by C. D. Gorri
Table of Contents
The Witch and the Werewolf (The Macconwood Pack Series, #4)
The Witch and the Werewolf
Tagline:
Synopsis:
PROLOGUE
CHAPTER 1
CHAPTER 2
CHAPTER 3
CHAPTER 4
CHAPTER 5
CHAPTER 6
CHAPTER 7
CHAPTER 8
CHAPTER 9
CHAPTER 10
CHAPTER 11
CHAPTER 12
CHAPTER 13
CHAPTER 14
CHAPTER 15
CHAPTER 16
EPILOGUE
Connect with C.D. Gorri
Other Titles by C.D. Gorri
The Witch and the Werewolf
A Macconwood Pack Novel #4
From The Grazi Kelly Universe
by C.D. Gorri
Copyright 2018 C.D. Gorri
This is a work of fiction. All of the characters, names, places, organizations, and events portrayed in this novel are either part of the author’s imagination and/or used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to person, living or dead, actual events, locales or organizations is entirely coincidental. This eBook is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. All rights are reserved. No part of this book is to be reproduced, scanned, downloaded, printed, or distributed in any manner whatsoever without written permission from the author. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of any materials in violation of the author’s rights. Thank you for respecting the hard work of this author.
To EA, thanks for waiting!
Tagline:
ONCE UPON A TIME MAGIC tore them apart, now it's the only thing that can save them!
Synopsis:
THE COVENS ARE DEMANDING she choose a mate to continue her magical line, but there has never been anyone for White Witch Sherry Morgan except him. She spent years mourning the past and the only man she's ever loved.
Seff McAllister is a Werewolf and the local Pack Beta. Years ago, he allowed prejudice to stop him from claiming the only woman who made his beast howl. His cruel rejection has plagued him ever since. Now, Seff is in trouble and the only person who can save him is the last person he'd ever ask for help.
Will Sherry do what she can to cure Seff of the Dark magic that is slowly killing his Wolf? Or will old wounds get in the way?
PROLOGUE
TEN YEARS AGO.
Shereen Morgan, or Sherry as she preferred to be called, crossed the bare wood floors of her small apartment. She came to the small seaside town on a whim.
She’d needed a change. A major one. Moving next to the sea seemed like an excellent idea at the time. If only she knew. Despite her nomadic past, Sherry had immediately fallen in love with the beautiful landscape that comprised the Jersey Shore. For the first time in her life, she wanted to settle down, grow roots.
The apartment she’d rented was small, but it suited her immediate needs. She had one goal when she chose the space, and that was to rest, relax, and recuperate some of the energy she’d spent over the past few months. But all of that changed when she’d met him.
Her body still tingled from their fevered embraces, but still, sadness threatened to overwhelm her. She inhaled a deep breath and allowed the energy in the room to settle over her.
Don’t be a coward. Sherry frowned, it wasn’t like her to dawdle. She usually preferred to rip off the band-aid so to speak. Not this time.
Slowly, she exhaled the breath she’d been holding. Sherry glanced down at the note that sat unobtrusively beside the silverware caddy. She grimaced as she picked up the surprisingly light paper off the tiled counter inside her small kitchen nook.
She’d decorated the small space with cheerful yellow paint and brightly colored curtains. But the happy décor did nothing to soothe her soul in that moment. Her hands trembled as she fingered the smooth edge of the paper.
He’d methodically torn it off of the legal pad that still sat on the clean wood table. Carefully as if not to rip it. And yet he’s ripped my heart from my chest.
She took a moment to observe just how deliberately he’d folded his missive. His placement of it, propped up to ensure she’d see it almost as soon as she entered the room, just as thorough. How like him.
The familiar and neat, yet very masculine hand, had scrawled her name intently across the back of the page. Oh Seff. Dread filled her. She hated her own weakness. The fear she felt in the pit of her stomach that accompanied the pain that squeezed her heart.
She was not a true clairvoyant, but sometimes Sherry had psychic hits that proved all too accurate. Especially where he was concerned. She sighed and replaced the note without opening it. She knew what it would say, but dammit, she wished she was wrong.
She’d thought that he of all people would have at least listened to her side of things! True, she couldn’t expect him to ignore the edict of Zev Maccon, his Pack Alpha, but still. He could have talked to her.
Zev Maccon. The man was an all-around bastard. He hated everything and anything to do with magic. Especially the creatures who’d been born to it. Like me. The irony of the situation wasn’t lost on her.
Sherry was a Witch. A fact of her birth that she could not control, nor deny, even if she wanted to. Magic was indeed real. Seff, as a Werewolf, had undoubtedly known about its existence.
Still, he hadn’t connected it with her until they’d already become involved. My fault, she thought guiltily. She’d kept the truth of her powers from him.
Sherry had recognized Seff as a Werewolf from the first. Surprised by the sheer force of her undeniable attraction to him, she’d delayed telling him the truth about herself. Foolish Witch.
At that time, she’d only heard rumors of the Macconwood Pack’s Alpha and how adamantly he warred against magic. In fact, it was part of the reason she’d ventured to Maccon City.
