Read Online Black Beast by Nenia Campbell - Free Book Online Page A
Authors: Nenia Campbell
Tags: Fantasy, Urban Fantasy, Paranormal, Witches, Science Fiction & Fantasy, Teen & Young Adult, Paranormal & Urban, witch, shape shifter, witch clan, shapechanger, witches and magic, shapechange, shiftershaper, shapeshifter paranormal, shape change, shape changers, witches and vampires, shape changing, shape shift, witch council, shape changer
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member of the Council.”
No fucking way
, she thought.
“On your knees.”
Since when did the Council let their members run wild? Even they were not so cavalier—were they?
Catherine did not move. She felt like a tree being battered at by a heavy wind, forced either to bend, or break. The water had been trickling around her feet and now it swelled. She cried out as her legs were swept out from under her and she collapsed into the mud. Her knee hit a rock, and pain bit into her with savage fervor.
“That's better,” the witch said, almost cheerful now that she was on her knees, but the coldness hadn't left his eyes, and that look hadn't left his face. “Now tell me, what are you doing with a Slayer's spell book?”
She wished she had possession of her senses. She had the feeling that she'd need all of them. “Spell book?”
“Are you a parrot? I think not. So answer the question. What is your magic source? Who gave it to you?”
Her thighs were beginning to stiffen. Her wounded knee still throbbed painfully and she thought she could smell blood. Until the silver was removed, it would not begin to heal. “I don't have a magic source.”
“It surrounds you,” the witch said coldly.
“Shape-shifters can't perform magic.”
“You aren't going to make this easy, are you?”
Catherine swallowed, but did not look away from his eyes. She would not be submissive or docile. “Let me go. I answered your question.”
“Perhaps you enjoy pain. I do appreciate the odd challenge.” He glanced at her askance. She didn't change her expression, although her heart hammered with fear. “I could kill you right now, in cold blood. I could make you scream for me, and the Council would call it justice.”
He was lying, bluffing. The Council wasn't that corrupt. As much as they hated shape-shifters, they couldn't overlook murder. Several members of her own kind held seats. Surely
they
wouldn't condone this.
As if reading her mind, the witch said, “The Fourth Rule does not apply in clear-cut cases of treason. You have attacked and threatened an esteemed member of the Council, and you have artifacts of black magic in your possession. For all intents and purposes, you are nothing more than a rabid beast clad in human skin.”
Catherine flinched. “I'm a Glamor.”
“I saw you Change into a hawk where any human could happen upon you. I know you stole that book because I watched you do it. And though I have no proof of it yet, I know you tampered with our official records.”
Records? What was he talking about?
“It's not me you have to convince,” he said, when she opened her mouth. “The First Rule is bad enough, but toying with the dark arts—that is condemnation itself.”
“Speaking from personal experience?” she snapped.
It was a mistake. He went as rigid as an angry cat. Magic slashed out from his aura in lethal arcs as if trying to reach out for her throat and strangle her. The light spilled out from his violent aura and onto his face, and if eyes were truly windows into the soul, then his showed glimpses of an icy, arctic hell. A barren wasteland of madness.
And then he laughed. A sound as dark and velvety as the sky above, its softness tempered by a note of warning that crackled and rumbled like thunder. If evil had a laugh, she thought it would sound like his.
The storm was coming in.
“Something like that,” the witch said, at length, and Catherine felt a thrill of fear. What did he mean by that? That he had practiced black magic before? Or that he thought she did, and was about to make her pay for her impertinence?
Neither option was reassuring, but the third was worse—he was completely insane.
“The vampires who guard the Keep in the northern wastes would enjoy you, I think,” said the witch. “They regard stubbornness as a garnish in their little blood whores. That particular
No fucking way
, she thought.
“On your knees.”
Since when did the Council let their members run wild? Even they were not so cavalier—were they?
Catherine did not move. She felt like a tree being battered at by a heavy wind, forced either to bend, or break. The water had been trickling around her feet and now it swelled. She cried out as her legs were swept out from under her and she collapsed into the mud. Her knee hit a rock, and pain bit into her with savage fervor.
“That's better,” the witch said, almost cheerful now that she was on her knees, but the coldness hadn't left his eyes, and that look hadn't left his face. “Now tell me, what are you doing with a Slayer's spell book?”
She wished she had possession of her senses. She had the feeling that she'd need all of them. “Spell book?”
“Are you a parrot? I think not. So answer the question. What is your magic source? Who gave it to you?”
Her thighs were beginning to stiffen. Her wounded knee still throbbed painfully and she thought she could smell blood. Until the silver was removed, it would not begin to heal. “I don't have a magic source.”
“It surrounds you,” the witch said coldly.
“Shape-shifters can't perform magic.”
“You aren't going to make this easy, are you?”
Catherine swallowed, but did not look away from his eyes. She would not be submissive or docile. “Let me go. I answered your question.”
“Perhaps you enjoy pain. I do appreciate the odd challenge.” He glanced at her askance. She didn't change her expression, although her heart hammered with fear. “I could kill you right now, in cold blood. I could make you scream for me, and the Council would call it justice.”
He was lying, bluffing. The Council wasn't that corrupt. As much as they hated shape-shifters, they couldn't overlook murder. Several members of her own kind held seats. Surely
they
wouldn't condone this.
As if reading her mind, the witch said, “The Fourth Rule does not apply in clear-cut cases of treason. You have attacked and threatened an esteemed member of the Council, and you have artifacts of black magic in your possession. For all intents and purposes, you are nothing more than a rabid beast clad in human skin.”
Catherine flinched. “I'm a Glamor.”
“I saw you Change into a hawk where any human could happen upon you. I know you stole that book because I watched you do it. And though I have no proof of it yet, I know you tampered with our official records.”
Records? What was he talking about?
“It's not me you have to convince,” he said, when she opened her mouth. “The First Rule is bad enough, but toying with the dark arts—that is condemnation itself.”
“Speaking from personal experience?” she snapped.
It was a mistake. He went as rigid as an angry cat. Magic slashed out from his aura in lethal arcs as if trying to reach out for her throat and strangle her. The light spilled out from his violent aura and onto his face, and if eyes were truly windows into the soul, then his showed glimpses of an icy, arctic hell. A barren wasteland of madness.
And then he laughed. A sound as dark and velvety as the sky above, its softness tempered by a note of warning that crackled and rumbled like thunder. If evil had a laugh, she thought it would sound like his.
The storm was coming in.
“Something like that,” the witch said, at length, and Catherine felt a thrill of fear. What did he mean by that? That he had practiced black magic before? Or that he thought she did, and was about to make her pay for her impertinence?
Neither option was reassuring, but the third was worse—he was completely insane.
“The vampires who guard the Keep in the northern wastes would enjoy you, I think,” said the witch. “They regard stubbornness as a garnish in their little blood whores. That particular
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