9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC (7 page)

“I happen to enjoy a little spice every now and then,”
Talon said, ignoring Vox.

“I’m
certain you will go your own way, Sire.”

Grinning,
Talon nodded and pushed open the door. “Haven’t I always, Vox?”

“Unfortunately.” The owl gave a long sigh. “Don’t hurt
her, Prince.”

“Never. Be at peace, my friend. My only aim is to give her
pleasure, and in that, gain blissful satisfaction for myself.” He shrugged. “I
understand your concern, Vox. Have no worries. I will not be reckless and spill
my seed inside the
Impure,
and I’ve never lowered myself to stealing a
witch’s soul for the glory of it. I don’t intend to start with this beauty.”

“Perhaps you intend her no harm, Sire, but I have a bad
feeling about this witch. And in the heat of the moment, you might lose
control.”

Talon
grinned. “I never lose control, Vox. I’m a careful
waken
. Relax, my
little friend. This surely is destiny.” Yes, destiny.

And
perhaps…a touch of magic.

*
* * *

Saylym ignored the tinkle of the bell that warned of the
arrival of a customer.

Instead, she kept a cautious eye on the thick,
leather-bound book she held in her hands. Her back remained to the store
entrance. Ignore. Ignore. Don’t acknowledge, and, with luck, whoever it was
would get the message and leave.

Good heavens, what am I thinking? I need paying
customers.

Paying customers paid the bills. They restocked her shop
and allowed her to eat. Eating was a good thing. Yes, she needed paying
customers. Just,
not now
.

She’d been struggling with the ancient tome since it came
to life a few hours ago. Every time she tried to place it on the shelf it
shrilled loudly, “Witch-Witch! Save me!”

“What are you so frightened of, little book?” she asked in
a gentle tone. “Please talk to me. Can you tell me about Sanctuary and how I
might escape?”

It turned its little button nose in the air, miffed. Swell.
The book had such a cute, baby face she couldn’t bring herself to be cruel to
it. It was no use. There was no coaxing another word from it. No matter how
much she wheedled, its tiny mouth remained sealed with displeasure. Why? It
acted as though it didn’t want her to leave Sanctuary.

It
must be her imagination working overtime again. Score another point for
inanimate objects. Saylym’s score? A big, fat zero.

She
narrowed her eyes, determined to glean more information from the book. She
simply couldn’t give up. Not yet. Why did it want her to stay? She wanted to
know what the book was trying to tell her. Perhaps it had the answers to the
problems plaguing her life. “Talk to me,” she pleaded, keeping her voice to a
tremulous whisper. “Tell me why you’re afraid.
Say
something.
Anything!”

“Pardon
me.”

Saylym jumped. The deep, thickly accented voice behind her
sounded Old World. She wrinkled her nose in embarrassment at the amusement she
heard in his voice. Uh-oh. She should have known better than to think the
customer would simply leave. No such luck.

Well, too late to worry about it now. So what if he’d
think she was a little nutty. She wasn’t taking her eyes off the book no matter
what. She might miss something. Drawing a deep breath, Saylym determinedly
ignored the man.

He cleared his throat.

Go away!

“I don’t mean to crash your party, but are you really
having a conversation with that book?”

“I am.” Why deny it when she’d been caught red-handed? If
she was going crazy, might as well act the part. “It refuses to talk back to
me,” she said, not bothering to keep the annoyance from her voice. Jeez! Couldn’t
he see she was busy for cripe’s sake? She had an agenda here and it didn’t
include him.

“Imagine
that,” he replied, his tone dry.

Jackass!

The
book gave a nervous quiver. Saylym tightened her grip. What was wrong with it?
It was as twitchy as a flame. She dug her fingers into its quaking sides. “I
know
you can speak,” she hissed quietly. “I heard you.
Speak
to me.”

“Waaa-ken.”
The book choked out the word in a long, whispery croak, wiggling so hard, it
slipped from her grasp and crashed to the floor with a bang.

“Yes,”
Saylym
squeaked. The book had spoken. Amazed, she kept her gaze locked on it. It had
spoken in front of someone besides herself. She had a witness. She wasn’t going
insane. “Did you hear that?” she gasped. “You heard that, right? Did you hear
what it just said?”