To find out if the rumors were true, and to advise the Elders Trust on how to proceed. She hadn’t really believed the accounts that a Wolf could object vehemently to magic. After all, what was a Werewolf if not magical?
When supernatural factions had disagreements, there were special forces called in to weigh on them. Guardians to be precise. But before they were sent in, a third party was sent to gauge the situation. Sherry had needed a break. She’d heard about the trouble and offered her services to the Order of the Guardians.
Having little contact with Werewolves before, she’d expected most of what she heard to be gross exaggeration. Her plans were to watch from afar while drinking in the sun and enjoying the cool waters of the Atlantic.
Then she’d met Seff. And the rest, as they say, was history. Had she known then, that his Alpha had decreed to his Pack that no Werewolf of his would associate with Witches, she might have prevented this entire mess.
Still, Sherry could not help the shake of her head at the irony of it all. Rejected for her magic. Anger coursed through her veins. Zev Maccon absolutely refused to acknowledge the magic that worked within his own Pack.
He debased her and her kind as filthy abominations. Witches are not worthy to live let alone to be trusted. And as part of his Pack, Seff had no choice but to submit to Zev’s fanatic views.
Sherry had spent years of her life steering clear of unnecessary strife. She’d rejected that part of her magic that was prone to violence and war. She had no desire to fight or to police other supernaturals.
It was inevitable that she’d run smack into a fight when she’d only been there to do some research and rest her weary bones. The Fates strike again. She wondered what she’d done to tempt them to break her heart.
It would have been so much simpler had she jus
t said no when the Elders trust asked her to gather information on the Pack. Werewolves in general were secretive, but none so much as the Macconwood. Sherry’s curiosity had gotten the better of her. She’d been thrilled at first. She’d never seen so many Wolves in one place.
The small town was ripe with them. After spending the last few years stuck in a damned desert doing the bidding of the Elders Trust, that pesky council of the leaders of the White Covens of the world, she’d been looking forward to some down time. This had seemed like the perfect assignment.
She waved her hand and the teapot on the table filled with the steaming herbal concoction that she favored. The note sat heavy in her hand. Coward. Open it.
Instead she thought back on when she’d first met him. Seff McAllister, Werewolf, and all around good guy with his boyish charm, exquisite good looks, athletic build, and confident yet gentle nature.
Sherry had fallen for him. Hard. How could she not? He was made for her. Or so she thought. She thought she’d found her mate. Her true love. She had believed Seff loved her enough to get through the whole difficulty with his Pack. I was wrong.
The shock of her admittance was nothing compared to the words written in his Dear Jane letter. Her eyes closed on a wave of pain that shocked her to her core as she read his departing note. Oh Seff, we could have been great together.
She knew she should have told him as soon as he walked into her life that she was a Witch. And not just a Witch, she was a Morgan. Hers was one of the most powerful magical lineages known. She was a direct descendant of the Morrigan, once worshipped as a goddess amongst the ancient Celts.
Her famous ancestors also included Morgan Le Fay, that wronged half-sister of the legendary, but no less real, King Arthur of the Britons. She came from warriors, supernatural magistrates who’d brought judgement, and oftentimes death, to the lands they’d touched. They were both feared and revered, sometimes worshipped, by the Covens they’d served.
When Shereen Morgan was born it had been under a Blue Moon during a lightning storm. An omen, they’d later told her. Her mother had sacrificed her life for her child. She had been taught the ways of the Morganna by her grandmother.
Sherry was bright and powerful. Gifted by the Fates. Her skills unmatched, she’d wielded her power for whatever Coven her grandmother had assigned her to.
Once her grandmother’s health began to decline, Sherry had put down her sword. She chose to nurture the healing arts instead. She was proud of her magic and her history. Especially once she began her journey as a healer and a guide to others looking for truth and peace.
Still, despite how far she’d come and how good she felt about herself. Neither feeling stopped her from withholding the truth about her magic from the one person she should have been honest with. And now, it was too late.
She had already given her heart to the young, incredibly handsome Werewolf by the time she’d whispered that she was a Witch in his ear. Seemed she’d been right in hiding that fact. Once he’d discovered the truth about her, he’d left.
Not that she could really blame him, though she tried. Seff had been raised to hate magic. Werewolves didn’t trust Witches. Zev Maccon had declared all Witches the enemy of the Macconwood Pack. Seff’s Pack.
Sherry had been curious about him from the first. Her intense attraction to the Werewolf shocked her.
She hadn’t lied about what she was. Well, not exactly.
She simply hadn’t flaunted her powers. The scent of her anima magicae, the heart of her magic, was easily masked with perfume and her constant baking. She’d always loved to cook.
She wanted to weep when she thought of all the time they’d spent together. Didn’t it mean anything to him at all? Especially these last few days.
They’d cooked Szechuan in her tiny kitchen, watched game shows where he blurted all the answers, danced in the living room to the sound of the rock band that practiced next door.
He’d brought her small gifts every time he dropped by. Candied apples, licorice whips, the red kind not the black, and of course, flowers. Potted ones so she could water them and watch them grow from their perch on her windowsill.
