Wicked Wishes

by Joanna Wylde, Stephanie Burke, Marly Chance

  Wicked Wishes

  Joanna Wylde, Stephanie Burke, Marly Chance

  A Wish Away By Marly Chance

  Tiffany has a bad history when it comes to birthdays. This year, she's made it 12 hours into her birthday and she's taking no chances. Well, except for that one small birthday wish she made…She wished her sexy best friend, Zak, would notice her and that her routine life would get more exciting. What, after all, could go wrong with a wish like that?

  Craven's Downfall By Stephanie Burke

  She didn't want to marry the boring man she was bound to, so when one simple wish lands Nola inside a world filled with exotic creatures and erotic fantasies she thought it was a dream come true. But the thing about fantasies is that they never last...or do they?

  Serendipity By Joanna Wylde

  Sarai has lived through one terrible marriage. The last thing she needs is a new man in her life. But Jax isn't interested in taking "no" for an answer...

  Craven's Downfall

  © Stephanie Burke, 2002

  This one is for my Middle Eastern Scottish Princess, a beautiful person, a brilliant soon to be doctor, a wonderful daughter, a sincere friend, and a total woman. Heads up, Gul Afroze! When you weren't looking, someone went and dumped perfection on you! Remember that when you take your exams, when you wade through the marriage proposals, and when your take your place in the world, complete, whole, triumphant, woman.

  Chapter One

  He looked over the mass of writhing bodies that surrounded his chair and sighed with boredom. There was nothing new going on. Same old sucking, same old fucking. No matter how you looked at it, the beings here were just going through the motions. Was there any pure lust left in the world?

  He looked out over the toys scattered around the chamber, and felt, well, jaded.

  The leather whips looked like so much show; the dildos of varying sizes were just large doorstops. The people were…well, they were kind of fun to look at, but they lacked something.

  Tapping one long black nail against his right fang, he contemplated the group before him.

  Orgies had become rather boring of late.

  He looked down at the naked female, lips wrapped around the head of his penis, and sighed. This was not good. If her suction of a mouth, a suction that was so strong she could probably suck the brass off of a doorknob, couldn't get a rise out of him, he needed help.

  "Thank you, lover," he purred as he tangled his hands in her long red hair. "But this just isn't working. I think I am…bored with you." He made a shooing motion with both hands, ignoring her shocked and hurt face. "Run along now. I'm sure someone will appreciate your obvious talents, but that person isn't me."

  Turning his back on her stricken face, he stumbled over a few bodies engaged in a threesome, stepped over a heaving woman being taken in the animal position, and side-stepped over a pair doing interesting things with a silk scarf, a willow branch, and some honey. But even that sight didn't make him feel anything.

  Taking one long last look over the great hall, he turned his back on the ribald entertainment and made his way to his personal quarters.

  Naked and unconcerned, he moved with a grace usually reserved for felines. His long ankle-length hair nearly dragged the floor, and it floated around his bare feet as he delicately navigated the deep rose floors and walls of the hallway. Maybe it was time to change that color? As carnal as it was, it was giving him a headache.

  Tucking a few loose strands behind his delicately pointed ears, he ran his hands over his chest, stopping to check to see if his nipple bar was still in place. During his last orgy, some minor fairy managed to dislodge the fastening ball as she suckled upon the nipple. A choking land sprite was not his idea of a fun time, so he replaced the ring with the sturdy bar. It felt better and damn if it didn't make his chest look more powerful.

  He continued at an unhurried pace until he stopped in front of a large wooden door. He paused there, placed his palms laden with silver rings against the door, and rested them against the leather-covered surface.

  Ah, he loved the feel of leather against his skin. The material felt so full of vibrancy and life. It seemed to absorb a bit of the life force of those who wore it, and offered a special comfort. What could be more comforting than one's own arms?

  Shaking his head at his whimsy, he brushed more of his hair behind his ears, gently untangling errant strands from the many-jeweled studs that lined up to the delicate point at the tip, and reached out to grasp the doorknob.

  With a flick of his wrist, the lock gave, and he entered his personal domain. No one would enter this room, even if the lock was not present. It was a special place, designed by one who believed in honesty to oneself above all else. For who could stand to see their innermost desires reflected back at them a million times over?

  Only someone who had a deep, strong connection to Craven could open the lock when he was not present. And no one he knew of had that connection.

  A cool wash of air caressed his bare skin. He absently thought of the carnal pleasure he took as the cold caressed his vital parts, contrasting with the natural heat of his body, before he stepped further in to the room.

  He smiled as he saw a million reflections of his own turquoise eyes staring back at him.

  From every crystal-faceted wall, ceiling, and floor, he saw the cool diamonds reflect his image at him. The curved and bent walls distorted some images so much that he looked fey—glowing eyes and otherworldly aura—while others made him look almost human. Though all the images were of him, the different images were of his personality, of his inner self, and they all had one thing in common. The frank sexual nature of each image would be startling to one who did not know themselves so well. He knew who he was. His name said it all.

