P.C. Cast - Mysteria Nights

One of the Tawdry sisters answered on the third ring. “Yeah, hello.” She sounded breathless.

“I need to speak with Glory.”

“Falon? Is that you?”

“Yes, who’s this?”

“This is Genevieve.”

“Hey, Evie. I really need to speak to Glory.” Before he came to his senses and took matters into his own hands. Literally.

“Is something wrong?”

He closed his eyes and prayed for patience. “Look, is she around?”

“Well, yeah, but I don’t think she’ll want to chat with you, and maybe that’s for the best. She’s in a mood.”

Evie sounded like that was newsworthy. When wasn’t Glory in a mood? “Is something wrong with her? Is she okay?”

“Meaning, did someone physically hurt her? No. You know they’d be dead by my magic if they did.”

A warning? “Emotionally, then.”

“I don’t know. You tell me. Did you kiss her?” Evie asked.

“Who you talking to, baby?” Falon heard in the background.

“Let me speak with Hunter,” Falon said.

Crackling static, and then his best friend was saying, “What’s going on?”

“Glory okay?”

“Oh, man. She’s been stomping around the house for three days, muttering about a stupid kiss, a stupid man, and stupid revenge. She write you into another scene or something?”

“No.” But she could do so at any moment, which made him all kinds of an idiot for making this call. And why was she angry? She’d rejected him . He’d done nothing but try to pleasure her.

“My advice, bro, is to just leave her alone. She’ll calm down, and then she’ll forget all about you.”

That was the problem. Falon didn’t want her to forget him. Shit. He seriously needed to forget her .

“Uh-oh. Here she is,” Hunter muttered.

“I’m going for a run,” Falon heard her grumble.

“You? Run?” Shock dripped from Evie’s voice.

“Well, no one in this household can seem to master magical weight loss, so I’m running the pounds off. You got a problem with that?”

“You don’t need to lose weight,” he wanted to shout. Then he thought, She’ll be out of the house. It’ll be the perfect time to search her room and snatch that pen. Once the pen was out of her possession, seduction wouldn’t be so dumb. A lie, but he didn’t care. “Talk to you later, Hunter,” he blurted. “Don’t tell her I called.” He hung up, grabbed his car keys, and stalked into the waiting daylight.

Glory ran until her lungs felt like they’d caught fire. She ran until her body was shaking from exertion. She ran until her mind was mush. Sadly, none of those things shoved Falon from her mind.

Him and his too-soft lips, his decadent, drugging taste. His hardness, his sweet hands. His final request to taste her. She’d stayed away from him, hadn’t even tried to punish him again.

Sweat poured from her as she stumbled up the porch steps and into her house. Cool air kissed her skin. She propped herself against the nearest living room wall and hunched over, trying to catch her breath. It had taken her a few hours after leaving him in the forest to deduce exactly how he’d convinced her, even for a second, that he truly desired her.

Good thing she’d stopped him. Only two other outcomes had been possible: he would have stopped before actual penetration, leaving her gasping and desperate, or, if they’d actually gone all the way, he would have told her how bad she was afterward. He might have laughed at her again.

Her teeth ground together as she straightened. He’d told her she would regret using the pen against him. Now she did. She needed a distraction.

The living room was empty. “Evie,” she called. “Godiva.”

No reply.

Had they left, or were they in their rooms, getting it on? Glory rolled her eyes and pretended there wasn’t an ache in her chest. Probably the latter, the disgusting witches. Did they ever take a break? Legs screaming in protest, she lumbered forward, using the wall as a prop.

Down the hall she maneuvered. When she reached her bedroom door, she waved her hand over the knob, magically unlocking it. The door creaked open, and she stumbled inside, forced to kick past the clothes and food wrappers still scattered across the floor.

“Hello, Glory,” a strong, male voice said.

She gasped, frozen in place, gaze searching. Her heart pounded in her chest, nearly cracking her ribs when she spotted the intruder. Falon was splayed out on her bed. His dark head rested on her pillow, his arms propped behind his neck.

He wore a clinging black T-shirt that veed at the neck and jeans that showed off the muscles in his thighs.

“Wh-what are you doing here? And how did you get in?” No. No! He’d seen the national disaster state of her bedroom. Seriously, a bra hung from the lamp beside her bed. Sadly, she looked worse. “Don’t look at me,” she said, wanting to turn away as his eyes drank her in.

“Why? You’re beautiful. I like looking at you. Just as you are,” he added.

She rubbed her damp palms against her thighs. “What are you doing here?” she repeated, because she didn’t know how else to react to his praise. The pleasure she felt was unacceptable.

“I would have pegged you for a neat freak,” he said, ignoring her question. Again.

At least he didn’t sound disgusted. “So?”

“Where’s the pen?” he asked conversationally.

She raised her chin. “Like I’ll tell you.”

“You haven’t used it against me since our . . . the . . . our time in the forest.” Had he just stammered? Had his voice dropped with desire?

“Maybe I just haven’t thought of the appropriate punishment yet.”

One of his brows arched, and he sat up slowly. “Punishment for what? Making you feel good?” Now his voice was dry. “Or not taking you all the way?”

“Just get out.” She pointed to the hallway.

He flattened his palms at his sides, his gaze roving over her. That white-hot gaze lingered at her breasts, between her legs, reminding her of everywhere he’d touched—and everywhere he’d wanted to touch. She gulped. She was wearing a white tank top and sweat shorts, and sweat still poured down her flushed skin. She probably looked ridiculous and frumpy.

“Your skin is glistening,” he said, and there was enough heat in his eyes to keep her warm all winter. If Mysteria ever got cold, that is.

“Sweat does that to a girl.”

“I wish I had been the one to make you sweat.”

Now her heart skipped a beat. “What do you want from me, Falon? An apology? Well, you’re not going to get one. We’re even. I’m done with you.”

His eyes sharpened. “You’re not done with me. Not until you destroy the pen in front of me.”

“No. There’s ink left.”

“So you plan to use it against me again? You just said we’re even.”

“We’re even now . I destroy it, and you’re free to torment me for the rest of your life.”

He leaned forward, and she caught the scent of soap and dark spices. Shivered—then shuddered. What did she smell like?

“I’ll swear not to hurt you,” he said.

“And I’m sure you’ll mean it. Today. What about tomorrow?”

Growling, he fell back into the mattress and scoured a hand down his face. She noticed he did that a lot when he was frustrated. “I came here to find the pen, but do you know what I really wanted to do?” He didn’t wait for her to reply. “I wanted to follow you on your run, make sure you were safe.”

Really? How . . . sweet. Some of the ice around her heart melted. Don’t believe him, stupid!

“I wanted—want—to strip you, make love to you. Finish what we started. I can’t get you out of my mind. You’re the last person I should want.” Now he seemed to be talking to himself. “But want you I do. Maybe if I have you, I can stop thinking about you.”