How to Marry a Warlock in 10 Days

by Saranna Dewylde

  She was sexually active only with herself and wasn’t sure if that irritating little veil of flesh was still there or not, but she’d heard that losing her virginity could hurt like hell.

  She wanted him to kiss her, but he was still intent on her face.

  That’s when she realized that technically, nothing had happened that they couldn’t back away from. He obviously wanted her, but right now all they were dealing with was her naked muffin against his very hard cock.

  She was a modern witch; she could make the first inten-tional move. Flying across a seat from the inertia of a horny Jeep with an eye for a sleek limo’s rear end couldn’t be con-strued as the first move. Not really. Middy pushed a stray lock of white-blond hair from his forehead and his grip tightened on her when she traced down his jawline with the pad of her finger.

  Dred closed his eyes, but didn’t let go of her. “You don’t want this,” he whispered.

  “I’m a witch grown, Dred Shadowins. I know very well what I do and do not want.” She rolled her hips to make her point.

  “No, not this, not me.” His hands spoke a different language from his mouth because they moved to her hips to anchor her to him.

  “If you don’t want me, Dred, that’s one thing.”

  Middy found herself on her back, and Dred’s mouth just a breath away from hers, His hips were between her thighs, his cock still thick with desire.

  “I am such a bastard,” he said as if he were resigned to it.

  Then his mouth crashed into hers.

  He had no talent for romance, but heat bloomed wherever he touched her. She was on fire. Dred’s kiss was devastation; so much more so than the pale imitation of his centerfold. The centerfold catered to her ideas of romance and desire. It tingled centers of her brain that would have been stimulated by the act, but it wasn’t the act, it wasn’t real.

  This was stark reality—she was splayed beneath Dred Shadowins and he wanted her. He wasn’t a fantasy; his mouth didn’t move over hers with a practiced tenderness, his hands didn’t touch her with a devoted reverence. No, this was much more visceral and blatantly animal.

  His kiss was brutal, but she met his onslaught with her own demands. Middy arched up into him and wrapped her legs around his waist. Dred slipped his hand between them to touch her slick heat.

  Dred’s fingers felt so good, so right.

  Until they didn’t.

  She shrieked at the sharp pain and Dred froze.

  “Is that what I think it is?” he asked in a jagged whisper.

  “Depends on what you think it is.”

  “Now is not the time for banter. Middy, are you a virgin?”

  “Does it matter?”

  It was at precisely that moment when Middy realized Dred could fly. That was the only logical explanation for how fast he moved away from her. She didn’t think he could have moved faster if she’d been on fire.

  Literally, not figuratively. Because figuratively, she was still burning. She could see from the bulge in his breeches that he was, too, but she didn’t understand what the problem was.

  “Hell, yes, it matters.”

  “Merlin, Dred. Everyone comes with issues. You’re insane and I’m a virgin. Whatever.”

  “Whatever? How can you be so cavalier about something that important?”

  “It’s not important. It’s in the way. You should be flattered.”

  “Maybe I would have been if you hadn’t just said I was insane.”

  “I thought all men, warlock and mortal alike were eager to be first and last. Kind of like how cats feel they need to be the first one to mark the litter box.”

  “Midnight! Your virginity should not be compared to cat litter.” He sounded like a scandalized grandmother.

  “Why do you care, honestly?”

  “Because you’re a nice witch, Middy.”

  “Oh, puke. Is that the ‘friend zone’?”

  “Look, I really need your help and I can’t risk fucking it up with the old stick and move.”

  Stick and move? What the hell was . . . ? Oh. So, he didn’t want to fuck her because he needed her. Middy was sure that his reasoning was backwards somehow.

  “Are you a bad lay?” It hopped out of her mouth like a gerbil on an escape mission.

  Dred choked on the sparkling water he’d just opened.

  “Pardon me?”

  “Well, why else would it be an issue? You think that if you sleep with me, I won’t help you. Logic leads me to believe, based on the criteria, that you’re a bad lay. Simple, really.”

