Chapter 65 - Enitan
Enitan
Frigid winter air beats against the pane of the Venom mansion window. The aging glass shakes, fighting not to break under the wind’s pressure.
Sitting in the chair, I regard the room, its light-blue paisley wallpaper, worn and illuminated by the fireplace.
The four-poster bed is made with bedding, much like the ones found in my home with Aya back in Salem, a cream down comforter with matching pillows.
Oil paintings of old New England hang over the bed and before the desk where I’m sitting.
From the moment I stepped over the threshold of Rutherford Venom’s estate, I was drawn to the room. It’s why I chose this room. It feels so much like coming home. If I inhale hard enough, I can smell the sweet, spiced honey, vanilla, and jasmine of her homemade perfume.
The wind knocks against the window like it’s asking for permission to enter. There’s something alive in this house, like blood feeds every brick laid and door screwed.
My skin itches, stretching tightly over my flesh. My panther form wants out.
Standing, I grind down on my Miswak chewing stick and stare out the window. The blizzard makes it nearly impossible to see even a millimeter outside.
Stripping out of my clothes, I stretch, welcoming the shift. My bones begin to crack, elongating to accommodate the extra muscle and ligaments. Before my claws can lengthen and my panther form can appear, I teleport deep into the forest.
I don’t wait to adjust to the cold. I take off into a full sprint, leaping over downed trees until I’m miles away from the estate.
“Enitan, you know you shouldn’t be out here like this.”
A playful conversation with Aya comes to mind.
“Oh?” I reply, feigning innocence as she presses her bare breasts to my fur.
Pinching me, she retorts, “You know exactly what I mean. If we get caught—.”
“Have we ever gotten caught,Ya Qamari,” I whisper, allowing the bass in my voice to send shivers up her spine.
“You’re not playing fair. You know I can’t resist when you call me your moon,” Aya moans.
“When have I ever played fair when it comes to you?” I throw the question out there, knowing there’s no need to wait for an answer. I will destroy everything in my path, seen and unseen, to keep her safe.
The damn Reverend comes to mind. He’s a problem that will need to be dealt with soon. I can’t have him within a thousand yards of Aya. The way he looks at her is more than enough for me to gouge out his eyes, rip out his spine, and hang him with it.
More images are sent through the link, pulling me away from my murderous thoughts.
I’m fucking her in so many positions. So many glorious positions.
I have to fight the urge to shift and fuck her behind that prick Revered Willard’s backyard.
Sensing my thoughts, she shares images of me fucking her against the Reverend’s back door.
Not one to back down from a challenge, I teleport us to his backyard before shifting into my human form.
“Enitan,” Aya scolds, but I’m already rubbing the crown of my dick against her clit and sucking her nipple into my mouth. She groans, and my shaft stiffens, pre-cum leaking from the tip, eager to be inside our woman.
“We shouldn’t—.”
I cut her off with a thrust, entering her wet pussy. My hips roll, and she wraps her legs around me and grinds down on my length.
No words spoken—my dick saying everything necessary in this moment.
“That’s my fucking good witch. Ride my dick, Aya. Ride me hard,” I order, and she clenches around me before doing as I instructed.
She lifts her hips, pumping me in and out of her with each bounce.
“We…need…to…be…quick,” she breaths, whimpering when I hold her waist and start pounding in and out of her, the pace inching us closer to the edge.
My canines extend, and on my next thrust, I sink my teeth into the crook of her shoulder, sucking our binding mark. Aya’s nails dig into my skin, trying hard not to scream out and cut our tryst short.
“Bite me,” I growl through our mind link.
When her fangs bite down into my neck, I pick up my pace, alternating between deep, fast strokes and deep, slow ones.
“Fuck,” I mutter, fighting hard not to shift and jerk off.
Needing a distraction, I stop and bury my muzzle in the snow.
That should cool your horny ass down, Enitan.
It’s bad enough I’ve chanced shifting.
Over the past three centuries, I’ve had to limit my shifting to avoid arousing suspicion. Since the days of the witch trials, any form of supernatural power has been hunted down and harvested for power, wealth, and immortality.
That thought reminds me of why I’m here. Twenty-five years ago, I detected energies nearly identical to Aya’s, but it wasn’t enough to pinpoint the source’s location.
However, each year the energy grew stronger, allowing me to pinpoint it to somewhere in New England. It wasn’t until last year that I was able to finally narrow it down to somewhere in Salem, Connecticut.
Had I finally found her—Aya?
But after finding the town’s location, everything went dead. No energies—no connection. It was as if someone used a cloaking spell.
Trotting along, I piece together clues I’ve gathered over the centuries.
1.Something evil captured my bonded-mate.
2.But she’s still alive.
3.Blips of Aya’s powers have intensified as time has gone on.
4.This estate holds some clues.
The last one is why I’m here. Six months ago, I picked up on Aya’s scent and tracked it down to Maine and then to Bowdoin College, where Dr. Asha Bailey teaches an African Folklore seminar.
I enrolled in the college and took her seminar. It was there that I learned that Aya’s existence had become oral history—stories passed down for generations. They speak of the witch that was the first of her kind—one that slaughtered an entire village as she burned at the stake.
Dr. Bailey discussed the reappearance of Aya in Adams, Tennessee, where she terrorized the Bell family until the trail went dead again.
At least it did until one year ago, when Dr. Bailey found evidence that Aya is haunting the Venom Estate.
She detailed her findings and then shared that she was among a group invited to visit the estate.
“Asaya is a priestess. The first of her kind—a blend of what we would call a witch and a vampire. But she’s not a vampire, not even close. She is both the bringer of peace and the spear of destruction.”
As the woman who felt so much like my Aya spoke at the front of the lecture hall in an orchid-colored linen dress that flowed effortlessly over her frame, her russet complexion was smooth.
You could see its flawlessness even from the back of the room where I sat.
Her hair was braided down to her narrow waist, just above her curvy hips, Fulani style.
I try to quell my excitement, but it’s hard. I can feel how close I am to seeing my heartbeat again.
Three centuries—three hundred and thirty-four excruciatingly long years to be exact. That’s how long I’ve been without a piece of my soul. The only thing giving any semblance of peace was the dual beating of her pulse and the unbreakable connection I have as her familiar.
Only now, instead of it being two, it’s three. The third, faint— a wall blocking the true connection.
She hasn’t awakened yet.
However, I’m unsure how or why a third pulse appeared. Aya and I are supposed to be a male/female pairing. So, the appearance of this new heartbeat over the last few months has become my obsession.
Did it belong to the “she” Aya spoke of?
What did its presence mean for us?
Will finding the owner lead me back to my beloved?
I’m five minutes away from the estate when I feel it—the power—the energy.
The third heartbeat pounds louder than it has ever before. It’s like a beacon. It mimics Aya, but I know now, for certain, it isn’t her. There’s a third person in our binding, a link that was never meant to be but now is.
I race back towards the mansion, knowing I will find both parts of my soul inside.