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Her dark possession~

Dark Realm of the Witch, Book One

by Lenore Wolfe

~~Even death couldn't keep them apart~~

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For every woman there is that one man who she would walk through fire for, she would die for. 

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30,000 word Paranormal Fantasy Novella Saga

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Even death couldn’t keep them apart…

Her Dark Possession

by Lenore Wolfe

Prologue

It was a chilly, rainy night The rain pelted his windshield so that he could hardly see two feet in front of his car—even with the wipers as high as they would go. Wolfram O’Connor was high up in the Smokey Mountains, and perhaps if this had not been his first time up here, and then to have done so in the dark, it wouldn't have felt so—well—paranormal.

That was putting it mildly.

It had started with the mist, which had settled into the crooks and crannies of the mountain. But that was the nature of these mountains. Then the rain had come. But then, again, sooner or later, it always rained. That was mother-nature.

No. It had been the shadows, which seemed to follow him as he drove along, that had finally done it for him.

Wolfram didn't spook easily—actually, it was pretty difficult to spook him, raised, as he had been, on the streets of Chicago. But this place was giving him the creeps. He preferred the back alleys on any dark night in the city—to this. Wolfram didn’t play around. He knew his sear size and strength gave him his confidence—well, and his willingness to throw down when it was warranted. He also knew that knowing how to fight dirty sometimes gave him a false sense of security. It really didn’t matter how big you were—with the right enemy. And he didn’t know the woods—he knew the street.

On the street—he was equal to the task—no matter the enemy. He’d had to be from the time he’d been a kid, when he’d had to protect his little sisters from the gangs.

Here—well—he didn’t know the woods. He’d rather face a gun any day—than a cougar.

He wouldn't have been here at all if it were not for the plea he had received in his email—from a very old friend. He had almost dismissed it—but he'd been curious. This was a girl that he’d never been able to get past. And he couldn’t understand that when all they’d ever done—was fight. And not your run of the mill yelling, type fighting either—but more of the knock-down, drag-out type of fighting.

Even their fucking had sometimes been violent.

He wished he had left the whole damn business alone. If he were honest, he’d known as soon as he’d seen the email that he should have left it alone. The only thing that made him feel anything, at any given time, for as long as he could remember, was rage and sex. She had fueled both, like gasoline on brittle tinder. All he ever want to do fuck her—or hit her.

He winced, remembering a time when he had come out of a white hot rage, only to find himself holding a glass candle, like he had intended to cave in her head—she had been looking him right in the eye, her light blue eyes staring him hard in his dark ones, like she was daring him to do just that.

He wanted to kiss her, to see her creamy white skin against the darkness of his own. He wanted to beat her beautiful ass, see his hands against her flesh. Even when he beat her, he wanted to take her with violent need. And he’d never understood it. Other women pissed him off—but none had created such violence within him.

When he finally reached her mile-marker, he could barely see though the rivulets of rain that streaked his windshield. The black, glassy sheen of the pavement, damp from the dark of the storm, and the dim shine of his headlights didn’t help. So he wasn’t that surprised when he ended up passing up her driveway. Scowling, he managed to turn the car around—in spite of not being able to see where the damned ditch was in the rain. He congratulated himself on doing so without some car coming around the bend and plowing into him.

The driveway was worse. Google hadn't told him that she was a half-mile off the road. The road was soft beneath his tires. If he got stuck up here—well—she just better damn well make it worth the effort it had cost him to get here. Not that he was trying to think of her in that way.

He was a scoundrel—but she was still his friend. And they had put each other through too much all ready. Who was he kidding? He’d never been able to keep his hands off of her.

They hadn't exactly become fast friends. Actually, they had, in a way. But it had taken years. At first, they had always been too busy loving and—hating one another. But all that had changed when he’d had tried to live without her.

He hated that—hated that he missed her—hated that he might have needed her in any way.

He had tried to hate her too—tried damn hard, in fact. He’d said a lot of mean things. Hell. He’d done a lot of mean things to her. But he hadn't truly been able to hate her at all—not from the first moment he'd laid eyes on her. Perhaps that was the thing that had driven him.

