Chosen Read online

  Chosen

  by Nina Croft

  Breathless Press

  Calgary, Alberta

  www.breathlesspress.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or

  persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Chosen

  Copyright© 2011 Nina Croft

  ISBN: 978-1-926930-24-4

  Cover Artist: Victoria Miller

  Editor: Clarissa Yip

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced electronically or in print without written permission, except in the case of brief quotations

  embodied in reviews.

  Breathless Press

  www.breathlesspress.com

  Chapter One

  “Thou shalt not suffer a witch to live.”

  The words of the First Law whispered through Tallon’s mind as he stood in the shadows, studying his prey.

  Clearly at the end of her strength, her body wilted, each movement slow, almost painful. But then, he had been hunting her for days, driving her relentlessly into the wilderness north of the city.

  He watched as she unfastened her cloak and shrugged out of it, laying it on a fallen tree trunk. Underneath, she wore a simple peasant’s dress, but the rough gown only served to accentuate the patrician blood clear in her fine-boned features, flawless but for the crimson mark high on her right cheekbone. She was tiny, much smaller than he’d expected, with long, dark red hair glowing against the pale luminescence of her skin. Looking at her, unexpected emotion twisted Tallon’s guts. She was twenty-two, but appeared younger, more girl than woman. And the thought of all that youth and beauty reduced to ashes sent a shaft of pain knifing through him.

  He’d killed many in his position as Enforcer to The Order, but never a Witch or a woman. And for the first time, he allowed himself to acknowledge the truth that had plagued him for days; he didn’t want to do this. He closed his eyes and remembered the reasons why it had to be done. He knew the rationale behind the law; however young and innocent this girl appeared, she still possessed the power to destroy their world. More than that—if The Order was correct, then her very existence was slowly poisoning Arroway, draining the land of its power.

  Tallon no longer believed all The Order told him, and he’d come to suspect that the Laws were merely a means of maintaining control over the masses. But still, he only had to glance up at the night sky to see that something was very wrong on Arroway. Now was the season of the Witches’ moons, and they hung, slender crescents against the darkness. Tallon remembered a time when they had pulsated with life, bathing the land in their warm crimson radiance, but no more. For years the light had been fading, diminishing until only a dull, blood-red glow remained.

  He turned back to the witch. She loosened the drawstring at her neck. The dress fell, pooling at her ankles, and she stood clad in a thin under-shift. Tallon’s breath caught in his throat. The shift was almost transparent. Through it, he saw the swell of her full breasts, her nipples taut peaks in the chill air. His gaze shifted lower, over her flat belly to the shadow of dark curls at the junction of her thighs. His sex stirred at the sight, and he cursed silently.

  She stepped towards the stream, obviously intending to wash. He should end this now. Instead, he stood transfixed in his hiding place within the trees.

  Kneeling by the running water, she reached over to scoop it up, gasping at the first icy touch. She drank then splashed her face before sitting back on her heels. Tallon was reminded of the position the pleasure slaves of The Order adopted, and his cock hardened in his pants, his balls aching. But he’d been taught to control and subdue his sexual impulses, and he paused to run the familiar mantra through his mind.

  She was humming, soft and sweet, lilting; now low, now high, the sound caressing his ears. The music sang to something in his soul, and Tallon stood mesmerized as the song weaved itself through his consciousness. He didn’t notice the flashes of crimson lightning playing in the night sky until a bolt flared directly above his head. Shock ripped through him as he realized she was casting a spell, effortlessly crafting the moon magic to do her bidding. She pricked her finger, and a drop of blood fell into the stream. Faint wisps of steam rose from the water.

  Tallon had never seen the moon magic performed. Only the formal, ritualized magic of The Order and for a moment, he was spellbound by the beauty. It was as if she was singing to the land itself, and Arroway was answering. A sense of rightness filled his body and mind. Then another lightning bolt split the sky above him, as though rending a hole in the fabric of the world, and he came back to himself with a crash.

  His hand tightened on his staff, and he stepped into the clearing.

  The witch sprang to her feet, snatching up the cloak, throwing it around herself and drawing up the hood to hide her face with its incriminating witch’s mark.

  “Who’s there?”

  Her voice was soft, like her music, and a shiver of sensation slithered down Tallon’s spine. He caught the faint thread of fear and was almost overwhelmed by a need to comfort her. To tell her everything would be all right, but of course, that would be a lie.

  “Who’s…?” she started to ask again, then paused. “Oh it’s…”

  Her hand flew to her face, pressing against her lips, as though to stop the words tumbling out. For a moment, he thought she must have recognized him. But that was unlikely. Again, he found himself wanting to explain, wanting to tell her why she had to die, why he had to kill her.

  He raised his staff high above his head and began the spell that would destroy her magic forever, and with it, the fragile vessel of her human body.

  She flung back her cloak, and he hesitated. This close, she was the most exquisite thing he had ever seen. Her huge eyes glowed like emeralds in her small, pointed face.

