Kisses and Curses
Warlocks MacGregor
Michelle M. Pillow
MichellePillow.com
Kisses and Curses (Warlocks MacGregor) © copyright 2018 by Michelle M. Pillow
First Electronic Printing October 23, 2018 The Raven Books LLC
ISBN: 9781625012227
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.
All books copyrighted to the author and may not be resold or given away without written permission from the author, Michelle M. Pillow.
This novel is a work of fiction. Any and all characters, events, and places are of the author’s imagination and should not be confused with fact. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or events or places is merely coincidence. Novel intended for adults only. Must be 18 years or older to read.
Contents
About Kisses and Curses
Warlocks MacGregor Series
Note from the Author
Author Updates
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
Chapter 14
Chapter 15
Chapter 16
Chapter 17
Chapter 18
Chapter 19
Keep Reading!
Warlocks MacGregor Series
Newsletter
About the Author
Reading Guides
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About Kisses and Curses
Magic, Mischief and Kilts!
Scottish Warlock Euann MacGregor may be the tech savvy one in his family, but when it comes to love, savvy doesn’t enter into the equation. So when he crosses paths, in the most unusual way, with a woman who holds an essential piece to a puzzle that has haunted the MacGregor family for decades, he’s torn between wanting answers and wanting her. Forces beyond his control have brought them together, but those same dangers might also be what tears them apart forever.
* * *
Warning: Contains yummy, hot, mischievous MacGregors who are almost certainly up to no good on their quest to find true love. And Uncle Raibeart.
Warlocks MacGregor Series
Scottish Magickal Warlocks
Love Potions
Spellbound
Stirring Up Trouble
Cauldrons and Confessions
Spirits and Spells
Kisses and Curses
More Coming Soon
Visit www.MichellePillow.com for details.
Note from the Author
The term “warlock” is a variation on the Old English word “waerloga” primarily used by the Scots. It meant traitor, monster, deceiver, or other variations. The MacGregor Clan does not look at themselves as being what history has labeled their kind. To them, warlock means magick, family, and immortality. This book is not meant to be a portrayal of modern day witches or those who have such beliefs. The MacGregors are a magickal class all their own.
As with all my books, this is pure fantasy. In real life, please always practice safe sex and magic(k).
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Chapter One
Green Vallis, Wisconsin
“If anyone cares, Uncle Raibeart is naked in the back gardens.” Euann glanced up from the security feed on his laptop. Two of his brothers and their cousin, Rory, sat at the formal dining table with him. A trail of light made its way in from the window, creeping across the room to mark the movement of time.
Rory leaned to look lazily past a large flower vase in the middle of the table. He shook his head in denial at Euann. Rory appeared more interested in his coffee cup than anything else. “Not unless the giant puppy I’ve been trying to get Malina and Jane to materialize for me is chasing him.”
“Ah…” Euann squinted and leaned closer to the screen. “No, it looks like…gremains, maybe?”
Rory waved his hand in dismissal. “He’s probably trying to get one to marry him. Let Raibeart have his shot at love.”
“Can ya imagine the children that would come from that union?” Iain mused. His brother’s feet were kicked up on the table, and he picked at a croissant, throwing more pieces onto the plate than into his mouth.
“Should we go rid the gardens of the creatures once and for all?” Euann asked, even as he lacked the motivation to do so.
“It’s too early to deal with gremains,” Iain dismissed, suppressing a yawn. “Let’s do it tomorrow.”
“I don’t want to break up Raibeart’s date,” their oldest brother, Erik, added. He didn’t look up from the thriller he read on his smartphone. “He’ll scream if he needs help.”
A melancholy air had settled over the MacGregor estate, like a mist covering the mansion and surrounding grounds that would not dissipate. The entire family felt it, well, at least those of warlock blood.
The twenty-fifth anniversary of Kenneth’s disappearance was upon them, and they were no closer to having answers than they had been the night he’d gone missing.
They all had theories: vortex to another world, fairy ring to another realm, magick gone awry causing Kenneth to lose his corporeal form, evil spells, statue potions, witch hunters. Erik had convinced himself Kenneth left of his own accord and didn’t want to be found. Otherwise they would have had a hint of his whereabouts. No one else really believed that. Kenneth would not do that to the family. For a time, his brother Niall had thought maybe a nest of vampires had taken him, but that turned out to be a dead end. The family had tried seances and spells, summonings and incantations, offerings and prayers. Nothing brought Kenneth back.
Every year, his parents, Angus and Margareta MacGregor, would go to West Virginia, where Kenneth was last located by a credit card receipt at a local bar. What started as a pilgrimage of hope had slowly turned into a bleak journey they were compelled to take each year.
