Moonlight, Monsters & Magic

by Linda G. Hill

  Her climax overwhelmed her. She latched onto Theo’s shoulder to contain her scream. The walls of her sex milked his cock, pushing him closer to the edge. He thrust once, twice more, releasing a growl as his seed spilled inside her. His head fell forward, resting against her shoulder, his teeth nipping at her collarbone.

  Annie wrapped herself around Theo, her body still pulsing from her climax. “My god,” she whispered, kissing his shoulder and neck, then following along his jaw.

  “Not quite,” answered a voice near the bed. Annie squeaked and hid her body behind Theo. Peeking around his shoulder, she saw a man and woman standing next to her bed. The woman, she was fairly certain, was the viscount’s housekeeper, but the man, although familiar, was a stranger.

  Theo rose to his full height, ensuring Annie’s body was covered by his own. “Your terms have been met: you have no business here,” he growled.

  “Not entirely, Theo,” the man said with a chuckle. “The relationship has been consummated, yes, but does she love you? Does she remember you?”

  Theo stopped at the words, his eyes meeting Annie’s. She could feel his heart pounding in his chest as he awaited her answer, fearful that she would deny him. Annie swallowed before looking at the man.

  “I remember Theoxenos, and who I am as well. And my love for him has never wavered as I have searched for him endlessly in all these years, in all these lifetimes. The question you should be asking yourself, my Lord, is what your lady wife is going to do now that she has won the agreement.” Annie then turned toward the woman. “My lady, congratulations.”

  “Thank you,” the woman said, returning her smile. “Come, husband, I believe you owe me a forfeit.”

  The man in black looked at his lady wife lustily. “It will be my pleasure.” Their laughter lingered in the air as their forms disappeared.

  Annie pulled back from Theo and looked at him, “How did I know all of that?”

  Theo smiled at Annie, his shaft beginning to harden again inside her. “I shall tell you later, my love. After all, we have centuries to make up for.” And with that, he took his soulmate to bed.

  ~*The End*~

  To the Hubs and Chaos Makers, who never stopped encouraging me, and to the two amazing women who introduced me to the addiction that is literature. I miss you both terribly. Love and all that mushy stuff. ~ EW

  ~~ * * * ~~

  About the Author

  Emmaline Warden lives in Colorado with her husband, four Chaos Makers, and a menagerie of animals. Her love of romance began with an accidental copy of Susan Elizabeth Phillips’s Dream a Little Dream, and a trip to D.C. When she is not writing, she can be found outdoors with her kids, at the dog park with "her boys," or with her nose buried in a book.

  Follow Emmaline here:

  Facebook: emmaline.warden

  Instagram: authoremmalinewarden

  Twitter: @emmaline_warden

  THE SECRETS OF HICKORY HOLLOW

  Belle Langtree

  A royal warlock and his playboy minion need the help of two sisters in order to save their clan from a wretched curse. Through true love, rooted in two separate worlds, a magical prophecy unfolds.

  True love is the cure for any curse. True love and tree nuts, that is!

  (m/f; heat level: inferno)

  THE SECRETS OF HICKORY HOLLOW

  Chapter One

  Meg couldn't wait to get home and relax with a couple of glasses of wine. Booked solid for over three months, Dewy Wisdom Catering was kicking ass. Most of her employees had kids, so she’d decided to give them all a well-deserved two-day vacation to celebrate Halloween tomorrow.

  Gathering her purse and briefcase from the passenger seat of the company van, she opened the door and stepped out.

  “Shit!” she hissed as she climbed the steps, hearing her sister crying through the screen door.

  “Oh my God, what's wrong!?” Meg asked, rushing over to Pruitt.

  “Dying …” Pruitt cried, her head buried in her arms on the kitchen table. With a ten-year difference in their ages, it was easy to coddle her baby sister. Now a drama queen, Pruitt always took center stage.

  Sighing, Meg dared to ask, “Dying? Who's dying, Pru?”

  “Lady Enchantment.”

  A worried crease formed between Meg’s eyebrows. “Who told you Lady Enchantment is dying?”

