Wicked *itch: Magic and Mayhem Universe

by Teresa Gabelman

  Audible sighs of relief filled her ears, but her eyes never left his. “You are different.”

  “Honey, you have no idea.” Thorne’s grin grew, but his eyes took a more sinister look, but it wasn’t unpleasant.

  Their food arrived preventing her from asking any more questions, but more importantly, it stopped him from prying in her life, or so she thought.

  The smell of fried chicken tickled her senses and her mouth watered. Glancing over, she almost gagged at the huge rare steak practically hanging over the sides of Thorne’s plate. Taking a bite of chicken leg, she moaned as the tender meat, with the soft yet crispy skin, melted in her mouth. She chewed quickly just so she could get another bite, licked her lips and went in for more. Another moan left her mouth. As her eyes started to roll back in her head in a full-blown attack of food ecstasy, she caught Thorne watching her. His eyes were dark with desire, his face set in stone. Living up to her name, she ran her tongue slowly across her lips as if savoring the taste. His eyes had dropped, then shot to hers.

  “You keep doing that”—one of his eyebrows slanted low over his eye—“these customers are going to see exactly what I’m having for dessert.”

  Holy shit! Those words shot desire straight to her secret place, which had seen no action in a very long time. She even thought she moaned again, but she couldn’t be sure because there was a ringing in her ears. Just this man’s stare and voice, not to mention his damn laugh, totally threw her for a loop. She felt the heat rise to her cheeks as her eyes lowered from his.

  “Play with fire, Wicked, and fire will play back.” He reached across and lifted her chin with his hand. “I’m the fire.”

  Second “holy shit” moment in less than a minute. That was a record. The men she had dated in the past had never ever made her feel the way Thorne did, and it scared the bejesus out of her. It also made her crave something she had never had. A true fucking orgasm. Yes, a true full-blown orgasm that she had only faked in the past. Yeah, the men in her past had no clue what the hell they were doing, obviously, since just Thorne’s words were enough to have her crying out in pleasure while surrounded by hungry diners.

  “How’s the food?” Wanda asked, making Wicked jump. She dropped her chicken leg on the plate, making a loud clatter as it hit her fork, flipping it onto the ground. “Oh, goodness. I didn’t mean to startle you. Let me get you a clean fork. You just leave that right there. We’ll get it later.”

  Wicked glared at Thorne, blaming him for her embarrassment.

  “What?” He took a huge bite of steak, then chewed with a large closed-mouth knowing grin. The ass.

  “You’re going to be a pain in my ass,” she whispered, knowing people were still trying to hear their conversation. People in this town seemed nice, but nosy.

  “If the name fits,” Thorne replied with a chuckle.

  Wicked tried, she really did try not to laugh, but realizing what she said, and then his remark indicating his name, she couldn’t help it. A true laugh she hadn’t experienced in so long just happened, and it felt damn good.

  “Oh, it fits,” she said between laughs. Finally controlling herself—it seemed she was a lunatic because it really wasn’t that funny—she noticed he wasn’t smiling anymore, but watching her with an expression she’d never seen on him before. “What?”

  “You have a gorgeous smile.” His voice was low. The warmth of his words washed over her. “And an even more beautiful laugh.”

  Not used to compliments, Wicked shrugged it off, figuring he just wanted to get in her pants. With a look like he was giving her, he was on the right fucking track. Having a reputation for being rude lately, she thanked him but looked away when doing it.

  “Here you go.” Wanda handed her a new fork.

  “Thank you,” Wicked replied with a grin, but her appetite had quickly diminished.

  “You’re welcome.” Wanda smiled at her, then glanced toward Thorne. “I want you to know you’re always welcome here.”

  Thorne looked a little uncomfortable at her statement. Wicked figured this was because of what Thorne told her when they first arrived—these Shifters were his prey. She could see how that could make them uncomfortable. He had looked at her a few times and as if she were being stalked, but for different reasons than being eaten. A shiver ran through her body at that thought.