The weeks had flown by. It really hadn’t been a surprise when the first real chill of October had set in the previous evening, that Sherry had opened her arms and her heart to him. After dinner, she’d turned on a horror film and brought them dessert to share in front of the screen.
She’d fallen in love over apple pie and ice cream. He’d turned to her after lowering the volume and feeding some more wood to the already roaring fire in the hearth. Those clever hands of his swept away her blouse and bra without her even noticing.
Before long, Seff had stripped off her skirt and her underthings, baring her flesh to his eyes and mouth. He’d murmured words of praise and tender endearments as he kissed and touched her in the most wonderful ways. Her body trembled at the memory of how he’d made the sweetest love to her.
Sherry’s eyes stung, but still she felt no regret. It had been mutual and wonderful. Seff had skillfully seduced her willing body, building pleasure until she could no longer hide who and what she was.
The magic that had always been a part of her had pulsed from within as her senses became lost in his touch. In the end, it was her eyes that had given her away. In her ecstasy, they’d changed color as they were known to do. First hazel, then gold, and finally, to a deep, glowing amethyst.
“Sherry? Are you okay? Your eyes are different. They’re changing color and glowing, but you, you’re not a Shifter? I’d smell it on you. Oh God, you’re a Witch!” He’d been surprised at first, but still, he had not scurried away.
“Yes, it’s true, I am a Witch and I know you are a Werewolf.”
“Why didn’t you tell me?” his voice was laced with sadness and awe.
“Because I know how your Alpha feels about us. Are you going to stop?”
“I don’t think I can,” he whispered.
“Are you not afraid?”
With his thickness still buried inside her pulsing cleft, Sherry had feared his withdrawal more than she’d cared to admit. He’d looked at her with his own brilliant brown eyes glowing, his Wolf shone brightly in them.
Caught up in wave after wave of passion and desire, he’d kissed her lips, claiming them with his own. Seff played her body like a master. Every touch, every movement, every meeting of their lips had culminated into a symphony of pleasure that grew and grew until she could no longer bear it.
“The only thing I am afraid of is how much I want you.”
He pushed himself deeper inside of her heat. Grinding into her core while his lips did marvelous things to her neck and, finally, the tips of her breasts that ached with need.
He seemed to know instinctively how and where to touch and kiss. His hips drove in and out of her, the friction of his muscular body against her soft one created a feeling of pure ecstasy with each powerful thrust.
He sucked her tongue into his mouth, his teeth nipping the sensitive flesh of her lower lip. Electric bolts of pleasure zipped down her spine, right to her core as he swirled his hips and stroked her deep inside. His scent filled her nostrils, clean and fresh with a spicy musk that was all him. She wondered briefly if she would ever wash those sheets again. She could breathe in the scent of him forever.
“Oh God. Sherry, you feel like fucking heaven. So damn good.” He growled and thrust faster, losing himself in her heat.
She welcomed his loss of control, reaching up and scratching her nails down his back. Whispering words in his ear that she’d be embarrassed to say in the light of day. But not right then and not with Seff.
They spent the entire night together. Between bouts of exquisite love-making, they’d talked, really talked. She’d told him of her magic and he’d told her of his brother and his place within the Macconwood Pack. He’d been young when his parents had died and he’d had to rely on Zev Maccon to provide for them.
Sherry could have wept for the little boy he’d
been, but he’d silenced her tears with more kisses. They came together again on the rug and once more on the bed. Their bodies spent, but still hungry for one another.
Seff was a fantastic lover. Just as she’d expected. Each encounter more passionate, more urgent, until Sherry was certain she’d declared her love for him aloud. How could she not when every fiber of her being wanted to shout it from the rooftops?
Expecting him to be skilled was one thing, losing her heart and soul in the span of one night was quite another. She’d never felt that way in all her long years on the earth.
Being magically inclined, she did not age the same as normals and was older than she looked. Not that age mattered, Wolves and shifters shared similar traits and Seff was also older than any normal would have guessed. Still, it was the first time she wanted to claim and, be claimed in turn, by anyone as mate.
Though more modern in marital practices than most Shifters, Witches did still believe in the concept of true mates. Some went so far as to blame the Fates who they said sometimes took a keen interest in the bedfellows of one Witch or other.
One thing Sherry had heard all her life was that when the mating instinct began in a supernatural being, it was difficult to quell. Sometimes impossible.
Sherry had grown up with tales of Witches gone mad when kept from mating with the one the Fates had chosen for them. One of her own ancestors was such a Witch. Others of course, did not believe in true mates. Still, they married, had children, and lived productive lives. And others still, wasted away for wont of their true mates, choosing solitary lives until they perished from the loneliness.
Being magical in no way guaranteed happiness. As she could now attest to. Sherry stemmed the flow of tears that threatened to overcome her as she watched the play of sunlight on the folded note. She inhaled and caught his scent on her skin and in the air.
It was unfortunate, that she, one of the most powerful Witches of the last age, one who had denied the whims of her heart for many years, had finally let the blasted organ free, only to have it betray her.