  “I’m just not looking for a relationship.”

  “You’re such a pompous bag, you know that? Why would you assume that I want a relationship? I don’t even like you.”

  His mouth hung open again and he looked a bit like a large-mouthed bass the way his chops were opening and closing in rapid succession.

  “But you’re a virgin,” he managed.

  “Which means exactly what? I was thinking I could just get it over with. I assumed it would be good since you’re you. I mean, I’ve heard things.” Middy shrugged and gave him a knowing look.

  She wasn’t sure what had gotten into her, but she found that she enjoyed the startled look on his face more than cheesecake. He was speechless and unsettled. The combina-tion made her smile.

  Perhaps the filter that had been installed between her brain and her mouth had been overrated. From now on, she was just going to say whatever she felt like. Middy would have to work on the not blushing part later. She had the cherry for his sundae in more ways than one.

  “You know what? You want me to help you by posing as your fiancée? Then you’re just going to have to put out.”

  “And I’m the one you think is crazy? You don’t know what you’re getting into on either count. I’m the dark warlock, remember?”

  “I didn’t say I wanted to marry you. I just want all of the perks that I would get if I was really your fiancée. I want your continued support of the Gargoyle Masque until you die, and I want the use of your wand; though Merlin knows the odometer has been turned over at least twice on that thing. I suppose it’s like a car really: You don’t buy a brand-new car for a brand-new driver. There’s bound to be dings.”

  Yes, Middy had to say that she was feeling very pleased with herself.

  “That’s it, that’s all you want? You’ll do this, details un-specified for a ride on my wand, as you so delicately put it, and my support of the Masque until my death? I agree to these terms and do so swear. Do you swear it?”

  “I swear it,” Middy said with confidence. After all, what’s the worst that could happen?

  CHAPTER SEVEN

  The Worst That Could Happen

  It was that worst thing that could have happened! Dred Shadowins had found scruples in some bargain bin at the thrift store. He’d actually dropped her at home without even getting out of the limo.

  That lout had actually tried to refuse the great and wonderful gift of her virginity. As she’d told Dred, she thought that warlocks were like her cat: They wanted to be the first to mark in a new territory. It didn’t matter if they were going to stay there or not.

  She should have known better than to make a deal with the devil or Mordred Shadowins. Middy realized after the deal had been sealed and he’d pressed that lukewarm kiss to her cheek that she should have specified when she wanted to avail herself of his “passion wand.”

  Now that she’d actually had his hands on her, she didn’t think the centerfold would do. No, nothing but the infuri-ating warlock in the flesh could satisfy her now.

  This nasty little revelation caused her to rethink her plans.

  If she was already addicted to his touch from a Seven in Heaven makeout session like a witch still in Academy, what would it be like when she got the whole package? Middy was feeling a little light-headed at the prospect.

  Maybe demanding coital bliss from a sex god hadn’t been the brightest idea she’d ever had, but Middy was never one to do an
ything halfway. If she was going to have someone butter her muffin, she wanted it to be a quality product.

  Now what to say to Tally when she pounced on her and demanded details? News of her “engagement” was bound to travel fast.

  Unicorn balls in a pastry puff! What was she going to tell her mother? Hi, Mom. I know I didn’t tell you I was dating Dred Shadowins, dark warlock and filthy rich sex god, but we’re getting married. Yeah. Oh, and . . . She couldn’t even tell her mother that the engagement was a ruse. She’d sworn on her magick.

  If Middy hadn’t been sure that she would have knocked herself on her ass, she would have palmed her forehead at the very deep pile of unicorn dung that she was standing in.

  Never mind her mother! What in the name of Avalon was she going to tell her brothers?

  Falcon, Hawk, and Raven were going to curse her fiancé’s balls off. They’d be hanging on the Yule tree like faerie bells. Why hadn’t she thought of this when she’d been considering the ruse?

  She looked at her Witchberry, and her brain was franti-cally thinking of ways to murder it before her mother could call. The garbage disposal seemed to be the best option.

