9781618851307WitchsBrewShayNC (8 page)

Interesting.

Good thing she took that class on mythology in college.
The arrow dangling from his ear was a form of an ancient Germanic language
meaning ‘warrior.’ A subtle way of revealing a bit of his character? Or a loud
declaration? She had a feeling there was nothing subtle about this man.

He flashed a devilish smile and slowly released the book
to her.

For a moment, she stared blankly at the leather-bound
tome. Well, for pity’s sake, she’d forgotten all about the talking book.

“You have to be careful with magical things,” he said
huskily. “Spells sometimes rebound. There can be a terrible price to pay when
that occurs.”

“Spells? Ah, I get it. Magic shop. Magic book. Right? Very
funny. And just what do you do for a living, bud?”

Very carefully, she placed the book back on the shelf and
waited to see if it ‘d speak. A tiny thrill of anticipation raced through her,
but the book remained stubbornly silent. Of course it did, because books didn’t
talk. Hummmmm.

She inhaled slowly, then softly exhaled, and hid her
disappointment. Brushing a strand of tangled hair from her face, she turned to
face her customer. “Welcome to my shop. I’m Saylym Winslow. How may I help
you?”

Flustered, and suddenly feeling self-conscious at her
earlier rudeness, she reached out to shake his hand. Without warning, a
reddish-orange flame shot from the tip of her right index finger straight
toward him. He jumped back, brushing wildly at the flames scorching the front
of his shirt.

“Oh! Oh!” Saylym shook her finger, puffed on it over and
over, but the stubborn blue flame remained firmly attached to her fingertip.
“Oh—
shit.
I’m on fire!
”

“You’re on fire? In the name of the gods, what are you
trying to do? Roast me alive?” The poor man sounded incredulous. Quickly, he
locked his fingers around her wrist, raised her hand and slid the flaming fingertip
inside his mouth. The warmth of his tongue curled around her finger, wet and
titillating, and smothered the flame.

Saylym gasped. How on earth had her finger caught fire?
More importantly, were any other parts of her body going to explode into sudden
flames? Yep. If he kept sucking on her finger, she was toast.

And why did this stalker person still have her finger
inside his mouth?

Her breath lodged in her throat. Her heart pounded. If she
didn’t manage to somehow draw a breath, she was going to hyperventilate. Just
as soon as she got past the amazing fact that her finger had self-ignited, she
was going somewhere and quietly pass out. Hummmmm.

Reclaiming her finger, she jumped at the sound of the
soft, wet
pop
she heard as she jerked her finger out of his mouth and
inspected it for burns. Nothing. No blisters. No redness. No overdone
French-fry. Amazing. “Th…thank you,” she stammered. Leaning closer to inspect
his scorched shirt, she heard his low growl. Yep. Alpha male. Hot. Very hot. “I
apologize for burning your shirt.”

“It will heal.”

Saylym tilted back her head and blinked. He had the
thickest eyelashes she’d ever seen on a male. “The shirt will heal?”

He latched his gaze onto her mouth, his eyes glittering.
“Of course.”

Sure it would. Saylym refrained from rolling her eyes.
Barely. “I-I don’t know what happened. I’ve never caught on fire before.”

“Ye Olde Witch’s
Brew?”

“Pardon?” She blinked, trying her best to escape the
potent spell holding her prisoner.

“Shop of Magick?
That’s the name of your shop. I figure you must do the little magical things to
impress your customers.” A grin widened his lips and he flashed a row of
straight, white teeth. “I’m impressed. A little toasted around the edges, but
definitely impressed.”

Grateful for the excuse he’d offered, Saylym nodded. She
couldn’t get a word past her lips. But at least he’d seen the flames. Either
they both were hallucinating or she really did spontaneously combust. She
wasn’t sure which was better. “You saw my finger catch fire.”

He nodded. “Magic. Pure, sweet magic.”

Crap! That’s all she needed, another nutcase believing in
magic.

He
raised her chin with a fingertip, gently closing her mouth. “You can breathe
now.”

She nodded, drawing in the breath she desperately needed.
“Can I help you with something?”

“A
room?”

“What?”
She shot her gaze to his face.

“Preferably
with a bed?” He raised an eyebrow in question.

