Michele Hauf: Captivating The Witch

The demon kissed her.

And he was still kissing her.

Tamatha backed up against the brick wall and wobbled in her pink leather heels, but he caught her about the waist with a sure and guiding hand— not breaking the incredible, shockingly hot kiss.

This man kissed her like he knew her. Had tasted her lips before. His mouth was firm and demanding, intent. Nothing about him being a demon repelled her. Everything about him made her want to get closer, dive deeper. To study him for more reasons than that he was demon. If she could run her hands over his skin, she would. She must.

She pushed her hands over his shoulders and teased the short, dark hair at the back of his neck. And then she glided up the back of his scalp and forward. Her forefingers glanced over the adamant growths at his temples she suspected were horns. Interesting. And he answered her greedy coax by dashing his tongue against hers and daring her to meet him as he deepened the kiss. Which she did.

MICHELE HAUFhas been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries usually populate her stories. And if Michele followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries and creatures she has never seen. Find her on Facebook, Twitter and at www.michelehauf.com.

Captivating the Witch

Michele Hauf

www.millsandboon.co.uk

Contents

Cover

Introduction The demon kissed her. And he was still kissing her. Tamatha backed up against the brick wall and wobbled in her pink leather heels, but he caught her about the waist with a sure and guiding hand— not breaking the incredible, shockingly hot kiss. This man kissed her like he knew her. Had tasted her lips before. His mouth was firm and demanding, intent. Nothing about him being a demon repelled her. Everything about him made her want to get closer, dive deeper. To study him for more reasons than that he was demon. If she could run her hands over his skin, she would. She must. She pushed her hands over his shoulders and teased the short, dark hair at the back of his neck. And then she glided up the back of his scalp and forward. Her forefingers glanced over the adamant growths at his temples she suspected were horns. Interesting. And he answered her greedy coax by dashing his tongue against hers and daring her to meet him as he deepened the kiss. Which she did.

About the Author MICHELE HAUF has been writing romance, action-adventure and fantasy stories for more than twenty years. France, musketeers, vampires and faeries usually populate her stories. And if Michele followed the adage “write what you know,” all her stories would have snow in them. Fortunately, she steps beyond her comfort zone and writes about countries and creatures she has never seen. Find her on Facebook, Twitter and at www.michelehauf.com .

Title Page Captivating the Witch Michele Hauf www.millsandboon.co.uk

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

Extract

Copyright

Chapter 1

The evening hours in the Council’s archives were indeterminable from the daylight because the vast archives were located two stories below Parisian ground and formed a labyrinth of rooms, cubbies and hallways over many acres. It was like something out of a fantasy movie with the secret passageways and mysterious decor that might suddenly open to a dark chasm so cold your breath would fog, or a dimly lit library whose ceiling soared many stories high, or instead a small Regency-styled tearoom smelling of lilacs.

And sometimes after the witching hour things started moving.

Nestled in a room filled to the industrial iron-beam rafters with dusty old tomes and spiderwebs, Tamatha Bellerose noticed the thoroughly modern fluorescent lighting flickered. Someone was either accessing a security camera or one of the biometric-scan doors. Probably her boss, Certainly Jones, was on his way to remind her—as he did at least once a week—she didn’t have to work so late.

Tamatha didn’t mind. Since being hired to work in the Archives three months ago, she had been in a witch’s information heaven. While she had been hired for general filing and straightening, it was approved that she would spend time studying as she had mentioned that was her reason for seeking the job. Not a problem for her boss. And when Certainly had suggested she choose one of the messier storage rooms—the one housing all demonic artifacts, texts and accoutrements—she’d been thrilled.

Diabology fascinated her. Her grandmother Lysia (whom she had not the pleasure to know) had been a diabolotrist. The tales told by Tamatha’s mother, Petrina Bellerose, had been enough to stir Tamatha’s curiosity. She wanted to learn everything she could about demons because they were such varied and interesting creatures. And they weren’t all bad, as most people assumed. Their species and assorted breeds were as numerous and diverse as the humans who walked the earth.

She’d decided to start with the demons who inhabited the mortal realm, and after she’d learned all that was available, she’d move on to those occupying Daemonia, the Place of All Demons, and then Faery, and then perhaps even Beneath. Many years of work ahead of her to master diabology. She hoped Certainly wouldn’t mind if this cleanup project carried on awhile.

There wasn’t much else to do in the Archives beyond dusting and looking up things when her boss requested the assistance. The Archives housed the largest collection of paranormal ephemera in the known universe. All spells and grimoires, a copy of the Book of All Spells, potions, objects of magical nature and even creatures of mysterious origins. Some were preserved through taxidermy or in creepy glass receptacles. Some were even stored live.

Beyond the label of assistant archivist, Tamatha considered herself a keeper of books and historical material that told stories about the paranormal species and shaped their origins and evolution. And that was pretty cool.

Sighing, she leaned over the centuries-old grimoire of Basic Demonic Bindings and took a moment to consider how lucky she was to have scored this job. It paid the bills and she got to learn. A witch couldn’t ask for much more than that.

Not that she needed the money. She was quite well-off, thanks to nearly a century of wise investments. And she never got so deeply into a relationship with a man that they considered marriage, and thus, joining incomes. That way lay poverty, Tamatha believed. Her last lover, a cat shapeshifter, had been quick to suggest marriage, a combining of their lives. The familiar had been too charming, too suave. And she had fallen for his seductive spell like a cat to nip. Only, she had suddenly remembered one day, while in the midst of a sensual reverie, how much she didn’t like cats. And then the family curse had seen to preventing any rash decisions she may have made regarding making the relationship permanent.

The Bellerose curse ensured the females in her family for the past three generations had bad luck with love and lovers. Relationships never lasted. Most lovers went mad. Literally. The occasional unlucky lover ended up dead.