Maximum Witch: That Old Black Magic, Book 3 (27 page)

The portal gate’s familiar welcoming glow beckoned. She walked past the entrance and turned, giving Atlantis one last look before she descended into the tunnel. The trip to Earth was far less chaotic than the wet-and-wild roller-coaster ride that led to Atlantis. In the blink of an eye, the Atlantic surrounded her. It took a moment to get used to the difference in water density. Kicking her feet, she swam toward the distant surface. Several minutes later she crested, breaking through the waves. The sun shone on her face and seagulls flew overhead with noisy squawks.

She was home.

The tide decided to be gentle with her, depositing her on the beach with minimal work on her part. She trudged through the dunes, the hot sand biting into the tender soles of her bare feet. Up ahead, she spotted the lighthouse parking lot. There was only one vehicle—a red SUV. She’d sent communication to Boone a week ago to let him know the date and hour she’d be returning. She hadn’t known if he’d be here. Either he was running late, or had decided not to come. Not that she would necessarily blame him if he’d opted not to. They hadn’t talked since the day he’d comforted her on that tiny atoll. Not because Boone hadn’t tried. It’d been too painful, the idea of seeing him. Of remembering the last words they’d spoken to each other on the day that her soul began to wither.

A woman stepped out of the SUV and waved her arms madly, obviously trying to get Willa’s attention.

Willa frowned. Was the woman here for her? Picking up her pace, she jogged toward the stranger, ignoring the uncomfortable way her soggy capris clung to her legs. It wasn’t until Willa was less than a couple feet away and she spotted the woman’s familiar orange scrubs that her memory was jogged. It was Boone’s veterinary assistant. The girl offered her a smile. “Hi, I’m Megan. Sorry, Boone had a last-minute patient come in. He texted me and asked if I could pick you up instead.”

Megan pulled a beach towel out of the car and handed it to Willa. “I also brought you some dry clothes. They’re in the backseat if you want to get changed while I’m driving.”

Willa gratefully accepted the towel and wrapped herself inside it before climbing into the back of the vehicle. Megan slid in behind the wheel and turned down the radio. “Boone wanted to see you before you went home. Does that sound okay to you?”

She used one corner of the towel to wring out the ends of her hair. “I’d like that.” Despite having stayed out of contact with him, she’d really missed Boone all these weeks. Hopefully she’d stay strong this time and not break down on him. “So what’s wrong with his patient? It wasn’t hit by a car or something, I hope.”

Megan shrugged. “Boone’s text didn’t say too much. But if anyone can work wonders, it’s him.”

Willa continued blotting at the moisture streaming onto her neck from her still-damp hair. When the car took a right out of the lot, Willa frowned. “Uh, Megan, not to be a backseat driver or anything, but Savannah’s the other way.”

“We’re not going to the clinic. Boone gave me an address to bring you to.” Humming along with the radio, Megan drove for a few more miles before pulling into a familiar driveway.

Max’s.

They braked to a stop next to Boone’s Land Rover. Her heart slowly picking up speed, Willa stared at the front door of Max’s bungalow. She tried to speak, but the words kept sticking in her suddenly dry mouth. Finally they broke free on a whisper. “What are we doing here?”

“Boone didn’t say.”

Was this his way of getting her to face the loss of Max? Of getting her to move on?

Was it even possible to do such a thing? Max was her life. Her heart. The bittersweet reminiscences waiting for her in there…

Her stomach cramped. No matter how painful it would be, she needed to face the memories of Max. Of everything she’d lost. Blood pounding in her ears, Willa shoved open the door and approached the entrance of Max’s house, her steps slow and measured.

She could do this. Inhaling a deep, shaky breath, she tried the door knob and found it unlocked. Inside, Max’s house held the stale odor of a space that hadn’t been aired in a while. But underneath it was also the fresh ocean scent that she always associated with Max. It was almost as if he were…there.

Oh goddess
.

Could it be? Her pulse racing so fast she thought she might pass out, she staggered from the entry. Boone was standing in the kitchen, tears of happiness in his eyes as he smiled at her. She swallowed, hesitant to ask. To give voice to the impossible. “Max…?”

