Alicia Dean invites you on a journey into the hearts of lovers and the minds of killers...

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Heart of the Witch - Excerpt

                                                                               Chapter One

If she didn’t wake soon, he’d have to cut her. He wasn’t ready to do that. Not yet.
Moonlight filtered into the cabin through sheet-covered windows, casting a patchwork of shadows on her face. She was a beauty. In the brief moments before she lost consciousness, he’d seen her eyes: a deep, rich green with flecks of amber. Never in his life had he seen eyes that color. He’d been so captivated, he’d nearly forgotten the chloroform. Her hair was the color of midnight with streaks of crimson, and it fell in glossy waves around her shoulders. Dark lashes lay on her pale cheeks. She had full lips, with a slight overbite. Soooo  sexy. She had full breasts, rounded hips, long shapely legs. Her feminine curves were the kind that drove men wild. She wasn’t emaciated like so many women these days. It was sickening, the way they starved themselves to skin and bones, leaving nothing a man could hold on to—or sink a blade into.
A cracking noise sounded, and he lifted his head. Had a hunter wandered too close? At this time of year in southeast Oklahoma, hunting was almost a religion. He ran a high risk of detection by some redneck with more firepower than brains. That didn’t matter, though. The risk only added to the thrill. The sound came again, and this time he recognized it--a log popping in the fireplace. He let out a relieved sigh. The risk might add excitement, but he was in no hurry to be discovered by Billy Bob Redneck and his hillbilly buddies. There was too much yet to be enjoyed. Some pleasures shouldn’t be rushed.
The girl—Ravyn, he’d learned from her driver’s license—groaned. He felt a swelling in his loins, and his arousal pressed against his zipper. The groan was just the beginning. The groan meant she would soon be awake, that she would soon be a witness to the pleasures he took with her body. He always waited until they were awake. Without consciousness, there was no fear. Without fear, there was no satisfaction.
His heart raced. He’d never been this excited before. He hoped to make this woman last longer than the others.
“Time to wake up, my lovely,” he whispered. His spine tingled with anticipation. Soon. Very soon.
The ecstasy had begun the first time he lost a patient in surgery. Even though it hadn’t been on purpose, her death had given him a thrill beyond measure. He’d discovered that the power to take a life was more exhilarating than the ability to save one. Since, taking lives had developed into a pleasure beyond imagining. This exquisite creature strapped to the bed was his sixth victim, and she was the most stunning of all. Nearly perfect.
He always chose perfection, because that was more satisfying to destroy. Seeing the look in the eyes of a beautiful woman who knew her life was in his hands, seeing her realize that her beauty couldn’t save her . . . that was a thrill beyond words.
When little boys choose to be naughty little bastards, they must suffer the consequences!
What the . . . ?

He whirled as the voice echoed through the cabin. The room was empty. He looked back at the girl. Still unconscious. It hadn’t been her.
Of course it wasn’t her, you stupid little fuck. Don’t you recognize your own mother’s voice?
A chill coursed through his body, settled in his groin. He shivered, and his dick shrank as if trying to crawl inside him. He was losing his mind. His mother had been dead for years. She couldn’t hurt him anymore, could no longer control him.
The girl moaned again, and he forgot about his mother’s voice. He sucked in a breath as the girl’s eyelids fluttered open. God, she was magnificent. Her eyes looked almost black in the light from the moon, but he recalled their incredible shade, those rich emerald irises flecked with gold. He couldn’t wait to see them colored with fear.
“Hello. I’ve been waiting for you. Do you remember me?”
The girl shook her head. With his handkerchief lodged in her mouth, she couldn’t speak even if she wanted. “I saw you at the restaurant. You were with two other women. Celebrating an engagement, I think?”
Her eyes held confusion but no fear. Yes, the disorientation was always there first. The fear would come soon. The fear always came shortly after the blade appeared. Then the questions. Then the begging. Finally the screams.
“Tell me, are you the bride?” She didn’t respond, so he continued. “If so, congratulations are in order.” He allowed himself a secret grin. If she was the bride, somewhere there would be a very disappointed groom.
He took off his dinner jacket and tossed it onto the foot of the bed. Walking to the fireplace, he pulled his knife from its sheath. “It’s okay that you don’t remember me. After tonight you will.” He didn’t add she wouldn’t remember him long because she wouldn’t live long. No need to cause all-out panic. Not just yet.
He held his knife blade in the flame until it glowed red, then walked back to her side. Her gaze traveled to the knife, and then to his face. He saw anger but still no fear. Damn.
He gripped the neck of her red dress and yanked until it tore down the front. A sheer red bra barely covered tantalizing breasts that were, yes, perfect. Her eyes showed more anger. She began to mumble behind the gag and struggle against her bindings.
“Don’t fight. You can’t win.” Smiling, he pressed the hot steel against her stomach. A guttural cry tore from her throat, and the smell of burning flesh filled the room. There, that was better. He looked into her eyes. Pain. But still no fear. Who the hell did she think she was?
“You’re a tough one, huh?” He slowly lowered the blade again and watched as her eyes followed his movement. He grinned. Let me see the fear. Her expression began to change, but there was still no fear. Instead, her face showed something different, something he couldn’t explain. The amber flecks in her irises began to glow, casting light of their own. Her eyes burned brighter and brighter until they were golden pools of fire. These became a blaze of scarlet, the color of blood.
He stepped back, rubbed his eyes. A tremble of fear wormed through him. When he looked again, her eyes still blazed crimson. Around the gag, her lips stretched into a sneer, and for the first time in his adult life, he was the one afraid. No, not afraid. He was terrified.
A strangled shriek wrenched loose from his throat. His mind told him to run, but he couldn’t move; it was as if his feet were mired in quicksand. He shook his head from side to side, emitting small whimpers from between clenched lips. His knife slipped from his hands and clattered to the floor, seemingly a useless toy. His bowels clenched, then loosened, but the humiliation of soiling himself was lost in the awfulness that followed. His groin warmed. It heated to the point of being uncomfortable, even painful—excruciating pain like he’d never felt before.
An animalistic scream reverberated through the room as his genitals burst into flames.