I felt the lips that wore the special gloss graze the back of my neck. I thought nothing had ever felt so soft, so perfectly real. “Adrienne,” I whispered and turned around the meet the owner.
“Let’s go for a walk,” she purred.
“The kids?”
“Your mother is still here.”
The sun had only begun to set, but the sky was dark and turbulent. The rain would begin to roll in at any moment. “Where to?” I asked. Asking was a habit. I knew the answer.
“St. Charles.” Her eyes twinkled. “It’s dusk.”
We walked up Seventh and hung a left on St. Charles, making our path along the route we had taken night after night. I held my wife’s hand as the breeze came in long and soft from the river, carrying with it the scent of magnolia and camellia.
I loved the softness and beauty of her. The yielding down on her arms, and the way her hands had to be occupied at all times.
Her hair fell long and loose behind her as it caught on the breeze. Neither of us said a word. There were many times where we would talk for hours on end, sometimes from one day into the next. Our hearts, our souls, were connected by the electricity in the air, and the cool, fragrant scents surrounding every thought and every action on the old avenue.
We came upon Audubon Park, and her oak. Here, we could talk. She was no longer The Girl of the Stately Oak. Instead, she owned the oak, owned her moments on it. The oak had not grown in the short time we had been visiting it, but she had, in a myriad of ways.
The tears spilled down her cheeks and she pressed her face into my neck. I felt her soft, pliable lips, her hot breath. “Happy birthday, my Big Hero.”
I wanted to take her then, under the oak, and to hell with anyone who had a problem with it. I wanted to be inside of her, to love her in the best way I knew how. I owed her my heart; Adrienne, the wonderful mother of my children. My beautiful wife.w
“Aren’t you ever afraid?” she whispered, pushing my thoughts back to reality. “Afraid I might disappoint you? That Naomi and Christian might disappoint you?”
“Don’t ever say that,” I said firmly. I held her face in both hands, and watched her lower lip tremble. It tortured me. “Don’t ever stop trusting in me.”
It started to rain. She looked up instinctively at the drops that descended, but I held her chin. “I love you,” she said. “I sometimes remember the things I’ve done, and I have to remind myself you don’t hold them against me. Forgive me, Oz.”
“I already have,” I replied.
I knew it would always be like this. Enough time would pass and her old insecurities would surface. I would have to reassure her, as I did then. It was a small price to pay to keep her with me, to maintain her level of trust in me. More than ensuring her own happiness and security, I was keeping her from running again.
I held her on the strong arm of the oak tree for a long while, letting the rain wash over us both. The sun broke through the dark clouds, and St. Charles Avenue lay before us in a damp and shimmery brilliance.
* * *
Dive into more of the secretive, ancient powerful world of the Deschanels and Sullivans in this sexy, paranormal saga that New York Times Bestselling Author Christopher Rice calls “modern gothic with fierce smarts.”
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About Sarah M. Cradit
Sarah is the USA Today Bestselling Author of the Paranormal Southern Gothic series, The House of Crimson & Clover, born of her combined passion for New Orleans, and the mysterious complexity of human nature. Her work has been described as rich, emotive, and highly dimensional.
An unabashed geek, Sarah enjoys studying obscure subjects like the Plantagenet and Ptolemaic dynasties, and settling debates on provocative Tolkien topics such as why the Great Eagles are not Gandalf's personal taxi service. Passionate about travel, Sarah has visited over twenty countries collecting sparks of inspiration (though New Orleans is where her heart rests).
She's a self-professed expert at crafting original songs to sing to her very patient pets, and a seasoned professional at finding ways to humiliate herself (bonus points if it happens in public). When at home in Oregon, her husband and best friend, James, is very kind about indulging her love of fast German cars and expensive lattes.
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JUMP TO...
A DOSE OF BRIMSTONE by NOREE COSPER
END OF DREAMS by KIM FAULKS
HAUNT by HEATHER HAMBEL CURLEY
DARK CROSSINGS by ANN SIMKO
HEADSPACE by CALINDA B
THE OTHER F WORD by SUSAN STEC
UNLEASHED by RACHEL MCCLELLAN
HIDDEN INTENTIONS by STACY CLAFLIN
THE COMPLETE BLOODLING SERIAL by AIMEE EASTERLING
SHE WHO FIGHTS MONSTERS by KYOKO M
ST. CHARLES AT DUSK by SARAH M. CRADIT
WICKED BY NATURE by MADISON SEVIER
UNDERLIFE by MARISSA FARRAR
DRAGON’S REDEMPTION by EDEN ASHE
MILAN’S RETURN by GRAE LILY
THE BREAKERS CODE by CONNER KRESSLEY
THE MEDIUM by MR GRAHAM
WICCAN WARS by HEATHER MARIE ADKINS
CARPE NOCTEM by KATIE SALIDAS
A QUESTION OF FAITH by NICOLE ZOLTACK
WICKED BY NATURE
BY MADISON SEVIER
Copyright © 2015 by Madison Sevier
Until now, life for Selena Barnes has been fairly easy. Aside from the constant stares and gossip of a few busy-bodies in town because she'd turned her back on magic when her beloved parents died in an horrific accident, her upcoming wedding to a mortal was all she cared about. With the entire town, including her familiar, an overly-opinionated cat, warning her against the marriage, Selena finds herself becoming increasingly defensive of her actions.
