Witch Tease

by Cindy Keen Reynders

  “What’s out there?” Vera asked, her voice trembling as she rolled up beside Lizzie.

  “I can’t see a thing.”

  A warm wind swirled through the room, and Lizzie blinked. On the carpet, a tall, broad-shouldered man appeared, dressed in a red and green tartan shawl and kilt. He kept his head lowered, and all she could see was the bright red tam that covered a majority of his reddish-gold hair. Plaid socks covered his strong, muscular legs and sturdy brown shoes enclosed his feet.

  He didn’t say a word.

  Lizzie drew in a ragged breath, then asked, “Are you the Spirit Wulver?”

  “Aye, lass.”

  That voice—it evoked memories from the past and shock swept through her. He sounded like Kincaid McAllister! As a mortal, surely he’d passed away centuries ago.

  Hadn’t he?

  When he peeled back his hood, she saw a dead man. Correction, a man she’d believed was dead.

  She tensed; breath caught in her throat. It occurred to her his eyes bore a few more crinkles at the corners, lending an air of mystery.

  Beyond a shadow of a doubt, it’s him.

  Knees trembling, she leaned back against a wall. Recalling how he’d shredded her trust and wounded her soul, she placed a hand on her chest. Kincaid’s intense stare caused her heart to flutter like the wings of a caged bird.

  Chapter Five

  By all that was sacred, Kincaid could barely believe his eyes. Elizabeth Rose, with her seductive glory, stood before him. After all this time, she remained as gorgeous and appealing as he remembered.

  His mouth went dry. His mind filled with emotional nonsense.

  Where’s your dignity, man?

  “How can you be alive, lass?” He feasted his eyes on Lizzie’s familiar curves accentuated by her short black dress. Though difficult, he resisted the urge to let his mouth fall open, lest he look like a complete idiot. Almost on cue, his body began its traitorous reaction, and his manhood hardened.

  Imps of hell, calm my lecherous heart!

  “I’m a witch,” she told him in an uneven tone. “I’ve been alive all these centuries since you left me. I understand now why you are still alive.”

  Aye, the last time he’d seen her, she’d been wearing long skirts and a snowstorm of frilly petticoats. Those women’s fashions had a way of dampening a man’s sexual appetite because it took too damn long to cast them aside.

  These days, Lizzie’s clothing seemed designed for pleasurable pursuits. He gave an appreciative chuckle. Styles had changed vastly since then, and her attire, which left little to the imagination, met his approval.

  “So, you’re a witch,” he murmured. “I might’a been too scared to lay with you back then if I’d known. You could have made good on your word to turn me into a toad.”

  “And you’re the Spirit Wulver,” she stated.

  Groin still hardened with desire, he allowed his gaze to rove over her delectable shape. The curve of her high, firm breasts caught his attention, and his mouth watered. The memory of caressing those orbs and thumb-stroking their rosy tips sent a jolt of sizzling awareness through his blood. How many times had he kissed the soft, sensuous hollow of her throat? He swallowed a groan, doing his best to quell the sudden yearning that gripped his soul.

  Watch yourself. You know how Lizzie can draw you in with her bewitching ways.

  When he’d received this recent spirit wulver summons, he’d never imagined the client would be Lizzie. Sweet, treacherous destiny had caused their paths to cross yet again. Already, he could feel his nerves begin to fray like slivered wood.

  Simply being in her presence did irrational things to him. Despite the tense circumstances under which they’d parted, he longed to pull her into his arms and kiss her senseless. Ah, but what folly that would be.

  I’m doomed, he thought. How can I resist her?

  Attempting to regain his sanity, he realized the woman had once enticed him with her powers of fascination, but he wouldn’t allow it to happen again. To hell with whatever feminine wiles she might attempt to distract him with.

  She lifted her chin at a defiant tilt. “I don’t know what to say.”

  “How about hello?”

  She pressed her lips into a firm line. “When we met all those years ago, you fooled me into believing you were mortal.”

