Ember and eclipse a cove.., p.1
Ember and Eclipse (A Coven of Ruin Standalone), page 1
Ember and Eclipse
Copyright © 2023 by T. K. Tucker
ASIN: B0C74W6HF7
ISBN: 978-1-959294-05-4
All rights reserved.
No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means, including photocopying, recording, or other electronic or mechanical methods, without the prior written permission of the publisher, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law. For permission requests, contact authortktucker@gmail.com.
The story, all names, characters, and incidents portrayed in this production are fictitious. No identification with actual persons (living or deceased), places, buildings, and products is intended or should be inferred.
This title is intended for adults only. It contains adult themes and materials.
Contents
Author's Note
Dedication
1. Chapter I
2. Chapter II
3. Chapter III
4. Chapter IV
5. Chapter V
6. Chapter VI
7. Chapter VII
8. Chapter VIII
9. Chapter IX
10. Chapter X
11. Chapter XI
12. Chapter XII
13. Chapter XIII
14. Chapter XIV
15. Chapter XV
16. Chapter XVI
17. Chapter XVII
18. Chapter XVIII
19. Chapter XIX
20. Chapter XX
21. Chapter XXI
22. Chapter XXII
23. Chapter XXIII
24. Chapter XXIV
25. Chapter XXV
26. Chapter XXVI
27. Chapter XXVII
28. Chapter XXVIII
29. Chapter XXIX
30. Chapter XXX
31. Chapter XXXI
32. Chapter XXXII
33. Chapter XXXIII
34. Chapter XXXIV
35. Chapter XXXV
36. Chapter XXXVI
37. Chapter XXXVII
38. Chapter XXXVIII
39. Chapter XXXIX
40. Chapter XL
41. Chapter XLI
42. Chapter XLII
43. Chapter XLIII
44. Chapter XLIV
45. Chapter XLV
46. Chapter XLVI
47. Chapter XLVII
Bonus Epilogue (Devdan's POV)
The Coven of Ruin
Acknowledgments
About The Author
Author's Note
Ember and Eclipse is a steamy, slow burn enemies to lovers, witch X witch hunter, adult fantasy romance. As a Coven of Ruin series standalone, it can be read before or after book 1, The Coven of Ruin.
Content Warnings:
Intended for a mature audience 18+.
torture, gore, violence, abduction, emotional abuse, grooming (implied, not between main characters), physical abuse, abusive tactics (gaslighting, coercion, manipulation, sex as manipulation), anxiety, CPTSD, PTSD, panic attacks, self-harm (in the form of magic), suicidal ideation (passing thought), characters are drugged (to make them fall asleep), emesis, loss of bodily autonomy, adult language, sexual harassment, sexism (implied), death of a parent (mentioned, not on page), death of a mother during labor (mentioned, not on page), descriptions of burns and people burning, descriptive sexual content
For those full of rage, revolution, and fire.
Chapter I
She was face to face with a crocodile.
The only things visible above the murky water were the top of his broad head and the middle of his ridged back. He stared unblinkingly at her, as still as a stone statue. One usually didn’t even know the creatures were there until they struck. Despite their astonishing size, they moved like phantoms through the water, undetected, until it was too late.
Rel lifted her face completely out of the water to take a breath, her chin bumping against the crocodile’s snout as she did.
“I’ll never get used to you sneaking up on me. All this room, and you have to be right here?”
She affectionately pressed two fingers between his nostrils. When she hadn’t seen him on the shores, she knew there was a chance of him finding her when she was in the water. Yet she was always surprised by his sudden appearance.
His gaze held unfathomable depths, an entire universe. She had looked plenty of monsters in the eye before, but Aloysius wasn’t one of them. Even though rows of thick, sharp teeth were set into his pointed mouth just beneath the surface, she trusted the creature in some way that defied all reason. But she also respected the very real threat that he was. This particular swamp belonged to him. It was only with his permission that she was allowed to enter it unharmed. She had a sense he respected bravery, and if she were any less so, he wouldn’t welcome her in his territory.
Finally, his opaque eyelids covered his ancient, marbled eyes as he effortlessly sank beneath the water again. His gray and brown-speckled skin allowed him to almost immediately disappear. Rel only felt a ripple of movement as he swam past her.
Letting out a long exhale, she swam the way she’d come with the reason she got in the water bobbing behind her—grood reeds. They had become a staple of her diet since she’d been in the wetlands. Both the stalks and meaty center were edible. They could be added to soups and salads or blackened to eat alone. Rel hadn’t intended to do any swimming, but when she spied the tops of them breaking the surface, she couldn’t help herself.
She pulled herself out of the much deeper and darker waters when she reached the shelf. Algae caught in rivulets of water rushed down her warm copper skin as she rose like a wild creature from its depths. The speckles of silt and debris that intermingled with her freckles and caught in strands of her rust-colored hair made her appear like she was of the swamp herself.
The bank was a muddy mess, but the saturated ground didn’t bother her. She actually liked the way it felt as her feet sank into it and the mud pressed between her toes.
