by Robyn Bachar
witch: a magician specializing in elemental magic, focused on healing and self-defense. Witches have a strict policy of doing no harm with their magic, which makes them unique among magicians.
About the Author
Robyn Bachar was born and raised in Berwyn, Illinois, and loves all things related to Chicago, from the Cubs to the pizza. It seemed only natural to combine it with her love of fantasy, and tell stories of witches and vampires in the Chicagoland area. As a gamer, Robyn has spent many hours rolling dice, playing rock-paper-scissors and slaying creatures in MMPORGs.
You can learn more about her at www.robynbachar.com. Robyn can also be found on Twitter at @RobynBachar.
Look for these titles by Robyn Bachar
Now Available:
Bad Witch
The Importance of Being Emily
Blood, Smoke and Mirrors
Bewitched, Blooded and Bewildered
Fire in the Blood
Cy’ren Rising
Nightfall
Magic, matchmaking and murder…
The Importance of Being Emily
© 2011 Robyn Bachar
A Bad Witch Story
Lord Willowbrook’s spring ball is supposed to be a magical celebration, but Miss Emily Wright is bored. The only outlet allowed for her magic is matchmaking—for others, not herself. Why bother? The only man she wants, Michael Black, is a man she can never have.
Suddenly the guests are abuzz with news of a young sorceress found drained of blood in the parlor. The mystery calls to her, and since she is the only available seer in all England, she jumps at the chance to prove herself.
Michael has spent his life preparing for his ritual death, when he will join the Order of St. Jerome as an immortal chronicler. Now that dream hangs in the balance, his mentor accused of the murder. Worse, gentle Emily, the woman he silently loves, is walking into a world of horrors beyond her imagination.
Torn between duty to the order and desire to keep her safe, Michael fights his growing need for a love that can never be his. All the while the real killer stalks the shadows of Willowbrook Hall, homing in on the next victim.
Warning: This book contains a tough but tortured seer, a hero with an expiration date, scandalous kisses, scheming vampires and bloody corpses.
Enjoy the following excerpt for The Importance of Being Emily:
The night air held a damp chill that was blessedly soothing after my skin had been seared by the bonfire of embarrassment. Though I knew I would regret not stopping for my wrap within a few minutes, I closed my eyes and enjoyed it. For a moment everything was cool, quiet and peaceful, and then Mr. Black interrupted my calm.
“What did you see?” he asked.
Sighing, I opened my eyes and looked up at him. “I would rather not discuss it. I assume it was not your mentor, but I cannot say for certain. I did not see his face.”
Not eager to continue the discussion, I walked deeper into the garden. Some of the braver plants had begun nosing their way from their beds, but for the most part the barren clutches of winter still gripped everything around us. The potential hummed beneath the surface, waiting impatiently for a few warm days to free it. In summer everything would be lush and green again, but for now bed after bed was empty.
Like the cradle. An empty cradle for my empty life.
Shivering, I rubbed my arms above the tops of my gloves. Without a word Mr. Black removed his coat and draped it over my shoulders. It was warm, but it also carried a strong impression of him—his thirst for knowledge, his dedication to his studies and his loyalty to his mentor. The corners of my mouth twitched as I pictured him as a very tall Labrador dog. If only Mr. Farrell shared a few of Mr. Black’s honorable qualities.
“Thank you,” I said. He stood close to me, and I hesitated, torn between moving away and staying still to see what he intended.
“Simon would never do this,” he assured me.
“I believe you. Once I am able to prove that, we can focus on finding the true killer. With your tight schedule I’m sure you are anxious to return to your studies.” I winced, feeling guilty for my unkind words. It wasn’t his fault that his dreams for the future were so very different from mine. What could the higher powers be thinking by connecting us?
“I apologize for involving you in this.”
“Well it has certainly been revealing, but don’t be silly. I wanted to help you. Your mentor was not…acquainted with Miss Morgan, was he?”
“No, I don’t believe they ever met. Why?”