Boone nodded toward the hallway. She registered no more than that as she galloped in the direction of the master bedroom, her bare feet slip-sliding on the wood floor.

Almost afraid to believe in second chances, a fate that didn’t include a loved one ripped away from her, she eased the door open.

Max was stretched out on the bed. Battered, but very much alive.

Another sob shaking from her, she crossed to the bed, her legs threatening to give out. Max opened his eyes and looked at her, the love in his expression outweighing the pain. “Willa.”

She fell to her knees beside the bed, burying her face in the crook of his neck. His musky scent surrounded her, the final—and best—balm to her soul. His hand stroked the back of her head, and she looked up at his dear face. “Oh goddess. I thought I lost you.”

“I told you, baby, I’ll always protect you. Always love you. It’ll take a hell of a lot more than a damn tidal wave to ever keep me from you.”

She lifted away from him and traced the fading bruise near his forehead. “What happened?”

“Are you speaking about the bruise, or where I’ve been?”

“Both.”

“My sorry-looking state is mostly due to getting my ass tossed around by that damn tidal wave.” He caught her hand and kissed her knuckles tenderly before twining their fingers together. “As you know, it didn’t hit our shores.”

“Boone said he saw it vanish. Along with you.” Despite her valiant efforts to stop it, her lips trembled.

“The portals got crisscrossed somehow. Maybe it’s a kill switch written into the trident’s hardware. Who knows? All I
do
know is that whatever friggin’ dimension I landed in, it was a ball buster finding my way back out.”

Her eyes getting suspiciously misty again, she leaned down and kissed him. Their tongues met in a slow, luxurious mating as they silently reaffirmed their love. She hugged him tight, never wanting to let him go. Not ever again.

Breaking the kiss, Max cupped her face. “Boone told me how hard you searched for me. Baby, I’m so sorry for everything you went through.”

She brushed his nose with hers. “None of that matters. I’m just so happy to have you here with me now.”

A tender look came into Max’s eyes. “Boone also mentioned that you’ve revoked your claim to the throne.”

Worried he was going to start in again on his arguments concerning her birthright, she sighed. “Max, I’ve made up my mind. I don’t want it.”

“Okay.”

She blinked at him. “Uh, what?”

“I know I pushed you about it before, and that wasn’t right of me. It’s your decision to make. Not mine. So whatever you choose—”

“I choose you.” She smoothed his hair off his forehead. It was a tiny bit longer than the last time she’d seen it. She continued stroking him, the need to touch him overwhelming.

“I may not be able to offer you a lot, baby. But I promise you this. I’ll love you until the end of my days.”

His words filled her with so much joy, it almost hurt. “That’s all I need. All I want.”

He pulled her onto the bed with him. “What do you think about getting married?”

She snuggled into his chest, listening to his heartbeat. “Are you asking?”

“Yes.”

“I like the sound of it. A lot.”

“Me too. Boone can be my best man. But I’m done sharing you with him.”

“Even if he’s only watching?”

The slight acceleration of his pulse gave him away. “I might make allowances for that.”

She kissed her way down his sternum and noticed how his cock thickened beneath his sweats. “Just so you know, I’m perfectly happy with only having you in my bed.”

His erection swelled even more. There was no way she could resist showing him firsthand how much she’d missed him. Needed him. She rucked down his sweats, her head descending. Unable to help herself, she slid him a mischievous look. “Besides, I’ve discovered I’m partial to shark meat.”

He gave a groaning laugh. “That was possibly the worse pun I’ve ever heard.”

Her mouth closed around him, and she hummed in pleasure before releasing him with a juicy pop. “Mm, yes. But very true. Ask any nymph and she’ll tell you—shark is her favorite main course.” Oh boy, was it ever.

And with that piece of wisdom offered, she went about proving he was the only dish needed on this particular nymph’s menu for the rest of her life.

About the Author

At the ripe age of seven, Jodi Redford penned her first epic, complete with stick figure illustrations. Sadly, her drawing skills haven’t improved much, but her love of fantasy worlds never went away. These days she writes about fairies, ghosts and other supernatural creatures, only with considerably more heat.

She has won numerous contests, including The Golden Pen and Launching a Star.

