Mysteria Nights

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