Fire Witch, page 1
FIRE WITCH
WITCHES OF WESTWOOD ACADEMY
BOOK THREE
GINA KINCADE
C.D. GORRI
CONTENTS
Fire Witch
Prologue
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Epilogue
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Fire Witch
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Book Three
Copyright © 2023
Gina Kincade & C.D. Gorri
ISBN: 978-1-77357-530-8
978-1-77357-529-2
Published by Naughty Nights Press LLC
Cover Art By King Cover Designs
Names, characters and incidents depicted in this book are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locales, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental and beyond the intent of the author.
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FIRE WITCH
Can Westwood Academy handle the blazing inferno that erupts when these two touch?
Tana McKenna learned not to trust anyone early in life. Closed off and guarded, she just wants to control her element and get on with her life—alone. But her wacky roommates don’t seem to get the picture.
Since when did different elementals room together, anyway? Something very strange is going on at Westwood Academy, and Tana is determined to root it out.
The only problem is getting past the sentinels—one in particular. She does not know why Brandon Flint’s steel-eyed gaze seems to follow her wherever she goes, or why the knowledge of his steady stare kindles something deep inside her.
His quiet observation is driving her mad. And if there’s one witch you don’t want to get emotional, it’s her. Temperamental does not begin to describe Tana or her flaky control over her element.
Will she master her magic before it gets out of control?
Find out in Fire Witch!
Welcome to Westwood Academy. Forget what you know and let your magic run wild.
PROLOGUE
The first day of the second semester.
“Are you shitting me?” I growled, staring at the hideously sweet-looking confection in my roommate’s hands.
“What do you mean? Everyone likes to celebrate their birthday,” Jade stuttered as she held the lopsided, heart-shaped cake out like some sort of offering.
Rio and Magnus stood on the other side of the kitchen, the water witch’s blue hair floating around her shoulders as her emotions spiked. I knew it wasn’t on purpose, and maybe I should have made it clearer, but I hated my birthday.
Thirteen is an unlucky number, even for witches, and I was born on February 13th. The day before Valentine’s Day, or as the magic folks around here called it, Burn Season.
Cupid really fucked us witches in matters of the heart—though, to be fair, when I looked at my idiot roommates, they seemed to be the exception to that rule. I could hardly turn around without bumping into one couple or another, usually cuddling, kissing, or doing something equally gross.
Maia and Enok were off on one of their frequent dates, and since Rio was holding a pair of matching towels, I knew she and Mag were off to Brin Lake for a skinny-dipping make-out session, though they pretended otherwise. Even Jade had a mystery man. The earth witch snuck off to see him whenever she thought no one was looking.
Whatever.
She was just like everyone else in 563W—that was our dorm room number. For some reason, I was stuck with an airhead, a pigpen, and a treader for roommates. Those were just mean kid nicknames for witches not from my coven. They called witches like me ashes for obvious reasons. Fire witches tended to leave nothing but dust in their wake, and I was the worst one of all. My roommates just didn’t know it. That’s why they did things like this. Made me cakes.
Crap.
I was being a shithead, but I couldn’t help it. My emotions were getting the better of me, and that was never a good thing.
What was I doing with these people?
I should be with the rest of the Incendo Coven in the east wing.
Those units were built especially for witches with my powers. The dorms were fireproof, with magically enhanced sprinkler systems and other wards to protect the rest of the student body and faculty.
I was the only one not staying there. Stuck here where I could possibly hurt or kill someone with my out of control magic.
I was keenly aware of my solitary state. The only two not paired up were me and the newbie, Enid. She was strange but quiet, and I liked quiet. Nothing like a nosy witch to really put me in a foul mood.
“Maybe you should try dating?” Rio said, and I growled my annoyance.
“Does everyone here think all I need is someone to bone and I’ll be okay?” I asked in a huff.
The others looked at one another before facing me once more. I couldn’t believe this. Burn Season was here, but these idiots thought I needed a Valentine to make me nicer.
Unbelievable.
“Well, yeah,” Jade began, as if it all made perfect sense. “Tana, if you’re not gonna indulge in these delicious chocolate strawberry cupcakes I made you, you should probably be boning someone.”
I huffed a sigh and pushed past the goody goody. I needed the darkness of my room. To be alone with my thoughts and away from the too happy couple and the perky earth witch. Enid did not really bother me, but that was because she stayed out of my way.
A boyfriend?
Really?
Like he could solve my problems.
Sunlight filtered in through the blinds and I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror.