  “Passing as a human suited me back then,” he told her, shrugging.

  “And now you’re famous for eradicating evil entities,” she said in a matter-of-fact tone. “There’s a lot of folklore surrounding who and what you are. Some of the stories paint you in a good light, others, not so good.”

  “People love to gossip,” he told her, refusing to comment further. How he lived his life was none of her business.

  “I never imagined I’d see you again.”

  “Now you have.”

  The fact that they had parted on bad terms penetrated the air between them like a heavy rain cloud. Fortunately, she did not mention it, and he didn’t bother to enlighten her about the reason for his sudden departure.

  Truth be told, he hadn’t grown weary of Lizzie. It had been just the opposite. After observing his father’s lifelong bad luck, he didn’t want any part of love. It wasn’t a good idea to give your entire life over to someone. It allowed them the latitude to crush you emotionally.

  He recalled the pivotal event that made him wary of relationships. Right before he’d turned eleven, his mother left his father a note about being unhappy, then disappeared from their lives. The night before she left, she’d tucked Kincaid into his bed and kissed him, as though nothing was amiss. Yet the next morning she was gone.

  After she left, Kincaid pretended he wasn’t affected by her abrupt departure. Inside, he felt devastated and betrayed. Guilt plagued him, as though he’d done something to make her leave.

  The lessons Kincaid learned from his parents were: trust no one, love no one. Otherwise, you set yourself up for heartbreak and misfortune. That is why he’d left Lizzie. He’d gotten too close to her.

  “What did you summon me for, lass?” He scowled at her, irritated to be reminded of unpleasantries.

  “I have a banshee problem.”

  “Holy mother of Scotland,” he growled. Despite her earnest, pleading gaze, he wished he didn’t have to deal with those pests. Impatience drew his nerves taut, and he considered leaving, before he got in any deeper.

  Coward.

  If he was man enough to handle restless spirits and savage creatures, he could handle Lizzie.

  Damn, he hated banshees. Those wailing hags were the worst beasties to eradicate. Sending those she-devils back to where they came from would be dangerous.

  He perked up at the high sum of money he could charge. At the back of his mind, however, he questioned whether he should request payment. A second later, he quashed the idea. As the Spirit Wulver, he earned every red cent he charged.

  “Aye, ’tis indeed a grave situation,” he told her. “Tell me what happened.”

  “Bean sith spirits attacked during a coven ceremony and took everyone hostage. They demanded the Supreme Witch’s Council make them mortal, but they refused. So, the hags still have my family and friends bound up in some sort of weird goo. They’re also wreaking havoc on our community and scaring the mortals.”

  He nodded thoughtfully and stroked his beard. “An infestation of them is verra bad business, lass. It will be troublesome to disperse the swarm. But I must warn you, in order to exterminate the Scottish variety of banshees, I must charge top dollar. They are more difficult than any other kind of nasty creature you could name.”

  “No price is too high, of course,” Lizzie said in a thin voice. “However, I’d like a ballpark figure.”

  The thought of that kind of money lining his pockets made him feel powerful indeed. Yet, he hesitated naming a particular sum. The cost would depend on how difficult the task. In an uncharacteristic move, he chose to waive Lizzie’s retainer.

  “We’ll discuss the price once
the beasties are gone.”

  “I’d prefer to have an idea right now,” she insisted.

  “It’s difficult to predict,” he told her. “The final cost will depend on how the swarm reacts to my methods. If they haven’t taken a very strong hold yet, it could prove easy. If they’re locked into this dimension, it will be more difficult.”

  “Holy witch’s creed,” she murmured. She closed her eyes for a few seconds, then looked at him again. “When do we start?”

  “It’s best I get to work right away, lass. Show me where they are.”

  Her beautiful brown eyes glimmered as she met his gaze. “Tell me one more thing. It’s been eating at me for nearly three hundred years. Why did you leave me?”

  Damn it. She’d gone and brought up the past, which he sure as hell didn’t want to discuss. The pain in her voice whispered to his soul, and he realized she deserved to know the reason.