“I still have to hunt down some storm mint before it’s gone for the season,” she said to no one in particular. A buzzing sound joined the noise of the surrounding forestry as if in agreement.
Grabbing her shift, she turned toward the swamp to watch its surface. There was no movement, but she could feel eyes on her. Undoubtedly, more than one giant reptile was watching her from its depths. She slipped into the material—the thin fabric sticking to her and soaking through instantly.
Waving a silent goodbye to the concealed beasts, she placed the rest of her clothes and haul in the basket that already held an abundance of plump, reddish mushrooms. Barefoot, she began the trek back to her dwelling.
The route was one she knew well. She would know it even blindfolded, just by the scent of the varying flora that lined the path, and the subtle tells of the earth beneath her feet. The moss here was exceptionally spongy and soft, and the dirt was rich and silky from the nutrients of the multiple water holes nearby.
When she came to an unremarkable batch of cattails and high grass minutes later, she stooped to part the dense stalks. Her small boat with two oars was tied to a thick root, anchoring it in place. Placing her findings into the wooden vessel, she carefully boarded it and unknotted the rope.
In the distance, Rel could just make out the shadow of a structure through the mist that hung around it, shrouding it from being easily sighted. Her home sat on a dark isle, lording over this much larger swamp. The islet was the same elevation as the land behind it, seeming to have been cut away from it by time.
In a particularly dense patch of fog, she momentarily lost sight of everything, barely able to make out her hands on the oars. Once through, her home was there, high above the water. She slowed, guiding the vessel to one side of the rocky and dirt-compacted base.
She tied her boat to a section of stone that had been chipped away from the rest of the cliff. Placing her arm through the basket’s handle, she made sure everything was secure before looking up the length of the rock face. The only way to get to the land above was by using the rope ladder that was located on this side.
Climbing expertly up the ladder, even with the awkwardness of her bundle, she finally heaved herself over the edge. Lastly, she pulled up the rope, guaranteeing no one would be following her.
Not that she had seen a single soul since she had moved here.
Rel had been drawn deep into the wetlands a year ago like a witch bespelled. Even as she journeyed, she had to question what she was doing, but still, she tromped through the humid place. Emerald vines, jade moss, bright algae, and the gentle sway of the willows called her home.
The damp air doused her, vines crept and reached for her, and the energy of the swamp enveloped her. She followed the wilderness’ directions until she was shown the asymmetric structure centered on the isolated cliff. She knew then, without a doubt, that it was meant for her. The very terrain was enchanted, encumbered with ancient magic and untamed wildness.
She was meant to be here.
When she had figured out her way onto the islet and to the front of the home, she knocked and called out. The place had an air of expectancy, like it had been waiting for her all this time. The door was unlocked and swung open easily, beckoning her to enter. Despite the layer of dust, crumbling leaves, and thick spiderwebs, the cottage looked like a home that had once been lovingly cared for. It also had a sense of lingering magic that drifted in the rays of sunlig
A witch had built and inhabited it, Rel knew without a doubt. But the place had seemingly been abandoned. She stood on the brink of the threshold for a long time before willing herself to step inside.
The moment she did, she knew this was the only place that would ever feel like home.
Rel still got that inexplicable feeling when she opened the door now.
The central room was filled with an overstuffed settee and chair, shelves crammed with leather tomes, and glass jars of various shades of purples and teals. An intricately tiled fireplace was the focal point, and even with the heat, she used it often.
Some of the belongings were from the previous witch, but there were many additions of her own. Plants she had nursed back to health hung from the ceiling or took over shelves. Most had no sense of personal space, their tendrils reaching up the walls and spilling over their pots—tameless and unable to be contained. There were far more knives and books as well, both of which sat around in piles or tucked in the empty spaces she could find. Half-finished sewing projects, baskets that needed patching, and charmed torches were also here and there, organized only in a way that was chaotic at best, but made complete sense to her.
It was home, the only true home she had known in the last twenty-seven years.
Trailing into her dining area, she placed the basket of goods on the crowded table that took up most of the space. Wiping away the sweat on her brow, she debated on whether she wanted to go back out to get the storm mint. It would require climbing trees, as it only grew twisted and braided on some of the higher, smaller limbs, as close to the sun as it could get.
The sky grew darker with an impending storm in answer. Relieved, she trailed to the back, pulling off her wet shift as she did.
Chapter II
There were two types of weather in the swamp—gray and grumpy skies that could last weeks before they released any rain or not a single cloud in the sky as the sun’s rays attempted to penetrate the canopy and heat the earth. As the day turned into evening, purple joined the mottled black and deep blue, turning the sky into a display resembling bruises.
The gloomy clouds had decided to release their watery burdens that night. Rel swung, using one foot to move the bench back and forth with the other tucked beneath her. The roof’s overhang kept her mostly dry as she watched with unchecked captivation as the rain hit the swamp’s surface surrounding her home. The sound of water meeting water, and the much deeper sound of it hitting the roof, lulled her into a sense of serenity. She loved the rain and all it represented—transmutation, renewal, enrichment.
