Rise of the witch the ya.., p.1
Rise of the Witch (The Yaga’s Riders Book 1), page 1
Contents
Warnings & Triggers
Stalk C. Rochelle
Author’s Note
Prologue
1. Vasilisa
2. Vasilisa
3. Asa
4. Vasilisa
5. Nox
6. Taneer
7. Vasilisa
8. Asa
9. Vasilisa
10. Vasilisa
11. Vasilisa
12. Nox
13. Vasilisa
14. Vasilisa
15. Taneer
16. Vasilisa
17. Asa
18. Nox
19. Vasilisa
20. Vasilisa
21. Taneer
22. Vasilisa
23. Asa
24. Vasilisa
25. Vasilisa
26. Nox
27. Vasilisa
28. Vasilisa
29. Vasilisa
30. Taneer
31. Vasilisa
32. Nox
33. Asa
34. Vasilisa
35. Vasilisa
36. Taneer
37. Vasilisa
38. Vasilisa
39. Vasilisa
40. Nox
41. Taneer
42. Vasilisa
43. Asa
44. Vasilisa
Reviews
Books by C. Rochelle
About the Author
Acknowledgments
Glossary
Copyright © 2021 C. Rochelle
First Printing: 2021
All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, distributed, or transmitted in any form or by any means without the prior written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical reviews and certain other noncommercial uses permitted by copyright law.
Author's Note: The characters and events portrayed in this book are fictitious. Any similarity to real persons, living or dead, is coincidental and not intended by the author. All characters in this story are 18 years of age and older, and all sexual acts are consensual.
If you’ve read this, you get an ass pat.
ASIN: B08RCZ91PM
Cover design by divineconception.net
Warnings & Triggers
The Yaga’s Riders is based on the folklore of Baba Yaga, with creative liberties taken. The Rise of the Witch is the first book in a steamy, paranormal romance saga featuring alphaholes, mysterious forces in magical woods, and a slightly frightening heroine who never has to choose just one man. (That means multiple dicks.)
This book includes:
M/MFM (again, multi-dicks, including the crossing of swords)
Multiple POV (You’ll be hearing from the guys)
This series is meant for readers 18 and over
Beware: Cliffys ahead!
Possible triggers:
Sweary dialogue
Graphic sex, including kink and various edgeplay
Gore and violence
Reference to past sexual assault and pregnancy loss
General weirdness and medium-dark elements (that should cover it)
Stalk C. Rochelle
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Author’s Note
Thank you for reading my dirty little stories! While many people have gone over this book to find typos and other mistakes, we are only human, so sneaky bits occasionally slip by us.
If you spot an error, please do NOT report it to Amazon, as that could cause my book to be removed. Instead, please send me an email - I promise, I won’t bite (unless you ask me to!):
crochelle.author@gmail.com
Please Note: The characters in this series are an international bunch, and while they all speak English, they pepper in slang from their home countries, which I’ve italicized and written phonetically. I do translate during the course of the story, but in case you want a handy glossary:
Alin yazisi (Turkish): A phrase meaning your fate is “written on your forehead”
Gueneshem (Turkish): My sun (nickname)
Lan (Turkish): Man (casual, like calling someone “bro”)
Mahluh izba (Russian): Little hut
Mudak (Russian): The kind of asshole who doesn’t know they’re an asshole
Oha! (Turkish): A surprised expression. Could be “whoa!” or “holy shit!” etc.
Russki (Russian): A derogatory way to identify someone as Russian
Seni (Russian): Entryway/vestibule
Skazki (Russian): Wonder tale (fairytale)
Suge (United States, southern): The shortened version of “sugar” (nickname)
Svoloch (Russian): Bastard
Tutly juddah (Turkish): Sweet witch/very stubborn woman (nickname)
Vashka (Russian): Diminutive nickname for Vasi
Ya/eh (Turkish): Placeholders in conversation, like “um” or “you know,” etc.
For Becca. You still deserve it, Queen.
Prologue
As with most beginnings, it started with death.
I could still remember the searing heat as the metal brand melted my skin, the smell of burning flesh filling the claustrophobic interior of the mud dwelling as I convulsed in pain. Although the wooden stake clenched between my teeth splintered from the pressure of my jaw and the ground beneath me scraped my bare knees, I refused to cry out. I’d accepted my fate.
The brand was finally removed, and an herbal poultice immediately placed on my back to cover the wound. Body shuddering in shock, I would have collapsed if not for three sets of unseen hands holding me up.
“Ah, I see your helpers have arrived,” the witch’s scratchy voice still resonated in my brain like the grinding of bones. “If only to remind you that you must now wait for the ones you are destined for...however long it takes.”
