by H.T. Night
WITCH TO CHOOSE
A Love Triangle with a Magical Twist
by
H.T. Night
HEART OF A WITCH SERIES
BOOK 1
Acclaim for the novels of H.T. Night:
“Vampire Love Story is a passionate story that is told from a refreshing perspective. This book was a blast. Night invents a brand new world for the vampire genre. Great job!”
—Summer Lee, author of Angel Heart and Kindred Spirits
“Vampire Love Story is a hip and timely vampire novel filled with real characters and some of the coolest vampires since The Lost Boys! You’re going to love Night’s completely original take on the supernatural.”
—J.R. Rain, author of Moon Dance and The Body Departed
“Night is a true storyteller. Winning Sarah’s Heart is thoughtful and inspirational.”
—Elaine Babich, author of You Never Called Me Princess and Relatively Normal
OTHER BOOKS BY H.T. NIGHT
The Fourth Sunrise
Romeo and Juliet: A Vampire and Werewolf Love Story
VAMPIRE LOVE STORY SERIES
Vampire Love Story
The Werewolf Whisperer
Forever and Always
Vampires vs. Werewolves
One Love
Divine Blood
Sons of Josiah
Love Conquers All
ENTWINED SERIES
Werewolf Love Story: Part One
Werewolf Love Story: Part Two
The Rise of Kyro
Loving Maya
Werewolf Without a Cause
Angel Love Story
HEART OF A WITCH SERIES
Witch to Choose
A Witch’s Magic
WINNING SARAH’S HEART SERIES
Cody Greer
Looking Good, Cody Greer
Lovesick Quarterback
A Very Cody Christmas
Be My Valentine, Cody Greer
VAMPIRE SUPERHERO SERIES
with Elizabeth Basque
Vampire Superhero No. 1
Vampire Superhero No. 2
Vampire Superhero No. 3
VAMPIRE NATION SERIES
Forbidden Destiny
WITH J.R. RAIN AND SCOTT NICHOLSON
Bad Blood
SCREENPLAY
Getting Yours
POETRY
Everlasting Love
Witch to Choose
Copyright 2013 by H.T. Night
Dedication
I dedicate this book to my Facebook fan site. A nice place to have friends.
Acknowledgments
Special thanks to Eve Paludan, A.J. Silver, Rhonda Plumhoff, Leslie Whitaker, Sara Wales, J.R. Rain, Margaret Cervenka, April M. Reign, P.J. Day and Liz Jones for all their help.
Witch to Choose
Chapter One
I stepped out of my modest, three bedroom home on Fullerton’s west side. I locked the front door, and before hurrying to the driveway, I turned around and made sure every light was off before I left. Electricity bills in California were outrageous, and last month’s bill was no exception.
I took a moment to gaze up at the smog-blurred stars. Where I lived, smog alerts weren’t uncommon. Fullerton’s rolling hills trapped the brown muck as if it were some holding pen, before slowly drifting out by the late afternoon toward Riverside. It has been getting better though, and I could actually see through the haze tonight and spot half a constellation or two.
I loved the night air; so mysterious, so alluring, but sometimes dry...like tonight, where I would be wishing upon a smog-blurred star for a whole new beginning.
Hopefully, for something beautiful and meaningful.
I took a much deserved moment and allowed myself to breathe. The past two years have been extremely trying to say the least. My parents passed away, and the guy I was supposedly madly in love, turned out to be a sex addict. Apparently, he had been with hundreds of women while we dated; including my two best friends. Saying that my trust in men and friends had been rather bleak would be putting it mildly.
I have been alone the last few months, growing so much with isolation, that I have craved human contact once again. And on this dry night, I decided to take chance.
It was Saturday night and I arranged a date with a man named Robert. It way past time that I got of my shell and ventured out onto the dating wilderness once again, and he seemed safe enough, at least at first glance.
I stepped onto my driveway and pressed my garage door opener that I carried in a small black purse, which happened to match my outfit quite splendidly tonight, if I might add. A modest back dress that oozed elegance and wonder, and miraculously, it also seemed to take a couple pounds off too.
I normally go to the garage through my back porch, but on this night, I needed to take a moment alone, and actually listen to the night, without a patio cover blocking my view. I needed to see the sky, in full, before I left, so I could listen to my heart and understand what it might have been telling me.
Again, a lot has happened over the past two years. My parent’s dying one month from each other, with two different life-ending illnesses, was not only life-altering, but completely devastating for their only child to go through.
After my parents had passed, they willed me the house and everything else they owned.
