Mysteria Nights

To P. C. Cast, Susan Grant, and MaryJanice Davidson. Or, as we would probably be named inside of Mysteria: P. C. Sweetbottoms, Susan Buttercup, and MaryJanice Sugarlips. (Maybe I’d be Gena Dinglehop—that’s wait-and-see, though.) To Wendy McCurdy and Allison Brandau for putting up with me!

One

If Glory Tawdry discovered her sister, Evie, and Evie’s vampire boyfriend going at it like wild cougars one more time—just one more!—she was going to throw up a lung, gouge out her eyes, and cut off her ears.

“You’re disgusting,” she grumbled, standing in Evie’s open bedroom door. Her sister and Hunter must have severe discovery fantasies, because they always “forgot” to barricade themselves inside when things were getting heated.

They didn’t even glance in her direction.

She coughed.

They continued.

Sadly, if Glory walked down the hallway of their modest little three-bedroom home, she’d probably hear her other sister, Godiva, going at it with her boyfriend, a werewolf shape-shifter. They, at least, liked privacy when they were screaming like hyenas.

Still. There was no peace to be found for Glory. Not even in town. Lately Mysteria, a place once known for its evil creature population, as well as a place she’d taken great pride in, had turned into a horrifying love fest of goo-goo eyes and butt pinching.

Except for me. No one makes goo-goo eyes at me. No one pinches my butt, even though there’s enough for everyone to grab on to at the same time. She didn’t care, though. Really.

Men and relationships were so not for her. Really.

“Hello,” she said, trying again. “I’m right here. Can you stop for like a minute?”

Thankfully Evie and Hunter finished their show and collapsed side by side under the covers. Moonlight spilled from the beveled windows and onto the bed, painting them in gold. Both were panting, sweat glistening from their skin. Evie’s dark hair was spread over the pillow and tangled under Hunter’s arm. Vitality radiated from her.

Handsome Hunter looked exhausted and incapable of movement.

Score one for Evie, Glory supposed.

“Oh, Glory.” Evie grinned, happiness sparkling in her hazel eyes. “I didn’t see you there.”

Ugh. Evie did everything happily now, and Glory was seriously embarrassed for her. Evie was the greatest vengeance witch ever to live in Mysteria. As such, she should scowl once in a while. Glory was the love witch, damn it, so Glory should be the happy one.

“Don’t you know how to knock?” her sister asked.

Are you freaking kidding me? “Don’t you know how to close a door? I mean, it’s a difficult task to master, but with hard work and the proper training, I think you might be able to do it.”

Hunter laughed, revealing long, sharp teeth.

“Ha-ha.” Evie punched him on the shoulder.

When Evie said no more, Glory shook her head in disappointment. Used to, they would have argued and insulted each other, maybe yelled and thrown things. Now, she was lucky if Evie frowned at her.

A dysfunctional relationship it had been, but it had been theirs.

“I miss us!” she found herself saying. “You’re a softie now, and it’s killing my excitement levels.”

Understanding dawned, and Evie scowled. Even pointed an accusing finger at her. “Seriously, what’s up with you, little sis? Every day I think you can’t possibly get any bitchier, and then you go and prove me wrong.”

Much better! Life was suddenly worth living again. “Lookit, you show pony, I need your help.”

“Yeah? With what?” Unable to retain the harsh expression, Evie gave her another smile.

As always, that satisfied smile caused a deep ache to sprout inside Glory’s chest. When will it be my turn to fall in love, have great sex, and sicken the people around me? The moment the thought drifted through her mind, she blinked in shock and revulsion. Whoa, girl. That line of BS has to stop. Like, now. Before you crave more.

She was a love witch, yes, but she didn’t want to fall in love. Ever. People became slobbering fools when they succumbed to the soft emotion. Look at Evie! Proof right there in all her glowing splendor.

“I’m waiting,” Evie said.

Glory opened her mouth to say . . . something. What, she didn’t know. Great Goddess, how should she begin? She could not allow Evie to turn her down.

“Seriously. I want to bask in the afterglow.” Evie rubbed her leg up and down Hunter’s lower torso. “Hurry this along.”

“I’m thinking.”

Evie sighed. And yes, she was still smiling. “Go think somewhere else.”

“You left your door open, so no afterglow for you. One year,” she said in her best “Soup Nazi” impersonation. Glory tangled a hand through her hair, surprised as always that it was cool to the touch. Every time she saw the flame red tresses in the mirror, she expected smoke. I can do this. “Remember a few months ago, when Hunter was ignoring you—again—and you promised me a favor if I helped you win his heart? I told you that in return for helping you, I wanted you to give me something to ruin Falon’s life, and you said okay, so I gave you a potion and you—”

“I know what I did. Jeez.” Nibbling on her lower lip, Evie moved her hazels to Hunter.

He knew the full story, but Glory suspected Evie didn’t like to remind him. He’d died because of Evie, after all, killed by demons the lovesick fool had accidentally summoned. Then he’d been turned into a vampire—a species he’d once hoped to destroy. It had been difficult for him to adjust to the change.

“You want to ruin Falon’s life? Why?” Hunter’s vampire-pale arms tightened around Evie. Obviously no bad feelings remained on his part. But he did frown over at Glory as if she had sprouted a second head. With horns. Falon was his best friend and right-hand man.

At least, Glory thought Falon was a man. In Mysteria, it was sometimes hard to tell. He could have been a demon for all she knew. Now that made sense. “Just . . . because,” she said, then squared her shoulders and raised her chin. She refused to say more about her reasoning. “Evie owes me. That should be enough.”

Evie threw up her arms and let them fall heavily onto the bed. “Can’t you drop this? I don’t know what he did to you . . .” She paused, probably waiting for Glory to pipe up with the answer. When she didn’t, Evie sighed again. “You live in Bizarro World, little sis. You’re supposed to be the good witch, and I’m supposed to be wicked.”

Glory arched a brow, her mind caught on the first part of Evie’s speech. “No, I can’t let this go.” The bastard deserved to die. Slowly. Painfully. Eternally. “You reneging on me?”

Hot color bloomed in her sister’s cheeks. “No. Of course not.”

“Evie,” Hunter said.

“I promised her, baby.”

Glory anchored her hands on her hips. “If it makes you feel any better, Hunter, know that Falon brought this on himself. He hurt me.”

Hunter’s green gaze sharpened. “Hurt you? How?”

Once again, she raised her chin and pressed her lips together. She hadn’t planned on admitting even that much.

Realizing she’d say no more, he scrubbed a hand down the harsh, rugged plains of his face. “You know I’ll warn Falon, right? I’ll tell him what’s going on.”

“Like that scares me.” Glory wanted Falon know she was gunning for him. She wanted him to be scared, to tremble and jump at every snapping twig in the night. Hell, maybe she was a wicked witch, because she chuckled every time she thought of him dropping to the ground in a fetal ball and crying for his mother.

Sure, he was six feet four of solid—delicious—muscle. Sure, he’d kicked more ass in the few years he’d lived in Mysteria than the town’s citizens were currently nailing. And sure, he probably made the creatures of the underworld pee their pants in fear of him. A girl could dream, though.

“Now.” She rubbed her hands together. “Evie, my revenge, if you please. I’ve tried to bring it up several times, and you ignored me, ran from me, or let your boy toy sweep you off your feet. Literally. I’m not waiting anymore!”

“Whatever he did, I’ll talk to him,” Hunter said. “He’ll apologize.”

Glory shook her head, long hair slapping her across the face. It was too late for that. “I’ll talk to him. Evie . . .”

“Fine.” Frowning, Evie uncurled from her lover’s body and rose from the bed, taking the sheet with her.

Cheeks heating, Glory quickly turned and faced the hallway. She so had not needed to see Hunter’s crowning grandeur. Did she appreciate it? Yeah. Boy was blessed! Still. Her sister’s boyfriend was not meant to be eye candy for her, and besides, she didn’t need to add fuel to the fire of her constantly unsatisfied desires.

Behind her, she heard cloth rustling, the slide of a drawer, then things bumping together.

“Ah, here it is!” her sister said.

Footsteps sounded, then a delicate finger was tapping Glory on the shoulder. Heart pounding excitedly, she turned. Of course, her gaze flew to Hunter of its own accord hoping for another peek. He’d already tugged on a pair of jeans—jeans with a missing top button. Evie had probably bitten it off.

Glory’s chest started hurting again.

Evie waved a black pen in front of her face. “Hello. You paying attention to me?”

Her gaze latched onto the pen, following its movements. Her frown returned. “You’re giving me a pen? A pen to finally claim revenge against the man who savagely wronged me?”

“Yes. How did he wrong you?”

She ignored the question. “What, I’m supposed to draw a mustache on his picture? News flash. That’s not going to leave him crying in his cornflakes.”

“Why do you want him crying in his cornflakes?”

Grrr! “No matter how many times you ask, no matter how many ways, I’m not telling.”

“Well, don’t make him cry too hard. He’s a good man and has always been nice to us.”

Nice? Nice! Evie had no idea the cruelty that man was capable of. But revealing what he’d done to her would be more mortifying than, say, finding one of her sisters naked and in bed with a vampire, screaming his name as she climaxed.

“Pay attention, sister dear.” Evie released the pen; it didn’t fall. It hovered in the air between them, swirling, glitter falling like raindrops around it. “This little pen is magical.”

“Rock on! What will it do?”

“Anything you write with it will come true.”

Glory’s eyes widened, the words sinking in. “Anything I write will come true?”

“Yes. Well, anything physical, nothing emotional. Just be careful. The more you write, the more ink you’ll use, and there’s no way to refill it. Also, the effects don’t last forever, only for a few hours. For proper revenge, it’s best to write about clothes disappearing right off a body in the middle of a crowd and—”

“Don’t help her,” Hunter growled.

“Yes, but anything I write comes true?” Glory asked again, just to be sure.

Evie rolled her eyes. “Physically, yes. I said so, didn’t I?”

A laugh escaped her, her first true laugh in months. “Oh, this is classic. Truly perfect.”

“I knew you’d appreciate the irony.”

“What irony?” Hunter sat up and propped himself against the headboard.

“Can I tell him?” Evie asked her.

Why not? “Sure. He’s almost family, and I’ve seen his goods.”

“She’s a novelist,” Evie threw over her shoulder, “best known for bringing her heroes to their knees. Not always because they fall in love, but mostly because the villains always jack them up with a hammer to the tibia.”

“Dear God,” Hunter mumbled. “This is bad. Real bad.”

Glory rubbed her hands together. Yes, it was. Falon the bastard was about to fall. Hard-core!

Two

Anticipation hummed through Glory for the rest of the night and the following day, possibilities rolling continually through her mind. She’d hoped Hunter would tell Falon what was going on, Falon would rush to her and beg her to forgive him, and she would get to slam a door in his face, causing him to toss and turn for hours in fear.

But he never showed up.

So when the sun finally descended on the second day, she padded to her bedroom, wading through clothes, shoes, and donut wrappers, grabbed a notebook, and climbed onto the bed.

It was time to test the pen’s powers.

Ever since Falon had—Do not think about that right now! You know better. Already, with that tiny half thought, her pulse had kicked into overdrive, and her stomach had clenched, sickness churning inside of it.

Think about your revenge. For this to work, she needed to be strong, unemotional. Otherwise, she’d do something mean, Falon would look at her with those otherworldly violet eyes of his, and she’d cave. Maybe even apologize. He deserves to suffer.

How best to torture him?

She thought about what she knew about him. She’d never slept with him, but she knew what he looked like when he experienced ultimate pleasure. She knew how he tensed, knew his voice dripped harsh and raspy. Knew he roared with the last spasm, pounding his big, hard body into his lover’s.

Uh, not helping. Breath burned in her lungs, and fire rushed through her veins, but she couldn’t stop her mind from traveling that road. One night she’d stumbled upon Falon in the woods, making love to one of his many women. Or, as Glory liked to call them, one of his many hookers. Anyhoodles, she’d been unable to walk away. He’d been unnaturally beautiful and darkly seductive, whispering the most erotic nothings in the hooker’s ear.

Glory had suddenly understood why Falon could fight vampires and demons for hours and hours without breaking a sweat. He was total strength, inexorable stamina. Nothing tired him.

That night, she’d developed a tiny—enormous—crush on him. Even though he was way out of her league. Glory was a wee bit on the pudgy side, while Falon personified perfection. She exercised by riding her bike into town to buy a bag of Doritos; he worked out slaying his enemies without thought or hesitation. Men ignored her; women flocked to him. She spent hours in front of a computer, living life in her mind; he actually lived. Inside other people’s pants, but whatever.

Rumor was he knew what a female craved before even she knew, and anyone who experienced the bliss of his sometimes gentle, usually savage touch was never the same again. Watching him, Glory had begun to believe that.

She’d fallen completely under his spell, haunted for days by his mesmerizing image. She’d yearned to have him in her bed. In her shower. On her floor. Wherever. She hadn’t been picky. She’d just wanted him. Desperately and unequivocally. She’d wanted him naked, slipping and sliding into her, no one else, wrapped around her, cherishing her. She’d wanted her name on his lips, his taste in her mouth. Until . . .

Her hands clenched into fists. You aren’t supposed to think about this!

The memories flooded her, anyway. A few months ago, she’d overhead him tell Hunter that one woman was the same as any other, and love was for idiots. Since they shared the same mind-set—love sucked giant elephant balls!—and he didn’t care who he slept with, she’d decided to go for it and throw herself at him.

Pleasure was seriously lacking in her life, and she would have given all of her powers—well, rather, all of Evie’s powers—to have him look at her with desire. Just once. That’s all she’d needed, all she’d wanted.

So she’d gone to his house in nothing but a trench coat and heels. And yeah, she’d flashed him.

He’d taken one look at her and laughed. Laughed!

“Go home, little girl,” he’d said. “You don’t know what you’re playing at.”

“I’m twenty-three, not jailbait, and I’m anything but little, as you can clearly see. I’m here for a few hours of fun, that’s all.”

“Okay, let me put this another way. Get lost. You’re not welcome here.”

“I’m—I’m not your type, then,” she’d stammered, mortified to her very soul. In that moment, she’d understood. Even though he’d said any woman would do, he’d meant any pretty woman would do.

