Destiny Bewitched

Copyright 2012 – Leia
Shaw

Smashwords Edition

ISBN: 9781476167695

All
Rights Reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any form
except for the inclusion of brief quotations in review without
written permission from the author.

To Jay –

for spending hours
going over fight sequences and weaponry with me

Orange hair caught the
light and shone like fire. A young woman swung her sword, slicing
through flesh with a skill and brutality that didn’t fit her small
body. She ducked and dodged blows coming from all sides. Her
counterstrikes flowed with grace, the sword like an extension of
her arm. It arched over her head and whistled through the air. She
twisted and spun and thrust. A beautiful, violent dance.

Geo watched,
transfixed, as the three werewolves in crinos form, circled her,
growling furiously. Patches of fur covered their seven foot tall
muscular bodies. Blood dripped from gashes in their chests and
stomachs. Even with her long sword, she couldn’t quite reach the
only place they were vulnerable – their necks. But the werewolves
were holding back. They wanted her alive.

With a warrior’s cry,
she slashed through the stomach of the biggest werewolf. His eyes
lit up with rage. A terrifying snarl echoed around them. And a
flash of fear tightened in Geo’s chest.

Fear? He shook his
head. It was none of his business why the werewolves wanted the
girl. It definitely shouldn’t concern him why a woman, quite
possibly a human, was alone in the Underworld in the first place. A
werewolf claw nicked the skin on her belly where her shirt rode up.
The crimson blood against her pale skin bothered him more than it
should. He grimaced.
Keep walking
.
He’d survived in the Underworld
as long as he had only because he minded his own business and kept
to himself.

But his gut churned at
the thought of leaving the woman in the hands of the werewolves. He
looked back at the fight. She held her own – a fearsome little
thing – but her limbs sagged and her reflexes seemed a bit slower.
The ire in the werewolves’ eyes continued to grow. They’d lose
their patience soon.

An open satchel on the
ground caught his eye. A brown book with a worn cover sat halfway
out of the bag.

A Grimoire.

His heart jumped with
excitement. She was a witch.

A feminine yelp of pain
snapped him out of the daze and he swung his head toward the sound.
The witch fell lifelessly to the ground, blood trickling down her
temple.

The biggest werewolf –
black as night with pale blue eyes – let out a deafening roar. His
claws curled and drool fell from his muzzle. With heavy thuds, he
stepped toward her, still snarling. He reached down –

Stop.

One mental command and
the three werewolves froze. Geo gave the order for them to stay
while he placed the Grimoire in the satchel and threw it over his
shoulder. He walked to the woman, unconscious on the ground. The
werewolves’ gaze followed him, icy cold and promising vengeance. He
lifted the witch into his arms and faced them.

“I’m sorry, but I need
this one.”

The biggest beast
growled. They weren’t in a forgiving mood. If he was smart, he’d
kill them. Whatever plan they had for the girl was, no doubt, a
nefarious one. But, a vampire had to feed, werewolves had to mate.
It was the way of his world.

He looked down at the
bundle of redemption cradled in his arms. His world rarely included
witches stumbling around the most dangerous parts of the
Underworld. Maybe, at last, luck was shining down on him. Maybe,
with her help, he could finally return home.

Samantha woke with a
pounding headache. She groaned and rolled to her side. Her muscles
screamed in protest. Her sword arm felt like jello. A piece of hair
fell across her face, tickling her cheek. She swept it away and her
hand came back sticky and wet. Blood?

Panic gripped her and
she choked on a gasp. Memory took her backward like a movie on
rewind. The deal with the dragon, the door to the Underworld, the
werewolf attack. Then blank. And now a headache and sore muscles?
Well, at least she wasn’t dead. With a lot of effort, she cracked
open her lids.

Her gaze darted around
the semi-darkness. She was in a small wooden cabin. A fire crackled
in a hearth on the other side of the room. It lit most of the
cabin, but it was the dark corners that unsettled her. A few pieces
of handmade furniture stood ominously in the firelight. And she lay
on a pallet of some sort.

Wincing in pain, she
shifted to sit. A rectangular wooden frame formed the raised
surface for a bed. She looked down. Underneath her, a shoddy
hand-stitched quilt of mismatched fabrics made up the mattress. It
seemed clean at least. She did a double take at a few spots of
blood then shuddered. Or not.

Looking around the
space again, it appeared she was alone. Was this a werewolf cabin?
Was the door unlocked with no one to guard her? She rose to her
shaky feet to find out.

Footsteps thudded
outside the door.

“Shit,” she whispered.
Desperately, she searched the room for something she could use as a
weapon. Her gaze fell on her satchel.

Yes!

She sprung across the
room to her bag and shuffled through it. The footsteps grew closer.
“Come on, come on, come on.”

The door knob
jiggled.

“Aha!” She pulled out a
piece of chalk and drew a circle on the floor around her, chanting
a protection spell.

The door opened just as
she finished. A tall figure, shrouded in darkness, stepped into the
cabin – his size accentuated by his heavy footsteps. Her heart
seemed to stop beating.

The man stepped into
the light of the fire and she finally got a good look at who held
her captive. She blanched.

His powerful legs were
wrapped in brown leather. Small pouches and odd looking things
dangled from a thick belt at his waist. Was that an animal foot?
Olive skin with a strong jaw and prominent, slightly crooked nose
gave him a flawed yet handsome appearance. Not at all what she
expected.

He addressed her, his
voice deep and husky. His language sounded vaguely familiar, but
she couldn’t understand him. When she stared blankly, he tried
again.

