by AJ Hampton
“Go haunt someone else,” she snapped.
She stood, dragging the blanket with her, and walked right through the mist in front of her. Clothes. She needed to get dressed and get the hell out of the house. Being a witch connected her to the supernatural world. A normal human wouldn’t have even noticed the ghosts floating around, perving on the living. Maybe they were bored, or maybe she just had bad luck, but it seemed her house was a hot spot for the dead. Wonderful.
The rich scent of coffee filled the house and eased the first pounding waves of her headache. It was the least Brenda could do after keeping her up all night. Hearing someone else having the sex of their life was low on her list, considering she’d left Trent naked, in the rain, in front of his house and looking at her with a mixture of shock and anger.
He’d wanted to do it. She’d been too stubborn to let him. Moving past her dresser and the Colonial soldier sitting on top of it, she opened her bedroom door and inhaled the caffeine. The outdated coffeemaker groaned, dripped, gurgled. It was music to her ears.
“Trick or treat.” The voice was scratchy, old, and scared the living shit out of her. A green hand rose, fingers mocking her girly screech. That was it; she adjusted her blanket, mindful of the flickering audience. Picking up the plastic cauldron, she grasped the cord and pulled the damn thing from the wall.
She marched straight into the kitchen, ignored the way Brenda casually took a sip of coffee, and tossed the contraption into the trash. The two men beside Brenda, dressed only in tight Speedos that let her know exactly how well endowed they were, froze. Not only did they have matching underwear, they had matching torsos that were ripped with muscles.
“Morning, sunshine.” Brenda laughed. Her darling roommate hadn’t bothered to put on anything at all.
“How many times do I have to tell you! Clothes aren’t optional. And for another thing…” Sam trailed off from her rant. She slammed cupboards and walked through ghosts in her quest to find her special mug. Her grandmother had given it to her, and she didn’t care if it was chipped. Or if she’d had to glue the handle back on, twice. She liked it. With that thought, she continued with her diatribe. “You kept me up all night with your, ‘Oh fuck me harder, big boy!’ For the love of God, move out or soundproof your bedroom. I’m tired of listening to the bed banging against the wall!”
The corners of Brenda’s mouth curved up. Sam watched her roommate take a sip from the mug she’d just spent five minutes hunting for. Her eyes narrowed into slits. White glue against black ceramic. Unmistakable. Storming forward, she snatched the cup out of Brenda’s hand and gave each one of her lovers a long, lingering glare. She spun on her heel, feet sliding on the tile. The coffee that splashed on her hand burned like hell, but damn them all if she’d show how badly it hurt.
Behind her, she heard the whispers. No matter how much she wanted to tune them out, she found her pace slowing.
“What crawled up her ass?” one of the guys asked.
She heard the scrape of a chair, then the running of water. Dishes clinked. Over that, she heard Brenda. “Trent never called. She’s just being pissy. Don’t mind her.”
“Who’s Trent?” The voice was masculine yet had a feminine quality. That explained the other half of the obscenities she’d heard through the paper-thin walls. She’d just figured Brenda had a toy of some kind. Lucky bitch. Here she was, horny as hell, pissed she’d pushed Trent away, and even more upset at the ache in her heart. He hadn’t called. Hadn’t even bothered to fight for her. Damn right she was pissy. She blamed Trent; she blamed Brenda. Most of all, she blamed herself.
“How do you not know who he is?” This must have come from the other guy. It was twisted with an accent. “Tall, gorgeous blue eyes, body built to perfection. He’s the Area Enforcer. The perfect combination of scary and smokin’ hot.”
“Hotter than me?”
Sam rolled her eyes, grasped the doorknob to the bathroom. The “Poor me, don’t you love me anymore?” tone was over the top. She didn’t like when whiny girlfriends did it to their boyfriends. The same went for the opposite sex.
“Of course not, baby,” the man cooed.
