by Multiple
The cat leapt up into her arms and settled on her cleavage.
Yeah, she knew without checking this one was definitely male.
“I know there’s a warlock under that snuggly kitty so don’t get fresh.”
He perked his head to look into her eyes as if to say, “Who, me?”
“Yes, you. This isn’t my first rodeo, kitty.”
He purred. The bastard purred.
And she couldn’t help herself. She didn’t think about the warlock under the fur. All she thought about was the soft, purring cat in her arms and she petted him. Stroked him from his head all the way down to his tail and he purred louder.
Usually she avoided petting the afflicted and treated them as she would their warlock/witch counterparts. Which meant definitely no petting, but she couldn’t help herself with this one. He was just so…pettable.
“Let’s see if we can figure out your name, handsome.”
His purr rumbled his whole body.
She took him to her office and deposited him on the table.
But he leapt right back up into her arms and perched himself on her shoulder. If she’d been a smaller, more delicate witch, he would have been too heavy. Only she wasn’t. She was of hearty stock and while she was very good at magick, she did a lot of things the mortal way to keep fit and in shape.
If round could be considered a shape. No matter what she did, her curves were larger than other witches’. Hemi’d accepted this long ago and didn’t mind round so much. Many of her favorite things were round—the moon, magick gazing balls, and ladybugs. All of which made her happy.
It didn’t entice too many warlocks, but she’d already accepted this as well.
Hemi pulled out her curse breaker’s book and turned to the de-cat spell. She knew it by heart, of course, but she wanted to make sure she didn’t miss anything.
“You should probably get on the desk, or the floor. If you turn back into a warlock on my shoulder, that’s not going to be a good experience for either one of us.”
He butted his head up against her cheek for a moment before leaping down to the floor.
And she began the words that would free him from the cat curse.
CHAPTER TWO
Holler For the Collar
As she spoke, the binding of the curse tugged at his insides, burrowed through his bones and danced in his blood with glee.
It wasn’t letting go for all the magick in this world or the next.
Nothing happened.
He was still a cat.
He looked up at the delectable goddess trying to help him and if he had eyebrows to arch, he would have.
“Don’t make that face at me, Mr. Gato. I’m not the one who pissed of a witch who has a subscription to Witches Waxing Wicked.”
He shook his head no.
“No, you didn’t piss off a witch?” She put her hand on her hip. “You’re a warlock. I’m sure you’ve pissed off your fair share.”
The tingle of his own magick sparked and he was able to manifest a collar with a small skull charm. A fucking collar.
“Oh, very nice. But not helpful.” She pursed her full lips.
He concentrated harder, so hard, he thought he was going to have to find a litter box to keep from embarrassing himself there on the floor.
“So maybe you are helpful. You’re very powerful. Yes, you are.” She cooed, then blushed. “I…sorry. You’re making this adorable little face.” She fingered the charm around his neck. “Dred? Holy shit, you’re Dred Shadowins?” she gasped.
He shook his head. No, the warlock who pissed off a witch was Dred Shadowins, but he couldn’t fit all of that onto the little charm around his neck. So he manifested his own name.
“Raven Cherrywood? Double shit. This just keeps getting worse.” She palmed her forehead.
Worse? What did he ever do to her?
“I’m Hemlock, by the way. But you can call me Hemi. I think my stepmother tried to curse your sister’s wedding. She bitched for days that Dad was seated at the head table with Aloe Hugginfroth while she wasn’t even invited.” She sighed heavily. “Anyway, you pissed off Dred…”
He shook his head.
“Oh. Dred pissed off the witch and you got his curse? Okay. That makes sense. It would take really powerful magick to curse a Shadowins so breaking this one isn’t going to be easy. You might just be stuck until you fulfill the terms of the curse.”
He hissed, he couldn’t help it. But he had to admit, she was figuring things out pretty quick in this game of charades from hell.
“Hey, that’s not my fault.”
He laid down and put his paws over his head. He was fucked. And not in a way he’d been hoping for. That damn book was supposed to be the gateway to bliss, instead, he was a merlindamn cat.
“It’s going to be okay.” She scratched behind his ears and it was suddenly the best sensation he’d ever experienced. He tilted his head up to her caress and found himself looking straight down her shirt at creamy, mouthwatering mounds of gorgeousness.
Raven was torn between thinking this was heaven, and a place worse than hell. He could look all he wanted, but couldn’t do a damn thing about it.
He leapt up to wrap himself around her neck and shoulders like a stole.
And look down her shirt. He needed comforting if he was going to be stuck as a cat. Raven sighed.
“I guess you’re coming home with me. I can’t leave you here to harry the hellhounds. That really wasn’t nice knocking out Damnit’s tooth. I’m going to have to put his prey in a blender for a month.”
She closed up the office and went to the broom closet where she pulled out the most glorious broom Raven had ever seen.
It was shiny. It was red.
It was Maserati.
“Are you sure you don’t want to ride in my bag?” She eyed him. “I don’t want you clawing me to hold on.” Hemi perched herself sidesaddle with perfect posture on the broom.
