The Witch and the Hunter Ch. 01

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MAEVE

Maeve steeled herself against the sight that would greet her on the other side of the tent flap—sick and dying children, lethargic with fever, blood dripping from their noses, ears and eyes as the haemorrhagic virus entered its final stages. They would stare at her with hollow eyes, some resigned to die, but a few would have hope that she could end their suffering and make them well. That was worse, because she could, but at the same time she could not.

You can't heal them all. Her mother's voice in her head, always warning, always cautious.

But Maeve was sure she could. Her healing magic called to her, always wanting to do more, whispering that together they didn't have to let anyone die.

Pushing the flap aside she entered the tent. This late at night, technically early in the morning, no one stirred. She didn't want to call attention to herself. Fame and money held no appeal, and she definitely didn't want to get locked up somewhere and studied for what she could do. She didn't even like staying in one place long, there was too much of the world to see, too many new things to do. Being stuck in a room at someone else's whim was a fate worse than death.

Death. It was present here, hovering over the children in their cots. She'd seen these kids playing soccer, no, they called it football here, only a week ago. Now they lay lined up in two rows stretching the length of the tent, waiting to die.

No. Not this time.

Their listless, watchful gazes followed Maeve as she moved to the center of the tent. She knelt and extended her arms. Her healing magic swirled around her in bright flares of emerald green. Normally she touched the person she wanted to direct her magic into, but she didn't have time to go one at a time. There were too many.

Not too much at once. Maeve brushed her mother's warning aside and called more magic. It answered, swirls of green surrounding her. She summoned more, but something stopped her. Frowning she closed her eyes and concentrated, searching within herself, following her magic to its source. The closer she went the more off her magic was. It felt... Stuck. Locked up. She searched again, delving farther than she'd gone. Her mother had always stopped her before.

There—at her center, a latticework of magic not hers. A sapphire blue net around the emerald green core held her magic prisoner. Her mother's magic had been blue. All this time her mother had told her of her limits when all the while her mother had been limiting her! Rage surged through her. How dare her mother confine her? Trap her magic in a cage? All the people she'd been unable to help, all the ones she'd had to watch die, all the guilt she felt for not doing enough—she laid all of them and all of that at her mother's feet.

The blue magic shattered. Power like she'd never felt before ran rampant through her. Invigorated, she opened her eyes. Her magic filled the tent. Several of the children sat up, reaching for the magic so strong even they could see it. A few were still able to smile and laugh.

Maeve laughed too, and with a thought, tendrils of green became animals. Lions, crocodiles, eagles, hippos, snakes, elephants and giraffes hung in the air. She turned in a circle, the animals spinning with her.

More children were awake now, just being exposed to her magic giving them strength. When she had an animal for each child she released them. The kids shrieked, a little fear but mostly delight, as the magic animals crashed into them, healing magic hurtling into their devastated bodes to destroy any trace of illness.

The tent flap whipped back and people streamed in, hurrying to the children's sides. A man yelled at her, grabbed her shoulders and shook her, but Maeve paid him no attention. Wielding this much magic should have exhausted her. Instead, she felt euphoric. She could climb a mountain, swim the sea, run through the plains. If she had wings she could fly forever.

"Fever broke."

"Stopped bleeding."

"Lungs clear."

Their words washed over her. She'd done it. The man shaking her stopped, left her to go to his daughter's cot. "You healed her."

"She healed all of them."

Maeve couldn't answer, still caught up in the heady influence of all the magic she wielded. She never had to watch anyone die again. And if someone did, at this moment, she thought she might be able to bring them back. The idea sobered her. Maybe there was such a thing as too much power. She tried to rein her magic in but it refused. She wasn't in control here.

She blinked, the crowd of people in the tent coming into focus. The children were sitting up and smiling—all of them. Their eyes shone with happiness rather than fever. Parents hugged them. The raw relieved joy and love felt like something private and Maeve slipped through the tent flaps.

Outside the stars twinkled brighter. She couldn't walk, it was too slow. Running seemed rude. Full of energy, but unsure where she wanted to go, just knowing she needed to move, she danced, swaying and skipping between wooden huts and canvas tents.

