Bewitch Me: The Red Veil Diaries: A Witchy/Fae Romance

by Marianne Morea

  The Red Veil Diaries

  Bewitch Me

  Marianne Morea

  Coventry Press Ltd.

  Coventry Press Ltd.

  Somers, New York

  http://www.coventrypressltd.com

  This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to actual events, locations, organizations, or persons, living or dead, is entirely coincidental.

  Copyright © 2019 Marianne Morea

  All rights reserved, including the right to reproduce this book or portions of thereof in any form whatsoever without written permission.

  ISBN13: 978-1-7325262-2-8

  First Edition: Coventry Press Ltd. 2019

  Printed in the USA

  “For women, the best aphrodisiacs are words. The G-spot is in the ears. He who looks for it below there is wasting his time.”

  ―Isabel Allende, Of Love and Shadows

  Chapter One

  “This place is off the chain, Laney! Holy beefcakes! Just look at all that man candy! Every size and flavor.” Eve Kent licked her lips, practically bouncing in her seat in the VIP lounge. “Some friend, keeping this to yourself.”

  Lane Alden matched Eve’s grin. “It’s an underground vampire club for a reason, Evie. We know what’s what, but the rest of the world?” She shook her head. “Not so much, and the undead want to keep it that way. A secret in plain sight. Technically, we’re not even supposed to be here.”

  On the surface, the Red Veil was a trendy hangout for A-listers and wannabes who liked to think they lived on the edge. A mix of raw fantasy and kickass music wrapped in a big Goth bow. In truth it was also the seat of New York’s Vampire Council, but that knowledge was on a need to know basis. A tidbit most hadn’t a clue.

  “I never realized vampires were so…so…” Eve trailed off, craning her neck for a better view of the main floor.

  “Tempting?” Lane replied with a laugh. “Close your mouth, Eve, you’re drooling.”

  With a sheepish chuckle, she wiped the corner of her mouth with the back of her hand. “Can you blame me? Talk about looking like you walked off the pages of a magazine.” She took a quick breath. “I mean, I know the club is crawling with celebrity impersonators just for fun, but Holy Cinemascope! James Dean and Marlon Brando! Where did they find them?”

  Lane wrapped her hand around her frosted mug and followed Eve’s line of sight. “They’re pretty amazing, but they’re not impersonators.”

  Eve pulled her eyes from the crowd, her mouth dropping. “Wait, are you saying—”

  “Yup.”

  Skeptical, Eve slid her gaze to the 50s icons again, before zeroing in on another celeb. “So, you’re telling me, Patrick Swayze over there—” She gave a slow chin pop toward the end of the bar. “Mr. Dirty Dancing himself. He’s the real deal? Big as life and thirty feet away from where we sit?”

  “Depends on how you define life, but otherwise—” Lane nodded. “They are the original stars, with one major exception. They now drink blood to survive.”

  Eve blinked, stunned.

  Lane lifted her drink toward her lips. “A bit of a shocker, I know. Back in the day, the Vampire Supreme was a huge movie buff. Intervention was a purely selfish move on his part, but when his favorite stars got sick or had a fatal accident, he made them an offer they couldn’t refuse.”

  “Refuse? When you’ve got an indiscernible pulse, and you’re lying on a slab with a tag on your toe, it’s not a time to be choosy.” Eve snorted.

  Lane sipped her drink. “Sure, it is. But vampires don’t worry about annoying credos the way we do.”

  “An it harm none, do as ye will.” Eve’s reply was a rote whisper.

  “Exactly. Plus, the concept of personal gain isn’t a problem for the undead, either. Still, it’s kind of cool knowing our pop icons aren’t really gone. Speaking of which, I ran into Alan Rickman a couple of months ago.”

  Eve exhaled a wistful sigh. “After all this time? Always.”

  “I love that.”

  “Me, too.” Eve nodded, finishing what was left of her martini. “Still, an undead Professor Snape is something I could believe.” She paused holding the stem of her glass. “Laney, you said the ‘Vampire Supreme.’ Did you mean Sebastién DuLac? The one who just died?”

