by MK Mancos
He let the phone switch to voice mail. Whatever she wanted she could say to a recording. He had no use for her. After she used him for his godly seed, she’d accused him of killing their children. Not so. He’d never harm his offspring. As a matter of fact, he’d always dreamed of being a father.
The woman was a menace to the Titan race.
The vision of another woman flashed through his mind—Lucilla, with her clear green eyes and forthright manner. There was no way she’d ever play a man false. No guile appeared in her gaze. No lies fell from her lips like honeyed endearments.
He bet when she loved, she loved full throttle.
A familiar stirring under his toga made him lean back in his chair. He needed Lucilla badly. This deep aching for her wouldn’t go away until he stood with her in the circle and proclaimed his heart. It was a fanciful notion that, if any of his business opponents knew, would cause him no small measure of embarrassment.
They knew him as ruthless. Cold. Unfeeling. Not the sort of man who set his sights on a woman and decided without even knowing her to confess his undying love for her.
It was true, though. Ever since the first time he’d seen her.
At the time, he hadn’t known the owner of ParaMatch and she were one and the same. That realization hadn’t come until the first time he’d visited her office. No, the first time he’d seen her had been three years before, at the Legion Halloween Dance.
As one of the organizers, she had been standing near the banquet table, discussing something with the caterer. She’d worn a dark-colored sheath dress that hugged her perfect figure. Tiny silver stars and moons glittered on the surface of the material, painting her like a midnight sky. Jager had taken one look at her, backlit by the bonfire, her golden hair piled atop her head, the nape of her neck exposed and vulnerable, and he’d fallen.
He’d spent the rest of the night looking for her, only to come up short. No one he asked had seen where she’d gone. No one even knew of whom he spoke. She hadn’t seemed to make an impact on anyone but himself.
Jager took in a deep breath. The faint scent of burning wood clung to his senses as the memory faded.
He’d gone to ParaMatch looking for a mate—but more importantly, looking for her, hoping by some miracle she’d sought out the services of a respectable matchmaker to find her a mate. It was a long shot, he knew. But something in his gut had badgered him to take the risk, only to hit pay dirt the first time he’d walked through her office door.
He should have leveled with her weeks ago.
The phone rang again. He glanced briefly at the number. Maribon Seacrest. The selkie.
Might as well get it over with.
Jager took a deep, steadying breath and picked up the phone. “Miss Seacrest, I was just getting ready to phone you.”
Chapter Three
Scents of brewing herbs hung heavy in the air of the duplex. Lucilla pushed aside a beaded gauze curtain, taking in a deep breath as she entered the industrial-sized kitchen of her Aunt Rebekah’s apartment.
There had always been something old world about Rebekah’s place. Warmth radiated from every crevice. Earth tones, red bricks and natural wood accents gave the space the look of a kitchen in some ancient castle. Plus, her aunt had expanded the room by taking out the living room and den. Now the kitchen and its massive prep area took up most of the duplex’s bottom floor, along with a closet that worked as a drying room for herbs.
“Who’s there?” Her aunt backed out of the drying room with her arms full of crackling stalks.
“It’s Lucilla. I need to talk to you about this invitation I have to the Witches Court.”
Rebekah Wainwright set the dry herbs down on a large butcher block counter in the center of the prep room. She blew a strand of bright red hair out of her face. “What about it?”
“I want to know why every year they insist on sending me the invitation when they know I have no intention of accepting? It’s a waste of parchment and ink.”
Not to mention, it never ceased to point out Lucilla’s shortcomings as a talentless member of one of the most legendary witching families in the history of the craft.
Rebekah hitched a shoulder as if it didn’t matter. “You’re still a member of this family. According to the bylaws, you are more than welcome at the open forum at the annual Court.”
The shade of a headache began in the middle of Lucilla’s forehead then spread down to pierce behind her eyes. “Will you make my excuses to the council?”