  “I appreciate that, Wanda.” He gave her a half smile with a nod. “I would be heartbroken otherwise as this is the best food I’ve ever had.”

  Wanda blushed and giggled like a schoolgirl. “Oh, stop!” She giggled again. “Now how about a piece of chocolate pie to follow that steak?”

  “Then again, I think if I keep coming in here I’m going to gain quite a few pounds.” Thorne leaned back and rubbed his flat stomach. Wicked suddenly wished he was shirtless, and then mentally smacked herself. “But I could never pass up a piece of pie.”

  “Great!” Wanda clapped her hands together. “How about you, Wicked? We have apple also.”

  There was no way she could refuse this sweet lady anything. She would shovel down the rest of her food and a piece of pie if it killed her. “I have never in my life turned down chocolate, and I’m not starting today.”

  “Wonderful!” Wanda gave them both a brilliant smile as she scampered away, stopping here and there to check on other diners.

  “Sweet lady,” Wicked mused, then looked at Thorne. “Why did she feel the need to let you know you’re always welcome here?”

  Thorne didn’t answer right away; he stared at her for a beat. “You know, I think I’ve answered a lot of questions, and you haven’t answered even one of mine.” He leaned forward, pushing his plate to the side.

  Taking another bite of chicken, without the moan, she shrugged. “I did. You just didn’t like the answer.”

  “Damn straight I didn’t like the answer.” Thorne frowned. He then leaned back when Wanda returned with two large slices of pie and set it in front of them both. “Thank you, Wanda.”

  “Yes, thank you.” Wicked eyed the huge piece of delicious-looking pie and almost moaned again, but caught herself. She really needed to stop doing that, especially around this man. She glanced up to see Thorne watching her with a knowing look, damn him.

  “Enjoy.” Wanda hurried away as more customers came in the door.

  Deciding to totally ignore Thorne, she dove into her piece of pie, and time seemed to disappear. She had never tasted anything as amazing as this. Before long, her plate was empty, and she seriously thought about licking the crumbs from the plate. She went as far as to look around to see if anyone was watching her. There was.

  “I’ve never seen anyone enjoy something quite like you enjoyed that piece of pie,” Thorne replied, shifting in his seat. “It was quite... enjoyable.”

  Goddess, did she moan through the whole thing? Embarrassed, she busied herself cleaning up her mess and making it easier for the staff, something she had always done.

  “You finished?” Thorne asked as he scooted out from the booth.

  Wicked nodded, then reluctantly took the hand he offered. He threw down a generous tip, then headed to the counter to pay.

  “I can pay my—”

  “Not on my time you can’t,” Thorne said, taking care of the bill, then led her out the door.

  Wicked had looked around to find Wanda, who was busy, but she glanced up and waved. Wicked waved back, then noticed everyone was watching her and Thorne as they left.

  Once at his bike, she peered up at him. “Why did Wanda say that to you?”

  Thorne stared down at her. The sun was just setting, the slight breeze chilly, making her shiver. Yeah, it’s the breeze, she told herself. “A kiss and I will tell you.”

  Her knees jerked as if ready to buckle. She knew she couldn’t blame that on the breeze. No, she totally blamed it on this man. She gave him a weak snort.

  “I don’t need to know it that bad.” She went to get on the bike, but he stopped her and pulled her to him, clasped her chin and ki
ssed her. A teeny tiny part of her wanted to pull away, but the majority of her wanted to hold on for the ride, and she wasn’t talking about his bike. All too soon he pulled away but kept so close they were nose-to-nose. “Are you going to answer now?” Her voice didn’t sound like her own; it was weak and shaky with a hint of lustful huskiness.

  “No,” he responded. His voice sounded a little husky too.

  “But the kiss.” She frowned. Her gaze shifted to his lips, then back to his eyes that never once flickered away from hers.

  “Was not given, it was taken.” His voice deepened and just when she thought he was going to kiss her again, he pulled away. Was she disappointed? Ah, hell yeah, and didn’t that just chap her ass. Well, two could play at this game.

