by Deanna Chase
“Ten,” she whispered.
His eyes flew open. “Ten what?”
“Witch goblins.” She smiled, pleased at the play of emotion she saw on his face. “Fate wants us to start now.”
“Not sure that’s what I signed up for.”
“Too late.” She kissed him and worked her magick and her body in tandem to take him to the highest peaks of pleasure.
After the shuddering quakes of bliss had washed over them both, he held her close, as if she were a treasure more valuable than gold.
“My goblin queen,” he whispered.
Sudden awareness prickled up her back and she sat up straight, allowing her senses to open. “Is about to go to war.”
“What’s wrong?”
“Something’s happened to Noah, the Woolven Heir.”
He used his own magick to replace his slacks and the restaurant was gone, and they were in the car, speeding back through space and time to Aphelion.
She used her magick to locate him and found he’d somehow wandered past her wards. She could hear Drew, Blake, and the rest of the pack searching for him.
Eleanor didn’t wait to see if Enoch had her back, she didn’t speak to him about it. All she could do was get to Noah.
Her power surged and when she found him, her rage split the atmosphere with thunder and lightning.
A pack of blood sucking leeches surrounded the boy, the vampires all baring their fangs at him. One held him up high with one hand, a noose around his neck with the other. Noah was growling and roaring as loud as his tiny lungs would let him, but a child was no match for these ancient killers.
They had some sort of demonic amulet that protected them from her magick.
For the first time, it occurred to her that she might not be enough to save her charge.
“What do you want?” She schooled her voice to one authority and hid all of her fear.
“Ah, it’s Westwood. Not so formidable now that you can’t use your magick against us,” the biggest one laughed as he spoke.
“There are other things besides magick. You didn’t answer my question. What do you want?”
“Kumarin sends his regards.”
Evgeni Kumarin was a vampire leader who’d screwed Blake over and Blake in turn had revealed his lair’s hiding place to a secret government agency whose job it was to investigate and explore supernatural creatures and happenings.
“Fuck Kumarin and his regards,” Eleanor responded, in a pleasant tone.
That was when the bastard dropped Noah.
Everything inside of her screamed and she launched herself into the group of vampires to catch him. They snarled and bit, tearing at her limbs, ripping into her flesh. But she didn’t care. She’d do anything to save Noah, not just because he was her charge, but because she loved him.
They would’ve torn a mortal apart—her witch flesh was only a little stronger.
That was when Enoch stepped forward, his veneer of humanity gone, and the ferocity of what he was like a volcano erupting with furious lava. They could all feel the incinerating heat of his rage.
The ground began to shake and tremble and his armies began to crawl up from the bowels of the earth—pale, slavering things, mindless except for the directive imparted to them by their king, by her mate.
He’d given them a terrible hunger for vampire flesh.
She held Noah close and he clung to her, even as he growled and snarled at the vampires. He’d be a great Alpha some day, if he lived that long.
His own tiny ferocity broke her heart and filled it too.
When the first goblin leapt, that’s when they realized what Enoch had done and that they’d spend their last minutes screaming.
The big one begged, “Leave me alive. Leave someone to tell Kumarin what he’s dealing with.” His voice was higher pitched, panicked.
“Kumarin will know when I save this memory in glass and send it back to him with what’s left of your bones,” Eleanor answered him.
Enoch looked at her, his red eyes burning with fire. “As my queen wishes.”
He knew exactly what to say, that it would be recorded in the memory so all would know that the Woolven Pack, and the Woolven heir was protected by the goblin king. That the Woolven witch was his queen, and there’d be no swaying him. Nothing that any of them could offer to turn his allegiance from them.
It was good.
She turned Noah’s face away from the carnage, but he wanted to watch. He was his human self again.
“No, I need to watch. I will learn to crush my enemies and those who would hurt my pack.” His voice was so small, but it echoed with an Alpha’s strength.
“That’s a good boy.” She smoothed his hair back from his face.
She made sure to watch every second of the annihilation. She was, after all, recording it for posterity with her magick.
When the goblins had done their work and sank back down into the loamy earth, she said to Enoch, “I need to take him back to his father and uncles. If they see you before I have a chance to explain…”
“I understand. I’ll wait for you.”
She kissed his cheek. “You are more than I ever thought I could have, Enoch.”
“Ah, witch. Even the dark things get a happy ever after.”
She laughed.
Noah looked up at him. “You love my Westwood?”
Enoch laughed. “I suppose I do.”
“Good. Then you have my permission to marry her. But you must take good care of her. She is strong, but she is still a female. We must protect them.”
Eleanor tried not to snort. His heart was in the right place. She had another flash of something she’d seen when she looked to the future and realized that this moment was when she would see it anyway. That’s why these moments were coming back to her.
Little Noah would marry their daughter.
She looked at Enoch, realizing that their child had already started growing inside of her. “I hope you remember this and are as kind to him in the future.”
Enoch cocked his head to the side, seeming to understand. “He is fierce and strong. It will be good.”
