Stalked by the Boogie Man

SIGGY SHADE
Copyright © 2022 by Siggy Shade

All rights reserved.

No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means,
including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author,
except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
To anyone who googled a picture of a male echidna and wished men had
four heads instead of one.
 Contents
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
Chapter 26
Chapter 27
Chapter 28
Chapter 29
Chapter 30
Chapter 31
Chapter 32
Chapter 33
Chapter 34
Chapter 35
Chapter 36
Chapter 37
Chapter 38
Chapter 39
Chapter 40
Chapter 41
Chapter 42
Chapter 43
Chapter 44
Chapter 45
Chapter 46
Epilogue

About the Author

Also by Siggy Shade
 Chapter One

ALIENOR
I am 99% certain I’m being stalked by the Boogie Man.
In fact, I don’t even need to open my eyes to know he’s infiltrated my
room.
Part of me wants to stay in bed all morning and lose myself in my
dreams because then I can avoid the awaiting nightmare. The other part just
wants to open my eyes and prove myself wrong.
But I can’t because the signs are unmistakable.
The tension in the air is similar to the anticipation before a lightning
strike. My nostrils fill with the scent of ozone, a sign of powerful magic.
More sunlight than usual shines through my eyelids, adding to my
suspicions. From the warmth on my face, he’s shredded the curtains.
Again.
And then there’s the tingle. static electricity runs across every inch of
my skin, indicating that something activated my enchanted locket.
Dread rolls through my belly like thunder, and I suck in a deep breath.
Shit.
I have no idea why the Boogie Man has made me his target. No amount
of procrastination can delay the inevitable. I’ve got to see for myself how
much he’s destroyed.
 My coven thinks I have a severe form of sleeping disorder because
these attacks have happened since I turned eighteen and came into my
magic. But there’s no way a five-foot-nothing woman who bites her nails
could tear apart a room with non-existent claws.
I crack open an eye. Light burns my retinas, making me wince, then I
glance around the room and groan at the damage.
Walls as shredded as the newspaper that lines a litter tray. Claw marks
so deep that they expose the bricks beneath the plaster. He’s reduced the
curtains to ribbons and broken every piece of furniture.
The only thing he’s left untouched is the bed. I wrap my fingers around
the golden locket and whisper a prayer to the goddess, Rheda. Without
Grandma Styx and the rest of the family offering their magical support, I
would have gone insane.
A knock sounds on the door. I sit up, swing my legs out of bed, tiptoe
through the debris, and rush out of my room and down the hallway to the
front door. Grandma Styx stands outside, dressed in a low-cut gown with a
lace neckline that shows way too much cleavage.
Something is peculiar about Grandma. There’s a spark in her eyes that
wasn’t there the last time the Boogie Man struck.
Grandma is a hundred and twenty years old, but she acts younger than a
woman in her fifties. That’s the great thing about being a witch. Once our
magic is unbound, we age half as slowly as humans.
“Alienor,” she says with a blissful sigh. “Your locket activated, again.”
No one but Grandma uses all four syllables of my full name. Ali-en-nor.
It’s always Ali, occasionally Nor, but Grandma thinks Alienor is more
elegant.
“Are you alright?” I ask.
She beams at me with a dazzling smile that makes her look a decade
younger. “Never better. Now, invite me in, so I can fix the damage.”
Stepping aside, I rub the back of my neck. “Come in.”
 The family placed a protective barrier over my cottage to keep out
magical beings. It was their way of putting my mind at ease and proving
that no one was coming inside.
It worked for a while until the Boogie Man found a way to evade their
spells. Now, I’ve got to convince them to strengthen that enchantment
because my magic is only good for lighting candles or charging up the
motor of my vibrating rose.
What? Don’t judge me.
I can’t exactly bring men home with a clawed phantom visiting me at
night.
Grandma bustles down the hallway and extracts her wand.
“Can’t we trap him or find a spell to banish him back to Boogie Land or
wherever he comes from?” I ask.
She pauses at my bedroom door, her shoulders rising to her ears.
My stomach tightens. We’ve had this conversation dozens of times, and
she has a dozen explanations. I’m sleepwalking, I’m coming into my power,
I need to give my magic more time to settle.
Blah, blah, blah.
No force in the universe could ever convince me that I smashed up my
entire room in the middle of the night and awoke without so much as a
bruise.
“Alienor,” Grandma enunciates the syllables with a sigh. “There’s no
such thing as boogie men. Only witches and non-sentient magical beings.”
I run my fingers through my hair. “But what if there’s more—”
“If such spirits existed, your locket would trap them.” When she turns to
face me, all the sparkle escapes her eyes, which now tighten with concern.
“If the situation bothers you so much, we can rebind your magic—”
“No.” I rush forward and grab her hand.
All witches have their magic bound at birth and it’s kept in place until
we’re emotionally mature enough to wield their power. For the past three
years, my magic hasn’t bloomed as quickly as I’ve wanted. The last thing I
need is to lose it.
Grandma gazes up at me for several tense heartbeats as though
assessing my sanity. This is the first time she’s ever mentioned taking away
my power. If I don’t stop talking about the Boogie Man, I might never
become a real witch. Then that will mean no spells, no broomsticks, no
midnight masses. I might even die before I reach a hundred.
Straightening my posture, I smooth out my expression and don’t exhale
until she turns back to the bedroom.
She swings her head from left to right, surveying the carnage. “Claw
marks on the wall, now? I wonder if that makes you a budding animancer.”
My teeth worry at my bottom lip. “Only a bear animancer could gouge
out so much plaster. Or a dragon.”
Grandma bursts into peals of laughter. “Darling, no witch is capable of
transforming into a magical creature.”
A tiny laugh bubbles up in my chest. At least she’s no longer thinking
about rebinding my magic.
“Maybe you’re right.” I lean against the doorframe, watching grandma
wave her wand with the elegance of a conductor.
Tendrils of smoky magic dance around the room, knitting together torn
curtains, fixing the furniture, and replacing the plaster on the walls. It
reminds me of the Disney cartoon where the heroine gets her animal friends
to do the housework but without the cheery song.
I gaze down at my hands, wondering if I might be capable of animancy.
It’s a rare branch of magic that allows witches to transform into specific
beast.
We’ve never had an animancer in the family, and I doubt we even carry
the gene. I shake my head and frown. Grandma’s just saying that to make
me feel better about whatever’s happening at night.
 She curses under her breath and picks up the pieces of my phone.
Witches use technology as much as the next person, but too much power
can fry the circuits and make gadgets explode.
“Do you think I should set up my phone to record what’s happening at
night?” I ask.
“Let Grandma concentrate, dear.”
I place a hand over my mouth. “Oops. Sorry.”
It’s not a bad idea, considering whoever is trashing my room isn’t using
magic. With a bit of luck, I’ll catch a glimpse of the fiend before he
smashes my phone, then the next day, I can replay the recording. That way,
I can prove my theory. If I’m wrong and I’m an animancer as Grandma
says, then at least the knowledge will put my mind at ease.
“There we go.” She slips her wand back into her pocket.
“Thanks, Grandma. What did you think of my idea?”
“It’s worth a try.” Her dazzling smile returns. “From tomorrow, your
cousin will come when your locket activates.”
My brows knit together. “Which one?”
“Agnes.”
“Okay, but why?”
“I’m busy on an important project,” she replies, her breath quickening.
“Anything I can do to help?”
Her lips quirk. “This is something Grandma must do on her own.”
Every time she talks about herself in the third person, it means she’s up
to something and she doesn’t want anyone to know.
“What’s going on?” I ask.
“Grandma needs a little break.” She bustles toward me, rocks forward
on the balls of her feet, and kisses me on the cheek. “Toodle-pip, dear.”
Before I can press my point, she’s halfway down the hallway and
flinging the door open as though she’s just remembered leaving the stove
on.
 I don’t even bother to chase after her. It’s bad enough that she’s
suggesting taking away my magic. I don’t need to add to her concerns by
running out barefoot and in a flimsy nightshirt.
“There’s no way I could be an animancer.” I walk to the dresser and pull
open the underwear drawer, only to find it empty.
When I check the laundry basket, all my dirty knickers are gone.
“Shit.”
I turn in a circle, taking in my pristine bedroom. Every time Grandma
fixed the Boogie Man’s vandalism, she’d left everything in its usual place. I
return to the dresser, pull out the drawers, and find all my other items
exactly where I’d left them the night before.
“Animancer my ass,” I mutter under my breath. “What kind of animal
steals its own underwear? It’s time to prove to Grandma once and for all
that this is the work of the Boogie Man.”
 Chapter Two

HENRY
It’s taken days to replenish my magic. Days of slumbering in my
accursed form until I recovered. But the time I’ve spent away from Alienor
has felt like an eternity. Each visit to her bedside brings me closer to
breaking through the enchantment keeping us apart.
After destroying the magic that protects Alienor, I will kill her.
No.
I’ll fuck her first, then I’ll tear out her treacherous heart.
My hands curl into my throne’s tarnished armrests, and my cock stirs at
the prospect of running Alienor through with my claws.
Only one thing has kept me sane these past eight centuries: the promise
of revenge. Revenge against the wife who made me fall in love. Revenge
against the woman who turned my children into enemies. Revenge against
the usurper of my kingdom.
Plaster crumbles down from the broken ceiling, adding to the debris
strewn across what was once the throne room’s marble floor. Since the
servants perished, no one has kept the palace from ruin, and now every day
is a battle against the elements.
The magic keeping me alive doesn’t care for my surroundings. The
courtiers I didn’t kill have either left through death, desertion, or
desiccation.
I am not just a king in exile.
I am completely and utterly alone.
I lean against the backrests, swallowing back centuries of bitterness.
Alienor is half the age she was when I last saw her, with a face and body
even more beautiful than her first. She looked peaceful, happy, almost
innocent, but I won’t be swayed by her delectable disguise.
My jaw tightens, and my wings unfurl. The power beneath my veins
bubbles, coloring my black markings a vivid shade of red.
Did she think she could hide from me forever?
Did she think the passage of time would make me forget?
“Your Majesty,” the court physician bows low.
He’s one of the low-level creatures bound to serve me until my bargain
is complete.
I turn to him and scowl. “What?”
“Sire, I trust you will remain in the castle for a few more days before
venturing into the human realm?”
“Silence,” I hiss.
The creature cowers away with his head bowed and his tail between his
legs. He’s an improvement from the last physician I had to decapitate.
As my anger cools, and the markings across my immortal body darken
from red to black, I rise from the throne, walk through the rubble, and into
the palace’s overgrown gardens.
Moonlight shines down on the circle of tall mushrooms that will
transport me to her abode.
It’s time to reclaim my wife.
Traveling through realms is nearly as treacherous as Alienor’s heart.
Faerie rings are only as powerful as their weakest mushroom. One damaged
cap or broken stem and the poor soul using the circle could disintegrate into
tiny spores.
 Only the strength of the bargain stops that from happening. But time is
running out. Each passing day brings me closer to losing my humanity.
What’s left of it.
A few more jumps later, I reach the human realm with barely enough
magic to hold my form, let alone return.
“Damnation,” I say through a sigh. “Now, I am stuck in this accursed
realm.”
Trees and bushes surrounding me provide cover as I sway on my feet,
but the notice of humans is never a concern.
The markings on my skin expand with a surge of pain that forces me
onto my hands and knees. Groaning, I twitch as wiry hair sprouts through
my skin. My bones crack, my limbs lengthen and twist, and the warmth of
my blood seeps into the ether.
When my transformation is complete, I stalk forward on four legs, my
claws clicking against fallen twigs.
Better.
To the humans, I’m a large hound with sinister eyes. I go by many
names—Black Shuck, Church Grim, Freybug, Padfoot, and the Hound of
the Baskervilles. At one point, they even called me the Barghest.
I huff a laugh.
The Barghest is the creature who gave me immortality in exchange for
my heart and soul.
What they see is a specter of the creature who gave me the magic to stay
alive all those centuries.
Foolish humans. Those who try to name me don’t stay alive for long.
Any creature crossing my path becomes my prey. If I don’t eat their bodies,
I consume their terror, leaving nothing but an empty shell.
Hunger gnaws through my insides, and the magic thrumming through
my veins screams with the need to feed.
 I keep to the shadows, replenishing my magic on the fear that clings to
the darkness. Sliding from person to person, tree to tree, and alongside tall
walls, I reach the little cottage where she resides.
There’s no resistance as I enter Alienor’s current hiding place. This is a
good sign. It tells me that my attacks on the barriers protecting her have
weakened. I pause in the shadows, waiting for the setting sun to lengthen,
before sliding beneath her bed and finally releasing my form.
The shadows in this enclosure will nourish me until I can gather the
strength to strike.
 Chapter Three

