The Witch's Quest Read online

  The witch’s redemption...

  Kelyn Saint-Pierre always had a bit of a thing for Valor Hearst. But after he makes a harrowing sacrifice to save the tomboyish witch from a gruesome death, Kelyn’s certain that any spark between them is gone forever.

  Valor wishes she’d known about Kelyn’s crush before she ruined everything. There may be a way she can repay her smoking-hot champion...but it won’t be easy. Circling the globe on a dangerous mission that pits them against deadly magics and dark creatures, Kelyn and Valor are pushed scorchingly close together. But surrendering to passion may only further bind them in pain...

  “The moonlight is dancing in your eyes.” Kelyn stared at her.

  Valor felt a blush rise and looked down and away from his mesmerizing gaze.

  With a sweep of his hand, he dispersed his natural faery dust into the air. It glittered and hung suspended about them like millions of tiny stars fallen to earth.

  Wow. Talk about instant romance. And, yes, she was a woman who could appreciate a little romance when it presented itself.

  “Impressive. You know I’m an air witch. But I can do this.” She swept her hands up and water surrounded them in dotted columns, catching Kelyn’s dust and the moonlight. They stood on a rock star’s stage.

  “Stunning. You win the magic portion of this evening. But now it’s my turn. And I can’t think of anything I’d rather do than this.”

  Kelyn coaxed her up against his chest and locked her in his gaze once more before he bent and kissed her.

  Michele Hauf is a USA TODAY bestselling author who has been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries usually populate her stories. And if Michele followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries and creatures she has never seen. Find her on Facebook, Twitter and at michelehauf.com.

  Books by Michele Hauf

  Harlequin Nocturne

  Her Werewolf Hero

  A Venetian Vampire

  Taming the Hunter

  The Witch’s Quest

  The Saint-Pierre Series

  The Dark’s Mistress

  Ghost Wolf

  Moonlight and Diamonds

  The Vampire’s Fall

  Enchanted by the Wolf

  In the Company of Vampires

  Beautiful Danger

  The Vampire Hunter

  Beyond the Moon

  HQN Books

  Her Vampire Husband

  Seducing the Vampire

  A Vampire for Christmas

  Monsters Don’t Do Christmas

  Visit the Author Profile page at Harlequin.com for more titles.

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  THE WITCH’S

  QUEST

  Michele Hauf

  Dear Reader,

  I like to challenge myself when creating stories, and The Witch’s Quest was an interesting one. Generally, romances find the hero and heroine meeting, falling in love, overcoming obstacles, and then one or both of them must make a great sacrifice to win the other. Well, I wondered what would happen if that sacrifice came at the beginning rather than the end? Was it possible? Could the couple come together and grow even stronger after such a big and unexpected beginning?

  Kelyn Saint-Pierre was the perfect hero to test this challenge on. He’s a nice guy. I mean, there’s some serious nice going on with this guy. And of course, the story is set in Minnesota, and we’re all nice here, don’t ya know. Oh, ya, you betcha!

  I hope you enjoy reading this slightly reversed story of sacrifice and love! And so you know, this story is part of a miniseries within my greater world of Beautiful Creatures. I’ve gathered a group of witches who own The Decadent Dames brewery, and The Witch’s Quest is the second in that series. My May book, Taming the Hunter, was the first, and the third, The Witch and the Werewolf, comes out this November. As always, just because some books are grouped into a series doesn’t mean you have to read them in that specific order. All the books I write in my paranormal world are meant to stand alone, and you can read them in any order.

  Michele

  This one is for my kids, Ashley and Jesse.

  My two favorite examples of nice.

  Contents

  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

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Chapter 26

  Chapter 27

  Excerpt from Brimstone Prince by Barbara J. Hancock

  Chapter 1

  The gnarled oak tree behind her looked...angry.

  Valor Hearst straightened her shoulders and tried to avoid turning around to cast a glance at the disgruntled tree. Because the moment she started to look closer, things could become real. Especially in an enchanted forest such as the Darkwood.

  She knelt on the forest floor, carefully plucking the Amanita muscaria mushrooms from a thick and curly frosting of moss. Normally, she would wear gloves to remove the poisonous red-capped shrooms, but having forgotten them, she instead used an entomologist’s tweezers.

  Dried yet still-glossy trails from snails streaked across a head-size fieldstone, which she scraped into a plastic baggie. The powder would serve as another fine ingredient for future spells. She’d decided that since she had risked coming here, she’d take a few minutes to gather spell ingredients before settling down to do the real work: enacting a spell that would, with hope, lure love her way.

  Valor had never dared enter the Darkwood, but on this day she was feeling her confidence and was pretty sure that the warnings against witches venturing into the enchanted forest were nothing more than blather. Mortals and other paranormals visited the darkly mysterious woods all the time. She was no different from any of them. Save that her air magic packed a wallop when need be.