  Lane bobbed her head. “Sebastién was a giant, condescending prick, but he was also a closet red-carpet groupie.” She shrugged again. “Rubbing elbows with the elite fed his ego. Human or supernatural, he collected them. Especially if they had an ability he envied or found fascinating. He befriended Sean Leighton, Alpha of the Brethren of Were, just to get to his mate. Lily is a psychic, but Sebastién was convinced she could walk between worlds.”

  “Like between the living and the dead, or between our plane and Faerie?”

  “Between the living and the dead,” Lane replied, “but I wouldn’t be surprised if he thought Lily could waltz into the Fae realm unhindered.”

  “Did Sebastién get her, or did the alpha rip him to shreds?”

  Lane smirked at the gossipy look on Eve’s face. “Sean Leighton is a powerful alpha, and the hottest shifter I’ve met, but Lily can hold her own. Sebastién couldn’t lay a finger on her.”

  Eve slid her gaze back toward the bar. “Do you think he might—” Eve shook her head, not finishing her thought.

  “Who might what?” Lane asked with a smirk.

  She shook her head again. “Forget it. He’s Dirty Dancing’s Johnny Castle, and I’m a chubby witch with mousy brown hair and ordinary brown eyes.”

  “Evie, stop that.”

  “Laney, I’ve spent so much time cooped up in the motherhouse library, my ass now has its own zip code. If it wasn’t for the rush of blood through my veins, my pasty skin could pass for undead. Hell, I’m surprised I don’t hiss at daylight.” She offered a soft shrug. “I’m not like you. You’re fair and willowy. Members of the Circle of the Raven may be Fae-kissed, but I must have been absent when they handed out the look.” Eve crooked her fingers into quotes.

  “You don’t give yourself enough credit, Evie. Forget dirty dancing with the vampires. Half the time the trace amount of Fae blood in our veins is too much of a distraction. They can’t help themselves. Shifters on the other hand are a different story.

  “You’re a pretty girl, with just the right curves to drive the fanged and furry set wild. Focus on them. They love a little meat on the bone. As for your hair, it’s a rich chestnut, and your eyes are more amber than brown.” Laney reached for her friend’s hand. “I mean it, Evie. No more self-deprecating. You’re a Blood Witch about to join the Circle of the Raven, and we’re a picky bunch of witchy bitches. Roll with that.”

  Eve sniffed, giving Laney a weedy smile. “At least I don’t have pencils stuck in a messy bun or my nose in a book.”

  “Exactly. Now let go and relax. We’re here to have fun. I’d say be careful, but you and I have nothing to worry about. At least not with the undead set. Vampires might have a hard time resisting our blood, but unless they want to chance the inherent risk, I think we’re safe.”

  “What do you mean?”

  Lane considered her friend. “Truth is, witch blood is poisonous to some vampires. It’s a double whammy with Fae-kissed witches, because our blood is inherently alluring. Almost a drug. A plus for being a Raven if push came to shove in a dark alley.”

  “How come this isn’t in any book I’ve studied? Believe me, I’ve combed through plenty.”

  “There isn’t a spell for everything, Eve.
We learn through trial and error. Witches need to adapt quickly. To cast on the fly and conjure when needed. Your initiation into the Circle of the Raven and our motherhouse is only the beginning.

  “Anyway, I’m glad the Red Veil meets with your approval. Just remember, when it comes to the icy hot vampires, you look but don’t touch. Like I said, Weres and shifters are a different story.” Lane winked, turning an eye toward a sexy, wide-shouldered Were at the other end of the bar. “Touch all you want, as often as you want.”

  The crowd was thick and animated as they overlooked the main floor. A server approached with a smile and a small round tray.

  “Can I get you ladies another drink?”

  Lane nodded, draining the last of her mug. “I’ll have another Moscow Mule. Extra ginger and lime this time.”

  “That one’s my favorite,” she said, before turning to Eve. “And you?”

  “I’ll try a dirty martini this time.” She rubbed her hands together. “Three olives and heavy on the dirty.”

  The server grinned. “Got it. Coming right up, but I’ll have to see some I.D. first.”

