Love is Always Write Anthology Volume 9

scrambled up and onto the wide hump of Kreed's shoulder. "All right, then." Alec spread his weight, flattening himself along Kreed's scales and running his hands softly over his neck. "Yours it is. For now."
    Kreed shivered and sprang into the air.
    THE END
    Author bio: Jaime has been writing for various publishers since the fall of 2008, although she's been writing for herself far longer. Often asked why men; what's so fascinating about writing stories about men falling in love, she's never come up with a clear answer. Just that these are the stories that she loves to read, so it seemed to make sense if she was going to write, they should also be the stories she wrote.
    These days, you can find plenty of free reading on her website. She also writes for Freya's Bower, Loveyoudivine Alterotica, Pink Petal Books, Dreamspinner Press and Total E-Bound.
    Spare time, when it can be found rolled into a ball at the back of the dryer or cavorting with the dust bunnies in the corners, she's probably spending reading, drawing, gardening (weather permitting, of course, since she is Canadian!) or watching movies. Well. She has a day job or two, as well, and two kids, but thankfully, also a wonderful husband who shoulders more than his fair share of household and child care responsibilities.
    She graduated some time ago from college with a Fine Arts diploma, with a major in textile arts, which basically qualifies her to draw pictures and create things with string and fabric. One always needs an official slip of paper to fall back on after all....
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    ****

SOULMATES
    by Andrea Speed

    The last ritual was blood. As it dripped, slithering over my skin, the power pulsed within me. Tomorrow, he would be mine, even if I have to destroy the entire coven.
    ~ Gabbo

    genre: fantasy
    tags: magic; sorcerer; death; coven; soulmates; forgiveness
    content warnings: some bad language; a bit of violence in the beginning
    word count: 2,980
    Back to Table of Contents

    SOULMATES
    by Andrea Speed
    Sometimes, when the power filled him, it was better than sex could ever hope to be.
    The electricity surged through him, nearly lethal but not at all painful. It was a rush that made his heart pound furiously in his ears and made heat pool in his chest as he tasted metal; it felt like he was made of nothing but pure incandescent radiance.
    Oh, he could hear the screams around him, feel the alternate powers whipsawing through the air, but he was too incandescent to care.
    The poor Ravenhurst coven. To think they could stand in his way was laughable. Damian made short work of them, spells like curses flying from his lips as he used a dagger to slit the throat of the warrior mage trying to put a suppression spell on him. His blood spurted like water from a hose, and Damian put his hand in it as the man fell, drawing power from the blood. When he was hit with a thrall spell, he used a boomerang spell to hit the witch and drop her to the stone floor of the mausoleum. The other warrior mage came for him. He planted his bloody palm against his forehead and said, "Aduro."
    The man screamed as his eyes smoked, and he clawed at them in agony as the eyeballs liquefied and ran down his face like thick tears. Damian left him to die as went deeper into the tomb.
    It was empty, of course, free of even its decayed dead and worn out ghosts, but that wasn't a complete truth. He could feel the magic rippling around him like a scrim, and he felt out with his power, using his mind to push it into every corner, every crack in the mortar and stone, every mote of dust. There was brief resistance before it shattered, and beneath it he could feel the black power of the sigil, the one meant to bind and trap him, neuter his magic. Pathetic. Was this the best they could do? Frankly he expected better of such an old coven, but so many of the mighty had fallen before him, he wasn't sure why he was surprised. Age and numbers couldn't hold up against desire and power.
    Damian opened his mind's eye and saw the sigil was painted on the ceiling of the main chamber ahead of him, where the coven's head, Mitchell, hid within a cloak of shadows, waiting for Damian to step into the trap before revealing himself. He smiled as he focused his power like an arrow and shot it towards the ceiling, an invisible bolt that could be felt as aftermath. Mitchell gasped as the ceiling cracked, but could do nothing as it rained down upon his head in big stone