Nodding in exhaustion, I fell forward, gagging and retching as the raw meat I’d ritualistically consumed purged itself from my stomach. Uncaring about the vomit pooled on the ground beside me, I lay down and pressed my cheek against the cool dampness of the earth.
My back throbbed under the compress, and my guts ached, but I welcomed the unpleasant sensations. At this point, pain and emptiness were all I knew. Once, I’d possessed love and security—a hope for the future. But all that had been taken from me.
When I’d had nothing left to lose, I’d again ventured to the hut in the woods; the one no humans dared approach, so terrified were they of the witch who lived there—and rightfully so. But I’d survived her tests once before only to be sent away for being too blessed. I returned because I knew there was no way she could refuse me again.
Because, for me, there were no longer any blessings to be found.
“Rise up, Vasi! The time has come.” I lifted my head to find the witch crouched beside me, the flickering firelight reflecting off her iron teeth and highlighting the deep wrinkles lining her craggy face.
Shakily, I rose and followed her out of the dwelling, watching as she hobbled along, her unusual skeletal leg scratching the earth as it dragged behind her. Entering the sacred grove, I carefully stepped over the furrows of seeds arranged in ancient spiraling designs before stopping next to the stone altar beneath the towering oak. I let my gaze wander over the various elements that covered it; jars, herbs, animal bones, human teeth and hair, and a jeweled chalice containing familiar blue liquid. Swallowing hard, I turned to face my mentor and await the ritual’s conclusion.
“The Yaga has protected these lands for countless centuries,” she solemnly intoned, running her wrinkled fingers over the bones on the altar as if memorizing their texture. “Our kind were once considered wise and respected healers. That was before the great purge, where so many lost their lives.”
She paused and shuddered, momentarily lost in the horrific memory before refocusing her beady eyes on me. “Ours is a dark lineage passed down through women now shunned by human society. A duty that, once given, can only be escaped through death.”
With this final statement, she offered up a short, curved blade, weathered by time but still deadly sharp. Grasping the leather-bound hilt in my hand, I exhaled slowly, readying myself for what I knew I had to do next.
Kill the witch before me.
The brand on my back throbbed, the magic infused in the design humming through my veins, overpowering my movements as I felt the hand holding the knife slowly rise to strike. Boldly meeting my gaze, the witch surprised me by smirking, a knowing glint in her eye as the blade descended, aimed to transfer the cursed legacy from one Yaga to the next.
Chapter 1
Vasilisa
“You know, Vasi, your beastly screams can be heard from halfway through the forest,” Anthia’s amused voice startled me out of my unnaturally deep sleep.
Lifting my face from the worn wooden surface, I rubbed my knuckles over my eyes before blinking groggily at the white swan perched on the long table next to me.
“Just testing the potency of my latest batch,” I curtly replied, gathering the empty mug before rising from my chair and heading toward the washbasin.
The swan sniffed at the cup as I passed. “Well, I would say it’s potent enough if you’re this affected!” Anthia laughed, her human form rippling ove
Shaking out her long, white-blonde tresses, Anthia strode to the hutch to examine the basket I’d packed for her, tapping her tapered purple nails on the mason jars within. “Regardless, there are always willing buyers for your dream tea and anything else you’ve managed to cook up…” Riffling through the basket, she grinned, snatching a few small spheres wrapped in gauze to raise triumphantly. “Including your famous bath bombs!”
I snorted, drying the mug with a rag. “It’s amazing what humans will pay for a ball of baking soda and cornstarch.”
“Oh, but your bath bombs are made with an extra special ingredient,” she giggled, wrapping an arm around my shoulder to pull me against her. “Looooove!”
Rolling my eyes at my friend’s audacity, I playfully batted her away before busying myself with the rest of the dishes. The last thing my bath bombs would be infused with was love, but I allowed Anthia’s teasing, just as I allowed her to touch me.
Nobody touched me.
Not only because I had little interest in allowing anyone that close to me but, to most people, I didn’t look like someone you wanted to approach. Anthia saw my true form, as did the other creatures of the surrounding forest, but humans saw me as a withered old crone—a horrific witch from their darkest nightmares.
Baba Yaga.
A kindly old grandmother I was not. Yes, I appeared stooped and wrinkled, but also monstrous. Unclean and hairy, with an abnormally long nose, iron teeth, and one leg stripped to the bone. Children stolen from their beds were supposedly my favorite meal, although I wouldn’t turn down eating an adult if given a chance. It was my name on the lips of humans when they warned each other to avoid the woods. I was a convenient figure to blame for terrors that were man-made.