What was she doing up here anyway?

He squinted through the pelting rain. He thought he spotted a light way up ahead and didn’t try to hide his elation. He was just feeling relieved when something grey screamed and landed on the hood of his car.

He nearly drove the car into a tree. He sideswiped that tree and came to rest against a much smaller one. Adrenalin shot through his veins and fueled his fury.

He jumped out of his car—enraged—ready to beat whatever it had been that had scared him into oblivion—all of his senses telling him that he had not just seen what he thought he had. He’d nearly convinced himself—when that same something landed square in the middle of his chest, driving his large, muscular frame backward with a strength that amazed him, knocking him flat on his back and stealing the wind from him.

He froze at the sight of the face just inches above his own—eyes so pale, they nearly blended with the whites of her eyes, stared back. He didn’t move—didn’t breathe—didn’t blink. He knew it was female by her long, white hair—at least he hoped it was female. He had no idea what difference it made. But somewhere in his mind—it made a difference. Cold, grey skin hung from her bones. Her nose was more like two holes in her face. She poked at his face with fingers so long—they couldn't possibly be real.

But then—none of this was real. Was it? Nothing on the streets had prepared him for this. Did these things only live in the woods?

She leaned in. She was so close that her face was a mere two inches from his. She sniffed. His throat ached. His body screamed for air, but he had the sensation that if he moved even a hair—even flinched—she would tear his limbs from his body. Call it self-preservation, but he didn't move. She sniffed again—then opened her mouth to reveal razor-sharp teeth.

This time he did shiver.

She immediately leaned in closer. Then her pale eyes centered on his—and she stopped. She sat like that for a long moment—her gaze not wavering from his own. Then she put her head up, and she screamed. Wolfram had never heard anything like it before in his life. It sent shivers up the spine.

And suddenly he was free—

She moved away from him, towards the shadows of the trees—took one more look back at him—then melted into the shadows.

Wolfram had never in his life moved as fast as he did now, skidding in the mud as he ran for his car. He slid alongside the door, went down like a baseball player sliding into home, and banged his elbow on the car as his whole body went sideways. His right hip hit the ground hard.

He slipped, again, trying to get up. Taking a deep breath, keenly aware his terror was making him clumsy—he forced himself to slow down. He got up and fumbled for the door. Once inside, he quickly locked it—then checked the backseat for good measure.

“What the hell was that!?” he shouted at no one in particular. That no one was around to give him an answer—but it made him feel better. He cranked the engine—relieved when it started—but when he shoved it in reverse, the tires spun.

He slammed it in drive, then reverse, rocking it back and forth, slamming it into drive and reverse, alternatively. He had to do this several more times before the car got enough traction to move away from the tree and back up into the drive.

He stared in the direction of her house. Every sense in him told him that he should get the hell off of this mountain….

But he wasn't enough of a coward to leave anyone—especially not an old friend—and especially not her—at the mercy of whatever the hell that thing had been!

No—most especially not her!

He tore down the rest of the drive, spitting pebbles as he pulled up next to her house. It was dark. He was cold, wet and covered with mud. He looked at the house. He knew there was no one home.

He would know if she were there.

He hit the steering-wheel. And then he hit it again. After a long moment, in which he fought his usual round of temper and cursing, he resigned himself to his fate.

Wolfram settled down to wait for her to return. At least there was a yard light in the front drive. He noticed that there was apparently another one in the back. If were not for the lights—he swore that he'd have left her to fend for herself. He turned up the heat on full bore—and then he turned on the radio. He started to feel a little better. Light, heat—sound.

But fear still tasted bitter on his tongue.

After a while he turned off the car, still peering beyond the edges of light for anything that moved. Finally—exhausted—he fell asleep.

Chapter One

Eve Devereaux woke up to find herself, pretty much, facedown in the mud. Shocked, she lifted herself up, horrified that she had been able to breathe like that. She stared at her muddy palms. She ached all over.

