Mysteria Nights

To those of us who probably should live in Mysteria:

P. C. Cast, Susan Grant, and MaryJanice Davidson.

And to Christine Zika for a wonderful experience.

One

“Men suck,” Genevieve Tawdry muttered, “and not in a good way.”

She was tired, so very tired, of Hunter Knight’s hot and cold treatment of her. He was making her crazy, laughing with her flirtatiously one moment (translation: stringing her along without giving her any actual benefits, the bastard), then dropping her altogether the next moment, then laughing flirtatiously with her again.

By the Great Goddess, she wasn’t going to tolerate it anymore.

Unfortunately, lovesick witch that she was, Genevieve didn’t have the strength to shove him from her life—which meant she would have to up her game. But how? Truly, she’d tried everything. Spells and incantations. “Accidental” meetings where she happened to be braless. “Accidentally” ramming her car into the back end of his Ford Explorer. Or the latest, an incident that happened only last night, “accidentally” tripping and falling into his lap at a mutual friend’s wedding.

Nothing worked.

Last night had been a “cold” night. Hunter had taken one look at her in her brand-new white silk dress (no, she hadn’t been the bride and yes, the bride had been pissed that she’d dared to wear the “sacred” color) and he hadn’t been able to get away from her fast enough. She sighed.

What would it take to make herself irresistible to him? To hold his attention for as long as she desired it? To at last put an end to the heart-pounding tension that always sparked between them when they were together? Whatever was needed, she’d do it. Anything. Everything.

“God, I’m a stalker.” Frowning, she tapped her fingers against the desk surface.

Moonlight spilled through the window in front of her, mingling with the soft glow of lamplight, illuminating the unread book in front of her. Incense burned beside her, the scent of jasmine curling sweetly and fragrancing the air.

She sat in the office of the three-bedroom home, aka den of iniquity, she shared with her two sisters, hunched over the desk, dark strands of hair falling over her shoulders. Behind her, the TV emitted a crunch, crunch sound, as if someone on screen was enjoying a tasty snack. A family of squirrels raced around her feet—her oldest sister’s newest save-the-world-one-animal-at-a-time “project.”

I don’t want to be Hunter’s stalker. I want to be his lover.

Over the years, he had become the bane of her existence, the mountain she’d tried to climb (naked) but couldn’t quite manage to conquer. But damn it. He liked her; she knew he did. Last night, before he’d run away from her, she would have sworn to the Great Goddess he’d had an erection and had been desperate to get to her, not away. Desperate to touch her. Desperate to taste her.

Heat had blazed in his emerald eyes, scorching, white-hot. Enough to blister. He’d reached for her, his fingers caressing her with phantom strokes, before he dropped his arm to his side. He’d licked his lips and taken a step toward her before catching himself and striding away.

Why, why, why did he continually do crap like that?

If not for moments like those, she might have given up long ago and forced herself to forget him. Yet, he’d beaten John Foster to a bloody pulp for trying to kiss her. He always walked her home if he saw her in town. And it was her he’d called when his father had died, seeking comfort. Her he came to when he had a problem at work and needed help finding a solution.

That meant something. Didn’t it?

“Maybe you should offer to ride him like a carnival pony,” Glory said from behind her. “That always works for me.”

Genevieve twisted to face her younger sister. “What are you doing in here?” she gasped out in surprise.

Glory brushed away the cheese dust on her lips. “Uh, spying. Hello. I say sleep with some other man and forget Hunter.”

Always the same advice. Genevieve eased slowly to her feet. “How would you like it if I cast a spell, bringing every one of those chips to life and letting them exact their revenge against you?”

Glory’s hazel eyes flashed. “You wouldn’t dare!”

“Oh, really? Keep talking, then, and by tomorrow morning the entire town will be talking about the Great Doritos Death.”

“Is that before or after they talk about Stalkerella and her unwilling victim?”

For several seconds, she and Glory glared at each other. Hunter was a sore spot for Genevieve; food was a sore spot for Glory.

Finally Glory expelled a deep breath, and her features slowly softened. “Evie, when are you going to realize Hunter will never want you the way you want him? He dates everything that moves and even some things that don’t. But not you. Never you. He just, well, I didn’t want to be the one to tell you this, but he pities you.”

“He does not.”

“Yes, he does.”

“No, he desires me.”

“That’s delusion talking, and something every stalker says.”

“I’m not stalking him,” she said with a stubborn tilt of her chin, even though she herself had thought the very same thing. “I’m seducing him.”

Her sister rolled her eyes and popped another chip in her mouth. “That’s like saying murdering your neighbor is merely giving them a big send-off.”

“Girls, please.” Godiva, the oldest sister, strode into the room, her silver-white hair streaming behind her. She wore ripped jeans and a faded blue T-shirt, both of which were streaked with blood, dirt, and dark fur. “I’ve got an injured wolf in the kitchen and your arguing is upsetting him.”

“You brought an injured wolf into the house?” All traces of color abandoned Glory’s cheeks. “I can live with the squirrels and the wood mice, but a wolf? No way. They’re dangerous killers, Diva. They like to claw witches like us into bite-sized nibblets and feast on the pieces.”

“We have nothing to fear from him.” Godiva anchored her hands on her hips. “He’s too weak to cause us any harm.”

“Where is he?” Genevieve asked, trying to push Hunter—and Glory’s remarks—to the back of her mind. Her sister didn’t understand. How could she? She’d never been in love, never been consumed by the emotion. Never wanted more from a man than temporary satisfaction.

“He’s in the kitchen, and I could use your help.”

“Of course.” Following behind her older sister, Genevieve dragged a protesting Glory down the hall and into the kitchen.

Glory immediately flattened herself against the wall, surrounding herself with faux plant leaves, maintaining a safe distance from the large—very large—animal lying on the black and white tiled floor. As if she could hide with hair as vivid red as hers. Godiva bent over him, dabbing a steaming cloth over the jagged, bleeding claw wounds on his belly. He whimpered up at her, his eyes big and brown and glazed with pain.

Genevieve crouched beside her oldest sister. “What do you need me to do?”

They spent the next several hours murmuring peace spells, applying salve, and stitching the poor wolf’s wounds. He drifted in and out of sleep, but through it all he responded to Godiva’s every touch, recognizing her voice, her scent, and calming whenever she approached.

“He likes you,” Genevieve said.

“I think he recognizes me and feels safe. I’ve seen him before, in the forest. I was gathering herbs, and he was watching me.”

Genevieve wished Hunter responded to her half as much as this wolf responded to her sister. Since the day Hunter had saved her from gracing the dessert menu of a rabid gnome, she’d loved him.

She’d been seventeen years old at the time and he twenty-two, but she’d known she belonged with him. They’d even kissed that day, a delicious, mind-shattering kiss she’d never forgotten. Yes, she’d relived it in her dreams over and over again.

They were meant to be together, damn it. The way he sometimes treated her like a curse of hemorrhoids, no anti-itch cream in sight, had to stop! Did he think she meant to use him as a sexual toy then kick him out of her life? If so, he should love that. Did he think she meant to ruin their friendship? Well, she didn’t. She wanted to love him (hard core).

She would never, ever do anything to hurt him. Well . . . she bit her bottom lip. Fine. That wasn’t exactly true. Once she’d cast a seduction spell over him, hoping he would become sexually enthralled with the first woman he saw (which would have been her). Instead, she’d made nearly every woman in Mysteria, a town known for its weirdness, fall into instant lust with him. Even her sisters had been trapped under the spell. For days the entire female population had followed him everywhere, ripping at his clothes, begging him to make love to them.

“Even if the wolf saw you before,” Glory said, the sound of her voice breaking into Genevieve’s thoughts, “that’s not reason enough for him to respond so favorably to you. He acts like he adores you.” She frowned. “Hey, did you give him one of my love potions?”

“Of course not,” Godiva said. “I think he senses that I mean him no harm.”

At Glory’s words, a wonderfully frightening idea danced inside Genevieve’s mind, an idea she’d always discarded before—and no, she wasn’t going to injure Hunter to gain his attention (although she wouldn’t rule that out, the sexy bastard). What if she drank a love potion? What if she made herself so irresistible he wouldn’t think of turning her away? She’d never dared drink one before; there were simply too many uncertain variables.

For one night in his arms, though, she was now willing to risk it. Risk the deflation of her inhibitions, the danger of enticing the love of a legion of other men. The danger of loving him forever and him only loving her for a single night. Hell, she already loved him and she didn’t see an end in sight for the emotion. For Hunter, she’d risk anything. Everything. Except . . .

Genevieve uttered a sigh. Did she really want to win him because of a potion and not because he simply wanted her? Yes, she decided in the next instant. The stubborn man needed a push in the right direction, and she was tired of waiting for that to happen naturally. Her patience was frayed beyond repair.

Besides, if she had to watch him flirt and laugh with another woman one more time, just one more time, she’d fly into a rampage worthy of the Desdaine triplets, the town’s most notorious troublemakers.

Now that she had a plan, urgency rushed through her. She glanced at the clock above the refrigerator. Ten P.M. Knight Caps, Hunter’s bar, would be open for at least four more hours.

“Will you be okay on your own?” she asked Godiva.

“Hey, she’s not alone. I’m here,” Glory said with a pout.

“Oh, sorry. Will you be okay with Glory standing in the shadows and doing nothing?”

“I’ll be fine.” Godiva nodded. “Candy Cox should be here any minute. She’s going to sit with me.” Candy—oops, Candice—was the high school English teacher and Godiva’s best friend. “My big boy is finally resting peacefully. Why? Are you going out?”

“Yes.” She offered no other explanation. Neither of her sisters approved of her obsession with Hunter.

“Where are you going?” Glory asked suspiciously. She inched to the kitchen table, keeping the long length of the hand-carved mahogany between herself and the wolf.

“I’m. Going. Out.”

“That’s not what I meant and you know it.” She paused, then her pretty face scrunched in disgust. “You’re going to see him, aren’t you?”

Genevieve’s back went ramrod straight. “So what if I am? You got something to say about it?”

“Nope. Not a word. Except, if you want to make a fool of yourself over him again, go for it. Just know that the town isn’t laughing with you, they’re laughing at you.”

Her fists clenched at her sides. “You’re just begging for a piece of me, Glor.”

Awakening, the wolf raised his head, his lips pulling tight over his fangs.

“Don’t listen to them,” Godiva cooed at him. She smothered her fingers over his thick fur, giving her sisters a pointed glare. “They’re both going to rot in the fires of hell, just like Pastor Harmony says.”

“Harmony didn’t say we were going to hell,” Glory said. “She embraces every one of every religion, and she says only evil people go to hell.”

“Exactly.”

As they argued, anticipation and nervousness zinged through Genevieve’s veins. Not for the proposed trip into hell, but for the coming night. Now that she’d decided to do it, to love-potion the pants right off of Hunter, she didn’t want to waste another minute. “Glory, I’d like to talk with you privately,” she said sweetly. She motioned to the living room with a tilt of her chin. “I don’t want to fight.”

“I don’t believe you.”

“Okay, stay here then. I’m sure the wolf won’t regain full strength soon and be disoriented and afraid. He won’t fly into a rampage and—”

Glory jolted backward with a gasp. “Alright. Fine.” One tiny step, two, she scooted around the table, around the wolf. “I’ll meet you in the living room.”

Dissatisfied with such a gradual pace, Genevieve reached out, grabbed her younger sister’s hand, and tugged her into the next room. In the center, she whirled. She was almost bubbling over. Tonight might be the night all her dreams came true.... Glory’s love potions were legendary. Each sister specialized in a different area of magic. While she herself wielded the darkest power, that over vengeance, Godiva’s strength was in healing, both spiritual and physical, and Glory’s was in love.

“I want to drink one of your love potions. And don’t say no.”

Glory pursed her lips and crossed her arms over her chest. “How about: hell, no.”

“Please.”

“Nein. Nay. Non.”

She pushed out a frustrated breath. “Why not?”

“Evie,” her sister said, her expression softening, “he’s not good enough for you. When are you going to realize that? I’m more inclined to turn him into an impotent troll than help you win his affections.”

“It’s one night, Glor. What can that hurt?”

“It wouldn’t be one night for you. You’d want more.”

True. So true. Deep down, she hoped Hunter would be so enthralled by her that he’d become addicted to her touch. “If he doesn’t want me after the potion, I’ll take a blood oath never to speak to him again.” A small lie, really, since she only planned to leave out one word. Never.

“Sorry.”

“Please. I’ll bake those eye of newt muffins you love so much.”

“Oh, you bitch. I love those.” Several minutes passed in thick, brooding silence, before she shook her head. “Nope, sorry. I simply can’t allow you to endure more hurt because of him.”

“I’ll wreak vengeance upon your greatest enemy. I’ll go total witch on their ass.”

Glory opened her mouth, then closed it with a snap. Opened. Closed. Her hazel eyes gleamed hopefully, glowing with otherworldly power like they did just before a spell. “Horrible, painful vengeance?”

“Yes.”

“Even if it’s, say, against Falon Ryis?”

“Hunter’s best friend? He’s your greatest enemy?” Genevieve blinked in surprise. “I didn’t know you and Falon had even spoken to each other. Ever.”

Glory’s jaw clenched stubbornly. “I’m not going to explain. You make his life miserable, I’ll give you the potion. Take it or leave it.”

She didn’t have to think about her answer. “I’ll take it.”

Glory slowly smiled. “Then the potion is yours.”

“Thank you, thank you!” With a joyous whoop, she threw her arms around her sister. Sometimes family was a wonderful thing.

“What’s going on in there?” Godiva called.

Glory said, “Genevieve accidentally conjured a male stripper, and we’re placing dollar bills in his G-string. Just ignore us.”

“Ha, ha. Very funny,” came the muffled reply. Then, “I’ll be there in a sec.”

“Come on.” Glory extracted herself from the bear hug and flounced down the candlelit hall, through thickly painted shadows, toward their bedrooms. “It’s in my room. I really hope you know what you’re doing,” she murmured.

Did she? Genevieve mused. Not really. Did she care? Hell, no. Thoughts of lying naked in Hunter’s arms eclipsed all else. He’d trace his fingers over her breasts, roll her nipples between his fingers. He’d kiss a path down her stomach, lingering, licking . . . “Uh, can we put a rush order on that potion?”