Which was fine by me. I’d chosen this life—felt called to it after all that had happened—and was more than happy with my woodland seclusion. Unfortunately, as far removed as I was from civilization, humans still managed to occasionally wander into my territory. These intrusions were sometimes accidental, though the more foolish visitors intentionally braved my reputation for guidance, and not only for big life decisions or valiant quests. I was often asked for advice on petty squabbles and mundane choices, like what to wear to a cousin’s wedding.
Another draw was that I was said to guard the Water of Life, created from the essence of magical blue roses. This part of the legend was one of the more true-to-life aspects. I did include blue roses when brewing my dream tea, although that was purely a concoction used for vision quests, not prolonging one's youth. But even a rumor was enough for an otherwise suspicious human to desperately seek me out, only to return to their families cursing my name.
It’s just like a human to take with one hand while withholding with the other.
Unfortunately for these seekers, I was rarely compelled to help. More often than not, I forced the offending human to carry out menial tasks under the threat of death before frightening them off. While a small part of me found their terror amusing, I mostly did it to ensure my fearsome legend prevailed—anything to keep the outside world at bay.
Although, humans weren’t who I was worried about.
A shudder ran through me as I thought of the monster I hadn’t seen in centuries. While I knew in my soul he was still out there—still deathless—my transformation seemed to have given me a layer of anonymity that had allowed me to elude him for so long. Or, at least, it had rendered me no longer physically appealing to him.
At least, that’s what I tell myself...
Feeling a familiar tug on my intuition, I refocused on the vision I’d been awoken from. At first glance, it appeared to be nothing more than a memory of the day I became Yaga, but I suspected there was more to it. A hidden message, a small detail previously overlooked, or a new object added to the ritual that wasn’t there originally. I needed to discover what my deeper knowing was trying to tell me before the time came when that knowledge would be required.
“Hellooooo! Were you listening to a word I just said?!” I emerged from my thoughts to find Anthia flapping her hands in front of my face, crimson lips pursed in annoyance.
“No. I wasn’t,” I stated unapologetically before sighing heavily. “My mind is elsewhere, ‘Thia. The vision I had just now, it was…” I instinctively glanced over my shoulder as if a ghost from my past would be standing behind me. “It was about...her.”
My friend froze, inhaling sharply as her violet eyes also darted around the hut, searching for threats hidden in the shadows.“If she appeared to you through the dream tea, that means…”
I canted my head, squinting nonchalantly. “It could mean something, or it could mean nothing.”
It could mean a disturbance in the close-under-place...
Clearly concerned, Anthia nervously chewed her lip as she hurriedly repacked the basket. “I’ll deliver this dream tea straight to my biggest client. He travels in occultist circles—maybe he’ll have some insights to share.” She shifted back into swan form so I could secure the custom basket around her body and see her on her way.
After Anthia’s silhouette faded into the early morning sky, I closed the window and fastened the bone latch before turning to face the room. Closing my eyes, I leaned back against the wavy glass, distractedly fiddling with the wooden pendant around my neck while considering my situation.
Regardless of how unbothered I’d acted for Anthia’s benefit, I was greatly unsettled. The Nav only allowed souls to leave its boundaries on rare occasions, including to communicate with the living. My tea-induced vision only proved death had failed to dampen the power of my long-deceased mentor.
Depending on which way the wind blew, and very true to the Yaga’s ambiguous reputation, her intentions with me could be to help, hinder, or harm.
And I’m not sure I want to find out which it is...
I also couldn’t ignore the timing. Anthia and I had noticed troubling disturbances in the surrounding forest, slowly increasing in magnitude over several months. While I’d previously chalked it up to whatever destructive business the humans at the nearby government compound were up to, now I wondered if larger—more supernatural—forces were at play.
Eyes fluttering open, my gaze landed on the icon corner, or what would have been the icon corner had I been religious. The only item present was a small cloth embroidered in red with a woman riding a horse as the central figure: Mokosh, the Mother Goddess, whom all Yagas emulated and served—the one whose symbol was carved onto my wooden pendant. Fervently tracing the design with my thumb, I reminded myself that this was my responsibility; to care for the Goddess’ creatures as if they were my own. It was my duty as Yaga to identify any threat to this sacred land and do my best to stop it before time ran out.
I will not fail you.
Resolutely stalking across the cabin, I steadied myself against the doorframe as the hut settled to the ground. Pulling my cloak more tightly around myself, I wrapped my hand around the femur handle, yanked open the heavy door, and headed out into the forest.
