Riding Magyk

by Allyson Young

  The Horsemen of Ipotane 1

  Riding Magyk

  Jolene Etain Phillips is a witch, unaware of her power until she meets Xander Ahearn of Ipotane, a shape-shifting satyr who has crossed the barrier between his world and hers. Xander is on a mission to protect his realm from human interference. He has no time for a witch, but Fate has different ideas.

  Xander can’t resist Jolene, and their union unleashes her magyk. He then rejects her, but his twin Sulieman will not. The twins share their females, and Sulie believes Jolene is destined to be their mate—they must marry her or be destroyed by her magyk.

  Xander’s xenophobia drives both his brother and Jolene away, but he is nothing without her, lost without Sulieman. He and Sulie set out to find her and win her love, but another from their realm has found her first…

  Note: There is no sexual relationship or touching for titillation between or among siblings.

  Genre: Ménage a Trois/Quatre, Paranormal, Shape-shifter

  Length: 61,463 words

  RIDING MAGYK

  The Horsemen of Ipotane 1

  Allyson Young

  MENAGE AMOUR

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

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  A SIREN PUBLISHING BOOK

  IMPRINT: Ménage Amour

  RIDING MAGYK

  Copyright © 2013 by Allyson Young

  E-book ISBN: 978-1-62242-385-9

  First E-book Publication: February 2013

  Cover design by Harris Channing

  All cover art and logo copyright © 2013 by Siren Publishing, Inc.

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED: This literary work may not be reproduced or transmitted in any form or by any means, including electronic or photographic reproduction, in whole or in part, without express written permission.

  All characters and events in this book are fictitious. Any resemblance to actual persons living or dead is strictly coincidental.

  PUBLISHER

  Siren Publishing, Inc.

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  Letter to Readers

  Dear Readers,

  If you have purchased this copy of Riding Magyk by Allyson Young from BookStrand.com or its official distributors, thank you. Also, thank you for not sharing your copy of this book.

  Regarding E-book Piracy

  This book is copyrighted intellectual property. No other individual or group has resale rights, auction rights, membership rights, sharing rights, or any kind of rights to sell or to give away a copy of this book.

  The author and the publisher work very hard to bring our paying readers high-quality reading entertainment.

  This is Allyson Young’s livelihood. It’s fair and simple. Please respect Ms. Young’s right to earn a living from her work.

  Amanda Hilton, Publisher

  www.SirenPublishing.com

  www.BookStrand.com

  DEDICATION

  For my second mom, Zennia, who falls asleep when she reads but listened raptly when I read her excerpts from Magyk. And for Amanda Dawn, my “first” editor who liked the uniqueness of my first paranormal and thought the heroine’s transformation as beautiful as I intended.

  RIDING MAGYK

  The Horsemen of Ipotane 1

  ALLYSON YOUNG

  Copyright © 2013

  Chapter One

  “No thanks. Not interested. Go away!”

  The tall, skinny dude in the hat and cowboy boots with the unfocused eyes and the sweaty temples of the inebriated finally grasped she wasn’t going to dance with him and shuffled away, mumbling under his breath about cold bitches. No, that wasn’t right. He said females, cold females. Better than bitches, but still inaccurate. She wasn’t cold, simply not interested. He wasn’t a bad-looking guy, and his eyes actually quite mesmerizing if not hazed by alcohol, but he didn’t speak to her in any way.

  Jolene Phillips rolled her eyes and sighed. She slouched back in the uncomfortable bar chair and squinted across the dance floor. Becky could be seen dancing a frantic two-step with another cowboy, this one quite built but equally sweaty. Come to think of it, the whole bar smelled like overheated, testosterone-emoting men. Jolene reached out and made another wet circle with the bottom of her nearly full bottle of beer on the Formica-covered tabletop. She hated the taste but shuddered to think what a cocktail or even a glass of wine in this place might taste like, or be infested with. The bartender gave new meaning to the word slinging. It was initially fascinating to watch him draw draft and slide the mug in the general direction of the customers or grab another water-stained glass, splash whisky or bourbon into it, top it off with mix, and somehow slam that onto the bar or the tray carried by the overworked waitresses. Except he always had a finger in the liquids, and Jolene swore she saw him cough right over a full complement of drinks without covering his mouth. Eeeeeew! She thought a bottle of beer might be the safest option.