“That will be in his favor then. It appeared that she knew her…” I trailed off, searching for the right word, “…companion well.”
“Oh.” Mr. Black’s eyes widened at the implication.
“I shouldn’t have been so blithe earlier about being unconcerned about the subject matter of visions. But it was necessary to help vindicate your mentor.” I shrugged, and the hem of his coat rustled against the skirts of my gown. If I rejected Mr. Farrell, it was likely that the vision was the closest I would get to experiencing that sort of passion. Unbidden, my mind whispered that when Mr. Black became a chronicler, he could bite me, and I could feel the same lustful pleasure for myself…
I shook the thought away and hastily removed his coat. “We should go back inside,” I said as I returned it to him.
Michael shrugged the coat back on. “Wait. I want to discuss what you mentioned earlier.”
“There is nothing to discuss. In a few months you will be a chronicler, and I will still be a matchmaker. Our paths are star-crossed.” This time I held tight to my control, afraid of falling apart again, and I turned to walk back to the manor. He caught my hand and pulled me to him, wrapping his arms around me. I gasped and shook my head.
“Please, don’t do this,” I whispered.
His lips hovered above mine. “Don’t you want to know?”
Yes. Every fiber of my seer’s body wanted to know more. Why were we meant for each other? How could we possibly make this work? What would it be like to share his life? To finally know the happiness that I found so often for others? “But you are spoken for,” I blurted.
He frowned. “By whom?”
“The Order.”
Michael laughed. “The Order is not a jealous wife. There are no rules prohibiting relationships, or even marriage.”
“No? What sort of marriage could we have? Should I offer you a vein instead of bringing you tea, until I fade away while you remain unaging? Immortal?”
“But we would be together.”
I sighed, thinking of my family’s definition of togetherness—in general it involved them poring over an old, moldering text while I looked on in irritation. It was not what I wanted in a marriage, though I supposed at my age I could not afford to be particular. In December I would be twenty-seven years old, an age my sister Sarah assured me was positively ancient. “But I am spoken for.”
Mr. Black frowned. “You’ve accepted Farrell’s proposal?”
“No. Not yet, but I should.” Shaking my head once more, I began to pull away, but he stopped me with a kiss. At first it was little more than a stalling tactic, a light brush of the lips meant to distract me from escaping, but then he drew me tight against him. Michael’s hand slid up my back and cradled my head, his thumb caressing the line of my jaw. He kissed me again, and my hands clutched the lapels of his coat for balance.
I must confess, I had been kissed before, though that was many years ago. Most of the appeal of that kiss had been in sneaking away from the Yule celebration and doing something forbidden, but this…was amazing. Everything that I expected a kiss should be—warm, soft and completely intoxicating. Closing my eyes, I abandoned myself to the experience, and he seemed happy to lead as I slid my arms around his neck. In the back of my thoughts a voice of reason lectured the need for caution. Being close to him had already triggered a flurry of visions, and I should be wary of more of them. A strong vision could incapacitate me for hours, possibly even days if it was very tr
aumatic.
Like a fool, I ignored it, even when I began hearing his thoughts. My senses brushed against his as easily as our lips did. I caught a flash of a memory of the two of us sharing a quiet moment together at a previous gathering, and the impression of how much he enjoyed speaking with me. Mr. Black thought I was beautiful, and he had wanted to kiss me for a very long time.
Even a bad witch deserves a second chance.
Blood, Smoke and Mirrors
© 2010 Robyn Bachar
A Bad Witch Story
Wrongly accused of using her magic to harm, the closest Catherine Baker comes to helping others is serving their coffee. Life as an outcast is nothing new, thanks to her father’s reputation, but the injustice stings. Especially since the man she loved turned her in.
Now the man has the gall to show up and suggest she become the next Titania? She’d rather wipe that charming grin off his face with a pot of hot java to the groin.
