Wicked Thorne Read online

  Wicked Thorne

  A Blackthorne Vampires Novella

  K. Loraine

  Contents

  The Blackthorne Vampires

  Introduction

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Epilogue

  Hunting the Little Bird

  Also by The Midnight Coven

  Also by K. Loraine

  About the Author

  The Blackthorne Vampires

  WICKED THORNE

  by K. Loraine

  This novella is also part of The Midnight Coven’s Cursed Coven series and is published that way as well. Since it takes place during my Blackthorne Vampires series, I’ve bundled this edition with a special bonus short story from Blood Captive, the first book of the Blackthorne Vampires.

  Introduction

  Welcome to the magical world of the Midnight Coven. Within the pages of our books, you’ll find vampires and demons, witches and fae, dark magic and happily ever afters. Each Midnight Coven novella has a Happy Ever After, and the books in the series can be read in any order. Occasional characters do cross over from book to book, so we hope you’ll read them all. You just never know when your favorite character might show up again.

  Your initiation begins now…

  1

  Natalie

  My gut churns as I stare into the circle, complete with candles at each point of the pentagram I drew with salt. This is probably a bad idea. Twisting the heavy metal pentacle in my grasp, I inspect the charm my gran made for me on my twenty-fifth birthday. My wish, she’d said. For me to use when I was ready to see the truth of my soul’s past. One wish, one spell, one answer I desperately need. In the middle of the circle is the intricate family tree I’ve obsessed over since childhood. We’ve traced the Good family line all the way back to England in the 1400s, but I need more. I have to know why my heart always feels empty. Not every witch in my family has a past life, but my gran always said I’ve carried a heavy burden because my soul is old.

  I’ve held onto this charm for seven years, unwilling to take it out and open Pandora’s Box. Afraid my stunted magic will ruin the spell. And besides that, what if I don’t like what I find? But tonight I have to do it. I have to know. Because Gran gave this to me for a reason, and I lost her two weeks ago. This is her last gift to me. I can’t ignore it now.

  Taking a deep breath, I light the candles one-by-one, invoking the elements at each point. Then, I place the pentacle on top of the family tree and speak the incantation Gran gave me.

  “Twisted lives and souls hidden beyond.

  Memories lost now to be found.

  Open mind and heart to face,

  Bring to me truths none can place.”

  The room is silent after my last word rings out, and my entire being deflates at the realization my charm was a failure. “Of course it is,” I whisper as the truth sinks in. “I don’t have the skill I need. She wasted her magic on me.”

  How could I have been so stupid? Tears sting in my eyes, and the ever-present ache after her passing seems to grow. But then the flames on the five candles extinguish at once, and I’m bathed in darkness. My belly twists with a mixture of fear and apprehension before howling wind swirls through the room even though my windows are closed. My hair whips around my face, the force of the air stealing my breath before each candle sparks to life once more. The wind disappears as quickly as it had come through, and I’m left with my heart racing and breaths tight, the pentacle still in the place I’d set it. The talisman should still be in the center of the circle. But why am I not seeing anything? Why don’t I have answers?

  “What the fuck is going on in here?” my sister Truly asks from where she stands at the entryway to our small house.

  I blow out the candles before getting to my feet. “It doesn’t matter. It didn’t work.”

  She grabs the charm from the center of the circle. “You tried Gran’s gift. Finally?”

  “I waited too long. Now it’s useless. I messed it up.”

  Shrugging, she holds out the pentacle. “I don’t know. This necklace is heavy with magic. I think you did something.”

  I take the chain and feel the hum of power through it. “We’ll see. I’ll try again when I get back from the ball.”

  She undoes the braid holding back her thick blond hair and kicks off her clogs. “I wish I’d gotten the magic gene. You don’t know how jealous I am that you get to be there with all the covens.”

  “You’ve got some.”

  She shrugs. Then she waggles her eyebrows. “You’ll get to see Killian. He’s so gorgeous.”

  I roll my eyes. Killian Wade might be handsome, but he’s not my type. No matter what my coven wants when it comes to unions between witches.

  “You can send him my way since you’re not interested.”

  I fight a laugh. “I’ll make sure to pass that on. But something tells me Killian’s attention isn’t ever going to be focused on either of us.”

  “Yeah, you’re right. He wants a strong witch. That’s not me.”

  “You’re strong in your own way.”

  The look she gives me is one of pure annoyance. “Don’t placate me. I don’t know what happened with my power. I only have enough magic to give me skill at healing. That’s it. You can make storms and shit.”

  Storms and shit have caused me more than my share of trouble in the past. “I’d rather be normal. I can’t even hold down a job. I have to peddle spells and crystals to other witches. That’s not exactly keeping me in the black.”