  Craven. Lord of Carnality, Master of Fleshly Desires, Prince of Pleasurable Pain, Dark Master of Desire.

  He paid scant attention to the many leering faces that surrounded him, that showed his inner sexuality and love of the flesh. His facets were known to him. But it was the heart of the chamber that he sought.

  In the center of this crystalline chamber sat his mirror.

  But it wasn't just any mirror; it was his looking glass into the souls of men.

  The S shaped mirror was purest glass, rough-edged and incomplete. To complete it would have taken away from its power, made it a thing completely of man, and destroying its connection to the earth.

  The almost liquid surface of the glass showed none of the reflections that bounced off of the walls in this room. It waited, its glassy sheen unbroken, ready to be filled with the magic of its owner.

  It levitated above a large rock of crystal, suspended and beckoning to him, daring him to peer into its depths and discover what he sought.

  He slowly crossed to its stand, relishing the cool feel of the slick, icy surface of the diamond floor under his feet. In this place, his hair almost became an annoyance, as it detracted from the feelings of pure lust that began to fill the chamber.

  Pushing that mild annoyance aside, he bracketed the small shard of glass between his hands, feeling the energy that surrounded this magical object. The small hairs on the lower part of his arms stood on end as he began to fill the mirror with his presence, with his personal power.

  "My old friend," he purred as the mirror slowly began to spin between his cupped palms. "I fear I have become rather jaded of late and I seek a new experience. Show her to me."

  The mirror began to spin faster and faster. Sparks of pure energy crackled around it as an unknown force began to make the air shift and blow. His hair flew wildly around his body, covering his flesh with the dark silk, flowing around the spinning glass but never actually touching it.

>   Small sparks of energy began to shoot bolts around the room as his eyes began to glow eerily in the illumination of the room.

  "Yes, that's it," he breathed as a face began to appear in the whirling dervish that was his mirror.

  Bringing his hands together around the spinning glass, he barely flinched as the sharp edges tore at his fingers, making his blood run red, and stabilizing the face that had begun to appear. The small blood sacrifice was enough, and now he could clearly see the face of the one who would end this tedious existence for a time.

  He leaned in closer for a better look, and saw the woman with long dark hair and dressed in strange purple robes.

  She sat on a hillside; the wind was blowing through her newly freed hair, and an odd look was on her face. On her hands and bare feet were strange reddish tattoos, but they only added to her beauty. Her eyes were a light shade of gold, her cheekbones high, and her nose straight and true. Her lips were full and lush, just right for sucking or nibbling or sucking or kissing or sucking.

  Damn, there was life here, he thought as he felt his manhood quicken a bit at the thought of that perfectly sensual mouth lapping at the head of his cock, surrounding him with her heat.

  His little flower seemed almost out of place on the rolling green hills which she sat upon, but he knew that this was to be to his advantage. She looked a little sad, but that just made his job a bit easier.

  "What has you so down, my little beauty," he murmured as he peered closer at her image. "Tell me so that I may devise a way to bring you to me."

  Nola sat alone on the hill behind her parents' house. The last thing that she wanted to do was to depress herself all over again. But she felt compelled to come here and sit on the hill where she had devised so many childhood fairy tales in her youth.

  She closed her eyes and remembered the fairy ring at the bottom of the hill, and how as a child she and Gregor would sit and pretend to be lady and Prince of the fairy keep and her faithful prince.

  She remembered tumbling down this hill through the summer heather and clover, and the laughter, always the laughter.

  No one was laughing now.

  "Why wouldn't you leave well enough alone," she sighed as she looked down across her old playground and remembered the good things about the past.

  She never wanted to be trapped in the middle of this argument.

  But Gregor had forced the issue of their long engagement, and her parents had put their proverbial foot down.

  So here she was, just hours away from her wedding, and all she wanted to do was escape.

  Not that Gregor wasn't a good man, he was one of the best men that she knew, but she didn't really love him as a woman should. Gregor was her best friend and confidant, but she could never picture him as a lover.

  "So then why are there about a hundred guests waiting in that house for today's ceremony?" she asked herself. "Why can't I just tell my parents and Gregor I am not ready to be married yet? I want to travel and explore, and see what is there to be found. I want true passion before I find myself tied to a man for the rest of my life who is more like a brother that a lover or husband."

  She had no idea why she wanted to say these words out loud, but she did and suddenly she felt lots better.

  "So that is the problem," Craven chuckled. "I think that your wish can be arranged." He peered intently at the image, and uttered one word. "Come."

  "I need to walk," Nola decided suddenly, feeling as if she had to move or go insane.

  She stood up, the purple and lavender robe she wore tangling about her feet as a sudden wind blew around her, urging her to go in a certain direction.

  Paying no attention to the sudden breeze, still lost in the urge to move her body, Nola took one step and then another, the tension slowly leaving her body as she walked.

  "Yes," she sighed. "This feels better."

  She tossed her head back as her feet sank into the rich earthen carpet of green, as the damp dew caressed her toes. She felt free, free as a bird.

  And then she was flying, soaring above the ground.

