Chapter Eleven

Havermouth, Five Years Before

It was near midnight when the house was finally quiet and Aislen snuck out of bed, sliding her window open and slipping over the ledge, pausing with her toes on the narrow footing so that she could reach back for her bag before stepping over the pretty flowerbed that her mother was cultivating, and onto the path.

The night rustled with life, crickets singing in the grasses, falling silent as she walked by and resuming their calls once she passed, a cat’s eyes reflecting eerily from the shadows, and a possum scrambling up a tree. She could hear the cars and music from the town – on a Friday night, the pubs were busy.

In the distance she could hear the occasional howl – before coming to Havermouth she would have dismissed it as dogs, but now she knew better. It was the full moon after all, she thought, looking up, although she did not need to confirm it visually. Ever since she had discovered that a large percentage of the people in the town were werewolves, she kept track of the moon cycle. Full moon was the best time for her to practice her meditation, as a great many of the houses were empty, their occupants in wolf form roaming the forest around the town.

The combination of most of the humans of the town sleeping and the werewolves in their wolf forms, meant that there were fewer active minds around her. The release of tension was like letting her hair out after having it up all day, or taking off an uncomfortable bra – the relief was physically felt and left behind a giddy elation.

She entered the graveyard and made her way to her favourite night-time spot, a pretty gazebo set within a circle of grass and sheltered by weeping cherry trees, far enough back from the street that if a police car patrolled by, they would not see her light. There was a picnic table in the centre, and she set her bag upon it, taking out the battery-operated lantern, the candles, and the various crystals, herbs, and tarot cards. Finally, she lifted out the velvet wrapped grimoire, and the athame that sat in the first folds of the cloth.

Her power, her gift as her grandmother had called it, was handed down to the females of her father’s line – not every female, but often enough that her grandmother had been watching for it when Aislen had turned thirteen and begun showing signs of its inheritance.

From the age of thirteen until sixteen, Aislen had spent her holidays at her grandmother’s house, learning to control her ability – or trying to learn, she amended ruefully. She had been a long way from mastering it when her grandmother had caught influenza and passed away.

The grimoire that she had inherited from her grandmother was somewhat helpful in filling the gaps left by her grandmother’s passing. She did not know how old the grimoire was, but it was old, the bindings fragile with age, the earlier entries faded and the handwriting so elaborate, the spelling so different, that she struggled to read it.

Seers, oracles, or psychics – her people had been called all of these in the ancient times, the first entry told her, and at one time they had been worshipped. Being accused of being witches had come later, as people started to view their ability as evil. The women of her family were not witches, however, the grimoire explained. They were something completely different. Witches were also not inherently evil, though they were, like all the supernatural world, capable of evil doing.

Aislen sat cross legged on the bench seat with the grimoire open before her, and read through the entry on werewolves, struggling over the loops and swirls of the ornate handwriting, and words that looked to be foreign. Whoever had written the passage had been multi-lingual, she thought, switching between languages smoothly, as if everyone did so.

Pack hierarchy was complicated, but there was always a lead alpha and his mate. Beneath him, other alphas, betas, and gammas which served as commanding units within the pack. And beneath them, wolves without rank – which was the majority. Omegas were a separate rank, though how that worked, Aislen was unsure as much of that was written in the other language. And then there was a luna, with “la sorcellerie” written beside it.

She didn’t need a translation for that, she thought ruefully.

She wondered what rank the Triquetra were.

“You know!” She could still hear Rhett’s exclamation and picture his shock.

She doused her light as a car pulled into the graveyard, and hastily began to return her things to the bag, crouching low behind the wrought iron sides of the gazebo as the car parked, the headlights glaring over the neat rows of headstones, turning statues of angels into demons in the spill of shadow across the grass.

The lights shut off, leaving blue haloes in Aislen’s vision, and the doors opened.

“Shhh,” a male voice followed by feminine giggles as they moved into the back. The car rocked on its suspension.

“What do you think they’re up to back there?” Heath breathed into her ear, and she squeaked and jumped. His hand clasped over her mouth whilst his other hand held her against him. He was naked, and hot against her back. His thoughts flowed through her, images of the Triquetra stalking her, from her house to the graveyard, before Heath shifted and crept up behind her.

“Watch,” he whispered. The squeaking rock gained rhythm, and through the windscreen she could just make out the couple, naked in the back, her legs wrapped around his hips.

“Makes me fucking horny,” Heath commented, the hand holding her cupping her breast and teasing her nipple through the cloth. It shouldn’t feel as good as it did, she told herself, cursing her body for feeling the opposite to how it should in the situation. Heath was an arsehole, she reminded herself, he shouldn’t turn her on… And yet, she didn’t want to pull away. “What about you guys?” He asked raising his voice only slightly.