Glory unlocked her door with a quietly muttered “Open” and a wave of her delicate hand. Instantly the thin slab of wood creaked open. They stepped inside the room.

Genevieve’s jaw nearly hit the ground. She rarely ventured in there and was momentarily shocked by the total chaos. Clothes and empty food cartons were scattered all over the floor, a sea of reds, blues, greens, and sweet and sour chicken orange.

“I need a minute,” Glory said, already tossing shoes and other items aside as she scrounged through the mess.

“No, you need a maid.” She pinched the 38D bra hanging from the lampshade between her fingers before dropping it on top of the matching panties at her feet.

“I’ve been depressed and haven’t cleaned. Big deal.” Pause. “Ah-ha! I found you, you little sneak.” Smiling, Glory jumped up. A red bottle dangled from her fingers. “Love potion number thirteen.”

Genevieve frowned. “I want love potion number nine.”

“Trust me. Nine sucks. You want to ride a man like a bronco at peak rodeo season, you go with thirteen.”

“I’ll take it.” Genevieve grabbed the crimson container and gently rolled it between her fingers. Dark liquid swirled inside, mesmerizing her. This was it, the answer to her prayers. Her heart drummed in her chest, faster, faster, then skipped a beat. This innocent-looking bottle was about to gift her with the best night of her life. Eager to begin, she reached for the cork, but her sister’s next words stilled her hand.

“Drink half just before you walk into the bar, not a moment sooner. Only half. Understand?” Urgency rang from her voice like a clarion of bells.

“Yes. Why?”

“Uh, hello. You’ll have every man in Mysteria following you and fighting for your attention if you drink it now. And the full bottle will cause . . . too much passion in you. Now go. Get out of here before I change my mind.”

Genevieve needed no further prompting. “I love you.” She kissed her sister’s cheek and raced to her room. Quickly she changed into the sluttiest outfit she possessed. A black dress with a V neck so low it nearly touched her navel. The hem dangled mere inches below the curve of her ass. A little uncomfortable with the amount of skin showing, she slipped on a pair of tall hooker boots that hit just above her knees.

She left her hair down, the brunette tresses hanging along the curve of her back in sexy disarray. She spritzed jasmine perfume between her breasts and swiped fuck-me-hard red gloss over her lips. There. Done.

After grabbing a quarter, she grabbed her broom and skipped outside. Flying would be faster than driving. A cool night breeze kissed every inch of visible flesh—and boy, was there a lot of it. Amid the romantic haze of moonlight, insects sang a welcoming chorus, interspersed prettily with the buzz of fairy wings. Once she’d settled on top of the skinny broom handle, careful to cover her butt so she didn’t moon the entire town, she commanded the contraption to fly.

“High, high my stead will soar. Touch the ground we shall no more.” As the words left her mouth, the broom inched higher and higher into the air, then sped forward, moving faster than any car. Long tendrils of dark hair whipped her face, slapping her cheeks. Plumes of pink pollen whizzed past her, leaving behind an erotic scent.

When the lights of the town square came into view, framed by towering, majestic snowcapped mountains, she lowered and slowed. She stopped at the One-Stop Mart and bought a package of condoms from the pink-haired kid at the register. Outside, she popped back onto her broom and stuffed several foil wrappers in her dress.

Ever upward she soared again, past the tall pines. Whitewashed wooden buildings, dirt roads, and friendly people came into view, each weirder than the next. Psychics, vampires, trolls, fairies—Mysteria turned no one away.

As she flew over the town’s wishing well, a lovely arching marble structure that glittered in the moonlight, she swooped low and dropped her quarter inside. “Let tonight be exciting,” she said, wanting the wish to come true with every fiber of her being. Wisps of magic ribboned in the air, curling into the sky, making her shiver. She grinned.

Soon Knight Caps entered her line of vision, the tall stone structure bursting with people, laughter, and gyrating music. She slowed. Her heart raced when she finally stopped at the side of the building. Her palms began to sweat as she hovered, hidden by the shadows. What if Hunter was somehow able to resist the potion? She swallowed the sudden lump in her throat. What if she failed to attract him? What if—

Her teeth ground together. No. No thoughts of failure. Not tonight. Tonight wishes came true.

Stiffening her shoulders, she hopped to the ground. Her broom fell with a thump. Already she could sense Hunter’s presence inside. His warm essence swirled around her, layered with a subtle fragrance of sex appeal and man. With shaky fingers, she studied the bottle one last time, only then seeing the warning label on the side.

“May cause dizziness,” she read. “This drug may impair the ability to drive or operate machinery. Use care until you become familiar with its effects. Seek medical attention if liquid comes into contact with eyes.”

Nothing she couldn’t handle, she thought, popping the bottle’s cork. “Bottom’s up, Evie.” She drained the contents. If half would make Hunter love her for a night, just think of what the full bottle could do. There was no such thing as too much passion. The bitter liquid tasted foul on her tongue, and she felt its quick descent into her stomach. Burning, burning. So hot. She coughed and doubled over. Her blood boiled, setting fire to everything inside her. She squeezed her eyes shut and tried to scream, but no sound emerged.

Thankfully the burning soon faded as if it had never been.

Blinking, Genevieve straightened and took stock of her physical being. She didn’t feel any sexier. Didn’t feel irresistible. Still, she inched to the front entrance. I can do this. I’m a sexual cauldron of lust. She pushed open the doors. I’m a sexual cauldron of lust. The sound of inane chatter and frantic music filled her ears. Smoke wafted around her, blending with the shadows and creating a dreamlike haze.

A small part of her expected everything male to attack her as her gaze searched the room for Hunter. No one paid her any heed. Where was—her heartbeat skidded to a stop. There he was. Behind the bar. For a moment, she forgot to breathe. He was serving drinks to a twittering, giggling fairy threesome. A rush of jealousy hit her. Each fairy possessed a startling, delicate beauty, with glittery skin and gossamer wings that entranced human men, bringing out their protective instincts. Not to mention lust. These fairies were completely pink, with fuchsia hair, rose skin, and seashell garments.

Hunter looked magnificent. His disheveled black hair tangled over his forehead and hit just below his ears. Silky. Tempting. His sharp cheekbones hinted at some foreign lineage. Probably royalty. A ruthless conqueror. His nose possessed an endearing bump and a scar nicked the right corner of his lips, most likely souvenirs from a barroom brawl.

He was probably six-foot-five, a veritable giant to her five-four. Obviously he worked out. A lot. His delicious biceps stretched the fabric of his black T-shirt. Overall (and quite surprisingly) he was not a handsome man. He was too savage looking. Predator, his mesmerizing green eyes proclaimed. An irresistible proclamation. She wasn’t sure why he’d come to Mysteria, or what made him so different from other males that she had to have him. Only him.

He laughed at something one of the stupid flirting fairies said, and her jaw clenched. He must have sensed her presence in that moment because even as he laughed, his gaze traveled across the distance and locked on her. His smile grew even wider, and he waved in a welcome—until he saw her outfit. His eyes, suddenly blazing with fire, narrowed. His smile faded into a fierce frown; his hand fell to his side.

He turned away from her.

Oh, no no no. There would be no ignoring her tonight. No giving her the cold shoulder. I’m a sexual cauldron of lust, she thought, stepping into the bar.

Two

I’m dead, Hunter Knight thought. So fucking dead.

His blood heated as his gaze drank in the vision that was Genevieve Tawdry. Actually, he didn’t have to look at her to know her appearance. He’d memorized it long ago. Long, dark brown hair that glinted red in sunlight framed a serious little face. Pert nose, huge hazel eyes that sometimes glowed and were always fringed by the prettiest lashes he’d ever seen.

As usual, she mesmerized him.

Right now, in the dim strobelight of the bar, she appeared lovelier than ever. Her barely-there dress—holy hell, she might as well have been naked. Every muscle in his body (even his favorite) hardened to the point of pain. A pair of black boots stretched up her calves, just past her knees, leaving several inches of delicious thigh visible. Cleavage spilled from the deep V of her top. Come over here and lick me, that cleavage said.

What he would have given to take that cleavage up on its offer.

Every time he saw this woman, he experienced an inexorable urge to strip her and ride her. Hard. Ride her till she screamed his name. Ride her till she spasmed around his cock. Now was no different. Her slender body, with its hide-and-seek curves, would fit perfectly against him. Over him. Under him.

His teeth ground together. He wanted her desperately. He’d always wanted her.

And there was no way in hell he could have her.

Loving Genevieve would destroy him. Literally. Being psychic sucked ass. One touch of Genevieve’s lips at their first meeting and he’d known, known, she would somehow kill him if he let himself get involved with her romantically.

That didn’t stop the cravings, however, didn’t stop her image from constantly haunting his dreams. Hell, in that scrap of black material she now wore, she might very well cause his heart to stop or his dick to explode.

“Hunter, will you get me a sex on the beach?” a high-pitched female voice said in front of him. Fairy laughter erupted, ringing like dainty bells.

He forced his gaze away from Genevieve, forced his lips to edge into a semblance of a smile, and met the impish gaze of one of the fairies. “Sure thing, sugar. Sex on the beach, just for you. I’ll even add Knight’s special ingredient.”

More giggling. The girlish sound grated on his every nerve.

He thought he might have slept with one of these horny pixies (maybe all of them?) at some point last year, but at that moment he couldn’t remember when. Or who. Or if they’d had a good time. He didn’t care anymore. Couldn’t get hard unless he thought of Genevieve.

What was it about her that so obsessed him? She was pretty, but other women were prettier. Maybe it was her amazing smell. No one smelled as sweet and intoxicating as Genevieve. Or maybe it was her eyes, so vulnerable. So determined.

He mixed the requested drink and slid it across the counter. From the corner of his eye he watched Genevieve saunter to the bar, her hips swaying seductively. She eased onto a stool, mere inches from his reach. Every nerve ending inside him leaped to instant life, clamoring for her. A touch, a press. Something. Anything.

“I’ll have a flaming fairy,” she said. Her voice dipped huskily, soft and alluring. Menacing.

The fairies gasped at the implied threat.

His lips twitched. Genevieve arched her brows—they were two shades darker than her hair, nearly black—silently daring the fairies to comment. They remained silent. He watched the byplay in amusement, admiring Genevieve’s spirit and strength. Fairies were delicate creatures, at times human in size, at others merely flickering pinpricks of light. They adored sex and alcohol, gaiety and games, but they rarely fought. Most resided in the surrounding forest and Colorado mountains, visiting Mysteria when they grew bored.

“Are you refusing to serve me?” Genevieve asked him.

“Of course not,” he said, realizing he hadn’t moved an inch since she’d requested her drink. He grabbed a glass. He didn’t allow himself to look at her and the tempting cleavage she displayed. Lately it was becoming harder and harder (literally!) to send her away.

Maybe he should not have cultivated a friendship with her, but he’d been unable to completely push her out of his life. He just, well, he wanted to spend time with her. She amused and exhilarated him.

At least she hadn’t killed him. Yet.

Every time he saw her, he asked himself a single question: is she worth dying for? Always the answer was the same. No. No, she wasn’t. Not then, not now. He might crave her, he might enjoy her, but he would not die for her. He lifted a bottle of rum.

“Sooo . . . how are you, Hunter?” she asked him.

Stay strong, he mentally chanted. Fight her appeal. But damn it all to hell, the urge to wrap her in his arms and give them both what they wanted was stronger tonight than ever before. “I’m good. Busy, though. I really need to see to my other customers. You’ll have to excuse me.”

He turned his back on her.

Silence.

Horrible, guilty silence where everything faded from his mind except the look of pain that passed over Genevieve’s face. He wished he could take back the words and say something else. Something innocent like, You look nice. Something honest like, It’s great to see you. As it was, hurt radiated from her and that hurt sliced through him sharper than any knife.

“Genevieve,” he said, then pressed his lips together. If he told her he was sorry, he’d only be encouraging her.

“I still need my drink.”

“Of course.” Well, hell. He didn’t know how to handle her anymore. Always his resolve teetered on the brink of total destruction—now even more so. He needed to send her away, but he wanted her to stay so badly. She’s not worth dying for, remember?

He inhaled deeply, meaning to relax himself, but her scent filled him. More decadent than ever before. Pure temptation. Forbidden desire. Total seduction. Hot and wild. His eyelids closed of their own accord, and his hands ceased all movement, her drink once again forgotten.

“Hunter?”

His cock jumped, hardening further. Again, his name coming from her lush made-for-sin lips was torture. Too easily could he imagine her screaming his name while he pounded in and out of her.

Snap out of it, asshole, and fix her drink.

Hunter pried his eyes open and mixed vodka, peach schnapps, and cranberry, orange, and pineapple juices into the rum. Without ever glancing in her direction, he struck a match and lit the top on fire. Yellow-gold flames licked the rim of the glass before dying a hasty death. He slid the drink to Genevieve and turned away.

“What do I owe you?” she said in that breathy voice.

“You’re my friend.” They both needed the reminder. “It’s on the house.” If her fingertips brushed his while she handed him money, he’d come right then, right there. And he’d be willing to bet it would be the best orgasm of his life, no penetration required.

“Falon,” Hunter called. Falon, his employee and best friend, was busy cleaning tables, but the tall, muscled male sauntered to the bar.

“Yeah?” Falon smiled a mysterious smile.

The three fairies trembled in reverence, bowing their heads in acknowledgment.

Falon had uptilted violet eyes, perfect white teeth, tanned skin that sometimes shimmered like it had been sprinkled with glitter, and shoulder-length blond hair with a slight wave. While human women lusted for him, fairy females were awed by him. They treated him as if he were a king, a god. Hunter had no idea why. Every time he asked, Falon shrugged and changed the subject.

Falon wasn’t human, Hunter knew that, but he didn’t know exactly what type of creature Falon was. There was an unspoken rule in Mysteria: if you can’t tell, don’t ask.

“Do you mind taking over?” Hunter asked him. “I’ve, uh, decided to call it a night.”

“I don’t mind at all. I like the view from the bar.” Falon’s gaze strayed meaningfully to Genevieve. “I’ve been meaning to call Genevieve, anyway. So this works out perfectly.”

Falon and Genevieve? Hunter froze in place, lances of possessiveness and jealousy blending together and spearing him. Nothing you can do about it, man. Leave. Now. Muscles clenched tightly, he strode toward the storeroom. His home was above the bar, and the only door to the staircase was there. He’d go upstairs and seduce a few bottles of Jack Daniels. Maybe then he could wipe Genevieve’s image from his mind. Not to mention the hated image of Genevieve and Falon.

