Mysteria Nights

by P. C. Cast

  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. Everyth
ing 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.”