MIDNIGHT PLEASURES Read online

  MIDNIGHT PLEASURES

  By

  Amanda Ashley, Sherrilyn Kenyon, Maggie Shayne & Ronda Thompson

  CONTENTS

  Darkfest

  by Amanda Ashley

  Phantom Lover

  by Sherrilyn Kenyon

  Under Her Spell

  by Maggie Shayne

  A Wulf's Curse

  by Ronda Thompson

  MIDNIGHT

  PLEASURES

  AMANDA ASHLEY

  SHERRILYN KENYON

  MAGGIE SHAYNE

  RONDA THOMPSON

  St. Martin's Paperbacks

  MIDNIGHT PLEASURES

  "Darkfest" copyright © 2003 by Madeline Baker.

  "Phantom Lover" copyright © 2003 by Sherrilyn Kenyon.

  "Under Her Spell" copyright © 2003 by Margaret Benson.

  "A Wulf's Curse" copyright © 2003 by Ronda Thompson.

  Excerpt from Kiss of the Night copyright © 2003 by Sherrilyn Kenyon.

  "The Rede of the Wiccae," by Lady Gwynne Thompson as told to her by her grandmother, Adrianna Porter. Used with permission of the Elders of the New England Covens of Traditionalist Witches (N.E.C.T.W.). First published in Green Egg Magazine, Vol. III, No. 69 (Ostara 1975). This piece has been rewritten in many versions, with verses changed and altered, added, deleted for many years, but this is the first version known to appear in print.

  ISBN: 0-312-98762-5

  Printed in the United States of America

  St. Martin's Paperbacks edition / November 2003

  St. Martin's Paperbacks are published by St. Martin's Press, 175 Fifth Avenue, New York, NY 10010.

  DARKFEST

  AMANDA ASHLEY

  For all those who patiently

  —And not so patiently—

  Urged me to finish this tale,

  I hope you're as happy with

  The results as I am.

  And especially for

  Ethan and Monique—

  I couldn't have done it

  Without you.

  PROLOGUE

  They were afraid of him, but then, as far back as he could remember, people had been afraid of him. Even his mother had looked upon him with a certain measure of fear. He had learned to walk when he was but six months old, could converse with his elders by the time he was two, could turn water into ale at three.

  As a child, he had not understood the amazement of his elders. He had thought all males were as gifted as he. He had been well and truly surprised to discover that those he came in contact with could not read his mind as he read theirs. His playmates, though few, stood in awe of his ability to create fire and summon thunder at his will.

  He had cherished his unique powers, not knowing that, as time passed, those who knew him would come to fear him, while others who were hungry for power would go to any and all lengths to learn the secret of his awesome powers, his eternal youth. Feared and held in suspicion by those who knew him, pursued by those who would steal his power, his very life, he had taken refuge inside his father's keep.

  Now, three hundred years later, all those he had known in his youth were gone, and he alone remained, shut up in a prison of his own making at the top of a high mountain.

  CHAPTER 1

  A distant land before recorded time

  It was midnight on the Eve of First Harvest and he stood alone on a rocky pinnacle of his high mountain, watching the villagers far below as they danced around a fire blazing in the middle of the square.

  No mere mortal could have discerned aught but the flames, but the wizard of Darkfest Keep could clearly see the face and form of each man, woman, and child, hear their songs of joy, their shouts of carefree laughter. He saw Adair, the cooper, flirting with a woman who was not his wife, saw young Muggins slip quietly into the shadows with the blacksmith's daughter. Old Henrew was telling ribald stories to a handful of young men, while Alys the midwife sat apart from the others telling a young maid's fortune.

  Such foolishness, the wizard mused, singing and dancing during the dark of the moon. He could have told them that all the singing in the world would not protect their crops from weevils or drought, or ensure a bountiful harvest. Dancing barefoot in the dirt would not make their women fertile, but who was he to vanquish their hopes and dreams, foolish though they might be?