With secret after secret being revealed, Selena finds herself racing against time to save her friends, her hometown of Salem Ridge and her werewolf soulmate all while trying to keep her half-witch half-demon powers from falling into the wrong hands. Hands that belong to someone she's never met. A stranger with whom she shares more than she could have ever imagined and who happens to be the one man who has been waiting twenty-five years for these events to unfold.
Wicked By Nature
Madison Sevier
Copyright@ Madison Sevier 2015
All Rights Reserved
ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may NOT be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission of the author, Madison Sevier.
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WARNING: The unauthorized reproduction or distribution of this copyrighted work is ILLEGAL. Criminal copyright infringement, including infringement without monetary gain, is investigated by the FBI and is punishable by up to 5 years in federal prison and a fine of $250,000.
All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is purely coincidental.
Chapter 1
THERE WERE SO many signs along the way. Not just little, insignificant things. No. They were giant, red warning sig
ns that should’ve crossed my line of vision at least once. Then again, I’m sure they did. Perhaps if I’d paid more attention, things would’ve been different. Out of habit and maybe a because of a bit of self-preservation, I ignored everything that I’d perceived as negative and saw only what I’d wanted to see. My negligence almost cost me my life and the lives of those around me, all because I’d fallen in love with a demon.
The list of ifs and maybes could go on forever. The fact is, I still couldn’t have stopped any of the events that unfolded. They were meant to happen. Each of them planned long before I was even born. Call it predetermined or predestined. Either way, knowing ahead of time wouldn’t have mattered one bit of difference.
The day I found out what I call the truth, started out like any other day. I had a huge list of pre-wedding duties and errands to complete and I was behind as usual. Maybe the fact that I could never seem to get organized, could never complete any of those tasks should have been a sign in itself? Maybe it was. There I go again with the ‘maybe’. See? It’s an endless, pointless circle of questioning.
When I met Shawn, he knew I was a witch. He wasn’t exactly quiet about the fact that he hated that part of my life, but I couldn’t change it. I acted normal in front of him; never casting spells, hiding my potions and doing whatever it took to keep him from blowing a gasket or rolling his large, brown eyes at me.
Why would a self-assured witch like myself stay with a man who obviously didn’t love me for who I was? Because, like all women, I believed he’d change. He became my world. Or so I thought.
Shawn Richardson was a powerful man and could’ve lived anywhere. Once, I had a fleeting moment in which I wondered why a man such as he would ever move to a town like Salem Ridge? If I were him, I wouldn’t live in a place built as a haven for the paranormal. But who was I to judge? As with every other concern or suspicion I had about Shawn, I pushed it to the back of my mind and only later, much later would hundreds of tiny pieces of information come back with such alarming force that they could no longer be ignored.
He owned the largest factory and many homes and small businesses in Salem Ridge, Indiana. If anyone crossed him, he would fire them or evict them. Maybe I was not only subconsciously afraid of him leaving me, but also afraid of the man everyone claimed he truly was. Business was business and business was his life. I knew that when I met him.
Rumors and allegations of Shawn being a philanderer and a scumbag ran rampant. I spent many nights crying, questioning Shawn and myself about whom or what he really was. Of course, Shawn allayed those fears and insecurities with lavish presents and sweet words that dripped from his sugar-coated tongue. I soon began to believe the gossipers were nothing more than hateful, vindictive mudslingers and I even convinced myself they were wrong.
Shawn couldn’t be the evil monster they claimed he was. I would’ve known, right? After all, I’d hunted demons with my mother for years prior to meeting Shawn. I would’ve been able to sense if something were evil or otherworldly about the man I loved, wouldn’t I?
Or so I thought. Ignoring my own gut instincts had always been one of my major character flaws and somehow, after all of my mother’s teachings, I had forgotten that not listening to your inner voice could also prove deadly.
To the townspeople, I was nothing more than a traitor, Shawn’s side-kick helping him, believing him and turning my back on the very people I had known my entire life. Hell, I didn’t even listen to my own familiar, Sterling and he could be counted on to know everything. Just ask him, he will tell you.
Yes, he talks. Most familiars do, but their witches and other paranormal creatures are the only people with the ability to hear and understand a familiar. And though Sterling is Salem Ridge’s equivalent to a ‘town crier’, I dismissed his repeated verbal attacks against Shawn as nothing more than a territorial pissing contest over me between the two ‘men’ I loved. Yeah, I had set myself up for one rude awakening. Boy was it ever.