It had happened again…. She sat there for a long moment, her arms trembling badly as she attempted to prop herself up, tears rolling down her face and mixing with the mud below, absorbing what she had not been able to prevent.

Her soul was screaming....and the banshee was being born. There appeared no way for Eve to stop her from taking her over. For that is what the banshee was--a soul screamer, and Eve knew it. Her soul withered--lay dying--and the banshee screamed her pain.

She stared down at her clothes. Her outfit hung in shreds and was covered in mud. She inspected herself, relieved. Every time she woke up like this—she found herself a little more terrified that she would one day wake up—covered in someone else’s blood.

Shaking, she attempted to stand, failed and sank back down in the mud. Her limbs trembled, screaming at her in protest. Her muscles couldn’t have been more fatigued if she'd been running a marathon. She slid, again, trying to get her body to support her.

Finally, she stood, shaking violently, expecting her legs to buckle—and for her to take another face-plant in the mud.

She half-stumbled, half-skidded, the half-mile back that it took her to get back to her house. What  should have taken her fifteen minutes took her an hour. When she finally got there, she was horrified to see a car parked in her driveway—even more horrified when her soggy brain finally puzzled out who it could possibly be.

Shit! Now what was she going to do?

It took her several long seconds to realize that, if she were careful, she might be able to sneak in through the back. She had taken Mace, her huge Rottweiler, to a friend, when she had changed for the second time. She’d been too afraid that he would kill her—or she would kill him….

She showered, burying her ruined clothes in the bottom of the trash—then had to clean up the mud she had gotten all over the bathroom. She drank some orange juice and ate some cheese, fruit and nuts, all the while trying to figure out what she could say to him. Her shaking eased a bit, but not so her racing thoughts.

What could she possibly have to say that could make this any better? Why had she asked him to come, anyway? Something about this whole business felt out of place.

Yeah, that was it. She felt very—off kilter. In fact, everything had been feeling that way of late—like she were caught in a play—and everyone knew their lines but her. Something about the past few days didn’t feel—well—real.

She half stumbled her way back to the bathroom--stopping short to stare at herself in the mirror. Perhaps that is why she’d called him—in a moment of weakness—but she’d just been so terrified….

She shook her head. She shouldn’t have called him. She still—loved him. “Yeah—and that was another reason why you shouldn’t have called him!” she growled out loud, rinsing out her glass to prepare to brush her teeth. Her muscles trembled. “Damn!” She gripped the bathroom sink.

How could he possibly help her? He had helped to make her this way!

"And that is why you had to take a chance!" she said to the face in the mirror. She'd had to take the chance--or lose her soul forever.

She was a witch. She knew why the banshee existed—but what she didn’t know--was how to stop her. And she was alone…. She was sick of doing this alone. In some way, she had decided that it would take a beast to help her to stop the beast she had turned loose inside of her soul. And Wolfram was just the man for the job.

Especially when he had helped to unleash it.

There had once been a time when she had believed that Wolfram would find a way to tame his own monster. But she had been wrong.

She would never again make the mistake of thinking that there wasn’t one. It was there—deep inside of him—even if it were not one, like hers, that she could physically see. And somehow, she knew that she would have to face her own answering rage—to set herself free.

She had called Wolfram to help her save her soul. But more important, she would have to walk away from him--when this was over. If she didn’t—it meant that the beast insider of her soul had won—or worse—that she had died trying.

Once, she had still believed in them—Wolfram and her—with every breath in her body. Once, he had been wrapped around her, until he had become mixed in with the blood that pumped throughout her body. It had become impossible to separate them. She had no longer been able to tell where he had begun—and where she had ended.

She had hoped he would get here before she turned—again. But he hadn't. She had a feeling it might be too late now. And she had no idea what to do about it?

She winced, images coming back to her—watching herself—or what was left of herself—as she jumped up on his car. Why hadn't he just left? What if she had killed him? Had she even considered that—before she’d called him?

But she really didn’t have a choice? This wasn’t a game. There was a very real possibility she could hurt someone—that she would end up hurting someone—. The more times this thing broke loose inside of her—out of her reach—out of her control—the greater the odds of that.