ALIENOR
For the next few mornings, I awaken disappointed to find the room
intact. It’s almost like the Boogie Man knows I’m onto him, but it’s only a
question of time before he returns.
No matter how many times I move house, how many protective devices
the family installs to put my mind at ease, he always returns.
One morning the following week, a charge crackles through the air the
way it does each time he visits.
Bright light seeps through my eyelids. My eyes snap open, and I bolt
upright. The dresser where I’d left the phone lies smashed in dozens of
pieces. Strewn over it are pieces of the laundry basket that once contained
my dirty underwear.
Excitement thrums in my chest, tempered with a touch of trepidation. I
have no idea what to expect.
A depraved-looking creature with teeth as long as my fingers and claws
as sharp as blades? A monster with lamplight eyes and the body of a
desiccated corpse? A phantom who looks like he’s crawled out of a well
with beetle-black eyes and hair streaming down like pondweed? Or will he
be a malevolent wisp of shadow?
Someone knocks on the door, and my heart skips.
 I rush out of bed, trip over a broken chair, and stumble into the hallway.
My cousin, Aggie, stands at the doorstep with her hands folded over her
chest. She wears black, as usual, even in the middle of summer. She’s dyed
both her hair and her protective locket the shade of her outfit, with the only
pop of color coming from her oxblood lipstick.
My heart sinks. Is Aggie even capable of repairing my phone?
“Hey Ali, you activated your locket.” She raises a painted brow.
“Come in and see for yourself.” I step aside and sweep an arm toward
the bedroom.
Aggie strides in with a cloud of foxglove perfume that makes my eyes
water. My cousin and I are both twenty-one and used to be rivals until the
day we got our magic unbound. She emerged from the ritual a fully formed
witch, while I couldn’t so much as produce a spark.
She’s too good a person to mock me for my arrested development, and I
don’t begrudge her magic. It just seems strange that the Boogie Man started
harassing me the day after they unlocked my power, and I need answers.
Answers I will get once she repairs my phone.
I gaze down at my feet as she fixes my room. When she exhales a
frustrated breath, my head snaps up.
“Anything the matter?” I ask.
“Phones are a bastard to fix,” she mutters as she pieces its circuit boards
together. “I’ll bet you’ll be glad when you grow out of your sleeping
disorder.”
My throat tightens, but I clench my teeth, not wanting to distract her
with a protest she won’t believe. The whole coven thinks I’m in denial
about what’s happening at night. I was even starting to doubt myself until I
noticed my underwear was missing.
“Here you go,” she says.
The mended phone floats across the room and into the hallway before
landing in my waiting hand.
 A breath catches in the back of my throat. “Thank you.”
She walks up to my side. “Give it a try. If it doesn’t work, you’ll have to
take it to Grandma.”
I turn on my phone and navigate to the video app I set up every night to
detect and record motion. The first video clip is just me rolling onto my
back, and in the second, I’m kicking off the covers.
Aggie pats me on the shoulder. “Looks like it’s working okay.”
“Wait a second. I want to show you something.” I skip forward to a
video that’s all black and press play.
Anxiety ripples down my spine, tightening the flock of goosebumps that
migrate across my skin. What if it’s something I can’t handle?
Darkness shrouds the camera for several seconds before it takes the
shape of a tall, broad-shouldered figure folding membranous black wings
behind his back.
My heart skips a beat, and I suck in a sharp breath through my teeth.
“What am I looking at?” she says.
“Can’t you see?” I turn to her and frown.
“You’ve kicked off your covers, and your nightgown’s riding up to
show your ass,” she says with a snort.
“What?” My gaze snaps back to the screen.
As the dark figure stalks toward my bed with the gait of a predator, I
say, “Aggie, don’t tell me you can’t see him.”
She grabs the phone. “Who?”
“The fucking Boogie Man.”
Aggie places a hand on my temple. “Are you alright?”
“Why is he invisible to you?”
She falls silent. Any other time, I’d become paranoid and demand to
know what she’s thinking, but I’m transfixed by the strange man in my
room. He’s human-shaped but looks six-and-a-half feet tall, with black
tattoos covering his skin. A curtain of black hair falls halfway down his
back and covers his face, but I’m imagining glowing eyes and a maw of
sharp teeth.
As soon as he extends a hand, I know this is the bastard who’s been
trashing my room. Even with my night light providing faint illumination, I
can tell that the tips of his fingers are black. What’s most worrying is that
they each end in sharp claws.
My breath turns shallow as those wicked fingers drift toward my
exposed thighs, only to stop in mid-air as he hits the locket’s barrier.
Was he trying to cop a feel?
“Anyway,” Aggie says, breaking me out of my thoughts. “I’ll be going
now.”
“Hold on.” I grab her arm but still fix my gaze on the screen.
The Boogie Man steps back, takes a running jump, and flings himself
on the bed.
“Wait a fucking minute,” I say.
“I’m still here.”
“Not you.”
Onscreen, the Boogie Man bounces off the barrier, throws his head
back, and roars.
“Can you hear that?” I ask Aggie.
“Your snoring?”
“Shit.”
He rushes around the room, tearing up everything he can in a murderous
rage. Aggie’s jaw drops, and she grabs the hand holding the camera.
“You’re doing that all in your sleep,” she says, her voice breathy with
awe.
“I’m not.”
“Wow.”
I grind my teeth. No amount of protesting will ever get through to my
cousin. The ward around my house is supposed to keep out intruders, and
the Boogie Man has made himself selectively invisible.
“Ali, I knew you’d be powerful once your magic manifested,” she says.
The Boogie Man rushes toward the camera before it goes black. I
rewind the recording a few seconds and press pause.
“Fuck.”
“Fuck, indeed,” Aggie says. “If you’re wielding this level of kinetic
magic unconsciously, then you’ll end up even more powerful than
Grandma.”
Whatever she says next fades into the background as the camera stills
on an exquisitely beautiful face. Granted, it’s twisted in a rictus of rage, but
there’s no mistaking those chiseled features. His eyes are a vivid shade of
green, framed by thick black lashes and arched eyebrows.
Saliva pools in my mouth. I swallow hard and squeeze my thighs
together. Even though his nostrils are flared, the nose they’re set within is
perfectly straight with a slight dimple on its tip.
His skin shines like polished bronze, without the barest trace of stubble.
His lips lie flat against sharp teeth, but they’re full and plump and utterly
kissable.
In short, the Boogie Man is a babe.
But he’s still a bastard.
He rushed me in my sleep, tried to touch my thigh, trashed my room,
and stole my dirty underwear. I’ve got to teach him not to mess with a witch
from the Styx coven. But first, I need to find a way to confine him.
“Could you help me set a trap?” I ask Aggie. “Please?”
She pauses, her brows raised. “What kind?”
“Reroute all the magic protecting the house to the closet.”
Her lips part with a protest, but I raise a hand.
“Hear me out. Since no one’s sneaking into my house to smash up my
room, I don’t need any protection from outsiders.”
“Right?” She elongates the vowel, her voice heavy with skepticism.
 “Can you make the trap?”
She folds her arms across her chest. “I want you to do something in
return.”
“Name it,” I say.
“Check up on Grandma. I think she’s taken something of mine, but she
won’t admit it.”
“What?”
“My broomstick.”
“You want me to get it back?”
Aggie nods.
I raise a shoulder. That’s an easy enough trade. Any idiot can steal a
broomstick, but it takes a lot of magic and even more skill to divert the
power protecting the house to concentrate in a closet.
Turning to my cousin, I give her a bright smile. “Fine. If you set up the
trap, I’ll steal back your broomstick.”
 Chapter Four

HENRY
After that last attack on Alienor, I might forever turn to shade. The
magic protecting her weakens during my attack, only to redouble its power.
She probably set up that enchantment to drain my essence.
My strength is so diminished that I can’t return to my realm. I can’t risk
the faerie circles until I find a way to replenish my strength.
Somewhere after losing my temper and tearing up her chamber, I must
have lost consciousness and slithered beneath her bed.
It’s time to try something different.
With my magic so low, I must improvise. The shadows beneath
Alienor’s bed provide enough power to regain my human form and make
another attempt on her life.
This time, I need to use my head.
Days pass before my hearing returns. I regain my vision hours later,
followed by my four-legged form.
Alienor doesn’t realize this, but her presence fuels my magic enough to
regain the strength I need for her demise. Hearing her go about a pleasant
life of family, friends, and entertainment, while I have spent eight-hundred
centuries in misery is more than I can stand.
 As the bed I’m hiding under creaks and bows with her weight, my heart
rate quickens. When her breathing slows, the power thrumming beneath my
skin roars for vengeance.
Out of habit, I suck in a deep breath and exhale lungfuls of magic that
spreads across the room in tiny wisps. It’s a trick I learned from the
Sandman before I tore out his liver. Within moments, her soft snores fill my
ears while vengeance fills my heart.
“Alienor, my love,” I snarl as I crawl out of the bed. “The time is nigh.”
My claws lengthen, only to retract when I see that she’s naked.
She lies on her back against the white sheets, revealing herself to me in
all her alluring glory. One hand lies between her legs, while the other rests
over her belly button.
Is this one of her games?
Her head is turned toward me, her angelic features at rest. With the
amount of somniferous magic I blew into the room, there’s no chance she
can be awake. Her full lips are parted, exposing pearlescent white teeth.
An ache forms deep within my withered heart, the way it always does
when I stare at her for too long. If I continue expending all my magic on
this futile quest, the rage will burn through my power and reduce me to the
shadows.
My gaze travels down her smooth neck, down her collarbones to the
swell of her breasts. As I exhale, her wine-colored nipples tighten into
peaks.
A line of markings travels down her ribs. At first glance, they look like
birthmarks, but seem more like occult symbols that have faded over time.
I recognize two circles adorned with loops that represent protection, and
a full moon flanked by two crescents for the goddess. The pentacle at the
top has lost several of its spokes.
Perhaps that explains why I was able to find Alienor. The enchantment
hiding her existence is waning. Perhaps whatever bargain she struck is also
toward its end.
Outside, the clouds shift, and moonlight streams through the parted
curtains and catches on a locket resting in the dip between her collarbones.
“What is this?” I lean forward, my forehead hitting an invisible barrier.
The anger inside me stirs, but curiosity keeps it at bay. I don’t know
why Alienor chose to sleep naked tonight, but her body reveals clues on
how to secure her defeat.
Etchings cover her locket. They’re the same symbols as those along her
ribcage but sharper. It looks like the protection she wears around her neck is
compensating for her fading markings. Not completely, because I still
managed to find her.
“You will not hide from me forever,” I say with a smirk.
No matter how many times she runs, I will always find my wife. The
golden locket only prevents me from tearing out her heart.
“My, my, you have played me well.”
All I need to do is liberate her from the locket. But how?
Now, I wish I hadn’t put her to sleep. At least while she’s awake, I could
persuade her with words to remove the protection.
Alienor turns to her side, revealing her perfect ass, and when her leg
rises toward her bent arm, I get a delicious peek at her cunt.
Sensation rushes to my cock. I clench my fist and groan.
“Are you dreaming of me, my love?”
Of course, she is. My wife is a conniving woman, a manipulator, and a
murderer, but she was always weak to my touch.
My chest inflates with pride, as does my aching length.
I lean down, press my nose against the invisible barrier and inhale
deeply. The magic shields her scent so perfectly that all I smell is ozone
from the enchantment I used to put her to sleep.
“Damn you, Alienor,” I growl, and walk toward her armoire.
 I ignore what’s in the top drawer and stalk toward the basket where she
keeps the undergarments that require laundering. One of the benefits of not
stalking her in the human realm so often is that they mount up.
Women these days call them knickers or panties, which are ridiculous
words to describe something so appealing. Alienor always provides me with
enough underclothes embedded with her scent to sustain me between visits.
Now that I’m residing beneath her bed, I have an endless supply.
I uncover the laundry basket and pull off the lid, only to find it empty.
Betrayal strikes like lightning. I whirl around and glower at my
slumbering wife.
“What did you do?” I snarl.
Blood boils beneath my veins, reddening the markings on my skin, but
moonlight hits her sweet cunt at the right angle, and my anger evaporates
into the ether.
Moisture glistens on her inner thigh, making my mouth water.
“You’re getting wetter,” I say, my voice breathy.
After all this time, her body recognizes the presence of its master. I stalk
around her bed, my claws lengthening, my chest rising and falling with
rapid breaths.
I must have her.
Just once before she dies under my claws.
Fairy dust—not precum—scatters from all four heads of my cock. For
the past eight centuries, I no longer ejaculate liquid but crystals of salt that
cause me discomfort. These are just two of the afflictions she cursed me
with before I was banished to this miserable existence.
My lust twists into resentment at the memory of what she did to my
poor penis. I bare my teeth and snarl. Alienor didn’t just disfigure my
manhood. She enchanted me with the most vindictive form of impotence. I
can only ever climax in her presence.
 Which is why I’m reduced to stealing her underwear. For reasons I
refuse to fathom, fabrics soaked in her body fluids allow me release. I can
only imagine how hard I will cum when I’m drenched in her blood.
My anger fades at the mental image, and I lick my lips, imagining them
between her shapely thighs.
“You could never resist me,” I growl. “Before I tear out your throat,
you’ll beg for my touch, my tongue, my cock.”
Her soft whimper makes my balls tighten with satisfaction.
“That’s it, my love,” I croon, my claws clicking at the invisible barrier.
“Has your dream of me turned into a nightmare?”
A draft swirls around the room, carrying the scent of her sweet sex. My
nostrils flare, and I turn my head toward the source of the delicious aroma.
Her undergarments lie in a pile beyond a cupboard door, and she’s
protected them with magic.
A bitter laugh fills my belly. “Foolish woman. Did you think you could
keep them beyond my reach? Just for that, I will return the underwear to
you soiled with my salt.”
I open the door and step inside, only to hear something sharp slam
behind my back. What’s this? Whirling around I glare at Alienor’s sleeping
form.
She still lies on her side, with her sex exposed, but I can no longer see
her face beneath the tangle of dark hair.
“What have you done?” I growl, already knowing the answer.
The cupboard door has disappeared. In its place is an impenetrable wall
of air that knocks me backward. I slash at it with my claws, but it doesn’t
yield.
My jaw clenches, and fury boils beneath my skin.
Alienor took advantage of my weakness for her underwear to set a trap.
Now, I’m stuck here and once again, completely at the mercy of my wicked
wife.
 Chapter Five