His gaze had become hard as it perused her. “No, you’re not my type.”

He could have spared the remaining tatters of her feminine pride, but another woman had walked up behind Glory. Kaycee, a girl who had graduated a few years ahead of Glory, had obviously craved the same thing as Glory, despite the fact that she’d come with a basket of fruit to “sell.” Just as she’d been in school, Kaycee had been tall and thin and pretty. And Falon had allowed that pink-skinned married fairy hooker inside before shutting the door in Glory’s red-hot face.

Remembering, Glory gnashed her teeth together. “I will destroy his male pride,” she said, determined. “I will teach him what it’s like to feel unwanted and ugly.”

But she spent the next hour staring at the notebook, mind blank. Shit! How did a girl teach a man that kind of lesson?

Just write something. Anything! Pretend this is one of your novels and test the pen’s powers. Let’s see, let’s see. Roman solider? No. Falon didn’t deserve to carry a sword. But she saw all kinds of possibilities in that time period. Gladiator? Oh, yes, yes, yes. Gladiators were slaves, and she really liked the idea of Falon in chains.

Closing her eyes, she pictured Falon pacing the dirt floors of a barred cell, sweat rolling down the sculpted muscles of his bronzed stomach, pooling in his navel and dipping lower. Fresh from fighting, blood splattered him.

Licking her lips, Glory shifted against the covers. The scene continued to open up in her mind, painting her thoughts with its descriptions. She sucked in a deep breath and forced her hand to write what she saw . . .

Falon was lying in bed, cool, dry, staring at the ceiling of his bedroom one moment and inside a dirt-laden cell the next, pacing back and forth, sweat pouring from him. Shocked at the sudden change, he tried to stop. His feet kept moving as though they were no longer connected to his brain.

What the hell?

Moonlight slithered around him as he passed a crudely crafted bed, then an equally crude bench, kicking dirt with his sandals. Sandals? There was a metallic tang in air. The rustle of chains could be heard beyond the cell, as could moans of . . . injured men? Pleasured men?

Confusion slithered through him.

“Yo. Falon.”

Hearing the husky female voice, he spun and faced the cell’s farthest set of bars. A lone woman stood behind them, shadows covering her face. Glistening white cloth draped her, and gold flowers glinted from her left shoulder and hem. A chain belt circled her waist, cinching the drape around her and revealing slender curves. The scent of pampered, eager woman and desire drifted from her, sweet and exotic.

His body hardened in hated desire. Hated, because only one woman had that effect on him lately.

“Glory Tawdry,” he said through clenched teeth. “I should have known.”

“Great Goddess, it worked!” She clapped her hands, and he could easily imagine her smiling that sultry, white-toothed smile of hers. “I hope you don’t mind, but I decided to write myself into the scene.”

“Scene What scene?”

“This one.” As she spoke, she stepped into a ribbon of that golden moonlight.

He couldn’t help himself. He sucked in a heated breath and drank her in. Long, red hair framed her pretty face—the most sensual face he’d ever seen. Her eyes were large emeralds flecked with gold. Her nose was gently sloped, her cheeks pink and perfectly rounded. Her lips were luxuriant and red, utterly magnificent—but they would have looked better moving over his body.

You know better than to think like that, you walking penis! “What do you mean, you wrote yourself into the scene? What is this place? How did you get me here?”

Her sculpted brows rose. “Didn’t Hunter tell you?”

“Tell me what? I haven’t spoken to him in days.” His friend had stopped coming to Knight Caps, the bar he owned and where Falon bartended, preferring instead to spend every moment with his revenge witch. Disgraceful, if you asked Falon.

“Evie must have distracted him,” Glory said with a laugh. “Damn, but I do love my sister.”

That laugh . . . God, it was magical. Almost melted his fury. Almost. His gaze circled the cell. “What have you done to me, Glory?”

“Nothing much. Yet. This is just a small taste of my revenge.”

Revenge. He didn’t have to ask why. The night she’d come to his house, flashed him every one of her spectacular curves, and nearly felled him, he’d resorted to the only thing capable of saving him: cruelty.

His gaze met hers, and something hot filled his veins. This time, it wasn’t fury. She looked utterly pleased with herself, and the look was good on her. Good enough to eat. She must have sensed the direction of his thoughts because she backed up a step. A pause stretched between them, layered with awareness. Sizzling with need.

There was something about her that appealed to the beast inside him. Something dark, dangerous, and bone deep that awakened urges inside him he’d thought long dead. Tender urges, savage urges.

Do not think like that, idiot! He’d made the mistake of willingly dating a witch twice. Once because he’d wanted the woman, once because he’d needed the woman. Both experiences had scarred him for eternity. The relationship with the first, Frederica, had not ended well, and the damn woman had cursed him with impotence. And no amount of Viagra or stimulation had fixed the . . . limpness.

Falon had been forced to give up a year of his life acting as a slave to Penelope, the second witch, to win his freedom. In return, Penelope had challenged Frederica, who quickly lost and finally reversed her spell. Had the return of his manhood been worth it? He wasn’t sure. Penelope had not been an easy mistress. He’d cooked, cleaned, run errands, supplied her with orgasms and massages, balanced her checkbook, punished her enemies, and fixed her TiVo. So yeah, he fucking hated witches! They always abused their powers.

That hadn’t stopped him from wanting Glory, though—who was now in the process of abusing her goddamn powers! Yes, he’d hurt her all those months ago. But he’d had to push her away before he’d caved.

Still, he’d regretted it ever since and had even tried to make it up to her, acting as her protector on several occasions. “I don’t desire this,” he said.

“Yes, you do.”

“No, the hell I don’t! That night in the cemetery, I saved you from hungry corpses.” He wasn’t sure how or why, but since that night on his porch he always seemed to know when she was in trouble. A fierce surge of protectiveness would rise inside him, and the next thing he knew, he’d be rushing to get to her, wherever she was.

Maybe she’d cast a spell on him.

He bit the inside of his cheek until he tasted blood. That made sense. He should have realized it sooner, but he had been consumed with thoughts of her naked. He wanted to curse at her but held back the words. No need to provoke her. Yet. Damn, what should he do?

Before that fateful night, he’d always avoided looking at her and her witch sisters. Had left a building the moment they’d entered it. Because one glance at that sensual face of Glory’s, and he nearly forgot his no witch rule.

Rejecting her that night on his porch had been one of the hardest things he’d ever done. Literally. She’d been naked. But he’d managed to do it—and he’d done nothing but dream about her ever since.

“What kind of spell is this?” he demanded.

“Don’t you worry your pretty little head about that,” she said with a sugar-sweet tone. “You worry about the pain and suffering I’m about to rain upon your life.”

“Glory—” He pressed his lips together. Do not antagonize her, or she’ll make it worse. Duh. He raked his gaze over her, trying to decide what to do. Wait. She looked . . . different. His head titled to the side as he frowned. “What did you do to yourself?”

“I wrote myself in as a glorious one hundred and twenty—” Now she frowned. A moment later, she disappeared as if she’d never been there.

“Glory?” He spun around, eyes roaming. Where the hell was she?

A moment later, she reappeared in front of the bars. And she looked even thinner, the robe bagging over her bony body. He didn’t like it. He liked her curves and the lusciousness of her breasts, hips, and thighs. Even thinking of them caused his mouth to water. Was his tongue wagging?

She smiled. “I wrote myself in as a glorious one hundred and fifteen pounds.”

“You’re skin and bones.”

“I know. Isn’t it great?” She didn’t wait for his answer but twirled, her smile never fading. Material danced at her ankles like snowflakes. When she stopped, her eyes narrowed on him, and she added tightly, “What do you think of me now?”

He decided to be honest. “I liked you better the other way,” he said, crossing his arms over his sweaty, bloody chest—still having no idea how he’d become so sweaty or so bloody.

At first, Glory appeared stunned by his admission. Then her eyes narrowed even more, becoming tiny slits that hid those beautiful hazel irises completely. “Yeah. Right. I’ve seen your harem. You always pick the skinny ones.”

Actually, the skinny ones always picked him, and after a year without being able to get Little Fal up, he’d taken what he could get, when he could get it. Except for Glory. Why’d she have to be witch?

“Where are we?” he asked.

Her lips curled into a slow, sensual grin, and his stomach tightened. “This is your prison.”

He ran his tongue over his teeth. “Why?”

“We already covered this.”

Yeah, they had. “Look, I’m sorry about that night. I wish it had never happened.”

“But it did happen. Makes sense, though, that you’re sorry now.” Rage crackled around her, lifting strands of her hair as if she’d stuck her finger into a light socket. A moment passed while she calmed herself down, and her hair smoothed out. “I should have written myself inside the cell with you so I could torment you with my superhot bod, but I didn’t want you to have access to my neck.”

“So that’s how you plan to punish me, is it? Magically transport me into a cell and make me horny? By all means, keep at it.” He could imagine worse things.

“Oh, no. I plan to do much, much more than that.” She licked her lips and perused him, gaze lingering on his stomach, between his legs. That gaze devoured him, eating him up one tasty bite at a time.

Clearly, she still wanted him.

His first thought: Thank God.

His second: Holy shit, this is bad!

“Don’t look at me like that,” he growled, not caring if she tried to punish him further. He could not allow this witch to desire him like that. Not when his resolve teetered so precariously. Look what had happened already. Any more . . . No. No way could he allow himself to have her.

Glory’s eyes snapped to his, embarrassed hazel against furious violet. “I’ll look at you however I want! You’re my property right now. I own you.”

“Stop this, Glory.”

“Make me.”

Very slowly, purposefully, he moved toward her.

Approaching her is dangerous, common sense said.

No other way, Little Fal replied.

Glory’s mouth opened all the wider with every step he took, but no sound emerged from her. When he reached the bars, he whipped out his arms before she had a chance to stop him and clamped his fingers around her wrists.

“What are you doing?” Her tone lacked any heat, and she actually pressed herself into the bars until her body brushed his. “I didn’t add this to the scene.”

The contact, though light, sparked a jolt of pure fire in his bloodstream. Up close, she was even lovelier. Freckles were scattered across her nose. Her pale skin glowed with health and vitality.

“You want me to touch you? Is that what it’s going to take to get you out of my life?” He anchored her arms behind her back with one hand and traced his other down the front of her robe. How he longed to linger over the small mound of her breasts, the hollow of her stomach . . . the waiting valley between her legs.

If she’d possessed her usual curves, he knew he would not have been able to resist. Her desire to be thin was actually a blessing. But even now, like this, his control wasn’t what it should have been. He was trembling, for God’s sake.

“Stop,” she whispered. Her eyes said more.

All of his muscles bunched in reaction to that pleading tone, that needy expression, hardening, aching. He did not stop. He eagerly learned the length of her legs, her skin smooth and soft, like velvet. By the time he finished the full-body caresses, sweat beaded over his face and dripped in rivulets down his chest.

“More.” She closed her eyes, all pretence of resistance gone.

He pinched several strands of her hair between his fingers, enjoying the silkiness. He brought the tendrils to his nose and sniffed. Nearly moaned. A fresh, blooming garden. That’s what her hair smelled like. He could have breathed in the scent forever.

“If you want me to fuck you,” he said, deliberately cruel, just as before, “you’ll have to enter the cell.” For the best. It was better to be punished than to cave, he decided.

“Wh-what?” Her eyes blinked open. He saw the need burning there, the want. Her nipples were hard, visible through her robe. The scent of awakened passion wafted from her, blending with the flowery fragrance of her hair.

“You heard me.”

“No, I hate you.” The words were spoken on a breathless sigh. Then she shook her head, eyes narrowing again, and backed away. “I’m going to make you want me, Falon. I’m going to make you crave me. But you are never going to have me. Do you understand? Never.”

A moment later, she vanished. The prison shimmered before disappearing, too, and the next thing Falon knew, he was lying in his bed again. As the cool sheets met his clean, dry skin, he rolled from the mattress and stalked to his closet.

Fury, desire, and determination pounded through him. He strapped weapons all over his body, dressed, and stalked from his house. No way he’d allow Glory to use her powers against him. Not again.

He was going to find her. Whatever he had to do, he was going to stop her.

Three

Heart thundering in her chest, Glory kept her eyes squeezed shut and inhaled deeply. The first thing she noticed was how the air no longer smelled of decadent man, sweat, and dark spice. Now she caught the faint drift of powdered sugar and jasmine incense.

Who would’ve thought she’d mourn the loss of sweaty-man air?

Time to check out the rest. Slowly she blinked open her eyes. Her notebook came into view. Everything that had happened was right there, the words staring up at her. She quickly looked away, not wanting to be reminded of her near capitulation. All Falon had done was touch her, for love of the Goddess, and she’d forgotten her need for revenge. The feel of his hands on her body, exploring . . . the sound of his rough voice in her ear, whispering . . . the desire blazing in his eyes, beckoning . . .

Her stomach tightened, and the ache she’d experienced inside the prison renewed between her legs. Keep looking.

Her flat-screen computer came into view, followed by the wall of magazine pictures she used for references and her Hunks of the Month calendar. Trash and dirty clothes were scattered all over her carpet. She hadn’t cleaned since that terrible night; she didn’t know why.

“It worked,” she said, just to break the silence. “It really worked.”

She’d actually sent Falon to an ancient prison, then she’d actually followed him there. Oh . . . my. She sagged against the mattress and closed her eyes again. Falon’s image filled her mind. His eyes, an exotic, come-to-me violet fringed by thick black lashes. His dark hair, a little long. The shadowy stubble that dusted his jaw. The bronzed skin and bodybuilder muscles she’d almost held.

The man had exuded a potent animal magnetism; it had oozed from his pores.

What was he doing right now? Cursing her to the heavens? She laughed, delighted by the thought. He might even be tugging on his clothes, determined to race over here and punish her.

She stopped laughing.

Having trouble catching her breath, Glory scrambled out of the bed. Her jeans and panties floated straight to her ankles. What the hell? Frowning in confusion, she grabbed them, jerked them up, and launched forward. Almost tripped as the clothes tumbled again. Growled. She needed to leave the house, like, now, and the wardrobe difficulties weren’t helping. As she bent to retrieve her stuff, the notebook slid out of her fingers and onto the floor.