At the sound of wet smacking and hungry moans, she closed the door behind her. She only hoped they didn’t screw on the table. It was really time to reevaluate her living situation. As she looked into the mirror, her gaze focused, not on how bad her hair looked, but on the couple standing behind her. For the love of God! There was one place she could go to be alone.
Bypassing the shower, she went straight to her closet and pulled on a simple white dress under her blanket. She stuffed a sheet into a backpack, threw it over her shoulder, and walked straight for the front door. Eyes forward. Even though she didn’t want to, she glanced into the other room anyway. The kitchen was empty. The only evidence they’d been there was the white Speedo hanging from the wooden chair.
She pushed through the front door. When she stepped over the loose, faded green boards, the porch creaked under her weight. The wind caressed her cheeks, and she sighed. Stepping forward, she grabbed a curved post. The flaking paint crumbled in her hand. Her eyes closed, and she tried to ease the throbbing in her head. Even though it was just past noon, the air was heavy, like it might rain again. The moisture clung to her, made her skin slick and her dress adhere to her.
She jogged down the front steps, her backpack thudding against her back. Long blades of grass brushed against her ankles. In the distance, she watched the spirits float about. What was normally a comfort was unsettling her.
Like Trent’s home, the house she’d inherited from her mother was in the middle of a dense pocket of trees. Through the forest was a clearing her family used for ritual magic. In that place of high magic, no spirit would dare cross. The wind brushed the tail of her hair forward. In the distance, the steady rushing of a nearby creek drew her attention. It was the same stream she and Brenda had grown up playing in. At twelve, she’d had her first kiss there. It was the same place, at fifteen, that she’d broken her ankle. Three days ago, it had been nothing more than a trickle. When she took a step toward it, something held her back. Magic pulsed in the air, heavy and thick.
She was ushered into the woods, hands pulling at her arms, pushing along her back. The giggling sound of children made the hair on her arms stand up. Hand hovering in the air, floating on the magic, she trailed her fingers through it. When the tree passed that held the carved initials of her mother and father, she reached out to caress it. Soft voices echoed in her head, guiding her through a complicated maze of trees.
Her dress fluttered against her knees, tickling her skin. She closed her eyes and let the spirit guide her. She should have been here with Trent. The heartbreak was starting to take its toll. Her eyes stung from lack of sleep. Her stomach churned from coffee on an empty stomach. Tall, willowy trees opened into a clearing. Small and large gray-speckled rocks formed a circle around a wide bed of leaves. The magic of the ritual grounds sucked the breath from her lungs. The spirits she felt around her vanished, left her alone. She breathed a deep sigh of relief.
Dropping her backpack to the ground, she pulled out her sheet. It snapped, flapping outward. Her foot caught on a stone. A throb of pain ripped through her big toe. Falling forward, she caught her balance. She looked around with a grimace and righted the rock she’d tipped.
“Sorry.” No one could see her, hear her, but the guilt of ruining the circle that had been used by generations of Monroes made her apologize.
Sheet in place inside the circle, she lay back and stretched her arms above her head. She looked up. The canopy of trees opened onto a clear view of the bright blue sky. It reminded her of Trent’s eyes. The thought made her want to puke. Sappy? Her? Not in a million years.
She sighed, curled on her side, and brought her knees to her stomach. Everything felt off. The ache inside her grew. She struggled to quiet her mind and closed her eyes. It felt peaceful here. No sex noises. No ghosts ready to appear in front of her. No Hallowee
n decorations intent on making her piss herself.
Her mind wandered; faces appeared behind her lids, and she slipped into a dream. Hands welcomed her, whispered into her ear. Her mother was there. In the same white dress she’d seen her leave in. She held open her arms.
“He will come to you,” her mother whispered.
A branch broke in the distance, shattered her dream. Her heart pounded, chest became tight. Her eyes popped open. She wasn’t alone. She sat up, her mouth parted, and searched through the night. How long had she been sleeping? She looked up, taking in the full, round moon. It was a powerful sight. The edges glowed, created a halo that gave off a surge of energy. You didn’t have to be a shifter to appreciate the effects of the moon.