Her tank top and cargo pants felt too tight. Her skin felt too small. The goosebumps the cool morning air raised over her bare arms made her shiver, but rather than cold she felt alive. She inhaled, the earthy scent of the jungle, always a little intimidating before, teemed with life and called to her. Arms raised over her head she twirled.

A dark shape loomed ahead and she faltered. Her magic was intrigued, urging her forward, but Maeve felt trepidation and held back. The darkness solidified into a taller and broader man than the men she'd seen in the town. His dark hair seemed to absorb the moonlight reflected in pale blue eyes. Shadows defined sharp angles on a handsome face. Moving on feet controlled by her magic, she twirled again, unable to prevent her forward momentum.

He paused, watching her as she neared, not moving out of her way. Riding high on happiness, feeling a little drunk on healing, she lowered her hands onto his shoulders to urge him to turn in a sideways dance step with her instead of letting irritation rankle at him blocking her way.

She lifted her face and rose on tiptoe to kiss his cheek as she slid by. Her body tingled where she touched him, awakening new sensations in her. Her magic wanted this man. Part of her did too. He was attractive, but the dominant, possessive vibe he radiated was a mark against him. Her type was the fun loving, one-night-stand, love-em-and-leave-em sort.

She grappled with her magic, her desire to remain free barely overcoming her magic's need to share itself. Her magic didn't want to be trapped anymore than she did. She spun again, eager to be on her way.

Hands seized her wrists, lowering them. One of his large hands held both her wrists behind her while his other arm closed around her like an iron band, pinning her arms to her sides. Her breath whooshed from her lungs as her body slammed into the hard planes of the shadow man. She tilted her head back, opening her mouth to protest. Still full of energy she needed to move, didn't like being caged in and feeling trapped.

Lips covered hers. They were soft, in contrast to the demands they made from the start as he devoured her mouth.

Maeve tried to turn her head, but he fisted the hair at the back of her neck, wrenched her head back and increased his onslaught. His tongue delved into her mouth. She breathed in his groan as he swallowed her words of protest.

He straightened, lifting her off her feet. She kicked her dangling legs, her boots making solid contact with his knees and shins. He chuckled, soft lips curving into a smirk she knew would make her want to slap him if she could see it. Pressing her back against a wall he pushed against her, his hips sliding into the cradle of her thighs as she flailed. She stilled as his cock settled against her pussy. Even through their clothes she could feel the size of him.

Contrary signals short-circuited her body. Some part of her knew she should run, but the magic wanted to be stay. He kept her head trapped, plundering her mouth as his other hand slid down.

Maeve fought back a different way. She became the aggressor. Wrists freed, she brought her arms in front of her and put her palms on his chest. He tensed, probably expecting her to shove, but her fingers curled into soft leather instead. Releasing her tenuous grip on her magic she let it whip around them and kissed her stranger with abandon. Maybe he'd leave her alone when he realized she wasn't someone he could mold to his pleasure. She could take what she wanted too.

He grunted and moved closer, filling the space created when he lifted her leg to drape over his hip. He thrust in tandem, hips against her, tongue into her.

She arched, pushing her breasts against his hard, unmoving chest. Her nipples hardened and ached. A second ache bloomed between her legs. Maeve wrapped her other leg around him and pulled against his grip on her hair. Breaking their kiss, she opened her eyes to catch his. She tightened her thighs on his hips and used her grip on his shirt to lever herself up and down. Daring him to stop her with her eyes, she slowly ground against him, rubbing her center along the bulge of his erection. Body already sensitized by her magic, she gasped in pleasure.

Without taking his eyes from hers, he asked, "Can you make yourself come?" He slid long, rough fingers under the hem of her tank top, across the skin of her abdomen. "Or do you need help?"

The caress, combined with his deep voice, turned the ache between her legs into a burn. A moment of shame washed over her as she realized the first words between them were Can you make yourself come but her magic dissolved her care.

She moved faster. He pushed her tank top higher, uncovering her bra. Now his fingers played along the edge of the cup, teasing her breast. Seeming to know what she needed, he tilted his hips, pushing against her. She lifted and dropped, lifted and—her back arched and her head fell back as her orgasm took her. His palm, cupped over her breast, seared her. She opened her mouth to cry out, but he gripped her throat in his other hand, trapping her sounds. As she rode waves of pleasure, pain spiked through it, pinning her on the crest of a wave, forcing the pleasure to go on even when she wanted it to stop.

