Chapter 1: Fleeing the Hunt
The train carriage smelled of stale air and cheap disinfectant. Aliandra pressed her forehead against the cool glass, watching the Scottish moorland blur into a smear of damp green and grey. Her reflection looked back at her—messy black hair, kohl-rimmed silver eyes, a slash of dark lipstick. The Crow Spirit within her was restless, a flutter of dark feathers at the edge of her senses. It didn’t like being so far from the trees.
Her phone buzzed on the sticky table.
Jenny: Almost there? I’m nervous. His mum is… a lot.
Aliandra: 20 mins. Breathe. Remember, you’re the one who drank a gorgon’s tears and lived. She’s just a witch with a trust fund.
Jenny: She looked at me last time and I almost told her my PIN number and dropped my panties. And Simon’s dad keeps asking about your family.
Aliandra: Yeah, well. My family’s a footnote in a burned book. Tell him to google ‘tragic backstory’ and leave me alone.
Aliandra sent the text, a dull ache forming behind her eyes. The serpent coiled around her spine shifted, a slow, deliberate pressure. A reminder. Euryale’s gift was never comfortable.
The fortress appeared on the horizon just as the train began to slow. Glen Brillane was a deep, wooded cut in the landscape, the great house overlooking it upon a stark, flat promontory. Fort Brillane jutted from the rock like a broken tooth, all weathered stone and narrow windows. It was imposing, but not unwelcoming. Just… old. And old things, Aliandra had learned, were rarely empty. That had certainly been the case when they had laid the spirit of the old Laird to rest a year previously.
Jenny was a small, vibrant splash of colour on the grey platform, her strawberry-blonde hair a cloud around her anxious face. She practically vibrated with relief when she saw Aliandra, launching herself forward to wrap her in a tight hug that smelled of lavender and nervous sweat.
“Ali, you’re here. Okay. Good. Simon’s helping with bags, his mum’s doing a ‘welcoming ritual’ in the great hall, which probably means she’s judging the dust on the ancestral portraits.”
Aliandra hugged her back, following up with a warm kiss, the simple contact calming the crow’s flutter. “Lead the way, Jen. Let’s go meet the coven.”
The great hall was vast, cold, and smelled of wood smoke and old money. A lot of that money had evidently been spent renovating the place. A huge fireplace dominated one wall, but the heat didn’t reach the centre of the room where Belinda Longwand stood.
Simon’s mother was a vision. Her golden hair wasn’t just blond; it was liquid sunlight, cascading over the shoulders of a simple but absurdly expensive-looking cream silk dress. Her face was flawless, a gentle, inviting smile on her lips. Aliandra felt the subtle push of magic against her own—a soothing, seductive pressure meant to lower guards and inspire confidences. It was like being gently submerged in warm oil.
Jenny instantly went quiet and still beside her, entranced.
Aliandra’s silver eyes narrowed. The serpent inside her tightened, a protective, irritable spasm. She let a fraction of her own power rise, a sharp, cold counterpoint that tasted of iron and tomb-dust. The seductive warmth recoiled. As soon as the defensive instinct passed, Aliandra relented and let the seduction in. Truth be told, she really wouldn't mind a fling with Simon's mum, she was sexy as fuck.
Belinda’s perfect smile didn’t falter, but her blue eyes sharpened, just for a second, in recognition of Aliandra's deliberate dropping of her guard. “Aliandra. It's so lovely to see you again. Welcome to Brillane. I hope you like what Simon has had done to the place since you were last here.” Her voice was a melody.
“Thanks for having me,” Aliandra said, her tone like warm honey. She squeezed Jenny’s hand. Jenny blinked, coming back to herself with a slight shake of her head.
Simon rushed in then, his arms full of Aliandra’s duffel bag. He was all loose limbs and boyish grin, his floppy blond hair in his eyes. “Ali! You made it. Sorry, Mum was just… being Mum.” He dropped the bag and went straight to Aliandra, wrapping her in a hug that was entirely different from Jenny’s—full of eager, submissive affection - and just a hint of a hard-on. “Missed you.”