Rebekah raised a henna-colored brow, pursing her mouth as if considering a deal. It was an expression Lucilla knew well and she had to resist a shiver. Asking for her aunt’s help was going to cost her big time.
Strong, efficient hands began to untwist the ties on the herbs, working by experience. “There’s a wonderful wizard who recently joined our spell circle. He’s new in town and doesn’t know many people. He needs a date for the Legion Halloween Dance.”
Relief came at once. “Send him to my office. I’d be more than happy to find him a date. He’ll have to fill out a questionnaire first.”
Rebekah stopped her busy hands and looked up, stabbing Lucilla with a meaningful stare. “I didn’t mean for you to match him professionally. I want you to go out with him.”
Lucilla groaned. “I already have a tentative date for the Legion Halloween Dance.” Not one she wanted, but a date nonetheless.
A shocked expression drew Rebekah’s mouth into an “O”. “You have a date for the Legion Dance?”
“Don’t sound so surprised. I’ve been known to go out with the opposite sex on occasion.”
Her aunt waved the comment away like a stink of burnt herbs. “I didn’t mean it like that. You just keep your head buried in work all the time. You never allow yourself time for romance.”
Lucilla smiled. Her aunt might be a tough customer when it came to her craft as a master level brewer, but she was also a hopeless romantic. It probably came from a lifetime spent making love potions and tonics and other magical potions for the Para world.
However, her aunt didn’t understand that being a non-talent had Lucilla straddling the fence of two worlds. If she chose to, she could marry a Norm and have children. However, the possibility did exist that a stray recessive gene would reproduce the magic in her offspring. The idea of explaining that to a Norm husband didn’t seem worth the risk. Dating and marrying a Para meant they would know of her deficiency. As they would know of her triumph with her matchmaking business. It was a respectable job, but there was nothing magical about what she did. Even Norms had a certain level of intuition they could call upon when needed. Besides, countless Para couples had her to thank for their successful marriages.
And yet Lucilla had no one.
“So who is your date?”
“Tentative date,” Lucilla corrected. “You’ll see at the Legion Halloween Dance. Or not. I’m hoping he’ll strike an interest in one of my clients and back out. I really only agreed in order to get him out of my office.”
Rebekah put her hands on her hips in consternation. “Hopeless.” She shook her head, sending her springy curls flying in all directions. “I really wonder if the fairies didn’t switch you at birth with some other child. Somewhere out there in the Norm community is a witch who doesn’t know how to control her powers.”
“Or who uses them to keep her interfering family in check.”
“We only interfere because we love and worry about you.”
“I love you, too. But I don’t need you to matchmake for me. I’m a professional.”
“Who doesn’t use her services to find herself a man.”
That damn telltale blush rose in her cheeks. “That wouldn’t be ethical.”
Her aunt noted Lucilla’s high color with a low, “Ah, ha,” then turned to the cauldron hanging over the fire in the hearth.
Lucilla picked up a lone sprig of lavender that had fallen to the floor. She put the potent beads to her nose, taking in a deep breath. The fragrance
sent immediate calm through her body. “Will you call off the Court? I can’t sit through another audience where everyone stares at me, wondering why I’m there.”
“I have an elixir to cure paranoia, you know?” Rebekah spoke over her shoulder as she added some of the crumbled leaves to the boiling water in the cauldron.
“It’s not paranoia when you know they’re staring.” Lucilla let out a long breath. Hopelessness washed over her. She crossed the room to the hearth, placing her hands on Rebekah’s shoulders. “Never mind. I’ll send my regrets along with the offer of free services for the annual benefit auction.” She gave her aunt a quick kiss on the cheek then started for the door.
“Lucilla Morgana Wainwright, do not walk out of this house until we settle up.”
Settle up!
That wasn’t aunt to niece speaking, but witch elder to subordinate. It was Rebekah’s way of pulling rank, using the coven bylaws’ wording to stop Lucilla in her tracks. To settle up meant a bargain had been made and the time had come to make good on the particulars.