“Thanks a lot, Tawdry,” he heard one of the fairies murmur. “You scared Hunter away, just like you always do.”

Genevieve growled. “If your greatest wish is to be bitch-slapped, color me Genie in a Bottle because I’m about to grant it.”

Hearing the embarrassment in her tone and the shame she tried so hard to hide behind bravado, he stilled. Another wave of guilt washed through him. He’d rejected this woman at every turn. He’d embarrassed her in front of the entire town more times than he could count. And she’d never been anything but sweet to him.

He knew she was shy around men. The way her cheeks pinkened, the way she sometimes stumbled over her words and gazed at anything but him, proved that. Yet she’d worked up the courage to approach him time and time again. How could he hurt her yet again?

“I, for one, am glad Hunter left,” Falon said, his tone seductive. “I’ve wanted to get Genevieve alone for a long time.”

Get her alone? That poaching bastard. Stop. Don’t think like that. Hunter rolled his shoulders and drew in a deliberate breath. Still, the thought of Falon and Genevieve together flashed through his mind again, the two of them naked and writhing. Rage seethed below the surface of his skin.

Maybe his psychic abilities were wrong. Maybe Genevieve wouldn’t be the death of him. Maybe—He ran his tongue over his teeth. His instincts were never wrong, and he knew better than to fool himself into believing a lie. He had to keep pushing her away.

Except, pushing her away might send her straight into another man’s arms. Something he’d always feared.

Yes, he’d always dreaded the day she would stop coming to him. That would mean she was ready to move on and accept another man. His hands fisted at his sides. He hadn’t meant to, but he’d cultivated a tentative friendship with her to keep such a thing from happening. Was it wrong of him? Yes. Did he care? Hell, no. The idea of her with another man always blackened his mood and set him on killing edge.

If she went to someone else tonight, to Falon, he’d—he’d—no way in hell he was letting that happen, he decided.

Determination rushing through him, he spun on his heel. Genevieve still sat at the bar, her shoulders hunched, her face lowered toward her empty glass as Falon spoke to her. Her hair tumbled over her shoulders, shielding her delectable cleavage.

“Genevieve,” he called before he could stop himself.

The music skidded to a halt, the band members too interested in what was happening to play. In fact, everyone present went silent and locked eyes on him. Everyone except Genevieve, that is. She continued to stare into her glass, her gaze faraway, lost.

“Genevieve, you beautiful thing, I need your attention.”

Finally her chin snapped up and she faced him, shock filling her luscious hazel eyes. “Did you say beautiful? Are you talking to me?”

“Is your name Genevieve?”

“Well, yes.”

Oh, how she enticed him. She was all innocence, yet she possessed a wild, sex-kitten allure. It was a lethal, contradictory combination that always intrigued him. “Why don’t you have a seat at one of the tables, and I’ll join you in a minute.”

“Thanks a lot, Hunter,” Falon said, but there was a glimmer of amusement in his tone. Scamming bastard.

Genevieve’s nose crinkled and her brow furrowed, the planes of her face darkening with suspicion. “Why?”

“Because.”

“That’s not an answer. What do you want to talk about?”

He flicked a pointed glance to their avid audience. “It’s private.”

“I don’t understand.” Then her lips—her lush, kiss me, lick me all over, fuck me all night lips—pressed together. Comprehension dawned in her eyes. She smiled slowly, seductively, yet somehow she appeared even more sad.

Now he was the one confused. What had made her happy and sad all at once? What did she comprehend?

“I would love to ‘talk’ with you,” she said.

He gulped. She made it sound like they’d be going at it like wild animals on the tabletop. Maybe they would. If only she didn’t tempt him on every level. Why did the Fates have to be so cruel? He desired this woman desperately, but he couldn’t have her as anything more than a friend.

She eased to her feet, and he choked back a laugh when she flipped the rose-colored pixies off. His laugh died a sudden death when he saw that her dress barely fell below the curve of her bottom. His fingers itched to touch.

None of the tables were empty. Everyone watched her curiously as she crossed her arms over her chest. “You have five seconds to give me a table or I’ll conjure your spouses into the bar. They’ll find out what you’ve been doing and—”

Before the last word emerged, everyone at the tables jolted to their feet—everyone except Barnabas Vlad, the art gallery owner. He didn’t have a spouse. Chairs skidded, drinks sloshed over rims. “Here, take mine,” rose in disharmony. Satisfied, Genevieve skipped to the table hidden in the corner, partially covered in a shadowy haven. “I’ll take yours, John Foster. Thank you.”

The town pervert was too busy staring at her cleavage to respond.

“Move out of her damn way!” Hunter shouted.

John nearly jumped out of his skin as he leaped away from Genevieve.

“And play some music. Now.” Hunter scowled at the band leader. “That’s what I pay you for, isn’t it?”

A few seconds later, soft, romantic music drifted from the speakers. His scowl deepened. Resisting Genevieve was hard enough; throw in a romantic atmosphere . . . God help him.

The three fairies were frowning, he noticed, and Falon was leaning his hip against the bar. “You’re putting on quite a show tonight,” his friend said.

“I’m glad you find it entertaining.” He paused, looked away. “I’m taking a break.”

“That’s nice.”

“You’re still in charge.”

“That’s nice, too.”

“Yeah, well, you’re an asshole and if you don’t wipe that smirk off your face, you’re fired.”

Falon’s deep laughter followed him as he stormed to Genevieve’s table and plopped down across from her. Once again, her delicious scent enveloped him. He shouldn’t have instigated this, but now that he had he was helpless to stop.

“What did you want to talk about?” She propped her elbows on the table and leaned forward, granting him another spectacular view. Sweet heaven above, she wasn’t wearing a bra.

Had he suggested they talk? Perhaps a better suggestion would be that he shoot himself here and now and just get his death over with. “We’ve known each other a long time,” he began, fighting past the friction of sexual need working through him.

“Yes.”

“And we’ve never discussed—” What the hell was a safe, nonsexual topic?

“Yes?” she prompted, grinning.

Her teeth were two rows of pearly white perfection. And she had a dimple. Why had he never noticed it before? Probably because you’ve rarely given her a reason to smile at you, moron. He yearned to nibble on the delectable little morsel.

“We’ve never discussed—” He paused yet again. The weather? No, he’d only picture her naked in the rain. Favorite places to shop? No, he’d picture her shopping naked. Favorite books? No, he’d picture her reading naked.

Ah, hell.

Is she worth your life? Now, this moment, he couldn’t say no so easily.

“There’s got to be something you want to talk about.” She licked her lips, her pink tongue as lethal as any weapon of mass destruction.

They could talk about taxes at this point and he’d be aroused. “I—how have you been doing lately?” he asked. He leaned as far back in the stool as he could, hoping distance would clear his foggy senses.

“Good.”

“How are your sisters?”

“They’re good.” She tapped a finger to her chin, her oval nail glinting in the light. “Hunter, is there something else you want to say to me?”

He tangled a hand through his hair. Hell, yes, there was something he wanted to say to her: get naked.

How did she twist him into knots like this? He saw her, and he wanted her. He caught a whiff of her sweet fragrance, and he wanted her. He closed his eyes, and he wanted her.

Is she worth dying for?

He stared at her, watching the way shadows and light played across her lovely, serious little face. Watching the way hope flickered in her eyes, lighting the hazel to an otherworldly green.

Before the night was over, he was going to have this woman’s thighs around his waist. Or head. He wasn’t picky. He was going to know what it felt like to touch her curves, to know her taste. He was going to know how her expression changed when she climaxed. The future be damned.

Not giving himself time to consider the ramifications, he shoved to his feet and held out his hand, palm up. “Genevieve, would you please dance with me?”

“Really?” Disbelief and awe rained over her face before she frowned.

“You don’t plan to leave me in the middle of the song, do you?”

His chest constricted. He’d done that to her on numerous occasions. In his defense, he’d become so aroused holding her in the curve of his body he’d had two choices: leave her on the dance floor or fuck her on the dance floor. “We’ll dance the entire song. I promise.”

Slowly she grinned. “Yes. Yes. I would love to dance with you.”

The moment she placed her fingers atop his, his senses screamed with approaching danger. He ignored the warning. Here, in this moment, nothing mattered except cherishing Genevieve the way he’d yearned to cherish her all these many years.

Was she worth dying for?

Hell, yes.

Three

Oh, Great Goddess, it had worked! The love potion had actually worked.

Her hand in his, Hunter led her onto the dance floor. Where their skin touched, she tingled. He’d asked to do this; he’d even said please. She hadn’t begged—not that she would have. (Okay, she might have.)

They stopped in the center of the floor, paused for a moment, facing and watching each other. Their breath intermingled—his was shallow, hers was coming in fast, erratic pants. Multihued light pulsed from the strobe above, caressing his face, and music flowed seductively.

Something she’d never seen before flittered over his expression. Something infinitely tender. Her stomach flip-flopped. What thoughts were rolling through his mind? He reached out and sifted a strand of her hair between his fingers, then brushed it from her temple. His touch electrified her.

The need to breathe was forgotten. Only Hunter existed, only Hunter mattered. His fingers slid down her shoulders, along her arms, and circled her waist. Her lips parted on a sudden gasp of pleasure. His strong arms locked around her, gathering her close. Heat zinged and crested, then his hands were, anchored on her lower back.

“Hunter,” she said, unsure why she’d whispered his name. It was there, in her mind, in her blood, branded on her cells.

“Genevieve,” he returned softly. “So lovely.”

Throughout the years, she’d prayed he would accept what was between them. She would have prayed even harder if she’d known the sheer magnificence reality would be. Her chest pressed to his, nipples hard and aching; his strength seeped through her scanty dress. And he didn’t jerk away from her, didn’t run. The scent of him, heat and man, enveloped her.

Together they swayed to the erotic rhythm of the music. Several times, his erection brushed against her. Delicious. Welcome. Their gazes never strayed. Constantly sizzled.

Emboldened, she rasped her hands up the buttery soft material of his T-shirt. He sucked in a sharp breath. “I’ve wanted to be your lover for so long,” she admitted.

“I’ve wanted that, too. So badly.”

Her fingers played with the hair at his neck. “Some days I would have sworn you desired me. Some days I would have sworn you hated me.”

“I always desired you. You’re total pleasure, sweetheart.” He paused. Frowned. “You’re eternity.”

Eternity . . . With that one word, joy and sadness battled for supremacy inside her. Joy because he was talking about forever with her; sadness because it had taken a love potion to get him to this point. However, she shoved the sadness away. Tonight was a night for magic and love. She would allow nothing else to intrude.

Tomorrow the sadness could return and erode the precious memories she had formed. As for now, she would take what she could get, however she could get it.

She’d wanted him too long.

“I’ll give you eternity,” she said. “I’ll give you anything you ask for.”

He broke eye contact and pulled her the rest of the way into his body. Her head rested on the hollow of his shoulder. “I’ve watched you grow from pretty teenager to exquisite woman.”

A shiver stole over her skin. Was he speaking true, or did the love potion beckon him to lie and say anything that might please her? “Why did you constantly push me away, then?”

He ignored her question. “Every time you walked into a room, you consumed my attention. If you had known just how much I desired you, you would have pursued me all the more. And if you’d pursued me any more, I wouldn’t have been able to resist you.”

Sparks of exotic sensation pulsed through her. Unable to help herself and craving the taste of him, she grazed her lips over his neck. Her hands clutched at his back. Mmm, his skin tasted good, like expensive wine and twilight magic.

“There was no reason to resist me,” she said. “I wanted to be with you.”

“You amaze me.” He nuzzled her nose. “You could have any man you want, but you never gave up on me.”

That sad little gleam returned to her eyes, and Hunter knew he’d do anything to get rid of it. “What if I swore to never run from you again? Would you smile for me?”

In lieu of an answer, she brushed her lips over his neck once more. This time, however, she let her tongue explore, twirling, circling. He cupped her butt, lifting her slightly, and his erection rubbed the crevice between her legs. A moan tore from her. They were fully clothed, yet they were managing to make love on the dance floor, despite the people circling them.

Genevieve bit his ear. “Help me understand why you ran. Did you think I would use you? Did you think we would no longer be able to remain friends?”

He laughed, the sound devoid of humor. “No. I knew you wanted more than sex from me. I knew our friendship could survive.”

“Then . . . why?”

“Genevieve,” he said. The grief in her voice sliced through him, more lethal than a blade. He couldn’t tell her the truth because it would frighten her away. If she knew she was going to be the death of him, she would leave him.

Now that he had her in his embrace, he wanted to keep her there. Would keep her there. He couldn’t believe he’d pushed her away for so long. Stupid. A mistake he’d never make again. Never had a woman felt more perfect in his arms.

After all the years he’d hurt her, she deserved romance from him. Sweetness, tenderness, more than he’d ever given another.

“You have the most amazingly expressive eyes.” He allowed his fingers to crawl down the curve of her bottom and play with the hem of her dress. “Have I ever told you that?”

She sucked in a gasp of air; then, as she released the breath, she relaxed against him fully. “No. You never told me.”

“More fool me. Your eyes are so intoxicating, sometimes green, sometimes velvety brown, and I always feel like I’m lost in them.” He brushed the side of her face with his, tickling her softness with his slight beard stubble, relishing the contact. He kissed the tip of her nose. Not dipping lower and tasting her lips proved nearly impossible. “Did you know you have three faint little freckles on your nose? When you’re angry or sad, those freckles darken. I’ve wondered over and over again if you have freckles on the rest of your body.”

“I could . . .” She gulped. Her eyes widened and filled with eagerness. “I could show you.”

“Yes. I would love that.” I’m not an honorable man. He stilled with the thought. Here she was, offering him a paradise he didn’t deserve. His mouth curled into a frown, and he stared down at her. She deserved a man who could love her forever, a man who hadn’t hurt her for years.

So what? he thought in the next instant. She wanted him; he wanted her. He wasn’t a martyr. For what short time they had together—he knew his death was certain now, but he was past the point of caring—he would give her everything. His heart, his attention, his affection. He’d love her so thoroughly she’d savor the memories for the rest of her life.

“I truly am sorry for how I’ve treated you in the past, sweetheart.”

“I forgive you,” she said, her features sincere.

His brows arched in surprise. “That easily?”