  And when the crops failed and the clouds withheld their moisture, the villagers would take their courage in hand and climb the narrow rocky mountain path to his door. Cowering with fear, careful not to meet his gaze, they would plead for his help. They would bring him golden ears of corn and flasks of spiced wine, a lamb without blemish, the meager contents of the town's treasury. They would grant him homage and beg for his mercy. And if it suited his mood, he would accept their offerings and grant their boon, and they would hurry away, never meeting his eyes, careful to keep him from seeing that they made the sign against evil behind his back.

  Their fear amused him. He possessed many strange and wondrous powers, but, awesome as his talents might be, even he could not perform all the mystical feats of which they believed him capable.

  The sound of lute and tambourine floated toward him, borne on the wings of a gentle east wind. And then he heard a voice, her voice, as light as morning dew, as clear as crystal ice. A lovely voice that threaded through the darkness and twined around his soul like a fine silken web.

  Channa Leigh's voice.

  It tugged at him, pulling him nearer the edge of the precipice on which he stood, tantalizing him, calling to something deep within his soul as it did each time he heard it. He saw her clearly, sitting on the edge of the well in the center of the village square. Her father, Dugald of Brynn, stood near her side, proud and protective, but Darkfest had eyes only for the fair Channa Leigh. She wore a white apron over a simple blue dress. Her hair, as bright as the sun on a summer day, fell in rippling waves down her back and over her shoulders, glistening in the firelight like a river of molten gold.

  This night, her voice beckoned him as never before. Unable to resist, eager to more closely behold the face of the one blessed with the voice of an angel, he gathered his power close around him. He felt it coalesce and he drew it close, feeling it surround him, and then he stepped out into the darkness of space, his body falling like a leaf from a tree, changing from wizard to wolf as he drifted downward to land, as light as dandelion down, on the ground.

  "Sing another, Channa Leigh."

  "Aye, lass, give us another!"

  Channa Leigh smiled as the crowd gathered around her urged her to sing another song. Singing was her one true love, her sole reason for living. Locked in a world of darkness, she had only her music to light her days.

  Hands clasped to her breast, she began to sing again, an ancient lullaby she had often heard her mother sing. A hush fell over the crowd, and even the rowdy young men near the tavern fell silent, until the only sound to be heard was her voice, the notes strong and true, blending with the whisper of the night wind and the faint crackle of the flames. The lullaby gave way to a ballad of love lost and found, the words sung with such feeling that many a woman wept silent tears, and many a man, too.

  There was a moment of awed quiet as the last note fell away, and then Channa Leigh heard someone gasp, heard someone else softly exclaim, "Look at that!"

  She felt the undercurrent of fear that ran through the crowd, heard their shuffling feet as they backed away from her.

  "Hold still, lass," her father called softly.

  Accustomed to obeying her father's every word, Channa Leigh did as she was told. And then, like a ray of brilliant sunshine penetrating a dark cloud, she felt a presence beside her.

 
"Dinna move, Daughter." Her father's voice trembled now. "Dinna move."

  She felt a pressure against her leg, the brush of thick, soft fur against her hand. "What is it?" she whispered.

  " 'Tis a mountain wolf, the biggest I've ever seen."

  She should have been afraid. Mountain wolves were huge beasts, some near as large as a draft pony. They were predators without equal.

  She should have been afraid, yet she felt no fear at all as the big wolf circled her, his body pressing against her legs. She felt a stirring in the air, a whisper, like the mournful sighing of the wind before dawn. A tingling on her skin, like the touch of the sun after a cold winter. Before she had time to wonder what it meant, the chains of darkness fell away from her eyes. Too stunned to speak, she stared at the creature as he rubbed his huge head against her hand, blatantly begging for her touch. What magic was this? she wondered in awe. What witchery had fallen on her to restore her sight? Hesitantly, she scratched his ears, then ran her fingertips over his head and neck. She was rewarded with a low growl that rumbled like soft thunder. Startled, she drew her hand away, and darkness descended on her once more.

