Undone

by April Vine

  Undone

  April Vine

  Book two in the Wanton Witches series.

  Zachary Wilson learns the hard way that paying a courtesy visit to his friend’s three bumbling witch aunts can result in way more than he bargains for. Catching the bad end of a cast spell, he’s left with an illuminated…um, nether region. Now the only person who can cure him of his unwanted radiance is another witch. Fantastic. But this witch is not a rosy-faced elder. She’s sexy as sin and far too tempting.

  Once Nikita’s tears of laughter dry from seeing the tall, proud, sexy man and his equally impressive display of goods, she agrees to help him. The large sum of money he’s willing to pay will help protect her sister from a ruthless warlock. But the cure is sex—lots of it. And unfortunately for her, each ride on his glowing member only draws them closer together. To complicate matters, Nikita has a curse of her own, and falling in love could be the end of her.

  Undone

  April Vine

  Chapter One

  Zachary Wilson dared another peek at his cock. Nope, it still glowed—as if someone had dropped the switch so the hidden bulb in his dick could light up. That’s what happened when the shit end of a spell got blasted his way, turning his pride and joy into a fucking one-thing freak show.

  “Run that by me again.”

  Zach pressed the pads of his fingers against his closed eyes, tempted to throw his cell out the window of his car and end the three-way call with his friends. They had roused a field day of laughs at his expense for the last seventeen hours and it had started to grate on his nerves.

  “Go to hell, Sebastian. But don’t forget it wasn’t so long ago that you had a tail dangling out of your ass.”

  “Man’s got a point,” Nick said. “What is it with you guys and those witches?”

  “Yeah, but I had that tail dangling out of my ass all in the name of love. Beat that. Listen, Michelle feels bad about what happened, Zach, but I told her there was nothing to be sorry about. Your dick’s finally been given the spotlight it deserves. I have to go, got babies to make. Let me know what happens.”

  “Yeah, I got to go too. Good luck, bud,” Nick added. “One question. Have your balls become…disco balls now?”

  Zach banged his finger into the disconnect button at the sound of Nick’s laughter, buttoned his jeans and got out of his car. He crossed the deserted road and entered The Rusty Mug, ignoring the neon lights in the ceiling that sizzled and flickered as he passed under them.

  The time for freaking out like a teenaged girl was over. He had to take action. And the only person who could cure him was another bloody witch. Man, if he never encountered another witch for the rest of his life, he’d be damn happy.

  Stale air settled all around him as he walked through the dismal establishment located in an equally dismal part of the city of Cape Town. A bald barman shined whiskey glasses with a dirty rag. The mole growing out of his chin sprouted a single strand of hair long enough to reach his chest. A sum of six hunched-over and miserable-eyed patrons sat scattered around the bar. He couldn’t make out much of the other faces in the sparse light. He just acknowledged their presence. Besides, he sought just one of them.

  Nikita.

  No last name.

  He squared his shoulders and as he lightly shook out the tension gathering in his neck, he noticed a pair of black boots sticking out from under the side of the table at the far end of the bar. It had to be her.

  “Nikita?”

  A woman with a head of matted red hair looked up at him and giggled.

  “May I sit down? I need your help.”

  “Yes, yes.”

  He pulled out a suspect-looking chair, wondered if it’d take his weight, gauged his surroundings one last time so he knew exactly where everyone was—force of habit—and sat down.

  “You got the money?” She smiled at him, her gums advertising the vacancies for three front teeth and two on the side, her lips thinner than a sheet of paper. She smelled of olives and bleach. Her wheezy breaths magnified in the silence of the bar.

  He leaned in and kept his voice low. “How much do you need?”

  “One hundred bucks.” She giggled again. The witches had told him to give her whatever she asked without question. He’d have given up his fortune for his dick back sans the special effects.

  “I can give you much more.”

  “Yes, yes? One hundred and ten?” She wrapped her battered shawl around her frail shoulders, her giggle replaced with an evil sneer.

