Drowned in His Love: A sisterhood of Carrion romance, #1

By Suzzana C Ryan

 

Dawson West lived her entire adult life, denying what she was, a witch.

From the time, she was a child, she never believed her grandmother's tales of spells and curses. She'd told her that witches were real, demons roamed the night, and vampires could walk in sunlight. Dawson passed off her Grandmother's rants as a sign of dementia and old age.

In time, she'd come face to face with the evil she had passed off as folklore. Evil would set its sights on the man who would steal her heart, Doctor Louis Crawford.

Dawson would have to use her head, heart, and soul to save the man she would spend an eternity loving.

For the first time in her life, Dawson wanted to drown in the love of the man destined to be hers.

The journey into his arms would be wrought with evil. Would Dawson survive the drowning?

 

• Language: English
• Publisher: Bitten Press LLC
• Release date: Nov 1, 2019
• ISBN: 9781393829959

Suzzana C Ryan

About the Author Suzzana C. Ryan is a wife, mother, and grandmother. She has always wanted to be a writer. She began this journey in 2011, and an indie publisher published her first work, A Vampire for her Birthday. Then she was diagnosed with breast cancer. However, that news never changed her dreams. She wrote even during her darkest days undergoing treatment and surgery. She got lost in her fantasies. Today she is still writing and has conquered her demons and disease. Her advice is never to let go of your dreams. Go for it. She's written over thirty books and will continue to create romance stories that people love to read. http://www.suzzanacryanromanceauthor.blogspot.com http://www.suzzanacryan.blogspot.com Thank you,  Suzzana C Ryan http://www.suzzanacryanromanceauthor.blogspot.com Facebook, Twitter

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Prelude

The meeting

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They say witches reign by fire, preached Dawson’s grandmother. My dear, it’s important that you know that water may destroy the fire within a witch. Perhaps that’s why witches can’t swim or have trouble learning to swim, her grandmother explained.

Dawson listened; however, she didn’t always agree with her grandmother.

Yes, grandma, I’ve heard all of this many times before. Maybe we could read a book or something, you know, one about fairytales, like normal grandmothers read to their grandchildren? she sighed.

Her grandmother would only smile and pat her on the head. My dear Dawson, one day you will inherit my powers. I need to make sure that you can handle such a responsibility. Fairytales are brutal and scary.  Imagine wolves eating grandma’s, wolves huffing, puffing, and witches eating little children. They are just dreadful.

According to an eight-year-old Dawson, that was a crock. However, she’d never hurt her grandmother and let on how she really felt about all her witch’s mumbo-jumbo. She did have a point about the fairytales. So many children thought that they were downright scary.

Yet Dawson would always humor her grandmother. Whatever you say, grandma.

Her grandmother’s fear of water didn’t worry Dawson because she was an excellent swimmer and loved the water. She never took her Grandmother’s warnings seriously. She regarded her grandmother’s stories and fears as harmless. She pushed them aside as the rantings of an old woman.

Dark-haired, green-eyed, Dawson West knew all her tales of witchcraft well. Her grandmother repeatedly told her the old mystical fables since she was a child. However, a young Dawson didn’t believe in witches or old wives’ tales. Despite all her superstitions, she loved her grandmother, and there were times that she enjoyed hearing her stories of evil, debauchery, and magic. There was one constant that she loved about her grandmother; she always had time for her.

When the day came for her grandmother to take her last breath, Dawson and her mother were at her side. She uttered Dawson’s name along with a barrage of gibberish.

"El barro, synincom, delbiu. Santus, angelitus romanis. Dawson must remember these words, she uttered, And she must meet the Carrion. It is imperative that she come into her own as a witch. Dawson, she then whispered. You must carry on our family’s legacy."

All her mother could do was nod and pat Dawson’s hand.

Now ten years old, Dawson watched in wonderment as her grandmother took her last breath. She held onto her mother and watched her grandmother’s spirit leave her body. Her eyes were riveted to the old woman’s essence as it floated upward and then disappeared. She tugged on her mother’s arm and tried to tell her what she’d seen, but she was distraught and cried. However, Dawson persisted.

