She pressed back, seeking a deeper penetration. He forced her to take him in slow increments, feeling the burn as he slid deeper into her hot, silky cunt. Determined to make this glorious act last as long as possible, he slowly pulled back…pushed in…pulled out again with firm, even strokes.
“Oh, yes…like that…oh, Ethan…please…harder, faster!”
At the sound of that name in her mouth, he paused, uncertain what to say.
“Oh, goddess, Elias! I didn’t mean to—”
The horror in her voice generated his quick response. “Oh, baby, it’s all right. I didn’t lie to you about that. My full name is Elias Ethan Winston Wylder. The only name I wanted to hear you cry is mine.”
She slumped in relief and he bowed over her back, hips picking up the pace. Smoothly powering his cock into the tight heat of her pussy, he deepened his strokes until his balls were pounding her ass with each strong inward thrust. Heart rate increasing, sweat beading on his forehead, he gripped her hips and pulled her back on his pistoning shaft.
Fucking her hard, holding her in place with one hand, Wylder reached around and pinched her clit between his scissoring fingers, sending her body into erotic convulsions. Buried deep within her snug channel, he felt her feminine muscles working, gripping him so sweetly, their strong, rhythmic tug and pull on his shuttling cock threatening to rob him of all control. “Damn…I’m coming, babe…I’m coming…”
Flinging back his head, Wylder surged into his mate, hips whipping back and forth as he pounded into her receptive cunt, hands roaming her back and thighs, fingers dipping and playing where they were so intimately connected.
“Come with me,” he urged, quickening the pace yet again until his hips were a blur and her breasts whipped back forth with the force of his powerful thrusts.
Heat raced in streaks of fire up his legs and detonated in his churning balls. As he felt the flickering flames roar through his body, afraid he would leave her behind, he heard Morven cry out, felt her convulsing. Her inner muscles clamping down in a stranglehold on his cock, she arched her spine and screamed, hands clawing for purchase at his thighs.
“Oh, goddess, Wylder…I’m coming…I’m coming…”
“Fuck me back, Morven,” he grunted, his cock swelling even larger as he felt the sperm boiling up his shaft, “grip me hard!”
A primal shout of victory winging from his throat, he joined his mate in the throes of climax, moaning his pleasure, groaning at the exquisite feel of her silky, hot cunt rippling about his burning cock. Fire lanced through his shaft as his seed poured into the fertile depths of his heart’s home, magick flared as seed met egg and new life awoke. Collapsing to the mattress, he deftly turned them so he did not crush her with his heavy bulk.
“I love you more than life, Morven,” he admitted, having waited until their passion had faded to warm embers. “I wanted to tell you when we weren’t caught up in the throes of sex. It’s not just an expression to me.” He rolled over to stare down into her shining eyes. “I have never told another woman what I just told you. I never will, again.”
Morven reached up and stroked his face. “I tried so hard to escape you. I was afraid you would swallow me up, that your magick would overshadow any accomplishment I might make.” She sighed. “For an entire year, you tried to show me what you were really like, but in my fear, I looked only at the surface. I love you, Wylder. I cried every night and prayed to the Lord and Lady that you would find me.”
“I have found you and I am never letting you go. Sleep babe. When you awake, everything will be right.”
Barely conscious, Wylder cuddled Morven close to his side. Pulling a light blanket over them both, he looped his arms and one thigh about her, wanting to be as close as possible. Content and sated, he harbored no doubts she felt the same. Still, his arms tightened about her, making sure she could not escape him.
He lay there, wife safe in his arms, daughter asleep down the hall, and contemplated the blessings heaped upon him all unworthy. Just as he drifted to sleep, he remembered the salamander…
Epilogue
She awoke to find him gone. For one panicked moment, she feared the night had been a dream, but the twinge of pain in muscles recently used—and used well—convinced her of the reality of the night’s events.