The man touched her arm lightly. She got the fleeting
impression of a tall body behind her, of long, dark hair drifting across her
shoulders as he leaned over her. A dark-clad arm shot over her shoulder and he
picked up the book.

His closeness rattled her. She hadn’t realized he was
quite so near. Her stomach jittered as his scent enveloped her. He smelled of
soap and something stronger, something exotic and seductive. Egyptian? Like
cyprinum, a fragrance she knew was based upon the ancient scent of henna. And
did she catch a whiff of the rich, stimulating, tangy spice of myrrh?

Those foreign fragrances snuggled around her like a cloud
of steam from a hot geyser. Her stomach clenched in response. Her throat went
dry. She felt flushed and itchy. What on earth was wrong with her?

His long fingers stroked the leather bound cover. “I heard
nothing,” he whispered against her ear. “Of course, it’s entirely possible you
choked the words right out of the poor thing.” Warm breath brushed against her
nape as he laughed softly. “It’s terribly frightened.”

“You might be right on both counts,” she quipped. He was
too close, crowding her space. Her insides quivered.
Bloody hell.
He hadn’t heard the book. She wanted to scream with
frustration. Going back to being insane was not an idea she relished. She was
also at a dead-end aisle, with no chance of retreating a few steps from his
overpowering presence.

Drawing
a deep breath, she reached for the book. His grip tightened around it, keeping
it from her grasp. He closed his long fingers around her arm and brought her to
her feet, turning her to face him. “Maybe you should give the book a break for
now,” he suggested.

“What?”
Her gaze flew to meet his. Her jaw dropped. The breath slammed out of her lungs
in one gigantic rush
.
“OhmyGod,
the perverted stalker,” she exclaimed. “
It’s you.”

“Me?”
Both brows rose. He released her arm and did what she yearned to do–took a step
back.

“This-this
morning.”

“This
morning?” He frowned.

“The
perverted stalker from this morning, you were watching my shop, scaring away my
customers.” Grabbing a heavy book off the shelf, she drew it back like a
slugger up to bat. “Stay away from me! Stop watching my shop!” She slanted a
quick glance at the crumbling book in her hands. As a means for self-defense,
the ancient book was sadly lacking as a weapon.

Cautiously, he retrieved the fragile thing from her hands
and placed it back on the shelf. “I wasn’t watching your shop,” he denied. “I
was watching…er…never mind what I was watching, but I’m not a stalker,
perverted or otherwise.”

“Huh,”
Saylym
huffed, narrowing her eyes and absorbing details about the man in front of her.
A mini-sized, purple owl rested on his shoulder. She blinked. Yep, purple owl–about
the size of a small hawk, still there, after she blinked a second time. Big,
yellow eyes practically swallowed the feathered creature’s face and stared
right back at her, as if it’d found a tasty morsel and couldn’t wait to sink
its sharp little beak into it. “Nice birdie,” she cooed and reached to pet it.

The owl ruffled its feathers, swelling to twice its normal
size. The yellow eyes widened and the creature snapped at her fingers with its
powerful beak.

“Oh!” Saylym jerked her hand back. Maybe it resented being
called ‘birdie.’ She swallowed nervously, unable to speak past the lump stuck
in her throat.

“This
is Vox,” the man said and tickled the owl beneath its wing. “It’s quite tame.”

Uh-huh. That’s why it looked at her like she was lunch.
“Tame, my ass,” she muttered. That bird was about as tame as its owner.

“Futhar.”

Saylym
swung her attention from the owl to the man
.
“I don’t think I have any
futhar in stock.
”

“My
Futhar.”
A hint of exasperation rang in his
voice.

Vexed,
she stared at him like a dumb monkey. Obviously, the man thought she knew what
a
Futhar
was. This actually made her happy. He was beginning to sound
more insane than her.

Okay. She’d play along. Saylym nodded, swallowed, and
breathed the word between dry lips,
“Futhar.
Uh, it’s been a long time
since I heard the word. Refresh my memory. What… exactly…is a
Futhar?
”

“Ah,”
he said, accepting her explanation. “A
Futhar
is from the
Lyzine
race, half-animal…or whatever species it’s descended from…and half-witch.
They’re powerful, magical allies for our race.”

Saylym
blinked. Well, that made everything peachy. “Right,” she replied. “I knew
that.” She wet her lips, barely suppressing a shiver as the man’s eyes
shimmered with strange, gold flames.