  The wolf whined low in his throat, his muzzle pressing against her arm. She blinked and blinked again, and as she sat there, her hand resting lightly upon the wolf's head, she realized that she was seeing the world through the wolf's eyes. Her own eyes widened with surprise as she noticed the wolf's eyes were blue. Who had ever heard of such a thing as a blue-eyed wolf?

  "Be still, lass," Dugald warned softly. "Ronin has gone for his bow."

  "Nay!" Channa Leigh cried. "Nay, Papa, you must not kill it!"

  "Are you daft, girl? 'Tis a wild beastie, not a pet."

  Slowly, her hand resting firmly on the wolf's head, she stood and turned toward the sound of her father's voice. "Papa? Papa, I can see you."

  Dugald stared at his daughter in astonishment. "Channa Leigh, what are you saying?"

  "I can see you."

  "Channa Leigh?" A woman stepped out of the crowd, her pale blue eyes shining with tears.

  "Mama? Oh, Mama, I can see."

  Mara stared at her daughter. "But… but… how is that possible?"

  "I dinna know." Slowly, Channa Leigh glanced around, and she could see them all, the people she had lived with all her life, some whom she had never seen. " 'Tis a miracle."

  A miracle that ended when Ronin ran forward, his longbow clutched in his hand. Ronin, who was the best hunter in the village, who provided the village folk with meat summer and winter, who found game when no one else could.

  She shouted, "Nay, you must not!" as he put arrow to string and sighted down the shaft.

  With a graceful leap and a roar that seemed to shake the very pillars of the earth, the big black wolf disappeared into the night, leaving her in darkness once more.

  He stood once again on the pinnacle of the mountain, shaken to the very foundation of his soul. Her spirit, as pure and clean as the light of dawn, had brushed his, and as their souls collided, the fetters of blindness had melted away and she had seen the world through his eyes. He had felt her joy as she looked upon the faces of her father and mother for the first time since an illness in childhood had stolen her sight. In those few moments, he had felt all of her pain, her sense of being shut off from the rest of the world, her yearning for a home and a family of her own.

  How was this possible? In three hundred years, he had performed countless miracles, healed the sick, coaxed rain from the heavens, but never had he plumbed the depths of another soul, nor had another see the world through his eyes.

  He gazed down at the villagers. They stood subdued after the incident with the wolf. Had he willed it, he could have heard their voices, read their thoughts, but he closed his mind against them, his whole being focused on the young woman who gazed sightlessly into the distance, her heart silently beseeching the great black wolf to return to her side.

  CHAPTER 2

  He paced through the empty rooms of the great stone castle all that night, his mind in turmoil.

  He knew so much, and yet he knew so little.

  He had performed wondrous feats of magic, yet could not explain why a blind peasant girl had been able to see when she touched him.

  He paused in front of the looking glass that adorned one wall of his chamber, stared at the reflection before him as though it could give him the answers he sought, but he saw only what he had always seen: a tall man, broad of chest and long of limb. His hair fell past his shoulders, long and straight and black save for a narrow streak of gray at his left temple. His eyes changed color with the seasons—cold gray in winter, pale green in spring, deep brown in the fall. This night, they were the warm blue of a summer sky.

  She had touched him and seen the world through his eyes. How was that possible? Were he to touch her while in his human form, would the same miracle occur?

  He walked slowly through the great stone castle that was his domain. He had lived here alone all his adult life, watching the world change, watching the people in the village below as they went through the endless cycle of life and death.

  He had watched Channa Leigh grow from being a plump, pink-cheeked babe, to a long-legged girl, to a beautiful young woman. It seemed he had always watched Channa Leigh, that he had ever been drawn to the beautiful green-eyed girl who now stared at the world through sightless eyes.