  Truly smiles with a softness I need to see. “We always want what we don’t have.” She’s in her final year of her pediatric residency at Oregon Health & Science University in Portland and it’s clear from the exhaustion on her face, she’s ready for a break. Her commute is long, but we enjoy the quiet of our shared house in the woods. It’s where Gran raised us both. No neighbors, no noise, no one to see if we’re using magic. She stretches out on our cozy old couch, her groan of appreciation for the perfectly broken-in cushions making me smile.

  “Long day?”

  “When isn’t it? I don’t want to talk about work stuff. What kind of spell did Gran give you that did this to the living room?” She gestures toward the mess of papers scattered around.

  I hadn’t realized the wind affected more than just me. “I was trying to tap into my past life.” I bite my lower lip and look down at the family tree. “Gran was always trying to get me to see into my soul a little deeper.”

  She frowns. “She never said I had a past life.”

  I shrug. “I don’t think I do either. It should have worked unless her magic is gone.” My hand rests on the pentacle, and I know I’m wrong. Her magic is right here, inside this.

  “Maybe you should try again at the ball? Get a little power boost from all the covens?”

  That’s not a terrible idea. “You’re right.” I bend down and collect the candles and paper. “Let me clean up, then we can binge watch something and drink wine. Sound good?”

  A grin turns up her lips. “You’re so good to me.”

  “I know.” I place the candles into their box and use a flare of my power to dissolve the salt circle and pentagram. Then, with the box in my hands, I head upstairs to my room.

  The stairs creak under my feet, the old house constantly
making its annoyance known when either one of us heads to our rooms. But this time, when I get to the top, my vision sways and spins. I suck in a sharp breath as the world around me changes and I’m no longer Natalie Good. I’m very aware of the eyes I’m currently seeing through. I’m not in present day, not in my cozy old house outside of Portland. The rough fabric of a homespun dress feels unfamiliar under my fingers. Everything is cast in shadow from the night sky, but it looks like I’m in a cave of some kind.

  “They’re coming,” a man says. “I can’t hide you any longer.”

  I can’t get a good view of him, but he sounds desperate and terrified. I respond involuntarily. “Thank you for helping me. You did what you could. I’m sorry I couldn’t return the favor for you.” Then, without permission of my mind, my feet take me outside to the waiting crowd of townspeople.

  Their faces are contorted with disgust and hatred, illuminated by the moon and the light of their torches. The sky moves behind them, an eerie swell and retreat that makes me disoriented. They throw some kind of liquid on me, sneering and snarling as they draw closer.

  “Sarah Good, you are under arrest on charges of consorting with the devil, tormenting daughters of Salem, and practicing witchcraft.”

  A hand on my shoulder shakes me back from my vision, bringing the comfort of my modern home back into focus. “Nat, shit, what was that? Did you have a seizure?”

  I blink a few times and look down to see I’m barely balanced on the top step, one hand holding tight to the banister, the box of candles on the floor, spilled everywhere. Truly stares at me with concern etched on her pretty face. “I…I think I just visited my past life.”

  “What?”

  “Yeah.”

  “It worked,” she says, picking up the candles as I sit down on the top stair.

  “There’s more.”

  She gives me a quizzical glance.

  “I think I died in the Salem witch trials.”

  2

  Natalie

  Night air, heavy with the heat of dying summer and approaching fall coats my skin. New Orleans is so different from Oregon. The humidity is simply one more reminder that I’m not at home as I walk out onto the garden patio at Magnolia House. The Gathering is an annual Samhain celebration. Every coven in the US and some cases, beyond, has sent members to represent themselves. For me, it’s a chance to see friends from around the globe, but also see those who aren’t so far away. I catch the eye of my friend Niobe and offer a slight wave. She smiles and raises her glass of champagne in salute.

  Spanish moss drips from the branches of the overhanging trees, creating a border around the large open space, now filled with cocktail tables and draped with midnight blue velvet tablecloths. Each table holds a spell in the center, a ball of gold light, acting as a candle without the flame.

  The wind whips my hair around my face, tendrils sticking to my lip gloss and making me wish I'd have foregone the damned stuff tonight. I knew I'd be outside but still, I wanted to look good. I needed to. I catch sight of Killian, leaning against a column, drink in hand. Brooding. He’s been a ghost most of the evening, an outcast by choice, maybe? I kind of admire him for that. He doesn’t care what anyone thinks. Maybe he can help me with my spell.

  “You're not going to stand a chance if you don’t talk to him,” my friend Daria says, handing me a glass of champagne.

  I sigh and take a sip, letting the bubbles tickle my nose. “It’s a lost cause. He’s not the one for me. But so far, I haven’t met a man who is.”

  "I know your family thinks witches should only be with their own kind, but maybe you should look beyond the constraints of magic?”

  “You mean a human?" I wrinkle my nose. The last human man I dated ran so fast when he found my scrying mirror under my bed, I think he might have left tread marks on my hardwood floors.

  She shrugs. “Or another supe. Vampire, shifter, even one of those hot fae men."

