His Magick Touch
His Magick Touch
by
Samantha Gentry
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales, is entirely coincidental.
His Magick Touch
COPYRIGHT © 2013 by Samantha Gentry
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author or The Wild Rose Press, Inc. except in the case of brief quotations embodied in critical articles or reviews.
Contact Information: [email protected]
Cover Art by
Diana Carlile
The Wild Rose Press, Inc.
PO Box 708
Adams Basin, NY 14410-0708
Visit us at www.thewilderroses.com
Publishing History
First Scarlet Rose Edition, July 2013
Digital ISBN 978-1-61217-969-8
Published in the United States of America
PRAISE FOR AUTHOR
Samantha Gentry
AND HER BOOKS
FORBIDDEN ISLAND
“If you want a sexy read for a cool summer night, then I’d suggest Forbidden Island. I give this steamy short story 4.5 Cherries.”
~Whipped Cream Reviews
STEAMY ENCOUNTER
“Samantha Gentry is an awesome writer who spins a tale of so much interest you have to fall in love with the characters and the book itself! Trust me on this! You will enjoy Ms. Gentry’s style. I guarantee it…read this book!”
~5 Hearts-Brenda Tally, The Romance Studio
MASKED ENCOUNTER
“I found Masked Encounter a lovely and steamy way to spend a couple of hours. This is another story that will be placed prominently in my short story library.”
~
Joyfully Reviewed
UNEXPECTED ENCOUNTER
“Ms. Gentry has believable characters that are well written. She tells a visual tale with words.”
~5 Angels-Dawnie, Fallen Angel Reviews
Chapter One
Devon sat at one of the dozen tables on the terrace of the country club, sipping champagne and watching the party guests. The full moon shone in the black sky of the unseasonably warm night, blanketing the terrace and gardens in a silvery glow. Voices and laughter drifted out through the opened French doors, blending with the background sounds of music. Halloween decorations adorned the ballroom and terrace making the reason for the party obvious.
A ripple of revulsion assaulted his senses.
Halloween…indeed! The depiction of witches as ugly creatures with warts, hooked noses, and a cackle that passes for a laugh…totally ignoring the reality that witches come in all shapes and sizes and facial features just like everyone else. Pumpkins carved into supposedly scary images. Spooky tales of evil and the supernatural told as a source of amusement by people who neither understand nor believe the magick.
Devon couldn’t stop his quick snort of disgust. One man had even made a point of informing anyone within hearing range, in a very authoritative voice, that male witches preferred to be called warlocks. An astounding bit of ignorance. Warlock was a term from Scottish and Old English that meant traitor or oath-breaker, a term used during the burning times of persecution at the hands of the Spanish Inquisition but certainly not by most witches in modern times. He slowly shook his head.
Fucking asshole doesn’t have a clue! Neither did those involved in the persecution. No true witch of the bloodline was tortured or murdered. Those empowered with magick needed only a wave of the hand to teleport elsewhere. Only innocent mortals suffered.
While the mortals celebrated their Halloween with ghosts, carved pumpkins, and skeletons, the covens paid homage to Samhain with traditional celebrations of nature. And this year a large gathering of witches, covens of various sizes from many states, had assembled for a special Samhain celebration. One where he had been selected as a major participant in the ceremony.
His gaze again traveled from one silly decoration to another. As ludicrous as he found the concept of the mortal’s Halloween party, as soon as his sources confirmed she would be attending, he had made arrangements to be there. He needed to manipulate the situation so their meeting would appear coincidental. He had to make an innocent connection with Raina prior to the Samhain gathering.
He sensed her arrival before she physically entered the ballroom. Her aura preceded her and announced her presence, a spectrum of brilliant color indicating a multi-faceted woman. It was all there with particular emphasis on pale yellow showing a renewed sense of excitement and hope for the future as well as brilliant red revealing her passion.
Even though he had never met her, he recognized Raina the moment she had arrived. He knew why he was at the party but still wasn’t sure about Raina’s reasons for attending…a witch at a Halloween party, a gathering that denigrated and ridiculed their very existence. Belittled the essence of what he and Raina represented, believed, and lived.
The entire room had taken on a special vibration the moment she walked through the door—the exotic good looks, incredible body, mesmerizing emerald green eyes, and long raven tresses hanging halfway down her back. Her outward appearance was that of a mortal in her early thirties. The striking resemblance to her sister eliminated any confusion about her identity. And it was really her sister, Miranda, he wanted to find—her sister who had wronged his family and grossly misused her powers.
Her sister against whom he wanted his revenge.
But finding the elusive Miranda had proven far more difficult than he had assumed when he began his quest in earnest twenty years ago. Even though her powers were not at the same level as his, she had used hers with an incredible amount of expertise to remain out of his reach. He had chosen to keep his search a secret, even among the members of his own coven and his closest associates. It was personal…
very
personal. And went against everything he stood for.
So…he would use Raina to track the elusive Miranda’s whereabouts by whatever means necessary even if it meant suffering in silence the insults and ignorance of the mortals with their foolish Halloween party.