  He paused in the great hall to stare up at the painting of his parents. His mother was as fair as his father was dark. She had been a pale, slender creature with light brown hair and eyes as blue as a deep mountain lake. His father had been darkness itself—dark of skin and hair and eyes. Dark of soul, some had said. The people of the village had called him the Dragon Lord of Darkfest Keep.

  Darkfest left the castle and wandered through the quiet night, bedeviled by questions for which he had no answers, knowing only that should he surrender to the darkness that dwelled deep within him, he would be forever lost, forever damned.

  In the days that followed, he tried to put Channa Leigh out of his mind, but it was impossible. Like the ache from an old wound, she came back again and again to torment him. He felt anew the touch of her small, gentle hand on his head, relived her wonder as she saw the world through his eyes. And because he had ever been selfish when it came to satisfying his own wants, a fortnight later he again changed into the guise of a mountain wolf and made his way down the mountainside to the village.

  He knew which house was hers, knew in what room she slept. But even had he not known, her warm, familiar scent would have beckoned him as surely as candlelight drew the tiny white moths.

  He hesitated a moment, weighing the risk of being discovered against the prize, and then dismissed the danger. He was Darkfest, more than a match for a few lowly peasants.

  Her window was open and he leaped effortlessly over the low sill, then padded soundlessly toward her narrow bed. She slept on her side, facing the window, one hand tucked, childlike, beneath her cheek. Her eyes were closed, but he knew them well, wide and innocent beneath delicately shaped brows, as green as the leaves of the pine trees that grew close together along the river. Her rich golden hair fell in a long braid over her shoulder. He lifted the heavy braid with his paw, closed his eyes, and breathed deeply. Her scent filled his nostrils, warmed every nerve.

  Would she wake if he dared to lie beside her? It was a temptation he could not resist. Lightly he jumped onto her bed and stretched out beside her, his back to her front. A low growl of satisfaction rambled in his throat as she snuggled against him.

  A sigh, soft as a summer breeze, whispered past her lips, ruffling his fur.

  Of what do ye dream, my Channa Leigh? he wondered, and closing his eyes, he covered her hand with his paw and let his mind meld with hers…

  At first there was only darkness, and then, gradually, the world brightened and he saw her walking along the river-bank, one hand resting on the head of a huge wolf. And she saw the world through his eyes. He experienced her wonder as sh
e watched a gray squirrel run up a tree. She stopped to touch the soft pink petals of a brier rose, stooped to run her hands over the green velvet grass. Now and then she paused and gazed up at the sky, and then she moved on, her head turning slowly from side to side, examining everything she passed—flowers, leaves, rocks, a fat brown caterpillar.

  He felt her fingers in his hair as her hand stroked the dream wolf's head. He had thought to change into his true form but decided against it now, afraid she might sense the change and awaken.

  In her dream, she sat down in the shade of a flowering oak, and the big wolf stretched out beside her, his head in her lap.

  As she stroked the dream wolf, he felt his own body tingle, his skin ripple with pleasure, as though she were caressing him and not the wolf in her dream.

  "Isn't the world a wondrous place, my dark one?" she said. "I had forgotten how beautiful it all was." She ran one hand over the grass. "This is green. 'Tis a glorious color.

  And the earth. 'Tis brown, like Papa's cow. Oh, and look at the sky. "Its a wondrous shade of blue. As blue as your eyes."

  Time passed. An hour, a day… in a dream, time had no meaning, not that it mattered. He had all the time in the world. Man or beast, in this world or in the world of Channa Leigh's dreams, he was content to rest there, by her side, to feel her fingers stroke his fur, to breathe in her scent, to imagine himself as a man at her side, his head cradled in her lap, his lips tasting hers…

  As if she knew his thoughts, the dreaming Channa Leigh pressed her fingertips to her lips. "Tell me, dark one, do you think I shall ever find a man to love?" She laughed softly, sadly. "I think Ronin has feelings for me, though he has never spoken them aloud." She breathed a heavy sigh. "But even should he care, what man would want one such as I? "