Mysteria Nights

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.”