Page 10 of The Wolf and his Witch

Annabelle shook herself and pasted a smile on her face. “Nice tree. Thanks. At least the neighbors will think we’re normal, now. I’m going to have a shower.” She needed to wash away the feel of Gabriel’s hands and mouth on her body. Maybe then she could get back some of her equilibrium. Enough so she could face seeing a Christmas tree in her living room. So her heart wouldn’t break all over again every time she glimpsed one of those ornaments. “I can’t be stuffed cooking tonight. Let’s order pizza, hey?”

“Sure.” Isobella gave her a wan smile, and not for the first time Annabelle considered coming up with a spell to give Douglas weeping sores on his dick. See if Irena King liked him so much then. At the very least, it might make her think twice about stealing someone else’s fiancée. As far as Annabelle was concerned, Douglas and Irena deserved each other.

Annabelle grabbed her backpack and headed for her room. Let Isobella have her Christmas tree. Annabelle would deal with it. A couple of to-die-for pizzas from Lenni’s on the corner, a few glasses of wine and an action flick would get both her and Isobella’s minds off their douchebag exes. The last thing Isobella needed was to dwell on losing Douglas. The guy wasn’t worth it.

* * * *

Annabelle stepped under the shower, letting the hot water sluice over her body. She might wash away his scent and the evidence of her orgasm, but nothing was going to banish the craving, the unquenchable need he’d reignited in her. She soaped lavender body wash over breasts and her nipples hardened, desperate for any touch. Annabelle paused, then slipped her hand over her stomach. Lower still, until her fingers were sliding through her folds. She shivered and braced herself against the shower screen. Her questing fingers found her aching clit, swollen and sensitive. She flicked across it, swirled her finger around it. Annabelle closed her eyes and clenched her bottom lip between her teeth.

That’s it, Belle, pleasure yourself for me. Show me how you like it.

Goosebumps prickled along her arms. Even in her head, as nothing more than a memory, Gabriel’s voice had power over her body. Her hand sped up, pressing harder as she imagined it was his hand, his fingers. She slipped one inside herself, dropping her head with a muffled moan as her pussy gripped it tight. If only it was his finger, or better yet, his cock.

So wet for me, bebe.

Gabriel smiled. That sexy smile he did when he had her just where he wanted her, when he knew she was close.

I’m going to spin you around and fill you with my cock.

Annabelle quivered. So close.

I’m going to bend you over and fuck you hard.

In her mind’s eye, he slid his cock inside her, filling her, sliding in and out. In and out. Eyes squeezed shut, her hand rubbing at her clit furiously, she envisioned his hard, muscled body slick with soap, pumping her from behind. Her lungs seized and her orgasm rocketed through her, and she arched her back and clamped her jaw closed, lest she scream louder than a rabid fan at the Super Bowl.

She collapsed against the shower screen and pressed her hot cheek against the wet glass. “I need to get that man out of my head.”

Focus on the mission.

Yes, that’s what she would do. Focus on the mission, the spell, and the work. Ignore the man. With her legs quivering and her breath uneven, Annabelle turned off the water and stepped out of the shower. There was a pizza calling with her name on it.

She dried herself off, wrapped her wet hair in a towel, turban style, and padded into her bedroom. Searching her drawer for a clean pair of panties, her fingers brushed against the item she’d buried at the back. With a glance at the door, she grabbed a pair of cotton gloves and pulled the bundle out.

Wrapped in layers of protective paper was a book. Old and fragile, the vellum pages worn and well used and tied together with strips of leather, it weighed heavy in her hands and on her soul. One look at it when her boss at Rarity—the rare and antique bookshop where Annabelle worked—had set it aside for assessment, she’d known what it was. A grimoire. A book of spells.

Ancient spells? Maybe, maybe not. Its pageswerevellum. The bindings and the coverwereof a medieval style. The writinglookedlike it had been done with ink and quill. But every word written was in English.ModernEnglish. Not Anglo Saxon. Not Latin.

All the same, a careful, surreptitious peek at a few pages was all Annabelle had needed to determine she couldn’t let this book out of her sight. Or let it fall into the wrong hands. Not these spells. Blood magic was powerful magic. It’s what made Annabelle’s coven so strong. Like any magic used with ill intent, the consequences could be devastating. This grimoire was full of blood magic spells, many of them meant to harm, not heal. It had taken Annabelle a split second to decide she’d have to steal the book, two days to plan her theft, and a week of waiting until her boss left for another auction in New York, before she could enact her plan. Now the grimoire sat hidden amongst her underwear.

Annabelle set it on the top of her dresser and lifted the cover, avoiding the ominous splotches of dark brownish-red. How many people had suffered at the hands of this witch?

The night she’d brought it home, after she was sure Isobella was asleep, Annabelle had read the grimoire from cover to cover. With each page, the oily sensation in her stomach had grown. This had been a dark witch, indeed.

The most benign of the spells was one at the back of the book. She turned the pages until she was staring at it. A spell to transport a person to the destination of their choice, in the present or the past. Annabelle had wondered at its inclusion. It had seemed harmless enough. Though with what her coven planned to do with it, maybe it wasn’t so harmless after all. Who had used this spell in the past? And to do what?

Annabelle’s first instinct had been to take the book to her great aunt, the High Priestess. Then the Kings had come sniffing around, talking of alliances between the two families, hinting Annabelle wouldn’t have the support of the coven if she were to take on leadership of the coven when Aunt Marjory stepped down. Something she’d been thinking about for a while now.

The Kings had made a few insinuations, called in allegiances and stirred up old rivalries. The support for her family was waning. The idea Annabelle was strong enough to rule as High Priestess alone, as her great aunt had for the last forty years, they openly dismissed and mocked.

If the Kings were to get hold of this book, if Cordelia were to get her hands on it, there was no doubt in Annabelle’s mind they would use it. Perhaps to take over the coven. If, however, the Jacksons could use it to secure their position, without doing any harm, or perhaps doing some good…

Annabelle had risked sending a photo of the time travel spell to her great aunt. She’d lied to her, the High Priestess, telling her it was a single page she’d found stuffed in the back of an illuminated manuscript from a monastery in France. Gabriel’s and Stefanie’s recent arrival was an unexpected boon, lending credence to her story.

They’d tested the spell, of course. Simple tests at first. Changing rooms, changing houses, always in the present. Two weeks ago, at her aunt’s direction, Annabelle had used the spell to go back in time. A few weeks only. They’d taken care Annabelle would not meet herself in the past. Whether the time paradox actually existed, neither Annabelle nor her aunt cared to find out. She’d also been under strict instructions not to change anything.

The trial had been a moderate success. Annabelle had chosen the moment the grimoire had arrived at Rarity. Who knew what other books the seller might have in his possession. Unfortunately, she’d missed him by an hour. When she’d returned, she’d missed her target by several hours. The spell, it seemed, wasn’t completely infallible. Would it be less accurate the greater span of time you wanted to cross? That was something they had yet to test.

A ding from her phone snapped her attention away from the spell. She quickly re-wrapped the book in its protective paper, shoved it back under her panties and bras, and dug through her bag for her phone. A text from the High Priestess.

---