Table of Contents
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Book Two - Healing Magic
From the Author
Mohegan
By Stella Marie Alden
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Chapter Twenty-Two
Chapter Twenty-Three
Chapter Twenty-Four
Chapter Twenty-Five
Chapter Twenty-Six
Chapter Twenty-Seven
Book Two - Healing Magic
From the Author
Cover design by SMA Covers
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author's imagination and are used fictitiously.
All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, electronic or mechanical, including photocopying, recording, or by any information storage and retrieval system, without the author's permission.
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Chapter One
Mohegan
My motorcycle wobbles in the wind as sand blows off the dunes coating my visor. Generally, I like the ocean but not when a nor’easter’s barreling up the coast. Tall grasses bend at the waist, blocking my view but the water’s out there, churning and angry.
Clouds part momentarily in the dark sky and a full moon lights up a small, two-story building. A violet neon sign buzzes in the window, Olivia’s Natural Herbal Remedies. So that’s what’s been calling me…
Just south of Philadelphia, my internal GPS went full-throttle and I rode until I got the urge to stop here, about an hour outside Atlantic City.
The sign on the door reads ‘open’ so I park in the empty lot, grab my gun, and slide off the safety. Maybe carrying is a bad habit but if you’ve seen all the shit I have, you’d do the same. Half-expecting a bloody scene, I’m pleasantly surprised when I open the door and lower my weapon.
Right out of the nineteen-fifties, the soda-shop-decor has white, wrought-iron chairs and matching tables. Red bar stools sit on shiny, chrome bases, parallel to a back counter that lines the room. On upper shelves, there’s a collection of lime-green blenders and soda glasses with Coca-Cola etched onto the sides.
Feminine humming behind a tie-dyed curtain indicates the proprietor is near.
Let’s get this show on the road.
Repeatedly, I slam my palm on a metal bell sitting next to an antique cash register until a small hand lifts up the fabric in the doorframe. When a woman ducks under, I gasp.
Good God, she’s stunning.
She’s got these deep green eyes surrounded by thick lashes, flawless features, and a mass of curly red hair that ends just below her waist. However, it’s the shimmering light surrounding her body that has my cock cramming against my jeans. That aura is strong, maybe more powerful than mine.
“Can I help you?” She takes her time checking me out from head to toe, smiling at what she sees.
Lust. I haven’t felt this way since the day I met my ex. Even then, it was nothing compared to this. Normally, I love when a witch’s aura swirls in reds, her nostrils flare, and she licks her lower lip but this is not a natural attraction. This is some kind of spell.
Fuck it all, what did she do to me?
It’s odd how the black centers of her eyes grow until the green is almost gone, mirroring my own desire. Whatever happened, happened to her as well.
Obviously, someone needs to take control of this situation. “Are you the owner of this establishment?”
“Who’s asking?” Birdlike, she tips her head and purses those sweet, lush lips.
When I inch in closer, she smells so good that I ignore the alarms going off in my head and cover her hand with mine.
Zing! Holy shit.
Electrocuted by two-twenty volts, I stare with my jaw dropped open. When I try to pull my arm back, it doesn’t budge. Not only that, her wide-eyed stare says she’s just as mesmerized.
My lust is maxed, my cock on fire, and if I don’t take her right this second, I may just implode. Somewhere inside my head, my rational brain screams, stop. I know a God-damned spell when I feel one but can’t break free.
She moans when I lean over the counter and kiss her. Then, she jumps up, slides over the countertop, and into my arms. Tall, thin, and almost my height, she fits damn near perfect. Maybe she’s struggling against the magic but her caresses grow passionate and her mouth opens wide for my tongue.
After that, I stop fighting and enjoy the ride. Her fingertips slide across my short beard, over my ears, and press into the back of my head. I’m so hard when she arches her pelvis, I may just come.
Ah shit, at the rate we’re going, I won’t bother to undress.
Pinching her chin, I nibble her lower lip and my left-hand slips down to cup her ass.
Bang!
The outer door flies open and a yowling cat shoots through the door. It jumps onto the counter, flies off my shoulder, and makes a perfect landing on the shelf overhead. From there, it hisses, ready to pounce.
With that, I’m able to push the witch away, panting like a mutt in heat.
Her eyes, still dark, shoot angry sparks my way as she makes an ancient sign for warding off evil. “What the fuck did you do to me, warlock?”
“Whoa, lady. You summoned me.” I let my aura loose so she can see the full breadth of my power.
“I certainly did not.” The witch crosses her arms over her ample breasts, narrows her gaze, and glares.
A cat clock with moving eyes tick-tocks for God knows how long while we size up one another, reading each other’s aura. Finally, as if making the decision for us, her cat jumps down and swirls around our legs, purring.