  “I showed the other server when we first ordered.”

  The server shrugged. “House rules. Sorry.”

  Eve grumbled, fishing in her purse. “I can’t wait until they don’t ask anymore.”

  “Yes, you can.” Laney shook her head with a chuckle. “Trust me, it’s as bad as the first day you get called ma’am.”

  The server looked at Eve’s driver’s license and then handed it back with another nod. “Thanks. I’ll be right back with your drinks.”

  “Why couldn’t you put the whammy on her the way you did the VIP bouncer?”

  Lane glanced over her shoulder at the tall Were manning the velvet rope. “Because, proving you’re over twenty-one is simple. Getting into the VIP section of the Red Veil, not so much.” She smoothed the fresh napkin in front of her. “Magic is all about balance, Evie, and just because you can, doesn’t always mean you should. The warning for witches about magic for personal gain is true, to a certain extent.”

  “So, getting the bouncer to let us into the VIP section isn’t personal gain?”

  Lane grinned. “Okay, so I bent the rules a little with that, big deal. I’ve been here a lot this past year. Is it my fault the bouncer recognized me? Technically, he allowed the perk.”

  “Yeah, right. With a little help from a handy compulsion spell. Was that what you meant about casting on the fly?”

  “Wiseass.” Lane smirked at the young witch.

  The server came back with their drinks, setting them on the table. “This round is on the house.” She turned with a grin toward the bouncer at the bottom of the stairs. “You must have made quite an impression on Kyle. He’s usually so tight with money, he squeaks.”

  Eve stifled a snicker and Lane shot her a look. “Tell him we said thank you, and we’ll catch up with him later.”

  The server walked away, and Lane turned to make eye contact with the bouncer.

  “Watch and learn, little girl.” Lane circled her hand in a small clockwise orbit, muttering in Latin under her breath. She maintained eye contact with Kyle, and in seconds he blinked as though confused, and then looked away.

  “And that’s how it’s done. No harm, no foul.” Lane picked up her drink, clicking her tongue. “Sometimes it’s good to be a witch.”

  No sooner had the words left her mouth, than heat scorched her lungs. Her hand flew to her chest and she sucked in a painful breath.

  “You okay?” Eve asked, lowering her drink.

  Vertigo gripped hard and fast and she dropped her drink, fumbling for the edge of the table, taking short, sharp breaths.

  “Lane!” Eve pushed back in her chair. “Help! Someone!”

  The server rushed over, and they both moved to either side of Lane’s chair. “What’s the matter?” she asked.

  “I don’t know. She was fine a moment ago.”

  The server spared a look for the bartender watching from the sidelines. “Maybe we should call an ambulance. Is she allergic to anything? Asthmatic? Did she take…something?”

  “She’s not a druggie,” Eve shot back, wrapping a hand around Lane’s shoulder. “She’s a witch, like you’re a shifter, so help me get her out of this crowd so we can figure out what’s happening.”

  The server straightened, surprised. “A witch? You’re not supposed to—”

  “Not supposed to what?” She glared up at the woman. “Are you going to help, or just stand pointless and watch?”

  The woman scrambled, taking Lane’s other arm. “Of course. Sorry,” she replied. “The manager’s office has a couch. Follow me.”

  Lane squeezed her eyes closed, ignoring the squabbling women. Something or someone in the club was messing with her senses. But why?

  Clearing her mind, she focused on her breathing. In, out. In, out, until the vertigo ebbed. The music pulse still vibrated on her skin, and the air was thick as it skimmed her body, but she was in control.

  “C’mon, Laney. Let’s get you some place quiet with less nosy parkers.” Eve hooked her arm inside Lane’s elbow, but Lane shook her head.

  She exhaled and then opened her eyes. “Give me a minute, Eve. I’m okay.” Vodka and melting ice dripped off the edge of the table, chilling her fingers, and she let go for a moment only to grab hold again when she tried to stand.

  “That’s it. You need some fresh air and that means we’re outta here. I’m calling an Uber.”

  Lane dragged in a steadying breath. “It’s passing. Truly.”