“We’re friends, aren’t we?”

“Genevieve.” He groaned her name as he meshed his lips into hers. She immediately parted for him, welcoming him inside. Her decadent flavor filled his mouth, so much richer than he’d ever imagined. She moaned, a needy sound, a greedy sound.

Urgency roared to intense life. Shards of her magic flowed into his cells, awakening pieces of him he hadn’t known existed, crowning him with power and vitality. Warming him. He felt the pinprick rasps of her nipples against his chest and had to clench his fists in the material of her skirt to keep from kneading her breasts. Had they been anywhere else but a crowded barroom, he would have taken her. Would have pushed them both over the sweet edge of seduction.

“I want you,” she breathed. “I want to make love with you.”

“Hell, yes.” He’d place her gently in his bed and smooth his hands over her. Work his way up and down her body with his tongue. Her legs would part, revealing the wetness of her arousal. “Stay the night with me.” Stay forever.

“Yes. With all my heart, yes.”

His cock jerked in reaction. Passion blazed in her eyes—passion for him. Only him. She smoothed her tongue over her lips, taking his taste with it. Her eyes closed in surrender, and she was the very picture of desire. Of lust and love and his most private dreams.

“Tell me what you’re going to do with me, once you have me in bed,” she said in a needy, aroused whisper. As if she had to know right then or she’d combust.

“What would you like me to do?” If he did half the things floating through his mind, they wouldn’t walk for a week.

“Everything.”

He rubbed against her, the action causing pleasure/pain flickers through his body. “Kiss you?”

“Mmm-hmm.” She bit her bottom lip.

“Touch you?” He wanted so badly to drag her up to his room, to kiss and touch her now, but he was going to dance the entire song with her if it killed him. And it just might.

A tremor slipped down her spine. “Where would you touch me?”

“Everywhere.”

Another tremor. “Yes, do that. Touch me everywhere.”

“I’ll taste you everywhere, too.”

“Please, yes.”

He licked the shell of her ear. “I’m going to make you come so many times, you’ll—”

The double doors suddenly bounded open and a horde of . . . creatures burst inside the bar, surrounded by a palpable air of menace. Instinctively sensing their danger, Hunter shoved Genevieve behind his back. The music screeched to a halt. At the bar, the three fairies instantly shrunk to their tiniest size, puffs of glitter-smoke wafting from them.

Short, winged monsters with long fangs, more fur than a bear during hibernation, and razor-sharp claws formed a line in front of the doors, blocking escape. Their eyes were red and glowing; their angled, grotesque features were misshapen. Hideous.

They were subdemons, he realized.

Though different breeds were formed every day and he’d never encountered this type, Hunter recognized their scent: sulfur. As a monster hunter—pretending to be nothing more than a bar owner—he’d stalked and killed their kind most of his life. Demons, vampires, predators of the night—the scum of the earth, in his opinion. They were creatures who survived on human carnage. They were pure evil, and he despised them all.

Killing them had always been one of his favorite pastimes.

“Did someone wish for excitement?” one of them asked.

Genevieve gasped. “Oh, my Goddess. No, no. I take it back. No excitement.”

“I suggest you leave,” Hunter told them, the actual words nearly undetectable, laced with rage. Genevieve slipped her hand into his, and he felt a tremor rush through her. “Don’t worry, sweetheart, I’ll take care of this,” he assured her quietly.

“No.” The demon who had spoken, the tallest of the bunch—which wasn’t saying much, since he only reached Hunter’s navel—stepped forward and grinned slowly, anticipatingly. “I think we’ll stay.”

The grainy, high-pitched voice sent shudders through him. “Your kind isn’t wanted here.”

The creature’s stance became cocky, arms crossed over his chest, legs slightly parted, his expression taunting. His dark, broken wings fluttered like an erratic heartbeat. “Your woman doesn’t agree. She wished for excitement, so excitement we’ll give her.”

“I’ve changed my mind.” Fighting past her fear, Genevieve stepped beside Hunter. She maintained her hold on him. Inside, her magic churned and swirled, dark and dangerous, ready for release. Sometimes the darkness of her powers frightened her more than her opponent; now she felt only fear for Hunter’s safety. “He asked you to leave nicely. If you don’t, I’ll wreak such horrible vengeance upon you that you’ll go home crying to the devil like little girls.”

“We’re not going anywhere until we’ve granted your wish. Master’s orders.” Laughing, the demons broke apart, knocking over tables, throwing chairs, climbing up and down the walls, and tearing off chunks of stone. Men and women, fairies and gnomes, gasped and raced (or flew) out of the way. That the gnomes, stumpy, trunklike monsters with more brawn than brain, were scared, added to her worries.

“Go upstairs and lock yourself in my room,” Hunter demanded.

“I won’t leave you to deal with them alone. I can make them go away.” Amid shrieks of horror, the frantic pitter-patter of frightened people, and the evil vibrations of demon laughter, Genevieve raised her hands high in the air. “Burn to ash these demons shall, never a night again to prowl.”

As she spoke, the demons flinched, anticipating the bombardment of her magic.

“Pain and suffering you will endure,” she finished, “of this I am very sure.”

Nothing happened.

Shocked, frowning, she tried again. Again, nothing.

The demons smiled slowly. “Looks like the witchy-poo has lost her powers.”

More shock pounded through her; she uttered the spell for the third time. Still, no results. Why? “I—I don’t understand.” Why wouldn’t her magic work? A side effect of the love potion? No, surely not, but Glory had told her to only drink half. The demons should be writhing balls of fire. Instead, they were chuckling and amused.

“Playtime is over,” a grating voice proclaimed. The demon snarled and flashed his dripping fangs. “Get her!”

“Genevieve!” Hunter shouted as a creature lunged for her. Hunter grabbed it by the forearms and tossed it to the ground. He kicked and hit the demon with expert precision. His arms arched through the air so quickly the movements were barely visible. He ducked and spun, leaped and struck with poetic menace.

Falon joined the fray, stabbing at the monkey wannabes with broken liquor bottles and wood shards.

With the men occupied, another demon dove for her, slamming her into a table and knocking every ounce of air from her lungs. Dizzy, she sank to the ground. The only people she’d ever fought were her sisters, yet they hadn’t wanted to actually kill her. Still, she knew the basics of self-defense and how to fight dirty.

Her opponent jumped astride her, pinning her where she lay. It licked its lips and tried to wrap its claws around her neck. She put her newly filed nails to use and poked it in the eyes. It howled, its attention on its pain, and she smashed her palm into its nose. In the next instant, Hunter kicked the demon away from her and grappled the hell spawn to the ground.

“Demons of the night,” she chanted, standing, arms high in the air, “you will die now, I don’t care how.”

The fight continued without interruption.

Damn it! She glared down at her hands. Why wasn’t her magic working? She felt the power of it inside her, as potent as ever, yet it refused to be released.

From the corner of her eye, she saw a demon’s razor-sharp claws lengthen and slash at Hunter’s chest. He didn’t move in time, and blood began to ooze from the gaping wound. She gasped. Screamed. Fury and fear bubbled inside her.

“Run, baby,” he panted, struggling to keep the creature from his throat.

“No, I won’t leave you.” Nearing panic, she grabbed a long, splintered wood shard and raced toward the battling pair just as Hunter punched the bastard in the face and rolled away. “Catch!” She tossed him the shard.

He caught it, and when the demon advanced, Hunter stabbed it dead center in the chest.

The creature burst into flames.

As the orange-gold flickers licked the walls and dissolved into ash, the tallest of the demons stopped tormenting a screaming gnome long enough to focus narrowed eyes on Hunter, who was pushing to his feet.

“You’ll pay for that, human.” Two other demons approached the leader’s side, each of them glaring with hostility. “Oh, you’ll pay.”

Genevieve grabbed a beer bottle, broke the end on the bar, and held the jagged amber glass in front of her. “You’ll have to fight me, as well,” she said bravely. At least, she hoped she sounded brave.

“With pleasure, little witch,” was the delighted reply.

“Damn it, Genevieve,” Hunter said. “When this is over I’m going to teach you to obey my orders.” He closed in on the demon, and a bleeding Falon closed into step at his side. Both men wore expressions of certain death—demon death.

Her heart drummed in her chest. What should I do, what should I do, what should I do? When she’d wished for excitement, she hadn’t meant this.

Distracted as she was, she didn’t notice as one of the demons sprinted to her. It reached her and knocked the glass from her hand before tossing her to the ground. Suddenly breathless, she lay still for a long while. Or perhaps she lay for mere seconds. Her attacker jumped on top of her and she fought like a wildcat, kicking and scratching. As it attempted to subdue her, its rancid breath fanned her face.

“Be still!” it hissed. Its forked tongue slithered from between thin lips.

She bit its arm, the taste of salt and ash filling her mouth.

“Bitch!”

“That’s witch to you.” She worked her arms free and clashed her hands together, then backhanded the creature across the face.

“Dead witch.” Its sharp, lethal fangs emerged, dripping with . . . what? Not saliva. This smelled bad. Worse than bad. Evil. Like death. It gripped her wrists and held them down, its head inching toward her. She knew it was moving quickly, about to sink its fangs into her neck, but her mind processed it in slow motion.

She pulled her knees to her chest and slammed her feet into the demon’s chest. Surprisingly, it flew backward and propelled across the bar. Gasping for air, trembling in fear, she jolted to a sitting position.

“You okay?” Hunter panted, at her side. He dropped to his knees. Sweat and blood dripped from his temples. His gaze roved over her body frantically, over her ripped dress, searching for injury.

“I’m fine. But you—”

“Look out!” Falon shouted.

Hunter whipped around; Genevieve gazed, horrified, past his shoulder. The demon she’d kicked was flying at her, hate in its eyes, a long shard of glass in its outstretched hand, mere seconds away from reaching her. Instinctively, she dove to the side. Anticipating such a move, the demon moved with her. Hunter, damn him, sprang in front of her, taking the blow himself.

“Hunter!” she screamed.

Eyes wide, he looked down at his chest.

“Got him.” Laughing, the demon and the rest of his cohorts raced away. Some jumped through windows, the sound of tinkling glass echoing from the walls. Others rushed out the same way they’d entered. Hinges squeaked as the front doors burst into shattered pieces.

Genevieve’s mind registered only one thing. “You’re hurt. Hunter, you’re hurt.” Still on her knees, she scrambled in front of him. Blood dripped from his chest, the glass embedded so deeply she could only see the tip.

“I’ll be fine.” Weakness and pain tinged his voice. “Did they hurt you? Are you cut anywhere?”

“I’m okay, damn you. I’m okay.” He looked so pale, causing her panic to intensify. Not even when she’d first spied the demons inside the bar had she felt this much fear. “You should have let him stab me.” Her chin trembled. “You should have let him stab me.”

“I’m glad you’re well.” His eyelids drifted shut for a long moment. “I’d have to become a ghost and do the revenge thing if they’d harmed you.”

“I need to pull out the glass and bandage your wounds, okay? I need to—”

“It’s too late. Demon saliva . . . is poison, and one of them managed to bite me. Genevieve,” Hunter said, his voice so raspy she had trouble hearing him. “I want you . . . to know, you were totally . . . worth it.”

Her arms anchored around him, her head burrowing against his chest. His heartbeat thumped weakly, sporadically. “Hunter, listen to me. You’re going to be okay. Let’s get you to my sister. She’s a healer.” She gazed at the bar, wild and desperate. “Someone call Godiva. Call her right now.”

“I’ll do it,” Falon said.

“My head is spinning.” Hunter’s forehead bobbed forward. “Help me lie down, sweetheart.”

His full weight fell into her. She absorbed it as best she could, locking one hand at the base of his neck and the other at his lower back. Leaning forward, she slowly and as gently as possible lowered him. Seconds dragged by. By the time he lay completely prone, her arms burned and shook with exertion.

“I wish I could have had more time with you,” he said. He didn’t open his eyes. “That’s my only regret.”

“Stop. Don’t talk like that. You’re going to be fine.” Her chin trembled all the harder; her blood ran cold. She tore the shirt from his chest and studied the rest of his wounds. What she saw made her mouth dry up. Long, jagged scratches ran like bloody rivers over his ribs. Several teeth marks adorned his neck, the skin already black. Already dead.

She covered her mouth with her hand to cut off her horrified cry. “I love you, and I need you. Tell me you’re going to be okay.”

His lips lifted in a weak smile. “I wish . . . I wish . . .” As his voice tapered to quiet, his head drifted to the side.

Genevieve screamed. “No.” She gripped his shoulders and shook him. “You’re going to be okay. You’re going to be okay.” Violently, she continued to shake him. “Open your eyes, damn it. Open them right now or I’ll curse you to live in a monastery.”

He didn’t respond.

Falon approached slowly and crouched down. He reached out and placed two fingers over Hunter’s neck. Tears filled his eyes. “I’m sorry, Genevieve, but he was dead the second the demon bit him. They produce a poison that no human can survive.”

“No. No. When my sisters get here, we’ll cast a spell and he’ll be fine. You’ll see. He’ll be fine.” A huge lump formed in her throat, making it difficult to breathe. “He’s going to be fine,” she whispered raggedly, more for herself than Falon.

Yet even after she and her sisters cast their spells, Hunter remained motionless. Lifeless. Dead.

Yes, Hunter Knight was dead. And there wasn’t a damn thing she could do about it.

Four

“Uh, Mr. Collins. I think you should know something.”

Roger Collins, owner and operator of Mysteria Mortuary—as well as a closet shape-shifter (spotted owl)—looked up from his desk and faced his apprentice, a freckle-faced boy with a pasty, almost gray complexion. “What’s happened, hoo hoo, now?”

“Hunter Knight’s body has disappeared.”

Exasperated, Roger scratched his shoulder with his nose. Things like this were always happening, and he was tired of it. “Let’s keep this between us, hoo hoo. No reason to alert the town.” They’d only cancel the burial, and he’d be out a hefty chunk of change. No thanks. “Knight’s funeral, hoo hoo, will happen as scheduled.”

“Huuunnnterrrrr. Hunter Knight, you silly boy. Wake up, s’il vous plait.”

The voice called to him from a long, dark tunnel. Hunter tried to blink open his eyes, but it hurt too badly so he left them shut. Did lead weights hold the lids down? His mouth was dry, and his limbs were weak. Most of all, his neck throbbed.

What had happened to him?

