To Seduce a Witch's Heart Read online

  To Seduce a Witch’s Heart

  A Novel of Love and Magic

  Nadine Mutas

  Contents

  Cover Copy

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Epilogue

  Read On

  Also by Nadine Mutas

  Acknowledgments

  About the Author

  To Seduce a Witch’s Heart

  A Novel of Love and Magic

  Book 1

  * * *

  Nadine Mutas

  * * *

  Warning: Includes lots of witty banter and snarky humor, as well as a charmingly disrespectful demon hero who's hot enough to melt panties with a look.

  * * *

  When seduction weaves a spell more powerful than magic…

  * * *

  Desperate to save her demon-abducted sister, witch Merle MacKenna breaks the law of her Elders. As a last resort to track down the kidnapper, she unleashes another demon, Rhun, from the magical prison of the Shadows. Determined to bind him again after he helps her, Merle vows to keep him tightly controlled. Easier said than done when her own personal demon is hellbent on charming his way into her pants—and her heart.

  * * *

  After twenty years in the Shadows, bound for a crime he didn’t commit, Rhun is past caring about anyone but himself. The plan: Seduce the sexy witch, steal her powers, break the magical leash to her, and then be on his merry way. But when a heinous betrayal in the ranks of the witches forces Merle and Rhun to work even closer together, Rhun’s plan backfires—and the witch he meant to play gets under his skin. With his unbidden feelings for Merle vying with his need for freedom, he struggles with a bitter realization: Being a selfish bastard is a lot harder when love is involved.

  For Sergej,

  my own personal Happily Ever After.

  You’re the reason I can write about love.

  Chapter 1

  With a heavy clang, the door of Merle’s family mausoleum shut behind her. The sudden silence enveloped her, the sounds of sleepy Portland cut off. It was only Merle now, standing among the lingering energy of her forebears, in the witching hour of the night, armed with nothing but her craft and a healthy dose of despair. Enough to unbind a bluotezzer demon from the Shadows.

  Her flashlight’s beam ghosted over the walls and stopped, involuntarily, on one of the shelved stone coffins. Rowan Mary MacKenna, 1935-2007. The letters seemed to scowl at her—full of disapproval for the transgression she was about to commit. Her power buzzed in reaction to the residual magic drenching the air, still so strong even years after the witch’s passing. She gritted her teeth and averted her eyes from her grandmother’s name on the marble plaque.

  “I don’t have a choice.” Her whisper echoed in the dark of the tomb, thrown back at her along with silent reproach. “Am I supposed to just let her die?”

  Of course, there was no answer. The remains of her grandmother’s energy were strong enough to glower at her, but, naturally, didn’t offer any help.

  The thought of unleashing a blood-eater demon tightened her chest, sucked all warmth out of her. With doubt weighing on her shoulders, she paused. The power of her ancestors sizzled over her skin, pressed down on her. What if they were right, what if this was too dangerous? Maybe she should just—

  Unbidden, a flash of memory tore through her. Lips curved at the dirty joke Merle had just told, Maeve stole a Skittle out of the bag lying between them and threw it at Merle. “You’re so bad,” she said around a giggle, her eyes the color of fire and smoke bright in a face dotted with freckles, framed by ginger hair so like Merle’s.

  Heart laughing at the unusual display of boldness from her baby sister, Merle hugged her tight. “Made you smile, though, didn’t it?”

  A smile she’d never see again if she gave up now. Either she took the risk of unbinding this demon—or soon she’d watch another stone coffin being added to this tomb. The memory of laying to rest here the mortal remains of her mom, her oldest sister, and later, her grandmother, were still vivid in her mind, the loss an aching wound in her heart. Losing Maeve, too, would do more than tear that wound wider—it would rip a gorge through her soul, its size immeasurable.

  Throat raw at this thought, she crushed all doubt and set to work. She placed the flashlight upright in a corner, its cone of light touching the vaulted ceiling. Next she unzipped the duffel bag she’d brought and took out the sage. Lighting it, she purified the space, ensuring no trace negativity would corrupt the spell, though the lingering power in the air would have already repelled most evil spirits. Some spaces didn’t require as much cleansing as others; the burial place of a line of strong witches was one of them.

  With the heavy, smoky scent of the sage still saturating the air, she threw the salt in a circle around herself. Just a precaution, a ward against intrusive spirits who might attack her while she cast the spell. After taking out five candles, setting them down at the protective points on the circle and lighting them, she sat down cross-legged on the stone floor, placed her family’s grimoire in her lap. The thick tome’s leather binding was soft underneath her fingers as she opened it to the section that would guide her through the process. It wasn’t much, only one page of information to bind or unbind a demon from the Shadows, but it would have to do.

  Closing her eyes, she reached out to the source of all that was magic and life. “I humbly beseech the Powers That Be to grant me protection,” she whispered into the silence. There was no guarantee they’d comply, as they were fickle, untamed, like the magic which was worked into the world. It was a witch’s greatest hubris and most fatal mistake to think to ever fully control it.

