by Olivia Arran
Crowding into my small, eclectic store, were a multitude of middle-aged tourists, wearing fanny-packs and loud tour-company emblazoned T-shirts. They were—to me—beautiful. Clearing my throat of nerves, I pasted on a wide smile.
“Hello, and welcome to my store, Magical Gifts. My name is Merrie, and I’m happy to help if you have any questions.”
The group acknowledged my spiel with a quick glance, before turning back to look over my inventory, picking up and discarding the many trinkets and knick-knacks.
Tourists were my bread and butter, I reminded myself, forcing the smile to remain on my face. They were why I filled the front of the store with general baubles and things that they would like, and put up with them swarming into my store, using their purchases as an excuse to stare. At me. The witch. Cue spooky music and flying broomsticks.
I stifled a laugh as one of the women gave my dress a side eyed once over, a disappointed look on her face. Ah yes, I drew the line at playing dress-up.
“Ahem, excuse me, Miss…Merrie. Where are the spell books?” asked an older woman sporting a short bottle-blonde perm and the mandatory fanny-pack. Her T-shirt looked painted on, stretching over her generous chest and straining around her voluminous hips. Her eyes round, she waited anxiously for my answer. I had to remember to thank the tour bus guide, Gemma. She always waxed lyrical about me before bringing them here, piling on the mystery, and sprinkling her tales with half-truths for effect.
Time to put on a show.
“They’re just over here,” I replied, gesturing toward the back half of the store. “I don’t keep them at the front because…” I leaned forward, lowering my voice for effect, “…well, you know, they contain powerful spells. Wrong hands and all that…”
“Yes, yes, I understand. Of course…” the woman replied, eagerly making a beeline toward the rack I had indicated.
Of course, it didn’t matter if they contained powerful spells or recipes for cream cakes. If you weren’t born a witch then nothing would work anyway. Mentally, I patted myself on the back. Another satisfied customer meant I could stay afloat—for a little longer anyway.
Witchcraft was a difficult product to market in a small town like Craggstone. It didn’t help that you could only sell the tools of the craft, not the craft itself. I had been brought up to believe that the Mother of All had blessed me with a gift, and that it was my duty to use it to help people. It was definitely a pro bono gig. I just had to find a way to support myself while carrying out her work. Ergo—my store. Full of a wonderful mix of tourist nonsense and bona fide craft supplies. Occasionally, another witch came shopping, but I was so far away from the big cities that I was more likely to be mauled by a wild animal than bump into another witch.
The phone rang in the back—my personal line. Swiftly locking the cash register I glanced around the room, checking that my sign—Those who steal will be cursed—was in place. At a dash, I ran to grab the phone before the caller hung up.
“Hello?” I gasped, out of breath.
“Merrie! How are you? How’s your darling little store doing?” my sister’s voice piped out of the phone. Cassie. Big Sis. Miss Perfect.
Grinding my teeth, I replied, “Hi, Cassie. I’m fine, the store’s doing great. In fact, I have a ton of customers here at the moment. Can I call you back?”
“Sure, sure,” she replied, sounding distracted. “I just wanted to let you know that I’m coming for a visit! But call me later and I’ll…”
“Visit? When?”
“Don’t sound so shocked, Merrie!” Her tinkle of laughter echoed down the line and my teeth started to hurt. Wiggling my jaw back and forth, I wound the old fashioned cord around my finger, fighting to push back the old anxiety that threatened to rear its head.
“I’ve got time. When are you coming? And why?” She hadn’t visited before. None of my family had. And I’d been open over two years now. Since I’d been old enough to escape home and start out on my own.
“I’ll be there tomorrow. It’ll take me that long to pack and drive down. Why, for the Mother, did you move all the way down there to that Podunk town?”
I ignored the dig and focused on the ‘tomorrow’. I figured I’d find out the ‘why’ soon enough. Too soon.
“Okay, tomorrow. What time shall I expect you?” More like, how long do I have to bury my head in the sand?
“Oh, early. 9-ish? That okay with you?” she carried on, either oblivious or deliberately ignoring my lack of enthusiasm.
No. “Yes,” I gritted out, my heart sinking as I mentally started to list the things I now had to get done by tomorrow morning.
“Great! See you tomorrow!” she sang cheerfully before hanging up, leaving me listening to the dial tone.
Replacing the receiver, I leaned my forehead against the cool, painted wall. My sister was coming to visit. Tomorrow. Shit.
“Oooooo, Miss Merrie…” a customer called from the store.
Right. Customers. Pushing my sister to the back of my mind, I straightened my back and squared my shoulders. Fixing a smile on my face, I walked back out to the front. Get them served, get them out. I visualized my empty fridge upstairs in my apartment. I had some food shopping to do before Craggstone closed for the day.