  “Is that all you really want?”

  “Yes, yes.”

  He lifted the side of his ass and withdrew a wad of money, flicked through two notes and placed them on the table. A slender young hand snatched the cash off the crudely engraved wood, leaving a crooked bony one dangling empty and depressive in midair.

  “Can’t you tell the difference between a gypsy and a witch? You’re looking for me.”

  Did he say if he never saw another witch in his life he’d be happy? Well that just changed to if he never saw another witch in his life it would be too fucking soon.

  “Excuse me.” He rose from the tiny chair, extracted a few notes from his back pocket again and left them on the table for the gypsy before he followed the real witch out the back door of the bar. On closer inspection, he noticed a troll and a fairy on his way out. And how well he fitted in with his luminous dick. Fuck.

  “What do you want?”

  He increased the length of his stride to catch up with her, unable not to notice the bounce of her ass in her skintight jeans when he lagged behind or the sexy click of her stiletto-heeled, knee-high boots on the pavement when he caught up with her. Long black hair shimmered in the night all the way down to the tip of that stunning backside of hers.

  “Are you Nikita?”

  “Thought I made that clear. What do you want with me?”

  That’s all he needed. A witch with an attitude. He gripped her arm and swung her around to face him.

  “I need your help.”

  She peeled his hand off her body as if he were some germ-infested rag.

  “Don’t ever touch me like that again.” She didn’t need to finish her warning with a threat of broken bones or castration with a blunt bread knife. The “or else” came off blatantly loud and clear. His gaze swept up and down her body, the thought of her trying to overthrow him with all those soft curves and beautiful tits sticking out of her black t-shirt brought a grin to his face. His lips spread into a slow, sensual smile. He’d have liked to see her try.

  She all but rolled her eyes and carried on walking, dismissing his macho turnabout in answer to her warning. Clearly she was unaffected by his male charm. He refused to acknowledge that her lack of interest perturbed him.

  “Who sent you?” she threw over her shoulder.

  “The three witches.”

  He caught the soft sound of her laugh as he cleared the distance between them. “Do you have more where this came from?” She wagged his money in his face without missing a step.

  “Yes.”

  “Follow me.”

  She reached into her pocket and pulled out a single key, inserted it into the lock and turned the knob of her front door. He hesitated before the block of apartments along the same side of the street as the bar. She tilted her head, daring him to enter her house with a smirk on her face. She was having fun at his expense and damn he was as out of his element as his dick was out if its.

  “I don’t have all night. Are you coming in or not?”

  “Are you always this prickly?” He took a comfortable stance on her front step, arms folded, legs spread wide. He wouldn’t let her get to him any more than she already had. But fuck, no matter how beautiful he thought she was, she still remained a witch and his imagination worked overtime
wondering what other mishap he might walk into if he entered her apartment.

  “Me? Oh no, I’m a charm a second, just not when it comes to civilians.”

  “Civilians?”

  “Yeah, like you. Clueless, powerless and scared shitless.”

  “You think I’m afraid of you?”

  “Of course you are. It explains why you’re standing on the other side of my door, pale and quivering.”

  He exhaled a breath he didn’t realize he held, glanced over the perimeter of her doorframe and entered her house. He never paled or quivered in his entire life and he wasn’t going to start now—not over some sexy-as-sin witch. He did, though, expect bats to fly at him, the smell of boiled frog legs to assail his nostrils and a fat cat with an identity crisis—no, wait, that was Henry, the other witches’ cat.

  The whole of her apartment, if he could call it that, spanned the size of his bedroom with room to spare. The furniture looked comfortable but old and odd-looking. Vanilla and musk scented the air, the same scent that infused his brain when she passed around him. His glance tripped over an ancient mirror hanging on the far side of a wall then fell onto her bed, an unusual oval shape covered in a thick velvet throw. A piece of black-and-purple lingerie draped over the side of it. He swallowed away the sudden hoarseness in his throat.