She couldn’t live with herself—if that happened.

She looked toward the bathroom door—toward the hallway--which would lead her to where Wolfram waited in his car outside. Anyone in their right mind would've left, after what he'd saw last night.

She turned and just stood there, picking the towel back up without thinking about what she was doing, staring in the mirror. She began toweling her still damp hair, remembering the man who she had been dating before she had come to the Smokey Mountains--the move that had become the catalyst--for setting her soul on fire.

She drew in a ragged breath. She didn't like to think about it. She didn't like to remember.

But she had no choice, did she?

If she didn't face the beast that ravaged her soul--she risked loosing her soul--for all eternity.

She stared at her face. Why had she started dating so soon—after losing Wolfram? Had she thought that she could blot out the memories of the two of them? Had she thought that she could--blot out the past--by sinking herself into someone new?

What had she been thinking?

In her pain, she had believed that she could recognize what was good—in the face of all the bad she’d suffered with Wolfram. She had thought she’d found someone who was patient—gentle. She had thought she’d found a man who was—kind. She’d been in such a hurry to believe—she’d gone and married him.

And then, she’d realized her mistake.

Almost from the beginning, her new husband, Tristan, had started laying down rules. He’d made them, he said, in her own best interest.

It was a brilliant strategy. One meant to destroy her will--keep her from fighting back. It was the perfect setup. What better way to get her compliance--than to convince her that since she wouldn't help herself--he would help her to help herself.

He didn’t like her herbs. He’d demanded that she stop taking them. He said this was for her, to protect her liver. He didn’t like her driving after dark--alone—he said this was for her own protection. These little things seemed petty--to fight—though she’d immediately started feeling an invisible cage going up around her.

He bought her everything she needed—and some things that she wanted—and the cage had begun to feel—gilded.

Then, they had gone to see her family.

He hadn’t liked them. He'd said that they were too loud, too boisterous—talked too much about their children—didn’t pay enough attention to—him.

He told her that he would fly them to see her, a couple at a time, but she could never go back to see them. That had been it. She had left him.

Eve took a deep breath--the memories flashing behind her eyes--threatening her. She leaned over the sink, willing herself not to throw up. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have not sensed the danger? How could someone who appeared to be so kind--have been so completely dangerous?

And how come she--a powerful witch--had not been able to sense it?

He had destroyed much more than her faith in the human race--her belief in what they fought for--he'd destroyed her faith in herself!

Within a couple of days, he had located her by her ISP address, from where she’d used her laptop across the street at the library. She’d been shocked that he had done so. But she'd been even more shocked by her reaction--when she nearly destroyed Tristan because he wouldn't get out of her way—allow her to learn her own lessons.

In her rage, she had seen his behavior as psycho—not recognizing the same psycho behavior in herself at her own rage—and terror—in her attempts to shake herself free of him. She’d been determined she would make him see reason, and when she couldn’t get him to stop, she’d gone for the throat and didn’t pull up—until it had nearly been too late.

Trembling, she dug out her toothbrush, putting on some toothpaste. She lifted it to put it in her mouth--stopping at the sight of her own ravaged eyes.

The difference between her and Tristan—she realized—was that she didn't believe such behavior was okay. She didn’t try to minimize it. She didn’t want to make excuses for it. She wanted to be horrified by what she had nearly done to him. She wanted to be horrified so that she never made an excuse to behave in such a manner again.

All she had wanted him to do—was to set her free. She had never realized what the human being was capable of doing when their freedom was being stolen from them—what they would do to get it back.

She brushed her teeth--trying to avoid any more glimpses of herself in the mirror. Maybe someone else could look at her--and not see anything--but she could see it in her eyes. She could see what this last mistake had cost her.

And it may have cost her much more than even she knew. It may have cost her--her soul.

Tristan never saw what he was doing to her. He only saw what she had done. He never once apologized. He only berated her for what she wasn’t willing to do for them—more like—what she hadn’t been willing to do for him.

He had actually asked her to trust him—to be willing to live in his cage—allow him to take care of her—just relax. Relax--and be willing to sell him her soul.

