Hexed and Dangerous (The Wicked Witch of Future Past) (A Wicked Good Witches Paranormal Romance Book 9)

by Starla Silver

  No man had ever made her so instantly vulnerable and raw. Even the coldness of his skin so close did nothing to stave off the heat simmering in her veins from his drilling mental exploration.

  Or it might be all the running on a hot summer night. Yeah, that was it. She was not having seriously unhealthy reactions to a freaking vampire who was preparing to make a late night snack out of her.

  “Who are you?” The curiousness of his voice startled her.

  He backed away just a few inches. Actually backed away after she flinched.

  Probably how he gets his fun.

  Makes his victims think they have a chance by pretending to give a little space.

  Or he gets a kick out of learning the names of his victims before he sucks them dry.

  She raised her palm already aware of how useless her magic would be against him.

  He grinned. And followed it up with a humored laugh.

  “I just saved your life.”

  “You’re telling me you don’t plan on taking it now?”

  “I dare say I don’t believe I could, even if I was starving.” If Lisbeth wasn’t wrong, she saw shock in his features because of this. “Who are you? What is your name?” His accent was from another land. Not America. England she guessed. And far too exotic for her liking… well actually, to her liking. Damn it.

  She straightened her body and lifted her chin in defiance.

  “I’m a witch who protects this island and its inhabitants from monsters like you.” Her breath trembled, but she refused to give into the fear that her life was about to come to an untimely end.

  “Feisty. Brave. A fighter. My favorite, and so difficult to find in your kind. You’d do well like me.”

  “Don’t you dare! I’d rather die.” She stuck out her neck, free for him to suck her dry if that was his intent. There was a flash of hurt in his eyes, followed by a flickering of emotions too hard to decipher. Though dark, the moonlight sparkled in the coal gray staring back at her. He stepped back again.

  “You are a worthy human. A rarity in this life. Be well.”

  A trick. It had to be. She backed up a step. “You’re letting me go?”

  He backed away with a grin tinged with wickedness.

  “Yes… I am letting you live. But I’ve changed my mind and added a condition.”

  “Of course you have.”

  “Tell me your name.”

  “Tell me yours.”

  He growled through his teeth; it raked through like a purr. She tried not to jump when he leaned toward her, bending his head forward in a bow. “My name is Grayson Moone. Vampire aged one-hundred-eleven. Human aged until twenty-six. Killer of those who kill…”

  “Wh-what does that mean?”

  “Ah ah ah.”

  She sighed heavily, her nerves deflating a little. Probably not a good thing because it meant she was letting her guard down. Not smart.

  “My name is Lisbeth Eugenia Deane. Witch. Assistant to the Howard Witches, protectors of The Demon Isle. And of all innocent lives.”

  “We have that in common.”

  “I highly doubt that. You looked like you wanted to eat me a minute ago, and I’d wager that has not changed.”

  Grayson’s grin morphed into a wickedly tempting simper. “Could it be you are not so innocent as you believe? I have fangs, and I live in a body created to take down my prey. But I promise you, Lisbeth.” He stepped closer. “Eugenia.” A little closer. “Deane.” He was right back he started. “I am not a monster. Not like you think.” He was ogling her like prey. Delicious prey.

  “Like that werewolf?” she argued, unable to control the slight tremble his closeness caused. “What did he ever do to you?”

  “He was about to tear you apart.”

  She sucked in ready to… to what? Argue? He was right.

  She exhaled stubbornly.

  “That wolf killed someone dear to me. An innocent as you’d call them. I promised revenge.” Grayson displayed his palm toward the dead wolf in a silent, revenge accomplished. “Believe me, my dear Lisbeth, it was most deserved.”

  “I’ve never met a vampire with any sort of conscience.” Her tone indicated she didn’t believe it possible.

  “I did not kill you.”

  “Yet.”

  “Not all my kind are monsters. We are cursed to live off blood, but some of us only drink and kill those who deserve it.”