  She favored the colors purple and black. Everywhere he looked the same color pattern greeted him. But strangely he found her abode—because no other word would do—alluring, much like he did her.

  Nikita quelled the uneasy feelings drumming against her temples. If she didn’t need the money so badly, she’d have ignored the large man and left him to be bamboozled by a gypsy past her expiration date.

  He dwarfed everything she held dear the instant he stepped into her entrance hall. She hated every second of him being there in that very same instant. His prominence demanded her full attention and turned the tables on her. She swallowed, flustered, hot and bothered as he swiveled around her open plan. Well, open everything, really—from kitchen to bedroom and living room in between. An underhanded thought flitted through her mind. Nothing in her house would ever be the same again and yet he contained no supernatural powers. He was wholly human and yet powerfully so.

  Get rid of him, Nikita. Quickly.

  Something about him suggested danger. Nothing palpable, just enough of an undertone for her to sit up and pay attention. The broad width of his shoulders, the fluid muscles outlining the length of jean-clad legs, all spread out in a six-foot-plus casing, made for a daunting figure. Yet he carried himself with casual ease, a laid-back manner that matched his emotional detachment, a trait she seemed uniquely in tune with. If she didn’t know better she’d call him an unusual male specimen, one of whom she hadn’t encountered before. But the exorbitant quality of his clothes, the ridiculously overpriced car from which he had alighted and the shameful value of the watch on his wrist dictated something else.

  He was nothing but a gym-trained pretty boy, lavishly spending his trust fund without a care in the world. If she could get a couple thousand out of him, she might be able to buy herself more time in keeping her sister Sumatra safe. She gave him another once-over. She planned to play on his naïveté for all his worth.

  “What is it that you need from me?”

  He stared straight at her, his gaze held hers tightly bound. She daren’t breathe, daren’t hurry him up with a sharp retort, daren’t think. She drowned in the most mesmerizing eyes she’d ever seen. Charcoal-gray specked with hints of emerald green, framed extensively with thick lashes. She waded through their depth, eager to emerge on the inside. Of him. It’s just curiosity, she repeated in her head. Nothing more.

  She didn’t even realize his hands had moved to the button on his expensive jeans until the soft rustle of it popping fluttered in her ears and a zipper being dragged down followed suit. She dropped her head and her gaze slammed straight into his crotch.

  She couldn’t believe what stood before her. Excitement washed over her like a refreshing wave of an ocean. A laugh brewed inside her chest. She gave in and it slid out of her throat and escaped from her mouth and from there she couldn’t stop it. She laughed until tears rolled off her cheeks, until her sides ached. And every time she thought she’d got a grip she started again.

  He stood there, proud as a bloody god, and if it weren’t for the clenching of his jaw, she’d have thought her reaction to his glowing cock was one of supreme noninterest.

  “I’m sorry. I just…” She wiped her eyes with the tips of her fingers. “It’s just that the last time I saw something like that was on a Neanderthal.”

  “Is that supposed to be funny?” He folded his arms, all manner of his person indicating he’d rather pull up his jeans and storm the hell out of her house. But he stood his ground, refusing to give her any hint of his discomfort.

  “Um, no. It’s the truth actually.” She regained enough composure to give her full attention to the cock staring back at her. A healthy organ by the looks of it. Bigger than average, even flaccid. His balls hung proudly, as if they were knights of the fiery tower. She’d go as far as to say it was probably a well-used appendage. She imagined women taking one look at his face and falling to their knees before him, eager for a chance to be anointed with his dick, desperate to take him inside their bodies and feel his masculine strength. She shook her head and replaced the sensual glide of lust strumming down her spine with money signs and Sumatra’s safety.

  “How did this happen?”

  Large hands rose to rest low on his bare hips. His chest puffed out. Ah, that male pride. Even with a circus happening in his nether region, he still pulled rank in the field of arrogance.

