Witch For Hire (Witch For Hire 1)

I frown. “For how long?”

“However long it takes.”

“Cri—”

“This is not negotiable.”

I clench my jaw. “I will not lose my freedom.”

“Better that than your life. My lover would want to be with me.”

I look away. He’s right.

“Is it such a hardship to spend time with me?”

No, that’s the problem.

“I’ll play my part.”

“Be sure to do it convincingly. There is much at stake.”

Chapter Eight

People think vampires are ice cold. They aren’t. A bit cooler than our own natural temperature, unless they’ve just feed, they are scarily similar to humans. I lean into Cristobal, playing the part of an infatuated witch as I scan the area. Blue is a paranormal hot spot. Where people come to be themselves, do the business of a magical variety, and be seen. It’s quiet on a Thursday evening, and the area is sparsely populated when we walk inside. Blue lighting casts an ethereal vibe. The bar is decorated with high-end leather couches and chairs. Smokey glass tables, and interesting lighting and art. There are two bars made out of dark wood. I can feel the hot burn of eyes on us as we make our way toward the V.I.P. area in the back of the building.

Placing a smile on my face, I focus on keeping my mind blank. A smile is the hardest thing to fake when your stomach is in your throat, and your body is trying to stiffen up. There’s nothing casual about what’s happening. A wave of reassurance spreads through our link. I take a deep breath and hold on tighter to the arm wrapped in my own. In a world full of potential threats, he’s my protector.

We climb up the stairs, and the large bouncer unhooks the red velvet rope. Of course, we’re the only people in here. Blazh and Hal are seated at a round table draped in a crisp red tablecloth. My jaw drops. It’s like she’s had a supermodel makeover. Her dishwater blonde hair is now a rich honey brown, her skin is clear and luminous, and her slender frame is poured into a slinky red dress. I gasp.

“Hal! You look incredible.”

Her lips spread back to reveal even white teeth that threaten to blind in the darkened room. “Lou. I almost didn’t believe the rumors that you were back.”

“I see our witches are well acquainted. What a tight knit group they are.” They rise, and I glance down, not ignorant enough to meet his gaze head-on. He’s no Youngling. A silent power thrums around him. “Thank you for meeting us here on such short notice.”

“The pleasure is ours, Blazh. I’m not sure if you’ve met my witch, Louella Esçhete.”

“I’ve never had the pleasure until now.” He takes my hand and brushes it with his lips. I beat back a shudder with sheer willpower.

“The pleasure is mine, Lord Blazh.” I keep my gaze trained on the corner of his eyes large brown eyes, never making full contact out of respect. His thick black curls tumble to his shoulders, complimenting his golden skin tone. He’s beautiful, like a sculpture with his Greek nose and raven winged brows.

“No need to be so formal, Blazh is fine. Charming, isn’t she?”

“When she wants to be,” Cristobal says playfully.

Hal laughs. “Same old, Lou?”

I grin. “Who else could I be? It’s good to see you doing so well.” Outwardly she’s stunning. I meet her gaze and mentally scream. There’s a void where life and sweetness once lived. Her cobalt blue gaze is icy. It chills the blood in my veins. A shadow rests behind her, waiting to devour her. My skin crawls. It’s a struggle not to look away. Like a snake tasting the air, her power slithers forward, probing at my own. I refuse to engage, keeping my shields high and my nerves steady. A queen doesn’t bow to peasants.

Nature keeps a balance. I see that at work. Black magic is a misleading term. Magic is neutral, neither dark nor light. It’s the intention of the wielder which gives it a hue. What you send out comes back tri-fold

. The darker you go, the more it takes a toll and warps your soul, twisting and reshaping until you’re unrecognizable. Like a drug, the rush of power is addictive and requires more with each cast to get the same high.

“Please, sit.” Blazh gestures with a wave of his hand.

Cristobal pulls the chair out for me, and I sit, giving him a smile of thanks as he pushes me in and takes his place beside me.

“So sweet. Still in the honeymoon stage from your reunion?” His tone is casual, but the message is clear. He’s been watching us closely.