  “And what gives you the right to decide who’s deserving?” Now she was just getting pissed at the arrogance of the male. And again, he grinned, getting some secret thrill out of her daring defiance in the face of a vampire who could end her life in the mere passing of a breath. “You do have a choice,” she continued boldly. “Why not let fate handle those you deem worthy of your fangs and live off the blood of animals?”

  “So you’d rather I kill a precious cuddly puppy versus one who rapes females? Or murders children?” he interrogated, like the idea of allowing these true monsters to live was the real crime.

  She gave a start, not expecting him to reply in such a distasteful manner.

  “No. Never a… a… puppy. Or pet. Just, you could live off the blood of animals who already have death sentences because they are food for humans. You would not need to kill puppies. And as for the woman haters and child killers… well, they’ll get what’s coming to them, either in this life, or the afterlife.”

  “You speak this like you are certain this is true.”

  “I am.”

  “How?”

  “I just… am.”

  “Ah. Faith in a world after this one.”

  “Is that wrong?”

  “No. Not for you. There is nothing after this life for my kind.”

  “And you know this with certainty I suppose?”

  He grinned again. “I imagine our faith is equal in our beliefs.”

  Lisbeth needed to get ahold of herself, she was having an argument with a vampire. A moral conversation with an immoral creature of the night. And yet something in her gut spoke to her, told her he wasn’t a lost cause. Just… lost.

  Wasn’t it her duty to save those who are lost? Wasn’t he technically an innocent, in some way? Duty versus the desire to survive were fighting hard. Common sense dueling madly with insanity to even think this a good idea. And there was another emotion thrown into the mix, something much more dangerous. Her heart was trying to have an opinion, and that was the worst possible idea yet.

  Grayson stalked around her, each step curious and testing. Just what he was testing, she had no guess.

  “You promised not to kill me,” she reminded fervently as he circled behind her.

  “I do not wish to. But I dare say the smell of you is so intoxicating. I can only imagine the taste of you to be even more so. I imagine it would be life altering.”

  Lisbeth’s body betrayed her mind, strange feelings she’d never had before percolating under her skin like a fire trying to find oxygen. The image in her mind of the vampire with his fangs at her throat did things to her no human man had ever done.

  Or should do! What the hell was wrong with her?

  He ended his exploration and came to stand in front of her again, his body tense, his eyes fluttering closed as if savoring something both heavenly, and hellish. Lisbeth didn’t for a moment believe he’d actually leave her alive, or unscathed.

  In swift reaction she crouched, reached into her boot and grabbed a knife. She rose, ready to stab. And damn all that was sane, her hand refused to follow through with the movement and strike.

  Stupid, stupid girl! She shouted at herself.

  The vampire’s eyes flew open to the sight of her hesitating to stab him.

  The moment of delay would cost her.

  In movements her human eyes did not see, only feel, Grayson was behind her, the knife on the ground, her arms pinned behind her back. His lips, far too close to that vein pulsing with life in her neck.

  Ragged breaths forced their way out of her overworked lungs.


  His growl promised pain. Good pain. Pleasurable pain.

  “Never hesitate, Lisbeth. If you’re going to kill, kill.”

  “I won’t forget next time.”

  “Next time… hmm…”

  “There won’t be a next time,” she argued. “Because you’re going to let me go, and you are going to leave the Isle.” She spoke like it was already decided and done. He growled again.

  “If I had my way, and no morals, what I’d do is strip those clothes off your body and ravage you unlike any human man ever could.”

  She let out a gasp, a mix of fear and lust. God damn the vampire. And damn her body for having a mind of its own and not listening to logic. She’d never had such a physical reaction to any male before. But no other had ever given her a second look before. Or spoke to her with such raw male honesty.

  This is no normal man, she reminded herself. He’s a killer.

  Grayson sucked in the enthralling smell of her. Lisbeth didn’t struggle against him; it would only rile him further. And if she was truthful, the closeness of him was doing something to her. A bit like having too many drinks, or being put under a spell. Which wasn’t possible as vampire gifts like persuasion, did not work on witches. And that meant these reactions were all hers.

