Ali laughed softly.
“This is funny?” he asked, hurt and surprised by her insensitivity.
Ali bit at her lower lip as if attempting to hold back her words.
“What’s going on?” he demanded, realizing she would never intentionally hurt him. “I can feel that you’re hiding something.”
“Very good,” she praised. “See how attuned you are to me.”
“Forget it, Ali, we’re not changing the subject even if you sing my praises to the rooftop.”
Her hand moved to slip beneath the sheet, and he grabbed it before she could get intimate. “Oh, no, sweetheart, you’re telling me what’s going on first, and then you can play with me all you want.”
She smiled and brought his hand out from under the sheet along with hers. She fiddled with his long fingers as if to distract herself from her task.
“I was going to tell you later, but I suppose now is a good time.”
“Now is a perfect time,” he said and grabbed her hand to still her delaying tactics.
She looked him square in the eyes. “Dagon wasn’t completely honest with you about the spell.”
He was about to voice his anger when she quieted him with a soft kiss. “Let me finish.”
He nodded knowing whatever the problem the deed was done and he would find a way to deal with it and Dagon. Ali was his wife and that would not change. Anything else wasn’t important and could be managed.
Ali continued. “Dagon must have assumed you were looking for a lifetime commitment with me.”
“He assumed correctly,” he assured her, giving credit to Dagon for fully comprehending how he felt about Ali.
“Not your lifetime, mine.”
He stared at her strangely, understanding dawning slowly but confused nevertheless.
“Dagon gave you a spell that would bind us together as one for eternity.”
An odd sensation ran through Sebastian and tiny warning bells rang in his head, putting him on full alert.
Ali proceeded, knowing a clear explanation was essential. “When you stepped into the sacred circle, you were accepting without condition my way of life, and when you requested the portal gates to open to bless our union for eternity—”
She paused, placed her hand to his cheek, and kissed him softly before saying, “You were requesting to become part of my way of life forever and as soon as our bodies joined as one, you became a witch.”
It took several moments for her words to fully sink in. He shook his head a couple of times at least he thought he did. He wasn’t certain. He wasn’t even certain of her words or what they meant. He wasn’t even certain who he was anymore, or who he had become.
“Are you all right, Sebastian?” she asked anxiously, tapping his pale cheek with her hand.
He asked what sounded like a foolish question to him, “You’re telling me that I’m now a witch?”
She nodded, attempting to hide the smile that threatened to erupt into a laugh. He looked so adorably confused.
“A full-fledged, card-carrying, broom-flying witch?”
She patiently explained. “We don’t have cards designating us as witches and we don’t fly on brooms.”
“But you can go through sliding-glass doors and float people and objects around, right? He said with a sudden excitement.
“Yes, we can—but,” she warned like a teacher talking to a new student, “it takes patience.”
A wide grin grew on his face. “I’ll be able to do that? After practice of course.”
“Yes, you will be able to do all that, after much practice.”
He reached out and grabbed her around the waist pulling her over to rest on top of him. “Will I be able to float you around with the crook of a finger?”
“Not for some time,” she said with another more intent warning look. “That takes practice, and I’m not going to wind up with a sore rump while you’re attempting to perfect your newfound skills.”
“Can we float in the air together?” he teased with a nibbling kiss to her neck.
She whispered in his ear exactly what they could do while floating in the air together—after practice, of course.
“I want to practice right away, right now, this instant,” he demanded with a wicked smile.
“It’s our wedding night.”
“What a better night to learn magic,” he said and claimed her lips with a hungry kiss.
“You would have to listen to my every command,” she said a bit breathless from his ardent capture.
He ran the tip of his tongue slowly up her neck, over her chin, and faintly across her mouth before he made his way between her lips and challenged her to mate with him.
She did and was once again was left breathless.
“I will follow your every instruction. I will make certain to please and satisfy you in every way possible. I will be a most apt student.”
Ali tested him. “No matter what it is I ask of you?”
“No matter what it is, I will do it. What is it you want me to do, Ali?” he whispered in her ear.
“Follow my every instruction,” she said placing her lips near his.
“As you say, dear wife.”
She brushed her lips across his and said, “Point your finger to the ceiling, Sebastian.”
He did without question.
“Repeat after me.”
His strong voice echoed hers.
Sky above; land below; I call upon the fairies glow; send your magic dust our way; and forever bless our wedding day.”
“Now what?” he asked, bringing his arm down to wrap around her waist and hug her tightly to him. “Did I call fairy dust to rain down upon us?”
“A special blessing from the fairies is what you asked for, and only if they choose to send it will it come.”
“The blessing will come,” he said with such confidence it brought tears to Ali’s eyes.
And as Sebastian wiped her tears away, gold fairy dist sprinkled gently down over them in a loving blessing.
“Now, my love,” he said and kissed her softly, “we make magic.”
Read on for an excerpt from Magical Moments, book two of the Wyrrd Witch series.
Magical Moments
Chapter One
“She is a disgrace, sir.”
