Total pages in book: 49
Estimated words: 47052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 47052 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 235(@200wpm)___ 188(@250wpm)___ 157(@300wpm)
Straightening her shoulders, she plowed on. “You should go your way, and I’ll go mine.”
Why’d she find it so bloody easy to not be around him? Females the worlds over clamored for his attention—he could get summoned ten times a night—but not Poppy Dyer. “We might as well work together. If we teamed up, I could take the clout and give you the prize.”
“How about I take the clout and the prize and give you a swift kick to the balls?”
Her attitude made his head buzz like a potent aphrodisiac. “I’ve missed your humor, witch.”
They’d just reached the stairs when the skittering intensified, like a rave club full of kobolds. She swerved from the steps and headed toward another hallway.
He followed. “You’re not curious what’s up there?”
She shook her head, her bun loosening more.
What he wouldn’t give to release that silky mane and thread his fingers through it. “Where are you going?”
“I think the basement is this way. I plan to explore this castle from bottom to top.” He’d just parted his lips to make a quip when she pointed at him over her shoulder and said, “Don’t.”
The skittering suddenly sounded as if it was coming from the floor below them.
“On second thought . . .” She backtracked to another hallway. “I’ll start my investigation here.”
“You’re avoiding trouble! You’ve never been timid before.” The witch was often the first into the fray. “Maybe your bag of tricks isn’t as full as it should be.” On past gigs, she’d come equipped with that satchel full of pouches. Had she gone off half-cocked tonight?
“As usual, I’m completely prepared.” She patted her bag with her customary confidence. Still, he sensed she was lying. “I’m just following my gut. Feel free to get lost. I’ll meet you at the front entrance in”—she checked her sports watch—“eight hours. I’ll be the one holding the prize.” With that, she headed through a pair of double doors.
Get lost, she’d said. Gods below, he’d tried.
He pictured his secluded cabin in Iceland. How many nights had he traced/paced in front of the fire? Enough to wear two holes into the floor! More holes dotted the wooden walls from when he’d rammed his aching horns with frustration.
Always on his mind was the question: Am I a decent male?
He’d booked treacherous jobs, but there were only so many. Though Cade and his mate Holly welcomed him to their home, Rök didn’t want to intrude too much. Eventually his inner turmoil would drive him to Erol’s, yet even in a crowd of Loreans, Rök felt isolated.
With a muttered curse, he followed Poppy through the doors into an expansive kitchen sparsely lit with more gas lamps. A crew of cooks must’ve once prepared meals here for scores of Loreans.
Poppy’s covetous gaze swept the area, as if she could see past the cobwebs dangling from pot racks and the chalky rat droppings on the countertops.
“I’ll never understand the inner workings of the Wiccan mind. You’re looking at this kitchen as though you’re ready to move in.”
Shrug. “I like them big.” He’d just opened his mouth for a joke when she warned, “Don’t.”
He refrained from knocking her softball pitch into the innuendo bleachers. “Fair enough. Why do you like big kitchens?”
As if the words were pulled from her, she said, “My sisters and I live in an old Victorian manor.” I know. Been there. “And our kitchen isn’t huge. We don’t have enough room for concocting and making meals. Something had to give, so we don’t cook as much as we’d like.”
“I thought all of you Louisiana witches wanted to live amid your coven.” Andoain, the newly inaugurated seat of the House of Witches in this realm, was located outside New Orleans.
“The Andoain witches are a bit . . .”
“Overserved?” The coven was like a party-hearty sorority house from a slasher flick. Except these sorority girls would slash back. With magic.
“I was going to say young, but your observation is fair. When my parents left the realm for a stint, my sisters and I voted to stay at their place.”
Her folks were the rare witch/warlock superpower couple living in perfect mystical symbiosis or whatever. He’d heard they were hard-core practitioners, teachers of the occult. After their daughters had all reached immortality, the couple had returned to the Wiccae dimension of Akelarre to hone their deep witchery for the coming Accession.
This one was shaping up differently from past Accessions. Instead of unrelenting skirmishes, Loreans feared a great war between an alliance of factions in this realm and the enigmatic Møriør. . . .
When Poppy checked some of the cupboards, Rök said, “I don’t scent a crumb of food here.” A few decomposed rats dotted the tiled floor, confirming that no food existed—and that the sealed castle prevented even a rodent’s escape. “I don’t suppose you’ve got a never-ending energy bar in that bag of yours?”