Again, if he’d had eyebrows, he would have arched them in disdain. What would a quiet librarian witch know about driving a Maserati broom?
Raven was to discover quite a bit when five minutes later he found himself clinging to her as his life flashed before his eyes in a swirl of mad watercolors that was supposed to be the scenery.
He loved every second of it.
The speed, the danger, the colors—her laugh as she spurred the broom faster.
Oh, there was much more to this voluptuous creature than he’d imagined, and thus far, he’d imagined plenty.
As soon as he was a warlock again, he planned to explore every inch. With his mouth, his tongue, his fingers… and even his brain. Any witch that mastered a Maserati broom was someone he needed to know.
They stopped at a small cottage that seemed to be made out of… candy.
“Not one word out of you, Mister.”
Raven looked at her innocently.
“Yeah, I know. The chubby witch who lives in the candy cottage. It was my great, great, grandmother’s. She was a bad witch. Oh, and… don’t eat the candy. Or you’ll be cursed with something more terrible than the cat curse.”
She wasn’t chubby. She was curvy, delicious, and infinitely fuckable. As soon as he had his voice back, he and this witch were going to have a discussion. After he’d done some other delightful things with his mouth.
Like tasted every inch of her creamy skin.
“You can sleep on the couch.” She opened the door and parked the broom inside the closet.
He didn’t want to sleep on the couch. He wanted to sleep with her, but he allowed her ease him down from around her neck and to the couch. If he was being honest with himself, he was pretty tired.
Fighting with the hellhounds and keeping them from devouring him in one gulp had been tough work. Frankly, he was surprised he’d knocked out the beast’s tooth. He rather expected he was going to die a horrible, slobbery death in the animal’s jaws.
He sighed and drifted to sleep, only to be jerked awake some time later by the tug of magick set to the soft cries of a witch finding her pleasure beneath the pitter-pat sound of a shower.
His feline ears perked and suddenly, they weren’t feline anymore and he could no longer hear the sounds of bliss.
He was him!
He was whole!
He was naked.
And hard as stone as he imagined just what the proper Hemi Butterbean had been doing to herself to make those sounds.
Raven stood and was torn between looking for something to cover himself and trying to get a glimpse of Hemi. Then he thought about his sister and what he’d want another warlock to do in this situation.
Of course, the only thing he wanted any warlock to do around his sister was die a horrible death if he even thought about the things he intended to do to Hemi. Except Dred and that was only because he married her, but he was still on tenuous ground.
Hemi was a good witch and as much as he wanted her, he respected her. So he opted for the hall closet in hopes of a towel.
He opened the closet and found nothing. Raven didn’t see any other option, so he called out to her. He didn’t want to interrupt her, but he didn’t want her to come out of the shower and find a naked warlock in her living room, either.
“Hemi?”
He heard a crash in the bathroom, various bottles and bobs falling to the floor. “You better be the warlock version of the cat I brought home, or I’m going to hex your balls into oblivion.”
More sounds of fumbling and crashing echoed from the bathroom and just as he was about to answer her, he was a damn cat again.
Sonofabitch.
Hemi opened the door, wand at the ready to smite the ever-loving-hell out of anyone who dared violate her sanctuary.
She narrowed her eyes at him, water dripping in her face, a towel wrapped tightly around her bountiful breasts. “That was you, wasn’t it?”
He nodded.
“Well, what happened?”
He managed to shrug.
“Hmm. Something about the magick wards on my house, maybe? Or perhaps it was because you were asleep? I knew a warlock that was cursed to be a bear while he was awake, but when he was asleep he was all man.”
While she was lost in thought, he caught sight of a familiar object behind her on the bathroom vanity.
His edition of Weekly Warlock.
This pleased him on so many levels. The things that the sexy witch had been doing to herself to make those sounds had been in concert to his image. Oh, he liked this very much.
And he was suddenly thankful to be a cat.
Otherwise, his dick would have been so hard, it might have snapped off. Then he’d really be screwed. That was the only thing he could imagine that was worse than being a cat—being a warlock with a broken wand.
He knew he should’ve left it alone, but he couldn’t. He wanted to see her blush, and he knew she would.
Raven launched himself up onto the counter to sit on the magazine and he licked his paw as if he had no clue or care as to what it was he sat on.
And blush she certainly did. She flushed from head to toe, or at least the parts he could see that weren’t covered by the towel.
“Get out of my bathroom,” she squealed.
He gave her the same innocent look as he had before.
“Oh, don’t you give me that look, Raven Cherrywood. You naughty little beast. Get. Out.” She shoved him off the counter.
Luckily he was a cat and landed on his feet.
Again, he was lamenting the loss of his eyebrows. He never realized how often he used them to communicate. He would have smirked, too.
“If you say one word about this when you’re a warlock again, I’ll curse you so hard you’ll think this little jaunt as a cat was a vacation.”
Yeah, baby. Curse me harder.
“I don’t know what little dialogue you have in your little feline warlock brain, but I’m sure from the look in your eyes I wouldn’t enjoy it.”
Oh, yes you would. You’d enjoy it immensely. He answered silently. It amused him to no end that for being a somewhat non-social witch, she seemed to know everything he was thinking.
