How to Marry a Warlock in 10 Days (11 page)

She really meant that this time, unlike the previous four times when she was just vowing for effect. Really.

“I am coming to enjoy that shade of pink.”

In that second, Middy realized she’d had enough. He had all the power here and she was going to get some of it back.

Or she was going to die of embarrassment trying.

“Coming?” She repeated the word for effect. “Doesn’t look like it to me. You’re not even breathing heavy.” Middy smiled and reached over to put her hand boldly on his package. “Doesn’t feel like it either.”

Dred made a sound low in his throat and Middy realized that the previously mentioned package had just become a special delivery. It hardened beneath her touch and she was curious to know more.

He caught her wrist. “Midnight! Sweet hell, no.”

“Tell me more about why you’re on the injured list,”

Middy said. “I think I deserve to know what’s keeping me from my payment.”

Dred gritted his teeth and closed his eyes; he took a deep breath. “That’s going to be just as bad, Midnight.” He pulled her against him and he shifted his weight so that their mouths were only seconds apart. “It was the night of the Masque.”

“The night when you abandoned me to find my own pleasure?” Middy couldn’t believe the words that had just fallen out of her mouth with no care as to where they crashed.

“Yes, Midnight. You were so wet for me, but I was trying my damndest to . . .” He frowned and the slashes of his eyebrows drew together. “You’re a virgin and the Cause is so much more than this.”

He’d just said that this “Cause” of his was so much more important to him than being wand deep in her, but the way he’d said it almost made up for the blow to her pride. Dred leaned close to her, his hard body pressing her into the mattress, his breath sweet and minty on her lips. The duvet was between them, but she was hyperaware of her nakedness beneath.

“Tell me more,” she demanded as her eyes fluttered closed with desire.

“What do you want to hear, Midnight? That I wanted to fuck you? That I’ve imagined the sweet heat of you tight around my cock? Or do you want to know what I was doing while I was imagining your body? That I was touching my cock, sliding my hand back and forth trying to come, all the while knowing it was nothing compared to what it would like to be deep inside of you?”

Middy arched up into him, his words a caress as potent and real as his hands over her body.

“And I couldn’t come, because it wasn’t what I wanted. I wanted you. So, I kept stroking, touching. . . .”

Middy could see everything that he described to her. His strong hands wrapped around his cock, his head tilted back in pleasure, even a bead of sweat forming on his upper lip as he worked his cock to images of her.

His words gave her a heady power.

“Now please, Middy. It took forever to come and I’m so sore.”

She was already sore from her multiple missed orgasms, so she supposed it would be a good idea to quit taunting him. And herself.

“Okay, but I’m going to hold you to that.”

Dred rolled onto his back, his eyes closed, and his hand making a protective cup near his groin, though he wasn’t quite touching it.

He pulled out his Witchberry and tossed it to her. “Call yourself. Then you’ll have my number. Look at my last text from Godrickle and you’ll understand why you have to help me. Our mission is to stop the person behind the murders of the hatchling gargoyles. There are photos of one of the crime scenes.” Dred tried to sit up. “Where’s the kitchen? I need some ice.”

“I could just—”

He interrupted. “I’ll get it the old-fashioned way, thanks.

And for the love of Merlin, please be dressed when I get back.”

Middy was surprised that he just tossed her his Witchberry. Most magickal folk carried around their whole lives in these things and he’d just tossed it to her like a dirty sock.

It felt kind of naughty to be cruising through his personal files. She had to say that she liked it. She paused on a picture of someone named Karla. A pretty witch, but too skinny for Dred. In Middy’s opinion, anyway. Then she saw the text from Chancellor Godrickle.

Well, rocky road fudge! Dred had been telling the truth.

He was a spy.

That little nugget of clarity caused her to debate opening the attachment. A lead weight dropped from her throat into her gut. It told her, no, it screamed, that if she looked at whatever was in that file, it was going to change everything.

For a moment, she thought maybe that was a little overdra-matic.

Until she opened the file.

Middy dropped the device in horror as image after image of brutality appeared on the screen. Fledgling gargoyles, mutilated and murdered. It wasn’t so much the blood—she’d seen that before. It was look of terror on those little faces, the eyes wide, and the bow mouths open, pleading for their mothers.