He remembered fighting the demons, remembered Genevieve leaning over him. Remembered a black shadow swooping him up and carrying him away. And then, nothing. He remembered nothing after that.

“Mon dieu! Aren’t you just the prettiest little thing.” A soft hand smoothed over his brow. “I could snack on you all day and come back for leftovers.”

That hand . . . His ears twitched. He could hear the rush of blood underneath the surface of skin. He could even hear the faint thump, thump of a heart. His mouth suddenly flooded with moisture. Hungry, he realized. He was so hungry he could have gnawed off his own arm.

“Well, don’t just lie there. I know you’re awake. Pay some attention to moi, you naughty boy. I saved your life, after all.” A pause. “Well . . . I kind of saved your life. Maybe a more truthful saying would be I saved your death.”

The voice was deep enough that he knew it belonged to a man, but it was surprisingly feminine. And that horrible French accent . . . Despite the pain, Hunter forced his eyelids apart. Dank blackness greeted him. But slowly, very slowly his eyes adjusted, and he was able to make out a rocky cavern and a silhouette. The silhouette became a body . . . the body became a man . . . and then he saw everything as clearly as if the sun were shining.

“Hello, my little love puppet,” the man said. “We’re going to have the best eternity together, oui.”

“Barnabas?” Hunter asked, rubbing his eyes.

“None other,” he said with a proud lift of his chin.

Barnabas Vlad, owner of Mysteria’s only art gallery (“art,” of course, meaning pornographic photos); Hunter had come across the man only a few times. Last time he’d seen him, the man had been inside the bar. Something about him had always set Hunter’s nerves on edge—something besides the fact that Barnabas often hit on him like a sailor on leave.

Right now Barnabas was dressed in a black, Oriental-styled gown, and he twirled a black parasol in his hand. Usually he wore huge blue sunglasses, but he wasn’t wearing those now.

His eyes glowed bright red.

Hunter jumped to his feet, behind the stone dais he had lain upon. He winced in pain, but held his ground. “You’re a vampire.” He spat the word, for it was a foul curse to him.

“Oui, oui.” Barnabas’s glossed lips stretched into a happy, unconcerned smile. “What do you think of my outfit? It’s new. Very china doll meets modern society, don’t you think?”

“I think your dress needs a hole in it,” Hunter snarled. “Right in the vicinity of your undead heart.” His gaze circled the cavern, searching for anything he could use as a stake. There were no rocks, no twigs. Damn it. What he would have given for his COTN—creatures of the night—arsenal at home.

“Why are you looking at me like that?” Barnabas’s smile became a pout, and he splayed his arms wide. “You’re a vampire, too, mon ami.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oui, you are.”

“No, I’m not.”

“Oui, you are.”

“No. I’m. Not. I’m a vampire hunter, you disgusting, vile, rotten piece of dog shit.”

Barnabas took no offense and laughed, actually laughed. “Not anymore. Feel your neck. I drained your blood and gave you mine.”

There was truth in the vampire’s expression, truth and utter enjoyment. Everything inside Hunter froze. No. No! He couldn’t be a vampire. He’d rather die.

Hesitant, hand shaky, Hunter reached up. He could taste blood in his mouth, it was true, but the rest . . . His fingertips brushed over the small, very real puncture wounds on the side of his neck. He knew exactly what that meant. No, he thought again. He hunted vampires; he hated them. Before Genevieve, it had been his only purpose in life. “Now . . . you putrid sack of undead flesh.” Glaring, he pointed a finger at Barnabas, wishing it were a stake. “Why would you make me a vampire? Why didn’t you let me die?”

With a guilty flush, Barnabas hopped onto the dais. “I was in the bar the night those demons attacked you. When you fell, you were covered in blood and, mon dieu, you looked so tasty. I didn’t cop a feel or anything, if that’s what has you so worried.”

“That’s not what I’m worried about,” he shouted. I’m a monster now. I’m the very thing I despise. He knew a lot about vampires. They were—had been—his business, after all, and he’d seen many people make the change from human to beast. Oh, they tried to fight the urge to drink.

They never won.

Always the thirst for blood, for life, seduced and consumed them. They killed the people they once loved—and everyone else around them. I can never allow myself to see Genevieve again. The wretched thought nearly dropped him to his knees. Nearly felled him.

Barnabas has lived in Mysteria for a long time, and he hasn’t slaughtered the population. Hunter paused, blinked. How seductive the thought was and he grasped onto it with desperation. Maybe he was wrong about vampires. Maybe vampires didn’t kill—

He squeezed his eyes closed. Such rationalizations were dangerous and could get Genevieve slain. No, he couldn’t see her, couldn’t risk it.

“Are you worried that you will no longer have a sexual appetite? You will, I assure you.” The vampire’s eyes stroked over him, stripped him, glowing a brighter red with every second that passed. “Despite the myths, you will function as you always did—except for the sunlight thing and the blood thing. Small prices to pay, really.”

“Considering what?” he snarled. “There are no advantages that I can see.”

“There are most certainly advantages.” Barnabas tapped a blackgloved finger onto his chin. “You’ll get stronger every day. Faster. You’ll be a force no man—uh, woman—can resist. Like moi. After a while, you’ll even enjoy taking blood. I pinky promise.”

“I’ll be a killer.” This wasn’t happening, couldn’t possibly be happening. He tangled a hand through his hair.

“You won’t be a killer.”

“Yes, I will.”

“Mais non, you won’t.”

“Yes. I. Will. Your continued arguing is really starting to piss me off.”

“Do you want to fight me?” Barnabas asked hopefully. “I’m always up for naked wrestling.”

Hunter bared his teeth in a scowl. As he did so, his incisors elongated. He actually felt them do it, sliding down, sharpening. He smelled the metallic twang of blood in the air—blood from a recent feeding Barnabas had enjoyed. How thirsty Hunter suddenly was. He shook with the force of it. “I can’t drink blood. I just can’t.”

“You smell me, don’t you? You want to sink your teeth into me? Go ahead. I already gave you blood, but you were asleep and didn’t get to taste the sweetness of it.” Barnabas motioned him over with a wave of his hand. “Taste it. You might like it. But you had better hurry. Soon my heart will shrivel up again, the blood gone, and there’ll be nothing left for you to taste.”

Hunter’s stomach twisted in revulsion—and eagerness. He found himself stepping toward Barnabas, closing the distance between them, unable to stop himself. He found himself leaning down, teeth bared, mouth watering.

Genevieve’s beautiful image flashed inside his mind. She’s in trouble. The knowledge flooded him, his psychic ability attuned to her. Even in death. He straightened with a jolt. Blood was forgotten. Only Genevieve mattered. “Show me the way out of this cave before I kill you, vampire.” He’d save her, then leave her.

Barnabas frowned. “You’re not ready to leave.”

“Yes, I am.”

“Mais non, you’re not.”

“Yes, I am. And you’re not French, so stop with the accent.”

“I haven’t taught you the way of our kind yet.”

Rage poured through him as if he’d drunk it. “Your kind, vampire. I will never be like you.”

“Oui, you will.”

“No. I. Won’t. Stop arguing. My woman is in trouble, and I will save her.”

“Fine. Go. I’ve already fed you, so you don’t have to worry about drinking for a while yet.” Barnabas’s eyes flashed red with jealousy. “But when the hunger hits you, you’ll come back to me. I know you will.”

“She hasn’t stopped crying for three days.”

“She refuses to eat. She barely has the energy to sit up and drink the water I force down her.”

“What should we do?”

“I don’t know. Great Goddess, I don’t know.”

Genevieve heard her sisters’ hushed voices and stared up at the hole she’d blown in the ceiling yesterday. Why couldn’t she have done that the night of the brawl? The morning after Hunter’s death, her magic had returned to full operating capacity, but she hadn’t needed it. And now she didn’t care.

“Should we call a doctor?”

She rolled to her side, placing her back to her sisters. Why wouldn’t they leave her alone? She just wanted peace—from their voices, from life. From the flashing, bloody images of Hunter’s death.

“Genevieve, sweetie, we know you’re awake. Talk to us,” Godiva begged, her tone tinged with concern. The wolf she had saved plopped at her ankles and nudged her hand, wanting to be petted. “Tell us how we can help you.”

“Bring Hunter back to life.” Her throat ached from her crying. Raw, so raw. Like her spirit. “That’s all I want.”

“We can’t do that,” Glory said softly. “Raise his body from the ground, yes, but the risen dead become predators. Killers. You know that. The longer the dead walk the earth, the hungrier for life they become. He would eat you up and spit out your bones.”

Yes, she knew that, but hearing it tore a sharp lance of pain through her. One moment she’d had everything she’d ever dreamed, the next she had only despair. Hunter, her heart cried.

“The surviving demons are destroying Mysteria,” Godiva said. “We need your help to stop them.”

“I can’t.” Strength had long since deserted her. More than that, any concern she’d had for the town and its citizens had died with Hunter. “I just can’t.”

Glory claimed her right side, and Godiva sat at her left. Surrounding her. “His funeral is today. Do you want to go?”

“No.” She didn’t want to see him inside a casket. A part of her wanted to pretend he was still alive, simply hiding somewhere. “Why did he have to die? Why? The love potion had worked. He wanted me as much as I wanted him.”

“Uh, um.” Glory looked away, at anything and everything but her sisters. “Humm.”

Godiva’s eyes narrowed. “What did you do, Glor?”

Pause.

“Glory!”

“Well, Evie asked for a love potion. I didn’t think Hunter deserved her, and knew if he loved her for one night, then dumped her the next day, she’d be devastated.”

“What did you do?” Godiva repeated.

Another pause.

“Don’t make me ask again,” Godiva said, raising her arms as if to cast a spell.

“I, uh, sort of gave her a power depressant instead.”

“Sort of?”

“Okay, I did. But I didn’t mean any harm. I thought it would be okay. I didn’t think she’d need her powers.”

The sorrowful fuzz around Genevieve’s brain thinned. Power depressant, echoed through her mind. How many spells had she attempted with no results? One spell, that’s all it would have taken to save Hunter. One spell, and the night would have ended differently.

She squeezed her eyelids closed, wave after wave of fury hammering through her, each more intense than the last. “He’s dead because I couldn’t help him. He’s dead because I couldn’t use my magic.”

Her younger sister’s cheeks bloomed bright with shame, then drained of color with regret. “I didn’t think you’d need them. I didn’t even think you’d notice.” She clutched Genevieve’s hand. “I’m so, so sorry. You have to believe I’m sorry. But think. Hunter wanted you. Not because of a potion, but because of you.”

Genevieve’s fury fizzled, leaving only despair; her muscles released their viselike grip on her bones and she sank deep into the mattress. Hunter had wanted her. Truly wanted her, without the aid of a love potion. All the things he’d said to her had come from him.

That made the pain of his death all the harder to bear.

I killed him. I killed him! If she hadn’t decided to make Hunter love her, no matter the methods used, if she hadn’t made a wish for excitement, he would still be alive. My fault. All my fault. Hot tears slid down her cheeks.

“Please. Leave me alone for a little while. Just leave me alone.”

Hunter’s funeral had begun an hour ago.

The digital clock blurred as Genevieve’s eyes filled with tears. Any moment now, they would lower his casket into the ground and the cycle of his life—and death—would be complete.

Sobbing, she turned away from the glowing red numbers and mashed her face into her pillow. She’d never been so miserable. Her sisters had gone to the funeral. Genevieve simply wasn’t ready to say good-bye.

She cried until her ducts could no longer produce tears. She cried until her throat burned and her lungs ached. Then she remained utterly still, absorbing the silence, lost in her sorrow. Minutes later, or perhaps an eternity, a buzzing sound reverberated in her left ear, and a fly landed on her cheek. Weakly she swatted the insect away.

“Bitch,” she heard.

“Murderess.”

“I wish you would have died instead.”

Genevieve rolled to her back and blinked open her tired, swollen eyes. Three tiny fairies swarmed around her face, flashing pink. All three were female and scowling. She recognized them from the bar.

“You killed him,” one of them hissed.

“You killed him,” the others reiterated. “You could have used your magic against the demons, but you didn’t. You killed him.”

You killed him. Yes, she had. “I loved him.” She’d thought her ducts dry, but stinging tears beaded in her eyes.

“How could you love him? You don’t care about him. The demons have sworn their vengeance upon him for killing their brethren and are even now desecrating his grave, yet here you lie, doing nothing. Again. Someone even took his body from its casket.”

“What?” She jolted upright. A wave of dizziness assaulted her, and she rubbed her temple with her fingers. “Desecrating his grave, how? And who dared take his body?”

“Does it matter?” Buzz. Buzz. “Your sisters are fighting the demons off, but they cannot do it without you, the witch of vengeance.”

Without another word, Genevieve leaped out of bed. Her knees wobbled, but a rush of adrenaline gave her strength. Arms shaking, she tugged on the first pants and T-shirt she could find, then raced through the hallway. The wolf—what had Godiva named him?— trotted to her, following close to her heels. He was almost completely healed, and his brown eyes gleamed bright with curiosity.

“There’s trouble at the cemetery,” she felt compelled to explain. Trouble she would fight against. Heart racing, she grabbed her broom and sprinted outside. No one—no one!—was going to destroy Hunter’s grave. Whoever had taken him would return him.

Moonlight crested high in the night sky, scooping low. The citizens of Mysteria did everything at night, even funerals. A cool breeze ruffled her hair and kissed her fiery hot, tear-stained face. Moving faster than she ever had in her life, she hopped on her broom and flew toward Mysteria’s graveyard. When she passed the wishing well, she flipped it off. When she passed Knight Caps, closed for the first time in years, she pressed her lips together to silence a pained moan.

Soon the graveyard came into view.

Monuments rose from the ground, white slashes against black dirt. Only a few patches of grass dared grow and the only flowers were silk and plastic. Death reigned supreme here. Broken brick surrounded the area with a high, eerie wall. The closer she came, the more chilled the air became, heavier, laden with the scents of dirt and mystery.

Her eyes narrowed when she saw the open, empty casket. Her eyes narrowed further when she saw the group of demons taunting her sisters and spitting on Hunter’s grave.

Hunter’s mourners must have already escaped, for there was no trace of them. Her sisters were holding hands and pointing their fingers toward the short, monkeylike horde of demons whose wings flapped and fluttered with excitement as they tried to claw their way through an invisible shield.