She released her clothes and reached out. Her eyes widened as she caught a glimpse of her hand. She was so . . . skinny. Her arm was slender, the bones fine. Her fingers were elegant. Wow. No wonder her jeans no longer fit.

Why hadn’t her slenderness faded with the scene?

The answer hit her, and she grinned. She’d written it a little later. For the next few minutes, she’d be a total babe.

Seriously, she’d never looked hotter. Maybe she should wait here. Maybe she should allow Falon inside. Maybe, as she’d hoped, he would be overcome with lust for her and the real revenge could begin. He would beg her to sleep with him, and she would say, “Hell, no.”

And what if you plump up right before his eyes, huh? What then?

Shit! Glory’s heart jolted into hyperdrive, and she raced throughout her room, kicking off the too-big jeans and panties and jerking on a nightgown. The silky pink material bagged on her, but it was the only thing that would cover her and stay put.

Why was she so nervous, anyway? There was nothing Falon could do to her. Not while she owned the pen. Uh, he could steal it and use it against you.

A knock sounded at the front of the house.

Her mouth fell open, and she straightened. No way. No damn way he’d made it here so quickly. She looked at her bedroom door, turned, and craned her neck to see out the room’s only window. A black SUV sat in the driveway. Damn! He had.

“Glory, Falon’s here to see you,” Godiva called a moment later, only sounding the slightest bit confused.

“Tell him I’m not here.” Glory propelled herself over her bed and to the window. She shoved the glass up and out of the way, never letting go of the pen. Cool air wafted inside, ruffling the thin, gaping gown against her skin as she climbed out. The grass was soft against her bare feet.

Maybe she’d go to Candy Cox’s, she thought, racing through the night. No, no. Candy’s sister was in town or due to arrive in town, and rumor was the woman negated powers of every kind. Worse, Candy’s shape-shifting werewolf boyfriend would be there, which meant more sickening PDA.

She could go to Pastor Harmony’s. Ugh, no, she decided next. Harmony was now a mother. The Desdaine triplets, then? No. The brats were likely to welcome her inside and secretly call Falon and alert him. So where did that leave her?

“Oh, no you don’t,” a male voice boomed behind her.

She gasped, panic infusing her every cell. Goose bumps broke out over her skin. One backward glance—Shit! He’d jumped out her window and was now moving toward her, menacing purpose in his every step. His eyes were narrowed on her.

The forest was a hundred feet in front of her. If she could just—a rock cut into her bare foot, and she fell. Grass padded her landing, but the hard impact still managed to shove the oxygen from her lungs.

“Glory,” he said, sounding concerned.

“Go home.” She grabbed a long, thin stick as she jumped to her feet. Ouch, ouch, ouch. Might come in handy. She jetted forward, taking stock. Heart: still beating. Pen and stick: still in hand. Legs: workable. Aching, but workable. Twigs and rocks continued to scrape into her feet. Worry about the pain later. She just needed to get far enough away from Falon to write him into chains. If not . . .

“I called Hunter,” Falon shouted, closer to her.

She yelped but didn’t allow herself to look back. Already, his masculine scent wafted around her. Faster, woman!

“I want that pen, Glory.”

Shit! He was even closer now. There was no time to hide. As she ran, branches slapping at her, stinging, she began writing on her arm. Twigs reached out and grasped at Falon. The words were barely legible.

Behind her, Falon growled. The rustle of trees echoed through the night.

Was it working?

Several of those twigs caught him and jerked him to a stop.

An animalistic snarl erupted. “Glory!” This time, Falon’s voice carried on the wind. He sounded a good distance behind her. “Stop.”

Glory slowed her steps. Panting, she tossed a look over her shoulder. Her eyes widened, and she ground to an abrupt halt. Limbs had indeed caught Falon. They were wound around him like bands of indestructible silk, anchoring him to the base of a tree. His lips peeled back from his teeth, and he scowled over at her.

“Come here,” he shouted. “Now.”

Despite her wheezing, she was feeling very smug. She turned away from him. One push of her fingers, and she broke the stick she’d grabbed when she’d fallen in two.

“What are you doing? Get over here!”

She gripped the hem of her nightgown and tied the pen inside it. Hopefully, if Falon managed to escape, he would confiscate the stick, thinking it was the pen. That done, she turned back to him and approached, waving the stick smugly.

Her muscles were sore from that run, and as she walked, her arms, legs, and waist began to fill out, the weight returning. Her breasts swelled, stretching the fabric of the nightgown. At least the pen stayed in place.

Still, some of her smugness disappeared. She didn’t want Falon to see her like this, but she wasn’t going to waste any ink making herself skinny again. Not now, at least. Right now he was too furious to experience desire, no matter what she looked like.

When she reached him, she hid her arms behind her back, as if keeping “the pen” out of his reach. Strands of her red hair blustered forward, stroking his face.

His pupils dilated, black swallowing violet. “You can escape tonight, but I will find you. And when I do, I’m going to take that goddamn pen and make you wish you’d never met me.”

She leaned forward, as though she planned to reveal a big secret. “I already do wish I’d never met you.” His warm breath fanned her cheek, a tender caress, and she had to jerk away from him before she did something stupid. Like suck on his earlobe.

Their gazes locked together, a tangle of emotions.

“Look at you,” she said and tsked under her tongue. “At my mercy.”

He raised his chin. “It won’t always be this way.”

“Like I want to keep you in my life that long. Always. Please.” She snorted. “A few weeks should do it.”

“You think I’ll pretend it never happened? Leave you alone afterward?”

“Well, yeah.” She arched a brow. “Unless you want more of me.”

His eyes narrowed to tiny slits. His features were calm, but the pulse at the base of his neck hammered wildly. “More of you . . . interesting choice of words.” Wind danced between them as his gaze perused her.

Her nipples hardened, and she barely restrained herself from covering them with her hands. Instead, she raised her chin and dared him to say something about her weight. She was surprised when he bit his lower lip, as though he was imagining her taste in his mouth—and liked it.

“Witches should have a code of honor, preventing them from hurting others,” he said softly.

“Here’s an idea. I’ll draft up a witches’ code of honor, and you draft up a how to reject a woman nicely code of conduct. Sound good?”

Shame colored his cheeks.

Gold star for me. Now drive the point deeper. “Let me tell you a little something about me, Falon. I have never had much self-esteem. My sisters are tall and slender, and men have always drooled over them. But not me. Not chubby Glor.” She laughed bitterly. She loved her sisters more than anything on this earth, but they were so perfect, so pretty, that she, who was already vapor, became nothing in comparison. “In the span of five minutes, you managed to destroy what tiny bit of feminine pride I had.”

His shoulders flattened against the trunk, his eyes closed, and he drew in a breath. “I admit it. I handled the situation wrong.”

“Yes, you did. You didn’t have to laugh at me. You could have simply said, ‘No, thank you.’”

“I wasn’t laughing at you. Not really. I just wanted to ensure you never came back. Wait. That sounds just as bad. Look, the truth is, sending you away had nothing to do with your appearance.”

“Oh, please.”

“It didn’t.” His lids popped open, and he was suddenly staring at her with such intensity she had trouble breathing. “You’re a witch.”

There was so much hatred in his voice, she stumbled back. “Yeah. So?”

“So, let’s just say I’m not very fond of witches.”

She snorted, refusing to believe him. “You’ve always been nice to Godiva and Genevieve.”

“I wasn’t . . . attracted to them.” The admission was snarled, more an accusation than anything.

“That’s—” Wait. What? He was attracted to her? Pleasure zoomed through her with such potency she almost fell to her knees. But the sensation lasted only five seconds before common sense reared its ugly head. He’ll say anything to soften you. Even a humiliating lie. Pleasure morphed into searing fury.

Why, that . . . that . . . bastard! Her fingers tightened around the stick, and she had to fight the urge to grab the pen and write a hungry lion into the scene. “So you were attracted to me, were you?” she asked as calmly as she was able.

“What do you think?” he muttered, motioning to his dick with his chin.

She dropped her gaze, staring between his legs with wonder. Okay. Maybe he hadn’t been lying. He was hard, his erection straining against his jeans. “Th-that’s not because of me.” Was it?

“Your nipples are hard, and I can see the outline of fine red hair between your legs. Obviously, you’re not wearing any panties. So yeah, it’s because of you.”

Her mouth floundered open and closed. “Only because I’m the only woman present and you’re probably in heat.” Warmth bloomed in her face as she finally covered her breasts with one arm and between her legs with the other. “So you can just look away!”

“Make me.”

“I’ll take away your sight. Just see if I won’t.”

Finally his gaze snapped back up to her face. “Are you truly that cruel?”

Damn him! He’d zapped her anger with those words, making her feel like the wicked witch Evie had teased her about being. “No. I won’t go that far,” she whispered, as shamed as he’d been a moment ago.

“How far are you going to take it, then?”

She peered down at her bare feet—Ick, time for a pedicure—and kicked a rock with the tip of her toe. “I honestly don’t know.”

Falon clenched his jaw, cutting off any words that might try to escape his mouth. A mouth currently watering for a taste of the woman in front of him. Her curves were a thing of beauty. And with ribbons of moonlight seeping from the canopy of treetops, paying her flawless skin absolute tribute, with that flame red hair dancing like naughty nymphs around her shoulders and her lips glistening from the sting of her teeth, his beast wanted to tame her beauty.

Except, she now appeared defeated.

He hated seeing her like that almost as much as he hated being bound. Almost. Right now, however, he was too primed to feel anything more than desire. He wanted her to reach out, to touch him, kiss him. Suck him.

He was hard as a damn rock and needed to come.

“The night you came to my house in that trench coat,” he said.

Her attention suddenly locked on him and the fire blazing inside him. “The night you screwed that fairy hooker? That night?”

Surprisingly enough, her waspish tone delighted him. “Jealous?”

“As if!”

He hadn’t invited the fairy, whatever her name was, to his house. He’d met her in town earlier that day, had talked and laughed with her, but hadn’t meant to take it further. She was married, for God’s sake. Had Glory not been standing in front of him, he would have sent the fairy away. He liked sex, yes, but he’d never allowed a woman inside his home. They tended to linger, and he liked to do the deed and move on.

In fact, the moment Glory had taken off, he’d sent the pink-skinned fairy packing. Despite the fact that she had offered him apples—off of her body. He hadn’t even touched her. Had just stood at the window, peeking out the blinds like a criminal, hoping for and dreading a reappearance from Glory.

He’d been hard then, too, so maybe he should have slept with the fairy. But it had been flame red hair his hands had wanted to tangle in, hazel eyes he’d wanted to stare into, and a soft, plush body he’d wanted to penetrate.

No one else would have done.

Maybe that was why he hadn’t been able to have sex these past few months. He felt guilty for how he’d hurt Glory, so his body would no longer allow him to respond to other women. Maybe he needed to sleep with her once—or twice—and build up her self-esteem. She’d feel better about herself, he’d stop feeling guilty for the way he’d treated her, and they could both go on with their lives.

Are you kidding? Are you so hard up you’ve got to bed a witch? Think of the consequences, idiot! She’s nuts now, so how much worse will she be after you’ve slept with her? What if she didn’t want things to end after the sex was over? What if she tried to punish him again?

“Uh, hello?” she said, exasperated.

“What?” he asked more harshly than he’d intended.

She crossed her arms over her chest, drawing the material of her gown tight over her breasts. And nipples. Which were still hard. She was killing him. He could make out the edge of the pen between her fingers, but he couldn’t make himself care.

“You mentioned the incident,” she said. “Well, what about it?”

He’d had a point, hadn’t he? Oh, yeah. “You were aroused when you came to me.”

A huffy gasp left her. “No, I was not! I was going to give you a chance to arouse me. That’s all.”

“Please. You flashed me, and baby, you were already glistening.”

Her cheeks heated to the same shade as her hair, making her all the lovelier. “You are very close to losing your favorite appendage.” Scowling, peering at him hotly, she jerked the hand holding the pen forward and poised it just below his nose.

“Wait, wait, wait,” he rushed out. Damn her and her powers! He lost his erection as every reason he hated witches flashed through his mind. “I’m sorry.” But not as sorry as you’ll soon be. “You were cold as ice that night.” You nearly singed me. “You weren’t turned on at all.” The scent of your desire is still imprinted on my brain.

Slowly, she lowered her arm, expression mollified.

The limbs binding him began to loosen their grip, and he blinked in surprise. Was it possible? With a twist of his wrist, he was free. That easy, that simple, as if he’d never been bound. He had to hold on to the limbs to keep them upright. He blinked again, doing his best to hide his elation.

Glory was going to pay. Oh, was she going to pay. First, he had to claim that fucking pen!

“Com’ere,” he said as gently as he was able. “Please. I want to tell you a secret.”

She shook her head, red curls flinging in every direction. “What kind of secret?” Suspicion danced in her eyes.

He tried to look troubled.

“Tell me like this. No one can hear us.”

“I don’t want to say it aloud. It’s . . . embarrassing.”

Several moments ticked by, and she remained in place. Then she sighed and stalked to him, hands fisted on her hips. She was so sure of her prowess—and his weakness. She’d learn . . .

“What?” she said.

Her feminine fragrance wafted to his nostrils, the same aroma she’d emitted that night on his porch. In the cell. She still desired him. He took a moment to simply enjoy. Savor. Crickets chirped a lazy song, and locusts rattled an accompanying, faster rhythm. In the distance, a dog barked. Around them, pink flower petals floated through the air, warm and sweet, each laced with a strong aphrodisiac. He’d heard that Glory had cast a love spell over the entire town, and since that day the petals had fallen from the sky like summer snow.

“What?” she demanded again.

“This.” He grinned, and snapped his arms closed around her waist.

She yelped.

“Got ya,” he said.

Four

Shock coursed through Glory, and it was mixed with an insidious thread of desire. Falon had her locked against his hard, hot body so tightly she could feel the frantic beat of his heart. Or maybe that was her heartbeat. Her breasts were mashed into his chest, her nipples like hard little points, and every time she breathed, she sucked in the scent of strength and soap and dark spice.

“Nothing to say?” Falon asked smugly.

“Let me go. Now.” Trying not to panic, she attempted to lift her arms, attempted to flatten her palms against his chest and push him away from her, but her arms were glued to her sides.

