampire in a dream reality.

Why haven’t you come to visit me? She changed the subject, supposing she might be wrong as she had been asleep much of the last few days with all the sedating type drugs the doctor had injected into her.

He hadn’t let her go home yet and had kept her for observation since the end of the battle with the Feyk. Her physical injuries were healing fine, and she would bet her life that observation meant making sure she wasn’t going to have another breakdown, like after her parents had died (the first time, four years ago). Her brothers probably thought that losing her father a second time, topped with all the other horrors of what happened, would send her spiraling downward.

She was determined for this not to happen.

Yeah, as determined as she was to control herself around William, and that had already failed. And if measuring progress by her dreams, they’d probably lock her in a padded cell.

Oh, willpower, where art thou?

Her chin lifted, William’s fingers bringing her gaze upward.

Don’t be so hard on yourself. It’s not like I minded.

That’s kind of the point.

His hand dropped, a sad expression on his face. I suppose it is. His gaze apologized, at the same time giving away the truth that he had not visited her in the hospital, until right now. And this wasn’t even for real, only through the connection they had in their minds. Which for all intents and purposes, was real, if not actually in person.

I apologize that I have not come before now, William told her, taking on a more formal tone. "There are few things in this world that could keep me from doing so. I’m afraid it’s complicated. You see, I’m not actually on The Demon Isle at this moment."

Um. Okay. It took her brain a few seconds to comprehend what he was saying.

I have to leave, Melinda.

What? Why? And what do you mean, leave? You can’t really mean to leave the Isle?

He did not answer her questions, his vampiric controlled composure, failing a little.

I needed to tell you my departure is not because of what happened between us. I have no regrets.

That didn’t look true at all. She saw pure regret written all over him.

Her brain refused to think straight. William wouldn’t leave. He couldn’t.

I’m sorry I have to do this, Melinda. But I must.

But, she didn’t know what to say. You can’t, she stammered. When are you coming back? Tears welled. She refused to believe it. This was all still a dream. He was pretending to be real. She had needed him to save her inside the nightmare as he had in real life. As he always did in real life. And she was making all of this up. William would never leave. Period.

He reached up and wiped away the tears in a gentle sweeping motion. His touch sure felt real. But so did everything in this stupid dream.

He appeared to struggle with letting her go, his hands cupped around her face.

After this moment, I’ll be too far away to reach out to you in this manner again.

The way he said it sounded so... final.

An ending she didn’t want and had no time to adjust to, or attempt to undo.

"Melinda, tell your brothers. Tell them everything," he instructed her. Do not permit fear to hold you back any longer. I believe you can do this, and, his hands dropped. His already strained smile fading into a forced attempt at one. You should forgive Riley, Melinda. I see from your dreams that it might be difficult for you. But all things are possible with time.

Not all things, she replied in hushed swiftness.  

He grinned weakly. "No, you are correct. I said that wrong. Not all things are possible." He leaned in with a purposeful movement and kissed her forehead softly. His lips were ice, but his touch burned into her skin.

William... by the time his name rolled off her tongue, he was gone.

And Melinda was staring up at the ceiling of the hospital room, awakened from slumber. She took a sharp intake of breath, her eyes adjusting to the dim lighting. It might not have been a prophetic dream of someone about to die, but it had been equally depressing nonetheless.

William had come to her, to say goodbye.

Why did he have to leave? If not because of them.

Cut down the middle. Again. A fresh slice reopening the wound barely starting to heal.

Was the dream of him even real?

Her gut told her it was. His words, genuine. His fingers left a sting against her cheek. His lips, a soft buzz against her forehead. It was exactly the same as when he’d come to her after the battle and they’d finally admitted they loved each other. A love neither could act on in the real world. And she feared was the true reason he had left so abruptly, even with him claiming otherwise.

Melinda looked around the room. No William. Just her brother, Charlie, asleep in the chair. He must have returned to the hospital in the middle of the night.

She sat up, drew her legs out of the covers, and planted her feet onto the tiled floor. She had to make it home and stop William if it wasn’t already too late. He claimed he was already gone, but perhaps she could catch him. And stop him.

Why would he leave, if it wasn’t because of what had happened between them? What other reason would there be? And where would he go? This was his home. He lived on The Demon Isle. Her heart pounded so hard she feared the sound of it would wake the entire hospital.

He can’t leave.

He can’t. He can’t. He can’t.

She’d just lost her dad, without even seeing him before he’d been killed by Eva Jordan.

And Riley, forgive him? She wanted to, so badly, but wasn’t even close to that. Besides, he’d left the Isle too. She had overheard Charlie telling Mack the day before.

Melinda imagined Riley might never return, unable to face anyone after what he’d done, unable to forgive himself. Part of her had already forgiven him; it was the forgetting and accepting part she was struggling with. Riley came with horrible memories now. How could she get beyond that?

She needed to act fast if there would be any chance of finding and stopping William. The I.V. in her arm needed to come out. She reached to yank the needle currently stabbing her arm but a rugged hand got in the way, and stopped her.

What are you doing?

I have to get out of here, Charlie. The panic was obvious in her tone and movements.

No. Not until the doctor says it’s okay. You have to stay here.

No. You don’t understand.

What don’t I understand?

She held his gaze, her entire being ready to break, but said nothing.

If she told her brother William had spoken to her, through her mind, she’d have to explain exactly how that was possible. She’d have to tell him everything. The vampire had told her to do this, but how could she?

Bravery died fast and her head dropped, ashamed.

Hey, Charlie lifted her chin. What’s going on in there? He nodded at her head.

I’m fine, Charlie. I want to go home.

He forced out a thick breath. I’m not sure that’s a good idea. You’re still healing and, he stopped and dropped his hand.

You’re afraid I’m going to go crazy again, aren’t you?

He sighed, this time, frustration strong on his breath.

I’m not in my bad place, Charlie. I promise.

You went through a lot, Melinda. You don’t miraculously get over that in a few days.

Especially when the last time took me four years, she scolded silently.

Have you even been home in the last few days, Charlie?

Just for a short while. To check on Michael and Emily. And get some supplies. Shower.

"How is