  “I walked in on the witches while they were doing a spell and caught the end part of it. Should I give you a moment to cackle some more?”

  “No, please, continue. I’m done cackling.”

  “Glad to hear that.”

  “How do you know the three witches?”

  “One of my best friends is married to the witches’ niece. I was checking up on them while my friend and his wife were on honeymoon.”

  “Ah.” She started toward him. The chafe of her jeans against her skin lit a fire in her nerves. She hadn’t been this aroused in centuries, had thought she’d forgotten the feeling of wanting. The foreign awareness overlapped the fringes of her common sense, enough for her vision to encompass only this man before her. Moisture flooded the G-string nestled between her ass cheeks. Her pussy ached with unfamiliar need. She couldn’t help her body’s reaction to him.

  She closed the gap between them. Her skin heated up at the closeness of his. He towered over her as her hand slid under his heavy shaft. In that moment he grunted and for a split second she owned all of him. The nerves in her fingers danced as she ran their tips over the virile veins embossed on his velvety skin. She weighed him in her palm. Squeezed and released. She imagined him inside her body, easing in and out of her with fluid motions, forceful enough to etch the memory into her mind for millennia to come.

  He stopped breathing but refused to close his eyes. He stared at her dead straight, as if she were merely standing before him with absolutely nothing in her hand and definitely not his cock. He refused to give in and grow to his full length. Maybe he was tougher than she expected.

  Her knees buckled. She knelt before him. The buds on her tongue tingled in anticipation. She was overcome by just touching him, by inhaling the clean, soapy scent of his cock. She wanted him to react to her touch. She craved it. She opened her mouth and took him inside and a blast of energy rocked her world, changing its course forever.

  Chapter Two

  Zach gritted his teeth. Determined to prove he wasn’t the kind of man ruled by his dick. Any other woman he wouldn’t have cared so much. But for this mysterious creature who called herself Nikita, he drove himself harder not to come off as a dick in all ways, especially considering said dick looked more like a sparkling Christmas tree.

  Then she t
ook him into her mouth. A bolt of electricity showered down upon him. Instinctively he lifted her up by her arms, anything to get her away from his treacherous cock.

  “What the hell are you doing?”

  “Hmmm…helping you?”

  “Not like that you aren’t.”

  Her lips, two sensual strips of red flesh spread out slowly into a smile, beckoning the beginning of yet another hilarity outbreak at his expense. She walked away from him, paused then spun around.

  “The witches didn’t say how I would cure you?”

  “All they said was to show you what I have. You’d know what to do. Now I’ve had enough fucking around at my expense. Can you help me or not?”

  “Of course I can help you. But I’d need to…take you inside my body in order to help you. It’s the only way I’m able to absorb the light.”

  His treacherous cock clearly liked the sound of that and blew up like a fucking blowfish. Ah hell, how he missed the days when his cock was just a cock, not a lampshade, holiday paraphernalia or some obscene aquatic creature. He resisted the desperate urge to lean against her small dinner table and catch his breath. Her words had drained him of all substance.

  Why did this unknown witch affect him so much? Was it her fragrance? It flooded his senses, leaving no cell in his body untouched. Indescribable. Beautifully intoxicating. Addictive. No, her whole supernatural being affected him. He shook his head several times to unravel the silk mask her presence wove around his brain. But he couldn’t curtail his thundering heart or the effervescent desire zipping through his body. He didn’t know her from an ogre or an elf for that matter. Yes, she was beautiful—he’d seen his share of beautiful women twice the world over already. Why then did she ignite his insides like never before? Why did he feel the need to try tenfold as hard to remain impervious to her aura where with people in general, it was his second nature? How did she get under his skin, a terrain no woman ever dared roam?

  He jerked his jeans up, leaving them unfastened as he charged toward her. She didn’t even flinch. He caught himself before he grasped her arms. She’d warned him about her hands-off policy.