HENRY
Fury changes the markings on my body to a livid shade of red, and
magic crackles from my skin. My wings push against the cupboard walls,
but no amount of thrashing can free me from this prison.
Alienor lies on the bed, oblivious. I curse myself for putting her to
sleep, when I should have faced her head-on in a battle of magic. Now,
there isn’t a thing I can do until she awakens.
I push my power across the closet walls, searching for weaknesses. The
magic securing this trap is similar to the enchantment that had protected
Alienor’s home, except a dozen times more concentrated. My gaze darts to
the slumbering figure.
“Clever, Alienor,” I mutter. “What will be your next move?”
When she doesn’t stir, I grind my teeth.
Of course, she wouldn’t. The sandman’s methods of putting people to
sleep are all-powerful. Alienor won’t stir until sunrise. My gaze falls on the
bait she placed in the trap: her soiled underwear.
I pick up a small scrap of lace that’s still wet with her moisture, and rich
with her intoxicating scent.
“Were you thinking of me as you pleasured yourself?” I ask out loud.
Of course she was, otherwise she wouldn’t have set the trap.
 Sensation trickles from the sigils adorning my skin and gathers in my
cock, which aches and swells for relief. This is the part of my curse I hate
the most—never being able to climax without the presence of Alienor.
“Just this once,” I tell myself. “In the morning, when she releases me
from this trap, she will be dead. And then I will be free from suffering, free
from her tyranny.”
The promise of satisfaction rumbles in my chest as I wrap my hand
around my girth. She cursed me so that no other woman could look upon
my manhood without horror. It’s bright red, as thick as my forearm, and
ends with a row of four bulbous heads, each with slits capable of
ejaculation.
My wicked wife fixed it so that I no longer spurt fluid when I climax. I
only eject glittering salt. Perhaps she found the thought of it amusing.
“Laugh, Alienor,” I growl at her while she sleeps. “But I will tear out
your blackened heart and break your curse.”
I bring the soiled underwear to my nose and inhale deeply. Arousal
rushes south, leaving me lightheaded. Blood thrums beneath my skin as I
stroke up and down my shaft. I imagine Alienor kneeling before me, with
tears streaming down her liquid brown eyes as I fuck her throat.
“Take it, Wife,” I say through panting breaths. “Take it all.”
In my imaginings, she begs for more, unable to resist her husband and
true master. She’s so aroused from sucking me that she reaches between her
legs to fondle her wet cunt. When I order her to stop, she moans.
Pressure concentrates in my balls, the sensation bordering on pain. This
is the working of the curse. Although it permits me to climax with her
soiled underwear, the magic doesn’t make the process easy. These past three
years, I’ve worked out that the curse won’t cause agony if I wrap her scent-
infused fabric around my cock.
I hold the lace to my cock heads with one hand and pump the shaft with
the other. My balls tighten, and a pulse of magic releases their contents in a
powerful surge.
“Alienor!” My middle heads shoot into her underwear, staining it the
shade of diluted blood. Then the ones at either end take their turns to spurt.
After the last head has spent, my arm falls like lead, and I drop the
soiled garment to the floor.
There’s only one benefit to this curse. I can get hard immediately after
orgasming, as long as I’m in her presence or have a proxy, such as this
underwear. Unfortunately, when the scent fades, so does my ability to get
pleasure. Alienor knows this, which is why she knew exactly how to bait
the trap.
She shifts on the mattress, exposing more of that sweet, glistening cunt.
I pleasure myself throughout the night, using the rest of her dirty laundry to
fuel my ministrations.
Nothing escapes my attention, not her nightgown, not her brassiere, and
not even her pantyhose. Alienor’s heart may belong to the deepest pits of
hell but she has cursed me to believe her scent to be the highest realms of
heaven.
I don’t stop masturbating until the first signs of sunlight peek through
the curtains and illuminate her creamy skin. Creamy skin I want to slice
open with my claws.
“Wake up, woman,” I growl.
She doesn’t even stir.
My fist slams on the invisible barrier.
Sunlight streams in through the window opposite my prison,
illuminating her curves.
“Alienor,” I roar loud enough to awaken the dead.
Her eyelids flutter.
“Release me, you treacherous witch.” I slice uselessly at the invisible
barrier.
 She yawns, turns toward the mirror, treating me to an uninterrupted
view of her glistening sex. My jaw drops, and all sensation rushes south.
I jerk my gaze away and growl, “You will not tempt me, Alienor. Not
this time. Now, get up and face your husband!”
Her soft sigh sweeps across my nerves like a caress, and I clench my
teeth. Everything about this sorceress is designed to confuse and beguile.
She may be able to fool the others in the human world, but not me. Beneath
her enticing exterior is a heart of stone.
“What’s going on?” murmurs a soft voice.
I turn my gaze back to the bed. She’s awake.
My fury cools to a simmering curiosity, and what’s left of my heart
pounds a rapid beat. I stand straighter, pull back my shoulders and puff out
my chest in a stance meant to intimidate.
Alienor sits up, her gaze turned toward the window. Since she trapped
me before I got the chance to tear up her room, the curtains and wall and
wooden pane are still intact.
Her posture deflates, and she exhales a long sigh.
I tilt my head, wondering what could make her so disappointed. Isn’t it
enough that she has taken everything and still maintains the beauty of an
innocent maiden?
A growl rolls in the back of my throat at the reminder of her treachery. I
should never have shown my wife mercy. I should never have allowed my
courtiers to talk me out of her well-deserved execution. Instead, I gave her
time to scheme a fate worse for me than death.
Her gaze snaps to my side of the room, and our eyes lock.
“Yes,” I snarl. “Look upon your husband.”
“The Boogie Man?” she whispers, her eyes sparkling.
My nostrils flare. “What did you call me?”
“It’s you, isn’t it?” She swings her legs to the side of the mattress and
bounds across the room.
 I step back, frown, and try not to admire how her breasts bounce. Of all
the reactions I anticipated, the last I would have expected would be
excitement. I pictured her crying, begging, pleading for mercy or at the very
least, looking shocked.
Alienor isn’t unsettled by my appearance. She looks elated.
“Hello.” She dips her head and gazes up at me through lowered lashes.
“I’m pleased to meet you.”
My lip curls. “You are Alienor.”
She frowns. “How do you know my name?”
Alienor’s sweet giggle makes me flinch. If I didn’t know any better, I
would say she was trying to flirt. She shakes off the question with a wave of
her hand.
“Never mind,” she says. “What are you doing here?”
“Do you not recognize me?” I ask.
“You’re the Boogie Man who’s been trashing my room.”
“What is a Boogie Man?”
“You, of course,” she says with a coy smile.
My eyes narrow. Is she mocking me? From the way her cheeks turn
pink, I would say she was ignorant. It’s impossible. A witch as powerful as
my Alienor should have retained her memories over the centuries.
Telling her that I was once the King of England might incite her lust for
power, so I give her one of my lesser titles.
“I am Henry Curtmantle, Duke of Normandy.”
She gazes up at me through expectant, brown eyes, so I elaborate.
“Your husband.”
Her lips part, and she shuffles on her dainty little feet. “I would have
remembered marrying someone as handsome as you.”
I rub my chin and frown. Is this one of her deceptions?
Nothing on her features indicates that she’s lying, but Alienor is an
expert of concealing the truth. Her features radiate a sweet innocence and
eagerness that I’m certain is an elaborate game.
If so, I can play along.
“Oh dear,” I say with a low chuckle. “How embarrassing. I appear to
have mistaken you for somebody else.”
“So, you’re married then?” She frowns.
I shake my head. “That was centuries ago. My wife is long dead.”
“Does that makes you a widower?” she asks.
Nodding, I offer her what I hope is a warm smile. I even hold my hands
behind my back, so she cannot see the claws. If I succeed in my ruse, I will
be the happiest man to have ever lost his wife.
“Alas, I am indeed a widower,” I lie, sounding grave. “And you bear a
passing resemblance to my wife.”
The suspicion in her eyes softens, and she takes a step closer to my
prison. I lean forward and inhale the faint scents of freshly sliced peaches,
orange blossoms, and vanilla—scents I couldn’t pick up the night before
when I tried to kill her.
Perhaps her protective magic only activates if someone tries to attack. I
lean against the barrier and savor her sweet aroma.
“Will you please accept my apology and set me free?” I ask.
Her gaze sharpens, causing me to straighten. I sense no magic on her,
but it’s like she’s trying to look into my soul.
Before I can persuade her further, a knock sounds on the other side of
the house.
“Wait here.” Alienor puts on a robe and dashes out of the room.
I gnash my teeth. As if I could leave.
Moments later, I hear the sound of a door opening, followed by
determined footsteps.
“Did you get the broomstick?” asks an impatient female voice.
“Grandma didn’t let me in the first times I visited.” Alienor replies.
“Now, I’m running out of excuses to knock on her door.”
 “Shit,” the other woman says. “You promised to steal it.”
Alienor hesitates. “Why do you want it so urgently?”
“It’s been over a week since you promised to get it back for me,” she
snaps. “Why else would I spend half a day sweating over that stupid trap?”
Interesting. I rub my chin. Alienor still recruits others to do her dirty
work.
“You owe me.” A raven-haired young woman steps into the room,
wearing a floor-length black dress.She glances around with a frown. “Your
locket activated. Did you fix the broken furniture by yourself?”
Alienor sweeps her arm toward where I stand. “Thanks to your trap, I
caught the Boogie Man before he could smash up my things.”
The other woman glances in my direction, her gaze looking past me.
My magical sigils flare.
“It’s empty,” she says.
“He’s right there. Look.” Alienor walks up to the cupboard and places
her hand on the magical barrier.
The other young woman closes the distance and glances around the trap
with her lips pursed. “I can’t see anybody. Maybe your magic is making
you imagine things?”
“Or maybe he’s made himself invisible to everyone else but me,”
Alienor says.
“There’s no such enchantment in the coven’s grimoire, and I don’t sense
any recent spells.”
Annoyance flashes in Alienor’s eyes. Her friend is only partially right.
My magic doesn’t come from witches but from the fae. The wound in my
chest aches from where the Barghest devoured the portions of my heart that
housed my soul.
“Can’t you accept that there could be more to life outside the coven?”
Alienor snaps.
 The other young woman flinches. “If you think so little of us, maybe I
should undo my enchantment.”
My pulse quickens. I push my magic against the barrier in case it
wavers. I must be alert and escape at the first opportunity.
“Aggie, what are you doing?” Alienor’s voice rises an octave.
“I’ll tell you what.” Aggie pulls out her wand. “I’m holding this trap
hostage until you bring me my broomstick.”
“Don’t!”
With a swish of Aggie’s wand, the power detaining me vanishes.
I lurch forward with a triumphant roar and slash my claws across
Aggie’s back. Blood explodes from her fabric, and the young woman falls
to the ground with a scream.
“Aggie,” Alienor shrieks.
I grin down at my trembling wife, all thoughts of charming her
forgotten.
“At last, I have you.”
 Chapter Six

ALIENOR
Cold shock spreads across my chest and seizes control of my limbs.
Time stills, and I can’t feel my heart beating or my lungs drawing in air.
The Boogie Man just clawed Aggie.
He used talons on her that were strong enough to rip the plaster from the
walls.
He bares his teeth and grins, his green eyes flashing with triumph.
Nothing on his features says that he’s here because of mistaken identity. He
either has a vendetta against me or the entire coven.
As his gaze drops to my fallen cousin, a surge of panic squeezes my
heart, sending blood back to my limbs. If he can’t reach me through my
locket, then he’s going to make me watch him tear Aggie apart.
Without thinking about it, I drop down and cover Aggie’s body with
mine.
“Alienor.” His deep voice rumbles down my spine. “You will face me or
I shall kill this woman.”
I raise my head, finally meeting the Boogie Man’s eyes. “Why are you
doing this?”
“Why indeed?” He reaches down, looking like he wants to pull me up
by the hair.
 My breath catches. I cling onto Aggie, squeeze my eyes shut, and send
out a prayer to the goddess, Rheda, that the magic protecting me will hold.
The air above my head shifts with the force of his movement, but I feel
no claws.
“Look at me,” he says.
“You made a huge mistake, coming here.” I raise my head, my voice
trembling. “Get out of my house before I call for reinforcements.”
“I think not.”
He swipes at me again with those huge claws, only for them to hit an
invisible barrier.
“Curse you, Alienor.”
“Go fuck yourself,” I snap.
The Boogie Man bares his teeth and hisses. They’re sharp, perfectly
white, with elongated incisors that give him the appearance of a vampire, if
such things existed.
I need to drive this fiend away before Aggie bleeds to death, but I can’t
move her in case it aggravates her wounds. My phone still lies on the
dresser, where I left it, so I can’t even call for help.
It’s not like I have a wand of my own, and even if I could use my
cousin’s, it’s already rolled far out of reach. All I have at my disposal is
enough magic to light candles.
He’s got to have a weakness, but from what I can see, the Boogie Man
is all-powerful. Membranous, black wings that end in wickedly sharp
points, broad shoulders, huge pecs, and a tight six-pack. Maybe there’s
something in the swirls and symbols that adorn his chest, but I can’t begin
to decipher them.
My gaze drops further down. What first looked like leather pants is
actually a black pelt that covers his lower half, and even his feet end in
talon-like claws. The effect is almost the same as his blackened fingertips.
 Aggie groans, seeming to have regained consciousness. My stomach
plummets to the wooden floorboards. I need to fetch help.
“Why do you protect this woman?” he asks with a sneer. “The wife I
knew would have left her to my mercy and saved herself.”
“I’m not your fucking wife,” I snap. “Now, get out before I set you on
fire.”
He snorts. “You’ll have to touch me first.”
I reach out, trying to swipe at his knee. Instead, I grab his calf. My jaw
drops. I can touch the Boogie Man?
Pushing my meager magic into my palms, I make tiny sparks appear on
the surface of my skin, which turn into flames. The flesh beneath my
fingertips heats, filling the air with the scent of burning.
The Boogie Man reaches down to grab my hand, only for him to meet
the same invisible barrier. With a curse, he stumbles back, picks up my
mirror, and raises it above his head.
“Let’s see if your magic will protect the woman against falling shards of
glass.”
Before he can toss the mirror over our fallen bodies, the door at the end
of the hallway swings open with a loud bang. Grandma flies in on her
broomstick, followed by Aunt Klara.
Relief floods through my chest, and I can finally exhale the air in my
lungs. Aunt Klara is almost as powerful as Grandma. The two of them
together could pull anyone from the brink of death.
Before I can even celebrate, the mirror crashes on the floor, sending
glass flying everywhere. Tiny shards bounce off a wide arc of invisible
magic, hitting the Boogie Man in the chest.
A breath catches in the back of my throat. The power isn’t coming from
my locket but from the other witches.
“Alienor,” Grandma shrieks. “What happened?”
“It’s him.” I point at the Boogie Man.
 Black blood pours down his chest, looking like his markings are
bleeding. Instead of pooling on the floor, the liquid soaks back into his skin.
“What is the meaning of this?” he roars.
Aunt Klara falls to her knees beside me and encases Aggie in a bubble
of magic.
“Mum,” Aggie says, her voice strained.
“Shhh.” She strokes my cousin’s hair. “I’ll take care of your wounds.“
I inhale, waiting for the irrational surge of jealousy I always get at the
sight of motherly love, but it doesn’t arrive. My mum died when I was born,
so I spent the first eighteen years of my life with Grandma.
Right now, my stomach is heavy with dread. They’re going to think the
attack came from me, then they’ll bind my magic. Without any form of
magic to connect to my locket, I’ll be completely powerless against the
Boogie Man.
“Send them away or I will slaughter those witches,” the Boogie Man
says.
“Grandma, you’ve got to believe me.” The words tumble from my lips.
“There’s a strange man in the corner, threatening to kill you all.”
Her eyes narrow, and she flicks her gaze from Aggie and Aunt Klara to
me.
“What do you see?” she asks, her voice measured.
My throat dries. This is the same tone of voice she would when I was
little use to ask if I was playing with her crystals again or interfered with
some important potion. No matter if I lied or told the truth, the result would
always be an unpleasant punishment.
I can’t meet Grandma’s assessing gaze. Instead, I stare at the Boogie
Man, who glares back as I describe him in detail. At the end, I add, “He told
me his name was Henry.”
“Henry what?” Grandma asks.
“Cut-something, Duke of Normandy.”
 “Curtmantle,” Grandma and the Boogie Man say at the same time.
“You know him?”
“Henry II of England,” she says. “Also known as Henry FitzEmpress or
Henry Plantagenet. But he was also the husband of our ancestor, Aliénor
d'Aquitaine, also known as Eleanor of Aquitaine.”
I turn back to the Boogie Man. “Were you really the King of England?”
“You are no descendent of Alienor,” he hisses. “You are her.”
Aunt Klara helps Aggie to her feet. “Those were some rather nasty
wounds,” she says, her voice sharp with a reprimand. “If it wasn’t for her
ribcage getting in the way, that strike would have torn out her lungs.”
My stomach churns, and I turn from one accusing face to the other.
“It wasn’t me,” I rasp.
My aunt meets my gaze but doesn’t speak. She probably thinks I’m in
denial.
I turn to Grandma. “Please—”
She holds up her palm. “Do you know what kind of attacks can
penetrate the magic protecting each member of our coven?”
I shake my head.
“The locket protects against witches from other covens, magical beasts,
but not from humans.”
“But he’s not—”
“Let me finish,” she says. “The only other magical beings who can hurt
us are members of the coven.”
The weight of her words settles on my chest like lead bricks. In a
moment, she’s going to accuse me of having untamed kinetic magic or use
some other reason to bind my power.
“You think it’s coming from me?” My voice wavers, and I glance from
Grandma to Aunt Klara. “I swear to you, it’s not. Do any kind of spell on
me—mind-reading, truth-telling, even a magical trace—I’ll prove to you
that it was this Henry guy.”
 “It’s not safe for you to live alone,” Grandma says.
My heart sinks. “You’re not listening.”
She sweeps her arm across the room. “Klara and I both saw you lift a
heavy mirror with kinetic magic. When your power spun out of control, you
shielded your cousin with your body, knowing no harm would come to
you.”
I gulp, my gaze darting to the Boogie Man, who stands in the corner and
smirks.
“But what about Henry Coat Mantle?”
“Curtmantle,” she replies, the syllables clipped with annoyance. “I’m
surprised you’ve forgotten the history of our coven.”
As Aunt Klara helps Aggie out into the hallway, Grandma flicks her
wand and gathers up my clothes. “It’s one thing to tear apart your room
while you’re asleep. Quite another to attack members of your own coven.
Until we get to the root of your problem, you’ll be staying in my
guesthouse.”
“What?” the Boogie Man roars.
Grandma wraps an arm around my shoulder and sweeps me out of the
room. I turn my head and fix him with my most venomous glare. He glares
back, his green eyes flashing with malice.
Grandma lives in the coven’s ancestral home, where generations of Styx
witches have performed magic. Our power is in the soil, in the air, in the
plants, and even in the water.
The Boogie Man follows after us but can’t get close through Grandma’s
huge bubble of protective magic.
Let’s see him try to reach me while I’m behind her powerful wards.
 Chapter Seven