Euann missed his brother and felt the hole that had been left behind in their lives. It was an ache that would not lessen. He supposed it would be worse for parents, losing a child and never having an answer as to what had happened to him. It didn’t matter that Kenneth had been just over four hundred years old at the time. To parents, their child would always be their child.
In the course of a warlock’s lifetime, twenty-five years wasn’t a lot of time, but it was enough to lose hope, to accept the hollow feeling might never go away. It had become a darkened part of their souls.
Euann realized he watched Raibeart on the security feed of the back gardens without seeing him. He flinched and then jumped back in his seat. “Och, that’s not right. Raibeart is doing nude tai chi.”
“What self-respecting warlock uses technology instead of magick for security? There are only six acres of gardens. Ya should be able to cover that with a couple of protection spells.” Erik still didn’t look up from his book. “I think it’s because the sack man forgot to give ya true magick when he tricked ma into taking ya from him.”
His brothers always teased him about being the son of a sack man and not a real MacGregor. It was an old joke, one they had not given up since childhood. They liked to claim the Spanish boogeyman fathered him, and that is why he wasn’t a true Scottish warlock. Euann hated golf and whiskey, which his family loved, and preferred playing with gadgets instead of using a magickal solution.
Euann arched a brow and, without verbally answering Erik’s insult, he pulled open a file on his computer and sent a video to all of his
family’s cellphones. Seconds later, Rory’s phone dinged, Iain’s beeped, and Erik frowned before sweeping his finger over his screen to ignore the notification so he could keep reading.
Rory glanced at Euann with a questioning look.
Euann just gave him a half-smile and kept idly checking the camera feeds around the property.
“Ly-di-ah!” As Rory played the video, the sound of Erik singing to woo his now-wife belted out of the phone.
Barely a second later, Iain’s phone joined their cousin’s creating a slightly out of sync playback of the song. “Ly-di-ah! I sit beneath your window, laaaass, singing ‘cause I loooove your aaaass.”
Erik sat forward in his seat as he swiped his finger to look at the message he’d disregarded moments before.
“Ly-di-ah!”
“Dammit, Euann!” Erik swore.
“Ly-di-ah!”
“Ohmigod, there’s dancing,” Rory exclaimed, slapping his hand on the table and gasping for breath through his amusement.
“Those are some sweet moves, brother,” Iain added, shaking his hips back and forth in his chair.
As if on cue, Rory and Iain belted out with the recording, “Ly-di-ah!”
“Turn it off,” Erik demanded.
“Ly-di-ah! Ya smell just like a, uh, la-ven-der-ah mint, and I think I like your scent.”
“Och, brother, ya cannot carry a tune.” Iain set his phone down and plugged his ears with his fingers. “Ya do not do the MacGregor name proud.”
Erik gestured his hand toward Iain, materializing a stiff breeze that sent Iain’s phone flying into the dining room wall. It crashed so hard that it stopped playing.
“Ya didn’t have to do that,” Iain protested.
“Erik!”
The sound of his wife’s voice caused Erik to stiffen and look around as if he suspected he was in trouble. It was still the recording.
“Uh-oh, Lydia sounds annoyed.” Iain picked up his broken phone. “I don’t think she liked your song.”
“Yes, my lavender,” the recording of Erik’s voice said. Rory and Iain laughed harder.
“Malina drugged me,” Erik protested. It was true. Their sister had helped Lydia make a love potion as a prank and it backfired, horribly. It had caused Erik to become obsessed with his true love to the point of being dangerous. He’d called a storm that nearly destroyed the whole town, and he’d even shifted into a monstrous version of his puma form.
“Don’t call me lavender,” Lydia’s recording stated firmly. Rory turned his phone so Iain could also appreciate the way Erik groveled.
“Yes, my rose.”
“Don’t call me rose.”
“Yes, my—”
The video clip ended when Erik walked out of the frame of the security camera. Iain and Rory doubled over with laughter.
“Ly-di-ah!” Iain sang, placing his hand on his heart as he crooned toward Rory.
“Ly-di-ah!” Rory returned louder than his cousin.
“I will not forget this,” Erik told Euann. “It’s going in the revenge book.”
Euann wasn’t worried. “File it under the section called, I’m not scared of the kitty cat’s threats.”
Erik marched toward the main foyer.
“Oh, wait, Erik, we’re sorry,” Rory said as Erik reached the door.
“Yeah, come back.” Iain moved around the side of the table to follow his brother, with Rory right behind him.
Erik stopped and arched a skeptical brow as he faced them.
As if reading each other’s minds, both Rory and Iain began bouncing around the dining room, lifting their arms and kicking their legs in a bad rendition of an already hilarious dance as they mocked Erik.
“Oh, Ly-di-ah, my lavender cake,” Iain sang.
“How I love to make ya quake,” Rory added.
