Shadow Spell Read Online Free PDF Page A

wondered if it meant Fial. But no, you’re right, both of you. I am not for the farm. Not for kitchen magicks and parlor games. We will look, here within the circle. We will look, and see. And know.”
    â€œTogether?” Teagan’s face glowed with joy as she asked, and Brannaugh knew she’d held back herself, her sister and brother too long.
    â€œTogether.” Brannaugh cupped her hands, brought the power up, out. And dropping her hands down like water falling, she made the fire.
    And the making of it, that first skill learned, the purity of the magick coursed through her. It felt as if she’d taken her first full breath in five years.
    â€œYou have more now,” Teagan stated.
    â€œAye. It’s waited. I’ve waited. We’ve waited. We wait no more. Through the flame and the smoke, we’ll seek him out, see where he lurks. You see deeper,” she told Eamon, “but have a care. If he knows we look at him, he will look at us.”
    â€œI know what I’m about. We can go through the fire, fly through the air, over water and earth, to where he is.” He laid a hand on the small sword at his side. “We can kill him.”
    â€œIt will take more than your sword. For all her power, our mother couldn’t destroy him. It will take more, and we will find more. In time. For now, we look only.”
    â€œWe can fly. Alastar and I. We . . .” Teagan trailed off at Brannaugh’s sharp look. “It just . . . happened one day.”
    â€œWe are what we are.” Brannaugh shook her head. “I should never have forgotten it. Now we look. Through fire, through smoke, with shielded sight as we invoke. To seek, to find, his eyes we blind, he who shed our blood. Now our power rises in a flood. We are the three. As we will, so mote it be.”
    They gripped hands, joined their light.
    Flames shifted; smoke cleared.
    There, drinking wine from a silver cup, was Cabhan. His dark hair fell to his shoulders, gleamed in the light of the tallows.
    Brannaugh saw stone walls, rich tapestries covering them, a bed with curtains of deep blue velvet.
    At his ease, she thought. He had found comfort, riches—it didn’t surprise her. He would use his powers for gain, for pleasure, for death. For whatever suited his purpose.
    A woman came into the chamber. She wore rich robes, had hair dark as midnight. Spellbound, Brannaugh thought, by the blind look in her eyes.
    And yet . . . some power there, some, Brannaugh realized. Struggling to break the bonds that locked it tight.
    Cabhan didn’t speak, merely flicked a hand toward the bed. The woman walked to it, disrobed, stood for a moment, her skin white as moonshine glowing in the light.
    Behind those blind eyes, Brannaugh saw the war waged, the bitter, bitter fight to break free. To strike out.
    For a moment, Eamon’s focus wavered. He’d never seen a grown woman fully naked, nor one with such large breasts. Like his sisters he sensed that trapped power—like a white bird in a black box. But all that bare skin, those soft, generous breasts, the fascinating triangle of hair between her legs.
    Would it feel like the hair on her head? He desperately wanted to touch, just there, and know.
    Cabhan’s head came up, a wolf scenting the air. He rose so quickly, the silver cup upended, spilling wine red as blood.
    Brannaugh twisted Eamon’s fingers painfully. Though he yelped, flushed as red as the fire, he brought his focus back.
    Still, for a moment, a terrible moment, Cabhan’s eyes seemed to look straight into his.
    Then he walked to the woman. He gripped her breasts, squeezed, twisted. Pain ran over her face, but she didn’t cry out.
    Couldn’t cry out.
    He pinched her nipples, twisted them until tears ran down her cheeks, until bruises marred the white skin. He struck her, knocking her back on the bed. Blood trickled from the corner of her mouth, but she only