HENRY
If I had known striking the young woman who had set my trap would
result in the old witch taking away Alienor, I might have curbed my temper.
Her magic is formidable and has a boundary of protection that surpasses
that of my wife. I will have to tread carefully around these other witches.
One more reckless act and they really might believe I exist.
I follow them through Alienor’s dwelling and out into the street where
three broomsticks await. Two hover side by side, while the third leans
against the wall.
“What are we going to do about her?” The healer inclines her head
toward Alienor. “That level of untamed power is deadly to our coven.”
“You can’t bind my magic,” Alienor blurts.
My breath quickens. I step outside and wince at the sudden rush of
sunlight on my skin markings. As their magic adjusts to the glare, I wait in
the shelter of an apple tree at the edge of the witches’ protective bubble.
The healer makes an excellent suggestion. Without her magic, Alienor
would be as vulnerable as a human. Without her magic, there would be
nothing to power her curse.
The grandmother pinches the bridge of her nose. “Let’s not be too hasty,
Klara—”
 “If Aggie’s locket hadn’t alerted us of a near-fatal wound, she would
have died.”
“It wasn’t me,” Alienor says. “It was—”
“Enough,” the healer snaps. “We’ve coddled that girl for too long, and
siphoned enough of our magic in service of her paranoia. Why can’t you all
face the fact that she’s unwell and incapable of being a productive witch?”
“Aunt Klara,” Alienor cries.
“I’m sorry to say it so bluntly, but it’s true.”
I bounce on my heels, all regrets of attacking the young witch
evaporating in the morning sun. The more Alienor protests, the more
convinced the healer becomes that she is delusional. All I have to do is wait
for those protecting my wife to turn against her, and she will be mine.
The argument continues, their voices an orchestra to my ears. My wife
was once a powerful queen who presided over our court and persuaded our
children to vie for my throne. Now she stands, weak and pitiful and at the
mercy of older witches.
I want her on her knees, begging me for mercy. I want her sobbing and
groveling at my clawed feet.
Alienor turns to me with tears sliding down her cheeks, her eyes
burning with hatred. “See what you’ve done?”
I smirk. “It’s only the beginning, my love.”
“You see?” The healer waves her arm. “Now, she’s talking to people
who don’t exist.”
“Why don’t you give me the benefit of the doubt and cast a revealing
spell,” Alienor yells. “He’s standing right there, laughing at us.”
“Calm down,” the grandmother says. “Both of you.”
She turns to the healer. “Klara, take Agnes home to rest.” Now, she
turns to Alienor. “And you get on the broomstick with me.”
While the healer places her half-conscious daughter on her broomstick
and collects the one resting against the wall, Alienor waits by the second
stick with her lips trembling.
I recognize the expression. It’s impotent rage, but nothing compared to
what I suffered for nearly a millennium. She and her grandmother wait for
the other two witches to fly away before making their move.
“Look at what you’ve done to me,” Alienor snaps. “My family thinks
I’m crazy.”
My lips curl into a smile. “If I had known you were so powerless, I
would have visited you during the day.”
The grandma sits side-saddle on the end of the broom nearest to the tail
twigs and beckons Alienor to sit in front. “Are you talking to him?”
“Would it make any difference if I said I was?” Alienor takes her seat
on the broomstick, which soars into the air.
I bend my knees, leap toward the sky, and unfold my wings.
As I fly a few feet beside the witches, Alienor screams.
“Careful.” Her grandmother wraps an arm around her waist. “I almost
lost you for a moment.”
“He’s following.” Alienor’s voice trembles.
“Where?”
The instant Alienor points, her grandmother whips out her wand and
aims it between my eyes. I stretch out my wings as beams of white magic
pass through me like a breeze.
It’s probably a detection spell, which won’t work against me because of
my bargain. Getting through Alienor’s locket is another matter. It’s
enchanted to protect her from all threats—not just to repel me. There’s a
nuance to their spells that comes from centuries of cunning.
“There’s nothing there,” her grandmother says. “Not even a disturbance
in the air.”
I chuckle. “That magic worked against me once. It will never hurt me
again.”
 Alienor’s features harden before she turns her head away. It looks like
she’s determined to ignore my presence.
Smirking, I fly as close as I can to their combined barrier. “You will
never shut me out,” I say, my voice giddy with glee. “I will haunt you until
you break my curse.”
“What happened to Eleanor of Aquitaine?” Alienor asks.
“You already know that story,” her grandmother replies.
“Please.” She sighs. “I need to hear it again.”
“Your mother’s dying breath as she delivered you was that her daughter
would wield the power of our ancestor and never have to suffer the pain of
being an underpowered witch.”
My wings slice through the air. This is most interesting. I had thought
Alienor had remained alive all these years, but perhaps her mother’s fervent
wish had brought my wife’s spirit forth. If that is so, then why did I only
notice her presence three years ago?
“Do you think that’s why I’m seeing things?” Alienor asks.
“Let’s focus on the history lesson, dear,” the grandmother replies with a
grimace.
Before Alienor can protest, the older woman speaks. “You know the
basics. After annulling her marriage to the King of France, she then married
the King of England and became his queen consort.”
“Of course,” Alienor says.
“I should never have taken that unworthy wench for my wife,” I growl.
“Their marriage was typical of the era. King Henry had a mistress
named Rosamund Clifford—”
“Rosamund was my devoted servant!”
Alienor ignores me, the way she always did on the subject of
Rosamund. Paranoia was always one of her weaknesses, as was the ability
to see plots that didn’t exist.
 As we fly over a lake, the grandmother recounts a false history of my
affair with poor Rosamond, when she pauses.
“What?” Alienor asks.
“Here’s where the story becomes more sinister. Convinced that
Rosamond was plotting to murder Elenor and become the king’s second
wife, Elenor brought a retinue of guards to her rival’s house and confronted
her.”
“What happened?”
I lean so close to their protective bubble that it pushes against my
wingtip. This will be the first I hear from the point of view of my wife or
her descendants.
“She placed a bowl of poison in front of Rosamond as well as a dagger
and ordered her to choose her means of death. Rosamond drank the
poison.”
Alienor nods. “Well, that’s what you get for messing with a married
man—”
“She was a servant,” I roar. “And my wicked wife stabbed Rosamond in
the stomach and left her boiling in a bath heated by two fires!”
Alienor stiffens, looking like she’s trying to stop herself from flinching.
I make a mental note that she finds shouting unsettling.
We continue over the lake, where sunlight shimmers off its water,
turning its surface gold. The wind streams through my hair, carrying with it
the gentle scent of wildflowers. Coming to the human world reminds me of
everything I have lost. The only reason I endure all the warmth and
brightness is for the chance to break my curse.
After several moments of silence, Alienor asks, “How did she punish
the king?”
“The chastity curse,” the grandmother says with a smirk.
“It was more than just chastity.” A growl rolls in the back of my throat,
building up in intensity until I release it through my teeth.
 How dare this old witch make merry of the curse? Alienor didn’t just fix
things so I could only climax in her company. She made my cock so
unappealing to women that even the court physician recoiled from it.
“What did the king do?”
“He had her thrown in jail.”
“I certainly did, but the wretched woman claimed she couldn’t reverse
it.”
“But she used her magic to escape?”
“This happened before she gained control of her power,” the
grandmother says with a sigh. “Her magic was untamed and too entwined
with her emotions to be useful. During her imprisonment, she prayed to the
goddess of Spring, Rheda. It took sixteen years for the goddess to grant the
queen the power she needed to give her husband the death he deserved.”
Alienor turns to me with a look of hatred that might have withered my
heart if I hadn’t already bargained it for the chance of revenge.
“What are you looking at?” I ask with a sneer.
“You should have sent that woman away. Instead, you let your wife
believe you were having an affair.” She sniffs. “Seeing how ruthless you
were with my cousin, you probably were unfaithful.”
“Are you talking to him?” the grandmother asks.
“King Henry must have found a way to survive,” Alienor says. “Maybe
he prayed to the god of cheating husbands because he’s been haunting me
since I gained my magic.”
I scoff.
She turns to meet my eyes. “I’ll dig out your secrets. When I do, I’ll
banish you to hell.”
“Not if I kill you first.”
The broomstick swoops down toward a stone house within a vast garden
surrounded by ash trees. This must be the grandmother’s home. I tip
forward to follow, but twenty feet away from the ground, my body hits an
invisible barrier.
Damn it.
 Chapter Eight

ALIENOR
As we descend towards Grandma’s huge garden, I cling onto the
broomstick’s shaft with both hands and glance over my shoulder.
The Boogie Man hovers several feet above us, with the sun shining
through his membranous wings. He looks like an overgrown bat suspended
there in mid-air, and the thought of him coming after me with those claws
makes me shiver.
It’s hard to believe he was once the King of England. Stranger things
have happened, and he seemed passionate when Grandma told the story of
Elena of Aquitaine. Maybe he really is Henry Curtmantle, but that doesn’t
mean I’m his wife.
I can’t be some old queen since I wasn’t alive for centuries. The coven
remembers when I was born, and there’s no such thing as reincarnation.
A little voice in the back of my head whispers that everyone believes
there’s no such thing as the Boogie Man, yet there he is, the malevolent,
winged creature who tore Aggie apart with his claws.
My hands tighten on the broomstick, which trembles under my touch.
I’m about to turn around to see if it’s malfunctioning, when the Boogie
Man roars, “Damn you, Alienor!”
 It looks like I was right about the wards of Grandma’s property. Even he
can’t penetrate the protective barrier.
I would say something taunting, but I can’t afford to let Grandma hear
me yelling at someone she thinks doesn’t exist.
The broomstick’s shaft pulses, and then warm liquid spatters on the side
of my face.
“What is that?” I shriek.
“Tree sap,” Grandma says a little too quickly for my liking. “I’m having
problems breaking in this broom.”
We land on the path that stretches from the three-story house to the little
stone cottage at the edge of the orchard. Grandma presses her palm in the
small of my back like she used to do when I was little and she wanted me to
jump down.
As she disembarks, I take the hint and step off the broom, leaving it
hovering at our side.
“Doesn’t that broomstick belong to Aggie?”
Her cheeks turn pink. “Agnes has her own broom.” Grandma makes a
high-pitched laugh. “Let yourself into the guesthouse, dear. Grandma needs
to make a few potions.”
She hurries toward her house without a backward glance. The
broomstick flies beside her like an obedient dog.
“Grandma?”
Her shoulders stiffen, but she doesn’t turn to meet my eyes. “Yes,
Alienor?”
“What’s going to happen next for me?”
“I’ll keep you here under observation. If your magic continues to
become a danger to yourself or others, we’ll discuss binding it at next
week’s coven meeting.”
“And then what?” I ask, even though what happens next is clear.
 “If the majority of members agree, then we will lock away your magic
for a determined amount of years until we deem you fit enough to wield it.”
My jaw clenches so tightly that I feel an ache in my neck muscles. This
is bullshit. Without even a scrap of magic, I’ll never be able to train what
little I can wield. I’ll have a vicious stalker but no magic to power the
protective locket. It will be worse than being a human because the Boogie
Man will still want me dead.
“Can’t you give me some training?” I ask, my voice breaking.
“Alienor,” she says with the same weary sigh when I ask her this
question. “I can only guide you to use the magic you can express at will.
You know that.”
A heavy weight settles on my chest and pushes down on my heart. I tilt
my head to the sky, where the Boogie Man continues to float above the
boundary like a harbinger of death.
“Fine,” I say with a sniff. “I’ll do it myself.”
Grandma continues toward the house, and I trudge down the path to the
guest cottage.
I know exactly what I need to do. If I can’t banish the Boogie Man back
to wherever he’s come from, then I’ll have to prove to everyone that he
exists.
On the outside, the cottage is a one-story dwelling a little larger than a
garden shed. Tangled vines grow on its triangular roof with oversized
grapes that hang down to the chamomile lawn.
I push its wooden door open and relax at the rush of familiar magic. The
cottage is spacious on the inside with three stone-brick walls and one that
consists entirely of windows that overlook the orchard that stretches down
to the boundary.
To my immediate left is a room containing a bed large enough for two.
It’s covered in the white quilt Grandma and I made when I was younger.
There’s also a kitchenette of painted-white units, wooden worktops, and a
wood-burner stove. Everything else in the cottage is either made of ash
wood or upholstered in white. As prisons go, this one is unusually cozy.
A faint crack, followed by movement on the edge of my vision has my
gaze darting toward the wall of windows. A huge, dark figure darts between
the apple trees at the edge of the garden's boundary. My jaw clenches as he
raises his palms and stretches his wings.
“I thought he only attacked at night!”
Wrapping my fingers around my pendant, I storm out through the front
door, around the back of the cottage, and through the orchard. Sunlight
filters down through the canopy of apple trees, forming pretty patterns on
the ground.
Leaf litter crunches and twigs crack underfoot. I’m too pissed off to
appreciate the beauty of my surroundings because the Boogie Man pulls
back his shoulders and adopts a stance like he’s our landlord, demanding
the rent.
“Why did you hurt my cousin?” I snap.
The corners of his full lips pinch with distaste. “She helped you set a
trap, did she not?”
“You wouldn’t have gotten caught in it if you hadn’t tried to steal my
underwear. What the hell do you do with it, anyway?”
He smirks. “Hand over your knickers if you want a demonstration.”
Heat flares across my cheeks. I step back, my heart pounding. “You’re
not just a psychopath. You’re disgusting.”
“Tell me something, Alienor,” he says in a low growl that I feel against
my nipples. “Why were you sleeping naked last night? Is it because you
knew I would be a captive audience? You gave me quite the show.”
My mouth goes dry, and the pulse between my legs pounds. I squeeze
my thighs together, trying not to feel anything but revulsion for this
beautiful monster.
 “How did the conversation switch from your attack on Aggie to your
perversions?” I ask.
His smirk morphs into a full grin. “Did you ever check your underwear?
I left you several salty deposits.”
My jaw drops, and I flounder for a sassy retort. All I keep thinking
about is him pressed up against the barrier of the trap, holding my
underwear to his nose as he strokes himself.
“We’re not having this conversation,” I say.
The Boogie Man stands beneath the canopy of a tree with dappled light
shining down on his sculpted chest. The shadows accentuate the dips and
contours of his abs, which tighten and loosen with his heavy breaths.
Reluctantly, I force my gaze up his chest to meet his malicious, green eyes.
I’ve said this before, but he’s the most beautiful creature I’ve ever seen.
Of course, he is. It has to be a glamor designed to lure me in. The moment I
let down my guard, he’ll transform into a monster.
“What do you want from me?” I ask.
The corners of his eyes crinkle, making my breath catch. “Your heart.”
“I could never love someone so violent.”
The Boogie Man tilts his head and gazes down at me as though I’ve said
something amusing. “It’s not your love that I seek.” He raises a hand with
black-tipped fingers that end in claws. “I wish to tear out your beating heart
from your delectable body and crush it in my fingers.”
“Why?” I say through a gasp.
“You know why.” He steps toward me and presses both palms against
the invisible barrier.
On instinct, I skitter back. “If it’s revenge you want, I’m the wrong
woman. Just because my mother named me after your wife—”
“You. Are. Alienor,” he snarls. “I don’t know how you rebirthed
yourself, but you look exactly as you did when we first wed.”
 “What makes you so certain? It’s been nearly a thousand years since
you were human, but there’s a thing called genetics? You might know it as a
family resemblance.” I spread out my hands to emphasize my point.
He hisses at me through sharp teeth, making my heart jump. “She
cursed me with a deformed cock and the inability to climax except in her
presence. You are my wife.”
Without meaning to, my gaze drifts down. Down past his sculpted chest,
down past his tight abs, and to his leathery leg coverings, where a huge
erection stands to attention.
My throat tightens, as do the muscles of my pussy.
It’s bright red, fully erect, with all four heads darkened and swollen.
Tiny crystals sparkle in the dappled light, making it look like he’s covered
in glitter.
The sight is both fascinating and hypnotic. I crouch toward his cock, my
hand drifting to his thick shaft.
The Boogie Man wraps his hand around his length and groans. “See
what you do to me, wife? No other wench arouses me but you.”
“We’re not married.” I voice the protest too weakly for it to have any
impact.
“Alienor’s curse says that I can only achieve satisfaction as a man with
her,” he says, his voice choked. “There’s enough of my wife in you to fulfill
that condition.”
I gulp, my gaze still fixed on that huge cock. As he rubs his thumb over
each of the four heads, my chest echoes with a moan. Part of me wants to
reach through the barrier and feel it for myself, but recent memory and
common sense dictate that he’s dangerous.
As the Boogie Man continues to stroke himself, I force my gaze away
from his erection to his face. His eyes glaze and his full lips part with
panting breaths.
“Isn’t this kind of behavior unkingly?” I say for want of a better word.
 He huffs a bitter laugh. “After eight centuries of sexual frustration and
never feeling a jot of satisfaction, one loses all sense of propriety.”
Heat floods my pussy. I rub my thighs together, trying to create some
friction, even though I know it’s inappropriate.
“If I stand here and watch you wank, will you leave me alone?” I ask.
“Will you break my curse?” His strokes quicken.
“How?”
“With your magic.”
I get the impression that he would deliver that answer with a lot more
vitriol if he didn’t need my presence to cum.
Even more of the glittery substance gathers in his slits, pushing apart the
reddened skin. I lean forward. “Is that faerie dust?”
“Enchanted salt, and it’s part of your curse.”
“Elenor of Aquitaine’s, you mean?”
“Same wench,” he says through clenched teeth.
I’m so fascinated by this creature that I don’t bother to correct his
mistake. He’s so stubborn that he’ll never listen to my protests. He tightens
his grip on his shaft, turning his knuckles white.
My skin tingles. It’s crazy, but I’ve never felt so alive, so special, so
seen. A handsome, centuries-old king cursed by my ancestor with eternal
fidelity is stalking me.
It makes a twisted sort of sense since my mother used her last breath to
bless me with my ancestor’s magic. Does that mean I have the power of a
queen?
“Touch yourself, Alienor,” he growls. “Show me that beautiful cunt
before I tear out your black heart.”
His words snap me out of my stupor, reminding me that this monster
wants me dead. I step back, feeling like an idiot for getting distracted by his
beauty.
 “You wanted proof that you are Alienor,” he says, his voice heavy with
bitterness. “My vicious wife always took delight in leaving me wanting.”
“Maybe you shouldn’t have cheated on her and then thrown her into
jail,” I snap.
“Mark my words, Alienor,” he growls loud enough to make the birds
launch themselves into the sky. “One day, I will find my way through your
defenses. When I do, I will make you scream for mercy.”
I turn around and sprint toward the house.
No force on this earth would convince me to remove that locket, but it
will be useless if I lose my magic. I’m all the more determined to prove to
Grandma and the rest of the coven that I’m not crazy.
Because if I fail, I’ll die under the claws of the Boogie Man.
 Chapter Nine