Flames
?

She was seeing flames now?

Saylym shook her head, doubting her own sight. Hummmmm.

He was standing far too close. His very closeness seemed
to draw the breath right out of her lungs. The heat from his body oozed into
her bloodstream by slow degrees. It snuggled around her like a warm blanket,
beguiling her. She found herself staring into those peculiar, glowing eyes.

His gaze slid over her face and rested for what felt like
an eternity on her mouth. Desire flared in the mysterious gold flames. She
stepped back, an automatic defense that kicked in as he stared at her.

There was no way she’d trust a man with sparks in his
eyes, especially if he dressed in killer black and looked as if he could gobble
her up in one itty-bitty bite. Talk about a wolf at the door. Sure, he was
handsome as sin—in a dark, sinister way, but her mum had taught her to be wary
of dark strangers and men handsome as sin.

She raked her gaze over him. Strong, chiseled features.
Rock-solid jaw. Slender nose. Full, decadent mouth that made her hunger to do
wicked things. Bloody hell! Mum never warned her about these things.

That mouth would be a woman’s fall from grace, like
over-indulging with the finest chocolate. There was something very attractive
about a man with a five-o’clock shadow, even when it was only eleven a.m.

Saylym
wiped beads of sweat from her forehead with the back of her hand. For any
sane
woman with a beating heart, the man was a walking dream. Honestly, she didn’t
have time for a man in her life. She didn’t even know if she was staying in
Sanctuary or if she was dreaming the entire thing. Maybe she’d slipped and
fallen in that antiques store and hit her head. Yeah. That’d explain this
craziness. She was in a coma.

There
was little doubt he was the take-charge type. It was a male thing. And this
male was all about being alpha. Top dog. Leader of the pack.

Well,
that wouldn’t work with her. She had plans. She wanted to make it on her own.
Prove her worth. It gave her satisfaction to know she was independent. Mr.
Macho Man could take a hike.

He
towered over her. She hadn’t realized until just this moment how tall he was,
that is, until she tilted back her head in order to meet his gaze. Heavens! Those
eyes—so hot, so unwavering. He did nothing to conceal the rampant desire in his
blistering gaze. Nothing to conceal the need barely leashed or the hunger held
in check.

His scorching gaze slid to her breasts, then returned to
her mouth to stay awhile—intensely sexual. The heat waves he broadcast slammed
into her, blistering in their intensity.

Uh-huh. The man was an alpha all right. And just like a
wolf, he was on the prowl. Well, he could just go and find himself another
hunting ground. She wasn’t on the menu or up to being gobbled down like a slab
of fresh meat.

Beneath slashing dark brows, his eyes were a startling
shade of hunter green. She shifted, uncomfortable with the heat prickling her
skin. He was like a magnet sucking all the energy from her body. The man was
dangerous. The man was hungry. A woman risked losing her heart if she accepted
the bold invitation he silently issued. Once all that brewing sensuality was
unleashed, he’d be perilous to her senses.

Blatantly needy, he stood with legs spread, doing
absolutely nothing to conceal the thick bulge behind the soft, tight fabric of
his black leather pants.

Holy moley! Cheeks hotter than the flames of Hades, Saylym
gulped, horrified to realize her gaze had dropped to said bulge and she was
licking her lips like a hungry cat. Mercy! She jerked her gaze back to his
face. All right. Enough was enough. She needed to remember he was a stalker. So
what if he was a hot stalker with a big—

She broke off her wicked thoughts and tried to concentrate
on something other than what was below his waist line. He watched her with a
brazen, sexual invitation in his eyes.

Saylym stiffened and reminded herself she had a business
to manage. She lowered her gaze to the low-heeled, black leather boots encasing
his feet. Much better. It probably wasn’t even true about determining the size
of a man’s penis by the size of his feet.

She choked.
Get your mind off sex, the size of his sex,
in particular!

Allowing her gaze to drift over him, she noted the wide
silver bands etched with Celtic symbols adorning his thick wrists. Celtic?
Curious. He certainly wasn’t Scottish. Ah, but his accent did sound European. A
silver torque, studded with dark emeralds the exact shade of his eyes,
encircled his throat. She lifted both brows as she eyed the arrow-shaped
crystal dangling from his left ear.