Dagon listened with his eyes closed and his head rested back against the plush gray velvet seat of the old Rolls-Royce. Alastair, his steadfast chauffeur and a spry, wiry man for his one hundred years, started complaining as soon as Dagon had asked how things were at the castle. A question he now wished he could rescind. He was tired from his long flight from the States to Scotland. And presently he wanted nothing more than to take a shower and slip into bed for several hours of much needed sleep.
He should have used his powers to transport himself across continents, thus saving himself the affects of jet lag. After all, he was a witch; a three-hundred-year-old witch with tremendous powers at his disposal. But a last-minute business venture forced him to take a normal flight with the mortal businessman he was presently in negotiations with. And now, like a mortal, he required sleep. He could recharge his energy in other ways. The blond stewardess had made her interest clear, and a passionate romp in bed would have more than restored his depleted energy. He had given her blatant invitation considerable thought and reluctantly declined her offer while graciously accepting her phone number. He had personal business at his ancestral castle that required his immediate attention, and he couldn’t put it off any longer. The matter had already suffered enough unexpected delays, an urgent business deal in Athens and a close friend’s wedding in the United States to be precise.
Now, however, after listening to Alastair’s continuous complaints, he wished he had accepted the shapely mortal’s lusty offer and lost himself in a night of passion.
“She barely has any powers and she attempts to tackle her chores as a mortal would,” Alastair said with disdain. “It takes her forever—that is, if she doesn’t break something f
irst or injure herself.”
“Injure? How can she injure herself? She’s a witch,” Dagon said, confused. His whole household staff consisted of witches to one degree or another. All witches were not equal in power and skills, even though most mortals erroneously believed them to be. Some witches possessed great powers, others only one or two particular skills, and some a mere sprinkle of power, but even the least skilled witch was able to complete a task much faster than any mortal.
“It’s a shame, a disgrace,” Alastair lamented, shaking his head. “She goes and cuts herself while dusting in the dining room, and she can’t even stop the bleeding.” He shook his head harder. “She attempts to stop the blood with her apron and makes more of a mess.”
“What could she possibly have cut herself on in the dining room?”
Alastair cringed, his narrow shoulders hunching up. “The broken James V vase.”
“What?” Dagon said, bolting straight up.
Alastair hurried to explain. “She accidentally dropped the antique while cleaning.”
“Why didn’t she prevent it from hitting the ground?”
“She doesn’t seem to have sufficient powers.”
“Which means she didn’t have the skills to return the vase to its original condition,” Dagon said and dropped back against the seat, releasing a hefty sigh. “Well, at least
Bernard will see to its repair.”
Bernard had been his butler for the last two hundred years. He was a tall, dignified man with startling white hair and a penchant for fine clothes. He took his duties seriously and ran Rasmus Castle with the precision and skill of an accomplished general. He and his wife Margaret, the housekeeper, had served Dagon well, and he didn’t know what he would do without them. His various business dealings often took him away for months at a time and he was grateful he had the efficient couple to depend on.
“Now, there’s the strange part,” Alastair said and reluctantly continued. “It seems no one can right her wrongs. If she breaks something, it stays broken.”
This time Dagon sat up slowly. “Are you telling me that the vase presented to my father by James V is beyond repair?”
Alastair delivered the bad news in a single word. “Shattered.”
Dagon growled beneath his breath and once again sank back against the velvet seat. “What is this incompetent witch’s name?”
“Sarina.”
That brought a chilling laugh from Dagon. “Well, she certainly doesn’t live up to her name—peaceful and serene.”
“That, sir, I can certainly attest to. Why—”
“No more,” Dagon ordered. “I will take care of the matter when we arrive.”
Alastair nodded along with a “Yes, sir.”
Dagon glanced out the window. It was autumn in Scotland and the heather was in full bloom, spreading across the countryside wherever one looked. He had left on a business trip in the spring when the rhododendrons had burst into full glorious shades of pink, red, and violet. He had hoped to return in the summer when the fuchsias were spilling their exceptional colors from the bushes that grew abundantly in the country gardens.
He had to smile, recalling the reason for fuchsias being so prevalent in the countryside. In days of old the bush was believed to ward off witches, another misconception by humans but one that at least produced a beautiful result. And then there was the gloaming, a stunning sight to behold during summer. After the sun set, hours of twilight remained and the sight of the land in such ethereal splendor simply stilled one’s heart.
This was the Scotland he loved and carried with him always. This was where his roots were firmly planted and where he would one day raise his own family. Another reason he had returned home. It was time to settle down, find one of his kind to commit to and mate with.
He supposed it was his recent visit with Alisande that made him think so strongly on marriage. Ali was like a sister to him. They had grown up together, she having spent time here in Scotland and he having spent time at her family’s estate just outside of Washington, D.C., in Virginia.