  “The doctor, of course.” Pru's voice quavered with emotion. “He said she has a disease, and ... and she's going to die.” She cried harder.

  Meg slumped onto the kitchen chair and rubbed a hand over her eyes. She was exhausted from work, and now she had to deal with another Pruitt crisis.

  “Okay. Tell me about it,” Meg said as she kicked off her shoes and pulled the hair clip out of the messy bun on top of her head.

  Sniffing, Pru snatched a unicorn napkin from the ceramic dragon napkin holder that sat on the kitchen table, next to the fairy salt and pepper shakers.

  Childhood stories their grandfather had spun of the magical worlds in Hickory Hollow had left an enormous impression on Meg’s younger sister. Pru believed every adventure and legend. Storytelling beneath their giant hickory tree, Lady Enchantment, was an everyday experience.

  Fairies, gnomes, leprechauns, and dragons; all things whimsical cluttered the house.

  Pru blew her nose. “I wanted to do some reading, so I gathered my Jane Austen blanket, packed a lunch … Oh, by the way, that chicken salad you made is to die for.”

  Meg rubbed her temples, a soon-to-be migraine fast approaching. “Focus, damn it!”

  “Well, you don't have to be so grumpy!”

  Meg glared at her.

  “I approached Lady Enchantment,” Pru continued, “and something high up in the branches caught my attention, and …”

  Crocodile tears trickled down her cheeks and Meg thumped her forehead on the table.

  “You are driving me fucking crazy!”

  “Lady Enchantment has … Witches’ Broom Disease!”

  Meg looked up, her eyes widened in disbelief, then she laughed. “You're kidding, right?”

  “I am not kidding! Doctor Sirius Lamborghini told me. He is, well …” She hesitated. “He's a tree whisperer.”

  Meg slapped a hand to her forehead in mock concern, “Well, in that case, the old hickory must be in deep shit if she told Doctor Lamspagetti she wasn't feeling well.”

  “His name is Doctor Sirius Lamborghini, and Kevin at the Mystical Rock Diner said he was the best,” Pruitt declared. “And you're not taking this seriously.”

  Meg moved to the wine cooler in the corner by the hutch and pulled out a bottle of Sangria. Ripping off the foil and grabbing the electric corkscrew opener, she popped out the cork. She filled a glass and drank it, post-haste. Pruitt could have been standing on a desert island watching a tsunami approach for all Meg cared as she refilled the first glass, then the second, chugging them down. Three full wine glasses. Oh hell. She realized she was more exhausted than she’d originally thought.

  Smacking her fruity-sweet lips, she giggled.

  “A fucking tree whisperer?” She coughed. “Oh my God, Pru, that's priceless.” She snorted and took another gulp. Plopping back down onto the chair, she propped her feet up on another. “Doctor Lamspagetti told you Lady Enchantment was going to die. Who would have guessed?”

  Not amused, Pruitt stood and planted her hands on her hips. “His name is Doctor Sirius Lamborghini, like the car, and I don't appreciate your snarky attitude. Poppy's tree may die, and all you can do is make fun of it. Meg, Doctor Lamborghini is famous in tree whispering, and—”

  Meg raised her palm. “Stop.” She considered a second bottle for good measure.

  “You're going to be hungover tomorrow, and we have to save Lady Enchantment.”

  Eyes closed, with her head resting against the back of the chair, Meg sighed. “Lady Enchantment has survived in Hickory Hollow for over three hundred years. One day isn't going to make a difference. In the morning we'll go and check it out.
”

  As Pruitt turned to leave, Meg said, “I've been running my ass off trying to keep Dewey Wisdom afloat. I am dead tired, Pru.” Meg frowned at her sister. “You sit all day in a quiet library cataloging books, for Christ sake. After Poppy died, I honored him by naming the business after my favorite character in one of his stories. I know how much he would've loved that.”

  Turning her head, she grabbed the wine glass and took another gulp, trying desperately not to cry. “So stop acting like a spoiled brat.”