When not writing or working the day job, she enjoys gardening and way too many reality television shows.

Currently residing in Michigan with her husband and overgrown lapdog, she is a member of RWA national and Greater Detroit Romance Writers of America.

She loves to hear from readers. You can email her at
[email protected]
and visit her online at
www.jodiredford.com
.

Look for these titles by Jodi Redford

Now Available:

Taking Liberty

Light My Fire

Vanessa Unveiled

That Old Black Magic

That Voodoo You Do

The Seven Year Witch

Thieves of Aurion

Lover Enslaved

Coming Soon:

The Naughty List

After this much foreplay, something’s bound to combust.

The Seven Year Witch

© 2011 Jodi Redford

That Old Black Magic, Book 2

As head mistress of Beaumont coven house, Clarissa Miles has perfected two things: keeping her sister witches from accidently turning innocent bystanders into toads, and resisting the sexy overtures of her familiar, werewolf Logan Scott.

But her resolve is vanishing—fast. Seven years ago she sold her soul to save her father, and that contract is coming due. The allure of spending her last days indulging in some dirty, naked loving is too tempting to resist.

Logan has patiently ridden out the past seven years, content to do Clarissa’s bidding and ignoring his consuming need to mark her as his. Now that the ban on witch/familiar fraternizing has been lifted, he’s off the leash and ready to launch a full-on sensual assault on her defenses. They’re destined mates, and he’ll do whatever it takes to convince her.

It’s delightfully easy to get her in bed. Get at her heart? Not so much. Especially when a deadly predator stakes its claim on her…and Logan faces a battle not only to win her heart, but save her soul.

Warning: This book contains a villain with more personalities than Sybil, a witch in search of redemption and a dirty-talking werewolf hell-bent on claiming his mate in every wicked, sexy way possible. Spontaneous howling may occur.

Enjoy the following excerpt for
The Seven Year Witch:

Logan stepped into the service entrance of Tatum’s and bypassed the kitchen, following the corridor to the main section of the restaurant. He coughed, nearly hacking up a lung as the acrid smoke from what undoubtedly amounted to ten thousand packs of cigarettes ambushed him. His heightened lupine senses always made walking into a bar a dicey prospect.

Steeling himself, he strode toward the jam-packed bar. After elbowing a path through the throng and requesting a beer from the bartender, he moseyed out of the way and scoped the room for an available seat. The majority of tables close to the stage were already taken, but he spotted a vacant booth that still afforded a decent view.

Hoping to sweet talk his way into the primo spot, he swiveled toward the hostess stand, only to slam to a standstill when he spied Clarissa sitting at a table near the back of the dining room. She wasn’t alone. Even while his brain scrambled to process that disturbing revelation, he watched the stranger’s hands bracket Clarissa’s face, right before the guy leaned in and kissed her.

Numb disbelief froze him.
What. The. Fuck.

Jealous fury detonated inside him, instantly eradicating every thought but the one screaming in his mind—the fucking asshole had his tongue rammed in Clarissa’s mouth.
His
woman.

Fists balling in preparation of punching the dickwad’s nose off kilter, Logan growled low in his throat and stalked in Clarissa’s direction. A seat suddenly swerved in front of him, almost jabbing him in the hip. He snarled at the clueless guy straddling the chair before shoving the seat out of the way. Ignoring the guy’s sputtering retort, Logan jerked his focus back to Clarissa. And did a double take.

She was alone.

He took a quick scan of the dining room, not seeing the dickwad anywhere. It was almost as if the dude had vanished into thin air. Another possibility knocked against his consciousness and he grunted.
Or maybe I imagined the whole thing
. The idea wasn’t completely out in left field. Fuck knows this obsession with Clarissa had messed with his head on more than one occasion. Tunneling a shaky hand through his hair, he continued forward. When he was less than two table lengths away from Clarissa, she looked up and locked stares with him. Every ounce of color leeched from her face. Her gaze darted sideways, toward the back hallway, and he lengthened his stride, fully intending to tackle her if her butt so much as inched off her chair.

Apparently reading his intention, Clarissa muttered beneath her breath. He didn’t need to be a lip reader—or rely on his acute hearing—to make out the words “
Fuck me
.”