It was a wanton destruction of innocence.

She felt completely helpless as the images flashed before her, helpless to get away from them because those scenes had been tattooed into her awareness, and helpless to do anything but sit there and damn a world where something like this could happen.

But no, she wasn’t helpless. Dred was going to find out who’d done this. He was going to stop them from doing it again. She could help him. Little Midnight Cherrywood had a chance to change the world.

Now, she understood. Her bit of inconvenient flesh really didn’t matter in the face of something like this. She felt a warmth spark inside of her and she realized that it was for Dred Shadowins.

It wasn’t the blatant lust that usually colored every single thing that had to do with him, and she still couldn’t say that she liked him. He was still a witchinizing bastard, but there was this tiny flame.

Its name was admiration.

There was something else, too. That warmth, that spark—there was hope there. It sparked her magick, like a waterfall of fireworks as if there was something inside of her that could have changed those broken little bodies, could have mended them.

But that was impossible. Wasn’t it?

CHAPTER TEN

The Broom Sleigh

Five days later, Dred Shadowins escorted Middy Cherrywood and her bit of luggage to Snow Manor. He was thrilled that she was such a practical witch and managed to cram all of her necessities into one case and a garment bag.

He’d never known a witch who could do that, but Dred thought that it should be a course offered at the Academy:
Magickal Packing for the Smart Witch
. Yes, he’d have to see about talking to the council to get that added as an elective.

Middy would be the perfect witch to design the course.

It would also be a way to pay her for her help. He’d already agreed to fund the Gargoyle Masque for the rest of his life, but who knew how long that would be if these bastards had already raised a lamia? A lamia could spell the end of mortal and magickal civilization. Dred knew of only one way to combat something so evil: great sacrifice. And the only thing Dred had that he valued above all else was his life. Still, he’d gladly give it to save his world.

Dred sighed, knowing he had to keep his head in the game. He pushed Spy!Dred down and slipped into his RichPlayboy!Dred persona. He watched as broom after broom arrived, witches and warlocks wrapped in magickal furs, with luggage brooms arriving behind them. Dred always found that to be so pretentious and he knew for a fact, so did Barista Snow. Her elegance was rooted in her love of simplicity. That was something the social vultures couldn’t seem to grasp.

Dred knew that she was going to love Middy and that would make it much easier for his fiancée to move about in the circles they needed access to.

Other witches and warlocks continued their procession, but Dred was content to wait in the warm bubble of the broom sleigh. It had four thruster brooms underneath the hood and sailed through the sea of snow like a Cadillac on a Sunday drive.

At least it wasn’t one of those pumpkin-shaped mon-strosities. He hated those. All of the witches he’d dated always wanted a ride in one around the holidays. Some Cinderella nonsense. He’d rather go face diving in a vat of cranberry sauce. Luckily, his mother never approved of those. Aradia was a staunch supporter of the stepsisters. In her opinion, it took much more dedication and determination to cut off a piece of your own foot than to languish around and wait for some mealy-mouthed fairy to come rescue one from
circumstances
.

He scanned the crowd for his mother, but didn’t see her.

There was an amazing view of a glitter frosted landscape, the snow making everything fresh and clean. His favorite part of the view was the snowcapped mountains that had looked to him like ice cream-covered breasts when he’d been a young warlock (everything with Dred was about the rack). Middy leaned against his chest. He didn’t mind having her there, nestled against him while she took in the sights. She’d confessed with a wide-eyed wonder that she’d never been to the Alps. She’d told him of a favorite childhood snow globe that had looked just like Snow Manor.

She smelled like sugar plums today. Every time she moved, the scent filled the bubble that shielded the sleigh from the elements and he was reminded of Solstice and Yule, of home, of long winter nights reading with his mother while she wove magick pictures into the walls.

When the stories and pictures had faded, they always left the scent of sugar plums in their wake.

Dred found it odd in the extreme that this woman he lusted for should smell like his childhood. He couldn’t resist wrapping one cherry-chocolate curl from her cascade of hair around his finger.