Just relax—while he drowned out who she was. Just relax while he drowned out her life.

She’d been amazed when she couldn’t get him to see reason—when she couldn’t get him to see what he was doing. But she should have known better than to try. If he were going to see that he was destroying her—not loving her—he wouldn’t have been doing what he was doing in the first place. So she had moved—where she could work to eradicate the vindictive rage that had welled up from the pits of her own hell—and to learn to use better tools in her every day life. That wouldn’t change the fact that she had nearly had a man put away for forty years—because she didn't ask enough questions. But she was working on it.

Thank the Goddess that the courts had shown clearer insight than she had, since her judgment had become so clouded with hate. She could only make sure she never did something like that again.

She didn’t like who she had become. She never wanted to feel that way again. All she could do was make sure she became someone that she could respect. Would she ever be able to return to the innocence she once knew? Before she had begun to think she already knew all of the answers?

Perhaps that was part of the lesson.

She pulled herself back to the present. She couldn’t go back and undo what she had done. No one could ever go back. She thought about Wofram—sitting in his car outside her house--a man she loved so deeply that she'd nearly sold her soul to survive the pain of loosing him.

Her love for him had nearly destroyed her.

She'd tried to run from him—to escape the pain of losing him. She’d let herself be lured into participating in her own demise. He was the love of her life. And he was the man, she knew, she still had to learn to live without....

He was sitting out in his car—waiting for her. And he was going to wonder how she had managed to slip by him, while he was parked right out there in her driveway. He was sharp. And he would never believe her if she tried to tell him that she had been right there, in the house, the whole time. She contemplated trying to slip by him, through the woods, come walking up the driveway, like she had been dropped off. But she was not one for lies—or games.

In the end, she came out the front door. She took a great breath of relief to see that he was asleep. She tapped on his window. He woke with a start, sat up, and looked around—peering past her through bleary eyes, like he was expecting to see someone—or actually something—else.

She admired the courage it must've taken for him to stay parked here, waiting for her all night. But then, it didn’t surprise her. He had always been so full of courage.

He half smiled, when he saw her, and got out of his car—still cautiously looking around. She wanted to smile. But he looked too good to her, and she had missed him so much. She came up to him, stopped, and then just hugged him close. She couldn’t help it. She was so happy to see him. She didn’t know how she had managed to live without him. She didn’t know how she would ever do so again. And she knew--as sure as she was standing there in his arms—she would have to learn.

He leaned back, cupped both sides of your face. “Are you okay?” He examined her face, in a way that melted her heart. He frowned. “You look like hell, Evie,” he called her by the pet name that he’d given her. She’d always hated it. But now, she found that she loved it. It felt—reassuring—like everything would be okay. Tears burned her eyes.

Nothing would ever be okay again.

She leaned into his chest, unable to stop her tears. She tried to dash them away, but Wolfram had already spotted them. He hugged her tight to his chest, cupping her head to his heart like he always did. It had been the thing that had told her—even when he could not—what she meant to him.

“Well, you chose an amazing place….” he said lightheartedly.

She heard the irony in his voice and grinned through tears, leaning back to look up at him. "To hide, you mean," she teased.

“You said it, I didn't," he said with a laugh. “But has it occurred to you—this place doesn’t feel real….”

Chapter Two

Wolfram hugged her close, pulling her face close to his chest. They hadn’t made it past the front door, when he’d pulled her back to him. He always did this. She knew what was next, but she loved how he held her face to his chest, loved the gentle man he was at that moment of complete vulnerability, when he shook with the power of his emotions colliding with hers, the way they always did when pure reckless love moved between the two of them—whenever they allowed themselves to get this close. 

He moved away, and she felt bereft without him. She moved further into the living area, but he quickly returned to her. He came up behind her then, wrapped his big arms around her, pulling her so close she could hear his heart. He reached down, pulling her shirt up over her head. She felt the warm skin of his bare pectoral muscles as he pulled her flush to him. He had removed his shirt when he’d been behind her, and she revealed in the feel of his large, muscular frame, and his firm, darkness, meshing with her much softer, yielding flesh. She didn’t have to look. She knew what they would look like—his dark profile complementing her creamy whiteness….