  A mistake she wasn’t inclined to make. She’d always been cautious with the powers she tapped, her grandmother’s words of warning forever etched in her mind. For every spell you cast, there is a loophole to undo it, hidden from your knowledge.

  She released her pent-up breath, opened her eyes and began the ritual. Her words would summon the bluotezzer demon to the forefront of the Shadows, close enough to hear, to listen, and to speak, but still bound and powerless. She would talk to the spirit first, gauge whether it was reasonable. Would the creature be willing to cooperate?

  Not for the first time, she wondered about her grandmother’s reasons for binding the demon in the magical equivalent of Hell, with a spell so powerful only one of her direct bloodline could undo it. Without a doubt, it hadn’t been for a speeding ticket. No, it must have been to make the demon atone for taking an innocent life, presumably even more than one.

  Shaking off the queasy feeling in her stomach, she refocused. Whatever it was the creature had done, it didn’t matter right now, nor would it matter in the future as long as she kept the demon under control and made sure to bind it again once Maeve was free.

  “By the magic of my line,” she intoned, “with the power passed unto me, I call upon the Shadows to obey my commands.”

  The air grew thicker, humid and pressing as if auguring a storm. The Shadows writhed, whispers of darkness, coiling and uncoiling in tendrils of black and gray, like the smoke of the sage ha
d done shortly before. Only this smoke, it lived. The active power in the air stirred the residual magic of her forebears, which hummed in response.

  “Bring forth the bluotezzer demon bound by Rowan, daughter of Ethel, of the MacKenna family.”

  Her ancestors’ energy coalesced and filled her head with their droning, until her temples throbbed. The air became thicker still. The whisper of the Shadows echoed in the dark corners of the tomb.

  Then, silence.

  “Speak.”

  Her breath caught. Her heart raced. The voice had been in her mind, masculine, deep, and reverberating in places of her body it had no business sneaking into.

  Forcing herself to breathe slowly, she checked and strengthened her mental shields, and tapped into the core of her power. No way was she going to let a demon rattle her like an untrained novice witch. Her magic might not be as strong as her grandmother’s, but she could handle this. Even if it was the first time she encountered a demon.

  “Who are you?” That voice again, deep and resonant, danger wrapped in velvet. It stroked along her senses, testing her shields. A shiver ran down her spine as she felt his touch against her mental defenses, a hot brush of darkness.

  With a surge of power, she hid the anxiety in her aura, projecting only calm confidence that she had the means to control him. She wouldn’t show any weakness. Not now, not toward him. “I am Merle,” she said, her voice steady. “Daughter of Emily, head of the MacKenna line. It was my grandmother Rowan who bound you.”

  Her senses sharpened, focused, as she felt the presence behind the voice move. He edged closer to the veil between the worlds, hovering on the brink of the Shadows.

  “Merle.”

  The way he spoke her name—a purr rubbing against her very core.

  “I remember you.”

  Her skin prickled.

  “Your hair was braided.” He paused. The air crackled. “Blue. Your dress was blue, like your eyes.”

  Her heart beat a frantic tattoo against her ribs.

  “You were a pretty girl, little witch.”

  His words unlocked a memory, a string of images, emotions, buried for so long, she had all but forgotten. It came back now with a jolt.

  The lawn outside her house. The old cherry tree still stood, its branches swaying in the warm evening breeze. Piercing, bright eyes focused on her as the demon crouched down, leveling his face with hers. Sizzling energy, brushing over her skin, making the hairs on her arms rise.

  “Hello, little witch.” A smile on his lips.

  “Merle!” Her grandmother’s voice came from somewhere behind her.

  Her heart thrummed. Those eyes held her captive.

  “Merle, get back inside. Now.” Merle had never heard such sharpness in her grandmother’s voice.

  “Listen to your grandma, little witch. You’re too young to play outside after dark.” The wind tousled his chestnut-colored hair then rustled through the leaves as he winked at her and stood.

  Her grandmother stepped up to the male just as Merle was hauled back, dragged into the house by her mother along with hushed words of reproach and an onslaught of maternal protectiveness. But Merle’s gaze never left his face.

  A face of cutting beauty, laced with a subtle hint of danger that even a five-year-old understood.

  She sucked in a breath at the force of the memory, the maelstrom of emotions it evoked. Wrenching herself back into the present, she tried to calm her nerves. Still, the little girl inside her trembled.

  “I have summoned you to make you an offer.” She sounded so much stronger than she felt.

  A tight silence followed.

  “You need my help.” His voice dripped with smugness.

  She bit back a caustic response. Antagonizing him at this point would not be clever. “Yes,” she said instead. “I need you to find my sister, Maeve.”

  “Maeve… the little chatty one?”