Heaving a sigh of relief, I waved goodbye to my last customers, watching from the doorway as they loaded back up onto the tour bus. Flipping the sign in the window to ‘Closed’, I grabbed my bag from behind the counter and locking the door behind me, hustled down the street toward the main part of town.
Bread, milk, something for dinner, dessert…Dessert. The bakery.
Swerving, I changed direction, heading across to the bakery, the only one in town. Pie. Everyone liked pie, and I was pretty sure Cassie did, too.
Pushing the door open, I entered the bakery and was immediately immersed in the comforting smell of warm freshly baked bread, spiced sweet with cinnamon, and honey cut with the tartness of lemon. Taking a deep breath, I dragged the enticing smells deep into my lungs, my mouth watering in anticipation and hunger. I’d forgotten to have lunch, so maybe I could pick up a little treat for now? Having convinced myself, I moved up to the counter to eye the frosted and baked delights.
I joined the line behind a large, well-built man, and watched with growing despair as he proceeded to order nearly everything left in the glass cabinet. Well, almost everything. He left behind one jelly donut and a rather sad looking cream puff.
“What? The cream puff not good enough for you?” I muttered under my breath, frustrated that my sugar fix was about to be thwarted. Today couldn’t get any worse.
“Sorry, what was that, darling?” the man drawled in a deep, husky voice. “Something about a cream puff?” he added, turning around.
He was a veritable mountain of a man, big and burly, with thick ropes of muscles bunching under his pale-blue cotton shirt. His sleeves were rolled up, revealing corded forearms, tanned and liberally dusted with golden hair. Looking up—then up some more—I found myself captured by vivid blue eyes, the color of the Bahamian sea. Eyes that were widening in what looked like shock. A mop of golden hair topped his head, sun streaked with icy white.
He must work out a lot. I shook my head, trying to clear my daze. He must work outside a lot, I meant. I kicked myself mentally. Damn, he was hot. I licked my lips—just in case I was drooling.
“You’ve bought out the bakery…” I stuttered, my mind wrapped in a hormone-induced fog.
“You! What do you want?” he demanded, his voice suddenly clipped and bitter.
Huh? He must really like his baked goods.
“I was eyeing one of those maple pecan donuts, but the bear claws looked good, too…” I said, trailing off as his face started to turn a funny shade of purple.
“Bear claw?” He seemed to growl the words as he towered over me, leaning closer until we were nose to nose. “I don’t know how you got here, or how you are even still around. But do you think you are being funny?” The last part came out a m
enacing hiss.
Even turned a funny purple shade and hissing at me, he was still goddamn hot. Sexy as hell. The kind of rough and ready that made a witch want to lick and bite. To rub and—
“Craig?” The young guy behind the counter, all of sixteen, croaked nervously.
“Craig?” I repeated, loving the way the word rolled off my tongue.
“Don’t pretend like you don’t know, Meridith.”
“How do you know my name?” My full name, too. It was my turn to be shocked. We hadn’t met before—I would have remembered him for sure.
“After everything you did to me, you play games now?” He snorted, a derisive sound before taking a deep breath, probably to growl at me again. His eyes widened a fraction, his skin paling under his tan.
An improvement on purple, I decided, wondering what the hell was wrong with him. Mentally unstable? What a waste of a good-looking man.
Out of nowhere, he twisted, pinning me against the counter, caging me with his arms. Effectively trapping me, he brushed my thick mane of hair away from my neck and gripped it in his hand, tilting my head to the side as he exposed my neck. With a growl, he leaned forward, seeming to nuzzle at my throat, his breath hot against my sensitive skin, and the stubble on his chin scratching, tickling.
Wow. I was being mauled in the bakery. By a hot—yet obviously unstable—guy. And I was doing nothing to stop him. The thought flitted through my mind, evaporating as my breathing dissolved to panting as he leaned against me, firmly fitting his body to mine. Sweet Mother! The length of him, thick and hard, dug into my stomach as he pressed me harder against the cool glass counter. A whimper escaped my throat, one of needy want.
Answering my unvoiced plea, he ground himself against me, sending shivers of pleasure skittering down my spine and sparking a throbbing deep in my core. His tongue, moist and hot, licked the side of my throat as he nibbled and bit down gently.
My hands gripped his shirt, traveling down his broad back, before coming to rest on a deliciously firm, denim-clad behind. Moaning into his ear, thoughts of where we were, who we were—scattered, gone.
Kissing his way to my mouth he stopped, pinning me with his gaze.
“You’re her…but you’re not…” he whispered, his voice hoarse with passion, and then angling his head, he brought his lips firmly down on mine. I gasped as he nipped my bottom lip, a sharp sting that he immediately laved with his tongue, before angling the kiss even deeper, his tongue seeking my own, his lips gliding against mine. Picking me up, he cupped my behind, rocking me back against the counter, his thick shaft thrusting against my core, the friction causing my insides to clench and throb.