HENRY
Alienor picks up her skirts and runs deeper into the warded property,
leaving me throbbing. I stroke harder, faster, my gaze tracking her as she
darts through the orchard. Before I can get close to the edge, she disappears
into the cottage.
I lean my head against the invisible barrier and snarl. “Isn’t it enough
that you made me faithful only to you? I am a monster now and cannot get
release.”
The ache in my cock won’t subside, no matter how much I try to
distract myself from the sight of my worthless wife.
My animosity toward Alienor had been cooling.
I saw the desire in her eyes, the hitch in her breath. She had wanted to
step through the barriers to touch me, to have a taste. Marvel shone in her
eyes, tinged with lust. I could have had her kneeling before me with that
pink tongue running over my cockheads.
A groan resounds in my throat. I should have known that talk of her
imminent death would turn her mood sour. She pulled away from me, and
now my animosity burns hotter than the sun.
My claws lengthen, and I tear at the magic separating me from her. It’s a
mix of the power of multiple women, all joined together by a shared
ancestor.
I was not Alienor’s first husband. Before she married me, she was wed
to King Louis VII of France. They had two daughters, but the king annulled
their marriage because she couldn’t give him a son.
The women whose magic forms the barrier are not my kin—they’re the
ancestors of one or more of Alienor’s daughters with King Louis. I have no
sway over their magic.
The barrier presses against my hard cock, creating a delicious surge of
friction. I rub against it and try to work up a climax. The curse should work
against any of Alienor’s descendants, shouldn’t it? Sweat beads on my brow
as I thrust my hips and pick up speed.
Crackles of magic dance across my shaft and sizzle in the spaces
between my heads.
“You like that?” I growl.
It gives the leather coating over my balls a playful slap.
“Yes.” I elongate the vowel. “Take it. Take it all, like a good girl.”
After several minutes of working myself to the brink of climax and
circling that edge, even I have to realize this is futile. Without Alienor’s
presence or even her soiled underwear, I cannot climax.
My jaw clenches. There is only one way to end this torment.
I fold my wings behind my back, and my body contorts. My ears stretch
toward the sky, and my teeth length and sharpen. Fur sprouts from my skin,
and I land on my front paws.
There. Erection gone. I never get aroused in my four-legged form.
The mingled scents from the orchard fill my nostrils, combined with the
powerful aroma of witch magic. Not just Alienor’s but all the women of her
family. I bare my teeth in a snarl. Perhaps I should also tear them apart
when I get the chance?
Movement from deeper in the grounds triggers my drive to hunt, and
my gaze snaps to the larger dwelling on the other side of the property. It’s
the grandmother, leaving on her broomstick. I run around the grounds of her
estate, trying to follow, but when she flies too far, I switch back to my two-
legged form.
My wings slice through the air as I fly to catch up. The grandmother has
changed her outfit into the type of thin chemise modern women wear in the
summer.
I glide closer, but just as before, her bubble of protective magic is
impenetrable. She is a formidable woman with glowing skin, sparkling blue
eyes, and silver hair. I see tiny traces of Alienor in her delicate nose and full
lips, and I wonder if this is what my wife would have looked like had she
not cursed me to die.
“Good boy,” she croons and rubs the shaft of her broomstick.
“Are you talking to me?” I ask.
“You and I will have so much fun together,” she says without looking in
my direction.
I glance over my shoulder. All I see is the sky. A flock of starlings flies
a mile away and disappears into the clouds. There is no one here but she
and I.
“Woman,” I say, my voice sharp. “Do you see me?”
“Ooooh.” Her voice becomes breathy. “You’re a most satisfying ride.”
She bursts into peals of throaty laughter that almost sound sexual.
“What are you doing?”
She cannot see or hear or sense my presence, yet I have no idea if she is
talking to herself or to a being I cannot see. It wouldn’t surprise me if she
had cursed someone in her past who has returned to haunt her.
The grandmother continues flying her broomstick, clinging onto it with
both hands. She alternates between sliding her clenched hands up and down
the broomstick's shaft and grinding her cunt against the wood.
“Are you masturbating with your broomstick?” I ask out loud. “Are you
also cursed?”
 That is the only explanation. She is an extremely attractive woman, as
are all of my wife’s descendants. Any man would be honored to satisfy her
needs.
I shake my head. “Or is your hatred toward men so deep that you only
find pleasure from inanimate objects?”
The broomstick bucks and she tilts to the side. If I didn’t know any
better, I would say it had a mind of its own.
“That’s it,” she says through panting breaths. “Give Grandma a hard
ride.”
Just when I think this situation couldn’t get more bizarre, tree sap
explodes from the broom’s tip and coats the grandmother’s face.
What in the name of hell?
My wings stiffen, and I have to force them to flap so I can keep my
altitude.
“You are a peculiar woman.”
The grandmother clenches her teeth and releases several guttural moans
that could only signify an orgasm. I am confused about what she’s doing but
cannot judge. Moments ago, I was humping the air.
When her breathing slows, she flies down to a small forest on the
outskirts of their village. I swoop behind her as far as her protective bubble
will allow.
She dismounts, but her legs tremble so hard that she has to brace her
hand against a tree.
“It gets better and better, doesn’t it?” she says.
The broomstick floats toward a stream, but the grandmother is too busy
with the aftershocks of her orgasm to notice. At this rate, the current will
sweep it away.
I chase after the flying object and grab it close to the tip. Magic thrums
beneath the wood. My brow furrows. Or is that blood?
“Oh, you naughty boy!”
 The grandmother chases after the broomstick, which tries to jerk within
my grip. The wretched thing seems alive.
I wait for her protective magic to push me away as she approaches, but
it envelops my body with a subtle shimmer.
“Interesting.” I rub my chin with my free hand.
She places her fingers over mine and then pulls her hand away. “What
was that?”
“Can you touch me?” I turn to her, my eyes wide.
The grandma smiles down at the broomstick. “Were you thirsty after
that ride, sweet boy? I’ll take you home and give you something good.”
I let the bizarre conversation slide away and raise a claw to her
shoulder. This is a loophole in their enchantment that gives them protection
yet allows them to get close to an enemy to attack.
“Is that right?” I say to the grandmother. “Can I touch you while you are
touching me?”
I try to land a claw on her shoulder, but a thin layer of magic repels my
touch.
“You witches have thought of everything,” I mutter.
I’m about to transform into a black dog to see if I can bite her, but she
hops back on the broomstick and murmurs, “One more ride?”
This time, I don’t let go.
The journey back is filled with moans and rolls and copious amounts of
tree sap. I ignore the peculiar sexual conduct and cling to the broomstick.
Since I’m now within the grandmother’s protective bubble, then the wards
will surely allow me into her property.
The greedy wench has two more orgasms before she goes home, and I
hold my breath as we descend.
Magic crackles across my skin the same way it did after Alienor left me
hard and needy. Instead of pushing me away, it yields to the grandmother’s
presence.
 When we approach the chamomile lawn, the reedy muscles of my heart
pound with triumph. I am in. I have breached the barrier of their stronghold.
Here is where my wife’s magic is its strongest, reminding me of her
villainy. It overwhelms my senses until the edges of my vision turn red.
Soon, Alienor will be mine.
And then she will die under my claws.
 Chapter Ten

ALIENOR
I slam the cottage door behind me and lean against the wall. My chest
flutters, my heart gallops faster than an out-of-control pegasus, and my
pussy doesn’t know whether to throb or weep.
Every inch of my skin tingles. I’m too aroused to think straight, too
terrified to move.
The Boogie Man wants me dead. Dead but not before we have mind-
blowing sex.
This situation is beyond twisted.
My breathing slows, but the pulse between my legs continues to pound.
I lift my skirt and slip my hands into my knickers. My pussy is soaked, its
muscles clenching with need, and my clit is hot and swollen.
I can’t remember the last time I was so aroused.
I need to clear my head.
I rub circles around my clit and shudder as my mind conjures up the
memory of his full, kissable lips, his bulging pectoral muscles, and his
defined six pack. My fingers move in time with the dappled sunlight
caressing his skin and the way his tattoos shift with his movements.
And his cock…
It was long and thick and red.
 My fingers quicken over my sensitive bundle of nerves, making my legs
tremble.
The Boogie Man had been telling the truth when he said it only worked
for me. No one could fake so much murderous resentment.
I wanted to drop to my knees and run my tongue along those four heads
and taste if his fairy dust was salty or sweet.
Sweat gathers on my brow, and my breath comes in shuddering pants.
Now, my mind can’t stop thinking about him pinning me to the orchard
floor and fucking me until I screamed.
My orgasm has me twitching, trembling, and throbbing. I slide down the
wall and land on my ass with a sigh.
That was so intense.
Was I turned on by the danger or the fact that he’s so damned beautiful?
I suck in a deep breath, blow away the mental fog, and let my brain
catch up with reality.
There’s a man out there who’s had a murderous grudge for eight
centuries. He has sharp claws who wants me dead. Dead because he
believes I cursed him into a warped form of chastity. He can destroy things
and has already attacked a member of my family.
The worst part about this situation is that he’s invisible to everyone but
me.
Everyone blames his actions on my out-of-control power, and I’m under
the threat of having my magic bound. If that happens, the only thing
protecting me from his claws will stop working.
And I will die.
It doesn’t matter that he looks like a thing of erotic nightmares.
I’m still in deep shit.
Someone needs to banish the Boogie Man.
I scramble to my feet, rush to the door, and fling it open. Ignoring the
overpowering scents from the orchard, I jog down the path that leads to
Grandma’s house.
The wind sweeps across the garden, making the chamomile flowers
sway. A few loose petals fly into my face, making me wonder if the Boogie
Man is still lurking outside the boundaries, trying to get in.
I’m out of breath by the time I reach her front steps and knock on the
door. “Grandma?”
When she doesn’t answer, I push it open.
“Grandma?”
My voice echoes across the black-and-white-tiled hallway. The walls
here are so tall a witch could fly her broomstick inside and not bump into
the chandeliers.
At this time of the day, Grandma is usually in her potions room,
preparing orders for the family apothecary. Aggie makes custom
enchantments, while Aunt Klara tends to patients in the back room. Since
my power isn’t of any use to customers, I work behind the counter and
manage the stock.
All the other members of our coven work in branches across the
country. I don’t see them as much as the others apart from during full moon
gatherings, where I’m the one responsible for preparing the refreshments.
Grandma isn’t in the potions room, the kitchen, or even her bedroom. I
check the living room, but there’s no sign of her or her broomstick.
The last place I visit is her study, a little library of leather-bound books.
Our family grimoire lies on the desk open at a page that says, Invisibilia
Magica.
My heart melts at the thought that she might be taking my claims
seriously, but I also get an idea. If Grandma can’t get to the bottom of my
problems, maybe I can find a solution at the library.
Ten minutes later, after a steep climb up Mugwort Hill, I reach Witch Hazel
Library. On the outside, it’s a tall, Rapunzel’s tower-style building, rendered
in white with small arched windows. Its interior is thirty feet in diameter
with a huge, circular desk for the librarian, while all the bookshelves are set
within with a mezzanine walkway that winds up the wall toward the ceiling.
I have no idea where to start, so I walk the entire length of the library.
Ignoring all the places I won’t find information on the Boogie Man, like
fiction, wand making, magical plants, and potions, I pause at history to look
up King Henry and Elenor of Aquitaine.
The information on our coven’s ancestor is a more detailed version of
what Grandma told me on the ride to her house.
Next, I stop at magical creatures, but it only contains books on non-
sentient beings. Then I stop at mythology and find a few stories about the
Boogie Man which make little sense.
According to the information, the Boogie Man is just a creature parents
made up to keep their children in line. He doesn’t exist. I must have just
named him that because Grandma used to tell me stories about a boogie
man who hid beneath the beds of naughty children and punished them at
night.
I shake my head. If I don’t get any help, I’ll be searching here all week.
With a sigh, I make my way down to the ground level where the blue-
haired woman at the desk gives me a dour stare. “May I help you?”
“Where can I find books on a specific creature?” I bite down on my
bottom lip. “Black wings, pointed ears, claws, and black markings across
the skin.”
“Does it stand on cloven feet?” she asks.
“Human feet but clawed toenails.”
“You’re describing an Unseelie faerie.”
My heart skips at the prospect of getting close to banishing the Boogie
Man. “Oh. Where can I find a book on them?”
 Her gaze sweeps up and down my form. “Please confirm your age.”
I lean forward and hold up my golden locket. It doesn’t only contain the
enchantment that protects me from harm inflicted by magical creatures, but
it’s also a form of ID and a means of payment.
“Thank you.” She taps her wand on my locket and moves it to a wooden
box, which prints out a ticket on a piece of parchment paper. “Erotic
romance, a hundred and first level.”
My eyes widen. “Fiction?”
“Unwilling Bride of the Seelie King” is pretty good. If you’re looking
for maximum spice, try Concubine of the Seelie King’s Brothers,” she says
with a nod.
It takes a moment to work out that she isn’t considering my request
seriously. Besides, faerie smut is so predictable. At the end of the story, the
heroine dies and then the grumpy faerie or faeries realize how much she
means to them and revive her with the true love’s kiss.
I lick my lips. “Actually, I need a book based on facts.”
The librarian stares at me for so long that the hairs on the back of my
neck stand on end. She doesn’t believe faeries exist.
“Are there any creatures that one person can see but are invisible to
everyone else?”
Her eyes narrow, and she pinches her lips into a tight line. “Ghosts are
sometimes only visible to their murderers.”
“Solid types that can touch things,” I blurt.
“Poltergeists?”
“I thought they were invisible to everyone,” I mutter.
She leans back in her seat. “If you could give me some more context,
perhaps I can be of more assistance?”
I shift on my feet. My own family acts like I’m crazy because of the
Boogie Man. I’ll be damned if I invite a stranger to do the same.
 “It’s just a speculation.” I take a step back. “If creatures that resemble
Unseelie faeries don’t exist, then I’ll leave.”
“Aren’t you the apothecary’s girl?” The librarian leans forward, her
voice hushed.“Could you get me a discount on an extra-strength massager?”
I take another step back and bump into a lanky figure. “Sorry.”
Bony hands massage my shoulders. I cringe, already knowing that they
belong to Norbert, a guy I met online a few months ago.
“Ali,” says a familiar deep voice.
I turn around and offer him a weak smile. “Hey.”
“Unseelies are real, you know,” he says with a broad grin. “I can give
you everything you desire and more.”
 Chapter Eleven

