BloodWitchInferno

  Blood Witch Inferno

  Mary C. Moore

  Mira is trapped in the past. As a child she witnessed the demonic abduction of her mother. For years she’s been searching for answers, despite her grandmother’s warnings to let the past remain buried. Desperate, Mira performs a spell she doesn’t understand and summons a demon—a hot, horny and bound-to-her-will demon. Before she knows what’s happening, they’re wrapped in a carnal embrace that smolders, sizzles and knocks her flat on her back in the best way possible.

  Karnon is stunned when a blood witch summons him to the human realm, but nothing could prepare him for her request that she return with him to Hell to search for her mother. Emboldened by her faith in his word and the way she touches him—both in and out of bed—Karnon takes Mira to Hell, willing to stand between her and every danger, familial and otherwise. He can do no less for the woman who, despite all the risks, he’s beginning to love.

  A Romantica® paranormal erotic romance from Ellora’s Cave

  Blood Witch Inferno

  Mary C. Moore

  Acknowledgments

  For Heather, Alison and Dayna.

  Thank you for reading and always being supportive.

  Prologue

  The stars were icy in the sky outside her window. Trembling, she snuggled under her quilt with her teddy bear. Something was wrong.

  “Mommy?”

  Silence answered. Mira slipped out of bed and padded out into the hall. Her grandmother’s snore came from the room at the far end. Her mother’s door was open.

  “Mommy?” The little girl tiptoed into the bedroom.

  The bed was empty. Mira clutched her bear to her chest. She knew where her mommy was. Her mommy was practicing again, without Grandma. Grandma would be mad. Mira paused at the bottom of the stairs to the attic. Mommy shouldn’t be up there without Grandma. The glow of candlelight flickered from the attic door, beckoning.

  The little girl climbed the stairs.

  The flickering candles created a dance of wicked shadows on the wall. The dark nooks and crannies in the shelves full of books and jars seemed to hide evil, laughing creatures. Mira’s mother sat cross-legged in the back of the room, chanting, a book open beside her. A dark cloud gathered around her. The wicked shadows grew larger, grasping for the little girl. She shrank back.

  “Mommy?”

  “Mira?”

  Her mother jumped up and stepped toward her. There was a flash of light. A red hand broke out of the smoke and gripped Mira’s mother. Mira screamed. The room went dark.

  “Mommy!”

  Her eyes filled with lamplight. Mira blinked, her face was swollen with tears. Her grandmother stood over her, lips pressed in a thin line. The floor was charred black with the remnants of a salt pentagram scattered like snow. A thick book lay open in the center.

  “It’s my fault Mommy’s gone,” Mira whispered.

  Without a word Mira’s grandmother gathered her up in her strong arms, pressing Mira’s face to her bosom and carried her away.

  The rest of the night she silently rocked Mira until the little girl fell asleep.

  Chapter One

  The Calling

  Mira sat in the circle of salt, exhausted. Her glasses were foggy, her hair frizzed around her temples. A drop of sweat slithered down the back of her neck.

  “It’s never going to work,” she muttered.

  In response the candle beside her spluttered in its pool of wax and winked out. The others had already gone cold. She stared through the dim light at the book open in front of her. The spidery script was unreadable.

  It wasn’t giving up its secrets.

  She got up, her bones creaking from holding one position for too long, and flicked on the light. Her living room, with its stained carpet, old but clean sofa and bare walls, became dull once more.

  The book mocked her from the floor. Cursing, she kicked it and stubbed her toe on the spine. Angry tears welled up. She didn’t have the knowledge to work the spell.

  “Why couldn’t you teach me, Grandma?”

  Her grandmother’s words echoed in her head. Remember, child, remember your mother, remember that night. Do not seek the blood-witch knowledge.

  The morning after the incident she had raced up to the attic. Empty. The candles gone, the circle gone, the shelves bare—everything had disappeared. The room had been stripped naked of what it had once been. The magic, good or bad, was no longer there. And it was her fault.

  There had been inquiries about Mira’s mother. A missing person report went out. Strange women had visited, carrying brooms or baskets or small animals, but they were sent away. Her grandmother never spoke of magic again. She never really talked much again about anything. When Mira asked why she couldn’t learn, she always got the same answer.

  Because, my child, I want you to be safe. I will not lose you like I lost your mother.

  Mira looked around the living room. Empty as the rest of the house. Mira’s grandmother was gone, passed away in her sleep a month ago, but not before demanding with her last wheezing breaths that Mira not seek out her heritage.

  She was alone.

  Mira wiped her eyes. Not time to wallow in pity, she had done that plenty. It was her fault her mother had disappeared and her grandmother had given up magic. Now it was time to find out what had happened. She wouldn’t give up. She would teach herself the ways of the blood-witches and find her mother. She nudged the book shut with her toe and gave it a last kick for good measure. Tomorrow would be a new day.

  * * * * *

  “Did you like the book I lent you? Mira’s coworker Tink asked. She pushed the cart of books to a stop in front of Mira’s desk.