“None of that,” he said, latching onto her wrists with one hand and shoving them behind her. With his free hand, he grabbed the stick. Clearly, he assumed it was the pen, because his grin widened.

“Mine now,” he said, and stuffed it into his pants pocket.

Do not smile. “Give it back.”

“Make me.”

Not knowing how to respond, she ran her tongue over her teeth.

His gaze followed the movement, his pupils dilating.

“What are you going to do with me?” she demanded. Or rather, meant to demand. Her voice was breathless. Again. Her body was trembling—and not with fury. How did he do this to her? Make her want him despite everything that had happened between them?

“I don’t know,” he answered honestly. “I need to think about it, consider my options. Because I can’t allow you to run wild, using your powers against everyone who pricks your anger.”

“Yeah, well, before you, I didn’t use my powers for bad things.”

“So I’m just special?”

“Of course you’d think so.” Good. Her voice had substance now. “But the real answer is that you’re simply the most irritating person I’ve ever met.” Kiss me. Let it be a terrible experience so that I never crave it again.

He leaned down and traced the tip of his nose along the curve of her cheek, leaving a trail of decadent fire. Glory tried not to arch her hips and rub against his erection, but she did and, oh, Goddess, was he ever erect. Long and thick, hard and smoldering.

He groaned, his eyelids fluttering closed. “Again,” he commanded.

Stop. Don’t do this. Don’t travel down this road. A kiss is one thing. But this. . . Ceasing her gyrations was the most difficult thing Glory had ever done, but she did it.

And suddenly he was eyeing her again, lashes casting menacing shadows over his cheeks and electric gaze piercing her soul. “I’m going to kiss you.” It was a promise. “And you’re going to kiss me back.” It was a rough demand.

“No, you’re not.” Please, please, please. “And no, I’m not.” Impossible.

“Yes, we are. We have to do something to end the madness.”

“Fine. Whatever. Do what you want.”

“This doesn’t change anything.”

“I’m glad you understand that.”

“Try to take the pen, and you’ll regret it.”

“I’ll regret it anyway.”

He arched a brow. “Do you always have to have the last word?”

“Why, yes, I—”

His lips smashed into hers. Her mouth opened automatically, welcoming him inside. He thrust deep, and his flavor filled her mouth. Drugging, addicting. White-hot. A tingling ache sparked to life in her stomach, then spread to her chest, her limbs. She melted into him.

The iron lock on her wrists loosened. Rather than shove him, she wrapped her arms around him, pulling him closer. Her fingers tangled in his silky hair. His hands were free now, too, and they fastened on her waist, urging her forward and backward, mimicking the motions of sex.

Waves of pleasure constantly speared her. This was what she’d dreamed of since going to him that night, so long ago. His mouth on her, his hands all over her, his body straining against hers.

“More?” he whispered.

She nibbled on his bottom lip. “More.”

He reached between them and palmed one of her breasts. His fingers plucked at the hardened nipple. “So perfect.”

Moaning, she arched her hips. Exquisite contact. Her head dropped backward, and her long tresses tickled her overheated skin. Had Falon not been holding her up with that arm around her waist, she would have fallen.

No, wait. She was gripping spikes of his hair, tugging them. Hard. A few had already ripped from his scalp and were wrapped around her fingers.

He didn’t complain.

She eased closer to him, relaxing her clasp. Her mouth found his neck, and she licked. His skin was a little abrasive, but perfect.

“You’re so hot,” he said.

“On fire,” she agreed. She licked the seam of his lips.

He captured the tip of her tongue and sucked. The hand on her waist slid down . . . down . . . and cupped her ass. As he’d correctly guessed earlier, she wasn’t wearing any underwear, and the tops of his fingers teased her most feminine core. She was so wet, she practically dripped between her legs.

“Shit. You’re killing me.” One of his fingers stroked her clitoris.

A tremor rocked her. Shouldn’t be this good. Not with him.

Before the thought finished whispering through her mind, her entire world spun. Then cool bark was pressing into her back, and Falon was searing her front. He pinned her arms over her head with one hand and palmed her breast with the other.

“I knew you’d be this good,” he growled, not sounding the least bit happy about it.

“Wh-what?” Trying to find her common sense, she blinked open her eyes. When had she closed them? Falon loomed over her. His features were harsh, lined with tension, his gaze a swirling sea of blues, purples, and pinks. How odd. They’d never looked that way before.

His shoulders were so wide, his body seemed to engulf her. Sweat beaded over his sun-kissed skin. He was like an animal whose stomach was rumbling—and he’d just spotted his prey. “Knew it,” he finished. “Feared it.”

What was he talking about? Feared what? And why wasn’t he kissing her? “Falon, I—”

“I want this nipple in my mouth.”

“Yes.” Please, yes. That still qualified as kissing. “Hurry.”

He ripped her nightgown down, revealing both mounds of her breasts. They were large. Overflowing. The nipples were pink, the hardened tips desperate. For a long while, he simply stared down at her.

Glory’s cheeks began to heat, and not with desire. Did he like what he saw? He was used to slender women, had once turned Glory away because she wasn’t his type. How could she have forgotten?

Embarrassed to her soul, she jerked at his hold, meaning to slide the nightgown back in place. He held strong.

His lips curled in a frown. “What are you doing?”

“Ending this,” she said, unable to look at him.

“Be still.”

“No.”

He increased the death grip on her wrists, and his other hand cupped her chin, forcing her to face him. “Why do you want to end it?”

“Because.” Like she’d say it aloud. But maybe that’s what he wanted. Maybe that’s how he meant to punish her.

Punishment. Of course. How could she have forgotten?

You brought this on yourself. Tears burned her eyes, and her chin trembled.

“What’s wrong? You look ready to cry.”

“Let me go,” she commanded brokenly, focusing on his nose so that she wouldn’t have to see those amazing eyes of his and whatever emotion was now banked there.

A moment passed in silence.

“Glory,” he said.

Do it; look at him. Get it over with. See his disgust and start to hate him again. Slowly, her gaze lifted. When their eyes met, she gasped. There was a fire raging there. Tension still branched his mouth, and sweat still trickled down his temples. He looked on edge, aroused to the point of pain.

“I think you are the most beautiful creature I’ve ever beheld. And, like I said, I want your nipple in my mouth, and I think you want it there, too.”

She gulped, unable to speak past the sudden lump in her throat.

“I’m going to release your arms. You can push me away or you can urge me closer. The choice is yours.”

And just like that, she was free. Her arms fell to her sides. She gripped the tree, and jagged bits of bark cut past her skin. The sting did nothing to dampen her desire. He was so hard and hot against her he was like a brand. The pulse in his neck galloped fiercely. His lips were red and glistening from the kiss.

His chest had stopped moving, she realized. He was holding his breath. Waiting. The knowledge . . . softened her. Was he afraid she’d leave him?

With a shaky hand, she reached out and palmed his erection.

He hissed in a breath.

The tip of his penis had risen well above the waist of his jeans. Actually, the material was so strained, the button had snapped open on its own.

“Trying to torture me?” he croaked. “’Cause it’s working.”

Was it? She moistened her lips and released him. Was bereft without him in her hand.

Now he moaned.

Despite the warnings trying to slither into her mind, she cupped her breasts and lifted them. “Touch me.”

His eyes widened in surprised delight. A moment later, he dipped down and flicked his tongue against one pearled nipple, then the other.

She’d experienced pleasure before, but that had been nothing compared to this. There was an invisible cord from each of her nipples that lead straight to her core, as if he were actually thrumming her clitoris while he licked her. This was Falon, the man she’d fantasized about for years. The man’s whose strength and heat and raw intensity destroyed her defenses and made her crave . . .

Soon she was writhing, couldn’t have remained still if the plan had been to pretend she felt nothing for him to undermine his confidence and try to convince him he was lacking. He was not lacking.

He scraped her with his teeth, and she groaned. His fingers caressed a path down her stomach. Her muscles quivered when he paused. Glory felt as though she stood on a precipice, waiting to be pushed over. Would he delve lower, like before, only . . . deeper?

“How did I ever find the strength to send you away?” he asked hoarsely.

Some of the flames inside her dwindled to a crackle, and she almost screamed in frustration. If he kept talking, kept reminding her of their painful history, she might lose her pleasure buzz. “No more talking. You’ll ruin it.”

A soft chuckle rumbled from him. The tip of one finger traced a circle around her navel, then dipped again, lower this time. Dabbling at the small triangle of hair, tickling. “Nothing could ruin this. You’re perfection.”

Her? Perfection? Entranced, she parted her legs, giving him all the access he could possibly need.

Through the material of the nightgown, he circled her clitoris next. Again. Finally. He pressed.

“Oh, bright lightning,” she gasped.

“Like that?”

“Yes. More.”

He didn’t give it to her but continued to play with her, revving her to that sense of uncontrollable desire again. “You’re so wet,” he praised. “For me.”

“Yes. You.” She tried to arch into his touch, tried to force his fingers to press harder. “Falon.”

“Oh, but I like the sound of my name on your lips.” His tongue glided up to her collarbone, his teeth nipping along the way. She turned her head aside, and he sucked at her pulse.

“I want to get on my knees. I want to taste between your legs. Say yes.” He gripped the hem of her nightgown, slowly lifting.

“Ye—” Red alert! blared inside her mind, shoving past her need to scream yes. If he touched the knot in her gown, he would discover the pen. He would realize he’d taken a stick from her instead.

His knuckles brushed her thigh, and her knees almost buckled. “All you have to do is say yes, and my tongue will be inside you . . .”

His dark head, buried between her legs . . . one of her knees, draped over his shoulder . . . his tongue, stroking her to orgasm . . . She yearned for it so badly she had tears in her eyes. But she forced herself to say, “No,” and at last to shove him away.

The action was puny, really, but he released her. He was panting, eyes narrowed. She was panting, eyes still burning.

“Things have already gone too far,” she managed to get out. Do I sound as breathless to him as I do to myself? “This ends now.”

He scrubbed a hand over his mouth, his gaze never leaving her face. “Oh, I get it. Punishment received.”

He turned and stalked from her, and she wanted to shout that this hadn’t been a punishment, not for him, but the words congealed in her throat, and then it was too late, anyway, because he disappeared from view.

Five

Falon fumed for the next three days. For three reasons. (Three must be his new lucky number.) One, Glory had outsmarted him, leaving him with a magicless stick rather than the revenge pen. Two, he hadn’t gotten nearly enough of her and had thought about her constantly. And three, she was now ignoring him, as if he didn’t fucking matter to her.

He should be happy about that last one.

He wasn’t. Damn it, he wasn’t!

Motions clipped, he paced through his living room, trying to decide what to do. Like his lack of happiness, this should have been a nobrainer: stay out of her life. Never antagonize her again. She’d had her revenge. She’d made him burn, desperate for her, and then had rejected him. They were even. There was no reason they had to deal with each other again. Most likely, bad, magical things would happen if they did.

“As well as hot and sweaty,” he muttered. Her passion had been a thing of beauty. She’d writhed against him, her lush body flushed, her hazel eyes blazing. Her breasts had overflowed in his hands. Her skin had been the softest he’d ever caressed. Her long red hair had tumbled down her shoulders and arms, the perfect frame for her exquisite loveliness.

What would have happened if she’d have let him strip her? What would have happened if he’d spread her legs and pounded inside her?

“Heaven, that’s what.” But what about afterward? Would she have wanted more from him or been done with him? Would she have used her naughty magic against him again?

Falon scrubbed a hand over his scalp, nails raking. He was—or rather, had been—crown prince of the Fae. Women had thrown themselves at him, hoping to be queen. None had captured his interest. Then he’d meet Frederica, the witch, and had been entranced. Now he thought, perhaps, she’d used a love spell on him and there at the end it had worn off. But even still, he hadn’t hungered for her the way he hungered for Glory. Glory challenged him in every way imaginable.

“Not hard, nowadays,” he muttered.

To serve Penelope for the required year in order to gain his freedom from Frederica’s impotence curse, he’d had to relinquish his crown. His brother, Falk, had then taken over. Falk was a good king, respected, admired, and loved. Falon didn’t have the heart to take it from him when the year ended. What kind of king would I make, anyway? Not a good one, that was for sure. He’d always been too wild.

Besides, over the years he’d managed to carve out a decent life for himself. He didn’t need money, but he worked with Hunter at the bar. Amusements abounded, and there was never a dull moment. Brawls, seductions. Plus, it was a hub of information. When people were drinking, they tended to spill their deepest secrets. A few months ago, Falon had overheard three female fairies planning to poison Falk. He’d passed the information on, and the women had been captured in the act, Falk saved.

Falon sighed, his gaze traveling through his home. To thank him, Falk had sent him gifts. Lots and lots of gifts. From plush crimson couches to thick obsidian rugs. From jeweled goblets to a tiered chandelier. While the outside of his modest house might look ordinary, the inside was like a sultan’s palace. White lace even hung from each of the doorways. Not his doing. Falk had also sent a decorator.

Falon stopped in front of the velvet sapphire lounge. He pictured Glory splayed across it, naked, her little pink nipples hard. The lamp resting on the marble table beside the seat would be lit, and she would be bathed in a golden glow. She would nibble on her bottom lip, her eyes closed, lashes casting shadows on her cheeks, hand delving down her soft stomach, fingers sinking into the red curls between her legs.

Just like that, he was rock hard. Again.

“Damn it!”

He needed to bed her. Just once. Otherwise, he’d never be able to get her out of his head.

Growling low in his throat, he stalked to the emerald-studded phone. He’d kind of liked his old one, plain and tan, but oh, well. He dialed Glory’s number. This is dumb, this is so damned dumb. His blood heated at the thought of hearing her sultry voice. What would she say to him?

One of the Tawdry sisters answered on the third ring. “Yeah, hello.” She sounded breathless.

“I need to speak with Glory.”

“Falon? Is that you?”

“Yes, who’s this?”

“This is Genevieve.”

“Hey, Evie. I really need to speak to Glory.” Before he came to his senses and took matters into his own hands. Literally.

“Is something wrong?”

He closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “Look, is she around?”

“Well, yeah, but I don’t think she’ll want to chat with you, and maybe that’s for the best. She’s in a mood.”

Evie sounded like that was newsworthy. When wasn’t Glory in a mood? “Is something wrong with her? Is she okay?”

