Witchcraft Novels Novels & Stories

he accused, his eyes narrowing. Susan walked away, refusing to engage further. "I'm not done talking to you, Susan," Drake insisted, following her. “I know, and I don't plan on leaving yet," she replied calmly, taking a seat on the couch. Drake sighed heavily as he settled onto the couch opposite her. Susan cleared her throat, breaking the silence. “Drake, no one is brainwashing us. This is our reality. We are witches, and we have traditions, customs, and rituals that must be performed when needed," she explained patiently.

She did not know whether she was protector, witness, or supplicant, only that she could not remain apart from the heat and the ache. And in the hour that followed, the stone ring—so long a place of warding and division—became a crucible for something more elemental. The witches surrendered to each other, weaving a tapestry of bodies and breath, dissolving the boundaries again and again until nothing but the moon’s light could tell them apart.

With forbidden knowledge. It was almost indecently thrilling. I pulled the nearest volume toward me and opened it. The pages were brittle, edges browned with age. The script was cramped but surprisingly elegant, some sections in fading ink, others in more recent, sharper strokes where later scribes had added notes. I scanned headings. “Pact of the Seven Rivers—Alpha Thorne of Redclaw and the Water‑Binder Witches.” “Blood Price of the Crescent War.” “On the Folly of Binding Wolves to Moon Sorcerers.”

They had come to this library several times, but let alone found something; they hadn't even managed to check all the bookshelves. "Adro!" Grace called. Her eyes were still focused on a book with an old leather cover. Turning at the half-whispered call, Adro quickly approached Grace, who stood at the end of the bookshelf aisle. "Did you find something?" Grace nodded. "This book seems suspicious. We should check it out," she pointed to the page she had opened. After studying the page for a moment, Adro nodded with his jaws clenched. "You're right. This is a book discussing witchcraft and magic, and it feels more familiar compared to other books on witches in this library."

Other Books by Rowena Portch Spirian Saga Protected Union Legend Aeon Pneuma Illusions Fealty Shifter Spirians Contemporary Fiction Fate Be Short Adventure Aeneas

I whispered helplessly. “Ah, is that so?” He added another finger that pushed me to lock my arm on his neck, fearing losing my balance. “Why is that?” “You know why.” “I don’t. So, read again.” Hopeless and weak, that’s me. This intense lust and urge to become one with Noah would kill me sooner. I took several moments to savor the pleasure of Noah pumping his fingers inside and out before opening the next page. “Some people believe there is no such thing as a demon. What makes dark witches dangerous is their book of spells. The book of spells for dark witches contains a lot of harmful spells. It also stated witches wouldn’t be able to have access to the spell unless they made a sacrifice.”

Magic, capable of destroying even a demon. In her bedroom, Sarah threw open her closet. Stripping naked, she slipped into the black robes of her old coven, robes that would protect her from weapon and magic alike. A dagger, a wand, and a bracelet ringed with gemstones. With these three items, she had toppled fortress walls, brought an army to its knees, and even slain a werewolf pack intent on taking her head.

Like the book knew me. I pushed that thought aside and turned the first few pages. Most of the entries were familiar types of magic—herbal mixtures, minor warding spells, protection charms, and potion recipes. The kind of practical witchcraft that most mages learned during their years at Rosewood. But I wasn’t looking for those. I flipped slowly through the pages, searching for anything that felt even remotely familiar. Anything that might explain the wings. Or the blood. It took several minutes before I found something.

“Good job princess.” I looked around seeing others walking into the woods. One man, a tall slim man dressed all in a black robe was burning something in the fire. The smell seemed to be white. I don’t know why white was the word that first came to me, maybe pure. I looked up at Nikko, “Is he a witch?” Nikko looked down at me, “a warlock maybe. I don’t think he would take kindly to you calling him a witch.” He arched his brow, “why Samantha are you a witch?”

"And how did I get here? There were these men in shadows. They took me after... after what happened at the square." The old woman sat down on a stool near the small fire. She watched me closely. "My name is Elara. I am a witch, like you. The shadow warriors brought you to this sanctuary deep in the mountains. It is protected. No one from the werewolf kingdom can find it easily." I took a small sip of the drink. It tasted better than it smelled and the pain in my back eased a little. "The execution. The fire. I had wings. Big ones. Did that really happen? Or am I losing my mind?"