“Kill me for heaven’s sake,” Iain continued, shaking his ass violently so the kilt he wore jerked back and forth. He winked at Erik. “They call this twerking. Try it next time. Might help.”
Erik lifted his finger and pointed it deliberately at Euann. Under his breath, he uttered, “Revenge.”
Euann laughed and, as Erik strode from the room, he called, “Wait, lavender boy, I have more. Don’t ya want to see…?” He let his words trail off. He heard Erik’s boots hitting heavily on the stairs as he headed toward his bedroom. There, Erik kept a magick mirror that would transport him home to the Victorian mansion he shared with Lydia.
The teasing had lightened the mood of the morning. Iain and Rory went back to their chairs. Euann knew it wouldn’t last, but for now they were smiling.
“Do ya know who would have loved that?” Iain asked, only to answer his own question. “Kenneth.”
And with that, the mood dampened.
Rory nodded as he sat back down by his coffee. “Yeah, he really would have.”
Chapter Two
Outside Wichita, Kansas
“Corinna Dewitt,” the highway patrol officer recited, reading Cora’s license.
She automatically glanced at his name tag. Lewellen looked like every trooper she ever remembered being pulled over by—buzz-cut brown hair, an ordinary face she didn’t want to look at directly, and an air of authority when he spoke. He looked at the license and then back at her, lifting it as if to compare her to the photo.
“Blonde was a phase. I went back to my natural color.” Cora needlessly pulled a strand of her dark brown hair forward as evidence. “I should probably have that photo retaken, but it says brown on the—” She started to point at the license when his words cut her off.
“Do you know how fast you were going?” questioned Lewellen.
Cora wondered why he went through the ruse of asking. They both knew she had been speeding. Her hands shook violently, and the nerves bundled in her stomach were almost unbearable. Everything she wanted to say was right there on the edge of her brain, but she couldn’t get the words out. She did her best attempt at a smile and said, “Faster than I should have been?”
“Ninety-three,” he said, answering his own question. Cora wanted to debate his number. Her speedometer had said ninety-one. “Speed limit here is seventy-five.” Though polite, he didn’t return the smile. She wasn’t surprised. She had never been able to sweet talk her way out of a ticket. And if she merely got off with a citation for speeding, she’d consider herself lucky.
Or not.
“Yes, sir, I’m sorry, sir.” She stared at the wheel, gripping it nervously.
“Where are you headed?”
“I’m not exactly sure.” It wasn’t a lie. She had no clue what awaited her at the end of this trip.
“Wait here.” He walked off with her license.
Cora took a deep breath to steady her nerves. Cars whizzed by, momentarily blurring her view of the grassy field lined by trees. Some people thought Kansas to be flat and boring, but she believed it had an understated beauty. The tall grasses undulated in the breeze, rippling across fields. They were hypnotic—rolling forward in a predictable pattern beneath bright blue skies dotted with clouds.
If she went to prison, would she be able to see the clouds from her cell? She couldn’t remember from the movies she had seen. Cora wasn’t tough, not like prison people. Women like her always became someone else’s bitch.
Lewellen appeared by her window to hand back her license and a paper ticket. “Slow it down.”
“Yes, sir, thank you—”
A loud thud cut through her words.
Cora’s eyes rounded, and she looked at the trooper in a panic.
He stiffened. “What was that?”
“I can explain.”
Another thud came from the trunk, and then another.
No. No, she couldn’t explain this. In no reality could she make this situation look good.
“Do you have someone in the trunk?” Lewellen reached for his waist and stepped back as he rested his hand on the butt of his sidearm. “Get out of the car, ma’am.”
Cora pressed her l
ips tightly together and gave him a helpless look. She didn’t want to. Her hands worked nervously against the wheel. The thuds came faster.
“Out of the car, ma’am,” he stated louder, pulling her door handle. “Move slow. Keep your hands where I can see them.”
Cora did as he ordered. She kept her hands lifted by her shoulders and backed up.
The thumping became louder, the hard kicks so forceful they sounded like they would dent the metal of her trunk lid. The trooper reached inside her door, not taking his eyes off her as he pulled the lever to pop the trunk.
One last kick sent the lid flying up with a hard bang. Cora gave a small jump.
“Put your hands on the hood. Don’t move,” the trooper ordered.
Cora obeyed. Her stomach tightened in knots. There was no talking her way out of this. She made the worst criminal.
A car zoomed past. The passenger stared at her, craning his neck to watch her humiliation.
The officer went around to the trunk, his hand resting on his gun. Cora gave him no reason to draw the weapon. Dread and relief mixed inside her. For better or for worse, this nightmare was almost over.
A touch of alarm hit Lewellen’s features when he looked inside. “Oh my god.” His breathing noticeably increased. “It’s going to be okay. You’re safe now. I got you.” He looked at Cora and shouted, “Don’t you dare move—”
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