He groaned like he was the one having the orgasm. His eyes seemed darker, the light blue hue more green, leaving them a unique turquoise color.

Maeve slumped against him, when he yanked his hand away from her breast, her body limp from pleasure and exhausted. At the same time her magic felt diminished somehow, like she'd lost part of herself to him that she'd never get back.

Lifting her from the wall he cradled her against him and carried her through the darkness.

"Is Maeve all right? I've been looking for her." A woman's voice, sounding concerned. "I wanted to thank her for saving my boy."

No, Maeve wanted to shout, I'm not okay. Help me. I don't feel right. But she couldn't muster the strength or wit to raise her head and make a sound.

"She's tired," the man said. "Let her rest now, and you can thank her when she feels better in the morning."

"Okay," the woman said. "You take good care of our girl."

"Don't worry. I'll make sure she's well taken care of."

He moved again, long, sure strides crossing the town to the section where tourist huts were built. Sturdier and more well appointed, than the dwellings of the locals, they stood in a less populated area, this not being an overly popular destination of the world.

The stars disappeared as he entered one of the huts. Not just any hut. The one she'd been staying in. How did he know which belonged to her? Her magic brushed her worries aside.

Inside he set her on her feet and closed the door, locking it. The absence of his touch cleared her head. She stepped back. He covered the distance she'd tried to create between them in one of his long strides and yanked her tank top over her head. Her bra disappeared. A hand on the back of her neck tipped her head up. She was getting tired of him controlling her like that and snarled, but he pulled her against him and kissed her. The hard tips of her breasts slid against smooth leather warmed by the heat of his skin beneath it.

He tore at her cargo pants, ripping open the button and zipper. Fingers delved under her panties. She squirmed, suddenly not sure she wanted this, but his fingers found her slick.

A growl that made her wetter rumbled from his throat. He released her mouth, pressing his forehead to hers. "Good girl." His fingers drew back, teasing her clit then sliding down, two of them finding her opening and pushing deep inside. "So wet for me."

She licked her kiss-swollen lips, trying to find her sanity. "Don't be so smug. I made myself come. Of course I'm wet."

His free hand collared her throat. Her hands flew to his wrist. He squeezed when she tried to pull his hand off. "Yes, I let you have your fun. Now it's my turn, so no noise from you." Her skin heated under his palm.

Let her have her fun? Furious she pushed him and tried to step away. He followed. She ordered him out, but no words came. Maeve touched her throat where his palm had felt like a burn and glared at him. What had he done? How was that possible?

The fingers inside her moved, stroking and curling, rubbing and probing, stretching and seeking. His lips curved into a smirk when her body jolted as he found a spot inside her that set her nerves ablaze.

Her magic, apparently determined to make her a strumpet, flared, amplifying the sensation.

Relentlessly he focused on that one place, pressing harder, softer, faster, slower, building her up to the edge of release, dragging her back into tortured denial. She opened her eyes, lifting her gaze to his. Caught, she stared as his fingers moved faster, harder. He added his thumb to her pussy, circling her clit.

She shattered, back arching as she came. Heat seared through her lower abdomen where he pressed the heel of his palm over her pubic bone. A whimper caught in her throat.

A presence insinuated itself between her and her magic, peeling it away and leaving her feeling bereft as another part of her disappeared. Her orgasm waned as the green tendrils of magic faded, a lighter shade of emerald now.

Still caught in his gaze, she watched his eyes darken. Green, the color of her healing magic, swirled through his light blue eyes, turning them a deeper turquoise color. How was that possible? His big body shuddered and his nostrils flared as he inhaled deep. Her knees wobbled, and she remained upright only by his grip on her throat.

Why was her magic so attracted to this man? Did he need something healed inside him? He didn't look sick, and she didn't feel any injury when she touched him, but her magic wouldn't let him go. As her magic surged again, Maeve stopped fighting it. Maybe it would cure whatever it thought was wrong with him and return to normal. It was only one night, and she deserved a little celebration. She'd leave tomorrow. She let herself go and lost herself in her magic, but dread mixed with arousal as he pushed her pants and panties down her thighs.