“I’m always fucking horny,” Cameron agreed from behind them.

“Rhett?” Heath prompted. Rhett sighed heavily. “He’s horny too,” Heath translated for her. “You could help him out. All of us out.” He slid a finger between her lips. “Suck on it.”

She considered biting him, but his hands on her were addictive and there was something incredibly sexy about the three of them naked in the gazebo with her whilst the couple in the car fucked in the back seat. She sucked on Heath’s finger and felt him draw in a surprised breath. He had been expecting her to bite, she thought.

“Do you want to see what they’re doing?” He whispered. She thought he meant the couple in the car until he turned her.

Rhett sat with his back to the table and his elbows on the surface, his neck arched so that his overlong inky hair spilled back. The moonlight lit the lean length of his body, his arms and shoulders bunched, his stomach muscles tensed against the skin as he arched his hips, and the fingers of one hand in Cameron’s russet hair as he knelt between Rhett’s parted thighs sucking on Rhett’s cock.

“It’s fucking hot, isn’t it?” Heath said. “I bet you can suck me as well as Cameron’s sucking on Rhett, as well as you’re sucking on my finger…”

She was, she realised, still sucking on his finger.

Heath eased his hold on her gradually, testing her response and then rose from his squat as she turned on her knees to face him. He gripped his cock in one hand, stroking over himself. “Well?” He asked looking down at her.

She glanced at Rhett and saw that he had opened his eyes and lifted his head, watching. He bit his bottom lip and moaned as Cameron wrapped his arms around his waist and moved closer, taking Rhett’s cock deeper into his mouth.

She turned back to Heath, whose grin was triumphant as he stepped closer, his hand holding his cock at her mouth. “That’s right,” he breathed. “Use your tongue… Ugh,” he groaned as she experimentally explored the head of him.

His reaction spiked through her in primitive shards of pleasure that tightened her nipples and caused her clit to throb, her cunt to ache. She grew bolder, experimenting with licking over him, and then taking him into her mouth, the sounds he made a guide as to what worked and what did not. He released his cock, giving her control, and his fingers gripped into her hair.

Rhett’s sobs of sound increased until, with a ragged groan, he came, and Cameron rose from his knees, the shadows draping across his body, emphasizing the shift of muscle beneath skin as he stepped onto the bench seat and sat on the tabletop so that Rhett was between his legs.

“Kiss me,” Cameron caught Rhett by the back of his head and Rhett laughed before obliging, the two pressing tight, skin to skin, as they made out. As Rhett kissed down Cameron’s chest, his hands sliding down his thighs. “Fuck,” Cameron sighed the word.

Heath’s hips pumped, fucking her mouth, and she felt his cock react against her tongue a moment before the spray of his cum hit the back of her throat, startling her, and causing her to choke. Heath’s moan was brutal, his cum pooling on her tongue, faintly bitter in taste. He seemed to come for ages, before there was no more, and he pulled out of her mouth, enabling her to swallow.

“She swallows,” he said on a laugh. “Not a spitter. My turn,” he added, scooping her up off the floor and depositing on the table next to Cameron. He hooked her underwear from under her skirt, sliding it down her thighs and over her shoes, before stepping in and tugging her hips towards him.

She gasped, and then moaned as he sat on the bench, leaned forward, and sucked her clit into his mouth. She felt Rhett wrap his fingers around her ankle before sliding his hand up her leg. She wasn’t sure whose fingers penetrated her, and it didn’t matter because what Heath was doing to her clit was… mind-blowing.

“Our little slut loves it,” Cameron ground out. “Give her more, Heath, make her come over your face.” He finished on a moan, his own words tipping him over into orgasm.

Heath caught her clit between his teeth and sucked hard. She cried out, her orgasm striking from nowhere and with force. He sucked her throughout, only releasing the pinch of his teeth as she came down the other side, her whole body trembling and her heart pounding. “That puts me ahead of you Rhett,” Heath said.

“Night’s early,” Rhett said.

“That’s the spirit,” Cameron clasped Rhett’s shoulder, laughing. “Two points for a pearl necklace, she has enough titties to cushion a cock nicely.”

Oh god, Aislen thought, feeling filthy, used, and embarrassed. She had let her lust carry her away again. No doubt by Monday the whole school would know that she’d sucked Heath’s cock and let him give her head. She couldn’t let it go any further.

“I’m not a game,” she slithered off the table around Heath, and pulled her underwear back over her shoe and into place clumsily. “You three are… You are horrible. Mean.” She grabbed up her bag. “Disgusting and… and...” She turned and began to run, as the tears threatened to spill.

“Aislen!” She heard Rhett call out after her, his voice ringing across the graveyard.