ALIENOR
I stare up at the man who single-handedly convinced me that online
dating was a scam, my heart sinking that he might be the only person who
could help me with my Boogie Man problem.
Norbert is lanky with a hooked nose that overshadows the rest of his
features. His stringy, black hair hangs to his jaw, making the rest of his face
impossibly narrow.
I still can’t believe how he thought I wouldn’t balk at the difference
between his real face and the shirtless photo he posted on a dating site. I
also can’t believe I stayed with him the entire evening and didn’t walk out.
“If you’re looking for information on faeries, I can show you everything
you need.” He winks.
There’s no point in getting excited. Norbert is the type of nice guy who
will say anything to be liked. If you tell him you love diarrhea ice cream,
he’ll smile and say it’s his favorite.
I glance at my imaginary watch. “Another time?”
“We can check the restricted section together.”
“Why would you have access to that?”
He raises his black leather bracelet. “Necromancer, remember?”
My brow furrows. I thought he’d been lying about his profession, too.
 “Right.”
In our community, necromancers are the most skilled magic users.
Some of them are as powerful as the Magical Council’s enforcers.
Necromancers can access dark enchantments to cross the veil between
life and death. Because these spells are so potent, their guild vets each
member for the utmost integrity. That’s why I found it difficult to believe
that someone of his profession would catfish women online.
“Come on, Ali,” he says with a broad smile. “We can make it a date.”
My jaw clenches. He had been so persistent when I refused the second
date. Accepting his offer might lead to months of pestering.
But it’s not like I have many choices.
“Let’s set a few ground rules.”
He straightens, his black eyes shining with hope. “Alright.”
“We’re going up to the restricted section as acquaintances, alright?”
“Not friends?”
“I barely know you.”
His shoulders sag, but he gives me a sad little nod.
If he wants me to feel guilty, he’s chosen the wrong woman. I’m not
about to show him kindness only to earn myself another stalker. Sorry, no.
“This way, then,” he says with a sigh and holds his cuff out to the
librarian. “One guest pass for Norbert Briggs.”
After accepting a scrap of parchment, I follow Norbert up the winding
pathway to the very top, which ends in a blank patch of wall. Norbert waves
his cuff over it, and a door appears, which he opens.
His gaze drops down to my hand and bounces up to meet my eyes. “Do
you still have your guest pass?”
“Um… Yes?”
“Good.”
He holds the door open and gestures for me to enter another walkway
filled with shelves.
 It’s just the same as the rest of the library, but all the tomes are black. I
step through to the restricted section with Norbert on my heels, and the door
behind us slams shut.
The temperature drops and chills spread across my skin. I glance over
my shoulder to find Norbert gazing down at me, his dark eyes blazing.
“It was very rude of you to ghost me,” he says, his voice dark.
I step backward. “All I did was say no to a second date. When you kept
calling, asking me to change my mind, and not taking no for an answer, I
stopped responding.”
“You broke my heart.”
“It was one date.”
His lips thin. “I felt used for weeks.”
“Norbert,” I snap. “Did you bring me here under false pretenses?”
He flinches. “What makes you think that?”
“You’re the type of guy who sets up dating profiles with pictures of a
smoking hot guy.”
“I never said that was me,” he mutters. “In fact, I mention at the bottom
of the profile that the images were representations of my inner psyche.
Don’t blame me because witches can’t read the fine print.”
My jaw tightens. This asshole makes the Boogie Man seem less of a
creep.
“Do you know what?” I shove past him and grab the door handle.
“Forget it.”
Norbert grabs my shoulder. “I wasn’t lying about having information on
the Unseelie.”
“Not listening. I’m past caring.” I open the door.
“Black hair, black membranous wings, intricate black markings across
their chests?” he ask.
“You overheard my conversation.” I step out into the upper mezzanine,
remembering I hadn’t told the librarian about the Boogie Man’s hair.
 “How about the leathery legs and black-tipped fingers?” he asks.
I whirl around, meeting his satisfied smirk. “How would you know
that?”
Norbert leans against the door frame with one elbow raised. It’s the kind
of pose that might be sexy on a man who wasn’t so gangly.
A grin curls around his narrow face, which only highlights that beak of
a nose. He flicks his chin-length hair out of his face and straightens.
Silence stretches for several heartbeats, and my irritation mounts. “If
you’re trying to build up the suspense—”
“Faeries used to inhabit this realm around eight centuries ago,” he says
in a voice that echoes across the library.
My jaw drops. “Why don’t they tell us this in the history books?”
“Magical Council decreed that they be wiped out from all literature.”
“So, they really existed?”
“In a way.” He raises a shoulder. “But you can’t spread what I’m about
to share. The integrity of magic depends on you keeping this a secret.”
“I won’t.”
Pointing out that Norbert is sharing said secret in a public place will
only prolong this conversation. I need him to spill everything he knows
about the Boogie Man’s origins.
“Very well,” he says, sounding self-important, and sweeps his arm back
to the restricted section.
Any red flags about going back in there with Norbert drift away under
the promise of information that could possibly save my magic. I walk
through the doorway, cringing as he draws close to sniff my hair.
As soon as I’m out of grabbing reach, I turn to meet his black eyes.
“What do you know?”
“Before the mass exodus of the Middle Ages, there were two species of
sentient magical beings. Faeries and witches.”
I nod.
 “Unlike witches, Faeries were immortal, and were always aligned with
nature.” He counts off the points on his fingers. “Seasons, times of day,
animals, elements.”
So far, it sounds like the world building of any fae romance. I bounce on
my heels, trying to move things along. “What happened to them?”
His lips tighten with annoyance. “Their mischief made humans aware of
malevolent magical influences. The churches fought back by burning who
they believed to be witches.”
I nod. The witch trials that spanned four centuries were one thing we
did learn in history classes. It’s the whole reason why we have communities
protected against non-magical beings.
“Witches couldn’t stop the fae from tormenting humans, even though
they could see our kind and innocents getting burned at the stake.”
My brows draw together. The witch trials had never made sense until
now.
“The only way to stop the humans from fighting back was to form
covens for protection, and drive the faeries out of this realm.”
I’m breathing hard now. Norbert is about to reveal something I can use
to banish the Boogie Man. “How?”
“All faeries are weak to the branches of an ancient ash tree, rumored to
have been in existence since the gods roamed the earth.”
“What does it do?” I ask, my voice breathy.
“The tree will weaken a faerie’s magic. Pierce them with a branch or
lock them up with enough ash wood, and they’ll die.”
“But you said they were immortal.”
He taps the side of his nose. “Immortal unless murdered.”
“Oh.” I shuffle on my feet, my pulse kicking up several notches.
“Where do I find this tree?”
“Thanks to the Commission for Magical Forestry, they’re all over Great
Britain and beyond.” Norbert stretches his arms wide.
 I glance over my shoulder, my gaze wandering to the door. Grandma
has dozens of old ash trees around her grounds. Maybe that’s why the
Boogie Man chose to stand on the edge of the orchard.
“Back to my story.” His voice recaptures my attention. “After the ash
trees turned the air toxic to faeries, some of them lost their magic, only to
be caught and executed by humans. That’s when they all decided to move to
a parallel realm. With no humans to terrorize, they all went to war with each
other.”
“Thanks.” I rub my chin. “I’m being stalked by an Unseelie faerie. Is
there a way of just banishing him?”
“Drive a stake of ash through his heart. End of your Unseelie pest.”
I bite down on my bottom lip. It’s great that Norbert isn’t dismissing the
Boogie Man’s existence, but I don’t want anyone dead, just gone.
“There has to be a spell somewhere.” I gaze up at him through my
lashes and smile.
Norbert dips his head and smiles back. “There’s one called the realm
piercer. It’s what the Magical Council used to get rid of the faeries who
didn’t join the mass exodus.”
My breath catches. “Can you find it?”
He sweeps his arm further up the walkway. “It’s over there on the
Necromancy shelf.”
“May I see it?”
His smile melts into look of harsh determination that makes his features
even more angular. “I want a date.”
My stomach plummets. Norbert’s generosity was too good to be true.
“How about next week on Friday night—”
“Now,” he snaps. “And I want a good night kiss.”
My jaw tightens, but I manage to grind out, “Fine.”
“With tongue.”
 Bile rises to the back of my throat. Am I really that desperate to get rid
of the Boogie Man? My mind answers with the image of him slashing
Aggie with his claws. He also wants to use those claws to tear out my heart.
It looks like I’m having a date with Norbert.
 Chapter Twelve

HENRY
Where is Alienor?
Where is my wife?
I pace the orchard on all fours, my nose tracing her scent, and follow it
to the perimeter of her little cottage. The magic protecting it is nearly as
strong as the wards around the grandmother’s grounds.
Her delicious aroma leads me down a garden path of white stones that
glint in the moonlight. She has been missing for hours. That’s enough time
for her to plot against me and return with something to force my defeat.
I’m tempted to follow the scent out of her grandmother’s stronghold,
but there’s no telling if the wards would allow me back in.
The lights of the larger house shine in the darkness, and my ears pick up
the sound of female pleasure. My spine shudders at the thought of the older
woman taking sexual satisfaction from a broomstick.
Shaking my head and pulling my mind away this man-hating coven, I
head down another path that leads to the village. I have walked this trail
over and over, waiting for another chance to face my enemy.
Alienor’s voice carries in the wind, making my heart skip.
My prey has returned.
 I raise my nose in the air, picking up her sweet scent. Forbidden fruit,
fatal flowers, and spice. My nostrils flare at the scent of something
deficient. Dark magic, deer musk, decay. I rear back.
It’s death.
Another sniff confirms that Alienor is agitated but not frightened. My
ears prick up, and I catch snippets of her conversation.
“I want to see you again,” says a reedy male voice.
Alienor’s false laughter makes me bare my teeth in a snarl. My claws
lengthen, digging into the earth. I want to know who this man is and why
my wife, a queen, would appease such a weakling.
“We’re going to the library together, remember?” she says.
My hackles rise. I have never heard her sound so unsettled. She will not
go anywhere with this man.
Stalking low, I use the tall chamomile plants as cover and reach the
edge of the boundary. Whoever is persecuting my Alienor will pay for
encroaching on what’s mine.
I slow beneath the canopy of an ash tree. Fallen branches crack beneath
my paws, releasing a foul scent that matches my mood.
My throat tightens. These trees are poisonous to faeries, and the magic
thrumming beneath my skin itches. I clench my teeth and endure. No
amount of toxins will keep me from my wife.
Two figures approach from the road. Alienor and a man as tall as my
two-legged form. He has the gangly build and awkward gait of a tree sprite.
His entire upper body leans toward my wife, who tilts in the opposite
direction. Each time she creates a bit of distance, the man closes the space
between them, causing Alienor to jog forward.
“I want a real date, Ali,” he whines.
“What do you call that movie?” she says. “And the restaurant.”
“You know what I mean,” he replies.
 My chest rises and falls with deep breaths, and my muscles coil, waiting
to strike. The shadows of the ash tree fill me with violent magic that
crackles across my fur.
I will tear him apart.
Alienor falls silent.
I know exactly what this man wants from my wife. He believes the brief
courting he afforded her this evening will earn him a place in her bed.
Over his dead body.
“Here I was, thinking you’d made up your mind about me,” the man
mutters.
“Let’s talk things through tomorrow.”
“Not until I get a good night kiss.”
My chest reverberates with a low growl that makes them both pause to
look around. I clench my jaw, wanting to remain stealthy, but my body
won’t cooperate.
Damn it.
The attack must wait until they’ve crossed the boundary, but they won’t
move any further until I stop that noise. I have no choice but to shift to my
two-legged form.
“What was that?” Alienor asks.
“It’s stopped now.” The man wraps his bony arm around her shoulder.
“Well, good night, then.” She slips out from under him and walks
toward the boundary.
I stand so close to the trunk that our shadows meld. The power
thrumming from the tree battles with mine, but the fury in my veins burns
hot enough to make it submit.
The tree’s magic bends to my will, and I absorb so much of its strength
that my nerves tingle.
“Good girl,” I say to the tree. “Now, your magic is mine.”
I roll my shoulders, adjust to the stolen power, and grin.
 Our combined shadow stretches out from the canopy and out into the
edge of the boundary. It circles Alienor’s bubble of protection to reach the
man’s but the enchantment protecting him is equally as powerful.
What a pity it doesn’t extend to his shadow. The moon hangs lower than
usual in the sky, lengthening his shadow beyond the boundary of his
personal ward.
My magic latches onto the unprotected parts of him, giving me a taste
of his power. It’s ancient and dark, connected to a coven that centers on
death.
He steps behind Alienor and grabs her wrist. I clench my jaw and growl.
“Where do you think you’re going?” he asks.
“Home.”
“Alright,” he replies, his voice breathy. “I’ll come with you.”
A gentle wind meanders across the line of trees, rustling the overhead
leaves. My nostrils fill with the mingled scents of ripe apples and
impending death, but the edges of my vision turn red.
“You will be going home, alright,” I snarl into the breeze.
I merge my shadow with the man’s. Any terror he feels when I step out
from behind the tree will add to my magic. If he is powerful enough, I may
even have the strength to survive the end of my bargain.
As Alienor rushes through the boundary, my heart soars. She storms
down the moonlit path, and the man follows.
“Ali, wait.”
I step out from behind the tree and unfurl my wings.
Alienor screams, “How did you get through the wards?”
“Shit.” The man stumbles backward.
“You can see him?” she asks.
“Six-and-a-half-foot tall Unseelie faerie with black wings?” he asks
back. “Sharp claws and an even sharper grin?”
“How?” She steps back.
 I grin down at my treacherous wife. “I have taken control of his shadow.
Now, he belongs to me.”
He raises his forearms and crosses them over his face and chants a
stream of Latin. It’s a spell that protects him from death.
I shake my head. He should be more worried about the magical drain. In
a minute, I will render his spells useless.
The sleeves of his jacket fall to reveal leather bracelets carved with
similar occult symbols to the ones on Alienor’s ribs. Most center around the
planets and the elements, but the ones that catch my attention are those that
represent mortality.
The spiral of rebirth, the jagged lines of life and death, the ax of renewal
and transformation, the dual visage of Hel, and the key of Hades. He has to
be a necromancer.
I stalk toward my prey, the talons on my fingers lengthening to needle-
sharp points.
“You can’t touch me.” His voice trembles, implying that I can.
“You touched what belongs to me,” I growl.
“What are you doing?” Alienor asks.
I shoot her a venomous glare. “You will be silent.”
Turning back to the man, I stand at the edge of his magical boundary
and raise my hand. The power yields to my claws for a few inches before
they meet resistance.
Not yet.
“You see?” His nervous laugh grates on my eardrums. “I’m completely
impervious. Ali, stand with me. Necromancers are sovereigns of death. I’ll
protect you from this fiend.”
She turns on her heel. “I’ll get my grandma.”
“Then I will kill her, too,” I say.
She pauses to stare at me with wild eyes.
 “That’s it, Alienor, stay,” I snarl. “You are about to learn never to
consort with other men.”
“Don’t hurt him,” she yells.
The man’s terror mounts and I sway under the onslaught of the power
surging into my shadow. Something about the ash tree has boosted my
ability to feed on others. I push that thought aside to focus on the soon-to-
be-dead man.
“What else did you do with my wife besides touching her?” I snarl.
“Nothing.” He staggers back but freezes at the end of his shadow.
I grin.
“What is this?” His voice rises. “How have you trapped me?”
I step forward, the markings on my chest humming with magic. It has
been centuries since I’ve felt so powerful.
Alienor lurches forward, grabs my arm, and tries to burn me with her
flames. Her protective locket allows her to attack me, but I cannot touch
her. This time, her fire only tickles.
“Wait your turn, my love,” I croon. “When I have finished feeding on
this man’s shadow, I will devour yours.”
She releases me with a yelp, and skitters back toward the path.
I advance on the trembling man, who drops to his knees and gapes up at
me through wide eyes.
“Ali,” he rasps. “Call for help.”
Out of the corner of my eye, I see her reach for her purse.
I need to end this.
Now.
I shove my arm through the man’s weakened barrier and slash my claws
across his neck. His head lands on the chamomile lawn with a gentle thud.
Now, it’s time to deal with my wife.
 Chapter Thirteen