When her gaze returned to the ground, she saw silhouettes of trees. Between them, there were shadows. A gust rippled through the clearing, and hair tickled her shoulders. The breeze picked up loose leaves, carrying them across the ground. The scraping sound raised the hair on her arms. Maybe she was imagining things.
A low stem rustled. A twig snapped. Not her imagination. She tracked the movement before the profile of an animal appeared. She shouldn’t have fallen asleep in the middle of the forest during a full moon. She hadn’t bothered to put a gun in her backpack. Even if she had, it wouldn’t have helped much. Magic spread through her hands; as it came to life, it zipped from one finger to the next. She’d never felt it move through her with such force. Her mind clouded, lungs contracted. Trent.
As he emerged from the darkness, the first thing she recognized was the piercing glow of his eyes. Black as the night, he padded forward in jaguar form. When the moonlight touched the line of his back, his fur looked almost purple. He truly was a magnificent creature—wide head, strong shoulders. He whipped his tail, and it snapped, twitching through the air. He came forward, eyes focused on her. The lucidity in his gaze threw her off guard. When she’d met the wolf’s eyes, right before he was about to eat her, there had been no trace of anything that resembled a human. Only rage and hunger. Not Trent. He was every bit as human as he was feline.
Trent advanced, his shoulder blades rising and falling. Every move was effortless, graceful. He circled around the rock barrier in a slow, unhurried pace. It felt like she was being stalked. God, should she be afraid? Her stomach clenched, and she held her breath.
When he passed into the ritual circle, his fur flickered, retreated into tanned skin. One moment he was a feline; the next, he was a man. He stood. Light danced across the wide breadth of his shoulders. He drew in a breath, and the tight pack of muscles on his stomach flexed.
Her gaze dipped, caressed his skin with a trail of magic, until she settled on the swell of his groin. Swallowing, she picked up her necklace. “You didn’t call.”
There were so many things she wanted to say. That had not been one of them.
He knelt in front of her, a leaf crunching under his knee. Even though he was a foot away, the heat that radiated from him warmed her cheeks. His face was stoic, his eyes gentle. A finger stroked down her cheek before she nuzzled into his palm.
“Why call? I already knew what I wanted. Wasn’t in the mood to listen to your stubborn ass try and talk me out of it. You’re headstrong and bossy, and beautiful,
and—”
“Trent,” she interrupted.
He shook his head, stopped her with a finger against her lips. “I’m going to talk. You’re going to listen. I love you.”
Everything paused. She waited, the silence growing, heart pounding faster by the minute. She couldn’t take it anymore.
“That’s it? That’s the big, ‘shut up and listen’ speech you thought so hard you couldn’t even pick up the phone?” Her voice was breathless at the end of her rant.
His lip curved into a smile that stole her breath. “What can I say?” He shrugged. “I’m not one for big, romantic theatrics. I spent the last two days wondering what I could do to make you listen. Handcuffs, tie you up? Then it hit me, just like it hit me the first moment I laid eyes on you. I love you. When you cut through all the other bullshit, isn’t that what matters?” His eyes crinkled with his question.
He never gave her a chance to respond. Alpha bastard. Dropping his hand, he cupped the back of her neck. He pulled her close, pressed his lips against hers. Her body melted from the inside out. She pushed herself into him, her hands moving over the curves of his shoulders and down the tight balls of muscles on his biceps. As he massaged her tongue with his, her hands wandered lower, cupped his elbows.
The kiss built. Everything around them faded into a void. Passion fed her magic, started in her gut and spread outward. It was too much. Energy spilled into the night, mixed with the pull of the moon until it created a haze. Zips of light danced everywhere around them. Before, it had been blue and red. Tonight, it was every color in the rainbow. Trent lowered her to the ground, pressed his body against her. His cock was hard against her hip, his hands soft when they trailed over her thigh. Was this really going to happen?