  “It’s interesting,” Mira said, keeping her gaze on her friend’s colorful full-sleeve tattoos that covered her arms to avoid meeting her eyes. Mira’s friend was a self-prescribed witch, or at least what humans thought were witches. She lit candles, grew herbs and followed the Solstices but no real magic flowed through her veins.

  “It’s not the kind of book you find in here.” Tink winked, nodding to the shelves behind them. True, the old spell book would be out of place in the modern library. Mira couldn’t believe Tink had one. Tink had no idea about the true nature of witches and yet somehow a true Book of Shadows had found its way to her.

  When Mira had first touched the cover her fingers had tingled. As she’d flipped through the yellowed pages her heart had begun to hammer in her chest. She knew it was the book, the same book her mother had been using on that night. Her grandmother had gotten rid of it, the final act of defiance to her blood.

  “So you want to try out some of the rituals?” Tink put her elbows on the desk, toying with her short, pink hair, and leaned close to Mira.

  Mira hesitated to answer. With Tink there the rituals wouldn’t have any power. Humans couldn’t be involved in blood-witch rituals.

  “We could do it at my house. I know you have a lot of carpet,” Tink said, interrupting Mira’s musing.

  “What?”

  An older librarian shushed them. Mira’s face warmed and she slunk down in her seat.

  Tink giggled. “Rituals are performed on four types of surfaces—stone, ice, soil or wood,” she whispered. “I have wood floors.”

  Mira cursed her stubborn grandmother. That explained why the attic was the only place in her house without carpet. She should know this, but instead she had some human explaining it to her.

  Mira smiled across the desk at her friend. “Sure, maybe sometime next week?”

  Tink smiled back, her grin stretching through the silver hoop on her bottom lip.

  * * * * *

  Mira climbed the stairs to the attic, her pulse racing. At last. In one arm she held Tink’s book to her che
st, in the other she carried a basket with a bag of salt and candles. The book, warm against her breasts, sent jolts of electricity into her bloodstream. This was it, she could feel it. Tonight she would to find out what had happened to her mother. She would make amends for breaking up their family.

  She pushed open the door to the attic. The hinges squealed from lack of use. The room was as she remembered it—bare, sterile and scrubbed clean. Her grandmother had been vigilant that no magic would be used up to her death.

  The old witch’s warnings ringing in her head, she opened the book to the now-familiar page. She read the instructions again to make sure she had it right. Her hands shaking, she spilled out the salt into a large circle with a star in the center. She placed the candles at the point of each star and at each of the four directions.

  She winced as she made a small cut in her finger. A drop of her blood trickled into the center of the pentagram, the blood of a true witch, the one ingredient Tink would never have. That much at least she knew, remembering her mother and grandmother always had bandages on their fingers before the incident, and of course as a little girl she had pestered them about it.

  She settled cross-legged at the northernmost point and lit four more candles around her. The book lay open next to her. Tension and anticipation filled her. She looked down at the script. This was the spell, the last spell her mother had used. It would be the first Mira ever did. The Calling spell. To call what, Mira didn’t know, but she had to try. She had spent too much of her life hiding in her grandmother’s shadow.

  She spoke the first line. A low hum vibrated underneath her. Fear lurked at the back of her mind, whatever had taken her mother could take her. But excitement pushed it back and if she was taken at least she would know where her mother had ended up. She spoke the second line. The hum got louder. She spoke the third line, her voice falling into a chant, the power of the words taking control.

  The vibration became a wail. The candles burned fiercely, filling the room with a blaze of light. Sweat dripped down her back as she chanted. The power exhilarated her. She no longer cared that what she was doing could be dangerous. The sensation was too wonderful. Her blood sang.

  A bead of light appeared, hovering over the center of the pentagram. The bead pulsated and grew, consuming the candles. Mira’s arms rose of their own violation, her palms floating above her seated figure, reaching out to the orb. Her chanting rose to a feverish pitch, her voice growing hoarse. The magic had taken over. She was no longer Mira but an ancient and potent being whose blood was rooted in the Earth’s power. The orb grew bigger and the light became so bright that Mira had to look away. Energy tingled through her veins. She spoke the last word written in the spell.

  “Come.”

  Lightning sliced through the room. Mira shielded her face. All went dark.

  The candles staggered back to life. She lowered her hands to see what she had done.

  The center of the pentagram held a naked beast of a man. His shoulder muscles rippled and gleamed in the candlelight. She gasped. He was magnificent.

  “You called me,” he said, his deep voice caressing her.

  Her body reacted to his voice. Warm desire surged. She shivered and staggered to standing. He towered over her, watching her with black eyes as she paced around the salt circle. His hair was dark, true black, and it swept back underneath curled horns that wrapped around the back of his head. Horns?

  She had cast her first spell and brought a demon. A man with deep-russet, almost red skin and a body that rippled and glistened. Had to be a demon. She caught her breath. And she wanted him. She wanted to fuck him. No, her body wanted to. She wanted to run away. What the hell was going on? Had she cast the spell wrong? Had he cast a spell on her?

  Her gaze traveled down his taut stomach. Her eyes widened. His cock was erect.

  “You called me?” The question rumbled and hung in the air. He was waiting.