Trusting her cat’s opinion, she points to a small table near the window and says, “Sit over there. I’ll make us some tea. Don’t move one step closer.”
Her ass is cute as hell in those yoga pants when she turns on a heel and makes a mad dash behind the counter. The cat follows, shooting me a dirty look with its tail high in the air.
Me? I sit at one of the stupidly, delicate tables, stretch out my legs, and wonder what to say. It’s sort of difficult to find a topic of conversation when only seconds ago I was ready to tear her clothes off. Probably, as long as I don’t touch her, I’ll be fine.
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br /> My voice raises to be heard over the wind outside. “I once heard a story about a spell like this from an ancient medicine man but always figured it was a myth.”
Why the hell hadn’t my grandfather warned me?
The beautiful witch ignores me and starts murmuring while opening cupboard after cupboard full of old tins, plastic bags, and small boxes. I sure hope she’s got the right herbs to tamp down our libidos.
After a while, I can’t take it anymore and point to her mortar and pestle. “Can I?”
“Go ahead.” Mouth turned down, she purposefully drops some tins of tea on the counter with a loud clunk.
Toe tap-tapping, she heaves three, heavy sighs.
“Can you stop that for a second?”
“Well, hurry up.”
“Fine. First, tell me. Were you chanting anything this evening?”
“Seriously? I need to fill all of these by tomorrow. Hello? Halloween? This is my busy season.” A stack of receipts gets held high in the air then slammed onto the shelf while her red cheeks and bright aura suggest to me she’s telling the truth.
“Let me see those.” As I reach forward to take a look, she jumps back and points her spatula like a knife.
“Don’t come any nearer.” Using the long handle, she slides her work forward and I pick up the pile.
There’s common cures for gout, high blood pressure, and menstrual troubles. Nothing that remotely sounds like a love spell.
“Did you say or do anything else tonight?”
“Just my usual prayers for energy, calmness, and well-being. Obviously, those didn’t work.”
“Do you have a camera so I can watch the playback?”
She stares at me like I got a screw loose.
Right. This isn’t my place and she obviously doesn’t take my kind of precautions.
My uncomfortable hard-on is making rational thought nigh onto impossible. “Listen, I don’t want this lust spell any more than you. Do you have any Rehmannia? Spearmint?”
She nods and careful not to touch me, places the teas on the countertop. These I add to the mixture. All of this goes into a teapot and she adds boiling water.
After steeping for seven minutes, I take the hideous-smelling liquid back to my table and take a sip, burning my tongue in the process. Only then do I dare chance a glance in her direction.
I shouldn’t have. Damn, she’s the kind of woman that would knock any man to his knees, even without magic. However, I don’t need a wife or a mate, especially not one with her snooty attitude. Been there, done that.
She takes her tea to the next table over, eying me above the china cup as if I’m about to attack. Her cat, having better instincts, sniffs my boots and waits for attention, which I give by rubbing under its chin.
Sipping slowly, I wait until I trust myself to speak. “Are you feeling better?”
“Much. Listen. I’m sorry. I’m not normally so rude but what the hell just happened? I’ve never been so damned turned-on in my whole life.”
My cock springs back to life and I bite back a groan. “Uh, if you wouldn’t mind, keep that kind of sentiment to yourself for the time being.”
Her upper cheeks turn bright crimson, adding more fuel to my fire. Time to walk back to the counter and pour another cup of tea.
The elixir drops the need to fuck to a tolerable level. “What about you? Olivia, right? Have you ever heard of a spell like this?”
“No…”
She’s lying, dammit.
Then her aura flickers blue, possibly about to tell some truth. “Well, singles from the warrior clan go off the deep end every solstice. This kind of thing is normal for them.”
“But I’m full blooded healer and I assume you are, too?”
She nods.
“And it’s not anywhere near solstice.” Out the window, a car pulls into the lot. “Someone’s coming.”
“That’s Jack. I was expecting him when you showed up.” She jumps out of her chair and walks past me, smelling of lilies, lavender, and a musky scent that must be all her.
She stops in front of me and asks, “What did you say your name was?”
“I didn’t.” Inching deeper into the room, I swivel on a red plastic stool, my back to the wall, my gun tucked into my waistband.
You have to understand. Whenever my homing instinct hits this hard, bad news inevitably follows. The hairs on my neck stand on end as the warring-witch enters. He orders one of her teas laced with an expensive whiskey and sits down next to me while I give him my well-honed look. Basically, it says fuck off or die.
He has one of his own which, in all honesty, is pretty good. Now that he’s close, I can tell he’s a powerful witch, probably a leader in the local warring clan.
“Staying long?” He eyes me over one of her ridiculously dainty cups.
I almost say, just passing through but his tone has this kind of challenge that I just can’t leave be.
So instead, my chin juts and I cross my arms. “Maybe, maybe not.”