  “So take that,” she said, yet still couldn’t avoid a suspicious glance over her shoulder.

  Had the tree’s bark curved downward in chunky folds to form a craggy frown? She narrowed her gaze, which was followed by her own frown. The bark hadn’t been shaped that way when she first knelt down before the mushrooms.

  Maybe?

  “Quit spooking yourself,” she muttered. “Crazy witch.”

  The Darkwood was off-limits to and unsafe for witches. That was what her friend and fellow earth witch Eryss Norling had said to her last night when they closed the Decadent Dames brewery together and wandered out to the parking lot under the half-moon.

  Valor happened to be attracted to most things that were off-limits and unsafe. Whether they be events, challenges or even men. Most especially men.

  She tuck
ed the red-capped mushrooms into her fishing tackle box. It was painted in olive green camo and might have a fishhook or two in it, as well—ice fishing in the wintertime? Yes, please. But she mostly used it to collect herbs and spell ingredients. A tiny jade cricket that she had disturbed from sleeping under a mushroom leaped onto the edge of the tackle box.

  “You’re lucky you have a heartbeat,” she said to the insect. “Otherwise, I’d pulverize your wings and use the dust in a spell.”

  The insect chirped and hopped off to a more private leaf.

  And Valor pulled out a small mason jar half-filled with angel dust to use as a marker for the ritual sigil she now intended to create. A collection of rose petals she had gathered surreptitiously from a floral shop before heading out here today would also serve in the design.

  No time to back out now. She’d come here with the intent of finally serving herself what she deserved. “Here’s to love.”

  Cupping a handful of fine angel dust and funneling it through her curled fingers, she marked out on the thick moss the pattern that she’d studied in her great-grandma Hector’s grimoire. Small, smoky quartz crystals were then placed at the compass points and rose quartz along the borders of the sigil. She kissed and blessed the flower petals, then placed them on the moss.

  Leaning back to inspect her work, she decided the design looked much like a voodoo veve. But this sacred sigil, infused with her light magic, would wield so much more power.

  She didn’t notice the darkening sky as she laid a crow foot, a mouse rib and a dried rat heart at the center of the sigil. Red and pink candles were tucked into the moss, and with a snap of her fingers they ignited. So she had a little fire magic to her arsenal, as well. It was just for small tasks. A witch should never risk invoking more fire than she could handle.

  Now the invocation—

  Valor’s hand slipped on the thick moss, and her leg suddenly slid out from under her kneeling position. She hadn’t made such a move. Something tugged her ankle roughly.

  She slapped the moss with both palms and yelped as her body slid backward across the forest floor, dragging her hands through angel dust, petals and crystals. Twisting at the waist, she searched in the dimming light. One of the tree roots had wrapped about her ankle, clasping the leather combat boot in a painful pinch.

  “What in all the goddess’s bad hair days?” She kicked at the root with her free foot.

  And then the frowning bark opened wide and growled at her. The tree had a merciless hold on her. And the root only grew tighter about her ankle.

  Valor had heard of faery trees. And this woods was a place where the sidhe mingled with those from the mortal realm. Another reason she’d been warned away. Faeries who did not live in the mortal realm generally didn’t like witches.

  She hadn’t an enchanted sword to cut her way free. But she did have witchcraft.

  “Loftus!”

  Her air magic whisked over the ancient tree bark with the waning effect of a whisper. And the tree actually seemed to chuckle as its trunk heaved and the bark crinkled. The root about her ankle tugged again and her boot disappeared into the soft, loamy ground at the base of the tree.

  She groped for the moss, on which the candles had extinguished and the angel dust sigil had been disturbed. It was out of her reach. So was her tackle box, in which she’d stashed her cell phone.

  This was bad. On a scale of one to ten for oh-my-mercy-this-is-bad, this probably rated a seventy.

  “I’m fucked.”

  * * *

  Valor had parked on a turnoff from the gravel road that wound about three hundred yards away from a highway. It was set near a gape in the forest and not easily seen or even known about. At the time, she’d been pleased that no one would see her car. And she’d entered the forest from the opposite end of the woods where Blade Saint-Pierre lived for the specific reason she hadn’t wanted anyone to think she was trespassing. That vampire did not own the forest, but he acted as a sort of portal guardian, keeping others out of the forest.

  For their own good.

  Witches and the Darkwood? Not cool.

  Valor tugged futilely at her pinned legs. Yes, now both were being sucked slowly down into the earth beneath the tree. She’d been here two hours for sure, and no matter how she tugged she remained pinned into the mossy ground by the oak roots. And that was exactly what had happened. She’d been pinned by a faery tree.

  What she knew about such wicked magic was that eventually she’d be sucked completely into the earth and, perhaps, even into Faery. But she wouldn’t make the journey alive. And judging by how far in she’d been drawn, she suspected the process generally took less than a day. She didn’t even want to calculate how much time she had left.

