Mysteria Nights

“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.”