How to Marry a Warlock in 10 Days

by Saranna Dewylde

  But no, she wasn’t helpless. Dred was going to find out who’d done this. He was going to stop them from doing it again. She could help him. Little Midnight Cherrywood had a chance to change the world.

  Now, she understood. Her bit of inconvenient flesh really didn’t matter in the face of something like this. She felt a warmth spark inside of her and she realized that it was for Dred Shadowins.

  It wasn’t the blatant lust that usually colored every single thing that had to do with him, and she still couldn’t say that she liked him. He was still a witchinizing bastard, but there was this tiny flame.

  Its name was admiration.

  There was something else, too. That warmth, that spark—there was hope there. It sparked her magick, like a waterfall of fireworks as if there was something inside of her that could have changed those broken little bodies, could have mended them.

  But that was impossible. Wasn’t it?

  CHAPTER TEN

  The Broom Sleigh

  Five days later, Dred Shadowins escorted Middy Cherrywood and her bit of luggage to Snow Manor. He was thrilled that she was such a practical witch and managed to cram all of her necessities into one case and a garment bag.

  He’d never known a witch who could do that, but Dred thought that it should be a course offered at the Academy: Magickal Packing for the Smart Witch. Yes, he’d have to see about talking to the council to get that added as an elective.

  Middy would be the perfect witch to design the course.

  It would also be a way to pay her for her help. He’d already agreed to fund the Gargoyle Masque for the rest of his life, but who knew how long that would be if these bastards had already raised a lamia? A lamia could spell the end of mortal and magickal civilization. Dred knew of only one way to combat something so evil: great sacrifice. And the only thing Dred had that he valued above all else was his life. Still, he’d gladly give it to save his world.

  Dred sighed, knowing he had to keep his head in the game. He pushed Spy!Dred down and slipped into his RichPlayboy!Dred persona. He watched as broom after broom arrived, witches and warlocks wrapped in magickal furs, with luggage brooms arriving behind them. Dred always found that to be so pretentious and he knew for a fact, so did Barista Snow. Her elegance was rooted in her love of simplicity. That was something the social vultures couldn’t seem to grasp.

  Dred knew that she was going to love Middy and that would make it much easier for his fiancée to move about in the circles they needed access to.

  Other witches and warlocks continued their procession, but Dred was content to wait in the warm bubble of the broom sleigh. It had four thruster brooms underneath the hood and sailed through the sea of snow like a Cadillac on a Sunday drive.

  At least it wasn’t one of those pumpkin-shaped mon-strosities. He hated those. All of the witches he’d dated always wanted a ride in one around the holidays. Some Cinderella nonsense. He’d rather go face diving in a vat of cranberry sauce. Luckily, his mother never approved of those. Aradia was a staunch supporter of the stepsisters. In her opinion, it took much more dedication and determination to cut off a piece of your own foot than to languish around and wait for some mealy-mouthed fairy to come rescue one from circumstances.

  He scanned the crowd for his mother, but didn’t see her.

  There was an amazing view of a glitter frosted landscape, the snow making everything fresh and clean. His favorite part of the view was the snowcapped mountains that had looked to him like ice cream-covered breasts when he’d been a young warlock (everything with Dred was about the rack). Middy leaned against his chest. He didn’t mind having her there, nestled against him while she took in the sights. She’d confessed with a wide-eyed wonder that she’d never been to the Alps. She’d told him of a favorite childhood snow globe that had looked just like Snow Manor.

  She smelled like sugar plums today. Every time she moved, the scent filled the bubble that shielded the sleigh from the elements and he was reminded of Solstice and Yule, of home, of long winter nights reading with his mother while she wove magick pictures into the walls.

  When the stories and pictures had faded, they always left the scent of sugar plums in their wake.

  Dred found it odd in the extreme that this woman he lusted for should smell like his childhood. He couldn’t resist wrapping one cherry-chocolate curl from her cascade of hair around his finger.