Both Godiva and Glory appeared weakened and pale, their shoulders slumped. Genevieve dropped to the ground, tossing her broom aside as she ran to them. She grabbed both of their hands, completing the link. Power instantly sparked from their fingertips. In pain, the demons shrieked.

“Thank the Goddess,” Glory breathed. Her hands shook, but color was slowly returning to her cheeks. “I wasn’t sure how much longer we could hold them off.”

“There weren’t this many left at the bar.” Right now Genevieve counted eight. “Hunter and Falon killed a lot of them.”

“They keep multiplying,” Glory said. “I have a feeling we can kill these, too, but more will come. You’re the vengeance witch, Evie. Do something.”

Genevieve focused all of her rage, all of her sorrow into her hands. They burned white-hot. Blistering. Her eyes slitted on her targets. “Burn,” she said. “Burn.”

One of the demons erupted into flames, its tortured howl echoing through the twilight. Another quickly followed. Then another and another turned to ashes, until only one remained. “Go back to hell and tell the others if they ever return I’ll make their deaths a thousand times worse.”

The creature vanished in a panicked puff of black smoke.

So easy. So quick. Exactly what should have happened at the bar.

Finished, depleted, she allowed her hands to fall to her sides. Weakness assaulted her as it always did when she used her powers to such a degree. She should have felt a measure of satisfaction. She should have felt vindicated. She didn’t. Inside, sorrow still consumed her.

“Everyone must have raced home,” Godiva panted. She hunched over, anchoring her hands on her knees. “We need to do something to prevent more demons from attacking.”

“Like what?” Glory settled on the ground, her hand over her heart. “Genevieve warned them. What more can we do?”

Genevieve stared up at the stars. “A part of me wants them to return.” Her tone lacked emotion, but the cold rage was there, buried under the surface. “I want to kill more of them.”

Arms folded around her, comforting arms, familiar arms. “That puts other citizens at risk,” Godiva said softly. “If Hunter were still alive, you’d want him protected. Let’s give everyone else the same consideration.”

She closed her eyes at the pain those words brought—if Hunter were alive—but nodded. Always the voice of reason, Godiva was right. If Hunter were alive, she would do whatever was necessary to protect him. “Do you know who took his body?” She gulped, the words foul on her tongue.

“No.” Glory.

“No.” Godiva.

Genevieve fell to her knees in front of the empty casket. Tears once more burned her eyes. There was a fresh mound of soil beside her, the spot Hunter was supposed to rest in for all of eternity, a gift to Mother Earth.

He’s lost to me. No, no. She could not accept that. Would not accept that. “I want to raise the spirits of the dead to protect Mysteria,” she found herself saying. No matter where Hunter’s body was, his spirit would be able to find her—if she raised it. In that moment, she would have sold her soul if it meant seeing him one last time. “They can guard the town against the demons.”

Pause. Silence. Not even insects dared speak.

“I don’t know,” Glory hedged. “Spirits are so unpredictable.”

“Genevieve . . . ,” Godiva began.

“Please. Do this. For me.”

Her sisters glanced at each other, then at her, each other, then her. Concern darkened both of their expressions. Finally Godiva nodded. “Alright. We’ll raise the spirits, but only until the next full moon.”

Elation bubbled inside her, not obliterating her sadness but eclipsing it. Hunter, her heart cried again. We’ll be together again soon. If only for a little while.

Five

“Let’s begin the spirit-raising spell.” Godiva removed the band from her hair, letting the long pale strands cascade down her back. She breathed deeply of the night air. “We need to be naked for this one, so no part of our magic is trapped in the clothing fibers.”

“Oh, great,” was Glory’s reply. She remained still, not stripping. “This is the twenty-first century. Do we still need to strip?”

“Yes. Now hurry and take off your clothes. I need to get home and feed Romeo.” Romeo, the perfect name for her injured wolf. He’d charmed her with only a look.

Already Godiva missed him. He’d become her constant companion, a comfort in these last dark days. She wished there were something she could do for Genevieve, anything to remove the haunted glaze from her sister’s eyes.

Remaining silent, Genevieve removed her clothing. Godiva unbuttoned her dress and shimmied it down her voluptuous hips. The buttercup yellow material pooled at her feet. A chill night breeze wisped around them, and with a sigh, Glory, too, stripped.

“There,” she said. “Now we can begin. Form a circle and clasp hands.”

The tortured howl of a wolf cut through the darkness. Godiva stilled. Had Romeo somehow gotten out of the house and now stalked the woods, searching for her? Another howl erupted through the night.

“Oh, Goddess.” Losing all trace of color, Glory shoved her hair out of her face. “The wolves are out. Maybe we should go home.”

“We’ll be fine,” Godiva said, though she was worried. For a different reason. She didn’t fear the wolves; she feared for Romeo. What if he got in another fight and was injured again? He might not survive this time. Her need to hurry increased.

She was just about to grab her sisters’ hands when, a few feet away, her gaze snagged a silver phone and a masculine arm. Her mouth fell open. A cold sweat broke over her skin. “Girls,” she whispered frantically. “Someone is taking pictures of us.”

“Did you say someone is taking pictures of us?” Glory’s silver eyes narrowed. “Nobody takes secret pictures of me unless I’ve had time to diet.”

“Don’t worry. I’ll handle this.” Cold and emotionless, Genevieve raised her hands into the air, a dark spell slipping easily from her lips.

A startled scream echoed through the night.

“What did you do?” Glory bent down and swiped up her broom.

“See for yourself.”

The girls closed ranks on the tombstone, circling the intruder and blocking him from escape. They found the flip phone hovering in the air in front of a trembling, horrified man, the phone clamping and snapping its way down his body. Only after it had bitten his favorite appendage (twice) and he screamed like a little girl (twice) did it fall to the ground.

“John Foster,” Glory gasped. “You big pervert. Does Hilde know you’re out here? And staring at our breasts, no less?”

“Please don’t tell her—your breasts are so big.” Eyes widening, he said, “I mean, I don’t want her to know—I want to touch your breasts.” He shook his head, but his gaze remained glued on Glory’s chest. He licked his lips. “What I mean to say is—double-D fun bags are my favorite.”

Glory smacked him over the head with her broom. “Letch!”

“Bastard!” Godiva grabbed her own broom and popped him dead center in the face.

“This was the wrong day to piss me off, John.” Genevieve didn’t have her broom in hand, so she raised her arms high in the air and uttered another incantation. “You like breasts so much, you can have a pair of your own.”

His shirt ripped down the middle as a huge pair of breasts grew on his chest. He stared down at them, his mouth gaping open. “What the hell! Get them off, get them—hey, these are nice.” Closing his eyes, he reached up and kneaded his new breasts, a rapturous smile spreading across his face. “Mmm,” he muttered.

“Undo the spell!” Glory scowled. “Undo the spell right now. We’ll punish him another way.”

“No, this is punishment,” he cried, covering the man-boobs protectively. “I swear. Don’t take them away. I’ve got to learn my lesson.”

Genevieve did as Glory suggested, and John’s chest shrunk back to its normal size. He bawled like a baby the entire time. He even tried to dart out of their circle, but Godiva locked his feet in place with a wave of her hand.

“Not so fast,” she said.

His eyes widened with horror. “What are you going to do to me? I didn’t mean any harm. I only wanted a peek at your boobies.”

Without saying a word, the three sisters tugged at the rest of his clothing, peeling it from his middle-aged body until he wore nothing but a few teardrops. Since he’d gotten a look at their goods, it was only fair they got a look at his.

“Ew, gross,” Glory said. “Maybe we should dress him again. I’m throwing up in my mouth.”

“That will just waste more time,” Godiva replied. “We’re going to cast our spells around you.”

Glory’s gaze darted between his legs. “Yes, little John, we’re going to cast our spells around you and you’re going to stand there like a good boy and pray the Goddess takes mercy on your soul.”

That dried his tears. “You mean you’re not going to hurt me, and I get to watch you dance? Naked?” He tried real hard not to grin. “Thank you, Great Goddess. Have mercy. Oh, have mercy. Lots and lots of mercy and breasts and mercy. Amen.”

“I swear,” Genevieve said, “you’re the scum of the earth.”

“Ignore him,” Godiva said after another wolf howl echoed through the night. “We need to get to work.”

“Fine.”

“Yes. Let’s hurry.” Genevieve found her broom half buried in a mound of dirt, snatched it up, and rejoined the circle.

The three sisters closed their eyes, blocking out John’s image and his voice, and in perfect sync began their protection spells. Round and round they danced, their hips undulating, their hair swaying, their brooms raised high in the air. Each one chanted under her breath.

While she danced, Godiva stumbled over the spell’s words, unable to push Romeo from her mind. That last howl had sounded pained. Was he hurt again? Should she go looking for him? He was one of the biggest, strongest, fiercest wolves she’d ever seen, but he possessed a gentle and loving nature and other beasts of the forest might trample him.

Suddenly Glory stopped, her breasts jiggling with the abrupt halt.

“What are you doing? Keep moving,” John whined. “I’m still praying.”

She frowned. “Does it feel like the ground is shaking?”

Godiva stilled, followed quickly by Genevieve. In the next instant and seemingly without provocation, Glory stumbled backward and landed on her butt.

“What’s going on?” Godiva gasped as dirt began cracking at her feet. Grass began splitting. Flowers tumbled off of tombstones . . . and then the tombstones themselves tumbled to the ground. “What’s going on?” she asked again, her tone more frenzied.

Glory popped to her feet, and Genevieve paled. “I think—ohmygoddess—I think the bodies are rising!”

“That can’t be.” Glory sucked in a breath, whirling around to scan the surrounding area. “We only called forth their spirits.”

“Well, the dirty bastards didn’t listen!”

“I don’t understand. Did we say the wrong words?” Godiva asked.

A bony hand shot through the cracked dirt and latched onto John’s ankle. Startled, he screamed and would have dropped into a fetal ball and sucked his thumb if his feet hadn’t been frozen in place. All over the cemetery, bodies rose. Most were completely decayed, but all still wore their worm-eaten burial clothes. As they emerged, they limped, lumbered, and trudged toward the sisters. Deadly moans echoed across the distance.

“What should we do?” Glory gasped out, holding out her broom like a sword. “What the hell should we do?”

Agnes McCloud—a woman everyone knew had once been John’s mistress—climbed all the way out of the ground. Seeing her, John started shaking like an epileptic. “Help me,” he cried. “Please, help me. Free my feet.”

Godiva swatted at the skeleton with her broom. “Shoo.” Big chunks of dirt fell out of the dead woman’s hair. “Get back in the ground. I command you.”

Agnes was only recently dead from a car accident, and her face lifted into a grin when she spied John. “John! Oh, my darling Johnnie. I missed you so much.”

“We’ve got to send them back.” Glory’s mouth formed a large O as she counted the number of bodies headed toward them. “They’re multiplying like rabbits!”

“Demons of the Dark,” Godiva shouted, “return to your graves!”

They kept coming.

“Spirits of the Netherworld, be gone!”

Still, they kept coming.

Meanwhile, Agnes had pounced on John and was feasting on him like he was a buffet of sensual delights and she had been on a yearlong fast. Except, the man looked like he would rather eat his own vomit than the dead woman’s tongue. That didn’t stop Agnes.

If she’d had time, Godiva would have snapped a picture of the two with the flip phone. As it was, the rest of the dead bodies finally reached them and closed her and her sisters in a circle, moaning and groaning and reaching out to caress them. Having been without human contact for so long, they were probably desperate for it. Or maybe they were simply hungry and she and her sisters looked like a triple-stacked Egg McMuffin.

Glory shrieked. Godiva swatted at the bony hands with her broom. And Genevieve stood in frozen shock. “Is that . . . Hunter?”

A male form broke through the line of trees, just beyond the cemetery. His skin was intact, his features normal. Except for his eyes. They glowed a bright, vivid red. Obviously, he wasn’t a corpse. But . . . what was he?

“Hunter!” Genevieve called excitedly. “Ohmygoddess, Hunter, over here!”

He turned toward the sound of her voice, and his lips lifted in relief. “Genevieve!”

They sprinted to each other, avoiding dead bodies and Genevieve threw herself into his arms. Godiva couldn’t hear what they were saying. She watched as Hunter flung Genevieve over his shoulder and carted her straight into the forest.

“Godiiiiiva,” Glory gasped. “Don’t just stand there. Help me!”

She shook her head and continued to fight off their molesters with her broom, all the while uttering spell after ineffectual spell. Well, not so ineffectual. Each spell conjured something—just not the help they wanted. A fairy. A gnome. A gorgeous demon high lord. Why were their spells messing up? She still didn’t understand. Each creature materialized at the edge of the forest and stood, watching the proceedings, grinning. One of them even produced a bowl of popcorn and a large soda.

“Two dollars says the one with worms in his eyes snags the witch on the left,” the demon said.

“You’re on,” the gnome agreed.

Suddenly a fierce growl overshadowed every other noise, and a pack of wolves raced into the graveyard, snapping and snarling.

“Romeo,” Godiva cried, her relief nearly a palpable force when she recognized her pet.

His teeth bared in a menacing scowl, Romeo leaped up and latched onto the bony arm reaching for her and snapped it off before sprinting away.

“Give that back,” the corpse shouted, chasing after him.

The rest of the wolf pack chased the skeletons in every direction. All except Agnes, who was still sucking John’s face. Godiva and Glory dropped to the ground in relief.

“I never thought I’d be grateful to the wolves,” Glory said. “Should we be worried for Genevieve?”

“No. I think she’ll be fine.” More than fine, actually. “Here, take my hand. We have to send these corpses back to their graves.”

Glory intertwined their fingers. Without the fear of being eaten, they were able to concentrate on their spell. As they chanted, magic began to swirl around them, drifting through the cemetery and luring each dead body back to its grave.

Suddenly, Falon—who had not come to Hunter’s funeral, for some reason—burst from the forest and came running toward them. Rage consumed his features. Godiva blinked over at him in surprise—she’d never seen him move so quickly or so lethally—and from the corner of her eye she saw Glory jolt up, panic storming over her expression.

“I’m naked,” Glory said, her voice frantic. “Where are my clothes? Falon can’t see me naked!” Her movements jerky, she searched the dirt, found the yellow dress Godiva had worn, and tugged it over her head.

Falon skidded to an abrupt stop in front of Glory. “Are you alright?”