  Her body responded to his voice, her skin slick with sweat and desire. Her mind screamed that she was crazy, her nerves screamed to take him. It was the spell, had to be. She didn’t feel out of control, just primal and aroused. Female, and here stood a male, waiting, beckoning her.

  He didn’t move—almost as if he couldn’t. She stepped forward. And realized her mistake. He grabbed her wrist and pulled her to him. The fog of desire fled and she screamed. Her mother had stepped forward. The salt line. She had stepped over the line and that’s how she had been taken. And now this demon would do the same to Mira.

  He let go of her, his expression shocked. She stumbled back to safety across the line.

  “You called me?” he asked almost plaintively. He stared into her eyes. She went limp, falling into the depth of his gaze. Pools of black, they smoldered with power and lust. The desire surged back.

  Mira nodded. She had called him, after all. She couldn’t remember why staring into his eyes.

  He smiled a wicked smile that thrilled her very soul. The spell urged her toward him, back into the circle. He reached for her and crushed his lips to hers. Sparks of electricity pattered through her head and down to her belly where they puddled into buttery warmth.

  This thing she had conjured up was kissing her! Feebly Mira attempted to pull back but the desire had overwhelmed her. He found the hollow beneath her ear with his tongue and she moaned. The spell took over. He grabbed her butt, squeezing it and pulling her closer to him. Her pulse roaring in her ears, she pressed herself against his hard chest, inhaling the spicy cinnamon-like smell.

  He traced her mouth with his finger. Her lips parted and her tongue wrapped around the finger, drawing it in. She delighted in his shuddered response. Somehow something told her she was in control of him. With this realization she succumbed fully to the desire. This is your plaything, the spell seemed to whisper.

  As if hearing the same command, he stroked the line of her cheek, leaving a fiery trail along the side of her neck, into the hollow of her throat and down to the first button of her shirt. He looked at her, a question in his eyes. She licked her lips.

  “Yes,” she whispered.

  With one swift motion he hooked his finger into the collar of her shirt and ripped it open, the buttons scattering across the floor. Mira stared down at her exposed chest. Her breasts, pale in the candlelight, spilled over her bra. She admired the way they contrasted with his dark-red hands. The last lingering doubt in her head floated away. The spell had her and she had this demon.

  Her bra fell to the floor. He flicked his tongue across her nipple, sending shivers through her. He nibbled and sucked each bud, toying with the other with his fingers. Her head fell back, streaks of pleasure racing through her, reality forgotten.

  His stiff shaft prodded her belly, breaking through her haze. She reached down, grasping him. He lifted his head and groaned before pulling her closer to him. She thrilled in the hardness of him as he probed her mouth. Nothing mattered except the two of them, here, now. Her pussy ached and throbbed. When a finger brushed between her thighs, she gasped. He rubbed at her clit and her legs melted.

  Slowly he knelt before her. Something ancient and primal filled her as she looked down at the horned god bowing before her. She laid her hands on his head and drew him to her. He found the folds of her pussy eagerly with his tongue. Her body reacted swiftly as he plundered inside her. She was ready for him. Whimpering, she knelt down and flung her arms around his neck. He growled and they slid to the floor, wrapped in each other.

  She wrapped her legs around his waist, her hips thrusting against him, insistent. He gave her what she asked for, pushing his cock deep inside her. The musk of their sex filled the room. Their bodies collided and strained, thrusting together until carnal waves broke over her, racking her body with spasms. He released with a bellow that shook the walls and she bucked in response. Panting, they hung in the moment together until she slid down to the floor, their mingled juices streaming out of her.

  The lingering residue of the spell wrapped her in a post-orgasm
cocoon of warmth and her eyes grew heavy. Why would my grandmother deny me this? flitted through her mind before she fell asleep.

  Chapter Two

  Son of Satan

  She awoke from the morning light streaming through the window, her muscles stiff and her skin sticky. Disorientated, she looked around. How had she ended up naked on the attic floor?

  “You are a powerful one, my blood-witch,” the demon said, breaking through her fog.

  She scrambled to sitting, memories of the night before flooding back. He watched her, his head propped up on one hand. In the daylight his sharp, irregular features were more defined, the red undertone of his skin obvious and the horns curling over his head gleamed. He wasn’t human. She stared, the real-life magical being in front of her. She had done it, become a true witch. And then she had sex with him?

  “This can’t be real,” she groaned.

  “Did I not please you?” he asked. The veins in his neck throbbed.

  She blushed. “Yes, you did. It’s just that I don’t normally jump in bed with strange…” She was going to say “men”, but looking at his horns, paused. “Strangers,” she finished lamely.

  “What did you expect, performing a Calling?” he asked, his eyes lingering on her breasts, making her want to cover up. The remains of her shirt lay crumpled in the corner. She started toward them.

  “Where are you going?” he asked, his voice low and brutal.

  She froze. He looked like a coiled snake poised to strike. With her head clear of the spell she was suddenly fully aware of just how powerfully dangerous this demon could be. Not just some plaything as he’d been last night.

  “To put on my shirt,” she responded.

  “You would leave me trapped for a shirt?”

  “What do you mean, trapped?” she asked.

  He stared at her. She didn’t move, unsure of what he could do to her.