  He’d had his fingers wrist deep in many a witch’s hair, but none had ever appealed to him as much as Midnight Cherrywood’s, even back at the Academy. That was why he’d turned them into snakes. Dred had dreamt about her hair, dreamt about touching it whenever he wanted. Rather than ask the girl if he could touch her hair, because that had seemed icky to a warlock of his age, he’d tried to destroy it so that it couldn’t taunt him.

  Snakes weren’t shiny, after all. They didn’t feel like silk and the sheen of them didn’t dance in the light like Middy’s hair. His fingers didn’t itch to touch them.

  She seemed not to notice the familiarity with which he touched her and he was thankful for that. Just because he wanted to touch her hair, it didn’t mean anything. He’d have to stop before she noticed. Witches took things like hair touching to be something more than it was.

  Unfortunately, his cock was getting hard, too. Touching her hair made him remember what it looked like spread out behind her on a pillow, her legs splayed for the image of him, and the sound of her voice as she called out his name.

  He hadn’t been able to help himself, tasting her. She’d been so sweet; he’d had to delve further.

  Her mortification had been intriguing as well. He hadn’t known how much the little witch had lusted after him until that moment. Sure, he knew that she wanted him. Most witches did . . . Yeah, he knew that sounded pompous, but it was the truth. If not for his looks or the tales of his leg-endary cock, it was for his money. He was a commodity.

  Though, Middy was the first witch he’d caught doing the nasty with his centerfold. He’d considered simply watching.

  There had been something so stimulating about watching his own image pleasure her. If he’d joined it, it would have been the ultimate in narcissistic pleasure. He’d be able to fuck himself, while fucking a hot little piece of witch. Dred was sure it didn’t get any better.

  Then he’d heard her frustration and he couldn’t resist.

  After all, he didn’t want it to get around that his centerfold wasn’t a good lay. If he was honest, he’d admit that it was more than that. Dred wanted to bring her pleasure. It all went back to that shade of pink that matched her mouth.

  Her nipples. And her . . .

  As he pushed the thought from his head, he realized everyone had arrived. It was time to land the sleigh and put his head in the lion’s mouth. He could see from the smug look on Barista’s face that she thought she’d finally gotten one over on him.

  His Aunt Barista was what one would call a piece of work.

  As the valet came to take the sleigh, Dred guided Middy into the reception line and stood behind her. He was looking at Middy when he realized a vital part of their charade was missing. The engagement tattoos.

  Double damn. He’d have to do them as soon as they were taken to their room. Dred had to keep himself and Middy from showing their wrists until then. It shouldn’t be too much of a problem for Middy since she was wrapped from head to toe in Chimerean fur.

  Barista’s face warmed as they approached and she smiled as she took Middy’s hand. “I’m so glad you could come, Midnight. Mordred has told me absolutely nothing about you.”

  “Thank you for the invitation, Madame Snow,” Middy said with her own smile.

  Her manners were impeccable. Dred couldn’t have chosen a better partner for this façade if he’d held auditions.

  Who was he kidding? If he’d held auditions, the casting couch would’ve been replaced twice from all the shagging and he still wouldn’t have found his perfect, virginal Middy.

  “You must call me Barista. Or Aunt
Bari, if you like. I’m simply dying to hear all about you.” She kissed the air next to Middy’s cheek and motioned for a servant to come guide them to their room. “And Mordred, darling. Your mother is here. I would advise that you take your bride-to-be directly to her room. She told me that even she hasn’t been introduced to Midnight yet, you horrible boy.”

  Barista turned her attention back to Middy. “We forgive him though because we never thought he’d find the right witch, did we, Roderick?”

  The stern man behind her with the aquiline nose and rough-hewn features smiled. “No, my dear. We’d lost faith that we’d ever find the one.”

  That sounded odd to Dred. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but he filed it away to contemplate later after he had Middy safely ensconsced and bearing his mark on her wrist.