I don’t like his type. Actually, I don’t like mine, either. I’m pretty much an equal-opportunity magic-hater.
Suddenly, brakes screech, lights shine through the outside window, and the front door shatters. A bottle flies over our heads, and hits the beautiful tea-witch dead on. Dark energy spews into the room the moment the bottle hits the floor by her feet.
If you know something’s about to happen, when it comes, it’s usually a strange kind of relief. However, this is different. I’ve only felt this depth of evil once or twice as a kid.
In one flying leap and I’m up and over the counter, ripping off her shirt stained in brown liquid.
After I check her vitals, I shout at the clan leader. “I got this. Go find the asshole that did this.”
Cursing, the warring witch nods and bolts out the door.
Glad he’s gone, I place both my hands onto her stomach and find the voice of my ancestors. “Hey ya-ya-ah-ah. Hey ya-ya-ah-ah.”
Slowly the malevolent energy dissolves out of her as my power wanes. Still, I give her more in order to save her, not sure if it will be enough.
Chapter Two
Olivia
When I wake, my dress is torn down to my waist, my bra ripped open, and glass shards everywhere. Voices whisper the vilest threats, black wasps buzz around my head, and I can’t stop shaking.
At a higher level of consciousness, even as I scream and swat, I know I’ve been poisoned with nasty, dark magic. Some stranger’s straddled over my waist, resting on his heels, and chanting a Native American spell.
He grabs my flaying wrists, stares at me with dark eyes, and well-being enters my whole body. With that, the insects disappear and I stop fighting him.
After removing his shirt, he tugs it over my head, and dresses me like a child. When I try to help by putting one arm through the sleeve, I realize I’m paralyzed.
“Mmm!”
“Calm, Olivia, calm. It’s only temporary.” His voice soothes but his gaze is too intense, his body warm, and his lips, just perfect. The cheerleaders between my legs wake from a sleep that would’ve done Rip Van Winkle proud. And believe you me, those lady-lips are making up for lost time.
They’re the main reason I lower my eyes away from his beautiful, bearded face to his neck. That too, I realize, is a really, bad idea. From there, a chain leads to a silver charm resting on a sculptured chest covered in runes. One thin, dark line of hair travels down below his navel to where his jeans ride low.
Why is this hot, sexy-as-sin witch sitting on me with his cock straining against his jeans?
Let’s see…
Like a bad horror flick, my evening replays in my mind’s eye. The heroine, me, is clueless that her evening is about to turn to shit. Her shop is an essential part of Halloween for all the local kids and she’s pretty busy handing out Hershey bars. Like always, she innocently prays for energy and goodness with a spell handed down from her Mom, years ago. It’s supposed to bring good luck.
&nbs
p; Thanks a lot, Mom. Guess that didn’t work out so well.
Oh yeah, I remember now. I was brewing peace-tea, hoping it might ease the tension between my boss, Jack and the stranger. From the looks, it was just a matter of time before one of them lost his cool.
Tires screeched, the front door shattered, and searing pain followed.
I’m pretty sure the chanting-native-man vaulted over the countertop and tore off my shirt. Otherwise, I’d probably be dead instead of wondering why the hell he’s sitting on top of me.
When I shudder, his incantation changes, clearing more of the fogginess in my mind. Brown eyes meet mine, his nostrils flair but those brows are furrowed. I remember the kiss when he walked in the door, the instant-lust spell, and how liquid pooled between my legs.
He obviously doesn’t like this attraction any more than I do but there’s nothing to worry about. I don’t need a boyfriend and if I did, I certainly wouldn’t choose him. All male witches, healing or warring, are arrogant, pig-headed, and best if bedded for one night, then sent packing. Otherwise, they try to tell you what to do, where to go, and are generally a pain in the ass. Besides, this one’s got a shadowy side, I can feel it hovering under the surface.
Holy shit. I am so screwed.
Halloween. Of all the nights for this to happen. In ancient Egypt, it was the night of the dead. For my kind, it was a time when ancestral forces aligned, filling the night air with energy. I was breathing this in when Mr. Sexy-Witch walked into my tea shop. I wonder if he cast that spell and why?
Dammit. The last thing I need is to be indebted to a sneaky bastard with some hidden agenda.
Finally, he stops singing and lowers it to a hum.
Maybe now is a good time to suggest that we fuck and get this lust out of our system. Hopefully, that will break the spell and he can hop right back on his hog or pig and go back to where he came from.
Who am I kidding?
I sucked in some of his essence, he sucked in some of mine, and now I’m trapped, rune tats and all, until we undo the curse. I bet that motorcycle is everything he owns and now he’ll want to move in with me.
Why does his body have to be so damn perfect?
Mohegan: A Siren's Spell Romance Page 1