  Yet, he remained silent.

  Jaw clenched, he recalled his two rules. Trust no one, love no one.

  Glancing at Lizzie as she waited for an answer, Kincaid’s thoughts turned dark. She would never understand his reasons. Reluctant to broach the subject, he held his tongue.

  “It was for the best,” he growled, his heart hardening against her attempts to wheedle the truth from him.

  She lifted her chin at a defiant angle. “I imagine it would be difficult to explain since you dumped me like yesterday’s bathwater.”

  “Lizzie, doo’na pass judgment,” he growled. “Just know I did as I had to.”

  “Seriously? That’s all you have to say?” She arched a slim brow, watching and waiting.

  The hint of sarcasm in her voice indicated she was baiting him, hoping he would cave. He wasn’t falling for it. How he lived his life was none of her business.

  Propping his foot on a stool, he said, “Let’s talk about how we can rid you of the banshees.”

  “How do I know I can trust you?” Skepticism etched her voice.

  “You’d better come up with some answers, buddy,” the vacuum beside Lizzie said, waving its hose in a threatening manner.

  Despite his irritation, he chuckled. “What’s with the wee carpet cleaner, Lizzie? Is she now your protector?”

  “Vera’s the name, vacuuming’s my game,” the vacuum informed him while blinking the light on her front grill. “I’m a friend of Lizzie’s, Mr. Kilt-man. I’m here to watch over her, so don’t try any funny business.”

  Lizzie shrugged. “Why do you care?”

  “I don’t. And I’m tellin’ you to leave the past where it belongs,” he warned. “I’m bound to serve you honorably. You have your witch’s creed, and I have my wulver’s principles.”

  She moved closer to him, so close he could smell her sweet woman’s scent—a mixture of exotic spice and roses. Something stirred in his soul, and once again, he recalled their time together. Flashes of naked limbs entangled between sheets, their bodies gleaming with sweat as they came together, filled his mind. Though he did his best to squelch desire, he found it difficult.

  “You weren’t very honorable all those years ago,” she said in a low tone.

  He sensed something else emanating from the pulse beating in her neck, a fragrance that enticed and tickled his nostrils. The blood warmed in his veins, and his highly-attuned mind picked up on something unusual. Wulvers had an acute sense of smell, and right now he could tell she wore an aphrodisiac meant to titillate and arouse sexual desire.

  What kind of game did she play? Had she purposely doused her skin with the scent in order to entice him? Did she honestly have a banshee problem or had she lured him here to try and get even with him?

  He clenched his fists, then calmed down. It wasn’t like Lizzie to engage in any kind of trickery. That wasn’t her style. The fortress he’d built around his heart didn’t budge, but he sensed the stones loosening.

  Damn Sucellos, the Celtic god of love, for making him so weak.

  She, above all other females he’d known, could get to him. At the sensation of her breath on his cheek, so soft and moist, his insides trembled. Her shining brown eyes met his, and their gazes locked. In a blinding flash, she slapped him hard on the cheek.

  “What the hell?” He rubbed his stinging skin, his hand rasping over whiskers.

  “That’s for betraying me.” Her gaze glimmered with unshed tears.

  Kincaid realized it wasn’t worth his time to react. Despite the fact she was a witch, she was still a mere female, unable to control the hormonal tendencies swirling through her blood. Besides, he supposed he deserved the slap.

  Recalling the timeworn adage about a woman scorned, he chuckled. “You really pack a wallop.”

  Her nostrils flared. “I wish I could refuse your help, Kincaid.”

  He sobered at the idea of her in danger. Anxious to help her, even with all the anxiety it could cause, he said, “Let’s get this over with, lass. Once I’ve dealt with your problem, I’ll be on my way.”

  “Until then, I’ll be watching you closely.” She pointed at him. “If you do anything shady, you won’t get paid.”

  “No worries, lass. The sooner those creatures are gone, the better.”

  “Good. Because when I consulted my ancestor witch, Ursula, she said I only have forty-eight hours to save my coven members before they are turned into banshees.”