“This
is a magic shop, not an inn,” she snapped.

He lifted the other eyebrow. “The sign on your door reads,
‘room for rent, partially furnished’. I was hoping the ‘partially furnished’
came with a bed.”

God, he must think her a complete idiot. She simply
couldn’t seem to get her thoughts in working order. What were they discussing?
A bed? Her mind immediately leapt to sex. With him. Yes, that was a vision
they’d shared earlier. No. She shook her head. No. She couldn’t believe that.
There was no such thing as mind sharing. No wriggling brush. No talking bed. No
witch living next door. She’d turn twenty-one in October, not three-hundred-fifteen.

She had to keep things in perspective, but the look on her
face must have been as blank as her brain, because he laughed softly and said,
“A room? With a bed? Somewhere I can…sleep?”

Saylym
gulped. “Sleep? Oh, right…
sleep.”
Absolutely, they were not discussing
sex. “Sure. It does. Of course, it does.” She rubbed the bridge of her nose and
laughed at her foolishness. “You’re lucky. I just posted the sign about ten
minutes ago. The room’s upstairs above the shop. I’ll show you.”

His mouth quirked with humor as he dipped his gaze to her
breasts, settled for a delicious second, and moved on to dwell on her toes. Her
crimson colored toenails peeped back at him from the black rope sandals on her
feet.

“They’re painted Hot-Mama-Red,” she blurted, and could have
bitten her tongue. Why on earth would she tell him such a thing?

He grinned, rubbing his jaw. “Very…er…hot-ish,” he
replied, before returning to his slow inspection of her toes. Finally, he
lifted his head, his gaze never wavering. “The room comes with a fire
extinguisher, right?”

Before she could reply, he clasped her hands, turned them
over, and pressed his mouth to each open palm. Her fingers curled. His lips
were incredibly soft. Deliciously warm.

“I’m
Prince Talon,” he said huskily, raising his head and releasing her hands.

“What?”
Saylym squeaked? “Prince? A real prince?”

“A real, living, breathing prince.”

Oh, this had to be Eldora’s doing, her idea of a joke.
Okay. She’d play along. Play dumb. Play insane. “Not, Prince Charming?” she
teased. “I was promised Prince Charming today.”

An odd expression flitted across his face. “Will you
settle for me, Prince Talon?”

“Just…Prince
Talon? No last name?”

“A
waken
has no last name.” A twinkle glinted in
his jungle-green eyes.

“Waken?
Right. I’ll need some ID if you’re going to
sign a lease.”

For a moment, when he said ‘
waken’
, she’d thought
he referred to what the book had said, but then it dawned on her he was teasing
her, because the book hadn’t truly spoken. No, it was all in her insane mind. “No
last name? Huh. So,
wakens
don’t know who fathered them?”

He stiffened as if she’d just insulted him. “I’m the son
of King Darak and Queen Helayne, second to the throne of Ru-Noc. Only the
females of our species carry a last name. It has always been this way.”

“Of
course,” Saylym replied, laughing, but feeling a bit jumpy. She decided the
would-be stalker was far more insane than she could ever be. Hummmmm.

* * * *

The sound of her soft, disbelieving laughter feathered
over Talon’s skin, spreading like rich plumage. It sent a slash of urgent need
burning straight to his groin. He wasn’t surprised at the sudden rigidness of
his cock. He’d been in a state of semi-arousal since the first moment he heard
her summon her Prince Charming.

No, it wasn’t the aching hardness that stunned him,
because Beltane tended to keep a man pretty much ready throughout the season.
But damn, this unexpected need to claim. It was something he’d never felt in
his entire life.

His breath caught in his throat at her sweet smile. “By Samhain,
you’re beautiful,” he breathed.

Her lips parted with a full grin. “I think you must be
something of a flirt, sir.”

“You
don’t believe me?”

“I
believe
, you
believe,” she said on a
choked laugh.

Talon frowned. “The devil you say!” He didn’t think she
realized how tempting she truly was. Her smile captivated and was warm as the
lighted candles at Imbolc. The extraordinary shade of her hair was the
loveliest thing he’d ever seen. His fingers twitched. He wanted to touch the
silver-blonde strands, feel if it was as silken as it looked. More urgently, he
wanted to caress her face, glide his fingers over her soft lips.