Momma, did you see that? Grandma just floated off to heaven. Maybe everything she told me was really true.

Dawson’s mother shook her roughly. That old woman spoke of visions, spells, and ridiculousness for years. She was disappointed that I didn’t have her so-called powers. I’d never heard of such stupidity. I never felt anything akin to supernatural powers. Then you were born. Good Lord, she insisted you were the one to inherit her powers. I had to listen to her nonsense for years. Magic can skip a generation, and you were her only hope. Yet I loved her, and despite her eccentricity, she had an amazing heart. She loved us unconditionally, especially you.

I know, Mama, I know, but Mama, I saw it. I’m not lying. I saw grandma leave her body and go to heaven. I’m not afraid to die anymore. And those words she said, the ones that made no sense, made sense to me. They sounded familiar, Mama. I know them.

Dawson, her mother said as she held her. Grandma was dying. Those words were pure gibberish. What you saw was a little girl’s grief. I’m glad you’re not afraid of dying, but you have a long life to live. Remember her fondly and with love. We must go now and let her rest in peace.

Dawson took her mother’s hand and left the hospital's intensive care unit. Nurses and her grandmother’s doctor consoled her mother. Dawson wanted to tell her mother that she couldn’t feel sad, not after witnessing how her grandmother’s spirit rose to another level. It was an event she’d never forget.

Nor would she ever forget her grandmother’s parting words. In time, Dawson would learn the meaning of those words. It would take years of self-inflicted pain and heartache to realize that she had indeed inherited her Grandmother’s magic.

As the years went on, she never looked back on her Grandmother’s lunacy. Dawson, now twenty-three, had almost forgotten the tales of evil she spewed until she encountered Granada Brandt. 

One evening, while riding the train, she met an old woman. She didn’t notice the woman because she sat in front of her. Then, suddenly the woman turned around, faced her, and grabbed her hand. Her hands were icy cold and sent shivers down Dawson’s spine.

You’re Dawson West, the woman whispered.

Surprised that she knew her name, Dawson asked, How do you know my name? as she pried her hand from the old woman’s surprisingly firm grip.

The woman then patted a small section of the seat next to her. Come sit, my child. I knew your grandmother. My name is Granada Brandt, and I belong to the same coven as your grandmother. She then made a quick sign of the cross and said, God rest her soul.

Curious at the women’s words, Dawson moved from her seat to the seat next to her. Dawson bit her lip and thought, not another old crone with stories. Yet, she had to wonder how the old woman knew her name. So, she’d humor her and listen to what she had to say. Did you say a coven? A witch’s coven?

Yes, my dear, the very same coven that your Grandmother belonged to, and it’s time you were initiated.

Dawson wanted to laugh. How much she sounded like her grandmother. I see, so, this coven of witches, they want me to join them?

There is no need, my dear, for you to join. You’re grandfathered in because of your grandmother. Your mother had no special powers; sometimes, the gift skips a generation, as in your case. Your abilities, my dear, are powerful.

Dawson held back her ironic laughter. What did intrigue her was how much she sounded like her grandmother. Okay, I’ll bite, but how do you know my name? Dawson asked.

Your grandmother told me all about you. She was right, and I know a witch when I see one.

I’m no witch, she sighed and pulled her hand from the woman’s grip. When did you know my grandmother? You sound just like her.

We met when we were young. Our connection was instantaneous, like now, with you. We knew what we were, and we embraced the magic.

Lady, I’m not what you think I am. Go home, go rest. You’re old and need some sleep.

Dawson’s stop approached, and for some unforeseen reason, she didn’t want to leave Granada there by herself. Her clothing looked raggedy. Her gray hair was straight and unkempt, dull, and unhealthy. Her body was frail, and she carried a tote bag that looked as if it had all her worldly belongings in it. Dawson made a grave mistake that night; she invited her to come home with her.

This is my stop, Granada. Would you like to have some dinner with me? I could put you up for one night. I’m not sure if I can let you stay longer, my neighbors, landlord....