So there I was, staring at my car in the garage, packed with all my parents’ stuff that I just couldn’t let go of, and with the hazy, star-pocked sky above my head, realizing that I was all alone in this big giant world trying to make it on my own.
I thought a night out was well deserved. How could it not? I deserved the opportunity to repel loneliness before it tried to completely consume me.
I opened the car door and stepped into my light blue Mazda. I snapped on my seatbelt, looked in the rearview mirror and checked to see if I had lipstick on my teeth. Nope. Nice and clean.
The fact that my date is a full time writer has given me a slight paranoia that he will be overly examining me on the date.
I was laughing at myself for going through with this date. We we’re going to of all places for first date...Knott’s Berry Farm in Buena Park, California.
My makeup and hair looked as put together as it could get. My long reddish-brown hair had a nice layered cut and was at a sexy length, like Julia Roberts in Pretty Woman. Fine, maybe not quite to that level of amazement, but it sure looked better than my Goth days back in high school.
So I had retired the Goth-do, and the makeup, well, let’s just say the makeup had been toned down to emo level. I had to, for conformity...a paycheck, but I did make sure my wardrobe stayed the same. Alright, not entirely, I’ve been spotted wearing pastels on casual Friday.
I’d turned thirty last month. Thirty...yikes. I remembered my parents watching a TV show called Thirtysomething. I used to think thirty was real old, because they looked so much older than me. Looking back now, I swear all the characters looked forty, or maybe they were forty and tried playing thirty, or maybe I’m just fooling myself. Either way, I was their age now. Life continues to roll on.
Maybe, I should put on more lipstick. My lips do look a bit dry. I opened my little black purse, found my cherry red lip stick, and applied it. I looked at my face in the mirror; a face that was familiar, but not the face of my youth.
Through the years, many had said I owned a deep soul with many secrets. It’s true, I’d always felt in the past that I used to show people on the outside what was actually a contradiction on the inside.
During high school, one could say I was definitely a Danzig and Sex Pistols girl, but since college, you could say I enjoy an eclectic
style of music. Where Air Supply, Eminem and Phantom of the Opera are all on the same playlist.
Not all changes have been about style, taste, and finding my true self. As I'd gotten older, two things had gotten bigger: my boobs and my butt.
Maybe it was because my waistline had gotten a tad bigger. Luckily, I was curvy in the right places. At least that’s what I’d been told by the weird old man who sometimes stood in front of the Quickie Mart. He was sure to tell me something sexually disgusting at least two to three times a week. It got to where I actually missed the days when he wasn’t there. He usually gave me a good laugh on my coffee runs on my way to work at the marketing job I’d had for the last six years.
I hadn’t dated much, or at all, these days. However, there was a little hot streak in my twenties when I was dating men right up there with the best of them. Those days were long gone though, so I decided to sign up with three dating websites. All of them had promised me a perfect match or a soul mate, and what have I’ received so far? Empty promises and a bouncing PayPal account.
But I remained determined. These days if you didn’t Internet date, you didn’t really date. It was a miracle if two people could meet in public and find anything in common but physical attraction. I couldn’t remember the last time I’d met a guy in a public place and was asked out by him, not even at a bar.
Even though Robert and I had only emailed and talked on the phone a couple of times, I had a feeling we were as good a match as any. He’d only uploaded a couple of pictures on his dating profile, both didn’t look half bad for 39, and I knew that whenever a guy uploaded one or two pictures, it usually meant he was a bit insecure, vulnerable—you know, not a dick. I didn’t mind though, it took some of the pressure off me. I’d be begging for trouble if he were completely out of my league. Just a tad bit was okay.
Had an alpha-stud ever asked me out on a real date? I guess the answer to that is ‘yes’ and ‘no’. I’d had some great-looking drunk guys want to take me home and sleep with me. I have self-respect though, or perhaps it had more to do with the fact that I didn’t trust guys who drove an El Camino. Anyway, there was this one guy. A gym rat named Donovan, and quite possibly, the most gorgeous man I’d ever seen—at least in person he was.
Everything about his physique was perfect. And that face, Oh Lawdy, a face that looked as if it were ripped straight from the steamiest romance cover of all time.
Whenever I’d hit the elliptical machine, I’d hear the occasional gossip about Donovan from a different girl each week. Nothing scandalous. Just assumptions. Conjecture. Bullshit, basically. Like is he Gay? How much money does he make? Is he hot in the bedroom?
Gay or straight he was the hottest guy I knew. He’d bust his behind three times a day at the gym because his occupation demanded it.
One day, we bumped into each other and he handed me his business card. He was leaving the gym dressed very sharp in a grey suit. I was very impressed.