She carried Noah back toward Aphelion, putting out a magickal call to all the present Woolvens to meet her inside. Steps would have to be taken to protect Noah until he was old enough to protect himself. He wouldn’t be able to go back to Academy. Not for a while.
But they would figure it out. Especially with a powerful ally like the goblin nation.
5
Eleanor Westwood, goblin queen, and wicked witch extraordinaire stood in the goblin castle by her king on Christmas Eve.
She wore a crown of onyx and bones and a dress of green velvet that matched her eyes.
Enoch had chosen it for her.
Instead of a glass slipper, her shoes had been carved from the bones of ancient enemies. Another woman might’ve found it abhorrent, but they were so smooth, so finely made, that all she felt was lovely.
Being a wicked witch did indeed have its advantages.
The goblin people had already heard about her adventures in divorce and rather than fearing her, they admired her for what she’d done. They accepted her as one of their own.
For that alone, she was pleased to make it snow.
And for the look of utter adoration on her mate’s face. Like she was something magickal herself.
The ballroom was filled with goblin nobility and dignitaries, and she stood on the arm of the most amazing male she’d ever known.
“You are the brightest jewel in my crown, Eleanor.”
She whispered the words of magick that turned the great goblin hall into a winter wonderland.
Holly and ivy wound its way around everything that would hold still, the scent of pine and fir trees filled the space, frosted with that certain bite of an oncoming chill. Hot buttered rum steamed from newly conjured mugs around the room, as did roasted ducklings, cranberries, and potatoes with duck gravy. A myriad of unending sweets, like sugarplums, candie
d orange peels, and peppermint brownies spread themselves on the banquet tables. Boughs of mistletoe manifested across the ballroom, and fairy lights danced around the ceiling.
Then, for her finale, she made it snow.
Big, fat, beautifully crafted and intricate flakes fell like cerulean glitter all around the room, dissipating into nothing before they touched the ground.
The room clapped and cheered, goblins and dignitaries making merry.
There was a joy in Eleanor Westwood’s heart that hadn’t been there before. A certain peace, something she’d never thought to have for herself.
She thought that it was only damsels in distress and princesses that got to feel this way. But it was for wicked witches, too.
Even though she was now a queen, she was still a very wicked witch.
The cuff on her wrist warmed, and the locking mechanism clinked open, sending it clattering to the floor, which caused the populace to break into another round of cheers.
It meant she was theirs.
She felt bereft at the loss of the cuff. He’d made it for her, he thought about her as he’d hammered out the metal with his own hands.
But like everything else, he’d thought of this, too.
With a smile, he presented her with a blue velvet box. “Open it.”
Inside was a smaller, thinner, more delicate bracelet of silver, scrolling metalwork that looked like the branches and leaves of a tree. A tree that was meant to be their family. The roots were two strong limbs that had merged into one and there were ten leaves… one for each othe children they were supposed to have.
Her eyes stung, like she’d been punched in the face.
“You don’t like it?”
“I love it, Enoch.” She presenter her wrist to him for all to see. “Put it on me.”
Cuff me again, she was saying. It was her submission to the bond between them, her perfect and total trust she had in him. She was giving that gift to him in front of their people.
He clasped the bracelet around her wrist. “I never thought we’d be here, Eleanor. Thank you.”
“I guess I really did mean you when I conjured the goblin king to take me away.”
“Is it still gross?” he teased.
“Only how happy I am. That’s pretty fucking gross.” She always made fun of people who were this sappy. Not that she didn’t want other people to be happy, she just thought it was a façade. It was a mask, but it wasn’t. It was real.
“It really is.” He reached out and touched his hand to her stomach. “This life is the best Christmas present you could give me.”
“But I have one more thing to give you.” She conjured his gift into her hand.
It was a bracelet as well, but strong and monolithic. Black titanium. When he looked at it, it was charmed to play their best memories.
And, in front of all of his people, without a care that it looked like she was cuffing him in return, he presented his wrist to her for her gift.
She clasped it around his solid wrist. “You know, I could’ve waited to do this in private.”
“You are my queen. You will lead my armies and my people. I’m as yours as you are mine.”
Warmth spread through her. “Okay, so maybe I won’t still kick you in the dick for that thing with my braids and the snakes.”
He shrugged. “You can if you want to, but if you break it, that’s just going to ruin your day too.”
“Maybe I shall dream up some other form of torture for you.” She raised a brow.
“Oh, I hope so. Because witch, do I ever have plans for you.”
He kissed her then, bending her over backwards in a dramatic sweep and she collapsed into his embrace twining her arms around his neck.
It was, indeed, a very merry hexmas.
