Witchlock by Dianna Love Read Free Book Online Page A

scent in three directions to buy them time, then he’d placed a spell over that troll, convincing him to go with Imar to find his missing troll son.  
    Then he’d sent the pair on their way with orders for Imar to take the old troll to South Georgia, five hours away, and kill him there.  
    Donndubhán told Imar, “As long as the Beladors and VIPER are the only ones investigating the troll deaths, Queen Maeve and Cathbad won’t give two shits. But if word of new demons gets back to her, we’ll be screwed. That’s the part we need to keep hidden. Queen Maeve and Cathbad won’t believe a Medb is creating the demons unless they catch one alive, and I won’t allow that to happen. What you should be thinking about right now is how you can help me with the next demon.”  
    Donndubhán had served the last coven queen for six hundred and sixty- six years. Then the original Medb ruler, Queen Maeve, and her confidante, Cathbad the Druid, had reincarnated.  
    This queen would never die, but warlocks like Donndubhán would.  
    He had no intention of spending what mortal life he now had left as servant to another witch.  
    Just another grunt for the royalty.  
    Imar chewed on his fingernail, a disgusting habit, but everything about Imar disgusted Donndubhán. With a body as substantial as a fifty-gallon steel drum filled to capacity, Imar’s forehead jutted out over thick eyebrows like a bad human experiment and his shoulders were hunched in a way that modern clothes couldn’t fix. Stick him in jeans and an oversized T-shirt and he looked like a thug. That body was better suited for the robes they’d worn in Táur Medb, their coven’s home on another dimension.  
    Donndubhán, on the other hand, had taken to this human world. He’d like it even better if he had any semblance of a real life. Queen Maeve and Cathbad still lived as if it were two thousand years ago, assuming all their people were loyal followers, happy to continue waiting on the royalty hand and foot.  
    Every leader required a lackey, which was why Donndubhán tolerated Imar, and also because the annoying warlock had considerable power when needed.  
    Donndubhán couldn’t do this alone and not get caught.  
    This way, if anyone ended up in perpetual misery it would be Imar. Donndubhán could cast a control spell on his sidekick so fast Imar would never know what hit him, and Imar would confess to creating the demons all by himself.  
    Imar stopped gnawing his grubby fingernails long enough to complain some more. “We have to find more trolls for testing the spell, but the troll families keep contacting VIPER about the disappearances.”  
    “You think VIPER really cares if someone thins out the troll population in Atlanta?”  
    Imar frowned but didn’t argue that point. “No, but what if Queen Maeve suspects one of her own coven is working rogue in her territory? She’ll call us all in and we won’t pass her lie test.”  
     Donndubhán had thrown that caution to the wind when he came up with this plan. There was no way to go back. He needed a powerful coven to join, one that would accept him as a peer. That wouldn’t happen until he could prove he was no longer with the Medb, and had an army of glamoured demons at his beck and call. What he hadn’t told Imar was that once they had absolute control over his special Réisc Dubh look-alike demons, Donndubhán would use majik to bind his creations to him, and turn the entire group into a force even the Beladors would think twice about attacking.  
    He’d make this work.  
    To pull it off, he had to find the perfect dark witch coven that would take him in and help him fake his death in such a way that Maeve would never find him. She’d find Imar, whom Donndubhán intended to use for his final sacrifice. Once Donndubhán was in contact with a coven worthy of his talents, he’d pull out his big gun—Noirre majik. Every dark witch in the world would trade her own child to get Noirre.