Wickedest Witch (8 page)

“Is she hot?”

“If you like the bottle blonde, cougar type.”

Not really. He preferred short, curvy
, and curly-haired. “Why did she and Rumpelstiltskin divorce?”

Barry shrugged. “The usual
according to rumor. She got too demanding. He tried to rein her in. She stepped out of the marriage. Got caught and the husband divorced her. She’s lucky. Guys like him don’t take kindly to being made a fool, and yet he generously gave her quite the settlement from what I heard. But I also heard she pissed through it and is looking for husband number two.”

“
What are the chances she’d try and use her daughter as leverage to bargain herself some extra funds?”

“Hard to tell. I’ve never met the woman myself. From all accounts, she essentially ditched the kid once she and Rumpelstiltskin split, but I don’t know if that was by choice or not. He had some kick ass lawyers on his side.”

“Anything else you can tell me?”

“Not really. Like I said, the dude is rich and powerful. He keeps to himself and doesn’t like people messing in his business.”

Ryker shoved his empty mug in Barry’s direction. “Fill me up and tell me what you know about this wedding coming up between Rasputin’s granddaughter and Lucifer’s son.”

“
Oh no, do not tell me you’re involved in that.”

“Involved? I’m an honorary groomsman.”
Beer overflowed as Barry gaped at him.

“No way.”

“Way.”

“
Unfucking real. You get yourself involved in the most messed up shit. You do know they’re already calling it the wedding of the century. A match made in Hell. The biggest event since the birth of the antichrist.”

“
So it’s a big deal?”

“Big deal? Everyone who is someone is going. The guest list alone is the who’s who of the evil underground and the neutral. Heck, even the forces of good are planning to attend. No one wants to miss this thing. Except for God
, of course. He and Lucifer are still not talking.”

The casual way Barry talked about biblical figures
that everyone knew existed but no one ever actually met wigged Ryker out somewhat.

“Have you met Lucifer or his kid before?”

“Me? No. He doesn’t come topside often and when he does, he tends to drink at his daughter’s bar in another state.”

“He has a daughter? You know what
? I’m getting off track. So this wedding is a big deal. Lots of security then, but at the same time, the potential for catastrophes with so many magical folk in one spot is astronomical.”

“I guess. Although, only an idiot with a death wish would do anything to ruin it. Between Lucifer, the mother of the bride
, and Rasputin, anyone who fucks it up is sure to suffer an eternity of torment. But why all these questions? Exactly how and why did you get roped into this wedding?”

“I’m supposed to protect Rumpelstiltskin’s daughter.”

“So you’re a bodyguard.”

“Of sorts. Me and the witch—”

A frown knitted Barry’s brows together. “Which witch?”

“The wickedest one of course. We’re going to be working together to figure out who might be targeting my client’s daughter and preventing anything from happening.”

Barry laughed so hard, he ended up wiping tears.

It was Ryker’s turn to frown. “I don’t see what’s so funny.”

“I knew you were depressed, but dude, I never realized you were suicidal.”

“One, I am not depressed.” Not anymore. “And two, I still don’t see what’s so fucking funny.”

“Nothing. Everything. Here.” Barry slid him a shot glass filled with an amber liquid. He topped up a second one and held it in the air. “A toast.”

“To?”

“To having known you. I’m going to miss you, old friend, when you’re gone.”

Ryker made sure to snag the shot glass before socking Barry in the nose and knocking him flat on his ass. As he downed both burning shots, he began to wonder if he should have demanded more money.

Or made sex part of the bargain.

Then again, the idea of courting danger, meeting some legends
, and spending time with the witch pushed the last of his moroseness to the side.

I
t was good to feel alive again. Alive and ready to rock and roar.

T
he following day, around midmorning, as Evangeline chewed on an almost burnt bagel smothered in cream cheese while watching the news—nothing like a series of disasters to start the day—her crystal ball flashed, signaling an incoming call. According to her call display, projected on the wall in dripping red script, the number was unknown. But she didn’t have a magical phone for nothing.

Peering into
the milky depths of her orb, she gnawed at her lower lip and her body thrummed in excitement, for there in living, scrumptious color was the jerk who wouldn’t leave her thoughts—or fantasies. She took a moment to absorb his appearance. Still as rugged as she recalled and just as panty-wetting. It seemed he still possessed an unfortunate effect on her. She licked her lips, thankful that he couldn’t see or smell her irritating arousal.

Should she answer? Her body screamed yes, so her mind said no.

She let the call go to voicemail, and barely restrained a shiver at his velvety baritone when he spoke to her magical device.

“Listen,
little witch, I know you’re home screening your calls. I’m going to be outside of your place in ten minutes. I’ve got an appointment of sorts to meet with Rumpelstiltskin’s ex. I thought you might want to be present for the interrogation. Be downstairs, ready to come with me or I’ll assume you want me to come upstairs. And if that happens, I promise I won’t leave until you’re screaming my name and clawing my back.”

Evangeline almost went cross
-eyed at his words.
He is the most uncouth, disgustingly hot man I’ve ever had the misfortune to meet. And damn me if I’m not tempted to have him come up and let him fuck me senseless.
She’d never met a man who made her blood boil and not just with anger. He made her want to do wicked things—with him.

“The clock is ticking,” he said before hanging up.

Shit. With little time to spare, Evangeline ran for the bedroom and the vibrating egg she kept in her nightstand. No way was she going anywhere with him without taking care of herself first. She wouldn’t allow something as primitive as lust to make her lose control again, at least not around him.