“Meaning, did someone physically hurt her? No. You know they’d be dead by my magic if they did.”

A warning? “Emotionally, then.”

“I don’t know. You tell me. Did you kiss her?” Evie asked.

“Who you talking to, baby?” Falon heard in the background.

“Let me speak with Hunter,” Falon said.

Crackling static, and then his best friend was saying, “What’s going on?”

“Glory okay?”

“Oh, man. She’s been stomping around the house for three days, muttering about a stupid kiss, a stupid man, and stupid revenge. She write you into another scene or something?”

“No.” But she could do so at any moment, which made him all kinds of an idiot for making this call. And why was she angry? She’d rejected him. He’d done nothing but try to pleasure her.

“My advice, bro, is to just leave her alone. She’ll calm down, and then she’ll forget all about you.”

That was the problem. Falon didn’t want her to forget him. Shit. He seriously needed to forget her.

“Uh-oh. Here she is,” Hunter muttered.

“I’m going for a run,” Falon heard her grumble.

“You? Run?” Shock dripped from Evie’s voice.

“Well, no one in this household can seem to master magical weight loss, so I’m running the pounds off. You got a problem with that?”

“You don’t need to lose weight,” he wanted to shout. Then he thought, She’ll be out of the house. It’ll be the perfect time to search her room and snatch that pen. Once the pen was out of her possession, seduction wouldn’t be so dumb. A lie, but he didn’t care. “Talk to you later, Hunter,” he blurted. “Don’t tell her I called.” He hung up, grabbed his car keys, and stalked into the waiting daylight.

Glory ran until her lungs felt like they’d caught fire. She ran until her body was shaking from exertion. She ran until her mind was mush. Sadly, none of those things shoved Falon from her mind.

Him and his too-soft lips, his decadent, drugging taste. His hardness, his sweet hands. His final request to taste her. She’d stayed away from him, hadn’t even tried to punish him again.

Sweat poured from her as she stumbled up the porch steps and into her house. Cool air kissed her skin. She propped herself against the nearest living room wall and hunched over, trying to catch her breath. It had taken her a few hours after leaving him in the forest to deduce exactly how he’d convinced her, even for a second, that he truly desired her.

Good thing she’d stopped him. Only two other outcomes had been possible: he would have stopped before actual penetration, leaving her gasping and desperate, or, if they’d actually gone all the way, he would have told her how bad she was afterward. He might have laughed at her again.

Her teeth ground together as she straightened. He’d told her she would regret using the pen against him. Now she did. She needed a distraction.

The living room was empty. “Evie,” she called. “Godiva.”

No reply.

Had they left, or were they in their rooms, getting it on? Glory rolled her eyes and pretended there wasn’t an ache in her chest. Probably the latter, the disgusting witches. Did they ever take a break? Legs screaming in protest, she lumbered forward, using the wall as a prop.

Down the hall she maneuvered. When she reached her bedroom door, she waved her hand over the knob, magically unlocking it. The door creaked open, and she stumbled inside, forced to kick past the clothes and food wrappers still scattered across the floor.

“Hello, Glory,” a strong, male voice said.

She gasped, frozen in place, gaze searching. Her heart pounded in her chest, nearly cracking her ribs when she spotted the intruder. Falon was splayed out on her bed. His dark head rested on her pillow, his arms propped behind his neck.

He wore a clinging black T-shirt that veed at the neck and jeans that showed off the muscles in his thighs.

“Wh-what are you doing here? And how did you get in?” No. No! He’d seen the national disaster state of her bedroom. Seriously, a bra hung from the lamp beside her bed. Sadly, she looked worse. “Don’t look at me,” she said, wanting to turn away as his eyes drank her in.

“Why? You’re beautiful. I like looking at you. Just as you are,” he added.

She rubbed her damp palms against her thighs. “What are you doing here?” she repeated, because she didn’t know how else to react to his praise. The pleasure she felt was unacceptable.

“I would have pegged you for a neat freak,” he said, ignoring her question. Again.

At least he didn’t sound disgusted. “So?”

“Where’s the pen?” he asked conversationally.

She raised her chin. “Like I’ll tell you.”

“You haven’t used it against me since our . . . the . . . our time in the forest.” Had he just stammered? Had his voice dropped with desire?

“Maybe I just haven’t thought of the appropriate punishment yet.”

One of his brows arched, and he sat up slowly. “Punishment for what? Making you feel good?” Now his voice was dry. “Or not taking you all the way?”

“Just get out.” She pointed to the hallway.

He flattened his palms at his sides, his gaze roving over her. That white-hot gaze lingered at her breasts, between her legs, reminding her of everywhere he’d touched—and everywhere he’d wanted to touch. She gulped. She was wearing a white tank top and sweat shorts, and sweat still poured down her flushed skin. She probably looked ridiculous and frumpy.

“Your skin is glistening,” he said, and there was enough heat in his eyes to keep her warm all winter. If Mysteria ever got cold, that is.

“Sweat does that to a girl.”

“I wish I had been the one to make you sweat.”

Now her heart skipped a beat. “What do you want from me, Falon? An apology? Well, you’re not going to get one. We’re even. I’m done with you.”

His eyes sharpened. “You’re not done with me. Not until you destroy the pen in front of me.”

“No. There’s ink left.”

“So you plan to use it against me again? You just said we’re even.”

“We’re even now. I destroy it, and you’re free to torment me for the rest of your life.”

He leaned forward, and she caught the scent of soap and dark spices. Shivered—then shuddered. What did she smell like?

“I’ll swear not to hurt you,” he said.

“And I’m sure you’ll mean it. Today. What about tomorrow?”

Growling, he fell back into the mattress and scoured a hand down his face. She noticed he did that a lot when he was frustrated. “I came here to find the pen, but do you know what I really wanted to do?” He didn’t wait for her to reply. “I wanted to follow you on your run, make sure you were safe.”

Really? How . . . sweet. Some of the ice around her heart melted. Don’t believe him, stupid!

“I wanted—want—to strip you, make love to you. Finish what we started. I can’t get you out of my mind. You’re the last person I should want.” Now he seemed to be talking to himself. “But want you I do. Maybe if I have you, I can stop thinking about you.”

Oh, how she wished. He’d consumed every corridor of her mind since their kiss. Always she craved him. Always she dreamed of him, hungered. Sometimes she was even willing to toss caution aside and go to him, beg him to take her. But . . .

What would happen afterward?

She had several strikes against her. She was a witch, and he hated witches. He was perfection, and she was the epitome of imperfection. She’d spent the last week torturing him.

Three strikes. You’re out, girl. Glory sighed. She was afraid she’d already fallen for him, though. He was strength, and he was courage. He hadn’t backed down from her once, even though her powers were considerable, and she could do major damage to him. His kisses were the best thing to have ever happened to her. His touch, electric. Finally she’d gotten a glimpse of what Evie and Hunter, Godiva and Romeo must experience every night. And different hours through the day. She’d liked it, wanted more.

Wanted him.

“No response?” he said, cutting through the silence.

She shook her head in hopes of clearing it. “You’re willing to have me now?”

“I was willing before. I just fought against it.”

“But you’re not fighting now?”

“No. I can’t.” He rolled to his side and stared over at her. “I’m helpless. Did you cast a love spell on me?”

“No!”

“I didn’t think so,” he muttered. “Hoped, but didn’t think.”

“Why not?”

“Because a witch did it once, and this isn’t the same.”

Her shoulders sagged. No love for her, he meant.

“It’s more intense,” he grumbled, surprising her.

Her legs began shaking more forcefully, and any moment she feared she would collapse. Somehow she managed to stumble to the chair in the corner and plop atop the many T-shirts heaped there. Falon’s gaze never left her. She felt it boring past her skin and straight into her soul.

“You want me, too,” he said. Hard, flat. “Don’t try to deny it.”

As if she could. “Who tried to deny it?”

His lips formed a thin line. Almost a smile, but not quite.

“Look, I came to you once offering the same thing. One night. You rejected me.”

“Yes, and it was the biggest mistake of my life.”

“Because you were made to suffer for it,” she said. A statement rather than a question.

“No. Because I crave you.”

Truth or lie? She dared not hope. “Now you’re out to protect yourself from me, and that’s perfectly understandable, but—”

“I don’t need protection from you,” he snapped.

“Falon, we’ll never be able to trust each other. We’ll always suspect each other’s motives.”

“We can call a truce. I’m not asking for a lifetime. I’m asking for a night. And when you came to me that night, that’s all you wanted, too.”

“I—I—” Wanted to say yes, she realized. Wanted it more than anything. After his kiss, though, she couldn’t delude herself and hope the sex would be so bad she’d never desire him again. The sex would be great. At least for her. She would want more than a night; she knew that now. He . . . affected her. “I can’t,” she finally said.

“Damn it. Why?” He shot up again, glaring at her.

If he approached her, if he touched her . . . Tremors racked her, part of her wishing he’d do it. Force her hand. “We bring out the worst in each other.”

Surprisingly, that mollified him somewhat. “I don’t know. I thought we brought out the best in each other while in the forest.”

“That was a mistake.”

“My favorite mistake, then.”

Goddess, if he kept saying things like that, she’d cave. Already her defenses were cracked. Really, what would one time hurt? Sure, she might fall for him even more than she already had. Sure, she might crave more from him. Sure, he might compare her to every girl he’d ever been with, and she would definitely come out lacking. Sure, this might be a scheme on his part to castigate her for using that pen against him. But she’d have an orgasm, so what did those things matter?

And what if . . . what if he truly desired her? What if he enjoyed being with her?

What if: the most dangerous words known to man.

“I just can’t,” she forced herself to say. Her voice cracked, just like her defenses. She had to swallow a sudden lump in her throat. “My answer is and will always be no. Find someone else.”

“You want me to sleep with another woman?” he gasped out, incredulous.

“Yes?” she replied, a question she’d meant as a statement.

“You won’t care?”

“No.” Her hands curled into fists as rage swam through her bloodstream. She’d destroy anyone he touched. Obliterate anyone he—What are you doing? Stop thinking like that! “I can give you a love potion for the woman if you think it’d help.” Idiot! What are you saying?

I thought I was supposed to push him—oh, never mind. Damage done.

Scowling, he jackknifed to his feet. “You want me to be with someone else, I’ll be with someone else. I don’t need a fucking love potion to do it, either. See you around, Glory.”

Glory watched him stride from her bedroom, heard the front door slam. Her shoulders sagged against the chair, and she covered her mouth with a shaky hand. What the hell had she just done?

Six

He’d made the boast to see another woman. Now he had to see it through. Shit, Falon thought. But if he had to prod Glory’s temper until she snapped and used that stupid pen, he’d do it. Do anything to have her in his arms again. What’s happened to me? He’d gone from hating her powers to craving them. He just flat-out refused to be ignored by her any longer.

“I’ll give you a love potion,” he mocked. He’d seen the jealousy flare in her gorgeous eyes when they’d talked about him dating another woman. Glory hadn’t wanted him to sleep with someone else; she just hadn’t wanted to admit she desired him for herself. So he’d make her do it. Because he had to get his hands on her breasts, had to rub himself between her legs. Had to have her taste in his mouth and her pleasure moans in his ears. Then he could hate her magic again. Then he would go back to being a rational male who didn’t need anyone in particular.

He massaged the back of his neck. Hopefully, if he worked this just right, he wouldn’t earn himself another year of impotence. Hopefully, Glory would write the two of them into a sensual scene, and he would be able to finally, blessedly seduce her.

Who would have guessed he’d be reduced to seducing a witch? Not him, definitely. Yet here he was, at home again and picking up the phone to dial an old lover who was still a friend.

When she answered, he said, “I need a favor. And before you say yes, you should know we’ll be dealing with a very powerful and somewhat insane witch.”

And then, when he hung up with Kayla, he called Hunter. His best friend answered, and he said, “Look, I need a favor, and you owe me, so don’t even think about saying no.”

“Hurry, up, Glor!”

“I’m hurrying, swear.” The moment Glory had sailed through the front door of their home, her sisters had rushed her into the shower. They’d thrown a tight black dress and lacy lingerie at her when she’d emerged.

Now she was in the process of fitting her body into the sheer clothing. She should use the pen to make herself slender again but didn’t want to waste the ink for some silly dinner.

Hunter was taking them to the Love Nest, a five-star restaurant that catered to the affairs of the heart. Gag. She’d rather vomit than go, but Godiva had batted those sweet hazel eyes at her, and she’d found herself agreeing.

Unfortunately, the shower had failed to wash away the trials of the day. Glory had spent six hours in town, hawking her love potions for a little extra spending money. A few times, she’d wondered what she would do if one of the women who’d purchased a vial of Number Nine used it on Falon. Then she’d thought, If he truly loves someone, no potion will sway his heart. Then she’d thought, If he doesn’t love anyone, he’s fair game. Which basically meant Falon was fair game.

The knowledge had settled uneasily inside her, made her twitchy. She’d always considered her powers a blessing. For her, for others. Perhaps Falon was right, though. Perhaps she was a danger to everyone around her. But it wasn’t like she could forsake her powers. They were a part of her.

“We’re going to be late,” Evie said, drawing her from her musings.

“So? I think the restaurant will survive.”

“So Hunter is a vampire and only has a limited amount of time to play. Hurry.”

Glory sighed. “You’re right. I’m sorry. Maybe I should stay home. I’m in a terrible mood. Besides, I should be working. I have a book due in a few months, and I haven’t written a word.”

Now Evie batted hazel eyes at her. “You can put it off for another night. Please. For me.”

She had no willpower when it came to pleasing her sisters. “Fine. I’ll go. What are we celebrating, anyway?”

“The anniversary of the first time Hunter said he loved me.”

Trying not to grimace, Glory spun and faced her sister. “Are you freaking kidding me?”

Clueless, Evie shook her dark head. “No.”

The two lovebirds celebrated everything! The anniversary of the first time they had laid eyes on each other. The anniversary of the first time they had made love. The anniversary of Hunter’s change from human to vampire. It was truly sickening. “Isn’t that something the two of you should celebrate alone?”

“We will.” Evie’s lips curled slowly, suggestively. “Later.”

Godiva peeked her pale head around the door. “Ready, sister dear? Oh, my.” Her body rounded the rest of the corner, and then she was walking forward, expression warm. “You look gorgeous.”