  She reached up, grabbed his shirt, and pulled him to her with all the strength she possessed, and kissed him, hard. She put everything she had into this one kiss and by damn, she would make him shiver, and his knees buckle.

  Suddenly she was picked up, her legs wrapped around him as they made out in the diner parking lot. Wicked had no clue if she was still in control. Actually, she did have a clue, and the answer was hell no she wasn’t in control. Pushing herself back from him, she took a few lifesaving breaths before sliding down his body until her feet touched the ground. The smug look on his face was like a slap to hers.

  She stood there, doing her best to act as if the kiss hadn’t just blown her fucking mind. She even went as far as putting her hand on her hip in an exaggerated pose. “Okay, spill it!”

  Thorne pulled her back to him and leaned down close to her ear. “Oh, I’m going to spill it.” His mouth left her ear and made its way to her neck. Then with a nip to her skin, he turned her, picked her up, and set her on the back of his bike. “But that isn’t happening in the parking lot.”

  “Holy shit” moment number three, and it was a biggie. Wicked realized she may have just bitten off more than she could chew with this Shifter.

  Chapter 7

  Wicked really couldn’t enjoy the ride home; instead, she kept reliving the kiss and wondering exactly what was going to happen once they got back to her place. Should she ask him in? Did she want him to come in? Should she send him on his way? Did she want him to go on his way? Would he even listen to what she wanted or take what he wanted like he did with their first kiss? She had so many questions and so little time because they were about a half a mile from her place.

  The first time she had met Thorne, there had been an instant attraction, at least on her part. That attraction had grown, and she’d done everything she could to slow the growth or just plain erase the attraction altogether. She knew a way, but she wasn’t down with putting a spell on herself.

  They had just stopped in front of her house, and all the questions she had asked herself remained unanswered, so she simply sat there, on his bike, waiting. She glanced up at the low-hung moon in the darkened sky. It was a harvest moon, which meant time to tie up loose ends, pay attention to things undone, and to see the future with a clean conscience and a clean slate. But tonight, there was a red haze, which alarmed her. Every time in life she had seen a red haze over the moon, it meant something wicked was heading her way.

  “Nice moon.” Thorne dismounted his bike and mirrored her gaze at the sky above.

  Wicked slid off the bike with only a nod. Most nonwitches didn’t know how important moons and their phases could affect a witch’s magic, for the good and the bad. The moon could also alert witches to events about to take place. Looking away from the night sky, she peeked at Thorne, who still stared up, and she wondered if she should trust him.

  “What is it, Wicked?” Thorne asked, his eyes searching hers. “What has you afraid?”

  Looking away from him, she glanced around, and then grabbed his hand and led him around to the back of her house, down the hill to a narrow creek that ran past the back of her property. Stopping, she turned toward him, then put her index finger to her lips.

  Thorne instantly went on alert, his body completely still, but his eyes scanned the area. Pointing toward the ground, a spear of glittery sparks shot out of her fingertip as she moved her hand in a complete arc over their heads and then down to the other side of the ground. A thin shimmer enveloped them.

  Once she was done and they were cocooned, she looked up at him and had an overwhelming feeling that she could trust him, completely, and she wanted to. She wanted someone to confide in, to talk to other than a cat, and she wanted someone who she belonged to. Yes. She wanted to belong to someone. Here goes everything.

  “My name is Wicked.” Not once did she take her eyes from him as she spoke. “I have no last name that I know of. Do you have any idea what it’s like to never have had a last name? When I signed the lease, I used magic to mask that fact. I don’t know when I was born. I don’t know who my parents are or were. I know nothing other than growing up alone. I got my name from a cranky old nun at the orphanage I grew up in. The only thing I own is my tattoo machine, Lenny. Yes, it has a name. The only constant in my life is my work and my cat, Bruce, who is a pain in my ass and who I want to kill at least once a day. He’s also my familiar.”

  “Why did they call you Wicked?” Out of everything she just said, that was his question?