Then it hit her. Greek.
She had the urge to roll her eyes. Of course it was the one subject
she’d failed during her short time of witchcraft mentoring.

With a sigh, he
withdrew the cowboy hat from his head. She gasped. A pair of
impressive rust-colored horns rose up from his skull and extended
backward like a ram. His hair fell around them, almost masking
them.

Her captor was a,
“Demon,” she whispered breathlessly. Not for the first time in her
short mortal life, Samantha was in deep shit.

He nodded. “Ah.
English, then?”

She couldn’t answer.
Her eyes were fixed on his horns. But that couldn’t be right. The
illustrations of demons she’d seen depicted small men with baggy
skin and rows of pointed teeth. The horns were the same but his
height, muscular build, glossy brown hair and full lips…something
didn’t add up. Then again, she wasn’t a cackling hag covered in
warts either.

The demon’s lips
quirked at one corner. “I’m glad to see you have some fear. I was a
little worried when I saw you picking a fight with the
werewolves.”

That pulled her from
her daze. She scowled. “I wasn’t picking a fi –” She cut off when
his eyes crinkled around the corners. He was teasing her?

His gaze swept down her
body and stopped at the ground. “A protection circle? Very good.
Now come out of there.” He turned away and stepped toward the fire
as if he fully expected her to obey. He lifted the lid on the
cauldron. A heavenly scent filled the room.

He turned back around
and stopped when he saw she hadn’t moved. “All right. Stay there if
you’re more comfortable. What’s your name?”

She pursed her lips.
“Never give a demon
your name,”
Selene, her witch mentor had instructed. Demons
were one of the most dangerous creatures in the Underworld. They
had the unique ability to influence one’s mind, manipulating people
to do as they commanded. Their influence grew more powerful as they
learned more about their victim. And it all started with a
name.

His brows shot up at
her silence. “Don’t want to talk to me? Why not? Cause of these?”
He rubbed his hand over one of his horns then chuckled when she
continued to stare. “I didn’t save you from the werewolves only to
harm you. You’re safe with me.”

She exhaled a humorless
laugh. Safe? With a demon? Talk about an oxymoron. “Where’s my
sword?”

“Hidden, but
secure.”

Forcing her voice to be
strong though she trembled inside, she demanded, “Give it to
me.”

The demon gave her a
curious look – as if he was surprised by her courage. Job well done
if she’d fooled him.

“So you can stick me
with it like you did the werewolves? No thank you.”

She huffed though he
had a point. “Why did you save me from them?”

“I just so happen to
need a witch.”

Her gaze rested on the
cauldron over the fire. “Am I the last ingredient for your demon
stew?” Though her tone was sarcastic, her stomach churned at the
thought.

He merely looked her
over and answered, in a casual tone, “You would make terrible stew
meat.”

She had the distinct
feeling he was laughing at her. “Please let me go, demon.”

“Geo.”

“What?”

“My name is Geo. Won’t
you tell me yours?”

She shook her head.

“Stubborn girl,” he
mumbled. He turned to a rickety old cabinet and pulled out two
bowls. He scooped one into what looked like soup and held it out to
her. “At least eat something.”

Her stomach growled as
she gazed longingly at the bowl. She hadn’t eaten more than a
couple granola bars in two days but she refused to move from the
circle. If he brought it just a little closer…

She held out a hand,
beseeching him to give it to her in the circle.

“Ah, ah, ah,” he
scolded and held the bowl away. “Come sit near the fire with me and
you can have it.”

With a grunt of
displeasure, she clenched her fists and remained where she was.

“Come now, little
witch. You can’t escape without some nourishment anyway.” His lips
twitched. Teasing her again?

But Samantha hadn’t
managed to stay alive among the foulest warlocks for twenty-three
years by trusting just anyone.

“Are you going to stand
there all night?” he asked, eyeing her chalk circle.

She should’ve made it
bigger. Then she’d at least have room to sit down and stretch out.
She looked down at her bare feet. Bare? He took her converse
sneakers? Smart demon. “You said you needed me. What for?”

He sighed and lowered
himself to the floor by the fire, bowl in hand. “Tell me first why
you’re here in the Underworld then we’ll get to my purpose.”

She bit down on her
bottom lip.

“Are you this difficult
about everything?” He sipped his soup from the bowl.

“Generally,” she
answered honestly. She stared at his horns.

He noticed her gaze and
rubbed one self-consciously. “This is…temporary.”

Temporary? According to
the legends, demons were a botched experiment by Merlin, an
infamous sorcerer from Wales back in the tenth century. He tried to
create the ultimate weapon – an indestructible creature that could
control people’s minds. Most sorcerers didn’t like to admit it, but
Merlin had been bat-shit crazy. The
daimonas
were obsessed with chaos and
destruction. They didn’t take orders. They lacked organization and
self-discipline. Hard to make an army with vicious little boogars
that could decimate a city but acted like five-year-olds on crack.
Merlin ended up with a big problem that ran the risk of giving
sorcerers a bad name, something they’d never allow – the
self-righteous pricks. Gethin, the Red Dragon of Wales and guardian
of the Underworld helped sweep it under the rug. He owed Merlin a
favor after he freed him from a trap and gave dragons the ability
to take human form. So into the Underworld went the screwy little
miscreants.

But this “temporary
demon” had intelligent eyes and what appeared to be a conscience.
Maybe she should give him the benefit of the doubt. It went against
all her instincts, but she didn’t really want to stand in a circle
all night, and the soup did smell delicious.

“I’m here to retrieve
my sister.”

“By yourself?” At her
nod his brows descended. “You have no escort? No protector? Where
is the male responsible for you?”