  She’d tried speaking a releasement spell. That had only bothered the crows perched in the crooked elm boughs overhead. They stared with beady black eyes at her like vultures waiting for carrion. She’d tried apologizing to the universe for stepping on sacred faery grounds. She’d felt the earth shudder then and had quietly lain there, palms clutching at the dried leaves and undergrowth, her cheek wet with tears.

  All she’d wanted to do was invoke a spell. For her. For once in her long lifetime, she’d finally thought about herself and what she wanted.

  Eyes closed now, she thought the loamy scent of moss and earth were too rich for such a fool as herself. The crisp promise of crystal clear water babbled from somewhere behind her. Even the bird chirps seemed to admonish her for being an idiot.

  Would her friends think it was odd she did not show up for work tonight at the brewery? Of course Eryss would wonder. Give her a call. But Valor often did not answer her phone. Eryss would shrug and figure Valor had forgotten. It was a Thursday night. Never too busy. Instead of a staff of three, the Decadent Dames could easily manage the microbrewery with two.

  They might not bother to drive by her loft at the edge of town in Tangle Lake until the next day when Valor didn’t show up to help carry in a delivery of grains that was expected to arrive in the afternoon.

  She’d be dead by then. Even now she sensed her energy waning, seeping from her. Bleeding her life into the ground.

  “Stupid tree,” she muttered. “A simple lash across the face would have served me well enough.”

  But she knew faeries—and their trees, for they were alive and sentient—never did anything half-assed. Be it mischief or unspeakable malice, it was either all-in or all-out.

  Clasping the moonstone amulet she always wore strung from a leather cord about her neck, she bowed her head to the leaves on the forest floor before her. It was time to start thinking of leaving a message for her friends. Who may eventually find her decayed corpse still pinned to this earth, perhaps one clawing hand still sticking out from the ground, surrounded by the malevolent tree roots.

  “Aggh!” She had to stop thinking of how dire her end would be. That wouldn’t solve anything.

  Valor grabbed a thin branch and decided the moss was so thick she could probably write in it. No. It would never work. The mason jar of angel dust sat two feet out of her reach. So blood was the next option. And her parchment? A wide maple leaf.

  She broke the branch in two and was holding the serrated end poised to stab at her skin when the rapid beating of hooves alerted her. She glanced up and just had time to tuck her face against the leaves as the sleek doe beat a path toward her. The deer probably hadn’t expected a nonanimal to be sitting in the forest, so the beast hadn’t much time to correct her trajectory. Valor sensed the deer’s surprise as her front hoof nearly stepped on her hand and she leaped high and over Valor’s head.

  Muttering a quiet oath and a quick blessing of thanks, Valor followed the deer’s path. Then it occurred to her that something might have been after it. She swiftly turned and spied the man running toward her, a blur of gold and green. When he was but t
wenty feet away from her, he suddenly halted, appearing to put on the brakes as a runner in an animated cartoon would, heels skidding and body lagging behind as his speed dropped from swift to stop.

  “Whoa!” Valor stretched up a hand to stop him. Which she realized was ridiculous because he’d already stopped.

  Tall and lithe and not wearing a shirt, he gave a shrug of one shoulder that stretched his sleek, tight muscles up and down his abdomen. His arms twitched as he looked her over. His face was angular and cut with sharp cheekbones and a prominent slash of brow line. Short blond hair, blown wild and wavy by his racing speed, settled about his ears and forehead. Hip-hugging gray jeans revealed he was barefoot. And his abs were sculpted with more muscle than Valor could imagine what to do with. On those abs were traced violet sigils that she knew were faery in nature. And there, braceleting his wrists, were more faery sigils.

  But she didn’t fear him. She knew him.

  “Valor?” And he knew her.

  Kelyn Saint-Pierre padded up to her with a lanky ease that spoke more of a wild animal’s gait than that of a human. Of course, he wasn’t human; he was faery.

  He swept a hand over his forehead, pushing the hair from his face. His violet eyes took her in from tangled brown-violet hair, moss-smudged cheek and faded green T-shirt to—her combat boots were well underground right now. It was too dark now for him to see into the shadows where all the horrible pinning action had occurred.

  His expression switched from surprise to concern. “What’s a witch doing in the Darkwood? Don’t you know this forest is dangerous to your kind?”

  So state the obvious.

  Kelyn lived in the area, and she knew his sister and three brothers. Daisy Blu, a faery who had once been a werewolf, was married to Beck Severo. Valor had gone to Daisy’s baby shower a month ago.

  Blade was the brother who lived at the edge of this forest. That guy was a vampire but sported gothic wings that would give anyone a fright. And Stryke was a pack leader in a northern suburb.

  Trouble, the eldest of the Saint-Pierre siblings, was a werewolf to the bone. And Valor and Trouble were drinking buddies who got together once in a while for Netflix and pizza. Guys like Trouble were meant for fishing trips and shooting the shit, never romance.