“Missed you too, Longwand.” She patted his back, her eyes still on Belinda. "But we've only been apart a week. I had my own renovations at the Crowsummons Estate to arrange, that's all."
A tall, slim man with thinning fair hair entered from a side door. Andrew Longwand carried an aura of quiet authority, a leather-bound book in one hand. His gaze swept over the scene, lingering on Aliandra with open curiosity.
“So lovely to make your acquaintance again, Miss Crowsummons,” he said, his voice a cultured baritone. “Simon’s letters have been… illuminating. Your family line was thought extinct. I should dearly love to see the old House ... with your permission, of course, once it has been renovated.”
“Here I am,” Aliandra said, shrugging. “The last gasp of the old family line.”
“A persistent and most admirable gasp, it would seem,” Andrew said, moving to stand beside his wife. “Facing down gorgons, awakening ancient spirits. Quite the resume for a university student on holiday.”
“Andrew, darling, don’t interrogate the poor thing at the door,” Belinda chided, but her eyes sparkled. She was enjoying this.
“It’s fine,” Aliandra said. “I’m used to it.”
Dinner was a surprisingly intense affair in a cavernous dining room. Andrew questioned her about obscure historical references in the journals she’d inherited. Belinda’s magic was a constant, soft hum in the background, trying to lull them into lustful complacency. Jenny mostly pushed her food around her plate, jumping whenever Belinda addressed her directly. Simon beamed, happily squeezed between the two people he adored, seemingly oblivious to the subtle currents of power circling the table.
Over a dessert too fancy to taste good, Andrew leaned forward. “This voyage to Greece. You'll be staying at our family villa, of course, the same as last year. But your objective is to find this… Korfosis. It’s based on the map you found?”
Aliandra nodded, swallowing a sweet, creamy mouthful that stuck in her throat. “It is. The island isn’t on any modern chart. It’s a hiding place. For things that need to be hidden.”
“And you believe your adversaries are also looking for it?”
“I know they are.” The crow stirred again. The serpent tightened. “They know what happened at the house, they're looking for us, which is why it will be so good to get away for a few weeks. I'm hoping the clue left by my mother will lead us to something useful.”
Belinda sighed, a beautiful, wistful sound. “It all sounds so dreadfully perilous for ones so young. Surely there are authorities? The Conclave?”
“The Conclave would think my spirit is a demon and my priestesshood is a heresy,” Aliandra said bluntly. “They’re not sending a rescue party. They’d more likely be drawing up warrants.”
A heavy silence fell, broken only by the crackle of the fire.
Simon cleared his throat. “Which is why we’re going on the family yacht. Fast, private, and warded seven ways to Sunday. Dad’s arranged everything.”
Andrew nodded. “The Silver Nereid is at your disposal. Her captain is discreet. I’ve also taken the liberty of sourcing some… protective artifacts from the vault. They may be of use.” He looked directly at Aliandra. “I am not a magical man, my dear. But I am a practical one. My son has sworn himself to you. That makes your safety a family concern. Regrettably, my wife and I can't accompany you this year, but our yacht and our villa are at your disposal.”
It was more support than she’d expected. Aliandra gave a short, grateful nod. “Thank you.”
Later, in the guest room with stone walls three feet thick, the tension finally leaked out of her. Jenny was already in bed, her glasses folded on the nightstand. Simon was sitting on the rug by the fire, looking up at Aliandra with naked devotion.
“Your dad’s okay,” Aliandra admitted, shucking off her jacket.
“He likes puzzles. You’re a puzzle.” Simon’s expression turned sheepish. “Mum’s just… she can’t help it. It’s her magic. It leaks. And she's always horny, I don't think Dad can keep up with her needs.”
“It’s invasive,” Jenny said softly from the pillows.
“I know,” Simon said, his face falling. “I’m sorry. I’ll talk to her.”
“Don’t,” Aliandra said. She kicked off her boots and joined Jenny on the bed, leaning against the headboard. “We need her not as an enemy. Just… keep her on her side of the line.” She looked at Simon. “So ... what's the deal with your spunk, Simon? It seemed to get very potent all of a sudden.”