He’d had his fingers wrist deep in many a witch’s hair, but none had ever appealed to him as much as Midnight Cherrywood’s, even back at the Academy. That was why he’d turned them into snakes. Dred had dreamt about her hair, dreamt about touching it whenever he wanted. Rather than ask the girl if he could touch her hair, because that had seemed icky to a warlock of his age, he’d tried to destroy it so that it couldn’t taunt him.

Snakes weren’t shiny, after all. They didn’t feel like silk and the sheen of them didn’t dance in the light like Middy’s hair. His fingers didn’t itch to touch them.

She seemed not to notice the familiarity with which he touched her and he was thankful for that. Just because he wanted to touch her hair, it didn’t mean anything. He’d have to stop before she noticed. Witches took things like hair touching to be something more than it was.

Unfortunately, his cock was getting hard, too. Touching her hair made him remember what it looked like spread out behind her on a pillow, her legs splayed for the image of him, and the sound of her voice as she called out his name.

He hadn’t been able to help himself, tasting her. She’d been so sweet; he’d had to delve further.

Her mortification had been intriguing as well. He hadn’t known how much the little witch had lusted after him until that moment. Sure, he knew that she wanted him. Most witches did . . . Yeah, he knew that sounded pompous, but it was the truth. If not for his looks or the tales of his leg-endary cock, it was for his money. He was a commodity.

Though, Middy was the first witch he’d caught doing the nasty with his centerfold. He’d considered simply watching.

There had been something so stimulating about watching his own image pleasure her. If he’d joined it, it would have been the ultimate in narcissistic pleasure. He’d be able to fuck himself, while fucking a hot little piece of witch. Dred was sure it didn’t get any better.

Then he’d heard her frustration and he couldn’t resist.

After all, he didn’t want it to get around that his centerfold wasn’t a good lay. If he was honest, he’d admit that it was more than that. Dred wanted to bring her pleasure. It all went back to that shade of pink that matched her mouth.

Her nipples. And her . . .

As he pushed the thought from his head, he realized everyone had arrived. It was time to land the sleigh and put his head in the lion’s mouth. He could see from the smug look on Barista’s face that she thought she’d finally gotten one over on him.

His Aunt Barista was what one would call a piece of work.

As the valet came to take the sleigh, Dred guided Middy into the reception line and stood behind her. He was looking at Middy when he realized a vital part of their charade was missing. The engagement tattoos.

Double damn. He’d have to do them as soon as they were taken to their room. Dred had to keep himself and Middy from showing their wrists until then. It shouldn’t be too much of a problem for Middy since she was wrapped from head to toe in Chimerean fur.

Barista’s face warmed as they approached and she smiled as she took Middy’s hand. “I’m so glad you could come, Midnight. Mordred has told me absolutely nothing about you.”

“Thank you for the invitation, Madame Snow,” Middy said with her own smile.

Her manners were impeccable. Dred couldn’t have chosen a better partner for this façade if he’d held auditions.

Who was he kidding? If he’d held auditions, the casting couch would’ve been replaced twice from all the shagging and he still wouldn’t have found his perfect, virginal Middy.

“You must call me Barista. Or Aunt Bari, if you like. I’m simply dying to hear all about you.” She kissed the air next to Middy’s cheek and motioned for a servant to come guide them to their room. “And Mordred, darling. Your mother is here. I would advise that you take your bride-to-be directly to her room. She told me that even she hasn’t been introduced to Midnight yet, you horrible boy.”

Barista turned her attention back to Middy. “We forgive him though because we never thought he’d find the right witch, did we, Roderick?”

The stern man behind her with the aquiline nose and rough-hewn features smiled. “No, my dear. We’d lost faith that we’d ever find the one.”

That sounded odd to Dred. He couldn’t put his finger on why, but he filed it away to contemplate later after he had Middy safely ensconsced and bearing his mark on her wrist.

Middy followed the servant to their room, and Dred found the fellow to be completely unpalatable. He admitted to himself that he might be just a bit paranoid. Something about the man set all of his warning bells to ringing like a tornado siren in Kansas in the spring.