Free The Calling by Nina Croft Page A

corner of her cloak, he revealed the witch’s mark.
    “By the Goddess,” he murmured. “You shouldn’t be here. It won’t take much for this to turn into a mob.” Freya ignored the comment. “Darren, we need information.”
    “We?” He nodded at Jarrod. “You’re working with the warlocks now.”
    “He’s Shayla’s father.”
    Darren glanced at him sharply. “Aye—I see it—she has his eyes.
    That doesn’t mean you can trust him.”
    “He helped me escape the Keep. We need to find Shayla. She disappeared two nights ago, from the clearing where you sent us. Please, Darren—if you know any more, tell us.”
    He considered them for a minute, his gaze flicking from Freya to him. Finally, he lifted one shoulder. “I’ll tell you what else I know, which isn’t much. My family has been keepers of the secret for generations ever since the Laws of Segregation were first introduced.
    In those first years, the Order hunted down the witches; some were killed, some were taken prisoner. But there were others who escaped.”
    “Escaped where?” Freya asked.
    “We don’t know. But it’s said that there are areas where the walls between worlds are thin and it’s possible to pass through.”
    “The clearing where you sent us?”
    He nodded.
    “Is there any way we can follow, or bring Shayla back?”
    “I’m not sure.”
    Jarrod was watching the crowd. Several people had turned to look at their small group and were whispering among themselves.
    He wished he had his staff, but he’d left it out in the woods; he would have been too conspicuous carrying it here.
    “Freya, we have to go.”
    She glanced at him and then at the crowd. She must have sensed their unease, because she nodded. At the same time, a small group broke off from the main crowd and headed toward them.
    “Go!” Darren said.
    Jarrod took Freya’s arm and hurried her down the alley between two buildings.
    “Burn the witch.”
    The cry rang out behind them as they fled through the narrow streets and out into the open country. Freya had heard the words before, though in the past they’d been aimed at Shayla. She gritted her teeth against the fury that rose up inside her at their blind stupidity and ignorance.
    The breath was burning in her lungs by the time they reached Starfire, but the mob was still a good distance behind. Jarrod hurled himself onto the horse’s back and pulled Freya up behind him. She wrapped her arms around his waist as the horse leapt forward.
    She peered over her shoulder; in the distance, the flickering of torches lit up the night sky, illuminating their pursuers. She felt no fear, only rage at the senseless hatred the Order had brought to their world.
    Jarrod glanced behind him, then holding the reins in one hand, he drew his staff and raised it high. He called out a spell to the night sky, and a curtain of purple smoke materialized behind them, obscuring them from view.
    Freya burrowed her head against Jarrod’s broad back and breathed in the mingled hot aroma of horse and man as Starfire weaved swiftly between the trees. The ride seemed to last forever, and her temper soothed beneath the steady rhythm of the gallop. And as her anger waned, her awareness of the man she held so tightly grew until she was conscious of nothing but the strength of him beneath her hands, his scent filling her nostrils. Desire lit a fire inside her, fueled by the closeness of death, how easily their lives could have been snatched away.
    Finally, they slowed to a jolting trot.
    “We’ve left them far behind,” Jarrod murmured.
    Freya raised her head, but kept her arms tight around his waist.
    She knew she should release her hold, push herself away, but she didn’t want to let him go. At the thought of being parted from Jarrod, a pain sliced through her, and she pressed herself closer.
    Her fingers gripped the material of his cloak. She loosened them and slid her hand inside the coarse material to touch his skin. Her palms glided over