  “Let me go.”

  “That didn’t sound like you meant it. It was feeble.” He nibbled her neck. “Your body says different, Lisbeth…” he drew out her name like he was sucking in the taste of her.

  “I did mean it. Let. Me. Go.”

  “You are a woman no human man will ever tame. No weak minded fool would ever be enough for you, would they? No.” He answered his own question wildly. “You need a stronger, confident specimen. One who can give you everything you need.” To prove his point, he pinned her arms between his stomach and her back, his arms gliding around her waist pulling her tight against him. The pure maleness of him promised so much more than pleasure. Total and utter wild satisfaction.

  Without meaning to, her body melted into him. Her neck opening for his lips, which drew across her skin like ice striking fire. Somehow this creature had enthralled her. Used some magic that did work against witches.

  It was not her. She refused to believe it.

  Voices.

  Someone was approaching.

  “I will find you again, My Lisbeth.” His tone made it sound final. Done. Decided. And so deeply personal.

  In another blink she was staggering, trying to keep herself upright. Her hand went to her throat, her breaths heavy and loaded with a need she’d never experienced before. Pulses of electric lust pumping through her.

  How did the vampire do that to her? How had she allowed him to?

  She twisted, searching in all directions, but he was gone.

  Footsteps grew heavier, and a few seconds later two of the trainers rocketed into view.

  “Lisbeth. Oh, thank God. You’re safe… Oh my!” He spied the dead werewolf.

  She shook herself out the stupor the unearthly fanged man had left her in.

  “I struck it with too many spells to count and then… and then…” what did she tell them? There was no hiding a vampire had made this kill. “A vampire killed it. Bit the thing.”

  They gasped, palms at the ready.

  “It… left,” she lied. The first lie she’d ever told in her life, and yet not a complete lie. He had left, just not the Isle. She didn’t think. She didn’t hope. And wasn’t that the scariest and most thrilling thought ever?

  “At least you are safe,” one of the men stated. Both the men’s poses relaxing.

  “I’m fine. A little winded. A big scary dose of reality,” she admitted. “But fine.” Men liked it when she showed even an inch of female humility. But she was telling the truth as well. The key was knowing when to let this part of her show and when to keep it locked up.

  One of them put a hand on her shoulder. “You did well. Very well, Lisbeth. You should be proud of your accomplishments today. Even more so that you’re alive to make it home.”

  She sucked in, letting go the moment of unexpected adulation. “Did someone not make it?”

  The two trainers looked between each other. The one dropped his arm from her shoulder.

  “We’re not certain. We saw two carrying another body. May have been knocked out. Come, let’s get home.”

  “The battle’s over?” she confirmed.

  “Yes. We are rounding up everyone still in the woods. Making sure everyone is accounted for.”

  “Who attacked?” she asked as they bustled home.

  The men tossed a glance back and forth but answered. “Rogue group of witches. And I guess a werewolf too. I don’t think they had a specific task in mind other than try to take a few of us out. Probably hired guns, from who, we may never find out.”

  “It’s always someone,” the other man proclaimed darkly.

  “So true, that is.”

  They made their way out of the woods. Lisbeth’s world, spinning.

  Her first mock battle gone crazy. Mathew’s revelation. A werewolf. That aggravating vampire, Grayson Moone. And a night she’d not soon forget. Logic banged around her brain, warning her to tell the trainers more about the vampire. They needed to do a thorough search and make sure he did leave before he managed to take a single life. If she kept her secret, and someone died, their blood would be on her hands.

  Something stopped her from wanting to. Something she was unable to put words to. And it would have to wait now, they were almost at the village. Where someone was crying out, “My son. My son.”

  Lisbeth looked at the two trainers, who shook their heads having a terrible sense that whoever they’d seen being carried out of the woods had not only died but was one of the young students who’d ended up fighting.