  Pruitt sniffed and left the room.

  “Oh Poppy, I wish you were here,” Meg whispered wearily.

  Chapter Two

  IN ANOTHER UNIVERSE …

  In the dense, murky swamp of the Pinne-Bog, there lived a coven of evil witches known for their deep hunger for men. Legend had it that the soulless witches turned venomous when suitors failed to satisfy their sexual appetites. Invoking evil powers, they would conjure voluptuous, well-disguised predators to tempt unsuspecting victims.

  To the east lived a coven of virtuous witches. White Light Castle, ruled by the noble leader, Prince Sirius, stood for all things good. The prince never wavered in wisdom and discipline. Not only was he tall, dark, and powerful, he was deeply loved by the entire coven.

  A low-ranking warlock named Morton—extremely handsome and known for his big scrumptious cock—resided inside the castle walls. Morton had no problem bedding women. In a constant state of arousal, his cock stood at full staff from sunrise to sunset.

  Legend of his philandering had spread like wildfire throughout the realm, catching the attention of one evil witch in particular, Hesper the Horrible. It took her no time at all to reel him in.

  Let the games begin …

  ~~ * * * ~~

  “More tongue!” the beautiful Hesper screeched, grabbing Morton's hair and wrapping her legs around his thick neck. He looked up, his face wet and sticky.

  “Do you want me to use the fucking broomstick?”

  Obviously not at all happy with his answer, she flexed her thigh muscle and flipped him onto his back. She moved up and sat on his face, her hot juicy cream slathering his mouth.

  Apparently not, he surmised.

  In his haste to bed the beautiful temptress, he had vowed to give her ten orgasms. With any luck, he’d thought, his hard, aching cock would be satisfied. He realized now that that hadn’t been the brightest idea of his life.

  “You fucking goat!” Hesper screeched, just before she sent him sailing over her head and somersaulting across the room.

  Now, he was literally in way over his head.

  Morton had no idea why she had called him a goat, but no matter. She clutched his cock and gruffly squeezed his balls, spewing an incantation.

  “Your cock will shrivel, you worthless prick,

  A goat you'll be, with ears like dicks.

  I curse the very lot of you,

  And evil darkness will imbue.”

  Morton lowered his head to the ground as ridged horns painfully pushed outward from his skull and curved backwards to his rump. Protesting with a snort, his hands and feet transformed into cloven hooves as shaggy brown hide covered his body. He glared back at her.

  Bleating, Morton leaped, landing atop a Gothic French Provincial highboy. The urge to climb was invigorating and when his ears elongated into hard phallus-shaped appendages, he sent a stream of come in Hesper's direction.

  No longer the beautiful vision she had conjured up to seduce him, the evil witch cackled and hissed, spitting a wad of tobacco slime at him.

  Morton, possessing mountain goat abilities that went far beyond anything he’d ever imagined, jumped gracefully over her, this time pissing directly on her head. She screamed. Claw-like fingernails emerged from her gnarly hands. She lunged. He jumped higher, landing, perfectly balanced, on the ceiling beam above the monstrous bed he had fucked her in.

  Until now, Morton's sex-capades had been rather uneventful, but Hesper's spell had taken him to a whole new level of excitement. Perfect dexterity and balance felt amazing!

  “Kill him!” she ordered, and her broomstick zoomed straight for his head. The wooden, bristled projectile missed him by a mere hairsbreadth.

  Surefootedly, Morton sprang downward with powerfully muscled shanks, landing atop a narrow window ledge. Suddenly and without warning, Hesper launched an explosive fireball. It hit him directly between his eyes. Stunned, Morton landed with a thud at her feet.

  “You are worthless,” she hissed venomously.

  “White Light Castle, know my wrath,

  For this you'll travel evil's path.

  Boils with pus and goats you'll be,

  The prince’s cock will hold no seed.

  Childless, for all to see.”

  This incantation was more powerful than the last.

  Hesper pointed a gnarly finger at his crotch.