Maeve was suddenly very afraid she was going to give a lot more of herself than she intended to this man, and he would never give it back.

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THE KRAIT

He stepped forward and she took a step back, knees bumping into the bed. He urged her down with his grip on her neck. She sat, but tried to twist from his hold on her. This one didn't like being controlled, so it felt all the sweeter when he squeezed her throat and she submitted, laying down.

The woman outside had called this witch Maeve. Mages didn't name their witches, their status lower than even that of animals kept as pets. A witch was a tool, and no one named hammers and nails. But Maeve was an appropriate name for this witch. Did she know what her name meant? She who intoxicates, and he planned to get thoroughly high on her.

He released her throat and ran his eyes over her. Her hair spread in a red cloud around her pale face. Green eyes glared at him. Pouty lips, red and swollen from his kisses, parted and a pink tongue licked at them. He would enjoy teaching her how to use that clever mouth of hers. Large, round breasts tipped with tight pink nipples sat high on her chest, heaving in anger or anticipation. He couldn't tell. Maybe she couldn't either. This witch couldn't seem to decide if she wanted to be fucked or not.

That decision, along with the rest of the decisions she'd ever have to make, had been taken out of her hands when he found her.

She bent her knees and lifted her legs between them, aiming her booted feet at his face. So, she was back to not wanting to be fucked.

Amused, he caught her feet, braced the backs of her thighs against his body, wrapped his arm around her knees and draped her ankles over his shoulder. She thrashed as he pulled her toward the edge of the bed and bent forward, pushing her knees towards her chest. Releasing his throbbing cock from his pants, he pressed the blunt head of his erection to her and slowly slid himself through her slickness, bumping his tip against her clit.

He aimed lower, dragging his dick through her wetness. When he reached her opening he gave her a shallow thrust. Pulling back he thrust again, another shallow drive forwards, taking his time staking his claim, letting her writhe in a useless effort to stop his irrevocable possession of her.

Fully sheathed within her, he paused, gazing down at the witch. Her magic was the strongest he'd ever taken, and she had so much to spare. The Snake-Mage would reward him well when he returned home to present this witch and her magic. She was holding herself still now, as if she was ignoring his conquest, and he found he didn't like it. He replaced his hand around her throat and said words he knew she would hate. "You belong to me now."

Maeve came back to life, eyes filled with fury, and scratched at his wrist as he held her down and made her his. Her pulse throbbed a rapid beat under the fingers around her neck. The muscles of her pussy clenched around his cock in uncertain tremors, clinging to him even as they tried to resist his inexorable thrusts.

He pulled back and thrust again, this time deep, with a fast snap of his hips. She was wet enough to take him hard, but not stretched enough to make it easy. He felt her moan trapped in her throat against his palm. Her eyes blazed with magic and defiance. He drew back and slammed himself into her again, forcing her body to acknowledge its new master.

He battered her until resistance became submission and he could glide into her slick heat from tip to base in smooth, deep thrusts as her hips rose to meet his.

Changing the angle of his hips to hit her sweet spot as he thrust, he felt her tighten around him. Her eyes drifted closed and she panted, her breasts demanded his attention as they bounced from the impact of him taking her and her heavy breathing. He released her legs and moved his hand to her sex, coaxing her swollen clit from its hood. She came again, clenching around him rhythmically, head thrown back, mouth open. He wanted to know if she was screaming or moaning, but that would have to wait until they were somewhere more private.

This time he absorbed her magic through his grip on her throat, hand glowing faintly white as the Mage sigil did its work and transferred her magic to him. The third hit of her magic was more potent than the first two. How much more powerful would it be if they were skin to skin? How much magic could she give him? Enough to fill the emptiness in him? He needed more.

She seemed dazed after being siphoned a third time. Her eyes were glassy, hands laying by her head. She might not be aware of what was happening to her, A lot of witches weren't, at least not at first. Taking advantage of her stupor, he removed her boots and stripped off her pants and panties, tossing them to the floor. An ankle in each hand he spread her legs wide, returning to slow thrusts so he could watch himself owning her, his thick shaft splitting her center.