He had gotten her out of many a difficult situation through the years, and this most recent one had given him pause to think. Ali had fallen in love with a mortal male and wished to mate with him for life. He couldn’t understand her choice, but after meeting Sebastian Wainwright, he discovered he liked the courageous mortal. And he envied the deep love the pair shared. It had taken some wise maneuvering to bring the two together, especially since his hands had been tied as far as his powers were concerned. But he had managed to use his wit just before he had left the States and it had worked. He recently had the honor of being the best man at their wedding.
The wedding had started him thinking more seriously about a lifemate. While he never lacked female companionship, he recently felt the need for a more solid, binding relationship.
One bound by a strong commitment of respect, admiration, and equal powers.
Mortal females were out of the question as were witches with limited abilities. He desired a witch as powerful or even more powerful than himself. Two strong powers uniting would create strong baby witches, and he wanted a slew of them.
He had his sights set on one particular witch. She was called the Ancient One; legends said she was born with the dawn of time and that her powers were limitless. There were few witches who knew her. She kept to herself and chose those she would teach or befriend. It was also believed that she had loved but once, and since losing that great love she refused to love again.
Dagon intended to change her mind, and he had no doubt that he could. He was far from conceited where his looks and abilities were concerned, though he wouldn’t deny he possessed an air of arrogance. He simply understood himself and his unique capabilities. It would be foolish of him to deny that women found him attractive. He couldn’t walk into a room without females turning their heads in interest or men shaking theirs in envy.
He walked with pride and confidence and an intimidating arrogance that appeared to rankle mortals. Of course, he was well aware that his looks commanded attention. His shiny black hair fell to his broad shoulders, his well defined body remained in top shape because he worked to keep it that way, and his face?
He smiled to himself. He was grateful to his parents for his handsome features. They had chosen wisely when they mated and their physical beauties blended well when they conceived him. Women forever commented on his good looks. Therefore, he was certain he possessed all the attributes a witch of this old one’s caliber would be searching for in a mate. He also knew a witch who was once her student.
Ali’s aunt Sydney and he intended for Aunt Sydney to introduce them.
He yawned, his weary eyes drifting closed. First, he would see to this dilemma at the castle. This Sarina had come highly recommended by old friends, the MacDougals. Unfortunately, the couple was presently on an extended vacation, and he wasn’t able to question them in regards to her background.
It didn’t matter, though. If the woman was as incompetent as Alastair claimed, he would simply release her from her contract and be done with it.
Dagon was drifting off into a peaceful slumber when the Rolls turned up the long driveway and came to a stop at the castle’s front door.
Alastair barely had the car door open when a thunderous crash was heard followed by female screams.
Alastair shook his head. “She’s at it again.”
Dagon raced up the stone steps and flung open the heavy wooden door.
Chaos reigned in the large foyer. A tall wooden ladder lay toppled on its side on the white marble tile floor. Two screeching maids pointed trembling fingers toward the ceiling. Bernard was yelling, his head tilted back and his wide eyes fixed where fingers pointed.
Dagon stared up in utter confusion and surprise at the woman who dangled overhead from his centuries-old chandelier. Her hands gripped the brass bars while hundreds of crystal teardrops harshly chimed against one another. Her shapely legs swung back and forth as she obviously
attempted to gain control of her precarious situation, and she was minus one black shoe. Her slim black skirt had managed to inch its way up her slim thighs from her constant wiggling, and Dagon caught an unexpected glimpse of black lace panties. He couldn’t quite catch sight of her face, but her dark brown hair was falling loose from the pins that held it, leaving several strands falling past her shoulders.
The shouts and screeches continued, no one having noticed his entrance over the chaos.
He delivered his order sharply and loudly. “Enough!”
Silence immediately followed.
“Sir—”Bernard began only to be cut off by Dagon’s raised hand. The butler obeyed his silent command without hesitation.
Dagon walked to stand directly beneath the dangling woman. “Sarina, I presume.”
“Yes, sir,” came the much too soft reply.
“Sarina, if you would be so kind as to float down here.”
Gasps sounded in the foyer, and Dagon saw Bernard shake his head in weary disgust.
“I can’t do that, sir.”
Her gentle voice quivered and Dagon sensed her fear. “You don’t possess the energy?”
“No, sir,” she answered on a gasp. “And I don’t think I can hold on much longer.”
Dagon didn’t hesitate. She obviously was in immediate danger. Her apprehension assaulted him full force, and sensing her urgent alarm only irritated him all the more.
He released a low, annoyed mumble and with no difficulty floated up to her swaying body. When he was directly beside her, he reached out and slipped his arm securely around her slim waist. She instantly anchored her arms around his neck and buried her face against his shoulder. Her slender body trembled, and he moved his other arm protectively around her back to hug her to him and calm her nervous tremors.
“You’re all right now. I have you,” he assured her softly.
He drifted down slowly to the ground, and when their feet touched the tiles, he felt her body sag against him in relief. He kept a firm hold on her, though his one hand sought her chin to draw her face away from his shoulder so he could speak with her.
The Wedding Spell Page 27