She wiggled her pants down enough to stick her hand with the egg between her thighs. Slick moisture met her, a natural lube for her toy. As she rubbed the vibrating sphere against her clit, she shuddered, recalling his words
. “
...until you’re screaming my name and clawing my back.”
Damn that sounded hot! Evangeline began panting as she stroked herself even more quickly. If only she could let go of her dislike of his kind long enough to screw him, to just feel for once his big, muscled body and taste some of the animalistic passion she sensed in him. Even better, she’d love to have him fuck her, to slam his surely thick cock into her welcoming pussy, thrusting and pumping her to climax. Driving into her. Filling her. Stretching her. Claiming her.

With a cry, her mini orgasm washed over her, leaving her smiling and sexually relieved.

And with five minutes to spare.
Quickly, she began righting her clothing. Thoughts of him hummed in her mind as she erased the traces of her mini masturbation session. He thought he was so hot with his big, sexy body. Thought he knew her so well and that she’d just fall at his feet, begging him to take her. Ha. She didn’t need him to satisfy her. She could take care of herself.

Wrong. Unable to dispel his image and anxious that she’d soon have to spend time with him, her body tingled.
Her pussy quivered. Moisture pooled, creaming her fresh panties.

A scream of annoyance left her. Dammit, her
self-pleasuring precaution had only lasted thirty seconds.
Fuck me.
I’m getting horny again already.
Maybe he wouldn’t notice.

Or maybe he’ll take it as an invitation, throw me over his shoulder, cart me upstairs, slam me up against
a wall, and screw me senseless.

Where the hell had she put her egg?

Ryker straddled his bike outside her building and watched the entrance while mentally counting down. He really hoped she stayed up there because his blue balls were screaming for a cure
, a cure that had her name—or even better, herlip
s—
written all over it. His cat, in its prison of flesh—AKA his body—wasn’t even bothering with subtlety. It wanted the witch
Now!
Ryker ignored its demands. Despite his niggling suspicion that his feline’s actions meant she was his mate, he remained uncertain. She wasn’t a shifter. Surely the whole mating thing didn’t apply. Maybe he suffered from something else. Maybe he’d caught some kind of sickness. Eaten something along the lines of catnip, which made him lust after the sorceress.

Certain there had to be a reason for his lust,
and desperate, he’d done a stupid thing. He’d asked his mother why his inner beast wanted to bite the witch.

Yeah, t
hat had
not
gone well. Ryker hoped she would reassure him that it was some kind of dominance thing, but when his mother went quiet on the phone and said, “Don’t you dare under any fucking circumstances bite the witch,” he’d quickly grasped the truth, a truth he’d stupidly tried to deny. For some unfathomable reason, his inner beast had settled on the witch for their mate.

And that’s just fucking nuts. We don’t even like each other, not to mention the whole different species thing.
However, even without his beast’s urging, he couldn’t get Evangeline out of his mind. Each thought of her woke his beast and put it in a frenzy, not only that, but he also ended up with an instant erection. No amount of jerking off helped. He only had to picture her, think of her, and
wham
. Off he went for another cold shower and a five finger session.

Knowing the urge to bite her and make her his would only get stronger and stronger, he
tried to stay away. Really, he did. He locked himself in his apartment the night before with a few cases of beer, hoping to drink himself in a stupor. Instead, he ended up outside, wandering the streets, yowling like a randy tomcat. The only reason he’d not ended up outside her window begging entrance was because he didn’t know where she lived. A quick call to Rumpelstiltskin’s office the following morning solved that dilemma. As soon as he’d written the address down, he’d wanted to tear it up. Fearful he would, his damned cat memorized it.

He threw himself into work, making plans to question people in connection to the case. Got on his bike to go meet them in person. Ended up detouring and giving
the witch an ultimatum to join him.

Why? Why did I do that?

Why? Because h
e just couldn’t fucking help himself. He had to see her again. Fighting the urge seemed to make the craving worse. Perhaps if he confronted it, confronted her—by inserting my dick in a hole, any hol
e—
he could get her out of his system so to speak. Or at least relieve the pressure in his balls.

Then bite her,
his beast added.

No biting.

He could have sworn his other half laughed. Not reassuring.

When she came down the stairs with less than a minute to spare, he
caught himself clenching his teeth. He’d really hoped she’d take him up on his threat and make him come upstairs. He’d even imagined it; his witch bent over, naked, her rounded plump ass up in the air, tempting him as she begged him to fuck her harder. Something he’d gladly do as he cupped her plentiful tits.

Oops. Almost drooled there. He clamped his lips tight.

She’d made her choice clear. Wearing that stupid glamor he hated so much, she emerged to greet him, appearing cool and indifferent. Dammit.

His irritation lasted only until he smel
led her. Then he fought his feline for control, and himself because he just wanted to throw her over his shoulder and run back up the stairs with her until he found a bed, or any spot with a touch of privacy.
The little witch pleasured herself before coming down. I don’t know if I should be pissed or flattered.
He knew his balls were keenly disappointed, even as his beast purred in satisfaction.
I guess I should be glad to know I have an effect on her.
Because he didn’t doubt for a moment she’d masturbated to his image. If she suffered even an ounce of the same attraction then he’d soon have his chance.
If I play my cards right, I’ll be plucking—and tasting—her juicy fruit soon, then maybe this stupid obsession will stop.
And if it didn’t? At least she’d make his life interesting.

Perusing her through dark
-tinted aviator glasses, he smirked. She’d dressed smartly for the occasion in a black pantsuit with heeled boots. She looked every inch the professional. He hoped she’d worn something just as nice under the spell because it wouldn’t last much longer.