Simon’s cheeks flushed. He knew she was asking about the supernatural potency that thrummed in his veins. “Stable. Contained. It only comes out when you want it to.” He said it like a vow. He shuffled uncomfortably. The girls didn't know of his pact with Sperum Nator, which had permitted the imp to remain when its Succubus mistress was expelled, and Simon was too nervous of their reaction to reveal the source of his sex magical prowess.
“Good.” She closed her eyes. The map to Korfosis was safely sewn into the lining of her duffel bag. The crow was quiet now, asleep. The serpent was a steady, warm coil. For a moment, in the dark of the ancient fort, she let herself feel just a fraction of safe.
For a moment, in the dark of the ancient fort, she let herself feel just a fraction of safe.
Sleep, when it came, was a black and silent pool. For hours.
Then a heat woke her, a slow uncoiling low in her belly that was entirely separate from the serpent. This was hungry, liquid, and insistent. The crow in her spirit shifted, not agitated, but… intrigued. The room was dark, Jenny a soft, sleeping shape beside her, Simon a lump on the floor by the dying fire.
But the air… the air had changed.
It carried a scent, a compound perfume of night-blooming jasmine, clean sweat, and a deeper, muskier promise. It drifted through the stone corridors like a ribbon, wrapping around her senses and pulling. It was Belinda’s magic, but undiluted now, not a gentle persuasion but a direct, carnal summons.
Aliandra slipped from the bed, her bare feet soundless on the cold floor. Her own blood felt too warm, her skin too tight. The logical part of her, the part that trusted nothing, whispered a warning. The rest of her, the witch, the priestess, the young woman with a crow’s wild heart, was already moving towards the door.
The fortress at night was a labyrinth of shadows and old stone. The scent led her down a spiral staircase, through the silent great hall where embers glowed in the hearth, and into a west wing she hadn’t yet seen. The pull was magnetic, a physical tug in her core.
She found the source in a solarium, a glass-walled room filled with the silver light of a half-moon and the silhouettes of potted citrus trees.
Belinda stood in the centre, a vision in a nightdress of sheer, dove-grey silk that left nothing to the moon’s imagination. Her liquid gold hair was loose over her shoulders. She wasn’t smiling her polite, hostess smile. Her expression was one of naked, patient hunger.
“I wondered if you’d feel it,” Belinda said, her voice a low hum that vibrated in Aliandra’s bones. “That restlessness. It sings in you, too. I can hear it.”
Aliandra didn’t speak. She walked forward, the flagstones cold beneath her feet, until she was an arm’s length away. The scent was overwhelming here, a cloud of pure, magical pheromone. Her silver eyes met Belinda’s blue ones, and there was no pretence, no social mask. Just a recognition of two powerful, wanting things.
Belinda closed the distance. Her hand came up, fingertips brushing a stray lock of black hair from Aliandra’s cheek. The touch was electric. “You pushed back at dinner. So few can.”
“Your magic is lazy,” Aliandra murmured, her own voice thick. “It assumes everyone wants to be disarmed.”
“And you don’t?”
“I want to be met.”
It was all the invitation needed.
Belinda’s mouth found hers, and the kiss was not gentle. It was a claiming, a collision of heat and need. Belinda’s lips were soft but demanding, her tongue sweeping in with a confident skill that made Aliandra’s knees weaken. Aliandra kissed her back with equal ferocity, hands coming up to tangle in that incredible hair, pulling her closer. The silk of the nightdress was a whisper against her own thin sleep shirt.
They sank onto a deep, plush divan surrounded by the ghostly shapes of orange trees. There was no hesitation, no exploratory shyness. This was a pact sealed in breath and touch. Belinda’s hands slid under Aliandra’s shirt, palms skimming over her ribs, her back, finding the sensitive line of her spine where the serpent lived. Aliandra gasped into the kiss as a jolt of pure, dark pleasure shot through her.
She tore her mouth away, breathing ragged, and pushed Belinda back against the cushions. She looked down at the perfect, moonlit form beneath her, the sheer fabric doing nothing to hide the taut peaks of her nipples, the curve of her hip. “No magic,” Aliandra breathed, a command and a plea. “Just this.”
