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)
Dreading the coming visitation, she’d sought help from Mariketa, the leader of the House of Witches. Just a week ago, the young witch had told her that she’d find the answer to her curse within this castle. Poppy had believed the curse would be broken here—not enhanced!
“What do they want?” Rök’s sword never slowed.
“They’ve terrorized anyone who’s seen them.” Like her poor sisters. Poppy hadn’t told her parents how bad it’d gotten, refusing to distract them from their training. “Now that the visitors are embodied, I think senseless killing is the name of the game for them.”
“Kill you? You’re fueling them. Where’s the logic in that?”
“Gremlins: masters of logic.” She blew a lock of hair out of her eyes and fired again. “You want me to call a time-out and ask them about their motivations?”
“You’re certain this is a curse? Maybe it’s your own power gone berserk.”
“A witch’s power rarely harms her, and she gathers more control over time, not less. But even so, I wasn’t fully convinced it was a curse until now.”
“Why now?”
Two gremlins clambered across the floor toward her legs, earning a blast. “Because they are trying to kill me.”
“Then why take a job at bloody Halloween?”
“The castle would only open tonight!”
Rök muttered, “Wiccans, man,” as he beheaded another pair.
She fired on a slavering trio, exploding them like meat sauce in a microwave. The demon cast her a brief look of approval. Only four left, but her borrowed magic was fading.
With an expert sweep of his sword, Rök struck the four down. A row of heads flew, landing with thuds to roll across the floor.
His chest heaved as they scanned the twitching bodies. “Should we be expecting more of these fuckers?”
“I don’t think so.”
He lowered his gore-covered sword.
“But other visitors will appear,” she added.
Bitter laugh. “Course they will.”
The light across her palms sputtered. Fueling her spells and the visitors always depleted her magic, which must be the point of the curse.
Rök met her gaze with his brows drawn. “Your eyes are back to normal for now.”
Did she detect worry in his troubled expression? Not for himself but for her? As they stared at each other, emotions best left buried crept to the surface. She rubbed her neck, feeling as if she was on the precipice of something more perilous than even the visitors. . . .
Rök turned from her, ending the charged moment. He swiped his sword on a dusty dish towel and sheathed it. Since Poppy was the source of these killers, his safest bet would be to leave her behind and get on with his job.
True to form, he left her without a word. There he goes, out of here at the first sign of trouble.
She stared at the doors closing behind him. She’d wanted away from him, hadn’t she? Forced proximity for an entire night would’ve been unbearable.
So why this dejection? She was on a mission, not another ill-fated date. What a farce that had been, stranded by him at the most expensive restaurant in the Lore.
Two years ago
New Orleans
“Ellen Ripley in the furnace,” Poppy told Rök as they enjoyed scrumptious wine imported from Sylvan, oysters from Sargasoe, and a debate about the best character sacrifices in horror flicks.
In other words, the perfect date.
“Ripley? Agree to disagree, Red.” He grinned over his wineglass, emanating sex appeal. He looked so decadent in his bespoke suit that he should come with a health warning. “I think the best sacrifices arise when there’s still a bit of hope that the character can be saved. Once the alien implanted in Ripley, all hope was lost. She just took that plot development to its logical conclusion in the coolest way.”
He knew his Alien lore! As the proud co-owner of a black cat named Newt, Poppy was impressed. High from Rök’s undivided attention, she leaned forward in her chair, chin propped on her hand, hearts in her eyes. Fellow diners kept staring at them, must sense the chemistry sparking between Rök and her.
For the umpteenth time tonight, she mused, What if I am his mate? He might not even realize it. Or was he feeling the same connection?
They’d shared similar interests, swapping merc tips and movie trivia. He’d laughed at her jokes and genuinely seemed to like her. And the attraction . . . Well, they hadn’t even made it to the front steps of the restaurant before they’d assailed each other. A selfie in the parking lot had turned into the best kiss of her life—and it’d only whetted her appetite for more of him.
When she was getting ready for the night earlier, her sisters had gathered in her room, warning her against going out with one of the Lore’s most notorious players. Lea had said, “You told us you wanted to settle down, right? You know you’re destined for a warlock. A demon can’t protect you from magic, but a warlock could. A fellow Wiccan could even help you defeat your curse.”