There wasn’t a single malicious cell in her oldest sister. The woman was pure gentleness and had always been that way. “I feel silly,” she admitted. She faced the full-length mirror.

The black dress flowed gracefully over her hips, gossamer, like a butterfly’s wing. But with her arms stretched down at her sides, the hem did not even reach her fingertips. Thin straps held the material in place on her shoulders. A beaded empire waist cinched everything in just under her breasts, before flaring and floating free.

Overall, the dress was a naughty version of a Grecian toga. On her feet, she wore strappy black sandals. Her toenails were painted a vivid shade of emerald.

“You’ve always been the most beautiful of us,” Godiva said.

“Hey.” Evie frowned at their oldest sister. “I’m standing right here. What am I, dog food?”

Godiva waved a hand in dismissal. “You’ve always been the firecracker.”

“You’ve always been the peacemaker,” Glory said, “and let’s be real. I’ve always been the—”

“Nope,” Godiva interjected, gripping her shoulders and spinning her. “I’m not going to allow you to put yourself down. You are an amazing woman, and it’s time you realized that.”

Fighting tears, Glory kissed her sister softly on the cheek. “I love you.”

“Love you, too.”

Evie threw her arms around them with such force, they gasped. “I love you guys, too. Now let’s haul ass! And, Glory, bring your pen. You know, just in case.”

Everything inside of her froze with dread. “Just in case what?” Each word was punctuated with warning. Had Evie done something?

“Who knows? It’s a beautiful night. Anything can happen.”

“I never thought I’d see you like this.”

Falon eyed Kayla Smith from across their candlelit table. She was a beautiful woman with pale hair, bright blue eyes, and legs that went on forever. Sadly, she did nothing for him. Not anymore.

She was cousin to Candy Cox, the infamous high school teacher now dating a werewolf; was fully human; and had lived in Mysteria so long she found nothing unusual about vampires, goblins, fairies, or witches. They’d dated on and off for a few months, realized they were working themselves into a relationship, and had backed off. Neither of them had wanted to be tied down. He’d always liked that about her. She was fun and playful and never took anything too seriously. Even men.

But he found himself wondering how Glory had been with past boyfriends. Fun and playful, which he decided he no longer liked? Hopefully, Glory had been miserable with other men. Or had she been serious, which for some reason he liked even less. Fine. He just didn’t like the thought of Glory with another man, period.

More, he found that he didn’t like the fact that he didn’t know everything about her. Suddenly he yearned to know what she ate for breakfast, what her favorite song was, what she dreamed for her life, if she liked to snuggle and watch movies in bed. And if so, were they romantic comedies or action adventure? Probably slashers.

“Are you listening to me?” Kayla asked him.

No. What the hell had she just said? Oh, yeah. She’d never seen him like this. “Yes, of course I was listening. What way do you think you see me?” he asked, his gaze immediately straying back to the restaurant’s front door. Where was Glory?

“On edge for a specific woman.” There was laughter in her voice. “By the way, you missed a very scintillating conversation I just had with, apparently, myself about a hot tub.”

He waved the hot tub away with a dismissive hand. Although, Glory, wet and naked . . . “I’ll get her out of my system.” He hoped. “Don’t worry.” With every minute that passed, he just wanted her more.

How would she react when she saw him with Kayla?

Hopefully—how many things was he hopeful about now?—her sisters had convinced her to bring the pen. Hopefully, she would write them into a bedroom. Maybe chain him to the headboard. Yes, chains could definitely come in handy.

The front door to the restaurant opened. He stiffened, poised on the edge of his seat.

Godiva strolled inside, directly behind her was her boyfriend, Romeo, tall and muscled and very wolfish. Falon’s stomach rolled into a thousand different knots. Evie walked in, saying something over her shoulder. A moment later, Glory came into his sights. Finally!

Breath congealed in his throat. Dear God. She was . . . magnificent. Like the goddess she worshipped. Her long red curls tumbled down her back, and the sheer fabric of her dress swayed over her lush hips and thighs.

Hunter stepped in behind her and approached the hostess. The group was led to a table directly across from Falon’s. The closer she came, the hotter his blood flowed. See me. Want me.

It was as Glory was helped into her seat that she spied him.

Her hazel eyes widened with shock then narrowed with fury. Or arousal. She licked her lips. Spotted Kayla. Gripped the edge of the table so tightly he feared it would snap in half.

“Wow,” Kayla said. “I don’t have to ask which one is yours.”

His. He liked the sound of that.

“She’s the one shooting daggers at us. Or rather, me.”

“Right.”

He should take Kayla’s hand, perhaps kiss it. But he couldn’t bring himself to do it. The only skin he wanted to kiss was Glory’s.

Her sisters took their places at her sides, and he heard her bark, “Did you know about this?”

Both women nodded guiltily.

“Traitors! Why not ask him and his date to join us, then. I couldn’t possibly feel any more uncomfortable.”

“Hey, Falon,” Hunter called. “Glory would really love it if you and your date joined us.”

Glory’s mouth fell open. “I was joking. I didn’t—”

“We’d love to.” He was on his feet a second later, jerking Kayla to hers.

Kayla chuckled softly.

Deep down, he didn’t think Glory would turn the heat of her anger on the other woman. After he’d foolishly turned her away that night, she hadn’t gone after the fairy he’d allowed inside. Only him. Clearly, she was a smart woman and knew where to properly lay the blame.

A waiter dragged two extra chairs to the table, positioning him and Kayla directly across from Glory. He wanted to be closer but would settle for simply looking at her.

You have it bad, man. You’ve gone from hating witches to being desperate for one in less than a week.

Strangely, he didn’t care anymore. Not while he was soaking her in.

“Since the big guy isn’t going to introduce me,” Kayla said, breaking the silence, “I’ll introduce myself. I’m Kayla Smith.”

Everyone introduced themselves. Except for Glory. When it was her turn, she motioned the waiter over and ordered a glass of flaming fairy. Falon nearly choked on his sip of water.

“You know I’m of the Fae. How?” he asked her. Not many people did. He was too big, too much a warrior compared to the usually party-loving race.

Her eyes widened. “You’re Fae?”

Okay, so she hadn’t guessed. He didn’t mind that she now knew; he wanted her to know everything about him. “Yes.”

“Why didn’t you tell me?” Hunter asked, incredulous.

“No one’s business.”

Awkward silence followed.

“Well, this is fun,” Evie said, probably to break the tension.

“A blast,” Kayla agreed. She tossed her hair over one shoulder, revealing sun-kissed skin.

Glory saw the action and popped her jaw.

“I’ve always had low self-esteem,” she’d once told him. Oh . . . shit. Bad move, bringing the ex, he realized. He didn’t want Glory to feel bad about herself or think he found Kayla more attractive. “You’re the prettiest woman here, Glory,” he said honestly.

Her drink arrived, saving her from replying. But her eyes had met his over the candlelight, soft and luminous. Her lashes cast dark shadows over her cheeks. Shadows he wanted to trace with his fingertips.

Menus were thrust at them. Falon didn’t bother opening his. He didn’t care about the food. He continued to watch Glory, couldn’t stop himself. He was entranced. She opened her menu, though she didn’t read it. She still watched him, too.

Her cheeks flushed to a rosy pink. She was clearly having trouble drawing in a breath, her chest rising too quickly and too shallowly.

“Hungry?” he asked her in a low, raspy voice.

Her gaze dipped to his lips. “A little.”

“I’m starved.”

“Why do I get the feeling they’re not talking about food?” Evie muttered.

“Because they’re not,” Hunter told her, “so hush.”

The table fell quiet, all eyes glued to Glory and Falon.

Get your pen, he mentally willed. Write us away from here. But she didn’t. She finally looked away.

His teeth ground together. He’d just have to push her harder, then. God, I’m pathetic.

“I decided to take your advice,” he said.

Fury curtained her features a split second before she blanked her expression. What thoughts tumbled through her mind? “Is that right?” The words were precisely uttered, as though shoved through the crack in a steel wall and ironed out.

“That’s right.”

The waiter came to take their order, but Kayla shooed him away. Hunter, Evie, Godiva, and Romeo propped their elbows on the table, unabashed by their staring.

“Funny that it wasn’t too long ago you protested taking my advice,” Glory said.

“Isn’t it?”

“It is. I’d like to say I’m surprised, but I can’t.” She tapped a nail against her glass, and the red liquid swished. “Not if I’m being honest.”

His lips pursed. Did she truly think so poorly of him? Of course she did, he thought in the next instant. He’d once told her that he hated witches. He’d once told her that he would pay her back for all she’d done to him.

Worry about that later. When she’s naked and under you. Or over you. Right now, you have to push her. “I’m thinking about showing Kayla my favorite . . . gladiator costume. Does that surprise you?”

Hunter choked on his water. Romeo nodded encouragingly. Evie, Godiva, and Kayla leaned forward, obviously intrigued.

Glory gasped at the reminder of the night she’d written him into a slave’s cell, splattered with blood and fresh from battle.

“I’m learning things about you I wish you’d kept hidden,” Hunter muttered.

“Shut it,” Falon told him.

“Why don’t you show her your jackass costume?” Glory asked through clenched teeth. “Oh, wait. You’re already wearing it.”

Okay, he’d walked into that one. Had she been talking about anyone else, he would have laughed. He loved her wit. And she must love warriors. Why else would she have written him into such a situation?

He racked his brain for things he knew about ancient Rome. Not much. Everything he knew, he knew because of Russell Crowe. “For the woman I desire, I would be willing to do anything.” The words were dare, a challenge.

“A few flicks of my wrist, and I can make you prove those words. Violently.”

Do it. “Please.” He snorted. “You’ve run out of ink, and we both know it.”

She leaned forward, curls spilling onto the table. God, she was lovely. “Do you want to die?”

“Yes. Of pleasure.”

Her pupils dilated, and her nostrils flared. Just then, she was like a living flame, fury crackling over her skin. I’m close. So close. Just a little more.

“Maybe you’d like to visit a village of Vikings? Or maybe you’d like to come face-to-face with a Highland chieftain and his sword?”

“If that turned you—her on, then yes.”

Glory ran her tongue over her teeth. Every muscle in his body jerked at the sight of that pink tongue. Oh, to have it on him.

“It would,” Kayla said. “It really would. What do I have to do to get in on this action? I’d prefer a Viking over a chieftain, but will graciously accept whichever you give me.”

Slowly, Glory eased back in her seat. Slowly, she grinned, though the expression lacked any type of humor. “I think something can be arranged. For you,” she added, eyeing Falon, “not her.”

“Please,” Kayla said at the same time he said, “Fine. I understand.” He was thinking, Finally!

As she reached inside her purse, Falon added, “Oh, and Glory?”

“Yes?” Grin feral, she lifted the pen and tapped it against her chin—to taunt him, he wouldn’t doubt. Fire still raged in her eyes.

Are you really going to do this? He peered at her heaving chest, her dilated pupils, her lush, red lips. Hell, yes. “Since I’m doubting you have the courage to write yourself into the scene, I guess I’ll see you when I get back.”

Her eyelids narrowed, and she lost her grin.

He barely stopped himself from laughing. See you there, baby.

Seven

He wanted her to write them both into a scene, an oddity on its own. He hadn’t seemed to mind the thought of his precious Kayla being given to another man; he had seemed more interested in Glory. Glory knew all of those shocking things, but she didn’t understand them.

Why had he fought for magic to be used against him? Why had he antagonized her?

Did the reason matter? she thought next. She was at home, alone in her room, and she was going to use the pen. Not to punish Falon—though she wanted to do so. He’d taken another woman to dinner. A beautiful, slender woman. No, Glory was doing this to be with him, to have him to herself. She’d simply used punishment and anger as an excuse.

When will I learn?

She’d tried to stay away from him. She’d ignored his phone calls, hadn’t ventured near his house. She’d even walked out of a room anytime he had been mentioned. She feared falling so deeply in love with him, she’d never recover. As she’d once told him, they could never trust each other. But she was still going to do this. She craved him, and the craving wasn’t going away.

Despite all of her reasons for avoiding him before, she couldn’t stop herself now. She needed to shove him from her thoughts and dreams, and nothing else had worked. Why not give this a shot and experience another dose of that heady pleasure while she was at it? She’d do her best to guard her heart. Oh, oh. Maybe she could take an antilove potion.

She was nodding as she popped to her feet. Antilove. Of course! There was nothing she could do about the emotions she harbored now. Once there, they were immune to magic. But she could prevent herself from falling for Falon completely.

Clothes and trash soared through the air as she crouched on the floor and rooted through them. Every vial she found, she set aside. Love potion Number Nine. Love potion Number Thirteen.

A magic suppressor. A magic unleasher. Ah, finally.

Straightening, she raised a tiny bottle of swirling, azure liquid. There was a warning label in the center.

“Take with food,” she read. “May cause dizziness. If you become sick, consult your nearest witch.”

She’d given the potion to hundreds of women but had never sampled the goods herself. There’d been no need. The recipe had been designed by her great-grandmother and was now used in every spell book she’d ever encountered. It had to work. No one had ever complained.

“Here goes nothing.” Glory popped the cork and drained the contents. Tasteless but smooth. A minute passed. Nothing happened. Another minute. Still nothing. She tossed the empty bottle over her shoulder. Maybe she wasn’t supposed to feel anything.

Frowning, she swiped up the pen and a notebook and plopped onto the side of her bed. What was Falon doing right now? Was he at home with Kayla? Waiting for Glory to act?

What was the couple doing to pass the time?

“Grr!”

Unable to wait any longer, Glory began writing: Falon is alone in his house, unable to leave. That took care of Kayla. Glory’s frown faded. She wouldn’t make him battle anyone like he’d suggested. That would make her admire him more. Even the image was dangerous. Falon. With a sword. Her mouth watered.

She’d get straight to the sex. Do him and forget him. His clothing suddenly disappears, leaving him naked. As the ink stained the paper, she had trouble drawing in a breath. Her hand was shaking.

Glory appears—

No. She scratched out those two words. Falon was now alone and naked. She couldn’t just appear in front of him looking like this.

Glory weighs one hundred and fifteen pounds and is wearing a lacy, emerald green bra and panty set.