A slow, wicked smile spread across Belinda’s face. “Oh, darling. This is my magic.”
But she let the seductive pressure in the air fade, leaving only the raw, human urgency. Aliandra bent her head, her mouth tracing a hot, wet path down Belinda’s throat, over her collarbone, until she took a nipple through the silk into her mouth. Belinda arched with a sharp cry, her hands clutching at Aliandra’s shoulders.
It was a fevered, grasping ballet. Silk was shoved aside, clothing pushed out of the way. Belinda’s skin was impossibly smooth, her body strong and yielding. She knew how to touch, where to press, how to wring a shattered gasp from Aliandra’s throat with a roll of her hips and a clever, searching hand.
Aliandra lost herself in it. In the scent, in the taste of salt and jasmine, in the desperate, climbing rhythm they built together. The crow within her spread its wings in exultation as their cunts ground urgently together. The serpent coiled tight, a spring of sensation. For these minutes, there was no past, no hunting foes, no uncertain future. There was only the slick, desperate friction of now, the sting of nails on skin, the muffled cries swallowed by the night.
Belinda came first, her back bowing off the divan, a choked, melodic sound escaping her as she shuddered. The sight of it, the feel of those internal flutters around her fingers, tipped Aliandra over the edge immediately after. A white-hot silence exploded behind her eyes, whiting out every thought, every worry.
For a long time, the only sounds were their ragged breaths and the distant, lonely call of an owl over the glen.
Aliandra collapsed beside her, spent. The cool air raised goosebumps on their heated skin. Belinda traced idle patterns on Aliandra’s arm, her earlier intensity softened into a contented languor.
“Andrew is a wonderful man,” Belinda said quietly, her voice husky. “But he is a man. He doesn’t have… this fire. You understand it.”
Aliandra stared at the glass ceiling, the moon pasted against the black sky. The lust was sated, but the wakefulness remained, sharper now. “This doesn’t change anything.”
“Of course not,” Belinda said, a hint of amusement returning. “It’s just a moment. A very nice moment. But you should know… the scent that called you? It wasn’t just for pleasure. It’s a ward. Anyone who tastes it on you will know you are under the protection of my line. A little added security for your voyage.”
Aliandra turned her head to look at her. The manipulation was so flawless, so seamless, it was almost admirable. Pleasure and politics, woven together. “So this was a… magical inoculation?”
Belinda’s smile was all feline satisfaction. “Call it a friendly inoculation. With benefits.” She leaned over, pressed one last, soft kiss to Aliandra’s shoulder, and stood, gathering her sheer robe around her. She looked every bit the enchanted queen, even now. “Sleep well, Aliandra Crowsummons. Your secrets are a little safer now.”
She left, a whisper of silk and scent.
Aliandra lay in the moonlight, the taste of jasmine and sex still on her tongue, the low ache of exertion in her muscles. The fraction of safety she’d felt earlier was gone, replaced by something more complex—a sharp, clear understanding of the intricate, dangerous web she was in. And a hungry acknowledgement that some parts of the web, for now, felt devastatingly good.
And a hungry acknowledgement that some parts of the web, for now, felt devastatingly good.
The jasmine scent lingered on her skin through a shallow, dream-troubled sleep. At breakfast, Belinda was the picture of elegant composure, pouring coffee and discussing weather patterns in the Aegean. Andrew spread marmalade on his toast with precise, diplomatic strokes. Nothing in the clear morning light betrayed the solarium’s moonlit collision.
Simon bounced in his seat, radiating nervous excitement. “Dad says we can take the Cessna. The pilot’s filed the flight plan for Athens. We can be at the villa by dinner.”
“It’s all arranged,” Andrew said, wiping his fingers on a linen napkin. He reached into his jacket and placed a heavy, ornate key on the table. It was iron, old, with a complex bow shaped like a trident. “The master key to the Villa Nereid. Everything is stocked. The staff have been given leave—we thought you’d prefer privacy, given your… research.”
Simon picked up the key, his fingers closing around it with a sense of gravity. “Thanks, Dad.”
“Just don’t lose it in some ruin,” Andrew said, but his eyes held a genuine warmth. “And do try to steer clear of actual gorgons this time.”