  “Do you want me to call someone for you?” the server asked.

  The three stood in the middle of a not so oblivious crowd. Lane shook her head again, letting go of the table for good.

  “Thanks, but that’s not necessary. I’m okay.” Lane took another breath. “It’s probably a backlash for tipping the VIP scales and then being so glib about it.”

  The server offered a tight smile, mopping up what was left of the spill. “I’ll bring you some fresh drinks.”

  Plopping the wet bar towel into Lane’s empty copper mug, she looked directly at Lane. “If you’re sure you’re okay.”

  “Yes, thanks. And a drink is just what the witch doctor ordered.” She offered the woman a quick smile.

  The server turned for the bar and Lane picked up Eve’s martini, gulping a deep sip. “Talk to me, Evie. Tell me how your studies are going. Anything.” She winced again, her hand going to her temple. “Any questions you want to ask?”

  Eve threw a wet, crumpled napkin at her friend. “Questions? Yeah, I’d say I have a few. Like what the hell happened? One minute you’re pulling a mind freak on the bouncer, and the next you’re holding on for dear life. I may be a coven initiate, but I’m not stupid. That was no mere backlash. I mean, you’re older and more skilled, but I can handle it. Tell me.”

  “Drink your martini, Eve.” She handed the younger witch her glass. “It was a backlash. I played fast and loose with our Wiccan rules and ignored the whole personal gain tenet. Karma is a toothy bitch, and this time she answered in real time.”

  “You think?” Eve smirked at her friend.

  Lane flashed a sheepish grin, but her gut still churned. If that was a consequence for nerve, then why did it feel so slick?

  “I know you, Lane Alden, but I have no choice but to trust you. Just promise you’ll fess up if we head into real trouble or something.”

  “Deal.”

  She smiled at her friend, but uncertainty bit at her belly. If that oily spin was a karmic bitch-slap, then so be it. But if it wasn’t?

  Chapter Two

  The server returned with two fresh drinks and put them on the table. Lane gave the woman a quick smile and then picked up her drink, eyeing the younger Raven. Eve had gone quiet, but her eyes said otherwise.

  “You look like you ‘ve got a question burning. You can ask me anything, Eve. Really.”

  “It’s stupid. Just forget it.”

>   Lane sighed. “C’mon, Eve. You watched me take a karmic thump in public, and I’m the elder at this table.”

  Eve gave her a droll look. “Twenty-eight doesn’t qualify you for Crone, Laney.”

  “Very funny. Now spill.”

  Pulling her martini glass closer, she hesitated, smoothing the napkin under its stem. “Okay, but I told you it was stupid.”

  “I’m waiting.”

  “Do you think regular people sensed what was up with you? I mean, do they even know?”

  “Know what?”

  Eve inched closer, lowering her voice. “That this place is for real. As in Original Gangstas. Fangs and all.”

  Eve bared her teeth with a Bela Lugosi style hiss, and Lane lost it, sputtering on her drink. She grabbed her napkin to clean her chin, laughing.

  “I told you it was stupid.” Eve made a face.

  Lane wiped her mouth and the front of her sleeve. “Oh, man. That was too funny. Still, I doubt vampires have ever been referred to as Original Gangstas, especially not when the Fae have owned the title since before time began.”

  “Witch 101. I get it. Dumb question.” Eve fidgeted with her napkin.

  “Every one of us has wondered the same thing from time to time. As clever as humans can be, they are still mired in a millennium of superstition and religious prejudice. They fear what they don’t understand and hate what they fear. Even amongst themselves.

  “So, as for your not-so-dumb question, if I had to venture a guess, it would be a hard no. I doubt regular people grasp the paranormal realities staring them in the face. Humans like to play with the idea of the supernatural, but most would freak if they knew what bellied up to the bar gauging their blood type.”

  Eve turned her gaze toward the dance floor. “Maybe they’d love knowing the supernatural exists outside the movies. I mean, talk about a fantasy come true, and—” Her mouth dropped, clipping the rest of her words. “Oh, my goddess. I think my ovaries just exploded.”