He tore his lips from hers, dragged them down her neck with the same dominant manner he did everything else. She moaned; her nails scratched against his arm. Her back bowed, pushed her body against his. The thin strap on her dress trickled down her shoulder. Trent was there, his lips chasing a dangerous path. Tonight, she didn’t have the strength to stop him. He’d come to her; this was his choice. His hand pressed against her lower back. Angling her body, he maneuvered her so he could devour her neck.
“If you want me to stop, you’d better tell me now,” he growled.
His fingers fought with the buttons that lined the front of her bodice. If she’d known he was going to follow her, she would have worn something different. He nudged the material out of the way with his nose; it parted, exposed her bare breasts. His breath was warm, moist against her skin. It was nothing compared to the feel of his mouth closing around her nipple. He sucked the bud into his mouth, swirled his tongue along it before nipping.
He moved on top of her. She curled her arms around him, spread her legs. His weight pressed into her, and with nothing but a cushion of leaves beneath them, she felt every line and muscle of his body. The magic they generated brewed, and the earth vibrated below them. She’d always asked about the ritual that would bind her to her familiar. A tender smile, a far-off look, those were her only answers. Now she understood it wasn’t something that could be explained. Magic would guide her.
Trent grabbed the outer part of her thigh, squeezed. It was his attempt to keep some semblance of control. He thrust against her, the crown of his cock against her sex, forced a gasp from her throat. In her haste to leave the house, she hadn’t bothered with any undergarments.
His fingers trailed feather light down her stomach and teased over her thigh until he found her kneecap. Tracing a very faint line along her skin, he inched his fingers back up her leg, under her dress. His hands taunted her flesh, caressed the lithe muscle of her inner thigh.
Moaning, she threaded her hand behind him and cupped his neck. Her fingers stroked the soft hair at his nape. With one hand tightened on her breast, he drew the knuckle of his other hand against her pussy.
His eyes went wide; his grin became wicked. “Naughty.”
“It wasn’t for you, if that’s what you’re thinking.” As she spoke, he stroked her, made her words breathless.
“God, you’re wet. Do you know how hard that makes me? I think about this, you spread open and trembling for me,” he said in a deep, husky voice and opened up his palm so he was cupping her completely. When he moved his hand back and forth over her, it put pressure on her clit.
Her mouth parted in a gasp. She fought to keep her hips still. He was touching her, yet he wasn’t. She wanted more. His fingers ghosted over her body, allowing her the faintest of touches. She used her legs, hooking them around his waist to pull him against her.
Trent swooped in, their lips meeting in a frenzied kiss. Her stomach clenched. She closed her eyes and tried to feel everyt
hing at once. His tongue moved against hers, rolling and playing, and their heads adjusted in search of the perfect angle. The kiss was penetrating. When she pulled away, he followed, chasing her lips until they were both breathless.
His finger pressing inside made her cry out against him. The last time a guy had tried this, it had felt awkward. It wasn’t arousing. It wasn’t much of anything. When Trent did it, everything inside her came alive. He sped up his in-out pace, and arousal made her slick. Just as she got accustomed to the feel of him, he added another finger. His hands were big, something she’d always fantasized about. She never dreamed his fingers would feel this good inside her. His mouth breaking from hers, he moved down her body, dragged his lips down her chest, over her stomach.
He started with her foot, gentle kisses along her heel, over her ankle, while kneading her calf. Where his hands touched, his mouth followed. Slow, teasing, he moved farther up her legs. He pushed up her dress, exposing her pussy. As he smoothed a hand over her stomach and up toward her breasts, they both watched. The possessive look in his eyes was almost her undoing. His jaw rasped against her thigh just seconds before his tongue swept against her slit.
He explored her sex with long, unpredictable strokes. She’d never felt anything as divine. Her hands were in his hair, holding him against her. He used alternating methods, licking and sucking, until she was bucking underneath his assault. Clamping her thighs around his shoulders, she gyrated her hips against him, seeking that last bit of friction she needed to send her over the edge.