ALIENOR
I stagger back, my gaze tearing between Norbert’s fallen body and the
head tumbling into the chamomile flowers.
He’s dead.
Killed by the Boogie Man.
The Boogie Man turns to me, his wings slicing through the air.
Moonlight shines through his inky black hair, coloring its ends a sinister
shade of indigo.
He raises a clawed hand which now glistens with Norbert’s blood.
“You belong to me,” he snarls. “The next time you allow a man to touch
you, I will tear out his heart. Then I will devour yours.”
My hand flies to my chest. The locket resting on my breastbone pulses
with magic. I hold it up like a shield.
The locket is supposed to absorb evil spirits, but the Boogie Man is
flesh and bone. I don’t know if my current state of alarm will call out an
SOS, but since Aggie’s now in charge of helping me, I doubt she will come
to my rescue.
“Y-you’ve just made a terrible mistake.” I back toward Grandma’s
house.
 The Boogie Man advances on me, his green eyes gleaming with malice.
“Explain.”
“People can now see that you killed someone—”
“And blame you.”
My stomach plummets to the chamomile flowers. “What?”
“Your family believes your magic is malfunctioning.” He sweeps an
arm toward the dead necromancer’s corpse. “This suitor of yours was
attacked in the same manner as your cousin.”
I stop moving, my legs turning rigid.
He has a point.
The whole reason why I’m here in Grandma’s guesthouse is because she
and Aunt Klara don’t believe I can be trusted to wield my own power. They
want to present my predicament to the rest of the coven so they can decide
if my magic gets bound.
Shit.
Triumph flashes in his eyes, accompanied by an inhumanly broad smile.
I gulp. “You realize that if they blame me for Norbert’s death, I’ll get
executed?”
“Then the curse you cast on me will end,” he replies with a nod.
My throat thickens, and my lungs tighten until I’m hyperventilating.
The Boogie Man blames me for his current state and will do anything to
break free. How much time do I have until he starts murdering my family?
I glance in the direction of Grandma’s house. The lights are off, but a
faint glow from deep within the upstairs window tells me she’s probably
awake.
“Go on,” he says. “Tell your grandmother how a man she cannot see
murdered your suitor.”
“He wasn’t my—”
“Silence.” His voice is cold enough to freeze my spine.
I shake my head, loosening a mix of self-pity and panic.
 Breathe.
No matter what he says or does, he can’t get through my protective
magic. After a few deep inhales and even longer exhales, I clear my head.
Now isn’t the time to fall apart.
It’s time to fix this mess before the Magical Council takes my head.
I walk to Norbert’s headless body, hook my forearms under his
shoulders, and drag his corpse through the chamomile flowers. If I shove
him to the bottom of Grandma’s compost heap, he can decompose into the
soil.
The Boogie Man tilts his head like a bird. “What are you doing?”
“You’re right,” I say from between clenched teeth. “Everyone’s going to
think I murdered Norbert, so I need to hide the corpse.”
His bitter laugh grates on my nerves. “Typical. You have not changed in
eight centuries.”
“Are you going to help me or continue comparing me to your long-dead
wife?”
“You are my wife,” he hisses.
Norbert is heavier than he looks, and there’s an unmovable weight to
him that makes my arms strain. I hunch over, putting more pressure on my
stomach and thighs as I continue to heave the corpse.
The Boogie Man picks up Norbert’s head with his long hair and carries
it the way human lawyers hold briefcases.
What a gentleman.
“I was born two decades ago. I can show you pictures of when I was
little.”
“So you are a reincarnation,” he says.
“That doesn’t even make sense.” A thick plant whacks me in the face,
hitting me with a cloud of pollen. “If I’m a reincarnation, then it means the
original Elenor of Aquitaine died.”
“Correct.”
 “Then wouldn’t your curse have already broken?” I flick my gaze up to
gauge his reaction.
The Boogie Man pauses, his jaw tightening. The markings on his chest
move around his muscles as though they are alive.
I hold my breath, hoping he finally sees sense. If he can accept that
killing his wife won’t free him, then maybe he might go away and find an
alternative solution?
“I will take my chances with you,” he says. “Dark witches hide secrets
in their black hearts. You are no different.”
“If I knew how to break your curse, I would,” I snap.
“Which is why you must die.”
Frustration wells in my chest, mingling with the stress and strain of
transporting a cooling corpse. Norbert was supposed to give me the answers
to ridding myself of this fiend. Now, he’s dead, and I’m in more trouble
than ever.
“You do not seem overly upset that I killed your suitor,” he says.
My jaw clenches. Great. Even the Boogie Man thinks I’m callous.
“He’s not my…” I can’t be bothered to repeat myself.
Norbert caused me months of anguish with his constant phone calls and
appearances at my doorstep. During that time he was my obsessive stalker
who followed me everywhere. The coven eventually got rid of him by
casting a temporary spell that made me repellent to men.
By the time I reach the end of the chamomile lawn, my muscles burn
from strain. I straighten and try to catch my breath, but the sight of the
Boogie Man looming at the edge of my magical bubble inspires me to
continue.
Moments later, I’m panting beside the compost heap, feeling like I’ve
spent an hour on the cross trainer. It stands five and a half feet tall, so I can
just about see the dried vegetation at its peak.
 Dropping down to my knees, I ease off Norbert’s leather wrist cuffs.
They’re his guild’s equivalent of our coven’s locket, and if I’m lucky, I
might be able to use them to access the library’s restricted section.
If I’m luckier, I’ll find the book on how to banish Unseelie faeries.
“What are you doing, now?” he asks.
I launch into a description of how mixing kitchen waste and meat
carcasses with dry matter such as wood chips and straw will provide
nutrients for grandma’s gardens.
Decomposing corpses works along the same lines. It will take a few
months, but eventually, everything that was once Norbert will turn into
compost.
The Boogie Man scoffs. “You? Toiling the soil like a serf?”
My arms drop to my sides, and I whirl on the bastard, my eyes flashing.
“Stop comparing me to your dead wife. I’m not her.”
He bares his teeth and growls.
“No.” I pick up the pitchfork and jab its tines toward his chest. “If you
want to stay at my side, stop spouting your theories and make yourself
useful.”
He curls his lip, tosses the head on the ground, and stalks away.
I glare at his broad back, wishing I had the guts to impale him with the
pitchfork.
He certainly acts as entitled as a king.

Hours later, the first rays of sunlight stream through the trees that border
Grandma’s huge garden. A haze covers the land, reminding me that I’ve
been digging the entire night.
Sweat coats every inch of my body and soaks through my sundress, and
my muscles feel like someone has set them alight.
 The steam rolling off the compost heap isn’t helping my condition, but
this way, nobody will bother to turn it for weeks. By then, his body will be
in a deep state of decomposition and buried six feet beneath the soil.
I trudge back through the orchard, my arms hanging limp at my sides,
and my feet dragging as though they’re weighed down by balls and chains.
There’s no sign of the Boogie Man. I expect he’s slithered back into the
shadows or wherever he goes during the day.
When I reach the cottage, I pause at the doorway, not wanting to track
compost through the pristine white interior. After tossing my bag and
Norbert’s wrist cuffs inside, I take off my clothes, dump them at the
doorstep, and remind myself to pick them up later.
“Fucking Boogie Man,” I mutter under my breath.
Every instinct in my body wants me to fall flat on my face and melt into
the floor until my muscles stops aching. The only way to soothe my pains is
with a long soak in magically infused water.
The sun has risen further by the time I drag myself into the bathroom,
streaming bright light through an open window stretching from the floor to
the ceiling. Its walls are stone, much like the rest of the cottage, with a
clawfoot tub and one of those basin-type sinks that sit atop a wooden
dresser.
After turning on the hot water, my gaze drops to the relaxation bombs.
They’re designed to loosen a witch’s muscles and lull her to sleep, but they
might be too much since I stayed up the entire night.
Instead, I turn to the twelve-inch crystal massage wands. They’re
cylindrical with rounded tips and are designed for pleasure.
I place four wands in the tub, letting the magic release in tiny clouds of
bubbles. These are better than bath salts because they never dissolve. When
they run out of power, they recharge on the windowsill.
Grandma would chastise me for submerging myself in the tub before
having a shower, but I’m past caring about hygiene. One man got
decapitated because of me and another one wants me dead.
As the water reaches the halfway point, I climb into the tub and soak.
Why does the Boogie Man have to be such a vicious bastard?
I don’t understand how a person can be so possessive over a woman he
despises. But I’m not some long-dead, ancient queen. I’m her namesake,
who either passes a resemblance to her or has been extremely unlucky.
A dark figure appears on the edge of my vision. I snap my gaze to the
window.
The Boogie Man stands at the cottage’s boundary, clutching my soiled
clothes.
His long red cock stands at half-mast.
My eyes widen. “What are you doing?”
“Touch yourself,” he says, his voice hoarse.
“Get out!” I wave my sore arm for emphasis, making my breasts sway.
He leans forward, his lips parting, his huge dick lengthening and
thickening.
My jaw clenches. At times like this, I wish I had a foaming bubble bath.
“Invite me in,” he rasps.
“Fuck, no.”
He flashes his teeth. “Alienor.”
Desperation roughens his voice, and the way he says my name is both a
prayer and a curse. I’m not the kind of woman who inspires the desire of
such a beautiful creature, let alone his obsession.
The Boogie Man spent centuries fixated on his wife, centuries living
under a chastity curse that only faded in her presence. For reasons I can’t
yet understand, his curse has directed him to my door.
A wicked part of me wants to tease him and worsen his suffering. The
more sensible part says I should pull down the blinds and concentrate on
finding a way to banish him from this realm.
 Even if I wanted to get out of the tub, I couldn’t. The moment I try to
rise, my heavy limbs scream a protest, telling me I can’t move until the ache
subsides.
“Open your legs,” he says. “Show me that sweet cunt.”
Heat flares across my cheeks and spreads down to the swollen bundle of
nerves between my legs. He’s so rude and filthy.
I part my thighs a little, and he surges forward and pushes against the
magical barrier.
My gaze returns to his huge cock. Salt sparkles across all four heads,
leaving crystals trailing down to the ground.
The muscles of my pussy clench. “Is that your precum?”
“I am aching for you, dear Alienor,” he says, sounding pained. “Touch
yourself. Show your husband how you take your pleasure.”
Butterflies flutter around my heart. Nobody has ever looked at me with
such longing—not even Norbert. Hell, nobody has ever felt anything for me
stronger than mild affection. Not romantically, not platonically, and not
even familially.
This is crazy. Giving into the Boogie Man will only make him worse,
but he is temptation incarnate.
I’m not saying he’s right about me being his wife or that we’re even
soul mates, but every time he comes close, I feel wanted.
My teeth worry at my bottom lip. I should tell him to leave. But I won’t.
It wouldn’t make a bit of difference.
I swipe my tongue across my bottom lip, and the Boogie Man sucks in a
deep breath as though hanging onto my every movement.
Teasing the Boogie Man isn’t just a crazy idea. It’s stupid.
I should ignore him until he leaves. But when the pulse between my
legs pounds faster as he jerks his hips and drags those cockheads over the
magical barrier, an ache forms deep in my core that I can’t resist.
 It looks like my body wants the Boogie Man just as much as he wants
mine.
 Chapter Fourteen