The flight was a blur of cloud and noise. Jenny stared out the window, her knuckles white on the armrest for the first hour. Aliandra watched Scotland shrink into a patchwork quilt, the crow spirit within her settling as they flew south toward the sun. The scent on her skin, she noticed, didn’t fade. It had become part of her, a low, floral hum just beneath the smell of jet fuel and recycled air.
They landed in a heat haze, the Athenian air thick and tasting of dust and diesel. A discreet driver met them, loading their bags into a black SUV that wound its way out of the city, climbing coastal roads that offered sudden, breathtaking glimpses of a sea so blue it hurt to look at.
The Villa Nereid wasn’t a house; it was a kingdom. Whitewashed walls sprawled across a hillside, draped with purple bougainvillea. Terraces descended in steps toward a private cove where turquoise water lapped against smooth pebbles. Inside was all cool marble, ancient-looking rugs, and modern, minimalist furniture. The walls held not paintings, but ancient amphorae and fragments of marble relief. It smelled of lemon polish, dried herbs, and immense, quiet wealth.
“Bloody hell,” Jenny breathed, her glasses slipping down her nose as she turned in a slow circle in the vast living room. "I'd forgotten how amazing this place is!"
Simon just grinned, dropping his backpack. “Home away from home. The library’s through there—best collection of maritime and historical texts in the region, outside of a museum. Dad’s hobby.”
They dumped their bags in their chosen rooms—a sprawling suite with interconnecting doors and a terrace overlooking the sea. The urgent, primal energy of the night before had banked, replaced by a focused tension. The map was the thing.
They spread their materials on a vast wooden table in the library. Old charts, modern satellite printouts, the brittle parchment of Aliandra’s inherited map with its stylized, impossible coastlines. The central shape, Korfosis, was an uneven circle with a deep, fjord-like inlet on its eastern side, and a cluster of three tiny islets guarding its southern approach. It looked like a lopsided eye staring from the page.
“It’s not in any historical index under that name,” Simon said, his laptop humming, his fingers flying across the keyboard. “I’m cross-referencing the shape with satellite imagery of the Cyclades, the Dodecanese… it’s a process of elimination.”
Hours bled away. The sun trekked across the sky, painting the room in gold then long, deep shadows. They ordered food from a local taverna, eating grilled octopus and salty feta off paper plates, never leaving the table. Frustration mounted.
“What if it’s not real?” Jenny asked, her voice small. “What if it’s a symbolic place? Some magical allegory that doesn’t actually exist?”
“It exists,” Aliandra said, her silver eyes fixed on the parchment. The serpent within her was absolutely certain. “It’s hiding. My mother wasn’t an allegory kind of woman. She was a ‘hide-the-dangerous-thing-on-a-physical-island’ kind of woman.”
Simon pushed back from the table, running his hands through his hair. “The algorithms are still running. It could take all night.” He stretched, and the simple movement pulled his t-shirt taut across his shoulders and chest. A current shifted in the room.
The focus on maps and charts had been a mental wall, holding back the other, heavier awareness. The villa, their isolation, the thrum of the cicadas outside, the residue of Belinda’s magic on Aliandra’s skin—it all conspired. The intellectual pursuit had worn them down, left raw nerves exposed.
Aliandra watched Simon as he walked to the French doors, looking out at the darkening sea. The line of his back, the narrow taper of his waist into his jeans, the swell of his pert arse. Jenny followed her gaze, and Aliandra saw the sharp, instinctive swallow in her throat, the flush that started at her collarbone and crept upward. The old, shared want pulsed between the three of them, a sleeping beast now stirring.
“We’re getting nowhere,” Simon sighed, turning back. He caught the look on their faces. His own expression shifted, from weary frustration to sudden, self-conscious awareness. He’d sworn himself to them, in every sense. The submissive devotion in his eyes was always there, but now it was heating into something else.
The air in the library wasn’t cool anymore. It was thick, charged.