  The hesitation was his undoing. Faster than he could follow, she whirled, kicking out. The heel of her foot slammed into his chest, and he stumbled in shock. Righting himself, he watched cautiously as she took up a fighting stance. She was so petite, so defiant, like a spitting cat, and he smiled. But the expression soon faded. In truth, there was nothing to smile at here, only a job that needed to be done. He raised his staff again and murmured the opening words of the spell.

  She stared at him, the recognition of her own death reflected in her eyes. Then they narrowed. The nostrils of her small, straight nose flared. Plucking a pin from her cloak, she slashed it across her palm, then raised her hand high, and drops of blood splattered across the clearing. Then she opened her mouth and threw a Word of Power into the night.

  Tallon gasped. The Words of Power were forbidden. Even as the knowledge filled his mind, the edges of his world began to blur. Above him, a huge rent severed the night sky. White light streamed through bathing them both, and in a flash, the notion came to him that they had been right to fear the power of witches.

  Without conscious thought, he reached for the girl. She seemed shocked and didn’t fight as he pulled her into the shelter of his body, instinct taking over as he sought to protect the one he had come to destroy.

  The light flared brighter, until the darkness swallowed them both.

  Chapter Two

  Shayla opened her eyes. Then shut them quickly. Something was very wrong. The sun was too bright and she couldn’t move, could hardly breathe. A heavy weight lay on top of her, pressing her into the hard ground.

  She opened her eyes again, this time squinting at the light and the last of the air left her lungs in a gasp. Her pulse rate picked up and adrenalin surged through her bloodstream as she realized she was sprawled on an unfamilia
r green hillside, in brilliant sunshine, and the heavy thing on top of her was Tallon.

  Lying underneath Tallon had been a recurring daydream of hers since that first glimpse of him when she was twelve years old. Maybe this was just another dream, but in her dreams, he’d at least been moving, stroking her, kissing her and, as she grew older, doing a whole lot more. This Tallon was a dead weight.

  Okay, so he wasn’t making mad, passionate love to her. What was he doing then? It came back to her in a flash; he was the one who had been hunting her. She’d recognized him as soon as he’d entered the clearing. Right before he’d tried to kill her. Obviously, he hadn’t succeeded.

  The bastard!

  Fury shot through her, and she poked him hard in the ribs. He didn’t wake.

  So, what had happened next? She remembered kicking him, then seeing the glint of amusement in his dark eyes as she stood before him, ready to fight for her life. At that point, she’d lost her temper.

  Oh Goddess, what had she done? Something, very, very bad, she suspected.

  She pushed and finally managed to dislodge him enough to wriggle out from underneath. Sitting up, she peered around her, blinking at the bright white light, so different from what she was used to. Her eyes soon accustomed themselves, and she swore softly. Nothing was familiar.

  They were on some sort of hilltop, surrounded by a ring of stones. The sky, arching high above them, was a soft insipid blue, where it should have been violet, and a single sun glared down at her. She took a deep breath and admitted the terrifying truth.

  They were no longer on Arroway.

  She remembered the word she had flung at Tallon in her temper. The word she hadn’t even realized she knew. Where had it come from? And more to the point, what had it done? Somehow, it had ripped them away from their own world and landed them here—wherever here was.

  Panic clawed at her; she had to get back. She needed to find her mother before The Order did. Her mother was defenseless without Shayla. The problem was she had no clue how to return them to Arroway. She had never understood how her magic worked. The spells just came to her. No one had ever taught her how to control it—after all, there was no one left on Arroway capable of teaching her.

  Maybe the warlock would know how to get them home. If he ever woke up, and if she could persuade him to postpone trying to kill her long enough to find out.

  Shayla glanced at his unconscious form. He was lying on his back where he had rolled, one arm flung above his head. He was utterly gorgeous, and her fingers trembled with the need to reach out and touch him. She must be mad—he had tried to kill her and as far as she knew, any moment, he would wake up and try to finish the job.

  But then, her feelings for Tallon had never been completely rational. The first time she’d seen him, something fundamental had changed inside her. From that day on, she’d been drawn to him. When people whispered that the Enforcer was in town, bad men would run for cover, but Shayla would sneak out of whatever bolt-hole they were living in and watch him from the shadows. He’d always reminded her, in those brief glimpses, of some wild, magical creature. With his long, lean body and tangle of black hair, and the way he moved like some huge jungle cat, stalking his prey.

  Now Shayla was his prey.

  So close, he appeared even bigger than she remembered—his shoulders broad beneath the long leather coat. With a sword sheathed at his back, and a knife strapped to his right thigh, he looked dark and dangerous, and a tremor of apprehension quivered through her.

  His skin was pale over high cheekbones and a long straight jaw. His eyes were closed, but she knew they would be dark violet, almost purple, the color of the sky above Arroway as the suns went down. He had a beautiful mouth—normally held so stern—now it was relaxed revealing the full, sensual lower lip.

  How many times had she dreamed of kissing those lips? It wasn’t fair. Why did it have to be Tallon trying to kill her?

  At the thought, her temper flared again. About time he woke up and got them out of this. She leaned close. “Tallon!”