  They quickened their paces into the village square where everyone was gathering. A father was lying next to his son whom two young students had laid down. They had not left the dead student’s side and looked trodden and beaten.

  Lisbeth froze. Veins hardening to ice, a cold sweat breaking out on her brow while an ill-boding shudder ripped through her.

  Sick. She was going to be sick.

  This wasn’t real.

  Not him.

  Oh please God, not him.

  Her legs started working on their own accord and she sank to her knees next to the father.

  “Mathew. Oh my, God. Mathew. No.”

  Tears threatened to fall freely but she bit her lip hard to hold them in. She’d never once cried in public and had no intention of doing so now, even if this was her dearest friend in all the world.

  “What happened? How did this happen?”

  One of the students who’d been helping Mathew out of the woods answered shakily. “We um, got ambushed. Mathew, he… he saved my life. Pushed me out of the way and got hit with a spell straight to the heart.”

  “Didn’t have a chance,” the other young man recounted somberly. “We didn’t even see who attacked. Came out of nowhere. But Mathew he… somehow he did.” He sounded genuinely impressed and humbled by the act. Both of them were clearly altered and shaken by this incident.

  Only now, in a moment like this, did these young men see the value in a life so suddenly stripped from them.

  “Oh, Mathew.” Lisbeth leaned in and place her forehead against his. “Twice tonight, you were the bravest man I knew.” No breath from his lips. No blink of his eyes. No heart, beating under his chest. Life, gone, in the flashing of a moment.

  She lifted and kissed his cheek.

  She’d miss her friend so terribly.

  So unalike they were. Opposites in so many ways, and yet a good pair. She even would have said yes to his odd proposal in a few years if she’d gotten older and lonely enough. She looked up to see Charlotte in the distance. Her gaze hardened for such a shocking and solemn moment.

  Lisbeth wasn’t sure what to make of her anymore; she’d changed. And yet Lisbeth understood why. Charlotte was trying to brave her way in a m
an’s world. And a Howard world. It was hard to blame her for what she was doing. And yet there was something behind her stare that gave Lisbeth a chill. She caught Mathew’s father staring at her.

  “He was very fond of you,” his father lamented through forlorn breaths.

  “And me of him. My heart is broken over his loss. He…” she choked up, unsure where she was going with this but for some reason still felt obligated to protect him, even now, after death. “Mathew asked me to marry him tonight.”

  “Oh, Lisbeth. I always wondered. He never said. I didn’t ask, and now…” he had no more words. Only pain. Only sorrow over all that would never be.

  “Just so you know, I said yes.”

  He nodded. Grasped her arm lovingly. Grateful. At the same time, a weary distance growing in his gaze. The man had come here in hopes of protecting his son…

  “I should not have made him go through with the training.”

  He was definitely blaming himself. But Mathew loved his father, even if they didn’t always see eye to eye on things. He would not want his father blaming himself.

  “You were doing your best to make him strong in a dangerous world.” It wasn’t much comfort but all she had to offer. He’d always been hard on Mathew, pushed him out of his comfort zone, but was never unkind. Not so unlike her own father. She gave Mathew’s father a peck on the cheek and a comforting pat on the arm.

  Looking down upon her dead friend Lisbeth had another new sensation. One she did not like. Too many firsts today. Not enough room in her brain to process all of them.

  This first, this death, leaving a deep emptiness in her soul that might never be filled again. Her mother had died, but she’d never known her. Other witches had been killed while on duty. But this was her first friend. The first loss that buried itself deep into her heart. Mathew, taking a piece of it with him.

  She was surrounded by caring witches, many who she knew well enough, and who cared for her in return even at her most stubborn. But not like Mathew. Never like Mathew. He was caring and smart and loyal and sensitive; a combination in most males that would be seen as a prize. But in Mathew, others saw this as weakness. It would never make sense to her. She gathered most people never got past his inherent clumsiness or lack of fight.