She turned her head, her flesh melding to his, melting into him, become one with him. She felt his breath against her hair, heard the words he whispered in her ear, “Come on baby…. Give it to me….”

She heard her own answering pants—heard herself breathe his name. She reveled in the heightened feel of his hands upon her, lighting fires in their wake. At that moment, he was the only reason that she was still standing. Without his strong arms, she knew that she would be a puddle on the floor. She heard the plaintive sound of her breath. He entered her, thrusting hard, her body taking all of him--and she knew no more.

Eve woke to the sun shining through the window. The curtain billowed with the gentle breeze of fresh air that floated into the room. Wolfram was softly snoring beside her. She smiled and snuggled deeper into the blankets.

She’d been having a dream.

No—that wasn't right. They had been more like—memories. 

Eve looked sharply toward the window. She shivered. That odd feeling was back. The sun was just a little too bright. The colors were all—well—were just a little too in focus.

She frowned. Hadn’t she been thinking that same thing earlier? Hadn't Wolfram said the same?

She tried to dismiss it—thought back on the dream. No. She was right. It hadn’t really been a dream at all—but memories. Thinking about these--she fell back to sleep.

She walked through the forest--as if she belonged here. She knew this forest. She'd spent a lot of time here, of late. When she saw the beautiful creature sitting under the tree, she wasn't surprised. She was a witch. She'd been having conversations with Fae since she'd been a child. At least, as a child she had. Now, she only did so in her dreams.

And most of these she forgot as soon as she woke.

She laughed at this. She really needed to stop forgetting. It was okay, she knew, to remember. She knew this creature. She knew a lot of the Fae. She'd talked to her before--in fact. She'd done so many times, especially now.

Laughing because she was happy to see her--she went to sit beside her under the tree, where she sat. They sat that way for some time--like that--in peace, just enjoying the smell of flowers, the little Fae faces that showed up everywhere here. These were the life of every living thing.

Finally, the creature broke their silent reverie and asked her what she'd been dreaming about of late.

Happy to share, Eve told her, "I was with Wofram, again." She shook her head with some melancholy. "I was remembering some of our old conversations." She looked down at her feet, remembering. "Many of our conversations could have been considered almost funny, back then, if they hadn’t actually been so incredibly sad." She sat there quietly for a long moment. She realized that she could actually hear them talking, her and Wolfram--that she had been listening. And then she knew that she could do this because she was dreaming, and all of this was taking place within the dream. Like she was getting sneak peek into something that had already happened.

"I was telling Wolfram about a conversation that I’d had that day with the Aflac guy." She breathed deep through the pain that lanced her chest. "I was telling him about the salesman’s concerns, and my own, with what was happening with the technological society. It had become an age old conversation between me and Wolfram, where we'd exchange conversation about how technology would soon catch a criminal before he managed to get two blocks down the street—but at what cost?" She shook her head sadly. 

And then, her voice cracked, "Wolfram had showed the same irritation with me that he always showed whenever he heard me say something that he’d heard me say before." A tear broke free and rolled down to fall on her shirt below. "He'd told me...that if I managed to get an original thought in my head, only then could I tell him about it." She turned her face away, silent tears slipping down her face.

The creature sat quietly by--not saying anything--only listening as she always did. Eve realized that she didn't even know her name. Perhaps at one time she had known--but she had forgotten--just like she would forget this dream as soon as she woke.

But, here, that didn't seem to matter.

She took a deep breath, lightly blowing through her lips, to stem the tide of tears that fought to break free. "Of course, I blew up at him--" she said in a voice heavy with pain, "just like I did whenever he insulted me this way." She gave a little brittle laugh. "I called him a Hyde Park, Chicago, elitist snob for good measure." She looked at the creature. "I told him that anyone who gets regular porn coming to his door, and hides everything he does, has no right to insult me." She shrugged. "I was hurt. I wanted to hurt him back." 