“Ahem…”
We both froze. As one, our eyes slid over to the counter boy, who stood, mouth gaping, his face stained the color of overripe tomatoes.
“I don’t think…that…is allowed in here. I mean…I’m sure it isn’t…” He eyed Craig, hero-worship clear on his face. “I’m sorry, Craig—I mean, Mr. Everson.”
“Right. Well. Yeah, I think you’re probably right, kid,” Craig murmured, slowly letting me slide back to the ground. “Don’t know what I was thinking…”
I eyed Craig, taking in the bashful look he threw the counter boy—complete with wry grin—and gave myself a shake. What had come over me? I appreciated a good-looking guy, sure. But, I didn’t usually end up making out with them in public. Getting all ‘grind and shake’ on the pastry cabinets. Not me. So why him?
I tore my eyes away. Did it really matter? I had bigger fish to fry, like my sister.
“So…can I have those bear claws?”
The Everson Brothers series is now complete!
Continue with Craig & Merrie’s story and grab the complete series HERE
Family. Heartache. Friendship. Mating. True love. The Everson brothers are back home and ready to claim their mates…
All 5 Everson Brothers books in one volume! Save money off the entire series when you buy this bundle!
My Curse to Bear
Merrie Havencroft hasn't got time for men. She's too busy trying to run her shop and prove to herself, and her family, that she is not a failure as a witch.
Bear shifter Craig Everson knows all about feeling inadequate. Years ago, he broke a witch's heart and got himself cursed. He can never be happy in a relationship again ... not until he finds his true mate. When Craig bumps into curvy Merrie, his passion ignites. His bear is certain she's their mate. Theirs to claim, to bring to the heights of pleasure, to cherish and protect. Craig knows he wants her with every inch of his being, but can he ever trust another witch?
My Duty to Bear
Amy Taylor is living a lie. On the run from her abuser, she lives one day at a time. She doesn’t have time for romance, and definitely not for the hot-as-hell Sheriff who’s sniffing around.
Bear shifter Ryan Everson is the Sheriff based in Craggstone Town. It’s his job to know everything that’s going on, and to deal with any trouble—especially troubled strangers, no matter how gorgeous they are. When Ryan runs into curvy Amy, he knows immediately that she is his mate—she is the only one his bear, and his heart, desires. But first he has a little detecting to do…and a little seducing.
My Wound to Bear
Gina is a survivor. After years of captivity she’s now free, her child has been returned to her, and she owes her new pack everything. She needs to be strong for her daughter, to look to the future. After all, she’s a human living in a world full of shifters—strength is everything. But how can she survive when she’s broken inside?
Doctor Jack Everson is home at last, and this time it’s for good. He’s tired of living life alone with no mate to complete him. When duties take him up to the Smithrock wolf pack, the last thing he expects is to run smack bang into his true mate in his home town. Gorgeous, with curves to die for, she’s everything this bear shifter ever dreamed of. So, instead of pinning her against the wall and staking his claim, he offers her a job. His brothers think he’s an idiot. Hell, he thinks he’s an idiot. But her eyes are haunted by the past…and he’s praying for a holiday miracle.
My Heat to Bear
The day Fire Chief Max Everson strolled into Jeanie's life she knew she had a battle on her hands. Ripped and handsome, he didn't seem the type to take no for an answer, but she had told him the truth when she said she wasn't looking for that kind of thing. No flirting or kissing, and most definitely not a fling. She'd been burned before, lost someone she loved, and she wasn't risking her heart again.
They say he has a savior complex, and that's what Max is telling himself when he looks at Jeanie, with her big brown eyes and curves that have him fighting to draw breath. She needs saving and he's a sucker for a sad smile. Then his bear claims she's his true mate and Max's life gets a lot more complicated.
My Hunger to Bear
Bear Shifter Ralph Everson escaped the hectic pace of the city and returned to his roots in Craggstone Town, but not before he managed to screw up his life and hurt the only woman he’s ever loved—his unclaimed true mate, Connie. He waits for her to forgive him. Watches over her and keeps her safe. He still loves her and will do anything to win her back.
Connie spent years putting her life back together after Ralph Everson almost destroyed it, throwing all her energy into ignoring the tall, sinfully handsome man who refuses to leave her alone. Even the memories of his kisses have been banished and locked away. Then, when disaster strikes and he's the one who saves her, she has a decision to make. Does she believe in second chances?
From the Author
Thank you for purchasing Heartsridge Shifters: Grant. It's your support that allows me to continue doing something that I love every day. If you liked the story, please consider leaving a review so more people can find and enjoy my books.
Love,
Olivia
About Olivia Arran
Olivia Arran is a USA Today bestselling author. An avid reader her whole life, she loves spending her time immersed in fantas
tical worlds. She writes steamy paranormal romance with strong alpha heroes and feisty heroines.
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