  Middy followed the servant to their room, and Dred found the fellow to be completely unpalatable. He admitted to himself that he might be just a bit paranoid. Something about the man set all of his warning bells to ringing like a tornado siren in Kansas in the spring.

  He had an unpleasant smell that wasn’t the stench of un-washed bodies, but something else. Something that reminded him of the dark. The creature, for he seemed to be more creature than man, shuffled through the halls at a lethargic pace and Dred had the distinct and overwhelming sense that he didn’t want this thing to know where his room was.

  That was ridiculous, of course. There was bound to be an organizational chart somewhere so Barista could keep track of her guests. It would be easy for anyone to figure out where they slept, even if he clubbed this thing over the head with a dose of Lethe’s Tears.

  Nevertheless, he was going to work some serious warding when they reached their rooms. It was going to be an energy sucking bitch of a night. He’d have to do the entire room because in a castle as old as Snow Manor, there were secret passages that had to be warded as well. It was a veritable bitch to work effective wards when one didn’t know where all of the entrances were located.

  The creature turned and bared his teeth in a smile as he stopped in front of an unfamiliar door. Dred had hoped against hope that Barista would have put them in the quarters he’d used when he’d come to visit in summers as a child. He knew every nook and cranny of those rooms.

  He couldn’t help wondering if they’d been moved for that very reason.

  Dred couldn’t explain why he was seeing monsters in every shadow, but he knew from experience they were real.

  CHAPTER ELEVEN

  Midnight

  As soon as they were in their room, with the door secured against unwanted entry, Dred mobilized. He paced around their room, scanning for listening devices, magickal and mortal; he warded the windows, the doors, and even the closets. In fact, she was pretty damn sure he was warding the entire room. She thought that might be a little extreme.

  Middy continued to watch him with curiosity as she pulled her Chimerean fur from around her shoulders and dropped it casually on the chair.

  “Uh, Dred?”

  “Can’t talk, warding.”

  “I know. I have an insta-ward pack.” Middy said as she pulled the small sachet out of her purse. “I never travel without it.”

  Dred flashed her a lopsided grin and after he activated the pack he asked, “Are you sure you haven’t done this before?”

  “I’m just organized.”

  Three of the lightbulbs in the chandelier sparked and shot from their sockets, but when they hit the floor, they did not break. Instead, they took on batlike shapes as wings quickly emerged from the white bulb form. Heads popped out with long antennae that were still twitching.

  Middy was a gasp away from a scream, but Dred was across the room and had his fingers to her lips. He shook his head, indicating that she shouldn’t make a sound. From the way that the antennae were still moving, the bugs were still transmitting. If any of those things opened their eyes, Middy knew that she would scream like a bean sidhe. She could feel a slight bit of hysteria welling up in her.

  Dred’s strong arms were more of a comfort than they should have been. She hid her face in his chest, so she didn’t have to look at those Merlin-cursed things. Middy was irritated with herself for being such a . . . such a . . . pussy.

  There was no other word for it in her book. This doubled her irritation because not only was she embarrassed, but she hated that word.

  If she’d been with one of her brothers, she would have poked the damn thing in the eye if it had dared to look at her. She stole another peek at it around Dred’s very large Viking frame.

  The thing snapped its eye shut just as it caught her movement. The fuckers were watching them. She could do this. Really. Middy had a grip on her initial hysteria. They were on a secret mission, for Morrigan’s sake. A little bug shouldn’t have—she broke off her thought. It really wasn’t that little. It was just a bug, though. Middy could go over and stomp on it. Not without ruining her shoes, but still, she could do it if she was so motivated.

  It was just a bug. Just a creepy, crawly, slimy bit of dark that had been pulled from the Abyss to . . .

  She’d been twelve when her mother had let her go to the magick market by herself. Middy had a pocket full of money she’d saved from her summer of flea-dipping familiars and she wanted to buy a cape. A red one. Her idiot brothers told her a red velvet cape would do nothing more for her than attract werewolves, but Middy hadn’t cared.

  She’d seen the one she wanted in the Bell, Book and Candle.