Alexander Duquesne has never faltered in his duties as a guardian—until now. The lingering guilt over Cat’s exile and the recent death of his best friend have shaken his dedication. With the murder of the old Titania, the faerie realm teeters on the brink of chaos. His new orders: keep Cat alive at all costs.
Hunted by a powerful stranger intent on drawing her into an evil web, Cat reluctantly accepts Lex’s protection and the resurrected desire that comes along with it. Lex faces the fight of his life to keep her safe…and win her back. If they both survive.
Warning: This book contains one tough and snarky witch, one gorgeous guardian, explicit blood drinking, magician sex, gratuitous violence against vampires and troublemaking Shakespearean faeries.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Blood, Smoke and Mirrors:
“Cat.” Lex held out a hand toward me in a placating gesture, and I shot to my feet, backing away from them both. “Simon and I negotiated the payment before we came here.”
“Well I didn’t know that, and I wouldn’t have let you come here if I did,” I protested, still in shock.
“Which is why I didn’t tell you. Go on up to the car, I’ll be behind you in a minute.”
“No.”
“Let her stay then, it doesn’t matter to me,” Simon suggested.
“No, you can’t do this, Lex. This is my fault, you shouldn’t have to pay for information I need for my problems.” My voice cracked as it raised a panicked octave.
“Would you pay it then?” Simon asked, gazing at me contemplatively.
“Would—what?” I blinked. My train of thought ground to a screeching halt. Had I finally gone crazy enough to willingly offer my blood to a vampire? Or chronicler, rather. Whatever.
“No, she isn’t,” Lex said firmly. My mouth worked but no sound came out as I struggled to deal with the very concept of it. If I had given the matter more thought, I would have known the price of Simon’s help. We had no information to give him, and what else would a vampire place high value upon? The idea of letting him drink my blood was terrifying, disgusting, horrible beyond words.
But this was my problem. I agreed to petition to become Titania, I threatened my father, I lit those vamps up outside the Three Willows. This was my burden to bear, and I couldn’t let Lex suffer for it.
“Yes, I will,” I said in a small, frightened voice.
“No!”
“Done.” The vampire smiled. Furious, Lex leapt to his feet and for a strained moment looked as though he was going to take a swing at Simon, but he barely managed to keep himself in check, his body trembling with the force of his self-control.
“She doesn’t know what she’s doing, she can’t make this bargain,” Lex said, almost through gritted teeth. The peculiar mix of scents that made up guardian magic rose around him, and his face flushed with anger.
Simon smirked, appearing as though he very much enjoyed watching the guardian’s discomfort. “Just because she hasn’t been bitten before does not mean that Miss Morrow cannot understand the bargain. In fact, considering her past, I’m sure she has a keener understanding than you do. Don’t worry, I assure you that I won’t harm her.”
“I know you won’t harm her, that’s not what concerns me.”
“Then you should have stipulated the conditions of payment more carefully when you contacted me. Bluster all you want, Duquesne, she has agreed, and you can’t undo it. Think of this as an educational experience for you both—you’ll be more careful with your bargains in the future, and Miss Morrow will have the benefit of learning what it’s like to be bitten in a safe environment.”
The two men sized each other up, and I sneezed once and then again as the smoky vampire scent returned, saturating the air around us and mingling with the haze of Lex’s magic.
“Fine, whatever. Can we just get it over with?”
“Of course.” With liquid, otherworldly grace the vampire glided toward me and I stared at him, petrified with terror. Images of my mother’s broken body assaulted me, of her eyes frozen in an expression that urged me to run, to flee from the monsters which would be looking for me next.
I wasn’t sure what I expected him to do. Outside of horror films and Buffy the Vampire Slayer I’d never witnessed a vamp feeding before. Simon circled around behind me. He was tall, even taller than Lex, and I tried to look at him but he stopped me by gently turning my head toward Lex instead. Helpless, I watched as anger and frustration thrummed through him. I was going to be lectured after this, I could tell—provided of course I didn’t die on the spot from a fear-induced heart attack.