In moments like this, she had a soul-deep understanding of existence. Of how everything was connected, entwined, and braided together. If Rel could glimpse the threads of her life, she imagined she would find them tangled about with the swamp’s soul, the witch that lived here before her, the rain, and the tree that had yielded the strong wood she sat upon. She felt infinite and minuscule all at once.
It was the closest to happiness she’d been in many years.
Two years ago, when she had fled the mortal empire in the north, Romul, and all the terrors it held for her, she didn’t know where to go. Though she had no knowledge of who her father was, she knew he was a mage, and who she’d inherited both her magic and emerald eyes from.
“My little jewel, my beloved treasure. It’s why I named you Esmerelda,” her mother would say as she braided Rel’s hair with gentle hands or hugged her so tightly that she thought her bones would crack. Otherwise, her mother, a mortal woman and the one who raised her alone, spoke of him very rarely.
Knowing he’d been a mage, she fled south into Witch Country, seeking coven protection. The Coven of Marsh and Flame was the nearest coven to Heigar’s Pass. A keen sense of returning overcame her, but the witches rebuffed her as she stepped into the magic-drenched wetlands. She couldn’t call her essence up on command to prove herself. Instead, it sat silent and unreachable in the confines of her being. Without the name of her father or what coven he hailed from, they didn’t want her. They didn’t trust her.
Though they didn’t kick her out, it was apparent she wasn’t welcome. Witch customs and culture were foreign to her. She tried to earn her way, working long hours in the humid and murky waters, harvesting crops, setting traps, and training to fight to help protect the borders. But they still hated answering her questions, distrusted her, whispered about her, and glared at her for long moments when they thought she couldn’t see. They disliked everything about her—how she dressed, ate, and spoke.
She didn’t belong. And she had lived as an outsider enough for one lifetime.
Rel held out for a year, but it was painful. However, she at least learned how to defend herself and techniques for knife throwing, which she was surprisingly talented at. When she left, only her trainer, a witch named Vada, said goodbye to her. She gave her two throwing knives in parting.
Going deeper into Witch Country was an option. There were five other covens she could travel to—Sun and Gold, Moon and Bone, Mountain and Moss, Forest and Nightshade, and Sea and Storm. There was also Spellspire, the capital and center of Witch Country, where the Witch King ruled from. She was told which coven one came from mattered less there, as it was a conglomeration of all the covens. But somehow, she knew it would be no different, and the idea of traveling for weeks for the high possibility of rejection was too much for her. She was weary. Physically and emotionally.
The Mark was worse. The Mark sat outside the six covens, filling in the space between the territories. Full of seedy markets and mismatched homes, it was lawless, enigmatic, and dangerous. Though witches who, for whatever reason, didn’t claim a coven or were exiled from theirs worked and lived there, it also drew the attention of unsavory characters from all over.
The constant threat of danger triggered too much from her time in the Romulan Empire, and after just a few weeks of begging and bartering for food and a place to sleep, she left.
That was when she found the swamplands and the cottage—a place where she could finally be free.
In isolation, she found belonging. In solitude, her only sanctuary.
It was her fate to be alone. After the hard years she had survived between her mother’s death when she was six and finding the swamp, she was just thankful to be alive. To have a chance to live.
But there were times, in the quiet of her abode, when she ached so badly for the company of another. Even just someone to talk to or swing with. Yet, she couldn’t picture what that would look like. Anyone she had ever trusted or loved had either left her or betrayed her. And one had even actively harmed her again and again. Though she had a rich imagination, any time she tried to envision someone else in her space, they were a faceless shadow. A mere shade that had no substance or light, as if it wasn’t possible in this realm of existence.
Lightning split the sky in vein-like cracks, revealing glimpses of blue and violet. Though mesmerized, the flash was Rel’s sign to go to bed. She had learned quickly not to stay out once the lightning began. A familiar coldness that had nothing to do with the temperature settled into her. Pulling the shawl tighter around her, she moved inside. Thunder rumbled its deep resonance as she shut the door on the outside world.
Rel had to wait until late afternoon the next day to forage for storm mint. The thunderstorm had stopped sometime early that morning, and the tree limbs would’ve been too slippery to do it first thing. Even now, some of the branches were still slick.
Laying on her belly, she inched herself out as far as she safely could on the tree’s limb before beginning the process of cutting and unbraiding the storm mint from around it. As it released, she let it fall to the ground below. Another day or two, and the earthy and mint-flavored herb would have begun to wilt and dry, unsalvageable by any amount of humidity or rain.
Most of the knowledge she had of the swamp’s various food sources was from her time spent in the Marsh Coven or from notes that the witch before her had meticulously taken and detailed out. Those journals had made it much easier for her to figure out what was edible and what wasn’t. There were so many poisonous berries, roots, and leaves that, without the information, she wouldn’t have lasted a week. Even so, Rel had documented her own unique discoveries, recipes, and processes in case someday another witch stumbled upon the swamp when she was gone and needed the knowledge.