Other Books in the Series
Big Bad Billionaire
The Werewolf Tycoon’s Secret Baby
Princess of the Pack (Free)
The Ardennes Curse
About the Author
Saranna DeWylde has always been fascinated by things better left in the dark. She wrote her first story after watching The Exorcist at a slumber party. Since then, she's published horror, romance and narrative nonfiction. Like all writers, Saranna has held a variety of jobs, from operations supervisor for an airline, to an assistant for a call girl, to a corrections officer. But like Hemingway said, "Once writing has become your major vice and greatest pleasure, only death can stop it." So she traded in her cuffs for a full-time keyboard. She loves to hear from her readers. Website | Facebook | Mailing List | Or for text updates of only new releases text SarannaDeWylde to 24587
Cupid’s Christmas (Broken Heart Worlds #1)
Michele Bardsley
Cupid’s Christmas
(Broken Heart Worlds #1)
By Michele Bardsley
Copyright © 2015 Michele Bardsley
All Rights Are Reserved.
Any trademarks, service marks, product names or named features are assumed to be the property of their respective owners, and are used only for reference. There is no implied endorsement from the author of this work.
All characters in this book have no existence outside the imagination of the author, and have no relation whatever to anyone bearing the same name or names. All incidents are pure invention. This story is meant for mature audiences who are eighteen years and older.
Summary
As the winter holidays approach, love goddess Aphrodite and her personal assistant, the wood nymph Daphne, decide it’s time to make another love match. After all, their interference…er, help…in the relationship of werewolves Darrius and Alaya worked out. Now, it’s time for a human couple to get the benefit of Aphrodite’s gift for matching mates. But can she really convince a movie star and a wedding planner they can have a happily-ever-after? Damn right she can.
Prologue
Aphrodite’s office on Mount Olympus housed all things pink. The goddess of love lounged on a chaise shaped like a high heel, while her assistant and wood nymph Daphne sat cross-legged on the floor surrounded by towers of file folders.
“We should go digital,” groused Daphne. “Paper is so old school.”
“I prefer old school. I still haven’t gotten over switching from cow skin to dead trees.”
Daphne shuddered. As a woman who’d spent considerable time as a tree, she empathized with plants more than she did cows. Plus, cows were delicious.
“We gotta do something special for Christmas.” Daphne dressed for the human holidays in a red sweater, a green pleated skirt, and sparkly green combat boots.
“I prefer Yuletide. It’s more decadent.” Aphrodite studied Daphne’s straight, ultra-black hair. “You’re wearing a crown of holly. Are the leaves sticking you in the head?”
“I suffer to be beautiful.”
“I suffer enduring your efforts to be beautiful.”
“Ha, ha. You’re freaking hilarious.” She held up a stack of files. “You wanna pick, or what?”
Aphrodite took the stack. “There’s no Tingle. Give me another.”
“Not this again. Can’t you just close your eyes and point to one?”
“That makes no sense.” She put the pile on to the floor, and took another one. “Hmm. Nothing. Nada.”
“Here, try this one.” She gave the goddess five more folders.
“A-ha!” Aphrodite pulled the middle one out, ignored the paper flurry that ensued when the other ones fell. She flipped it open. “Reese Cadwell. Hey, he’s a looker.”
“Reese Cadwell! Are you serious?” Daphne grabbed the paperwork and read the page. “I loved him in Fast. Oh, that was such a good movie.”
“Movies. Pah. Humans think that’s entertainment? Bacchanals! Now, there’s some fun.”
“Yeah, those were the good ole days.” Daphne waved her arm over the rest of the papers. “So who are you gonna match Reese with? Better be someone good. He’s been on the most eligible bachelor lists for at least five years.”
&n
bsp; “Five years? He obviously needs our help.” Aphrodite got onto her hands and knees and crawled around until she came to the very edge of the humongous pile. Her finger came to rest on a thin portfolio. “The Tingle!” She snatched it up and flipped it open. Her eyes scanned the page. “Perfect. The Tingle never gets it wrong.”
“Well, that’s awesome. How do you propose we convince a movie star to go on a date with—” Daphne’s raised her brows.
“Abby Reed. She owns a wedding chapel in Las Vegas.” Aphrodite waved her arm. “Don’t worry. I have a plan to get those two together.”
* * *
“Me? The prize of a win-a-date contest?” The mellow voice held a note of ire. Reese Cadwell’s shaggy dark hair fluttered into his face and he shoved it back, revealing almond-shaped, melted-chocolate brown eyes. “You said you’re with publicity?”
“Yes,” said Daphne. She offered a sparkling smile. She was dressed down—at least for her, which meant red hose, black mini-skirt, sky-high heels, and a sweater with a red-nosed reindeer. Her hair was a muted green.
“Look, um…”
“Daphne.”
“Daphne, I can’t take off to Las Vegas so I can wine and dine some starry-eyed housewife.”
Daphne silently assessed the movie star. Seconds ago, she zapped herself just outside his trailer door on Trillion Studio’s back lot. Reese let her in, appearing unsurprised to see her, even though he had no idea who she was. The man spent more time in the trailer than he did in his multi-million dollar home in Beverly Hills.
He’d been alone, reading Macbeth, or as actors called it, “The Scottish Play.” He slouched in the leather chair, barefoot, his ripped jeans clinging to long, muscled legs. He wore a black T-shirt that molded his chest and stretched tight enough to show off his six-pack abs. The infamous patchy beard shadowed his angled cheeks.