  She was about to correct him when it hit her—he’d been bound in the Shadows when Merle was about six. He’d only known her sister Maeve before the incident that had ripped a gaping hole in the family and stifled Maeve’s spirit, rendering her a mere shadow of the lively girl she used to be.

  She swallowed, heart pounding as she pushed the memory away before it could truly surface. “Yes. She’s been taken by one of your kind, and I need your help to locate him.”

  She’d tried to hunt him down herself, but his species was rare and impossible to find by means of magic. Her power was still bruised from the rituals she’d carried out, her mind exhausted from the feverish chase for a way to find Maeve. The locator spell had failed. Her Elders had turned her away. This was her last chance. Only another bluotezzer demon could sense the abductor’s presence, track him down.

  “How long has he had her?”

  “Almost two days.”

  “Then she’s most likely dead already.” Spoken with calm indifference.

  “No. I can still feel her.” When her mom and her sister Moira had died, and later as her grandmother had passed away, her connection to them severed. The link to Maeve remained intact. It pulsed within her, a constant reminder of what she was about to lose.

  If only the link were strong enough to trace, she wouldn’t need to do this…

  “I will unbind you from the Shadows so you can search for the one holding her captive,” she said, steel in her voice, “but you will be bound to me, and I can find you, no matter where you run. You will cooperate with me, and you will not step out of line. If you spill innocent blood, I will make you suffer for it.”

  His presence darkened, menacing, and pressed against the veil keeping him on the other side. Then—with a flicker of his energy—he softened and brushed along her mind.

  “What do I get in return, little witch?”

  She bristled and pushed back the sensuous caress of his words, ignoring the rush of heat centering between her thighs. Traitorous body. She would not purr back. “You can taste life again,” she said, struggling to keep her voice even. “You can breathe, drink, move, see the world… You’ve been in the Shadows for what? Twenty years? I’m sure you’d like a break from darkness, inertia and hunger, wouldn’t you?”

  A touch of his presence on her mind, a gentle teasing. “I’ll help you if you vow to release me completely afterwards.”

  “You know I can’t grant you that without my Elders’ consent,” she said through gritted teeth. No matter what, she couldn’t fully unbind him—if he fell into bloodlust and went on a rampage, Merle would have to answer for every innocent life he took. And the Powers That Be kept score mercilessly. “This is your chance for a taste of freedom, and it will be all I can give you. Take it or leave it.”

  Ponderous silence filled the tomb. The pause was long enough to make her stomach tighten, to turn her breathing into forced, shallow gasps. What if he said no? Gods—part of her wished for that. Then she could go home, safe, her conscience free of guilt.

  And Maeve would die.

  The thought sucker-punched her right in her gut, painful enough to erase any worry about unbinding a demon from the Shadows. Chest tightening, she straightened her spine. She could do this.

  “Will you feed me?” His voice was vibrant with sensuality, and her heartbeat kicked up a notch.

  “Yes,” she ground out, unbidden and very inappropriate tingles of excitement running over her skin.

  She could feel his amusement filling the small silence that followed.

  “Then we have a deal, little witch of mine.”

  His endearment wrapped around her soul, stroking, enticing, taking root. She drew a deep breath and reinforced her mental shields to counter the effect his voice had on her. Gods dammit, it was just a voice.

  “All right,” she said quietly, steeling herself. “Ready?”

  “I am if you are.”

  A twinge of doubt made her falter. The danger she was about to unleash… She clenched her jaw and buried that thought. Not like she had any other options left.

&
nbsp; On an inhale, she bundled her power, and focused on infusing her next words with the magic that transformed ordinary language into a spell.

  “From hunger, pain and darkness,

  bring unto the light,

  the spirit bound by Rowan,

  in never-ending night.

  Relinquished from the Shadows,

  as per my decree,

  its form released,

  its power leashed,

  it will be chained to me.”

  Her magic struck, fused with the innate power of the words, and clashed with the sentient force of the Shadows. For a moment they bristled, recalcitrant and ever-hungry as they were, but then they yielded. Coiling, they became a mass of stygian, impenetrable darkness in front of her eyes, merging into a form on the floor.

  She held her breath as the writhing black stilled and molded into the motionless shape of a man, lying on his back. The last of the Shadows fell away from his body with a whisper, reluctantly letting him go, and slowly all color came back to his form.

  And—gods have mercy—what a form.

  Heat shot up to her face. He was completely, utterly naked.

  She hadn’t been prepared for that. The grimoire hadn’t mentioned he’d be like this, so nude and—gorgeous. Damn, this wasn’t fair. This so wasn’t fair. There should have been a warning.

  Impressive muscles bunched underneath his ivory skin, skin she ached to touch, her fingers twitching. She curled them into her palms instead. Her eyes, however, devoured him. His shoulders and chest were well-defined, wrought with iron strength, though far from bulky. He was all lean muscle, athletically toned, not an ounce of fat on his delectable body. Her gaze involuntarily followed the faint trail of dark hair from his chest over his ripped abdomen to his groin.