  Okay, falling would be more accurate.

  Nola shrieked as her foot slipped and she found the grass suddenly above her head and the sky below her as her body began a graceless and headlong tumble down the hill.

  Her robes flew around her, giving the appearance of a demented purple tumbleweed as she rolled head over heels down the hill.

  Blue and green flashed erratically before her eyes as her chest tightened with the urge to scream, but a hard thump against the hillside forced the air from her lungs. She grew dizzy and disorientated as she continued to plunge downward, bumping painfully along the ground. Soon she couldn't determine up from down as she seemed to swirl faster and faster, until her eyes caught the familiar outline of the fairy ring.

  Then suddenly she wasn't moving anymore. She wasn't doing much of anything, actually.

  Nola had finally crash-landed in the center of her mystical childhood play arena, flat on her back.

  What little air remaining in her, left her lungs with an audible whoosh, as the stars began to perform a tango behind her eyes just for her.

  "Dead," she managed to gasp. "I am dead."

  "With an attitude like that, no wonder you are so depressed," a deep masculine voice purred in her ear.

  "Insane," she breathed, quickly changing her diagnosis. "Insane people hear voices, dead people hear nothing."

  "Nice try," the silk-on-velvet voice chuckled. "But if you were insane, that would make me a figment. And as much as I love the sound of that word, I refuse to be imaginary."

  Groaning, Nola tried to lift her head, but the world had gone crazy, the sky on the ground and the ground was where the sky should be.

  Then she realized she had such a great view of her old fairy ring because she was suspended over it.

  "What the hell?" she gasped as she suddenly stiffened, afraid that she would fall and lose whatever touch was keeping her afloat.

  "No, not hell," the voice chuckled. "But some people call me the very devil himself."

  "This is not real," Nola began to chant, her arms and legs stiff and extended far away from her body. If she fell, she didn't have far to fall, but any landing would have been painful and the preference was to avoid that pain. "This is not real. People don't float."

  "You aren't floating, my purple passion flower. I am holding on to you. Wouldn't do to have you break your neck."

  "Who are you?" she gasped, fighting the urge to curl up into a ball and scream. Today was not her day.

  "You may call me Craven,"

  "Craven? My mental breakdown has a name," she managed as she slowly turned her head to see if someone was holding the lines to some kind of net or platform. People just don't fly or float without some type of aid.

  "I am here because you have allowed me to be here," he replied.

  "Okay, you are here, so put me down," she responded instantly wondering if she would be dropped or placed gently on the ground. She preferred gentle.

  "I will, after you agree to have your wish granted."

  She stopped her mental struggles and sucked in a deep breath.

  "I made no wishes."

  "Passion? Wanting to travel, do exciting things? Those sound like wishes to me."

  "Wait, you heard that? What are you, a fairy?"

  "Yes," he replied quickly.

  "No," she gasped in disbelief, but she was suspended far above the ground. "Fey? Really?"

  "Really."

  "If you are, then show yourself to me."

  There was a parting of the air—not a shimmer of an appearance—the air actually parted and then she was struck by the most sensually perfect turquoise eyes that she had ever seen. The longest, thickest lashes that she had ever seen framed them.

  "Where is the rest of you," she managed as she stared at the eyes peeking out at her from a tear in the air.

  "You'll have to come here to see it all," he purred.

  "Do you have six
arms and seven legs or something?" she asked, still in some sort of shock to be talking and seeing something that clearly couldn't exist.

  "I am human in form, Beauty," he laughed. "But you have to come to me."

  "Why should I?" she thought aloud.

  She must have a concussion, which would explain this. So why not have fun with this concussion before she got pulled back into the real world? She would bet that she was unconscious right now, just lying there waiting for her parents to come looking for her.

  While a trip to the hospital might not be her idea of a postponement excuse for her wedding, she would take what she could get.

  "Because you want excitement. Your crave action and adventure before you settle down and become the good little wife for the rest of your life," the voice purred,

  Well, the voice was kind of right on that point. Smart figment. It had a point, really.

  "Well, this has been an interesting flight of fancy," she returned, "But maybe I should be waking up now."

  "You are awake, Beauty," the voice chuckled. "In the old days, this was so very much easier."

  "Ha. So you can't prove what you are saying. Therefore I must be in an unconscious heap at the bottom of this hill and you are a concussion-induced fantasy."

  "What have you got to lose?" the voice asked, striking a nerve.

  "You are right, I really don't have anything to lose," she mused.

  "So you spend some time with me in my kingdom. You'll learn a few things about yourself, and get some excitement. Maybe we can work on that passion thing, and then you'll know what it feels like to have your fantasies made flesh."

  "Fantasies made flesh," she breathed as she considered this.

  Hell, since this was a trauma-induced dream, she should take advantage of this now. She never knew that she had such a good imagination.

  "Okay, Craven, is it? Then make my fantasies flesh."

  "You must ask," he returned.

  "I already did," she cried out. Floating like this was beginning to give her a headache, and she wanted her unconscious feet back on the ground.