  She was dressed for this bar scene in blue jeans and a girly western shirt with little pearl snap buttons. Jolene knew fashion, and she loved clothes, all kinds of clothes, and had a second bedroom in her apartment dedicated solely to her addiction. So when Becky proposed an evening in a cowboy bar so she could do some research for a book she was writing, Jolene entered into the spirit of things. Even the boots were authentic, she thought, and surprisingly comfortable. Their stacked heels got her up there in the world, although nothing like the stilettos she affected whenever she could. She sighed again. She should have worn the hat. She could have hidden behind the brim, and maybe these guys would have left her alone, but they were definitely there to meet women. It seemed to be their total mission in life, and most of them were succeeding, to judge by the couples sitting together, although there were some threesomes and a few forlorn men sitting alone. Like her.

  Skinny dude appeared to be the last one to ask her to dance, and hopefully the few singles left didn’t start from the beginning and make the rounds again. While she noticed how intent they were on pairing up with the women in attendance, Jolene wasn’t dancing with any of those men, let alone hooking up with one. This whole place felt grubby and fake, and just as she’d dressed up in a costume, she figured everyone else had as well. Not that some of the guys weren’t really buff and cute. They just didn’t appeal to her, and if she was really honest, she didn’t do that kind of dancing. Jolene danced alone, if in a group or with a supportive partner, and to music that wasn’t vaguely country. But real dancers didn’t have big boobs not easily restrained in dance leotards, and real dancers were taller than five feet and a tiny bit, at least if they wer
e adults.

  A fracas at the door caught her attention. Jolene trained her view on a shifting, cursing mass of humanity and laid eyes on the most incredible-looking man she had ever seen. Now he spoke to her. He wasn’t really tall, although naturally taller than her, at maybe five nine or ten, and he wasn’t big and heavily muscled either. Nope, he was slender and supple looking, with longish, thick blond hair curling around his ears. He wasn’t wearing the stereotypical jeans and snap-button shirt the other men wore. The tight black tee and running pants with the slash down the sides only heightened his lithe appearance. Jolene could see his high cheekbones even at a distance and wished she could check out the color of his eyes. But the argument was escalating, and the incredible-looking man was being borne, inexorably, out the door by a group of cowboys, despite initially being able to hold his own. Most of the women those cowboys had been wooing were now looking bewildered and kind of lost. It was like a scene from the Wild West movies her uncle watched with her as a child.

  Jolene slanted a look toward Becky. Her friend was still dancing, although switched partners to shuffle with another big man, also wearing western garb. He eerily resembled the first. Without stopping to think about why she felt overwhelming compelled to do so, Jolene stood from her chair and hurried toward the door, snatching up her bag on the way. She stepped outside into the cool night air and was nearly run over by the return of the press gang. They parted around her the way a herd of cattle separates around a fence post, crowding her, and one of them gave her a cute grin and patted her on the ass as he went by. Jolene swiveled out of his touch and found herself standing alone in the parking lot, with only the sounds of distant traffic for company. She turned slowly in a circle, scanning the area as carefully as the lighting allowed. She concentrated hard, listening. Nothing. She waited another minute, then shrugged and gave it up as a bad job. She went back to the bar, although cast a lingering glance behind her, wondering at the pull out there in the night. It took a major effort to step inside and let the door close.

  The place gave off a strange vibe as she entered, the whole scene shimmering with interchangeable layers of pattern and light. Jolene’s heart stuttered in her chest, and she felt nauseous and faint. She blinked, and the impression of large, furry, four-legged creatures wearing country-western clothing dissolved, replaced with an utterly normal sight of men wearing those ubiquitous hats and boots, jeans, and snap-button shirts. Jolene made an instant decision to switch to water, although surely a few swigs of beer hadn’t impaired her perception like that! She must have imagined the large, mesmerizing golden eyes with their elongated pupils and the flaring, sculpted nostrils on the human faces, the curling, silky hair in shades of cocoa and tan and cream, let alone the graceful, controlled movements their solid bodies made. Not to mention the hard, spiked, curling projections…enough! It was insane. She pushed the mystery to the back of her mind. No more booze. Someone had to drive home tonight. She made her way back to her table without imagining any further curiosities. She sat to relieve her knocking knees and shoved her beer away.

  “Jolene!” Becky rushed toward her, eyes sparkling, curls bouncing. “Terry invited us to tour his ranch tomorrow! We can stay there tonight and start the tour early in the morning ’cause it’s a long way from the city.”

  Terry must be the big cowboy with the broad shoulders, Jolene mused, as she surveyed the two men following Becky. And he apparently owned a ranch, or not. The skinny dude, trailing behind, the last one to ask her to dance, was probably his best friend. Or accomplice. He actually wasn’t skinny, was more on the athletic side, but still left her cold, and Becky clearly had earmarked him for her. Lovely. Jolene sorted through her mental stock list of excuses and came up with one that was actually true.

  “You know I have practice tomorrow, Becky,” she said apologetically, scrunching her face into a really sincere expression.