He visually traced Raina’s curves, allowing his gaze to caress her ass and fondle her boobs. Her walk seemed more like a glide as she moved across the floor. Her slinky gown, low cut in front, plunged to her waist in the back. It had a slit that went up her leg halfway between her hip and knee. His cock responded to the visual stimulation of Raina with much more urgency than the sexy Miranda had ever been able to elicit from him no matter how much effort she put into her attempted seduction…her
failed
attempt at seducing him. Could her subsequent actions have been in retaliation for his rejection of her efforts? The question had crossed his mind many times over the last one hundred years.
For Devon, sex was a natural part of life every bit as fundamental as breathing, eating, and sleeping. For Miranda, it was a tool used to control rather than part of any sacred rituals or the embodiment of sex as part of nature’s commitment to life. Her use of sex as a device for manipulative power defied the witch’s credo. She was a witch of the bloodline, same as he was, rather than a practitioner of Wicca by choice.
Miranda was undeniably beautiful and visually desirable, but with a heart and soul colder than an arctic winter. A little chuckle escaped his lips…half amusement and half sarcasm…as he recalled the derogatory saying used by mortals—
colder than a witch’s tits in a brass bra
. Her passion was power, with sex only one of her tools. But for someone who thrived on power, she had consistently avoided any and all attempts to be elevated to High Priestess. That position would require high visibility, something definitely not to her benefit or part of her agenda.
Miranda knew she had crossed the line with her transgression against his brother, which became a transgression against the whole of the witch community. She had been doing her best to remain out of Devon’s reach and off his radar. But she could not keep it up indefinitely. He would find her.
Devon had been a High Priest for a little over one hundred years, having risen to that level shortly after Miranda emotionally destroyed his younger brother, Dylan. But even that exalted position had not aided him in his twenty-year search for her, a search he had to keep secret, which precluded enlisting anyone else’s help.
Harm to None
. He embraced the credo. It represented who he was—with the single exception of Miranda. He had two families, his coven family and his blood family, and both adhered to the credo. Because of that, he had never shared knowledge of his personal quest with anyone. The resulting inner conflict produced many internal battles culminating in a decision that had not come easily.
Even though it had taken him eighty years to reconcile his beliefs with his goal, it had not dissuaded him from his ultimate decision. He had patiently waited eight decades for Miranda to come forth and admit what she had done. And for all those years, the unspoken desire for revenge grew inside him until he could no longer ignore it, deny it, or contain it. Wicca beliefs said a person’s actions would come back three times over. Just as he had never forgiven Miranda, he would not be forgiven by others if he went through with his plan for revenge…
if
anyone else found out about it. After eighty years of consideration, it was a risk he was willing to take.
He rose from his chair and took his empty glass inside for a refill. He headed toward the bar where Raina had paused, his intention to engage her in seemingly casual and innocent conversation. He set the empty champagne glass on the bar and ordered another. He nodded toward her and flashed his sexiest smile. “May I offer you a glass of champagne?”
Raina returned his smile. “Thank you.” She knew exactly who he was the moment she laid eyes on him, without being introduced. She had heard many conflicting stories about Devon and had long been fascinated by him. Her older sister, Miranda, painted him in an unfavorable light, but everything else she heard praised him and lauded his capabilities and leadership. He could not have become a High Priest if even half the things Miranda said were true. For reasons Miranda had never confessed, she seemed genuinely afraid of Devon, something that was obvious whenever anyone mentioned his name around her.
Raina had spotted Devon on the terrace as soon as she arrived at the party and she really liked what she saw. And now that she stood next to him, she realized just how powerful he was, both physically and spiritually. His commanding presence said he had control of everything that surrounded him. He stood probably six-foot-one, imposing in physique. Very handsome features, dark hair, and brilliant turquoise blue eyes that seemed to bore into the depths of her very soul. He appeared to be in his late thirties in mortal years.
Their covens were in different states and seldom had reason for interaction. The upcoming special Samhain gathering presented a perfect backdrop for them to get acquainted. She had to admit her surprise at seeing him in attendance at a Halloween party for mortals, but it was not the type of place she would normally be, either. She had reluctantly accepted the party invitation from one of her clients, intending only to put in an appearance to satisfy the business obligation, then leave. Being a witch didn’t preclude her need to earn a living and maintain a good relationship with her clients.
She needed to take full advantage of this unexpected meeting with Devon. She wanted to intimately know him, to experience everything about him. And his many accomplishments included a mastery of sex magick. As a High Priest, his position dictated an expertise in many areas and disciplines. She certainly enjoyed sex and had achieved orgasm on many occasions, but not as often or as easily as she wanted. Not the heart-pounding rhapsody she longed for.
It seemed sometimes easier with her vibrator than with the different partners she had over the years. Had she not found the right partner or was the fault her own? Her goal was to put herself in the hands of a master teacher, to learn how to let go of her own long held inhibitions and fears, to master the sensual nuances leading to the ultimate pleasure.
She improvised a more intimate interaction with Devon by
accidently
bumping his arm and feigning a startled gasp as half a glass of cold champagne splashed across her chest and down her cleavage. She grabbed a napkin from the bar and dabbed at her neck and upper chest, leaving most of the champagne to trickle between her breasts.
He set the half-empty glass on the bar, surprise covering his features. “I’m so sorry.” A sincere concern surrounded his words. “Are you okay?”