Aliandra stood up. The legs of her chair scraped loudly on the marble floor. She didn’t walk toward Simon; she walked toward Jenny. She cupped Jenny’s face, tilting it up, and kissed her. It was slow, deep, a claiming and a promise. Jenny melted into it with a soft, desperate sound, her hands coming up to grip Aliandra’s wrists.
When Aliandra broke the kiss, Jenny’s eyes were huge and dark behind her glasses. Aliandra took them off, folded them carefully, and placed them on the table, atop the map of Korfosis.
Then Aliandra looked at Simon. “Come here.”
He obeyed instantly, a shiver of anticipation visibly running through him. He stopped before them, his breath already quickening.
What followed wasn’t gentle or unsure. It was a release valve, a necessary combustion. Aliandra kissed Simon while her hands worked the button of his jeans. Jenny’s mouth found the side of Simon’s neck, her teeth grazing his skin. Clothes became obstacles, shoved and pulled and peeled away onto the expensive rug.
They didn’t make it to a bedroom. The great wooden library table, scattered with the artifacts of their search, became the altar. Parchments fluttered to the floor. A laptop was shoved safely aside. Simon lay back on the hard wood, his cock fully erect, a smooth, thick line against his belly. The magic in him, the pact-given potency, wasn’t a visible glow, but a tangible force—a magnetic, lush heat that radiated from his skin.
Jenny looked at it, then at Aliandra, a flicker of her old insecurity there. Aliandra nodded, a silent go on.
Jenny bent her head, her wavy strawberry-blonde hair falling like a curtain. She took Simon into her mouth, not tentatively, but with a hungry expertise that made Simon cry out, his head thumping back against the table. Aliandra watched, a slow, proud smile touching her lips as Jenny lost herself in the act, her insecurity burned away by Simon’s sheer, physical response.
But it wasn’t enough. The need was a three-way circuit. Aliandra climbed onto the table, straddling Simon’s face, guiding his mouth to her cunt. He licked and sucked with a devoted fervour that mirrored Jenny’s below. The sensation was electric, a direct line to her core. She rocked against his tongue, one hand braced on the table, the other tangled in Jenny’s hair, encouraging her rhythm.
The symphony of gasps and wet sounds filled the library, drowning out the cicadas. The scent of salt and sex and jasmine merged into a single, intoxicating drug.
Aliandra swapped places with Jenny, a fluid, wordless exchange. She lowered herself onto Simon, sheathing him in one smooth, deep motion. The feeling was staggering—the fullness, the rightness, the connection that was as magical as it was physical. Simon’s hands gripped her hips, his eyes wide and worshipping as she rode him, her head thrown back, the crow within her screaming in flight as her vagina fluttered and clenched around his shaft.
Jenny pressed against Aliandra’s back, her hands roaming over Aliandra’s breasts, her stomach, her throat. She kissed Aliandra’s shoulder, her neck, whispering things that were lost in the gasp and slap of skin. her ginger pubes and pink lips slid back and forth upon Simon's eager mouth. The three of them moved in a chaotic, perfect harmony, a tangle of limbs and need, each touch amplifying the next.
When the peak came, it wasn’t solitary. It was a chain reaction. Jenny’s choked sob against Aliandra’s skin triggered Aliandra’s own convulsive release, which tore a ragged shout from Simon as he emptied into her, the magical current within his release not a trickle but a wave, a warm, golden surge that flooded Aliandra’s senses and echoed through their shared touch into Jenny, who shook against them both, overwhelmed.
For a long time, there was only the sound of their breathing slowing, and the distant, indifferent sea.
They lay in a sweaty, spent heap on the rug, having slid from the table. The cool marble felt good on their overheated skin. The map of Korfosis lay crumpled under Simon’s bare shoulder.
Jenny traced a lazy pattern on Aliandra’s arm. “We should… get back to work.”
“Yeah,” Simon murmured, his voice slurry with exhaustion. “In a bit.”
Aliandra stared at the ceiling, the magical afterglow like honey in her veins. The search hadn’t ended. It had merely been interrupted by a different, more immediate kind of finding. The island was still out there, hidden. Their enemies were still searching. But for this moment, tangled together on the floor of a sun-bleached villa, they were a complete and formidable circuit. Found, and fiercely held.