His gaze focused on Glory, and Godiva was amused to realize she herself could have been a bloody, writhing mass and he wouldn’t have noticed. Still, she scrambled for the clothing littering the ground, a pair of stone-washed jeans and a pink sweater.

“We’re fine,” Glory said stiffly. She pushed to her feet and smoothed her hair out of her face, looking anywhere but at Falon. “How did you know we were in trouble?”

A tinge of color darkened his cheeks. “I sensed it.”

Well, well, well. Godiva had never seen the two exchange a single word, yet here they were, acting as if they knew each other. How interesting. Sexual attraction sparked between them, white-hot, intense. Nearly palpable.

“Well, you’re too late,” Glory told Falon. “We took care of everything ourselves.”

Just then Romeo appeared in front of Godiva, claiming her attention. “There’s my good boy,” she said, reaching out for him. He dropped an arm bone at her feet as if it were the greatest prize in the world and nuzzled her with his nose. She luxuriated in his soft black fur as his tongue flicked out and licked her collarbone. “I’m glad you’re okay.”

“Eww.” Glory balled her fists on her hips. “I know I’ve said your boyfriends were dogs in the past, but hello. This one is a dog. Don’t let him lick you like that. Have him neutered, at the very least.”

“He’s my special sweetie.” She rubbed her cheek against his. “My hero.”

Glory turned on her heel. “I’m outta here,” she called over her shoulder.

“I’ll walk you home,” Falon said.

She didn’t bother glancing in his direction. “No, you won’t.”

“I wasn’t asking. I was telling.” The determined man strode to Glory’s side, keeping pace beside her.

“I don’t need your help, jerk-off.”

“I’m giving it anyway.”

Their voices faded. Romeo growled at Glory’s retreating back, then looked up into the sky and howled. As he howled, his body elongated and his fur fell away. Godiva gasped and jerked away from him. Skin and muscled ridges were forming. Ribs, fingers, and toes. Bronzed skin.

“Romeo?” she asked, frightened. Her mouth went dry, and her heart pounded against her ribs. He was . . . beautiful. “Romeo?” The name emerged on a breathless catch of air this time.

Dark gold human eyes were suddenly staring down at her, and she drank in the most beautiful face she’d ever seen. Perfectly chiseled cheekbones, perfectly sloped nose. Full, lush pink lips made for kissing. Her gaze traveled downward, taking in the rest of him. His chest was wide and muscled, like velvet poured over steel. And his—“Oh, Great Goddess.” Hello, satisfaction.

“I’ve been dying to do this all week, but was afraid you’d stop coddling and petting me.” He grinned wickedly. “You are not mad?”

His voice was rough and husky, and so sexy she shivered. Gulping, she blinked up at him. “Not mad. Promise.”

“I would like a chance to coddle you. Let me take you home.”

To bed, echoed in her mind, unsaid. “Yes. Take me home.”

Six

“You’re here,” Genevieve said as Hunter slid her down his body.

“You’re really here.” She circled him, disbelief, joy, and sexual hunger eating at her. Pink pollen twirled around them.

Hunter remained utterly still. He was as harshly gorgeous as ever, only somehow more savage looking. Her heart thrummed with excitement, even as confusion rocked her. “How are you here? You aren’t a corpse and you aren’t a spirit, but you’ve been gone for three days.”

Trees swayed around them, and the scent of moon-magic and jasmine wafted headily through the air. Rays of muted light illuminated the clearing.

“I . . . didn’t die,” he said. He stared at her neck, his eyes red. “I should leave.”

“No! Stay.” She bit her bottom lip. Never had she been more overjoyed, more confused. “Why are your eyes red? Wait, the red is fading. I don’t understand. What happened to you?”

He didn’t answer.

She forgot the question, anyway, as she reached out, hands brushing his jacket to the ground. She was already naked; she wanted him naked, too. Nothing else mattered really. Next she unbuttoned his shirt. It, too, pooled at their feet. Her fingers met his chest, paler than before but strong.

“I missed you so much,” she told him. “When I thought you were dead, I wanted to die, too.”

“Genevieve,” he said, the sound of her name a moan of pleasurepain. He squeezed his eyelids together. “I should go. You’re safe now.”

“Don’t leave. Stay with me. Please.”

“Something happened—”

“However you survived, I don’t care. I just want you.” She flattened her palms over his chest, his nipples deliciously abrasive. “Mmm. So good.”

His hands tangled in her hair, and their gazes locked. “I want to kiss you.”

“Do it. Kiss me.”

He leaned toward her and nuzzled his nose over her neck. “You smell so good. Better than I remembered.” The more he spoke, the more slurred his words became.

“Kiss me, Hunter. Please.”

He paused only a moment before straightening and crushing his lips against hers. His tongue slid into her mouth, already heating, already slick and flavored with passion. He tasted like urgency. They’d been apart so long—days that seemed to have stretched beyond eternity.

Her hands tore at the button on his pants, and in seconds, he was naked. All the while, he rained little kisses over her entire face. Desire rushed through her blood. “No more waiting,” she said breathlessly.

“No more waiting,” he agreed. Something dark blanketed his expression, his eyes suddenly going red again. “I’m not going to hurt you,” he said, his voice rough, filled with determination.

“I know.”

“Good.” He tumbled her to the ground. His lips clamped around her hard, aching nipple, and his hand trailed down her stomach, raising gooseflesh. He stopped at the apex of her thighs, dabbling at the fine tuft of dark hair.

“Yes, good,” she moaned.

She kneaded her hands down his strong torso, reveling in the hard muscles hidden under male skin. Power radiated from him. My lover, she thought dazedly. My man. Mine, all mine. The passion, the desire, the pleasure he gave her surpassed her wildest imaginings. And he hadn’t even entered her yet.

He began sucking her nipple, his teeth surprisingly sharp, wringing another gasp from her. He licked away the delicious sting. “I’m not going to hurt you, I’m not going to hurt you, I’m not going to hurt you,” he chanted.

“You can’t. As long as you’re with me, you can’t.”

“How did I push you away all these years?” His voice was strained, laden with carnal intent, heavy with arousal.

She arched into his fingers, silently begging him to move them inside her. No, wait. She stilled. Before she forgot everything but his touch, she wanted to fulfill the fantasy that had been floating through her mind for years. “I want to take you in my mouth.”

Like a sea siren of long ago, she rose over him, her hair falling like a dark curtain. She walked her fingers down the muscled ridge of his chest. Scars slashed left and right over his ribs, jagged badges of past pain. This was not the body of a bar owner. This was the body of a warrior.

He sucked in a breath when she licked each of his nipples. He moaned when she cupped his testicles.

“You aren’t just a bar owner,” she said, voicing her thoughts and blowing a hot puff of air on his abdomen. His muscles quivered. “You’re much more.”

“Yes, but I don’t want to talk about it. Move a little lower, sweetheart, and help me forget.” He growled, and hearing that desire-rough growl made her shiver.

“Besides running the bar, what is it you do?” she persisted. She wanted to know him. She didn’t want to simply be his lover, she wanted to be his confidante. His . . . everything.

A muscle ticked in his jaw. “Hunt vampires, demons, and other creatures of the night. That’s how I got my name.”

She circled his navel with her tongue. His hips shot toward the sky.

“Have you destroyed very many?” she asked.

“Many.” An aroused breath shuddered past his lips, and his eyes closed. “Then I met you and decided to settle here and now I think it’d be a really good idea if you moved a little lower. I don’t want to talk about the past anymore.”

Shock brought her to an instant halt. “You settled here because of me?”

“Yes.”

Surprised, happy, she sucked the entire length of his penis into her mouth. He was so big, her mouth stretched wide.

He began to babble. “I was afraid another gnome would try and hurt you, couldn’t let that happen, had to stay near you, damn you feel so good, I need to get inside you. Oh, that feels good. Your mouth. Heaven.”

“I love you,” she said, never ceasing her up and down strokes.

His hips shot up, and he growled low in his throat. Hoarse. Animalistic. She worked him, savoring every sensation, every taste.

“Holy hell, I can’t stop,” he managed to gasp.

She sucked him dry.

When he lay limp, collapsed against the dried leaves and twigs, she crawled over him. Feminine power filled her, and she grinned slowly, wickedly. “I’ve wanted to do that for a long time.”

“Not nearly as much as I wanted you to do it.” Twin circles of pink painted his cheeks. “I didn’t mean to go off so quickly. That just felt so good, and it’s been so long, and it made me forget—” He cut himself off and pressed his lips in a thin line.

“How long has it been?” The question sprung from her before she could stop it. She didn’t want to hear about his other women. Wanted him only to think of her. Her body, her mind. Her heart.

“About a year,” he admitted sheepishly.

He pushed her to her back with quite a bit of force, and she smashed into the ground with a gasp.

Instantly he frowned. “I’m sorry, baby. I didn’t mean to push so hard.”

“Don’t be sorry. I’m not hurt.” Smiling seductively, she stretched her arms toward him. “I like it when you’re rough.”

His expression softened, and his gaze raked over her. Desire blazed all the hotter in the blue depths of his eyes. No longer red, she realized happily. Why did they turn red? Was he a demon now? If so, she didn’t care. He bent between her legs, his warm breath fanning the very heart of her. Her mind blanked. Already she trembled for the first stroke of his tongue, for the ache she’d always dreamed about, for the completion she’d always wanted. Needed.

He tasted her. His tongue circled her clitoris, an erotic dance that spun her through madness, through heaven. “Hunter,” she cried, arching against him.

“That’s it, baby.” His voice was strained. “Go all the way over the edge.”

Her legs wrapped around his neck, locking him in place. The pressure . . . the building . . . an unstoppable crescendo. When he brought his fingers into play, sinking them deep inside her, she realized the pleasure had only just begun.

“I won’t hurt you, I won’t hurt you, I won’t hurt you.” His voice vibrated through her. “You taste so good.”

She continued to arch, writhing, screaming her pleasure to the twinkling stars. Her magic acted as a live wire, shooting fireworks in her blood. Then, everything crested. High, so high. Her inner walls spasmed; heat exploded inside her. So much sensation, more than she could bear, yet not enough and somehow everything.

She must have squeezed her eyelids tightly shut because Hunter was suddenly hovering over her. His eyes were red again, and sweat trickled down his temples. Lines of tension bracketed that sweet mouth of his, as if he’d endured all he could and needed satisfaction.

“I’m going to enter you now, but I won’t hurt you. I’m going to fill you with me, but I won’t hurt you.”

“Yes. Please, yes!”

“I won’t hurt you.” Slowly he slid inside her, his cock stretching her, filling her as he’d promised. He moaned. She gasped. Tension tightened his features. “You’re so tight. I didn’t expect you to be this tight.”

“More. I need more. Do it, take me the rest of the way.”

He required no further encouragement. He pushed the rest of the way home. Her legs tightened around him. Squeezed his waist. Her virginity tore. Destroyed perfectly. Wonderfully.

“Virgin,” he said, shocked. His eyes closed. Pleasure blanketed his expression. “Never felt this . . . good. This right. I can smell the blood. So good.” He licked his lips as if he’d never experienced anything so delicious and wanted to savor the sensation. “So good.”

“Only you would . . . do. Harder,” she rasped.

“No, savor,” he intoned. “I won’t hurt you. Won’t . . . hurt . . . you.”

Her hands gripped his butt at the same moment she rocked her hips upward, “Savor,” she allowed, barely able to get the word out. She wanted him inside her forever.

His teeth bit into his bottom lip. “No, harder.”

“Yes, yes. Harder.”

He slammed inside, pulled back, and pounded home.

“Yes!” she shouted, loving the feel of his in-and-out penetration.

“Not. Hurt. Not. Hurt.” He moved so quickly his balls slapped her. She threaded her fingers in his hair and jerked his face to her. Her tongue thrust into his mouth. Taking. Giving. Pushing her even closer to the edge.

“You can’t hurt me, I swear.”

He reached between their bodies, rubbed his thumb over her clitoris, and that was it. The end. She erupted. Spasmed. Arched. Screamed. Her ecstasy vibrated into his body, propelling him to the end, as well.

“Genevieve,” he howled. His features tightened further and he pounded into her a final time.

Minutes passed, perhaps hours, before their breathing settled. His eyes were so red they lit up the entire forest, and he was staring at her neck. He licked his lips. She didn’t move. Couldn’t, for that matter. Satisfaction thrummed and swirled inside her, the madness gone, delicious lethargy in its place. “I love you,” she said.

Hunter suddenly jerked from her as if she were poison. “I have to leave, Genevieve. I’m sorry.” His expression was tortured. “I’m beginning to lose control. Barnabas was right. When the hunger hit . . .” He spun away from her.

“What—what are you talking about?”

“Good-bye. I’ll never forget you.” He jolted into a lightning-fast run, never once looking back.

Seven

If not for her witchy powers, Genevieve never would have caught him. He moved unbelievably fast. As it was, she uttered a transport spell under her breath. One moment she was lying on the forest floor, the next she was standing in front of Hunter.

He snarled in his throat and ground to a halt. “Get away from me!”

“Tell me what’s going on,” she commanded. Moonlight shimmered between them, painting the forest in a magical golden hue. “Are you part demon?”

Hunter shoved a hand through his hair and turned away from her—exactly like he’d done in the past. “I lied to you earlier, Genevieve. I did die. After the fight with the demons, Barnabas Vlad took my body to an underground cave. He—he turned me into a vampire.” His voice was laced with pain and sounded . . . tortured.

Ah. Now she understood the red eyes. She owed Barnabas a smorgasbord of human delights dinner, no doubt about it. “This is a good thing, Hunter. We can be together now.”

Gaze rounding, he whirled on her. “I’m a monster. I want to drink your blood.”

“Well, I’m a witch and you accepted me for who I am.”

“Stop. Just stop. It’s not the same. I could kill you, but your powers can’t harm me.”

“Yes, they can.” Determined, she raised her arms in the air and summoned forth a small beam of light. Not enough to burn him, just enough to prove her point. Golden rays began to ribbon from her fingertips.

He raised his hands to shield his eyes. “Fine. Your powers can destroy me. You, at least, can control them.”

She dropped her arms to her sides and the light dimmed completely.

“Even now I’m close to jumping on you and sinking my teeth into your neck, Genevieve. I’m thirsty, and I can smell the sweetness of your blood. I’m vile and disgusting and terrible.”