My hair was tied back into a loose braid, and I felt the vampire smooth it away from my neck as he tilted my head to the side, running his slender fingers tantalizingly slow down the side of my exposed throat. His touch was cold, and there was no warmth from his body as he pressed himself against me, bending down to hover above my pulse. Simon chuckled, and I felt his breath brush against my skin.
“What’s so funny?” I asked, my voice high and sharp.
“I was correct, wasn’t I? You’ve never been bitten before,” he whispered. I swallowed hard and nodded. “I’ll try to make this memorable then. Be sure to watch your guardian. His reaction is going to be most entertaining.”
Like a techno-dance beat my pulse throbbed deafening in my ears as I tensed for the coming strike, squeezing my eyes shut. There was a sharp moment of pain, like the quick slice of a knife, that made me gasp, and I fully expected agony to follow it. Much to my amazement, the sensation was pleasant—a warm fuzzy glow that reminded me of adding a shot or two of butterscotch schnapps to my mug of hot chocolate on a winter’s night. It was confusing—pleasurably confusing, but still not making any sort of sense to me. This was supposed to be awful, wasn’t it?
I opened my eyes and looked at Lex. His hands were clenched into tight fists, as though he was waiting for something dire to happen. I started to comment on how it wasn’t so bad after all and reassure him I was okay, but the breath was stolen from my lungs as the experience went from “not so bad” to “oh dear God”.
A rush of lustful heat spread from my throat in a wave of ecstasy that flooded me down to my toes. I inhaled, the noise a strangled gasp that sounded impossibly loud, and my legs went weak beneath me as my eyes fluttered shut. The feelings were incredible, like nothing I’d ever experienced before. It was one long orgasmic sensation that suffused my entire body, a pleasure so sharp it skirted the edges of pain. Through the haze of sensation I dimly heard Lex thoroughly cursing Simon in both English and French, questioning everything from his looks to his parentage to his sense of honor, but I couldn’t understand why. This was amazing, incredible. It now made perfect sense to me why so many magicians willingly signed up to be a vamp’s dinner, and I began considering life as a buffet. In fact, I began considering a whole lot of things I normally would never think of doing with a complete stranger, but my girl parts were campaigning that we entertain guests. And they wanted to entertain said company right now. Perhaps bent over the desk, or even right then and
there on the floor.
I moaned, never wanting the feeling to end, and something about that desire triggered a warning in my mind, a primitive instinct that sent a spike of adrenaline shooting through that lovely oblivious fog. I was weak, lightheaded, and my legs were about to collapse out from under me. Things were wrong, very wrong, and I attempted to struggle free of the bite.
“That’s enough, let her go,” Lex ordered, but the vampire ignored him. Simon grasped my upper arms, firmly holding me in place against him as he continued to drain me. I tried to fight, to pull out of his embrace, but I no longer had the strength. My eyelids felt heavy and slipped shut. When I was on the very brink of unconsciousness he stopped drinking, and then handed my limp body over to Lex. He pulled me into his arms, still growling curses at the vampire who laughed lightly.
“I have misjudged you, Duquesne,” Simon commented, his voice sounding faint and distant to me. “I thought you were an intelligent man, but anyone who would willingly let such a rare treasure get away from him is naught but a fool.”
Though I would’ve loved to have heard Lex’s reply, the darkness rose and swallowed me, and everything went cold and black.
Born to be mates…destined to be enemies.
Breath of Fire
© 2013 Liliana Hart
Since the Banishment, Rena has become the Drakán Enforcer, cleaning up the messes her dragon brethren make in order to keep their presence in the human world hidden.
When a group of rogue Drakán begins killing dragons who refuse to join the army of the Destroyer—the dragon they believe will become their true king—Rena has no choice but to take action.
Special Agent Noah Ford appears, seemingly out of nowhere, to offer his assistance and protection. Protection, from a human? Hell, no. But something about him draws her hypnotically, erotically close. Some secret he refuses to reveal.