Shit.
My hair was looking muted. A dull auburn as opposed to the fiery mane I’d had when I returned to Westwood last semester.
Fact was, I was losing control of my talents. No, I did not tell anyone.
How could they help even if they were inclined?
Fire witches were feared by most in the magical world. I did not expect anyone to care about my problems. Just like I didn’t care about the raging hormones of the twenty-somethings at Westwood.
No. They could keep to their affairs, and I would keep to mine. Jade and Rio were wrong about me. I had bigger problems than trying to get laid.
CHAPTER 1
I had my head buried in my tablet, trying not to let it bother me that Westwood made all the students register their electronics with them. They claimed it was so they could “protect the magic secret” from the human world, but I was not buying it. They wanted to track us, like animals with electronic collars.
I typically used mine for schoolwork only, but this morning I was scrolling through the Council of Covens Daily News passing time as I waited for Jubilee to prepare my breakfast. She was a pink-skinned sprite who Rio befriended when she first came to Westwood; that water witch had stirred things up, doing things no one ever thought to before, like befriending a school employee.
Jubilee was pretty awesome, though, and I had to hand it to the sprite, she really knew her stuff. She had the most amazing talent, a sort of mind-reading shtick that made it possible for her to pull memories right out of your head. More specifically, memories of food she could then recreate to perfection.
Right now, she was making me a bowl of steel-cut oats the way my Gran used to when she was alive, with a dash of cinnamon, a drizzle of wildflower honey, and a tablespoon of toasted nuts. I come from hearty Irish stock, and this was the breakfast Gran had insisted on when she’d come to help Da raise me after my mother had died.
But that was enough of my sob story. I lost my mom, true, but I had a good childhood with a Da who loved me and a Grandmother who taught me what I needed to know about my gifts. Being a fire witch came with its ups and downs, for sure.
One significant down was being shit at relationships.
It was hard to open up when one simple argument could turn into Armageddon. Navigating the new friendships in my life was proving difficult already. It was taking its toll and the more I sought to control my magic, the more I felt it slipping away.
I’d been raised with a very clear understanding of what I was supposed to do in life. Learn to control my talents. Get drafted by the Incendo Coven. Go after the witches responsible for killing both my mother and her mother.
Crazy?
Maybe.
But the lust for vengeance was what fueled me.
I’d been robbed of one parent, and my magic hungered for the screams of those responsible.
Fire witches were not known for their mental or emotional stability. Two reasons the other elementals tended to give us a wide berth here at Westwood.
The facts were simple. My maternal grandmother had been killed in the Second Witch Wars. Whoever was responsible for her death hunted my mother down not long after I was born.
Though everyone had signed a treaty when the war was finished, but Grandma Florence Newton had enemies, and those enemies held their grudges for a very long time. I’d spent hours researching my family history, but it was hard to pinpoint the likely culprit.
Ancient gripes festered when left unaddressed, and there had been numerous run-ins with the Connors ever since my ancestor, the first Florence Newton, was accused of witchcraft by a jealous rival wizard, John Pyne, whose coven leader condemned her to death while impersonating an inquisitor. The gory goings-ons of the early seventeenth century were rife with such occurrences.
All I knew was that cowards had killed my mother and made it look like an accident. I knew this because my father had spent the last eighteen years piecing together a detailed timeline of the last month of her life. Irene Duncan McKenna was a beautiful fire witch, a devoted wife, and a wonderful mother.
I remember how she always smelled like candle wax and oil from the scented candles she used to make and sell online. She was not a warrior. Had never been trained to fight. She practiced herbalism, holistic healing, and only used her fire magic to temper potions, elixirs, and salves.
My mother was a gentle, kind, and patient woman. She did not deserve to die at all, much less in a gas station explosion that had supposedly occurred because of a careless truck driver. Authorities, human and magical, concluded the poor bastard had tossed his cigarette butt too close to where a fuel truck was filling the underground tanks.
But I knew better.
I trusted my Da and his investigative skills as a former Enforcer led him to believe my mother was murdered. His obsession with finding her killers caused him to be fired. Gran was worried about her son. He was so caught up in trying to find the who and why, he’d lost track of the now.
Really, those responsible for my maternal grandmother’s death had taken both parents from me. So, here I was. At Westwood Academy, trying to learn to hone my skills and talents. Fire magic was temperamental and the best of us could only pretend at controlling the wild and independent nature that was fire and flame.