She wrapped her arms around her legs and lay her face down on her bent knees.Why had she always let herself get so hurt? She’d often heard him say so much worse.

"He, too, had gotten hurt," she said, "with my comment about his porn." She turned her head over on her knees so that she could see the creature. "He told me that he, at least,was real—that I would hide behind books on how to be a medium, about self-hypnosis, while pretending that I wanted to be a writer," she said in lone tones. "He had told me all of this, not because any of this had been anything to do with what had set him off in the first place, but because he’d been irritated that I had chosen to go to the bathroom, while he’d been in the kitchen, and had gotten in his way when he’d been heading for the bathroom." She sniffed through her tears, her pain like a fresh, open wound at these memories.

She lifted her head, staring out at the sun peeking through the leaves of the large, old oaks, and the dappled shades of light and shadow they created in all their shades of green. She loved these huge old oaks, like the ones that had once been in her backyard, and she thought, as she had so many times before, about how many times she had asked herself why she had stayed—where he could hurt her like that--where he could take pot-shots at her that way? Remembering how many times she had asked herself when she would, finally, no longer be there? She could still feel her stomach turn with her mounting frustration, when she couldn't find the answer. She could still feel how disgusted she had been with herself, knowing that she shouldn’t still be there—to be his target. 

She looked out over the field, its peaceful setting at odds with her churning emotions. She looked into the creatures large, sad green eyes, saying, "Wolfram was a smart man." She looked back our across the land and shrugged again. "My mother use to tease me about how I had always managed to pick the highly intelligent ones." Straightening her legs, she stretched her muscles, revealing in the warmth of the sun, and shook her head. "Wolfram never forgot the content of a single conversation, which was why he had always been so easily irritated if I repeated any conversations we'd had before. And I could actually appreciate that. But he’d always been too self-absorbed by his own thoughts—to put much stock in mine—or to even bother to listen." 

She’d been continuously amazed by how gentle and kind he could be to others around them, like the day that he had mowed the lawn for the old lady next door, or how he would listen for hours to his friend’s problems, and extend himself to them—like no one else she had witnessed before—and yet—always find fault in her. It was too much to bear from someone she loved so much. It was—shattering….

Why couldn’t he have been as kind to her? 

She knew that he had loved her. The people he would hang out with would always tell her how she was all he ever talked about. She knew he truly cared. Yes, there had been a time when she used to think that he didn’t, but she had known the truth by then. 

He loved you.... He loves you still, the creature said in her mind.

She looked at her--and smiled sadly. Yes. He loved her, she knew that. And he loved her still--but she had seen him be gentle. She had seen him be kind. 

So why hadn’t he been kind and gentle with her?

What had gone on inside of his head to make him think that being cruel to her had been helping her to grow? What had made him think that he was somehow helping her to make herself into a better person—or even a tougher one? 

Did he really fear what would happen to her, to such an extent, that he would be cruel to her—so that she could survive it? 

Did he not see what she had already survived?

Check back next week for chapter three:)

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Her dark desire

Dark Realm of the Witch, Book two

by Lenore Wolfe

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Book Two: HER DARK DESIRE   

Wolfram wakes from his coma, but when he sees Eve, he realizes that he cannot leave her spirit locked away in her body. He wants her back, but he loves her too much to let her be caught between their two worlds in such a way. He feels that holding on to her--just because he doesn't want to let her go--would be incredibly selfish.   However, Eve's divorce wasn't final at the time of the accident--and Eve's husband, Tristan, has other plans--plans that did not include Wolfram staying alive. Plans that did not include letting Eve slip out of his grip. He wasn't about to lose her--not event to the hands of death.   Eve learns that one of the reasons she makes such a powerful witch is her Fae blood. In the Land of the Fae, she rapidly manifests anything with which she concentrates--it only takes intent. Walking in Wolfram's coma and sharing his dream had been easy. It isn't long before she figures, too, how to walk between the Fae world--and the human world. All the Fae can do it. But unlike the Fae, she can only do so for short periods of time. The human world is still too painful for her heightened Fae senses, for her to stay for long--especially when the pain brings on the banshee. And the peace she gets in the Land of the Fae calls strongly within her, whenever she leaves.   Wolfram knows, should Eve learn of the danger to him, she'd give up her chance to escape a future locked forever as a banshee. He's hurt her enough. Losing her chance for some peace--and a piece of paradise, for him, is out of the question--and the last thing he wants her to do.  