  Dred Shadowins’s engagement was breaking news. All of the warlockian channels would have coverage and it was only a matter of time before the mortal gossipmongers smelled blood, too.

  Middy knew the right thing to do would be to call her family before they saw it on the news. That way, she might be able to save Dred’s wand. Otherwise, she’d be getting stiffed at the end of this deal and not in the way she’d bargained for.

  She had a flashback to senior year at the Academy.

  Middy’s date had come to pick her up for the winter formal, but they’d never made it to the dance. Her brothers, otherwise known as the Trifecta of Doom, had gotten their claws into him and he hadn’t lasted long. He’d run screaming from the house before Middy could make it down the stairs.

  She was just going to have to put her foot down.

  Where the hell was Tally? Middy had quickly taken in-ventory of the house and discovered it to be sans her partner in crime. Why wasn’t she home? On the one hand, she was thankful that the witch wasn’t there to pounce on her, but on the other, she needed her to pounce on her brothers.

  Middy was going to have to take charge.

  Right now, apparently, because her lovely elvish-carved door splintered in half and melted away as the aforemen-tioned Trifecta filled the space.

  In that moment, Middy was struck with the realization that her brothers looked like Simian blowfish. She knew other witches found them handsome, and she supposed they were if they could keep from dragging knuckle and puffing up like gorillas.

  The same with that huge vein in each of their foreheads that pulsed with testosterone. Middy thought something was going to burst from them like in a mortal horror flick.

  “Midnight Marie, what the fuck?” Raven growled.

  He was the youngest of her brothers, though only by ten minutes. But those minutes made all of the difference in the world. Raven was the hothead, as was obvious by the way he careened through the door like a rabid St. Bernard.

  She narrowed her eyes at him and put her hand on her hip. “I could ask you the same thing.”

  “You could, but this isn’t about him,” Hawk stated, trying to take charge.

  “You think? It sure as shit is now. Have you seen my door? No? Oh, that would be because . . .”

  “Now, Midnight.” Falcon eyed her sternly.

  “Now Midnight nothing!” She stomped her foot.

  “Are you going to invite us in?” Raven said more softly.

  “Would it keep you out if I said no?”

  “You’d think that you’d be a little more grateful.” Hawk was surly.

  “Grateful? For what exactly?” She eyed them all with displeasure. “What if I’d been entertaining?”

  She knew, of course, that would be the thing to say to get them to inflate again. Middy knew she was kicking the junkyard dog, but she didn’t care. She’d had enough of their well-intentioned interference.

  This lot just had to learn that she was an adult.

  Which was going to be a long time in coming, judging from their reactions. Three identical jaws set with purpose and three chests filled with air and puffed, ready for battle.

  Three sets of biceps bulged with the adrenaline that shot through them at the thought of their baby sister “entertaining.”

  Not just entertaining, but entertaining Dred Shadowins.

  They would have charged her like Hannibal’s elephants if not for Falcon. He held out his arms to block his brothers’ advance. If it had been anyone other than the level-headed Falcon, they would have broken ranks and charged anyway.

  “So, it’s true? Where is the bastard?” Falcon said, his lips tight like rubber bands.

  “At home, I imagine. Sleeping like any normal warlock would be at this hour of the night.” Her irritation was rising and her other hand made it to her hip.

  “Dred Shadowins. Butcher of Shale Creek?” Hawk’s nostrils flared and his jaw ticked.

  “He is not.” Not that Middy knew anything about it, but she felt the need to defend him. She almost cringed because when they “broke up” and ended that little charade, it would all come back to bite her in the ass with really sharp teeth. It would be a chorus of “I told you so” and pitying looks; not only that, but the breakup would forever and ir-revocably seal her fate in their eyes.

  This would make it obvious to them that she couldn’t be trusted to manage her own life. If Middy thought they were a pain in the ass now, after this debacle, they weren’t even going to let her have tampons for fear of poking out her eye.