Truth was, I was not getting any better. In fact, I was worse at controlling my magic than ever. I did not know what to do. Even worse, there was no one to confide in. I refused to be a burden, and besides, it was my business.
I shivered and tugged my black, hooded sweatshirt tighter around my body. It was spring, and I should have been fine, especially with my naturally higher than normal body temperatures.
Damn. This was bad. I never felt cold. Frowning, I pretended to still be reading the article on magical safety for children five and under and waited for my food.
“You smell strange,” a deep voice said from behind me.
I turned around, annoyed, and deservedly so. Bad enough that I smelled, but the fact he’d said I smelled strange rankled. Like I was some kind of freak.
Well, who the hell was he to make such a statement?
I’d already decided to give the jerk a piece of my mind and turned to confront him. Another little factoid about me, my Irish temper had not been diluted despite being third generation American.
Anger coursed through my veins as I prepared to give this stranger a piece of my mind. I should have paid more attention to the deep timber of his voice, and the honest curiosity hidden behind the words. I had to tilt my head back to get a look at the enormous man’s face.
Christ, he was big.
Immediately, I felt ashamed of using the Lord’s name in vain. Yeah, I was raised by an Irish Catholic grandmother who also happened to be a witch. It was a strange blend of opposing beliefs, but I highly doubted I was the only witch in the world whose family was complicated—so yeah, whatever.
As I leaned back to give the stranger a piece of my mind, I found myself stunned into silence. Back, back, back I leaned and still I could barely see his face. What I saw rendered me mute.
Holy fuck.
The man was enormous. And hot. Like, turn me into a puddle of melted goo hot. Chiseled features, glittery gray eyes that seemed not from this world, and coal black hair hanging down to his chin. He had tattoos circling his arms and wore the telltale black uniform of the Westwood Academy sentinels.
Shifter, my brain whispered, filling in one detail of who this stranger was.
My gaze flicked down to where his hands hung down by his sides, not relaxed, but not tightly fisted either. He remained ready, as if never really letting his guard down. The W on his hand signified his vow, taken by all who walked the boundaries of Westwood Academy for its protection. Shifters worked for witches for as far back as history remembered. Their strength, cunning, and superhuman abilities proved useful, though many witches and wizards treated them like second-class citizens.
I was embarrassed to admit I’d never questioned the terrible truth of that statement until Rio had been claimed and marked by her mate, kraken shifter and sentinel, Magnus Knut. I did now, though. No one deserved to be treated like that.
“Why do you smell strange, Tana McKenna?” the stranger repeated.
“How do you know my name?”
“I’ve seen you before, fire witch.”
“Are you a friend of Mag’s?”
“Magnus Knut is in my unit,” he replied.
For the first time, I noticed he had the slightest accent when he spoke. It reminded me of Gran, and I wondered if he wasn’t Irish, too.
“What’s your name?” I asked, wondering why I sounded so breathless.
“Brandon Flint.”
“You’re the dragon!”
I gasped as recognition filled me. Rumor of a dragon sentinel had spread like wildfire on campus at the start of the academic year. Some students even reported seeing his beast flying overhead at night. I paid little attention to the rumor mill, but this had caught my ear.
A dragon on campus was big news. Terrifying creatures, all of them, with ancient power that transcended the regular shifter bloodlines. I wondered why the headmistress agreed to his being here.
“Hybrid, actually. My mother is a Druid priestess. My father is a dragon,” he corrected me.
“A hybrid?”
I don’t know why the idea of it was so puzzling. I just could not wrap my head around it. Maybe it was because witches rarely consorted with shifters. I guess it was different for Druids. The word lucky floated across my mind and I was struck with a dizzying wave of heat. Considering the fact I was freezing a moment ago, the warmth was rather unsettling.
“Hybrid is the correct term, yes. Are you all right?” he asked, and I thought he sounded puzzled.
A moment later, I realized why.
Sizzling flames sprouted along my fingertips, and I jumped back, staring at them with horror and fear. Thunder roared in my ears and everything I saw seemed awash in the hazy color of fire and smoke. The more I panicked, the more the fire spread from my fingers to my wrists, and up my forearms, burning the edges of the sweatshirt I wore.
Crap.
Oh crap.
OH CRAP!
This could not be happening to me. Not now and not here.
Brandon reached for me, but I moved back, flinching away from his touch. Last thing I wanted to do was burn the man. He narrowed his eyes, about to speak, but I was already dumping my water bottle over the flames, dousing the fire the stony-eyed sentinel had somehow conjured from my very soul.