“Hunter,” she said, exasperated. She threw her arms in the air. Men—correction, vampires—could be so foolish. “If you want to drink from me, I don’t mind.” She flicked back her hair, revealing the sensuous line of her neck. “I promise.”

“Argh.” He spun away quickly, his body stiff, his hands clenched. “Don’t do that again.”

“Or what?”

“You don’t know vampires like I do. Once they get a drop of blood in their mouth, they can’t stop. I could take too much. I could kill you.”

“You won’t hurt me,” she said in utter confidence. “You said so yourself, a thousand times. Bite me. Do it. Blood, blood, blood. I’ll keep saying it until you get over here and bite me. Blood, blood, bl—”

Hunter pivoted on his heel and closed the distance between them. He captured her face with his hands, his eyes fierce, but he didn’t bite her. He bared his teeth, sharp and white, but still he didn’t bite her. “Shut. Up. I would rather live eternity without you than to know I drained you.”

She saw the depth of his concern for her, and desperation churned inside her. If she didn’t show him the error of his thoughts, he was going to leave her. Forever. “If you walk away from me, you’re going to hurt me.”

A pause.

A heavy, sickening pause.

“Genevieve.” His fingers traced her mouth, then dipped to her neck. He fingered the pulse hammering there. “I won’t allow myself to become a killer.”

She wrapped her arms around his waist, locking him in place. “I barely survived our first parting. How am I going to live without you?” The idea alone filled her eyes with tears. After all the years she and Hunter had been apart, they deserved a happy-ever-after.

“You’ll live. That’s all that matters.” He spanned his hands around her waist, holding her with such fervency she had trouble drawing in a breath, but she didn’t care. What was breath without Hunter’s scent? What was life without her reason for living?

“Bite me,” she commanded him. As she spoke, she arched her head to the side. She had to prove to him that he wouldn’t kill her. “Blood, blood, blood, bloo—”

With a pained growl, he swooped down as if he’d reached the edge of his tolerance and sank his sharp teeth into her vein. There was a stinging prick, and she gasped. A minute passed, then another, but he didn’t stop. The sensations began to feel good, so good. He drank and drank and drank, and her mind began to grow foggy. Her limbs became weak. Black wisps twined around her thoughts.

“Hunter,” she gasped. “I’m . . .”

He jerked from her as if she’d screamed. She slumped to the ground. Panting, he stood over her body. Blood dripped from his mouth and guilt filled his eyes. “I’m sorry. Sweet heaven, I’m sorry.”

“I’m fine, I’m fine.” She was panting. “I swear. You stopped in time.”

“No. Too close. In the morning, I’m going to walk into the sun,” he said, his voice so ragged with determination it emerged as nothing more than a feral snarl. “There’s no other way. I’ll keep coming for you otherwise, I know I will.”

In the next instant, he was gone.

“Hunter. Hunter!” Weak, she lumbered to her feet. She screeched a transport spell, but it didn’t work. Her magic had weakened with her body.

Genevieve scanned the forest. Where was he? Where had he gone? I’m going to walk into the sun, he’d said. “I’m okay. I survived. You didn’t hurt me, only weakened me a bit.” Not allowing herself to panic—yet—she stumbled through the trees. “Hunter, please!”

Branches swayed on a gentle cascade of wind. Birds scattered, soaring into the night sky, their wings striped with every color of the rainbow. If morning came before she found him . . .

“Hunter! Hunter!” She twirled as she shouted, still searching. Minutes passed. Horrendous, agonizing minutes.

He never reappeared.

Hunter made it to the caves in seconds. He’d moved so quickly that the world around him became a blur, that the five miles seemed like less than one.

Barnabas was still there, still sitting on the dais. The cave walls were rocky and bare. Bleak. Like his emotions. Hunter didn’t know why he’d come here. Here, of all places. With this man. He simply hadn’t known where else to go. He’d bitten Genevieve and had almost drained her. If she hadn’t uttered his name . . . Shame coursed through him.

“Couldn’t stay away, I see,” Barnabas said smugly.

Dejected, Hunter wiped the sweet, magical blood from his mouth. “I’m walking into the sun, vampire. I’m too wretched to live.”

“I told you the hunger would hit you, and you wouldn’t be able to control it.” Barnabas used his too sharp teeth to tug off one of his black gloves. “You should have listened to me, oui?” He tsked. “Now. Would you like to play a game of strip poker? I brought cards.”

“No cards.” Hunter could still smell Genevieve on him, could still taste her mystical-flavored blood in his mouth. His hands clenched at his sides, and he found himself stepping toward the entrance, ready to go to her again. “Damn it.” He froze. “Morning can’t get here fast enough.”

Barnabas sighed, and the sound dripped with dejection. “I’m going to lose you one way or the other, aren’t I? Through death or through your woman, and I think I would rather it be your woman.”

Hunter’s eyes narrowed. “What are you talking about?”

“Sit down, and I will tell you a secret. . . .”

At last giving way to her panic, Genevieve raced into the thankfully empty cemetery and gathered her clothes. Her neck ached; she didn’t care. Her fingers shaky, she tugged on the pants, the shirt. All of the gravesites were in complete disarray, dirt crumbled, headstones overturned. Where was Hunter? She had to find him before it was too late. Her fear intensified, joining ranks with her panic. Her gaze scanned the area until she found her broom. She hopped on it and commanded it to fly.

It didn’t work. Fine.

Holding on to it, she ran, just ran. By the time she reached the center of town, her lungs burned and her heart raced uncontrollably. People were in their yards and on the streets, cleaning up damage the demons had caused. No one paid her any heed.

She spotted John Foster hiding behind a tree in his front yard, watching the lusciously ripe Candy Cox rake her garden. “Have any of you seen Hunter Knight?” Genevieve called.

John squealed in horror and sprinted away.

“No, sorry,” Candy replied with a frown. “Hunter’s dead, sugar. I doubt I’ll be seeing him for a while.”

Panting, Genevieve ran to Knight Caps. She searched every room, every hidden corridor, but the place was empty. Nothing had been cleaned; everything was the same as on the night Hunter died. Overturned tables, liquor spilled on the floor. Pools of dried blood.

She sprinted back outside and down the long, winding streets. Finally she reached the white picket fence surrounding her home. She pounded up the porch steps and shoved past the screen door, tossing her broom aside. “Godiva! Glory!” She was so short of breath she had trouble getting the words out.

A few seconds later, Glory stumbled out of her room. She rubbed the sleep from her eyes. The buttercup yellow flannel pj’s she wore hung over her curves like a sack. “What’s going on?” She yawned. “Are you okay?”

“Have you seen Hunter?”

“No. I thought he was with you. What’s with his red eyes, anyway? Is he a demon?”

She didn’t bother with an answer. “Where’s Godiva?”

“In her room. With Romeo.”

“Who?”

“Romeo. Her wolf.” Glory stretched her arms over her head and gave another yawn. “I think they’re having sex. Again.”

“Stop playing around and tell me where Godiva is. Please. I don’t have much time.”

“I told you. In bed. Nice hickey, by the way.” Glory paused, her gaze skidding to the kitchen. “Oh, look. Doughnuts.” She breezed past Genevieve and headed into the kitchen, where a box of Krispy Kremes waited on the table.

“Godiva!” Genevieve shouted. “Get out here right now.”

The handle to Godiva’s bedroom rattled, then the door pushed open. Out toppled Godiva, tightening her robe around her middle. She wore an expression of concern, yet underneath the concern was utter satisfaction. “Is everything okay?”

“Have you seen Hunter?”

“No, I thought he was with you.”

A warrior of a man stepped from the room and approached Godiva from behind. He wrapped his strong arms around her waist. Dark hair tumbled to his shoulders, framing a face of such golden-eyed beauty Genevieve found it difficult to believe he was real. Her mouth fell open as realization struck her. This was the injured wolf?

“What’s going on, Evie? Is everything okay?” Godiva repeated. “Your neck is bleeding.”

“Hunter is a vampire, and he plans to die with the morning sun. I have to find him. Can you transport me to him?” She covered her face with her hand, fighting tears. “I can’t let him kill himself.”

“You know we can’t transport other people. I can transport myself, though, and—”

“You are not transporting yourself in front of a vampire, Godiva,” Romeo said, his voice deep, gravelly. “We will search together. I can track humans—even dead ones—in ways you cannot.”

Grateful, Genevieve nodded. She would have ridden on the broom with Godiva, but Godiva couldn’t find hers. “I must have left it in the graveyard,” her sister said. Genevieve still didn’t have the strength to fire hers up, and Glory couldn’t hold both of them. They walked.

They kept pace beside Romeo, who took wolf form. They ended up searching all night, stopping only to drink. No one had seen Hunter, and only a few people seemed surprised that they were asking about a dead guy.

Finally, only thirty minutes till sunrise, Romeo caught a trace of him. “This way.”

“Hurry. Hurry.” She wanted to scream in relief, in frustration, in agony. But when Romeo led them back to her house, she did scream. “Damn it! Why did you bring us here? He’s—” She gasped as her gaze snagged on the man standing on her porch.

“Genevieve,” he said starkly.

“Hunter? Hunter!” With a cry, she raced to him.

Eight

Hunter opened his arms and welcomed Genevieve as she threw herself at him. He twirled her around, reveling in her luscious female scent, the soft curves of her body.

“Where have you been?” she demanded. “You stupid, stupid man. I’ve been so worried about you. You didn’t hurt me out there, okay? You didn’t hurt me. You stopped in time.”

“I could have hurt you, and that was enough reason to die.” He pulled back and cupped her face in his hands. Would he ever get enough of this woman?

Tears streamed down her face. “Why are you here, then? Why?” “I talked to Barnabas. His creator hated and feared blood like me, so he took something called a blood-appetite suppressant. I didn’t think it’d work, but I took it and my cravings went away. I won’t hurt you now. I know it sounds too good to be true,” he rushed on, “but it’s true. Trust me not to hurt you. Please. I want to be with you.”

“Why do you want to be with me?” she interjected. In that moment, her relief and joy overflowed, but she needed to hear the words.

His expression became tender. “I kept picturing your face and I began to realize that even in death, you would haunt me. I began to realize that leaving you would be more vile than drinking from you. I began to realize that I couldn’t leave you again. You’re my reason for being. You’re my everything.”

She blinked through her tears, barely daring to breathe.

“Will you have me, Genevieve Tawdry? Vampire that I am?”

“With all of my heart.” Laughing, she kissed him over and over again. Loving kisses, happy kisses. Relieved kisses.

Hunter hugged her fiercely. That laugh of hers . . . glorious, uninhibited, he would never get enough of it. “I want you. I want you naked.”

“Uh, Genevieve,” came a female voice.

Genevieve’s cheeks reddened, and she pressed her lips together. She’d forgotten about their audience, he realized with satisfaction, just as he had.

“Hunter, you know my sisters.”

He nodded in their direction, but his eyes were only for Genevieve. “Godiva. Glory. Nice to see you again.” His fingers played with the silky soft hair at the base of Genevieve’s neck. He couldn’t stop touching her. He still didn’t like the fact that he was a vampire. He still didn’t like that he had to drink blood, even though the cravings could be controlled. But he would put up with anything to be with his Genevieve.

“You, too,” they said simultaneously.

“The man with Godiva is Romeo,” she said breathlessly. Her eyes closed and a look of rapture blanketed her expression. “You can meet him later.”

Romeo nodded in acknowledgment. He placed a protective arm around Godiva, as if Hunter might leap off the porch and attack at any moment. Hunter tried not to take offense. He had better get used to people fearing him.

“Hunter and I are going to my room,” Genevieve said. “To, uh, talk.”

“Dirty,” Glory added.

He allowed Genevieve to take his hand and lead him inside, down a hallway and into her room. It was a neat, tidy space with everything color-coded and organized. The bed was made for sin, however. Black silks, crimson pillows. Cerulean velvets. “You want to talk?” he asked with a chuckle.

Her lips lifted in a sensual grin that caused his stomach to clench. She hurriedly secured all of the drapes over the windows so that when the sun rose, it wouldn’t hurt him. “We can talk while you’re inside me.” She raced to him and tugged at his clothes. “I need you so desperately.”

He slipped her shirt over her head, then pushed her pants to her ankles. She stepped out of them, completely naked. The sight of her naked beauty almost made him come, right then, right there. Supple curves, ripe nipples, milky skin. The long length of her dark hair provided a mesmerizing contrast.

“I can’t wait,” he said raggedly.

“No waiting,” she agreed.

He took her quickly, with all the urgency he felt inside. Filled as he was with blood and the suppressant, he didn’t have the slightest urge to bite her—except in pleasure. They rolled atop the bed, panting, growling, straining. Her breasts filled his hands. Her legs anchored around him as he pounded in and out.

“Hunter,” she screamed as a sharp peak tore through her. He felt every spasm and it fueled his own.

He spilled inside her with a loud roar.

Someone banged at the wall. “Enough already,” he heard one of her sisters say. Glory, most likely. Godiva was probably otherwise occupied. He chuckled into Genevieve’s neck. Nope. He still didn’t want to bite her. Relief consumed him.

Playfully she bit his collarbone. “I love you so much.”

Her words filled his mind as surely as he’d filled her body. Even his heart stopped beating—or maybe it had never started up again after his death. Women had said those words to him before, but he’d never felt them in his bones. Even Genevieve had said them before. He’d never returned them.

“I love you, too, sweetheart.”

She sucked in a slight intake of breath. “Do you really?”

“I’ve loved you from the first moment I saw you.”

“Then why did you push me away for so long?” she asked with a frown. “You never really answered that question.”

He placed a sweet kiss on her temple. “Sweetheart, the answer doesn’t matter anymore. Let’s just—”

“Please. Tell me.”

Unable to deny her anything, he explained. As he spoke, she paled. Tremors reverberated through her by the time he finished. “You should have told me the truth years ago,” she said. “I would have left you alone.”

“I know, and that’s exactly why I didn’t tell you. I didn’t want you to leave me alone. I loved you too damn much.”

“What a pair we make, hmm? The dead man and the witch.”

He chuckled. Life—or death, rather—was ripe with promise. He was happier than he’d ever been and he owed it all to the sweet, sweet witch in his arms. “I’m looking forward to spending eternity with you.”

Slowly she smiled. “Eternity with Hunter Knight. Now that’s something I can look forward to.”