Throwing back the cover, she padded silently down the hall, guided by the soft susurration of whispered speech.
Peeking around the door, she watched her mate bonding with her daughter. Her legs gave way beneath her and she sagged against the wall, tears flooding her eyes. Raising both hands to her lips to stop her glad cry from escaping, she hungrily gazed on her daughter’s human form for the first time.
Nyla lay in her father’s arms, her tousled mop of inky black curls a match for his. Perfect arms flailed, little legs kicked as she raised dainty hands toward Wylder’s darting fingers where a tiny ball of glittering light danced upon his palm.
About Wylder, the powerful aura of his magick swirled in constant motion, cloaking him in limitless energy and force. How could she have feared him? She knew now, he would never use his power against her; only use it for the protection of her and their children.
As she straightened and prepared to tiptoe into the room, Wylder began to speak, his voice both stern and loving at once.
“I have banished your Salamander, you precocious little baggage. Since we don’t want Momma upset, we will keep this little incident between ourselves, young lady, but…” he whispered, holding his daughter up so she could see his stern expression, “the next time I catch you playing with Salamanders, Daddy’s going to put a kink in your magick that will ground you until you’re sixteen…!” he finished, wagging his finger in her tiny face.
From where she stood lurking in the shadows, Morven quickly stifled laughter as she watched and listened while her mate admonished their child, knowing him to be too softhearted to carry out his threats.
Their daughter seemed to know it, also. Gurgling a happy little laugh, Nyla reached out, captured her father’s finger and brought it to her mouth, her two teeth gnawing on the big digit, liberally covering it with baby drool.
The powerful Mage stroked his daughter’s face, eyes swimming with tears. “Okay, maybe until you turn three,” he modified, nuzzling his nose into her powder-scented neck. “Now, let’s go surprise your mommy…”
If Wylder wished to surprise her she wouldn’t disappoint him. She intended to spend the rest of her life making sure Elias Wylder got what he wanted, which would not prove hard to do as he had finally convinced her that all he wanted was her happiness.
Filled with thankfulness and a reciprocal love, choking on happy tears and laughter, Morven Wylder slipped away and ran back toward their room to prepare for her mate and child’s return.
As she ghosted down the hall, the night’s breeze wafted in from an open window, dancing chilled fingers across her exposed flesh. For the first time in months, San Francisco basked under the blessing of a cooling wind. The heat of the Salamander—like the long, lonely days of her self-imposed loneliness—had been banished by Wylder’s magick.
About the author:
Camille Anthony is a pseudonym for the author who lives in the beautiful, wild Low Country of South Carolina. She is a Western transplant to the South from the far shores of sunny California. A fertile imagination and a love of romance fuel her writing, which she has been doing since grade school. She draws her characters from the couple next door…the alien rulers of a distant star…and the beings who might share this space and time, yet reside in a different dimension. The author’s favorite stories are those of lust-driven, strong people, whatever the race, or planet of origin, who are driven by love for that special someone. She likes her heroines feisty, her heroes dominant and her passion red hot!
Camille welcomes mail from readers. You can write to her c/o Ellora’s Cave Publishing at P.O. Box 787, Hudson, Ohio 44236-0787.
Also by Camille Anthony:
Swept Off Her F
eet
HARVEST MAGIC
Jennifer Dunne
Chapter One
Ally Nichols glanced at her watch in irritation. She was already giving up two hours of her time tonight to attend the Hargrove PTA meeting, and that was assuming they began on time. Which they weren’t doing.
Other people filling the auditorium of Hargrove High School chatted companionably with their neighbors, seeming unconcerned about the delay. Since the seats surrounding Ally remained empty, she had nothing to do except think about all of the work waiting for her back on the farm.
PTA President Betty Ellersbee finally took the stage. The former beauty queen was radiant in a sunny yellow twinset and navy skirt, smiling and waving to the crowd as if she was accepting yet another rhinestone tiara.