Her dark fire~

Dark Realm of the Witch, Book three

by Lenore Wolfe

Book Three: HER DARK FIRE

Eve learns of the danger to Wolfram--and Wolfram was right to be alarmed. She is willing to risk everything--even her chance to escape loosing her soul to a life as a banshee--in order to save him. She does return to the Land of the Fae, but to see the Queen--to learn what she must do to return to her human body.

However, the Queen cannot imagine why she would want to return to a life locked into a dense human body--and all the pain. She refuses to hear of such a thing. But after Eve risks her soul, the Queen grants her, her wish--yet, at what peril? The Queen warns that she has not had enough time to heal her heart and mind--and that she may well pay the price with her soul--for the risk is higher than ever that the banshee would permeate the very core of her being.

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Her dark obsession~

Dark Realm of the Witch, Book four

by Lenore Wolfe

Book Four: HER DARK OBSSESSION

Eve returns to her body--but now she learns what her husband is willing to do--to force her back home. He knows what she will do to protect Wolfram. And as they did the first time, Tristan's threats bring back her rage--with the same feeling of helplessness.

Eve soon faces the realization that all of her healing, all of her time in the Land of the Fae, has not removed the threat of the banshee, and that her healing has only just begun. In fact, the Queen had been correct--the danger has strengthened that connection. The Queens warnings of the dangers of her leaving the Land of the Fae to return to her human body--soon becomes a very realistic threat.

She returns to the Land of the Fae with Wolfram, but only to buy time. She must make a plan.

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Her dark kiss

Dark Realm of the Witch, Book five

by Lenore Wolfe

Book Five: HER DARK KISS

Now that Eve has escaped her husband , and been given a reprieve in the Land of the Fae, with Wolfram, they can plan what to do about Tristan. But for how long? Since it had been imperative that she return to the Land of the Fae--for she could not take the pain it had cost her to stay out in the human world any longer, she and Wolfram get to spend  some idyllic time together in paradise.

But time moves at a different rate here, and she is now in her human body. She knows that they both could easily become lost in the beautiful peace of this near-perfect world. More importantly, in the Land of the Fae, the things that once kept her and Wolfram apart--the things they had once felt were so important--no longer seem to hold the same significance. For the Fae, love is the only thing that matters. Things that are false became much clearer, here, to see. For love is not jealous--love is not possessive--love is not selfish. Love knows no such darkness.

It would be so easy to stay where life feels like paradise--where Eve and Wolfram would never again lose sight of things that truly matter. Where they would never lose sight of their love--their life together. Here--she is safe from the pain which threatens to make her forever a banshee.

But they cannot run away from their lives forever--not even to stay in the Land of the Fae. They had come to Earth--as human. They must face their truths and finish their lives--as human. If they couldn't face their truths--than their soul risked something much greater than banshees--or the loss of one other. They would risk destroying the bond of their twin soul--and since the twins soul cannot exist in the universe--one without the other--they would thereby risk destroying both of them for all eternity.

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Her dark embrace~

Dark Realm of the Witch, Book six

by Lenore Wolfe

Book Six: HER DARK EMBRACE

Eve and Wolfram return to the human world. Eve's husband escalates as he comes to realize that he has lost all control. The danger she has sensed--the danger she has believed, deep inside, that he is capable--now becomes a reality.

Eve must decide if she can put the pain behind her for good, forgive, and heal her soul forever--or become the banshee for all time.

Wolfram and Eve have been given a second chance. But have they learned the lessons that they have come to Mother Earth to learn--or will they lose each other again? And if they cannot get it right this time--in this lifetime--will they then loose each other--in infiniteness?

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