She slammed the door.
He sat and waited patiently for her to open it again and when she did, she was wearing a nightshirt that said “My Other Car Is A Broom.” Raven found this endlessly funny and followed her into her bedroom.
“I told you that you were sleeping on the couch.”
He hopped up on the bed anyway and made himself at home on the pillow next to her. Cats went where they pleased, so he intended to make full use of the form.
When she reached over to oust him, he purred. She liked it when he purred.
“Fine. But you better behave yourself and remember what I said about cursing you. I’ve had nothing but time to read every book in the cursed section. If you thought your sister and her cat litter hexes were scary…”
He was a sick, sick, creature. Raven could admit that. He liked it when she threatened him. He liked it more because he knew she could follow through. A powerful witch was a sexy witch.
“You’re not supposed to purr louder when I threaten to hex you, stubborn warlock.” Although her hand moving over his body said differently. He butted his head against her palm. He wondered if she’d still pet him like this when he was a warlock again?
Raven sure hoped so.
“How did your mother survive three of you?” Hemi pursed her lips. “Your mother! We have to call her.”
NO, glowed in neon letters on the skull tag.
“Why not?”
Murder.
“Me?” Hemi squeaked.
Me.
“Okay, but if we can’t fix this thing in a week, I’m going to tell her. I’m sure she’s worried about you.”
His mother wasn’t worried about him. She’d take a wooden spoon to him for using Dred’s Black Book to start with and tell him that being a cat was what he had coming and further, to take his punishment like a man. No thank you.
She eyed him again before settling down on her pillow with another long, drawn out sigh. “So, since you saw the centerfold, I suppose I can admit that I wanted you in my bed. But definitely not like this.”
Me either, gorgeous, glowed on his charm and he purred louder.
“Look, you don’t have to pretend to think I’m attractive. I’ll still help you.”
He narrowed his eyes to slits. Yes, they would indeed have a discussion as soon as he had his shape back. And a voice. Oh yes, they would.
CHAPTER THREE
A Warlock in the Bush is Worth Two in the Tree
She dreamed of him.
They were in her bed, but he definitely wasn’t a cat. He was every hard, gorgeous inch a warlock.
Raven Cherrywood’s strong hands pushed her nightshirt up, his hands on her hips, her tummy—she shoved his hand away.
“No? Don’t you want this?” he whispered. “How about I watch while you play with the centerfold?”
Oh sweet Merlin’s— “I already said I’d help you. You don’t have to act like you want me.”
“This is helping me.” His hands were on her hips again and he yanked her more tightly against him.
He was so, so hard. Everywhere. Especially his cock pressed against her belly.
Lust shot straight through to her core and ignited.
“Then turn the light off,” she mumbled.
“Hell no, I won’t turn the light off.” He sounded offended, but pressed his lips to the curve of her throat before he whispered in her ear, “One of the best parts about being here with you is unwrapping my treasure. You feel so fucking good, Hemi. Why won’t you let me look?”
She didn’t say anything.
“You’ve been looking at me naked for a while. I think it’s only fair.”
Shame flooded her cheeks and she turned away from him. Hemi kind o
f wished the bed would open her up and swallow her so she didn’t have to face him.
Or herself.
Raven Freaking Cherrywood was in her bed, wanted her, and even in her dreams, she couldn’t summon the balls to take what she wanted.
She had this terrible fear that when he saw her naked, he’d change his mind.
“Oh, this bullshit again?” His voice wasn’t harsh, even for the profanity, it was soft and kind.
It was strange how in the waking world, he was silent and she was the one doing all the talking, but in her dreams, she couldn’t manage to say a single word to him.
This was her dream, her fantasy. Why wasn’t it doing what she wanted? Maybe because in all of fantasies, he never tried to touch her anywhere but her breasts or between her legs. It was as if the rest of her body didn’t exist, and she didn’t want it to.
He wrapped his arm around her and pulled her back against him. “Tell me stop because you don’t want this, and I will. But don’t turn away from me because you think I don’t like your body. You’re so soft and supple. I want to touch you everywhere.”
His arousal proved he spoke the truth, hard and insistent against her while his hand slipped up from her hip to her belly, and then over her breasts.
Part of her was mortified. Part of her wanted to tell him to stop, that he didn’t need to embarrass her.
It was a screwed up place in her head when she was more embarrassed about him touching her stomach than she was about him knowing that she witched off to him in the shower.
She knew she was dreaming, so what did it matter? If Dream Raven said he liked her gut, who was she to tell him no? This was as close as she was going to get to the real thing anyway.
She rolled back over to face him and his dark chocolate eyes had a green ring around the iris, and the gash on his face from the hellhounds had scarred. Only instead of looking like any sort of flaw, it just made him that much hotter.
Hemi reached out a tentative hand and pushed it through his hair and she’d swear to Merlin that the sound he made was just like a purr.
“I need you to say it, Hemi. Tell me what you want.”
It was one single word, but it was both the easiest and most difficult to speak. Her mouth was dry, her tongue thick, but she croaked, “You.”