  I shudder at the mention of vampires, fear clutching my chest. "I wouldn't mind a shifter or a sexy fae warrior.”

  "No biters for you?" She nudges me with her shoulder. “I’ve heard they can make it real nice.”

  "No, thanks. You know my family history with vampires." Flashes of my past life experience from the night before make me a little woozy, but I swallow it down.

  "That was a long time ago." The pity in her voice makes me look away from her, unwilling to meet her gaze and see what I know I’ll find. Exasperation. She's right, though. Salem was a long time ago. But that doesn’t make it any less of a scar on my line. And after last night, it feels all too close.

  "No.” My voice is firm. “No vampires."

  "Okay, okay. I just…heard some things from Riley about Declan that made me wonder. I might give it a try if I find the right pair of fangs.”

  I down my drink, catching sight of Killian in the alcove that leads to the ballroom. "Hold that thought,” I say, setting my empty glass on the table.

  Daria stops me with a soft grip of fingers on my wrist. “What is Thea doing here?" she asks, concern in her tone. "I thought they kicked her out of the coven. She used dark magic, remember?” I stop in my tracks, unable to continue toward Killian because Thea stands in the center of the courtyard. Her steely gaze finds me, blazing with anger and accusation. My limbs are frozen as she speaks, a greenish haze surrounding her.

  "Neath silver moon or dark of night

  In shadow deep or brightest light

  From this hex none shall be spared

  For wrath knows not peace nor care

  Betrayers! Gather close and hear

  I damn you to your darkest fear

  I bind you to dread’s cold embrace

  Until your truth you boldly face"

  My stomach curls; my tongue turns leaden in my mouth. I can’t move. Can’t even breathe as she drops what can only be a curse on us.

  Then with the force of a hurricane, the magic explodes from within her and hits everyone in its wake. I’m released from her hold and fall hard to the ground, pain sparking from my hands where I hit. My ears ring, and everything is a daze as I try to set myself to rights. Then Daria takes me by the arm. Her mouth is moving, but no sound registers in my ears.

  Her voice fades in and out as my hearing works its way back to normal.

  "Can’t…something…us. "

  I shake my head, willing my vision to clear. “What happened?" I ask. “What did she…”

  I look around the courtyard and see all the witches in the vicinity making their way to their feet on shaky legs. A few are bleeding from their noses and ears. Reaching up, I touch my ears and find my fingers wet with blood as well. My limbs are heavy, like they’re being weighed down with cement blocks.

  Thea is nowhere to be found. All that’s left of her is a scorch mark where she was standing. Did she take herself out? A suicide curse? Was she really that angry? I stagger toward the nearest exit, needing freedom from the chaos surrounding me. My head is pounding, a hot spike stabbing me straight between the eyes. The onset of a migraine or the effects of the curse? Both, maybe. My stomach lurches, and I pitch toward the bushes, terrified of the agony in my head. I grip a tree with one hand and my hair with the other as the blinding pain reaches a pinnacle and I vomit into the neatly landscaped garden.

  My vision is a slice of rainbow lightning instead of the garden gate and stone path I should see before me. God, I have to get somewhere I can lie down, preferably with a cool washcloth on my face and a mixture of peppermint, lavender, frankincense, and copaiba oils slathered on my neck and temples. It might seem a bit extra to some, but with a dash of magic added to the mix, it’ll knock this migraine out.

  Blinking through my shattered view, I try to get my bearings, try to find a benchmark for where in the estate I’ve ended up on my blind path of pain. But everything is different. I’m not at Magnolia House any longer. In fact, I don’t think I’m even in New Orleans. It’s cold here. No sounds of crickets or frogs.

  My palm
isn’t holding on to the smooth trunk of the tree any longer. It’s resting on stone. A gravestone. “A cemetery? What the hell?” I mutter, stepping back quickly, but running into another stone. A chill races down my spine. I can’t be lost in a cemetery at night. A shadowed figure stands at the edge of my view, just outside of the stone walls of this graveyard. A man. Tall. Broad.

  I fumble through the maze of headstones, stepping on an uneven marker buried in the ground. My ankle screams with agony as it twists the wrong way, and I think I might throw up even as the earth gets closer and I fall.

  “Hang on, I’ve got you.” The smooth cadence of my rescuer’s voice makes my humiliation a little more bearable as the man scoops me into his arms and lifts me from the grass. “Had a few too many tonight?”

  I can’t open my eyes more than a sliver without searing pain twisting through my brain. “No. Migraine,” I whisper, unable to tell him it’s so much more. That I’ve been cursed.

  “You’re pretty bad off. Come on, let’s get you somewhere dark and quiet.” His accent is like butter on hot toast. British butter. I love butter.

  I should tell him to stop, to put me down. I don’t know him, don’t even have the strength to sense his aura, but I can’t. If I don’t sleep soon, I’ll be like this for days. This is not how you stay sexy and avoid murder. “You’re not a serial killer, are you?”