  Middy had been ready to pay for her beloved cape, but could find no one to take her money. She’d wandered to the back of the store, down the stairs, and into a secret room.

  The walls had been covered with bugs; they’d swarmed around her, over her skin, tangled in her hair, and they’d all been seeking entry. Her ears, her nose, her mouth, her eyes, and they’d begun to bite her skin to get inside of her that way. She didn’t remember how she’d gotten home, her red cape wrapped in a parcel and all of her money still in her pocket.

  None of those bat bugs had been near the size of the ones that now lay on the floor.

  “I’m sorry, Dred.” Her voice was still shaky. “I think I’m overtired from the trip,” she said for whoever happened to be listening through the batbug.

  “I’ll just get us some refreshment and I think you’ll feel better.” And with one swift movement, he swept the bugs into the fire.

  When he was sure they were ash, he asked, “Are you okay?”

  Middy nodded. “I’m not usually so . . . that way.”

  “You’re made of sterner stuff than you realize, Midnight.

  I wonder if that is why we were put in this room?” he said, still thinking about the bugs. “I also wonder if someone knows why we’re here.”

  “Maybe. Or maybe someone on Barista’s staff just wants to see what they can find out? With all of the highborns here, there are people who would pay lots of money for the intimate information that’s just there for the plucking.”

  “Those bugs were a fuck of a lot of magick for a gossip rag.” Dred’s mouth thinned into a hard line.

  “It’s not for the sort of money that some of these warlocks can afford to part with to keep their bastards and scandals in the attic.”

  “Very true. Speaking of bastards—” Dred turned to her.

  “Have you given any thought to what you’ll do if there are consequences when I fulfill my end of this contract?”

  Middy was amazed at how fast he changed subjects.

  From batbugs and blackmail to sex. No, not just sex, but il-legitimate offspring. He was so casual about it. She supposed it was a valid concern and she was ashamed to say that she hadn’t given it any thought at all. Good thing she was already on the potion.

  “I’m on the potion.”

  “Did you know that it’s only ninety-percent effective?” Dred offered casually.

  “What are you, a walking prophylactic commercial?”

  “I’m just saying. There’s still the possibilit
y that you could conceive. Warlocks have to be super fertile, because we’ve been so hunted by mortals.” Dred shrugged.

  Middy colored. What would she do? She knew for a fact that witches could conceive the first time. If she got pregnant, she’d really have to marry Dred. Her mother would petition the council.

  Shit.

  It was no wonder she was still a virgin! She was never going to get laid at this rate.

  “Ah, I can see your wheels turning, Midnight. Be assured, if you do conceive, I’ll take care of my responsibilities.”

  “That sounds so romantic,” she snorted.

  “Marriage for our kind is rarely romantic, Midnight. I thought you knew that.”

  “Lovely. We’re talking marriage and babies, and I haven’t even gotten any of the good stuff yet.”

  He laughed. “Middy, you’re supposed to think that those things are the ‘good stuff ’—you’re a witch.”

  “I don’t see how. What do I get out of that besides being shackled to a screaming, pooping wad of humanity and a warlock who can’t keep his wand sheathed?”

  “Hence the conversation. It’s good to be prepared. Isn’t it better to know what you’re getting into up front?”

  “You really are an asshole.” It was more of an observa-tion than an insult.

  “I never said I wasn’t, sweetheart,” Dred replied coolly.

  “That doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind,” Middy warned.

  “You know, you could marry a highborn if you keep your virginity.”

  “I don’t want to get married.”

  Dred peered at her as if she were some strange little bug that he’d never seen before. “Isn’t it engraved in the witch psyche to want to get married? Don’t they drill that into you with dolls with wedding dresses and stories about charming princes in shining armor who slay dragons?”

  “I’ve found dragons to be kind and wise, shining armor rusts like a bitch, marriage is overrated, and charming princes are usually whoremongers. I can buy myself a pretty dress and I don’t have to bind myself to someone to do it.”