  Becky’s face fell, and she turned to Terry the ranch owner, lifting her hand to touch his chest in a caressing move. “Jolene dances every Saturday, Terry, so I guess Giles will have to find his own date.”

  Jolene avoided looking at Giles but heard him mutter his disappointment. Again. She wasn’t a cold female. She was a smart, careful woman, and this place gave her the willies, although she seemed to be the only female in the place feeling that way. The rest were looking at their cowboys with varying shades of lust and adoration. She personally wanted to leave and get Becky out of there as quickly as possible.

  Terry nodded and hugged her friend to him, wrapping one of his long, muscular arms around her shoulders. “That’s too bad, honey,” he said, nodding to Jolene. “Maybe another time.”

  Becky sank into her chair watched the two men head back to the bar. She turned and stared at Jolene in disappointment. “Damn it, Jo. It could have been a good time. What is it with you?”

  “It wasn’t a good idea, Becky,” Jolene patiently explained. “And you’ll be glad that it didn’t work out tomorrow when you sober up and think it through.” She watched as Becky teared up.

  “Did you ever think that maybe I want to do something I’ll regret? That I want to take a chance? And who said I’m not going?”

  Jolene didn’t have an answer for that, at least not one Becky would be interested in hearing that very moment. Becky wrote romance novels, and the steady diet of happy endings manifested into her believing her own fables. Not that happily ever after wasn’t something to aspire to. It was just Jolene couldn’t conceive it ever happening as a result of a one-night stand with a dubious ranch-owning cowboy and his friend who doubtless entertained hopes of some kinky sexual fantasy coming true, or worse. Jolene had her own sexual fantasies. She had some doozies in actual fact, and they came to her in dreams, dreams that made her secretly wonder about her sanity. That little hallucination earlier uncomfortably reminded her of those erotic dreams before she shut it down. Maybe the beings weren’t quite the same, didn’t quite make her panties melt, but it stirred those longings all the same. She sure as shit wasn’t ever going to share them with anyone.

  “C’mon, Becky. I’ll drive.”

  Becky shook her head and set her mouth. Crap. Becky had imbibed enough to make her take chances and act resistant. Jolene hated dealing with her friend when she got to this state and mentally readied for battle.

  “Becky?” Terry’s baritone interrupted her thoughts, and Jolene looked to see him take Becky’s hand. “Ready, Becky?”

  Jolene opened her mouth to protest, but Becky was already pushing up to her feet, her smile back in place, all signs of irritation gone. She grinned widely at Jolene while narrowing her eyes, something that Jolene didn’t even know was physically possible. She read the message clearly, however, and thought quickly.

  “Have a good time, Becky,” she said and turned to Terry.

  “Let me see your driver’s license,” she said quietly.

  Terry looked a bit surprised but obligingly dug in his jeans pocket and pulled out his wallet.

  “Jolene!” Becky had flushed pink with her protest.

  “I’m your friend, Becky. And friends don’t let friends go off with strangers without knowing who they are and where they are taking them.”

  “It’s fine, Becky,” Terry said, obviously not inebriated if he’d been able to decipher her explanation. “Jolene is just looking out for you, and I think that’s a good thing. Maybe she’ll come out with you another time.”

  Becky subsided, although her lips were set again, and Jolene hurried to take a picture of Terry’s information with her phone. She passed the ID back, and he winked at her. Jolene couldn’t help but smile back at him. Terry actually seemed like a nice, charming guy, although serial killers probably did, too, right up to the part where they had their victims tied up and the knife came out. Becky walked away without saying good-bye, and Terry moved to open the door for her. Jolene closed her eyes for a moment, and when she opened them, it was like Becky and Terry hadn’t been there at all. It was str
ange, just like that weird vision she hadn’t had, that vision of good-looking human-goat guys wearing cowboy attire. A frisson of sexual excitement flickered and she shivered against it. She slung her purse over her shoulder and once again headed for the exit. She’d go home and Google Terry, and if nothing made her anxious, maybe she’d be able to sleep. Otherwise, she would call the cops and spend the small hours retrieving her friend.

  Chapter Two

  The short walk to Becky’s car didn’t concern her. Nothing moved in the lot, and her pepper spray was clutched in her hand. The semidarkness gave off a presence enveloping her like a warm blanket, and while her spidey senses were tingling, it wasn’t because of inherent danger. Jolene always had good instincts, and she saw no reason to doubt them now. She rounded the back of the vehicle and stepped on a firm yet yielding something. She choked off a scream, and swiveled on her dancer’s toes to run, damning her instincts. Her pepper spray fell from her hand and clattered away.

  “You’re grinding my spine into the pavement.” A male voice groaned the words from under her feet. Jolene jumped back and fell against the rear door of the car, her heart beating double time, her breath coming in gasps.