  Nothing. Giving in to an urge, Shayla raised her hand and slapped him hard across the face. She tried to tell herself it was purely to wake him up but knew in reality that it was for the destruction of her childhood dreams.

  His eyes flickered open. The pupils were enlarged, almost black. He blinked and brought his arm across his face to cover them and block out the light.

  After a few minutes, he sat up. He raked an unsteady hand through his black hair then squinted around, his gaze finally settling on Shayla.

  “Where are we?” he asked. “What, in the name of the Goddess, have you done?”

  Shayla resisted the urge to edge back. “I don’t know, and I’m not sure.”

  “What?”

  “I don’t know where we are, and I’m not sure what I did.”

  “How can you not ‘be sure’?”

  Her irritation flared at his question, and she pressed her lips tightly together, before exhaling loudly. “It just happened, all right?”

  “You used one of the Words of Power. The Words of Power don’t just happen.”

  “Well, they did this time.” Oh, Goddess, had she really? “I was improvising,” she muttered. “I didn’t know it was a Word of Power. I needed a spell and this one came to me. Look, I wasn’t the one trying to kill you. What was I supposed to do—roll over and die?”

  “That was the general plan.”

  “Well, it’s not going to happen.”

  They were silent for a moment. A gray hue tinged his skin, and a fine tremor ran through his hand as he rubbed at the bridge of his nose. It appeared that whatever had happened had more effect on him than her.

  His gaze returned to her, dropping from her face, and Shayla glanced down. Her cloak was open, her body clearly visible beneath the transparent material of her shift. “I was having a wash,” she said, and instantly regretted the remark. Why should she justify herself to him?

  “I saw. You were using magic to heat the water.”

  “So? Is that a crime?” She knew her words were foolish, even as they left her mouth. Everyone on Arroway knew that to perform magic was against the Laws of The Order. It had been that way since the Witch, Casterix, had nearly destroyed their world over a thousand years ago. Now, all Witches were seen as potential destroyers, and the moon magic was banned.

  “Actually, yes,” Tallon replied. “In fact, your very existence is a crime against The Law: ‘Thou shalt not suffer a Witch to live.’”

  A bolt of raw fury crashed through her as he quoted the First Law. How dare he? That stupid law had haunted her all her life. What right did The Order have to decide who lived and who died?

  She scrambled to her feet and walked away from him, fists clenched at her sides. If she’d stayed, she would have punched him. She made herself breathe slow and deep. Her temper had always been a problem, had gotten her into trouble many times before. Now, peering around at her strange surroundings, she was pretty sure it had gotten her into trouble again.

  Then a thought occurred to her. If she hadn’t done whatever it was she’d done, then in all likelihood, she would now be dead and burned to ashes. The idea made her queasy. Oh, she had gotten in that one kick and she was a good fighter, but she had no illusions she would last long against Tallon. He was over a foot taller than her and must weigh twice as much. And while she was happy to fight dirty, she would bet on the Goddess that he could fight dirtier.

  Would he try again? Maybe she should take him down now, while he was still weak. She glanced across to where he sat. He was watching her. Her eyes met his, and she knew it wasn’t an option—she would never be able to harm Tallon—not in cold blood, anyway. She would just have to hope that she could persuade him to put off trying to finish his job until they were home. After that...

  Wrapping her cloak around herself, she walked back to him. He rose to his feet as she approached. Shayla came to a halt in front of him and, not for the first time, wished she were taller.
She only reached his chest and had to tilt her head to look him in the face.

  “Can you get us back?” she asked.

  “Shouldn’t that be my question? You brought us here.”

  “I told you, it was an accident.”

  “You mean you don’t know how to get us back?” His tone was incredulous.

  “That’s what I mean.” She scowled. “What do you think I’m planning to do—take myself home and leave you here? Believe me, if I could, I would. But I can’t.”

  She didn’t know if he believed her or not, but he turned away, his gaze roaming the clearing, searching for something. His staff lay in the grass not far from where they stood. He took a step towards it and swayed on his feet. Shayla reached out instinctively to catch him, but snatched her fingers away as he swung around to stare at her in amazement. He lurched towards his staff, reached down, and picked it up.

  As soon as it was in his hands, he appeared different—stronger, bigger, more intimidating. Shayla could sense the power pulsating from him. She dug her teeth into her lower lip, waiting for him to make a move.

  Would he try to kill her again? Could she stop him if he did? It was unlikely. She held her body tense, ready to jump—to run for her life.

  He lowered the staff and she let out a breath, her body slumping as the tension drained from her limbs.

  “Come here,” he said.

  “I don’t think so.”

  He reached for her with a speed she hadn’t expected in one so big. His long fingers clasped around her wrist, and he dragged her towards him. She struggled, but she was no match for his strength. He wrenched her arm behind her back, and she gasped.

  “I suggest you do what I say, when I say it.”

  His tone was grim, his grasp fierce, and Shayla gritted her teeth against the pain. “In your dreams,” she muttered.

  His fingers tightened, digging into her fragile bones.

  “Okay, okay. Let me go.”