  “Oh, no, Middy. No.” Raven’s hand fluttered to his chest like an English miss.

  “No, what?” she demanded.

  “You’re serious,” Raven whined.

  “As a heart attack.” She grinned. Middy was enjoying his discomfort.

  “I thought this had to be some sort of joke,” he whimpered again. “I knew we shouldn’t have let her get that magazine. I told you no good would come of it.”

  “What do you mean by ‘let me’?” Middy’s ire was raised now and her hair began to stand on end as her power gathered around her.

  “Uh, Raven,” Hawk started.

  “What, you didn’t think we knew about your dirty little magazine? I told them that we should . . .”

  Raven was promptly cut off as a Cornish hen flew from Middy’s freezer and tried to work its way into his mouth, seemingly of its own volition.

  “The magazine was Mom’s idea,” Hawk offered.

  “What?” she shrieked again.

  He opened his mouth to say something else, but thought better of it as he watched Raven trying to battle the Cornish hen’s stubby appendages.

  Falcon was ever the voice of reason. “Midnight Marie, behave yourself. We’re just here to take care of you.”

  “When are you going to realize that I don’t need you to take care of me?”

  “Now that you’ve got Dred to do it?” Falcon said, rolling his eyes.

  “No. Now that I am a woman grown. If I need your help, I will damn well ask for it.”

  “It was Mom’s idea anyway,” Raven said as the hen dropped lifelessly to the ground. “She’s the one that got you that subscription, but I swear if any of us knew that you were going to fall in love with the centerfold . . .”

  “Why didn’t you tell us, Mids?” Hawk interrupted, giving her his best impression of a kicked puppy.

  “I didn’t know myself until last night.” Middy didn’t feel bad for that one because it was true.

  “If you want to have a fling with Shadowins, by all means. But do you have to marry him?” Hawk asked.

  “Look, it was all very sudden. Tristan couldn’t keep his hands to himself and . . .”

  The three of them puffed again like balloons at the mention of Belledare pawing her.

  “There were reporters
at the Masque, it turned into this whole thing and . . . Why weren’t any of you at the Masque?”

  This drew a collective silence from the trio.

  “I see.”

  “We’re here to talk about you,” Hawk said.

  “You keep saying that. I suppose you may as well come in.” She spun on her heel. “And you’d better magick my door back hale and hearty if you want to keep your mouth free of dancing hens and used cat litter.”

  A plain, not to mention ugly, steel door replaced the gaping entryway where her brothers had stood.

  “My door! The one carved by elvish hands with the ancient sigils.”

  “Why couldn’t they have impressed the symbols on steel?” Falcon asked.

  “That would be safer,” Hawk added.

  “Because they carved them into Holy Oak. Now!” Middy demanded. She was about to invoke the kitty litter. . . .

  Her door appeared hale and hearty just as she’d demanded and with a wave of her hand she summoned coffee and tea on her guest china. She even went the extra mile and conjured chocolate pumpkin cookies. Those were her brothers’ favorites.

  Falcon was the first to sit down. “So—” He paused as he took a cup of coffee and crammed two cookies into his mouth. “When are you bringing him home?”

  It sounded more like a drunk with a harelip trying to recite Shakespeare, especially amid the crumbs falling out of his mouth, but she knew what he was asking.

  “I’m really not sure,” she demurred.

  “Midnight, it’s not just us asking. Mom wants to know.

  In fact, it took something just short of tying her down to make her stay home,” Raven said as he crammed three cookies in his mouth.

  “Hell.” This really was the worst that could happen. “I need to check with Dred’s secretary and take a look at his schedule.”

  “If he wants to marry you, he can damn well clear it,” Falcon shot back.

  “If he wants to live to make it to the wedding,” Hawk said under his breath.

  “I heard that, Hawk Cherrywood. If any of you lay one hand on him, no, one finger . . . One breath! Just one whisper of hexes or curses and none of you will have any grandchildren to tell this story to. Do you understand me?” Middy looked at each of them pointedly and in turn until they hung their heads.