Rebekah stalked across the room, stopping only a foot in front of her, way beyond the borders of Lucilla’s personal space. “Let Aramis take you out on a date. He’s a good man. He’s hardworking, respectable and handsome.”
“Aramis?” Lucilla mouthed. How could anyone saddle a beloved child with such an awful name?
It was Rebekah’s turn to blush. “I gave him your phone number. You should expect a call from him soon.”
“Fine. I’ll go to dinner with him, but I promise I won’t enjoy myself.” Lucilla started to leave, but then turned, pointing an imperial finger at her aunt. “Settle up. You have to tell the Court I won’t be there this year.”
Her aunt gave what might be construed as a nod.
Lucilla only hoped it meant the deal was sealed.
Chapter Four
Jager pulled up at the sprawling seaside mansion precisely at seven. Their dinner reservations were for seven-thirty. He only hoped she was a prompt woman. If there was one thing he hated it was waiting on the primping ritual to end while he cooled his heels looking at useless knickknacks in an over-decorated living room.
He’d often wondered why women found it alluring or even fashionable to keep a man waiting. The only thing Jager had ever found it was irritating as all hell.
The house stood on the edge of a cliff. One good mudslide and the entire structure would become one with the sea. But as a selkie, Maribon would no doubt enjoy returning to her watery home for good. Why she maintained a life on land, he didn’t know. What he knew of the selkie race was that they were very protective of their seal pelts and went to great lengths to keep them from their lovers. Well, at least human lovers. Perhaps a Para lover was a different story for her kind. Even so, it wasn’t a risk he’d take. His heart had already been given completely to the little matchmaker.
But a deal was a deal. He’d get through tonight, go out with the djinn, then sit back and wait for Halloween.
The door buzzer was an odd piece of hardware, shaped like a sea serpent. The chime was more of the sound of waves crashing on the shore than an actual buzz. Any relationship this woman had with a man would have to be done in the water behind her house. It was obvious the sea still held sway on her emotions.
She answered the door with a sly seductive smile, wearing a black dress that fit like a second skin. Her eyes and hair were darker than the depths of the ocean. “Jager?”
“The one and only.”
She gave him what amounted to a dazzling smile, but it failed to do anything for him. Not like Lucilla’s smiles. “Let me grab a wrap and we can go.”
At least she wasn’t going to keep him waiting.
They arrived at Avalon on the Bay and were seated immediately. The maître d’ treated Jager with deference, showing them to the best table in the exclusive restaurant. Fine chandeliers, candles in golden glass bowls, and deep, rich wood accents bathed the interior in a romantic glow.
Men seated at nearby tables stared at Maribon as she took her seat. She looked up at Jager with an appreciative glance over her shoulder as he held her chair for her. It looked more of an artful pose to him, used to expose the gentle curve of her throat. She really was a beautiful woman.
Now came the part of these first dates he hated the most—the get-to-know-you segment of the program. Considering he had no intention of repeating this experience with her, he failed to see why he needed to sit and listen while she extolled her many virtues like items on a grocery list. But he’d listen because it was the polite thing to do.
Silence stretched between them. Honestly, for a man who spent his life enduring the constant flow of acquaintances through his existence, he should have acquired the necessary small-talk skills. But he hadn’t. Probably came from centuries of being an all-knowing deity. Who needed small talk when you could pick their brains at thirty paces?
“I’ve never been out with a Titan before.” Maribon folded her arms and leaned over the table. The low, plunging neckline of her dress barely contained her impeccably pert breasts.
“There aren’t that many of us around.” Jager watched the waiter try to avoid looking down Maribon’s dress while filling their water glasses. The poor man almost met his goal.
She fished an ice cube from her glass, running it seductively along her bottom lip. “Is it true that the bigger the better?”
He pretended ignorance of her innuendo. “You can’t tell from my ex-wife.”