Where was I? Ah, yes, the day I learned the truth–the day I accepted the truth. That epiphany or revelation, as some would call it, carried so much power that it almost destroyed me and everything around me. How’s a witch to prepare for something like that?
Chapter 2
“I SWEAR THE universe has it in for me!”
With only fourteen days until my wedding, I was cutting it close. It seemed like finishing every appointment and errand I needed to do in such a short amount of time was impossible. Every time I hopped in the car, I ended up trapped behind or between the worst and slowest drivers in the county. Clearly, these people should know how busy I was, right? Perhaps they were going slow on purpose, more of their interfering ways?
To be honest, my time management skills had never been one of my greatest attributes and I had no one to blame but myself. Even if I left the house early, I somehow always ended up being behind schedule.
“On the one day it’s a hundred degrees outside and I had to end up stuck behind a tobacco farmer hauling a load of dried crop and a school bus that stops at every other house. You’ve gotta’ be kidding me! I have so many things to do!”
There’d been no way to go around them on the skinny, steep roads without the risk of catapulting myself off the side of the mountain. So I crawled along behind them in my vintage car, while scraps of dried tobacco pelted my windshield and prayed they’d turn off on one of the side roads. Of course, neither of them did.
Out of frustration and close to having a heat stroke, I banged my hands on my yellow, fake-fur-covered steering wheel. “Come on!”
Of course, driving a car without air-conditioning and broken window cranks in the middle of July in southern Indiana wasn’t the smartest thing to do. I knew throwing a tantrum wouldn’t help, but it was so damn hot! I berated myself for not buying a newer car and added it to my to-do list, along with the million other things I needed to accomplish. After last year, you’d think I would’ve learned my lesson.
This past winter, I flew down Patriot Hill in a blaze of lemon-chiffon colored metal faster than an Olympic luge champion. Thank the Goddess our state workers had installed a runaway truck ramp at the end of the steep foothill or I wouldn’t be here today. The deep bed of kitty-litter type gravel was the only thing that kept me from flying through the air like one of the Dukes of Hazard and plummeting into the Ohio River.
To my dismay, a county sheriff witnessed my astounding driving abilities. Though I thought my ability to keep my car in control as much as possible had been stellar that day, Officer Ripley with his coffee-soaked uniform wasn’t as impressed. After I resorted to a lot of begging and pleading with a few tears thrown in for good measure, he let me off with a warning and I promised to get the brakes fixed. Not that I had a choice since the car had to be winched out of the gravel and towed to a mechanic anyways.
Thinking of the impending expenses, I realized I must be the only witch in all of Salem Ridge with horrible luck and lack of common sense. Sometimes, I really hated all of the rules that went along with being a responsible witch. I could’ve whipped up a shiny, new vehicle with a flick of my wrist, but there’d be hell to pay for that one and I knew it. Even if it irked me to no end, I had to behave.
“Where’s that gotten me?” I mused. “On Highway 58 in a compact trash bucket with a motor, that’s where.” I sank into my seat and leaned back into the head rest. If it hadn’t been so freaking hot, I would’ve cried. But every ounce of water left in my body was pouring out of me in the form of sweat and I couldn’t spare a drop for self-pity.
Along with being late for almost everything, I had a tendency to be a bit high-strung and snarky on occasion. I’ve also been known to bitch and complain to no one in particular, a lot. After spending so much of my free time with my talking familiar, my cat Sterling for company, I had morphed into a twenty-five year old scatter-brained, crazy cat lady. In the giant scheme of things, was that so bad? I was sure there were people that were much worse off than I was, at least mentally anyways.
/> “All of that would soon be change.” That was the reason for my under-the-gun trip to town, another wedding errand. In two weeks, I’d share my life with Shawn. I wouldn’t have to talk to thin air or eat dinner alone ever again. Nope, no more silence and solitude filled with sarcastic, witty comments for me. Two would become one and wasn’t that wonderful? I should’ve been beaming with happiness. Instead, I found myself nervous and on edge quite often. Half of the time I was excited, the other half I felt like I was walking the Green Mile. Chalking my mood up to wedding jitters.
“If I don’t get to Janice’s shop on time, the woman will most certainly explode in a puff of pink satin and taffeta.” I huffed and fought the urge to bite my nails as the line of traffic crawled along on Highway 58. Biting my artificial, sculpted nails would’ve cost me more money and it wouldn’t have changed a thing where Janice was concerned.
Janice Sutterfeld was seriously obsessive compulsive about two things; appointments and the color pink. I already knew she disliked me, everyone did. But I knew being late to pick up my dress would not help the situation. Add in the fact that she adored the one color I absolutely hated, and you’ll understand the dread I felt every time I had to visit her boutique. When we were around each other, one could feel the electricity in the air. It was only a matter of time before one of us sparked off.
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