One moment she was draped in the black dress her sister had given her, the next, cool air was kissing her bare skin. Glory looked down. Sure enough, her small, perky breasts were pushed up by emerald lace. Her stomach and legs were thin and glorious. She grinned and kept writing.

Falon is chained to his bed, and Glory suddenly appears in front of him, pen and notebook in hand.

Glory’s messy bedroom faded to black, and then Glory was lying against cool, silky sheets. Cold metal anchored her wrists and ankles in place, her pen and notebook gone. A white chiffon flowed overhead, like a cloud descending from heaven.

“What the hell?” She tugged at her arms. The chains rattled but didn’t budge.

Suddenly Falon approached the side of the bed, the pen and notebook in his hands. He looked at Glory, and his eyes widened. He looked at the contraband he was holding, and he grinned.

“It worked,” he said, shocked. “It really worked.”

Her struggles increased. “What worked? What happened? What did you do to me?” What the hell was going on?

He was naked, and his tanned body was magnificent. Rope after rope of muscle, traceable sinew, and a long, hard erection. A glittering necklace hung from his neck.

She looked away from the sheer majesty of him, struggled some more.

“Be still,” he said.

“Go to hell!” The metal began to cut into her skin, drawing warm beads of blood.

Falon tsked under his tongue. He strode out of the bedroom, leaving her alone.

“Falon!” she cried. Panic infused every corridor of her body. “Don’t leave me like this! Come back.”

He returned a moment later, the pen and notebook gone. In their place were strips of cloth. “Be still,” he ordered again, sharply this time.

She obeyed. She was panting, skin overly hot. At least he’d covered himself with a robe, blocking all that male deliciousness from her view. “What’s going on? How did you do this? You don’t have any powers.”

He eased beside her, and the mattress jiggled. She tried to scoot away, but the chains didn’t allow her to go very far. “No, I don’t have powers. But I do have a friend who is dating a witch who wants her sister happy.”

Her jaw went slack. “Evie helped you?”

Leaning forward and wafting the scent of man and dark spice to her nose, Falon began wrapping the cloth underneath the chains, protecting her skin. Do not soften. She’d taken the antilove potion. She shouldn’t have to warn herself to remain distant, but the potion wasn’t freaking working.

“Hunter questioned Evie about the pen,” he finally explained. “Apparently, Evie failed to tell you that she had a charm to counteract the effects of it.”

“I don’t understand.” Come closer, keep touching me. She had to bite her lip to keep the words inside.

“Anything negative you wrote about the person wearing the charm would be done to you instead.”

Shock sliced through her, as hot as he was. “That’s—that’s—”

“What happened. Hunter also emptied out your potions and replaced them with colored water. Just in case you tried to feed me one.”

So that was why . . . “That little jackass!” No wonder the antilove potion hadn’t worked. Now she was helpless, on her own. The knowledge should have panicked her all the more. Instead, she found herself praying his robe would split, and she would be able to see his nipples. Maybe lick them.

“I had wondered what kind of scene you would write, and must admit I’m surprised by what you chose. I expected hungry lions or a raging, bloody battle and thought I would have to pluck you from its midst. I’d even draped myself in armor, just in case. Then that armor disappeared and I began to hope . . .”

Her cheeks flamed; they were probably glowing bright red. She tried to cover her embarrassment by snapping, “Why didn’t my clothing disappear instead? Since you have the charm and all.”

“The removal of clothing isn’t negative.” His head tilted to the side, and his gaze roved over her. He frowned. “Why do you write yourself like that?”

“Like what?”

“So . . . thin.”

“Because,” was all she said. Because I want to be pretty for you.

“I like you better the other way.”

“Liar. Now write me out of this scene!”

He shook his head. “Hell, no. I’ve got you right where I’ve always wanted you. And I’m not a liar. In fact, I refuse to touch you while you’re like this. When you’re back to normal, then the loving can begin.”

A tremor rocked her. She didn’t dare hope . . . “The chains will disappear by then, too, and if you think I’m staying here, you’re crazy.”

“You can be rechained.”

Good point. “The pleasuring will never begin, because I’ve decided I don’t want you.”

“Now who’s lying?” He pulled a plush lounge next to the bed and sat, gaze never leaving her. “I’ll make a pact with you. I won’t lie to you, if you won’t lie to me. From now on, we’ll be completely honest with each other. Okay?”

“Whatever you say,” she said in a sugar-sweet tone.

“So what do you think of my bedroom?”

“It’s—” She’d been about to say something mean, but then her sights snagged on the crystal chandelier, dripping with thousands of teardrops. On the intricately carved dresser, orchids spilling from vases. A bejeweled tray provided the centerpiece. “Unexpected,” she finally finished.

“Everything inside the house was a gift from my brother.”

Her head snapped toward him. “I didn’t know you had a brother.”

Falon nodded, his hair dancing over his cheeks. “There’s a lot you don’t know about me, but that’s going to change. We’re going to get to know each other, Glory.”

“No.” That would defeat the purpose of loving and leaving. If he continued this, she would leave, but she would not be unscathed.

“Oh, yes,” he insisted. “And every time you reveal a fact about yourself, you’ll earn a reward.”

Goose bumps spread over her skin. “And if I remain quiet?”

Slowly, he grinned. “You’ll earn a punishment. I have the pen, after all.”

This is not fun. This is not exciting. I am not turned on. “Fine. Tell me how many women you’ve had in here.” There. That should deepen—dampen—her terrible—wonderful—mood.

“You are the first.”

She flashed him a scowl. “I thought we weren’t going to lie to each other anymore.”

“I spoke true. You are the first woman I’ve ever allowed inside this bedroom.”

“What about the fairy? That night—”

He held up a hand for silence. “I sent her home the moment you were out of sight.”

Seriously? Glory didn’t know whether or not to believe him, but she adored the idea of his claim. “What about Kayla?”

“Sent her home, too. I didn’t want her; I wanted you. As you might have guessed, I used her to get your attention.”

“Well, you got it,” she grumbled, then cringed at the admission.

“I noticed you the first day I moved into town, you know,” he said.

He’d noticed her? In a good way? She shivered, feeling as if his hands were already on her, caressing, stoking her desire.

“Cold?” he asked.

She nodded, because she didn’t want to admit his words had ignited a storm of desire inside her.

He rose, grabbed the black silk comforter, and tugged it over her. The material was cool against her skin, but damn it, it didn’t dampen her need. No, it increased it. Every nerve ending she possessed cried for him.

Falon placed a soft kiss on her lips. Automatically she opened her mouth to take it deeper. He pulled away.

A moan slipped from her.

“Soon,” he said as he reclaimed his seat. His voice was tense. “Now, back to the first time I saw you. You were outside with your sisters and selling your potions. At the time, I didn’t know they were potions. I just saw a beautiful woman with rosy skin and hair like flame.”

She gulped, couldn’t speak.

“I wanted you so badly.” As he spoke, his fingertip caressed her thigh. “I was making my way toward you when I heard the words ‘potion’ and ‘witch,’ and then I couldn’t get away from you fast enough.”

Maybe he was telling the truth about his desire for her. Maybe he did like her just the way she was. Maybe . . .

“I never tortured anyone until I met you,” she admitted softly.

His head tilted to the side, and he studied her intently, violet eyes blazing. “Why me?”

“Because,” was all she said.

“Glory.”

Just tell him. She sighed. “Because I wanted you, and I knew I couldn’t have you.”

“You wanted me?” he asked huskily.

“You know I did.” She watched him from the corner of her eye. He leaned back and stretched his legs out and up, the robe falling away and revealing his strong calves. There were calluses on the bottoms of his feet, as if he often ran through the forest without shoes on. Made her wonder if he wore any clothes at all. Her stomach quivered with the thought.

“Tell me about the first time you noticed me. Please.”

Like she could deny him anything now. She thought back to that fateful day, and the quiver in her stomach became a needy ache. Well, another needy ache. She was consumed with them. He’d been moving boxes into this very house. She and her sisters had walked here to welcome him to town. When he spotted them, he’d frozen. Introductions had been made, and he’d smiled coolly but politely at Evie and Godiva. Glory, he’d simply nodded at before looking hastily away.

“I thought you were the most beautiful man I’d ever seen. The sun was shining over you lovingly, and you were sweating. Glistening. You’d taken off your shirt, and dirt smudged your chest.”

His lips twitched. “I’ve noticed you have a thing for manly sweat.”

“I do not.”

“You placed me in a gladiator cell straight from battle, woman. You like men who do physical labor. Admit it.”

“So what! There’s nothing wrong with that.”

“No, there isn’t. It’s cute.” He didn’t give her time to respond. “So why did you want to place me in chains tonight?”

She fought for breath. “You know why.”

“Tell me. Say the words aloud.”

“I—I’d decided to be with you. Just once. You know, to purge myself of you like you suggested before.”

“And you thought you needed chains for that?”

“No. I just . . . I wanted to be in control of everything.”

“I don’t think so,” he said with a shake of his head. “In the forest, you almost came when I pinned your wrists over your head and took control away from you. Right now, your nipples are hard, and your skin is besieged by goose bumps. You like where you are.”

Her mouth dried as the realization settled inside her. He was right. She loved where she was. She loved that he could do anything he wanted with her, and she couldn’t stop him. Didn’t want to stop him.

Would one night be enough? She couldn’t possibly learn all there was to know about his body, his pleasure . . . her own.

Oh, damn. Already she was doing what she’d sworn she wouldn’t: falling deeper, wanting more. Fear dug sharp claws inside her. “Maybe this isn’t a good idea,” she said, squirming. “Maybe we should stop here and now and part. As friends. I won’t hurt you again. You have my word. And you even can keep the pen.”

“Oh, I’m keeping the pen,” he said darkly, “but I’m not letting you go.” He pushed to his feet. He was scowling.

“You’re angry. Why? I’m setting you free from our war.”

“I hate the thought of you walking out of this house—ever—and I don’t understand it.” The robe fell from his shoulders and onto the floor, pooling at his feet. She sucked in a breath and simply drank in his magnificence. He was harder than before, his erection so long it stretched higher than his navel.

He grabbed the pen and notebook and started writing. Before she could ask what he was doing, the chains fell away from her. Tentative, she eased up. But she didn’t leave; she couldn’t make herself, though common sense was screaming that she do so inside her mind. This was what she’d asked for.

“Thank you.”

Fight for me. Wait. What? No.

“Not yet.” He continued writing.

Quick as a snap, her weight returned, her bra and panty set nearly unraveling from the sudden excess. She gasped. Falon finally paused, his electric violet eyes all over her, eating her up.

Never taking his gaze from her, he locked the pen and paper inside a drawer on the nightstand, and then he was on the bed, crawling his way toward her.

Eight

Falon had never wanted a woman the way he wanted Glory.

What was it about her that kept him coming back for more, despite her origins? Despite her actions and her words? She was exquisite, yes. Lush and soft, panting with arousal. She smelled of jasmine and magic, which was a feast to his senses. She was vulnerable yet courageous, daring and volatile. She had never and would never bow to him. She would fight him if he wronged her and always demand the very best from him.

He liked that. Liked who he was when he was with her. She made him be a better person. Honest and giving. Hopeful. And now that he thought about it, everything she’d done to him with that pen hadn’t been malicious, it had been . . . foreplay.

His skin was nearly too tight for his bones as he stopped, his palms flattened beside Glory’s knees. “Still want to leave?”

“No,” she said breathlessly. She leaned back, propping her weight on her elbows. The plump mounds of her breasts strained beyond the bra. God, her curves were lovely.

“Want me?” He barely managed to work the words past the lump in his throat.

“Yes.” No hesitation. “Maybe I’m crazy, but yes.”

“Good, because I want you. All of you, this time.” Fingers sliding under her knee, he lifted. His lips met the inside of her thigh, the cool stone of his necklace brushing against her, and she gasped.

He kissed again, his tongue stroking closer . . . closer . . .

Another gasp from her, followed by a shiver. “Hot,” she said, trembling.

“Good?”

“Very.”

“Hunter told me you write romance novels.”

“Sometimes. Kiss again.”

Grinning, he obeyed, running his tongue to the edge of her emerald panties.

“Oh, Goddess.” She fisted the sheets. He wanted those hands in his hair, holding on, holding forever.

She was perfect for this bed—his bed—he thought, staring down at her. A bright flame against black silk. “Have you ever thought of me when writing a love scene?”

“Yes.” As though she’d read his mind, she gripped his head and pulled him down for another intimate kiss.

His cock throbbed at the thought, at the sight of her, at the taste of her, and he bit the inside of his cheek. Never had a woman appealed to so many of his senses. “What did you fantasize? What did I do to you?”

“Consumed every inch of me,” she said, back arching, silently begging for more.

The best kind of answer.

Then she added, “We have one night together. I want everything I fantasized about.”

One night. A muscle twitched underneath his eye. He didn’t like the time limitation reminder but let it pass. For now. “Did it turn you on, what you wrote? Did you touch yourself?”

“Yes.” Reaching up, she thrummed her nipples. “Like this.”

“No. Between your legs. Show me.”

She lifted her head, her eyes wide and focused on him. Her hands ceased moving on her breasts. “Wh-what?”

“Show me.” Desperate for another taste of her, he kissed the center of her panties. They were wonderfully damp. He groaned, his mouth watered. “I want to see what I’ve been imagining.”

“Oh.” Slowly, so slowly, her hand slid down her stomach. “Like this?”

Licking around the seam of her panties, he fisted his cock. “More.”

Slowly, so slowly, her hand circled the apex of her thighs, teasing. “Better?”

Down, he stroked. Up, squeezing tight. “Not yet.”

He straightened; their gazes met again and held. “How about this?” Her fingers delved under the emerald lace. Her knees fell apart, and her lashes lowered. She cried out, hips undulating.

Shit. She looked like magic just then. Magic he craved. Down and up he continued to work himself, the sight of her so erotic he knew it was branded into his mind for eternity. Touch her. Learn her. He’d never wanted anything more.

“Stop,” he commanded.

She stilled. Her eyes opened.

He released himself and latched onto her wrist, drawing her hand away from her body. She moaned, bit her bottom lip. “My turn.” Leaning down, he lifted her fingers to his mouth and sucked one, then another inside. Her taste coated his tongue. “Like honey.” And he needed more.