Dear, that’s such a great offer. Dinner sounds wonderful, and I could use a place to stay tonight. I won’t stay longer than a night. You needn’t worry.

That’s when her nightmare began. One touch of Granada’s hand opened a dam. Dawson felt the surge of energy that flowed through every nerve, every bone, and fiber of her being.

Dinner was eggs and bacon, and by the time Dawson finished cleaning up, the old woman was already sound asleep on her couch.

So much for some old grandma-like tales, Dawson whispered as she covered the old woman with a warm throw.

Granada was gone by morning and before Dawson cleared the fog of sleep from her eyes. However, she left Dawson a gift, a small, stunning silver amulet, and a note.

‘Wear this to protect yourself from evil. One day it will become essential to your survival.’

That’s when Dawson learned of the magic within her. As soon as she touched the amulet, she felt the power and was compelled to wear the silver boggle. Once the silver settled against her skin, the surge continued. She couldn’t explain what was happening as the overpowering gush of energy flowed through her. But as quickly as it began, it stopped, and now, she felt alive and ready to face the world.

Nothing in Dawson’s life would ever be the same from that night. Somehow, the amulet had changed everything, and she knew that the Carrion would summon her.

She assumed the Carrion was her Grandmother and Granada’s coven. But Dawson was stubborn and refused to believe that magic truly existed. So, she ignored the Carrion along with Granada’s warnings. She’d had enough of the strange amulet within a week and removed it. She shoved it in a dresser drawer and was determined to forget it. It only represented a bygone time. Her Grandmother was gone, and with her spirit went the magic.

When she hid the amulet away, she thought nothing of its power until she drained her first serious boyfriend of every bit of life. At least that’s what he told her when he packed up his things and left her.

Dawson, no man will ever be able to love you enough! You sucked every bit of life out of me. I loved you, but you made demands of me I couldn’t deliver. I can’t be your everything. Goodbye, and good luck. I pity the next poor soul who falls for your existential beauty.

Two weeks later, he died in a motorcycle accident. Dawson was devastated.

That was only the beginning.

The next three years of Dawson’s life became a nightmare. She devoured one love affair after another. She could lure men to her and then fuck them. She was like honey to the bee. However, she’d suck the life out of them, and eventually, it began to take its toll on the men in her life physically. Was she using their life force to pump up her own? Or was it her imagination?

Then, a light burned bright. Would the dam break, and would the water every witch feared instead come to save her?

Chapter One

Another attempt

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Dawson West began to believe she had nine lives. Once again, she was laboring to breathe as she lay prone on a gurney in the ER. Nurses and doctors ran around the gurney, poking her, prodding her, trying to revive her from the overdose of opioids. She wasn’t sure if it were the eighth or the ninth time, she’d overdosed in the last six months. Dawson was sure this time she’d done the job right. Barely alive, she prayed for peace.

It has been said that when you’re dying, your life flashes before you. That wasn’t true because as she lay dying at the foot of the doors of the ER, she saw nothing but the harsh lights of the entrance to the Hospital. Another crock of shit thought Dawson. Her heart beat slowly, and her thoughts were lucid as she tried desperately to forget David Thomas.

She loved the man, but now he was gone, and once again, she tried to kill herself. Reality came crashing in on her. She had killed him, of course, completely by accident.

Death by pleasure.

Exhausted and drained from a day of debauchery and drugs Dawson needed his energy.  She intended to take just a little of his essence, just enough to make her feel invigorated. So, at the very moment he climaxed, she drained him dry of more than just his semen. Dawson took his life’s energy, and he never regained consciousness. That little necessity had become a bad habit.

All her efforts to revive him were useless. He was gone. There was no viable heartbeat, and he wasn’t breathing. Yet on his face was a hideous grin.  He’d come and was enrapt in his pleasure as his heart took its last beat.

She’d had a genuine affection for him, even believed she loved him, and now, she’d killed him. Was this number ten? Christ, she swore. "This shit has to stop. I need to put an end to this witch shit tonight. What an awesome power I have. The power