“Good evening parents…and other relatives.”
Betty’s gaze focused on Ally, and many of the Hargrove residents turned in their seats to look at her. Ally ignored them. She knew they wondered why she was here, instead of her sister, Susan. The social lie, that Susan wasn’t feeling well and had gone to bed early, so Ally was attending on her behalf, hadn’t fooled anyone. Ally had attended all of the PTA meetings since Susan’s husband died nearly two years ago, and Ally left graduate school to look after her sister and young niece.
Ally had heard all the rumors, whispered loudly by nosy townspeople who wanted her to overhear them so that she’d comment. Susan was dying of a broken heart, and too weak to leave the house. Ally was jealous of her beautiful younger sister, and refused to let her leave the farm to find another man. One particularly lurid rumor had Susan dead and buried under one of the cornfields, with Ally pretending that she was still alive so that social services would not take her niece away from her. It was a good thing no one knew Ally was a witch, or she’d be accused of having her sister under a spell.
The traditional farm families made no secret of their dislike for organic farmers’ higher prices, although their attitude toward her brother-in-law had been mitigated by his being a local boy. Ally was an outsider, and was shunned and distrusted for that as well as for her organic farming techniques. Blaming her for Susan’s mysterious absence simply gave people an acceptable reason to dislike her.
Never mind that whenever Cindy’s friends came to the house, Susan always served them fresh baked cookies and either lemonade or cocoa, depending on the season. She’d even taken her daughter shopping for school clothes a few weeks previously. That should have silenced all the rumors. Instead, it only made the whispering start even more vigorously when Ally showed up tonight.
Still, whatever speculation there was centered on Ally. So far, the citizens of Hargrove had not stooped to interrogating a ten-year-old child about her mother’s absences, at least no more than the usual questions asking where she was and if she was feeling well. As far as Cindy knew, her mother was fine, which is what she told anyone who asked. Ally intended to keep it that way. After all, the whole point to giving up her life and her plans for her own future was to ensure Cindy had a normal, stable childhood.
It was just taking a little longer than she’d expected, when she’d first taken a leave of absence from school. But if the extra time kept Cindy from being bounced around and uprooted the way Ally and Susan had been, it was worth it.
The audience’s angry grumble alerted Ally that the PTA meeting wasn’t following the usual plan. She turned her attention to the stage, where Betty was patting the air in a shushing motion.
“If you’ll give me a moment to explain, you’ll see that we have more important issues to discuss tonight. You may remember that when the town budget was approved last spring, the bare minimum of funds were allocated for the school district. The unexpected repairs to the elementary school after the big storm this summer used up most of the discretionary funds. We had hoped to cover that cost with an aid package.”
Betty nodded at two of the school board members who had helped to write the application.
“Unfortunately, our request was denied. With the decreased tax revenue from the pipe works closing, and the Pearson farm failing, that leaves a large budget shortfall. The town cannot pay all the teachers and staff for the coming school year. Unless another source of funds can be found, we will have no choice but to close one of the schools, and send the affected children to school in Soldier’s Bridge.”
“That’s half an hour away!” a man protested.
“I’m aware of the distance.”
“Which school?” a woman asked.
“That has not been decided yet. We’re still hoping to find a source for the money.”
“You mean you want all of us working to raise money, because our kids might be at risk!” another man shouted.
Ally gripped the armrests of her chair, forcing herself to stay down, to stay quiet. She wasn’t going to jump up and tell these people what she thought of their idiocy, to let things get so far out of control. What if Cindy’s school was the one that closed? Ally remembered how much she’d hated starting a new school whenever they moved. She didn’t want her niece to have to go through that. Not if she could help it. But what could she do?
“We’ll need a thousand bake sales,” a nearby woman muttered.
Betty raised her arms, motioning for quiet. Eventually, the grumbling in the audience subsided.
“Thank you. I heard someone mention bake sales. We need more than bake sales, people. We need a big idea. The children of Hargrove are counting on you.”