The tinkle of practiced laughter floated over the table. Her deep brown eyes sparkled in the light of the candle. “Your ex was a Titan?”
“As far as I know she still is.”
Her perfectly manicured brows wrinkled slightly at the distinction of tense. She didn’t appreciate the correction. “I’ve never been married before. It just never felt right.”
Probably because all her dates tried to steal her skin. She no doubt had the damn thing in a safe somewhere so no man had the opportunity to entrap her. Not that he blamed her for taking such precautions.
“I wouldn’t worry about the length of time you’ve been single, Lucilla is very good at what she does.” Jager tried to sound reassuring. “I understand her success rate is very high.”
“It would have to be, right?” The words hung on the air as they gave the waiter their order. When they were alone again, Maribon picked up a roll from the breadbasket and tore it into little pieces on her plate. “I mean she’s a non-talented witch from a prominent family. If you ask me, she doesn’t have a choice but to make a go of her business. A failure would be another black mark against her.”
Check, please.
If she only realized what bad form it was to diss—was that the word he’d heard lately to indicate negativity—your matchmaker. Especially when she’d set you up with someone you were trying desperately to impress. And Maribon was trying. Too hard.
This dinner needed to move at mach speed.
“Lucilla has nothing to apologize for,” he said over his wine glass, giving Maribon a steady stare. Hearing someone make disparaging remarks against the woman he planned to marry one day put him in a bad mood.
The waiter served their salads. Jager put his glass down then stabbed the unsuspecting lettuce, telling himself to cool down.
Maribon flipped her long fall of raven hair over her shoulder. “I didn’t mean to insult her. I think Lucilla’s wonderful.”
A little too late to guard her words.
Luckily the dinner courses were served quickly. Jager continued to answer Maribon’s various questions. He didn’t expound on any topics, or offer any more information than what the question required for him to answer. His tactic didn’t seem to dull her enthusiasm for enticement.
The desserts were served. Maribon ordered fresh strawberries with whipped cream. The provocative way she licked the cream from the berries should have garnered an “X” rating in the exclusive restaurant. Waiters stopped to stare, men at other tables ogled. Jager just wanted
to get the Hades out of there. The woman had no couth whatsoever. Not like Lucilla. Lucilla was a class act all the way.
Later, when he walked Maribon to her door, Jager thought to give her a quick, friendly peck on the cheek so as not to make the evening end awkwardly.
Maribon had other ideas.
When he tried to pull back into his own space, she grabbed hold of him, winding her hands into his lapels, anchoring him to her.
He tried frantically to free himself, but the damn woman had more hands than a Hindu god.
No sooner had he freed his jacket from the clutch of her hand, she put a chokehold on his privates.
“Ms. Seacrest!”
“Mr. Cronus.” Her voice went all silky as she started rubbing him.
He’d never been so disgusted by a hot woman in his entire life—and that said a lot.
He grabbed her hand, finally managing to free his junk from her over-amorous clutches. Jager straightened his jacket, ran a hand through his hair and started for his car before she took it in her mind to tackle him on the lawn.
Oh no, this date would not be repeated.
Chapter Five
Bells tinkled softly as a wind teased the chimes hanging from a tree in Lucilla’s side yard. The haunting melody they played never failed to touch her in that deeply recessed place where her witch’s senses were buried. It also highlighted the emptiness at not being able to perform even the simplest of spells.
There were times while growing up Lucilla prayed to all the goddesses that even a tiny flare of power would show in her. As a child, she’d failed every test to assess her ability. When all tests proved the obvious, she was apprenticed to her Aunt Rebekah to learn the art of brewing.
What a disaster that had been.
Though brewing didn’t necessarily require a strong talent, the practitioner needed a certain amount of confidence while exploiting the herbs and water. Having known no success at any other craft-related vocations, she didn’t arrive at Rebekah’s kitchen with illusions of triumph in creating potions.