  Wicked cleared her throat and looked past him. “We had a certain time to eat, and you ate no matter what was on the plate. Well, one particular night it was liver. I sat at that table for seven hours because I wouldn’t touch it. Eventually one of the nuns took pity on me, tossed the liver and told the other nun that I had eaten it.”

  “How old were you?” Thorne asked, his voice low, but she heard the anger radiating in his chest as the words were spoken.

  “Not sure, but young. Maybe four or five.” Wicked shrugged. “Anyway, the cranky nun knew Sister Sara was lying for me and took to calling me Wicked. I guess she felt I was responsible for the nun’s lie. I’ve never changed it because I never want to forget any part of my life from that point until now. Having no idea what your real name is, where you’re from, where you belong is a terrible feeling. So even though that was a dark time in my life, I’ll always remember it.”

  “Did you have no one?” Thorne asked, taking her hand in his, and she let him.

  “Yes, I had Bruce.” She gave him a sad smile. “A few of the nuns were nice, but I knew I was different. And the first time Bruce talked to me I knew for sure. Well, after I freaked out, I knew something about me was different. He explained things to me slowly and here I am, and that’s my story. I’m a witch who learned her craft from a cat.”

  He stared at her for the longest time without saying a word. His hand tightened around hers, and then he pulled her to him and held her. “I’m sorry, Wicked.” His low voice rushed over her.

  Wicked pulled away from him. “Don’t be sorry for me.” She shook her head. “And never pity me. I survived, and I’m stronger for it.”

  “There’s nothing to pity.” He took her chin in his hand and tilted her face to his. “Why did you tell me this?”

  “I don’t know.” She lied; she did know. She wanted to be accepted by him with the truth out and plain to see. To her, it was a big deal; to others, maybe it wasn’t. No one adopted her, no one loved her—but a talking cat. And at times, she even wondered about his true feelings. Did her familiar only deal with her because she was his witch? Not all witches had familiars, but some like herself couldn’t be without. She didn’t know the ins and outs of the whole familiar thing, but she knew when Bruce was gone.

  She had nothing to offer Thorne other than herself, and she wanted to know if that was enough. If it wasn’t, then she needed to walk away from everything she had begun to build here because she knew what her true feelings were for this man, and they were growing stronger. Before anything went further, he would know exactly who Wicked was. “No, that’s a lie. I want you to know exactly who I am. I never let anyone close to me. Trust is hard to come by, but for some reason, I trust you, and you asked me what scared m
e. Well, there it is. Friendship has been very limited with me.”

  “So your fear is friendship?” Thorne’s eyes narrowed thoughtfully.

  “Yes,” she replied with a nod. “Do you have any idea what it felt like to see everyone you knew leave with an adopted family and never once was I looked at as a possibility? What was wrong with me? That was and is a question I ask every single day. Why wasn’t I one of the chosen? Most anyone I have ever had a friendship or relationship with, male or female, has failed for one reason or another. Some have hurt, others didn’t. I’ve been used and thrown away like a piece of trash on the ground. I really try not to dwell in the past, but when I know that I could be hurt, I back away. How can I not fear that? Fear not being good enough?”

  “I would never throw you away like trash.” His voice trembled low in his throat. “And anyone who did be damned. I’m sorry you’ve been through all that, but that’s the past. I’m your future.”

  Goddess, she wanted to believe him, she really did with all her heart. She opened her mouth, but nothing would come out, so she closed it quickly looking away from him to the ground. This was way too good to be true.

  “Wicked, friendship is only the start with us,” Thorne replied, tugging her close again. “You are mine. You’ve been mine since the first minute I saw you staring at my vacant building. Do you really think rent is that cheap?” He chuckled when she frowned.

  “What? Cheap?” Wicked’s eyes rounded in shock. “Four hundred dollars a month is not cheap.”

  “That space goes for eleven hundred, honey.” He chuckled when she sputtered a choked curse.

  “And the house?” She was afraid to ask.

  “Yeah, about that.” He winked at her. “Two fifty is way underpriced.”

  “I asked Bruce, but he said that sounded right to him.” Wicked sighed, shaking her head.