  “Right she is,” Kincaid said in a serious tone. “Explain exactly what happened. Even minor details will help.”

  Lizzie raked her hand through her luxuriant ebony tresses. “It all happened so fast. I don’t recall specifics. Does that really matter?”

  “It does.” Kincaid realized Lizzie didn’t look a day older than the last time he’d seen her, and it seemed as though only a whisper of time had passed. “Even minor things can tell me which method I should use to destroy them.”

  “I’ve told you everything I can. I’m so worried, my mind is a jumble.”

  Stop ogling her, he finally told himself.

  Being around Lizzie reawakened yearnings he’d thought long buried. A fire raced through his loins as he stole secret glances at her tempting curves. It was damn good he’d worn a kilt, rather than trousers. Otherwise she might have noticed the bulge in his groin.

  Lord, give me the patience of a saint. Until I eradicate Lizzie’s banshees, the torture will continue.

  Deep down, despite every conviction in his heart, he realized it might not be that simple to walk away from the beautiful witch again.

  ***

  Lizzie sat down on the sofa, exhausted. What more did Kincaid want from her?

  He began to pace, his shoes clunking against the wooden floorboards. His hair shone with reddish-gold highlights, reminding her how once upon a time she’d brushed the thick waves out of his eyes.

  He began to suggest various ways he could handle the banshees. She didn’t understand much of what he said, and she tried hard to understand. It still amazed her that the person she needed help from was none other than Kincaid McAllister, the man who had left her heartbroken.

  How unfair things had worked out this way.

  There were events she couldn’t control, and this was one of them. She tried to comfort herself by focusing on the hundreds of years that had passed since she’d fallen in love with him.

  Chewing her lower lip, she recalled the pain she’d felt at his abandonment. Though she’d moved past the agony, it would always mark her soul.

  Right now, her family and the clan were the most important thing she needed to worry about. Not her past with Kincaid.

  Trying to focus again, she noted his Scottish brogue wasn’t as pronounced as it used to be. Part of her wanted to believe the fate of her coven would be safe in his hands, yet another part hesitated to place full trust in him. This was the man who had ripped her heart in two.

  I should loathe him.

  Yet, to her dismay, she felt giddy and her breath came in small gasps. Tall and commanding, Kincaid’s thick hair tumbled across his forehe
ad, giving him a loveable, boyish look. She recalled, with a shiver, how she’d kissed those lips and enjoyed his comforting embrace.

  Get a hold of yourself, Lizzie.

  She tried, but instead found herself wavering. Kincaid’s square chin still held a determined, defiant slant and he seemed more confident than ever. However, the crinkles around his eyes revealed his concern. She’d seen that look before.

  Was he unhappy? Did he regret accepting her case? A surge of bitter acceptance took root when once again she realized she had to rely on him.

  Goddess help me.

  He met her gaze. “Explain how you managed to escape the banshees.”

  Lizzie rubbed her brow, trying to make sense of her thoughts. It hurt to think too hard, which reminded her she’d hit her head. That spurred a few memories.

  “I was late to the Blessing of the Brooms Ceremony and when I got there, I heard these horrible wails. I tried to run. Then I-I hit my head.”

  “Did you black out?”

  Lizzie searched her thoughts again. “I crawled into a preparation room, then I lost consciousness.”

  “When you came to, what happened?”

  “It’s all a whirl—I can’t make sense of it. I do remember hearing the banshee leader call herself Sorcha. Somehow, I managed to make it home, where I ran into more banshees. It’s all like a nightmare.”

  “Ah, ’tis Sorcha up to her old ways again,” Kincaid growled. “I’ve had the misfortune of dealing with her before.”

  Lizzie was appalled. “If that’s so, why is she still haunting people? I thought your methods were effective?”

  “Apparently I wasn’t thorough enough. I’ve developed new techniques since the last time I encountered her.”

  “But what if—”

  He walked over and placed a finger against her lips, silencing her.