Taming The Hunter
Passion and danger in this life – and the next!Eryss Norling knows that she has lived through many lives. And she knows that she has had the same lover across the ages. But where is he now? After performing a summoning spell, she meets Dane Winthur. Yes, he's gorgeous, but he's also a scientist devoted to debunking the paranormal. How can he love a witch? And why are these two drawn to each other over and over? The answer to these questions is nothing that either of them could imagine. The fate that brings them together, life after life, is the fate that may destroy them – again.
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Passion and danger in this lifeâand the next
Eryss Norling knows that she has lived through many lives. And she knows that she has had the same lover across the ages. But where is he now? After performing a summoning spell, she meets Dane Winthur. Yes, heâs gorgeous, but heâs also a scientist devoted to debunking the paranormal. How can he love a witch? And why are these two drawn to each other over and over? The answer to these questions is nothing that either of them could imagine. The fate that brings them together, life after life, is the fate that may destroy themâagain.
âI never live to thirty?â Eryss gasped out as her heart fell.
Her thirtieth birthday was less than a week away. âSome man kills me? The same one? So many times?â
Midge nodded. âHe must reincarnate, as well. And to find you in every lifetime? Has to be a curse. I am positive it was the same man in each reincarnation.â
âDid you get a look at his face?â
âNo. But you know we never reincarnate into the same physical manifestation. I didnât see your face, either. But that isnât whatâs important.â
âOf course not. Who is he? What is he?â
The witch exhaled and leaned forward, pressing her palms to the table, and said carefully, âA witch hunter.â
MICHELE HAUF has been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries usually populate her stories. And if Michele followed the adage âwrite what you know,â all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries and creatures she has never seen. Find her on Facebook, Twitter and at www.michelehauf.com.
Contents
Anacampserote (n.): something that can bring back a lost love
Winter Solstice...
After padding through the soft emerald grass that carpeted the floor of her sanctuary, Eryss Norling knelt before the altar she kept tucked between the pink-and-white petals of bleeding hearts and the cool winter stars of forget-me-nots. Behind those, crinkle-petaled hollyhocks bloomed as if it were summer. A dragonfly flitted among the leafy canopy that climbed to the top of the two-story glass-walled conservatory.
Tucking her long, loose chestnut hair over an ear, Eryss bowed to light the large yellow beeswax candle on the simple wooden altar. Then she turned to light the eight smaller blue candles sheâd placed around the altar to enclose her in a casting circle. Between each of the candles sheâd placed rose quartz and garnet crystals to heighten the energy and fill the circle with love and happiness. And resolve.
Her silver-green velvet robe splayed around her knees and legs as she twisted within the circle, brandishing the lit match. Closed by three braided-ribbon frog hooks over her breasts, the robe was a favorite piece she wore often when casting a spell. Talismans of silver, crowâs foot and bloodstone hung around her neck, sliding across the crepe-thin pink negligee she wore against her clove-scented skin. Blowing out the match dispelled sulfur into the humid air, and a waft of white smoke curled toward the morning glory vine climbing an iron trellis to the arched windows that formed a cathedral dome overhead.
Steeped in reverence, her movements were slow and thoughtful. She nestled a heavy, six-sided quartz wand with points at both ends in the sifting of black salt. After whispering a blessing for all that she had, all that she would know and all that changed with her footsteps through this realm, she bowed her head and touched her chest, where a tiny maroon line darkened her pale skin just below her breast. Her heartbeat thudded softly against her fingertips.
With her other hand she clasped the crystal-bladed athame and drew it across her forefinger, cutting a line through the whorls of her fingerprint. A few blood droplets splattered onto the black salt. Forget-me-nots bowing over the altar whispered delicious fragrance, entwining about the metallic tint from her blood, summoning earth elementals with the sweet perfume.
Setting aside the knife, she then beckoned forth the earthâs energies with her hands, focusing it toward the quartz. Closing her eyes, she began to hum deeply and from the base of her throat, channeling the vibrations toward her heart and then releasing them throughout her body.
âI have loved only one so many times,â she whispered. âIn all my incarnations it has always been him. This I know.â
And yet in each of those incarnations she had lost him for reasons she could not divine. Her portentous dreams had never explained that frustrating point. That wasnât the important question. What was important was that she see him, recognize him should he enter her life once again. For in her dreams, she had never seen his face. She knew no one reincarnated into the same visage.