  ~~ * * * ~~

  Half frozen and back in human form, Morton struggled to his feet. He stood, cold and disoriented, on a snowy mountain ledge. Looking for a way off, he felt around for a jagged piece of rock to grasp with his numb fingers. He pulled himself up and over the ridge and fell to his knees. Shaking his head to clear his vision, a lightning bolt of fear jolted him as he came face-to-face with a large, angry, hoof-stomping big-horned ibex. Holy fucking hell, he thought. The goat-hating witch had blasted his warlock ass all the way to prime goat country—Mont Blanc, the highest peak in the French Alps.

  ~~ * * * ~~

  Morton's absence hadn't gone unnoticed.

  He returned several months later, defeated and shamed, and every member of the coven stood watching. Some resembled goats, others carried horrible wounds. Bleating echoed hauntingly throughout the castle.

  The prince stood, visibly untouched.

  “Your reckless debauchery has brought doom and suffering to those who love you,” the prince stated with sadness. “You shall be held in solitary confinement until I command your return.”

  With a wave of his hand, Morton disappeared.

  Chapter Three

  His kingdom was cloaked in darkness and evil so palpable, that Prince Sirius could taste his own fear. Though fighting despair and loneliness, he had to find a way to reverse the witch’s curse.

  Eventually, his thoughts turned to Morton. He needed help, and who better to assist in the effort than the one who had suffered the most?

  When Prince Sirius saw the warlock, his heart nearly broke seeing him huddled in the corner, bleating mournfully.

  “Morton.”

  Hidden in the shadows, he turned at the sound of his name. The once-handsome face was now a mask of goat features, with yellowish, too-wide eyes. Falling to his knees, he crawled to the feet of his beloved prince and sobbed. “Ffforgive mmme, Lord,” he bleated remorsefully.

  “Rise, Morton Ibex,” Sirius prodded kindly, placing a hand under his elbow. “You are forgiven. Now together, we break the curse.”

  ~~ * * * ~~

  They pillaged every nook, cranny, and bookshelf in the castle’s massive library, looking for an answer within the ancient books. For his beloved coven, Sirius would stop at nothing to achieve his goal.

  Moving a dilapidated bookcase, Morton noticed a dusty scroll wedged between two boards. His yellowish eyes bulged as he scanned the parchment.

  “Your Highness! I—I think I fffound ssommetthing!” he bleated, handing Sirius the tattered roll.

  Sirius felt a rush of excitement when he opened the parchment and began to read the written words out loud.

  “A wicked spell the bog imbued, a mortals' love must be pursued.

  A graceful swan steals a prince’s heart,

  Deeply rooted, worlds apart.

  Secret element mortals hold, branching skyward limbs of gold.”

  “What does it mean, sir?”

  “I'm not sure.” His heartbeat quickened, and he continued reading.

  “A hollow's enchantment centering mortal land,

  Drupes collected by the hand.<
br />
  Hidden resource—must extract,

  Save a kingdom, turning back.”

  “There's more.” His voice laden with emotion; he read on.

  “A Royal seed planted deep within a mortal's womb,

  New Life conquers evil doom.”

  Looking even more confused, Morton replied, “A swan will conceive your child?”

  The look Sirius returned had Morton biting his lower lip. “Sorry.”

  Thunderstruck, Sirius moved to the table. He ran his fingers reverently over the ancient script, only to discover another parchment stuck to the last: a faded drawing of a map, with an odd shaggy tree centered in the middle. The words “CARYA OVATA” were written boldly beneath the drawing.

  “Morton, fetch me the Book of Languages,” Sirius demanded, pointing to a glass bookcase.

  “I have it, sir!”

  Sirius moved rapidly through the text.

  “Here …” He pointed. “‘Carya ovata.’”

  Looking over the prince's shoulder, a frown creased Morton’s forehead. “Sir?”

  “Drupes, the fruit of the shagbark hickory tree.” He laughed heartily. “The hidden resource—it's in the fucking nuts, Morton!” Sirius reached for a magnifying glass, to examine the faded map closer. “Hickory Hollow, in Virginia.”