The first few ideas were predictable—car washes, 50/50 drawings, and white elephant sales. Finally, a young woman Ally recognized from the Agway stood up. Betty nodded at her.
“Jane? You have an idea?”
“What about a corn maze, like they used to have at the county fair? That made bushels of money. I bet we could attract people from as far away as Oakbrook or Jacob’s Glen.”
“It’s nearly harvest,” one of the farmwomen protested. “There’s no time to plant a maze and let the corn grow.”
“What about putting a maze in an existing cornfield?” Jane asked.
Betty smiled as if she was addressing a second-grader, and patiently explained, “The corn is destroyed by all the people walking through the maze. It would mean losing an entire field. No one in Hargrove could afford that kind of crop loss.”
Betty stared straight at Ally as she stressed no one.
Ally mentally catalogued the cornfields on her sister’s farm. They couldn’t touch the fields that were test plantings. Most of the remaining fields in the corn rotation were growing their main crop of high-yield organic golden popcorn, with strawberry popcorn planted in long strips on the less-desirable pieces of land. But one of the fields closest to the house was nicely rectangular. And it happened to be growing Japanese white hybrids that matured nearly a month before the others.
That she had been able to use her contacts from the university to win guaranteed contracts for test plantings, and to obtain hybrid plants not readily available to other farmers, had been a further insult to the local farmers. If they ever found out the magical ways she increased her crops’ yields, she’d probably be run out of town by an angry mob.
Reminding herself that she was doing this for Cindy, Ally forced herself to stand and smile at the sanctimonious cow on-stage. “Actually, I may have a solution. One of our fields is an early harvest. And the popcorn is delicate enough that it needs to be harvested by hand. It’ll be a little harder to cut the ears from the stalks while the stalks are still standing, but it will be possible. That would leave the rows standing to make a maze out of.”
Betty looked like she’d bitten into an apple and discovered a worm. “Thank you for volunteering. But a corn maze is a large undertaking, and you don’t have any experience with it.”
Whispered conversations broke out sporadically in the crowd, as the Hargrove parents discussed the possibility of a corn maze as a fundraiser, and the protocol of allowing an outsider like Ally to be responsible for raising money for their ch
ildren.
Jane refused to give up on her idea, and called over the noise, “She might not have any experience, but Matt Cantrell does. I’m sure he’d lend a hand with the planning, especially if your sister asked.”
Betty frowned, or rather contorted her face in an expression of displeasure that did not produce wrinkles.
“Matt is an extremely busy man. He gave up his corn maze business years ago, to concentrate on his real estate.”
“He stopped working in the fields,” Jane agreed. “But he still owns the company. Even if he doesn’t have the time to help us out himself, he could order one of his employees to lend a hand.”
Betty’s arctic gaze swept the auditorium, gauging the group’s mood. Her lips tightened briefly, then curled into a patently false smile.
“I’m sure my sister would be delighted to help the town by recruiting Matt’s assistance. That is, if Miss Nichols is willing to accept his help. Are you?”
Ally took a deep breath, fighting down the instinctive urge to answer, “Hell, no! I don’t want anyone stomping all over my farm while the corn’s still growing.”
She knew the source of her fear. Her farm was unusual. A farmer would notice at once. A smart farmer would put two and two together, adding them up to Witch.
She couldn’t do anything to raise suspicions. But refusing qualified help would be suspicious, too. She might be able to gracefully back out by saying she hadn’t realized how much work would be involved, and that she couldn’t spare the time this close to harvest, neatly sidestepping the question of allowing a stranger to get up close and personal with her crop.
Then again, there was no reason to think Matt Cantrell, or whoever he appointed to help her, would be a hands-on worker. He might simply offer guidance and strategy, and leave the heavy work for her. She refused to let her fear of being found out make her give up, especially before she found out if there was even any reason to fear.
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