The business card read,
Donovan Parker, personal trainer, certified masseuse, model.
I wasn’t surprised. It was three common occupations for hot guys, where you’re tipped on looks, not skills. I didn’t know why that guy has made such an impression on me, but some guys do that. I’m probably just horny.
Someone like Donovan doesn’t seem real to me. He is a walking underwear ad.
Tonight I was going out with Robert. Definitely not an underwear model. I didn’t need any of that. I just was hoping for a nice guy and good conversation.
After a short but hypnotically thought-filled drive, I’d finally arrived at Knott’s. Most of the parking lots were filled to capacity, so I parked in the farthest one a block away from the amusement park. As I walked the sidewalk, I pulled out my phone and checked Robert’s profile one last time. Definitely handsome. Sandy-brown hair, blue eyes, probably chubby, as neither picture showed his entire body, and he hated being called Bob, according to his about me section.
I had been no better. I hadn’t taken a picture below my boob line in years. Luckily for me, my best assets still remained unchanged, but still made me worried I’d attract the wrong type of guy. No cleavage, just a burst of femininity through a moderately tight sweater.
There was one thing that concerned me about Robert though. He’d mentioned he’d recently grown a beard, but had trimmed it down. It’s not that I thought beards were potential turn-offs, it’s just that beards tended to make my face itchy when being kissed.
In the end though, it’s just a beard. I just hoped, when it was all said and done, Robert brought with him some compatible, chemistry, or better yet, magic.
I didn’t know if it was the poetry I had written in high school, or the fact that I had never missed a romantic comedy or a Nicholas Sparks movie in the last ten years—I know, kill me. I still believed in the biggest cliché of all: love at first sight. I didn’t believe it happened to everyone, but I believed it happened to folks often enough that there had to been a reason why such a cheesy and idealistic phrase was invented in the first place.
We’d planned to meet at the front gate of Knott’s Berry Farm by the trees and benches, which buttered me up with nostalgia. It made me feel 15 again, for better or worse.
On the dating site, he had also checked the box that stated his income was over $250,000. I’m by no means a gold digger. Truthfully, I had no idea he had checked the highest income bracket on the website until after I had agreed to date. While hunting for Mr. Good Enough, I just wanted a guy who had a reliable car and a steady full time job. I was done with guys who stayed at home and didn’t work—you know, full time Call of Duty players. This was probably one of the main reasons why I hadn’t been dating as much, it seriously feels like an epidemic out there; men holding off adolescence for as long as humanly possible.
But tonight, I was going to put all those fears aside and have a good time...if Robert wasn’t in fact attempting to pull the wool over everyone’s eyes of course.
I scurried by the remaining shops, absorbed by the dim lighting because I decided to wear my black blouse and black satin skirt. I was Irish, so I had pretty white, pale skin. I thought that was why I always compensated by wearing black all the time. That, and it’s a slimming color.
I made my way toward the park entrance. I continued passing by some more eclectic souvenir shops and dessert stores. I never quite understood the theme that was going on with this park...there was no theme.
As I approached the main entrance, I held my breath and snuck around the corner of the last store to scan the benches in front of the trees.
I recognized him. He definitely resembled his profile pic. Five feet, ten inches tall. He seemed well put together, but with a bit of a pot belly. Light-blonde hair, with surprisingly gorgeous blue eyes that seemed to reflect the flood lights.
He spotted me, then began walking toward me, “Sahara?” he asked.
“Robert?” I responded like a dork.
“That’s me,” he said and smiled.
Nice voice. Deep and sexy, like how he sounded over the phone.
“I’m Sahara,” I said.
“You look stunning,” Robert said with giant, sweet smile. “Your profile didn’t do you justice. I already bought our tickets,” Robert said in an extremely friendly voice. “We can go in now if you like.”
I looked at Robert and he was very pleasant. Didn’t get a weird guy vibe from him at all. Not that he seemed that type, anyway.
Robert had a kind demeanor. So far, every time he or I had spoken, he had looked me in the eyes with a gentle and guarded type of confidence. Not overt.
We both received one another with a mildly awkward, albeit positive first impression. A decent enough start, I thought. If something special was going to happen, tonight was as good as night as ever. But first, I had to let the date run its course. “Let’s head on inside,” I said.
Robert walked over to me. A disparity of five inches, at least. He definitely was tal
ler when up close.
“I guess I’ll do that awkward hug at the beginning thing.” Robert laughed.
He sure gave me a quick, friendly hug.
It wasn’t that awkward. I thought it was sweet.
Chapter Two