He gave a restless movement of his shoulders, disturbed by
the itchiness of his skin. Odd. His chest felt heavy, the air around him thick
as
Mandreyan
honey. His lungs ached, starved for air. He drew a sharp
breath and quietly exhaled but the heavy pressure remained.

What a strange effect she had on him, on his body. It had
to be the
Impure
blood.

Talon searched her face for some clue as to what was
happening. Her eyes. Damn, why hadn’t he noticed right away? They weren’t blue
or anywhere near any shades of blue he’d seen before. Instead, they were clear
and pale as ice. It was like looking inside the soul of a mirror, except in her
case, the light in her eyes was filled with purity.

Leaning closer to inspect them, he barely smothered his
surprise. They weren’t simply one shade of the light, smoky color but were
streaked with ribbons of soft lavender. He watched, stunned as deep spirals of
violet swirled through the lighter shades.

“What’s wrong?” she asked. “What are you looking at?”

“What color are your eyes?”

“My
eyes?” She
looked at him as if she thought he’d lost his mind. “Violet?” she replied with
a question in her voice.

She must think him insane. Right now, he felt as though
he’d jumped off a cliff with no safe place to land. “Huh-uh. They’re silver,
almost colorless, except—”

“Violet!” Her eyes flashed fire, matching her tone.
“They’ve always been plum-colored. Is this some kind of a come on?”

He
stepped back, wariness settling in his heart. For just a second, when she’d
snapped at him, he swore her eyes sparked. But that wasn’t exactly accurate.
They didn’t glow. No. The three colors eddied, creating tiny sparks of purple
fire as they bled together in a dizzying pattern.

This
was not good. This wasn’t normal.
Not for a witch.

Witches
and
wakens
had two eye colors. Not three. Even then dual colors were
seen only at Beltane or during mating when the couple reached their peak.

But
somewhere, he’d seen eyes that odd color.
Where?

Maybe this was a trait among the half-
I
llumrofs
. He
didn’t know. It was certainly tantalizing. By the gods, this flash of heat
engulfing his skin, this desire to lay claim,
wasn’t
normal either.
There was something more than just her eyes that made her different, more than
her simply being an
Impure
. It was as if she hummed with hidden power, a
force with enough energy to draw and seduce him.

He
grinned. Damn. She
was
humming. Loudly.
Gods.
She sounded like a wailing cat with its tail caught in a wall
plug.

She looked startled, her eyes narrowing into dangerous
slits. “I don’t
sound
like an
electrocuted cat,” she snapped.

Talon winced. He hadn’t meant to speak his thoughts aloud.
Damn, he was fast losing ground with the little witch.

“Nor do I have any hidden powers.” She grabbed the spare
key off the register to the flat above the shop. “I guess you’d like to see the
room. It’s probably not up to your usual standards, Your Highness. Although,
I’m not certain if I want a
waken
prince renting from me. Are you
dangerous?”

“I
can be.”

She
whipped around allowing her eyes to silently strip him. “Yes, not much doubt
about that.”

He couldn’t breathe with his body clamoring so hard for
release. “I’d like to see the room and the…bed.”

* * * *

Saylym stepped back from him, surprised at the silken
intimacy in his voice. “A
waken
, huh?” She knew he heard the disbelief
in her voice, so what was he grinning about? Sighing, she turned and started up
the narrow stairs.

Okay.
So he was charming, seductive, and all male. She highly suspected he was
dangerous in many ways. He had a killer smile, a cute dimple and a voice that
could melt rock. He admitted he could be dangerous, so bloody hell, why was she
going to allow him to live above her shop? “Because I’m an idiot,” she
muttered. “An
insane
idiot!”

But she needed the money she’d collect now to order next
week’s supplies for the shop.

“You’re not insane,” he said, “unless you consider talking
to yourself a sign of mental illness?”

She hesitated before hurrying on up the stairs.
Don’t
think about him. Simply rent him the room and be done with him.
Ha! Easier
said than done with this—this—
waken
person hovering around—oozing sex
appeal like syrup from a maple tree. She only
thought
there might be a
streak of insanity in her family. There wasn’t any doubt
he
was nuts,
claiming to be a male witch and such.