He laved his tongue inside her navel, gripping her panties and urging them from her legs. He thought she must have kicked them aside, because the bed bounced as he straightened.

“I’ve wanted to do this for a long time,” he said, fingers parting her wet folds. The thin patch of curls shielding her femininity were as bright a red as the hair on her head. Beautiful.

“Do it. Please.”

The desperation in her voice mirrored what he felt. He pressed her legs farther apart, spreading . . . spreading . . . God, so pretty. Pink and glistening. He lowered his head and stroked his tongue up the center.

“Falon,” she cried.

He circled her clitoris as he sank a finger deep inside.

Her hands fisted in his hair just as he liked. “More.”

Another finger joined the first, stretching her. All the while, he sucked and nipped at her. Had he ever tasted anyone so sweet? So addicting? Having her once wouldn’t be enough, he realized. He’d need her over and over again. In every way imaginable. He just had to make her crave more.

As he licked her, he told her everything he wanted to do to her, how beautiful she was, how he needed her. Soon she was writhing, her head thrashing from side to side. He wanted to see her come. Had to see it, would die if he didn’t. And then she was. Her inner walls clamped down on his tongue as she gasped and cried and even screamed.

He pulled from her, his gaze devouring her. Her eyes were closed, her teeth chewing on her bottom lip. Her skin was flushed. So quickly her chest rose and fell, lifting those rosy nipples like berries offered to a god.

A long while passed before she stilled. When she did, her eyelids cracked open.

He stayed just where he was, kneeling between her legs, cock rising proudly. “Like?”

“Like.” She reached out and circled it with her fingers. “More.”

A moan burst from his lips. “Glory.”

“My turn,” she said, squeezing him tighter. “I want to taste you.”

He shook his head. “I don’t want to come that way this first time, and if your mouth gets anywhere near my cock, I’ll come.”

She urged him forward, and he was helpless to do anything but follow wherever she led. “I’ll stop before you come.”

He found himself on his side. “No, you won’t.”

She grinned slowly, wickedly and rolled him to his back. Like a sea siren, she rose above him. “Okay, I won’t. But you can try to force me to stop like the he-man you are.”

God, the thought of her mouth on his shaft, hot and wet . . . her hair spilling over his thighs . . . His head fell back onto the pillow. “All right. But only because you insist.”

She chuckled. “Such a martyr.”

His cock twitched against her leg, her laughter as arousing as her touch.

Now she gasped. “Mmm, what was that for?”

“I like the sound of your laugh,” he admitted. He wanted to hear it. In the morning when he woke up, at lunch, at dinner. Just before bed.

“Sometimes you’re as sweet as candy.” She crawled down his body until her lips were poised over him. Just like he’d feared, his already intense sense of pleasure revved to a new level. “Probably taste like it, too.”

He hoped so. He wanted her to like him, this.

“Tell me what you’ve fantasized about.” Her warm breath stroked him, teased him.

He had to grip the sheets or he would soon be fisting her hair, and then there would be no stopping himself from coming in her mouth. “You. Doing this.”

“What else?” She licked the tip, lapping up the glistening moisture already beaded there. “Mmm.”

Shit. “Me, inside you.”

Her teeth scraped the head, and he groaned at the delicious sensation. “What else?” she demanded. “Tell the truth, and you’ll be rewarded. Isn’t that how you like to work?”

“Pounding, hot, hard, wild, screaming, you bent over, me taking you from behind. My fingers on your clit, working it. You coming over and over.”

As he spoke, she sucked him down, up, down. Taking him all the way to the back of her throat. He barely managed to get the words out, but he kept talking. Anything to continue that delicious pressure. One of her hands kneaded his balls, the other glided up his chest and flicked his nipple.

He felt attacked at every pleasure point, and he loved it. He was bucking, unable to slow his movements, close to the edge. If she kept this up, he really would—Shit, shit, shit. Falon grabbed her shoulders and jerked her up. Her lips were swollen and wet, she was panting, her desire clearly renewed.

She moaned in disappointment. “I wasn’t done.”

“Condom,” he said, the word more a snarl. “Now.”

Her pupils were dilated, her cheeks flushed as she gazed around wildly. “Where are they?”

Damn, where had he placed them? He searched, saw two silver packets resting on the floor. He’d thought ahead, thank God. He reached out, way out, grabbed one and ripped it open with his teeth. Motions jerky, he straightened and worked it over his length.

His hands settled on Glory’s thighs and spread them as wide as they would go. Her wet, needy core was poised over his cock, just like her mouth had been. “Ride me.”

“I thought—you said behind.”

“Next time,” he said, and then she was pressing, he was arching, and he was all the way inside her, surging deep, taking all of her that he could get.

Her head fell back, her hair tickling his legs. Her breasts arched forward, and he cupped the small of her back, jerking her forward. When those hardened buds abraded his chest, he growled out a, “Fuck yes.”

“Feels so good.”

“Kiss.”

“Please.”

He pounded in and out of her as their lips met. His tongue thrust inside, and she eagerly welcomed it, rolling it with her own. Their teeth clashed together once, twice, but that didn’t douse the intensity.

Every other woman he’d ever been with faded to the back of his mind as if they’d never existed. There was only Glory. There was only here and now. Eternity—with her.

“Falon,” she gasped, and he knew she was close.

He reached between them and thrummed her clitoris. That was all she’d needed. She came in a rush, squeezing at his cock, crying his name again and again, nails raking his chest.

He, too, fell over the edge. And when he came, it was the strongest of his life. Every muscle he possessed locked and released, spasming. Blood rushed through his veins, so hot it blistered everything it touched.

“Glory,” he chanted, and it was a prayer for more. More of her, more of this.

Now I’ve gone and done it, Glory thought. She was snuggled into Falon’s side, warm and sated—more so than she’d ever been before. He was asleep, his breathing smooth. Even in slumber, his hand traced up and down her spine as though he couldn’t stop touching her.

I love him.

There, she’d admitted it. She did. She loved him. Would have liked to spend forever with him. Making love, talking, laughing. Impossible.

She was a witch, and there was nothing she could do about that. She possessed magic powers. That wasn’t something she could switch off. Not for long, anyway. And Falon would always fear her because of it, no matter what he claimed.

All these months, she’d gagged every time she’d seen her sisters with their boyfriends. Her chest had ached, and she’d assumed the ache was from disgust not love. Now she was experiencing the emotion for herself. The ache for what could not be.

Her eyes filled with tears. She loved Falon, but she couldn’t have him. Even though he thought he wanted more from her. He’d said as much before falling asleep. She hadn’t answered, hadn’t known what to say. But she could just imagine him cringing during their first fight, suspecting her of evildoing. She could just imagine the accusations he’d hurl at her every time something went wrong in his life.

That would destroy her. Better to walk away now, as planned. It was the only way her heart could survive.

Gingerly, Glory slipped from his body, from the bed. Her legs were so shaky she almost fell. Since she’d written herself here without any real clothes, she borrowed a pair of sweats and a T-shirt from Falon.

Before she put them on, she held them to her nose and inhaled deeply. They smelled of him, like soap, dark spices, and strength. A tear fell. Once dressed, she walked to the edge of the bed. Still he slept soundly. Must not have gotten any rest these past few days. He’d probably feared she’d attack with her pen at any moment.

What if things could be different? What if there was a chance they could make it work?

He looked so peaceful. His dark hair was in disarray against the pillow. His face was flushed with lingering pleasure. The sheet had fallen, revealing the entire expanse of his mouthwatering chest.

Who are you trying to fool? Make it work? Please. Those silly tears began falling in earnest. She was going to miss him. Taunting him, being with him, sparring with him, had been fun. He was witty, and he was warm. He was wild and protective and a lover who cared more about her pleasure than his own.

His fingers flexed over the part of the mattress she’d occupied.

Her heart stopped beating. One step, two, she backed away from the bed. Any moment, he would probably wake up. What would he say to her? What would he do?

Doesn’t matter.

Glory pivoted on her heel and stalked quietly from his house. They only lived a mile apart, and she’d traveled the forest many times before, so she entered the night without hesitation.

She left her heart with Falon.

Nine

When Falon woke up alone, he was not happy.

When he rushed to Glory’s house and discovered she had packed a bag and taken off, telling no one where she planned to stay, he was angry.

When he drove around town, asking if anyone had seen her and found that no one had, he was beyond furious!

Why had she left him?

To punish him? He didn’t think so. They were past that point now, he knew it, and she wasn’t the type to do so without gloating—something he loved about her. Loved. Yes. He loved her. She was his woman, the other piece of him. He knew that now, and so there would be no more denying it. The fact that she was a witch didn’t matter anymore. He’d rather have her and her powers than be without her.

Had she left because she was . . . scared?

Yes, he thought. Yes. Well, he was scared, too. New relationships were always scary, but this one more so than most. They’d been at odds for a while. But they’d also just had the best sex of his life. Addictive sex. He’d just have to prove they could be together, that he wouldn’t hurt her, wouldn’t stop loving her. But how?

You still have the pen.

The thought slammed into him with the force of a jackhammer, and he grinned. He rushed back home.

Glory was inside her Ford Taurus one moment and back home the next. Brow puckered in confusion, she gazed around. “What the hell?”

Her sisters were sitting in the living room, reading Witch Weekly. They glanced up at the sound of her voice.

“Oh, there you are,” Godiva said.

“Where have you been?” Evie asked. “Falon’s been desperate to find you.”

She gulped. Rubbed her stomach. Falon. The pen. Damn it! He was using the pen. Why, why, why? She’d almost made a clean getaway. Had almost given them a clean break. Clean. Yeah, right.

A knock sounded at the door.

She whipped around, eyes wide. Oh, Great Goddess. Was it Falon?

Another knock, this one harder.

“Well, aren’t you going to answer it?” Godiva asked.

“Open up, Glory. I know you’re in there. I made sure of it.”

Falon’s deep, dark voice filled her head, and she almost fainted. He’d truly come here. Why? He could have written her anywhere, but he’d written her inside her own home and knocked on her door.

“Glory!” Evie laughed. “Don’t just stand there.”

If he was going to ask—again—for more from her than one night, she wouldn’t be able to turn him down. She’d sobbed like a baby the entire drive away from town. In fact, her face was probably swollen and red even now. Where she’d been headed, she hadn’t known. She’d just needed to put distance between them, or she would have forgotten all the reasons to stay away and gone to him.

“Please,” he said, and he sounded tortured. She could very easily imagine his hands resting on the door, his forehead pressing into the wood.

Shaky legs walked her to the entrance. Her palm was sweating so she had trouble twisting the knob. What was she going to find? Slowly, she pulled open the only thing blocking the man she loved from her view.

Falon stood there, wearing a trench coat and nothing else. Not even shoes. She blinked in surprise. So not what she had expected.

“What are you doing here?” she managed to get out.

Her sisters crowded behind her.

“Looking good, Falon,” Evie said.

“Nice,” Godiva said.

His cheeks bloomed bright red, but his attention remained focused on Glory. “I want you in my life.”

Her stomach twisted painfully. “That wouldn’t be smart. We’d fight, you’d hate me, fear my powers.”

As she spoke, he was shaking his head. “You’re different from the other witches I knew, I know that deep down. Even though you had every right to be angry with me, you were never malicious.”

“You think so now, but what about tomorrow? Or the next day?”

Again he shook his head. “Not gonna happen.”

“You can’t guarantee that.”

“But I can guarantee that I love you.”

Her eyes nearly bugged out, his words echoing inside her brain. “Wh-what?”

“I love you.”

Godiva gasped. “Oh my Goddess. Did you hear that, Evie?”

“I’m standing right here. Of course I heard. Glory, what do you have to say to him?”

“Give me a chance,” he begged. “I don’t deserve it, I know I don’t, but I’ll do anything to get it. I need you in my life.”

She covered her mouth with a shaky hand. This was too much, too good to believe.

He forged ahead. “You once came to my door, wanting a night with me. Now I’ve come to your door, wanting an eternity with you. I’m here, just as you were, in nothing but a coat. My heart is yours.”

Okay, now the trench made sense. Dear Goddess, that meant he was naked underneath. Her blood heated with the knowledge.

“Please don’t send me away. I need you. You’re a witch, yes, but I don’t fear your powers. After last night, I’m grateful for them.”

“Oh, Glory!” Godiva brushed away her tears. “This is the most romantic thing I’ve ever seen. Don’t send him away!”

“If you don’t take him,” Evie said, “I will.”

“Hunter,” was all Glory managed to get out.

“He’s only good for the night. Maybe I’m looking for a day man.”

Glory elbowed her sister in the stomach.

Evie backed off, taking Godiva with her. “Come on. Let’s give the lovebirds their privacy and listen from the kitchen where Glory can’t assault us.” Footsteps echoed.

“I love you, Glory.” He dropped to his knees. “Please, say something to me. Anything.”

Could he truly love her? Her? Could he live with a witch and not fear for his life? She studied his face. Lines of tension edged his eyes and mouth. His lips were drawn tight. He was pale. His hair looked as if he’d plowed his hands through it for hours.

He really was worried she’d say no.

“Last night wasn’t enough,” he rushed on. “Forever probably won’t be enough. You’re all I can think about, all I crave. I’m addicted to you. I know you’re scared, but I vow to you, here and now, to protect you, cherish you, trust you. I know you aren’t evil. That’s something you don’t have to fear. I know you’re good and pure and—”

“I love you, too,” she finally said. Making a leap, trusting him like he was trusting her.

He was on his feet in the next instant, jerking her into his arms. “Thank God. I would have had to write you into another scene if you’d rejected me.” He placed little kisses all over her face. “Not that I would have minded.”

She laughed as she wound her arms around his neck. “Are you sure about this?”

“I’ve never been surer about anything in my life. You’re my witch, and I love you. I can’t believe I was stupid enough to ever push you away.” Grinning, he spun her around.

Her head fell back, hair flying, and she laughed again, joyful, content.

He stopped, peered down at her, his grin melting away, burned as it was by desire. “Okay, now I’m turned on. That laugh of yours . . .”

“Come on,” she said, leading him to her bedroom and earning winks from her sisters, who stood in the kitchen entry. “I have the perfect spell for that.” She shut the door, then proceeded to work her magic all over his body.