ALIENOR
Knowing that the beautiful creature lurking at the boundary of my
cottage can only feel pleasure in my presence is beyond thrilling.
His large hand fists his cock at the base, turning it the color of blood
wine.
My lips part, and I lean forward in the bathtub, trying to get a better
look. All four heads are so engorged that they look like they could burst.
The salt crystals spilling from each slit make my mouth water for a taste.
“See something you like, Alienor?” he says in a low, seductive voice
that makes my skin ripple.
Fuck yes.
A thousand times yes.
“Maybe?” I cup my breast, my thumb and forefinger drifting to my
nipple.
He groans, and I feel like the most desirable woman in the world.
Sunlight glints off the claws of the Boogie Man’s leathery wings,
making him look like an angel of death. He spreads them wide as though
the broad wingspan is a mating dance, and the black markings across his
chest writhe over his muscles.
It should be me running my hands over those hard planes and contours.
 Or maybe my tongue.
As the sun disappears behind a cloud, my lust cools enough to make
way for common sense. This is the creature who murdered Norbert in cold
blood. I should be running for help, not running my fingers over my breasts.
My libido pushes forward, reminding me that the Boogie Man did it out
of a possessive rage.
He wants me all to himself.
My common sense tells me to stop believing in smutty books. The
Boogie Man will kill me the moment he divests me of my locket. But
doesn’t that mean I can do whatever I want as long as the magic protects me
from his claws?
He groans, long and deep, before bringing my knickers to his nose.
“Your scent is intoxicating,” he moans.
“Really?” I ask through shallow breaths.
“The very finest.” He runs his long tongue along my gusset.
Tingles invade my pussy, and I squeeze my thighs together, trying to
create a little friction.
Fuck.
I want him to get that scent from its source.
I want him to roll that tongue over my clit.
I want him to feast on my pussy until my body expires.
“Open your legs,” he rasps. “You must never hide your beauty from me.
Ever.”
“You think it’s beautiful?” I ask.
He grins. “Your cunt is sweeter than honey and fairer than a summer’s
bloom. I would kill a thousand men and more just to make you swoon.”
“Are you serious?” I whisper, already knowing the answer.
His green eyes twinkle, and he offers me a dazzling smile. “Tell me, my
dear, are you a virgin?”
 My throat dries, and the heat of the bath makes my head swim. It was
nearly impossible to bring boys back to my room while I lived under
Grandma’s roof. Then when I turned eighteen and moved out, I thought my
situation would change. It turns out that having a Boogie Man trashing my
house put a damper on my sex life.
“Alienor,” he says, his tone sharp with warning. “I expect an answer.”
“I’ve done a few things,” I say with a shrug.
“With that man?” he snarls.
I flinch. “Not with him. Norbert was more of a nuisance.”
“Then who?” There’s a glint in his eye that tells me he intends to track
down any man I mention and decapitate them with his claws. “Who else do
I have to kill?”
“Just my fingers and a few other objects,” I murmur.
His features soften, and the hand at the base of his cock makes a slow
progression up his shaft. “Good girl.”
My heart flutters. Maybe he isn’t so terrible.
“Show me,” he rasps. “I want to see what you do when I’m not there to
give you pleasure.”
He’s probably referring to events from eight-hundred years ago, even
though we’ve both established that I’m not technically his wife. Any other
time, I would point this out, but the urgent pressure low in my belly says I
should play along with the Boogie Man.
Raising my hips out of the water, I let the warm liquid cascade down
my pussy. My clit aches and throbs for his attention. I slip my finger
between my slick folds, making him surge at the barrier.
“I would kneel between those beautiful thighs and worship your cunt,”
he says, his voice choked. “I would lick and suck and caress you while you
shatter.”
“What else would you do?” I rub a slow circle around my clit.
 “Invite me in,” he says, his voice seductive and low. “Invite me in and
give this humble king permission to adore his queen.”
My breath catches.
My pussy throbs.
My libido whispers at me to say yes.
The Boogie Man has a certain way with words. I almost want to see if
he can make good on his promises. Self-preservation screams that I should
end it now before he becomes even more obsessed, but I shove that thought
aside.
It doesn’t work because common sense takes over. This isn’t the same
kind of stalker as Norbert—his eight-hundred times worse. The dead
necromancer only wanted a girlfriend but went about things like a creep. No
matter how charming the Boogie Man acts, he still wants me dead.
But what if I broke his chastity curse?
Maybe he’d be grateful enough to stop salivating over my death if I
found a way to help him. He might even give me a sexy reward.
“On my honor as a gentleman and a king, I swear to only give you
pleasure today,” he groans, bringing me away from my thoughts.
My gaze snaps back to the Boogie Man.
He stands with both palms against the invisible barrier and rolls his hips
to the rhythm of my fingers. Grains of salt spill from each of his four heads.
The tiny crystals glints in the sun as they cascade down his thick shaft and
over his leathery legs.
I bite down on my bottom lip and groan. Is this how the Boogie Man
fucks?
“Let me in,” he growls.
“I can’t.”
“Then stroke faster,” he says. “I want to see you touch yourself while
thinking of me.”
 My fingers fly over my clit, each stroke sending sparks of pleasure
down my inner thighs. I’ve always just masturbated under the covers—
never in front of another person, but the Boogie Man looks at me as though
I’m the most fascinating woman in history.
I flutter in sync with his back and forth movements, my body wishing
he was in the bathroom to fill me with that humongous cock.
“When I have lavished your cunt, you will be soft and soaking and
aching for more,” he croons, making the four heads swell further. “Then
you will take my cock.”
“But you’re massive,” I say with a gasp, my pussy spasming in
anticipation.
The Boogie Man’s wings quiver as he smirks. “You can take it. You
always could.”
My breath quickens.
“I would fuck you nice and slow. Deep strokes, just the way you like it.”
A whimper rises to the back of my throat.
“You will clench around my shaft and tell me you’ve never had
anything so satisfying.”
Gulping, I sweep my gaze up and down his body. The Boogie Man’s
slow thrusts are so hypnotic that I can almost picture him making love to
me.
I want to slip my arms beneath his wings and cling onto his back. I want
to dig my nails into his hard flesh as he soars through the air. The
beginnings of an orgasm creep up on me, that tingly, quivery feeling of
teetering over a precipice.
“Gentle at first,” he says. “When you cry for more, I would bend you
over and pound into you with all my might. Would you like that, my love?
“Yes,” I whimper, my fingers rubbing harder, faster.
“You would feel so hot and tight around my thick cock,” he says.
 An orgasm rips through my body in a series of cascading waves, and my
eyes roll to the back of my head. The Boogie Man’s satisfied growls filter
through the climax.
“Eyes on me,” he says, his voice a deep command.
I force my gaze back to the open window and breathe hard through the
rest of my orgasm.
The Boogie Man braces one palm on the magical barrier while stroking
his huge shaft with the other. He stares at me through blackened eyes, his
features a mask of lust.
I study his technique. He runs his hand up the shaft and pauses just
before the quartet of cockheads. Then he releases a hissing breath and
makes three or four rapid tugs before stroking down to the base.
There is no sign of any balls, but I think that could be part of the curse.
When he isn’t aroused, his cock disappears within the confines of the
leathery pelt that makes up his lower half.
“Your fingers will never satisfy you the way I can,” he says, his voice
hoarse.
He’s right.
My pleasure fades, yet my body aches for more.
The hand fondling my breast drops into the water, and I fumble around
for one of the wands I’d placed in the bath.
“What are you doing?” the Boogie Man asks.
“I need to be filled.” My fingers wrap around the crystal, and I pull it
out of the water.
It’s a pink, rose-quartz wand that’s shaped like a cylinder with the same
rounded tip as a dildo.
“Is that how you satisfy yourself, wife?” He bares his teeth, his chest
rising and falling with rapid breaths.
My cheeks heat. I should remind him that we’re not married, but that
would ruin the moment. I need that second climax, right now.
 “Yes.” He elongates the vowel. “Show me how you would take your
king’s cock.”
I hold the wand’s rounded tip at my entrance.
“Shove it in,” he says, his voice a low command.
I have no choice but to obey. The crystal is hot and hard as it slides in,
making my muscles flutter. I keep my eyes on the Boogie Man’s as I push it
past a spot inside me that ignites bolts of pleasure.
“That little toy could never satisfy such a demanding queen,” he snarls.
“I would split open your tight little cunt. Make it deep. Make you moan.”
“Please,” I say with a whimper.
“Pleasure yourself.” He strokes his shaft faster, his fingers sliding over
one of the heads.
I move the massage wand in and out of my pussy with the same rapid
movements, imagining it’s him fucking me. The crystal dildo is a poor
alternative to the intense stretch that the Boogie Man promises, but it’s still
better than having him tear me apart with his claws.
The Boogie Man brings my underwear to his nose and his abs tighten as
he strokes himself, deepening the grooves separating each muscle. The
markings across his chest move toward his shoulders, exposing his nipples.
I want to roll those tight little nipples between my fingers, just to see his
expression.
“Come on, my love,” he croons. “Show your king how you cum.”
At his words, the muscles of my pussy clench so hard around the dildo
that I’m seeing stars. The second orgasm is a pleasure that borders on pain.
I’ve never climaxed so hard or with such naked intensity. I cry out, my
gaze locked on the eyes of my enemy as he bares his teeth.
“Y-your turn,” I say between panting breaths.
“Here it comes.”
His abdominal muscles tighten, and his wings flare out to their full
width. Even the muscles on his thighs quiver as he strokes harder, faster,
and brings my underwear to the space beneath his cockheads.
“Fuck,” he roars.
Streams of salt spurt from two of the tips. His knees buckle, his face
contorts, as the rest of his body jerks and spasms with what looks like an
agonizing climax.
My lips part as salt sprays on the invisible barrier before drifting down
like fallen snow.
The Boogie Man bows his head, breathing hard and fast as those strange
cock-heads take their turn ejecting white crystals. I can’t tell if he’s in
agony or ecstasy.
I shuffle to the edge of the bath, my brow furrowing.
“Do orgasms cause you pain?”
When he finally raises his head, all traces of lust vanish, replaced with a
look of burning hatred.
The shock of seeing such animosity makes me skitter to the other side
of the tub.
“This is your doing, Alienor,” he hisses through clenched teeth. “Not
only has your magic mutilated my cock, and cursed me into eternal sexual
fidelity to you, but I now shoot salt instead of semen. You have condemned
me to centuries of frustration and excruciating pain.”
My lips part with a gasp. “I didn’t know.”
He slashes at the invisible barrier. “Mark my words, woman. For every
injury you have inflicted on my person, you will suffer tenfold.”
“But it wasn’t me—”
“Silence,” he roars. “You know what you did.”
He springs into the air, flaps his wings, and disappears into the sky.
“Shit.”
I climb out of the tub, my limbs aching less than they did twenty
minutes ago, and shoulder on a bathrobe and slippers. No matter how much
I protest, he still thinks I am his wife.
 His feelings toward Elanor of Aquitaine aren’t a simple case of love-
hate. They’re completely murderous.
As I walk out of the bathroom and into the cottage’s living area, nearly
tripping on one of Norbert’s bracelets that must have rolled across the room,
my phone buzzes.
“I can’t be late for work,” I mutter, my gaze darting to the little clock on
the wall. It’s only eight, so I have another hour before the apothecary opens.
The phone buzzes again, making me quicken my pace toward the edge
of the rug, where I tossed my bag.
I pull out the handset to find a message from my cousin, Aggie.
The first text says:
I know what you did.
The second says:
If you don’t want me to tell the COVEN, you will meet me ASAP!
My stomach tightens, and I clasp a hand over my mouth to stifle a sob.
How the hell does Aggie know about Norbert?
 Chapter Fifteen

ALIENOR
I sway on my feet, oscillating from blind panic to wanting to hurl the
contents of my empty stomach over the phone. How would Aggie know
Norbert was dead? If she had followed us last night, then she might have
seen him die the same way she got attacked.
Aggie messages again with, I mean it!!
With a jolt of alarm, I drop the phone, rush to the bedroom, and throw
on some clothes.
My insides churn with bitter regret. Regret for ever deciding to record
the Boogie Man. Regret for persuading Aggie to channel the wards around
my home to create a trap. Regret for involving Norbert.
The Boogie Man is determined to have me dead or destroyed.
After dressing, I return to the edge of the rug, where I left my phone,
and stuff it into my bag. Somehow, I’ve got to persuade my cousin not to
reveal what she discovered to the rest of the coven and certainly not to the
Magical Council.
I push the front door open and step out into the chamomile lawn.
Instead of the usual scents from the forest, all I can spell is warm compost.
It’s not unpleasant, but my spine seizes with a shudder.
Only I know what’s beneath the compost heap.
 But so does the Boogie Man.
Pushing those thoughts aside, I rush down the path of stepping stones
that cut through the lawn. Grandma’s house on the right has all its curtains
drawn, which either means she’s preparing a concoction that requires
complete darkness, or she had a late night and is still sleeping.
A light breeze combs through my hair, rustling the chamomile flowers. I
smooth down my uniform and pick up my pace. It’s a green dress with a
white apron to match the decor of the apothecary.
Heavy panting grates on my eardrums as I reach the ring of ash trees
that border the gardens. I slow my steps and frown. It almost sounds like a
dog.
Out of the corner of my eye, I catch sight of a long tail draped over a
tall root.
I turn to find a large, black hound lying at the foot of a tree with its legs
outstretched. There’s a thick mane of fur on its face and around its neck and
shoulders, but the rest of its body is sparsely covered, revealing leathery
skin stretched over bones and ropey muscles.
My jaw drops. He has to be a witch’s familiar, but the poor creature
looks starved.
“Where did you come from?” I ask.
The hound whines.
“Are you hungry?”
It nods.
I reach down and offer it my hand to sniff.
The hound tries to give me a lick, but its tongue doesn’t reach my skin.
Poor thing probably doesn’t have the energy. I run my fingers through its
coarse fur, feeling it shiver under my touch.
Has it been abused?
The hound doesn’t look like any dog I’ve ever seen, but Grandma’s
wards repel magical creatures.
 Perhaps it’s a hybrid?
“Are you a boy?” I ask.
He nods.
“Come with me if you want some food.”
Wheezing, the hound rises on trembling legs. He’s larger than a Great
Dane but there isn’t enough meat on his body to sustain a skeleton of his
size.
My heart squeezes. Who could have left a creature in such terrible
condition? He’s absolutely starved.
Placing a hand on his shoulder, I walk him back toward the house. With
each of the hound’s labored breaths, the panic plaguing me since Aggie
texted melts away.
A decent person would have called the authorities the moment Norbert’s
corpse hit the ground. I got scared and selfishly hid his body so I wouldn’t
get the blame.
The least I can do is take care of a hungry hound.
He follows me back along the stepping-stone path, his tail wagging. The
farther we walk, the more the hound becomes sure-footed.
My phone buzzes. I let go of him and slip my fingers into the bag.
Instead of a barrage of messages from Aggie, it’s a text from the bank,
telling me that I’ve exceeded my overdraft and will now incur a penalty
plus interest rates of eleven percent until I deposit more funds.
Bastards—both the bank and the Boogie Man.
I wouldn’t spend so much if he didn’t steal my underwear.
The hound keeps up with my furious steps, his gaze turned toward my
face. I smooth out my features, so he doesn’t think I’m angry with him, but
as we reach my house, his steps falter.
“What’s wrong, boy?” I ask.
His high-pitched whine makes my chest tighten.
“Are you frightened?”
 I drop to my knees and gaze into his huge brown eyes with enough
flecks of green to make them look magical.
“Don’t worry, boy.” I run my fingers through his fur. “If you’re scared,
I’ll bring the food outside.”
He shakes his head.
“You want to come in?” I ask.
The hound gives me a soft nod.
I wrap my arms around his large head and give him a gentle hug.
“Whatever happened to you in the past, I’m sorry, but I swear to take good
care of you.”
He makes a bark that almost sounds like gratitude.
Releasing the hug, I rise to my feet and thread my fingers through the
thick fur around the back of his head.
“Come inside, boy,” I say.
The hound steps over the threshold of my cottage with a yip.
My heart feels light for the first time since the Boogie Man clawed
Aggie. I walk toward the kitchenette and open the cupboards. When I lived
with Grandma, she always kept the guest cottage well-stocked with food we
preserved during the summer.
In the first cupboard, I find two whole chickens and a leg of lamb
wrapped in preserving paper.
The hound raises his paws to the counter, making me giggle.
“Eager, are we?” I ask.
He gives me a throaty bark.
After selecting the lamb, pulling off the preservation charm, and placing
the joint on a plate, I set the meal on the floor. The hound gazes up at me
for several seconds, his eyes shining with curiosity.
I kneel in front of him, so his gaze has to drop down to meet my eyes.
“It’s all for you.” I run my fingers through his rough fur. “Eat.”
His eyes dart toward the food.
 “Are you thirsty?”
When he gives me a hesitant nod, I rise and walk to the sink, where I
find a large bowl. The sound of chewing makes my heart soar. After filling
the bowl, I set it down beside the plate, only to find he’s already finished
the joint.
“You must have been hungry!”
The hound gazes up at me, his eyes pleading.
“Alright,” I say with a chuckle. “There’s plenty more.”
For the next few minutes, I go through the stores, taking bits of
everything suitable for a dog. Steak, liver, even raw eggs. The hound eats
with gusto, seeming to have a bottomless stomach. I make a mental note to
take a few supplies from the apothecary, in case he has worms.
Standing back, I watch him eat, the backs of my eyes stinging with
tears. Magical hounds are so rare, and it breaks my heart to see one that
looks so famished.
No one would abandon such a handsome creature, and it looks like he’s
been alone for a while. As the hound laps at the water, and idea slips into
place. What if I found him for a reason? What if he was meant to be mine?
My heart swells. Being chosen by the hound would fill my life with
companionship and uncomplicated love. But what if he doesn’t want to
stay?
“If only you could speak,” I murmur.
He gazes up at me, his head cocked.
“It looks like nobody has given you love in a long time.”
He nods and returns to his food.
My phone buzzes again. I don’t need to check to know that Aggie is out
there, ready to report me to the Council for Norbert’s cold-blooded murder.
Fuck that. I potentially have a hound who needs me. Aggie had better
not stab me in the back.
 “I’ve got to go.” I blow the hound a kiss. “Will you be here when I
come back from work?”
He barks as though he doesn’t want me to leave.
“I’d love to stay and play with you all day, but I’m in a spot of trouble.”
I run my fingers through his thick mane. “Be a good boy for me, and I’ll
bring you back something from the apothecary that will make you feel
good.”
The hound tries to lick my hand again, but his tongue misses my skin by
inches.
If I didn't have so many threats hanging over my head like rusty blades,
I would investigate why the hound is frightened of physical touch.
For now, I need to work out how to stop Aggie from ruining my life.
 Chapter Sixteen

HENRY
My belly has never felt so full. Neither has my heart. I have been alone
for centuries and without the touch of a woman. It is hard to believe that all
that affection came from my calculating wife.
Alienor’s generosity lifted my spirits and her soft caresses soothed my
soul, but they could never make up for her treachery. Or for my eternity of
suffering.
She seems to find comfort in my alternate form. Perhaps she is looking
for a protector?
Foolish woman.
I will make her scream.
“Alright then.” She steps out of the door. “Bye.”
I follow her out of her dwelling and onto the path, once again feeling
the shimmer of her wards. The magic protecting her new home snaps at my
tail and shoves me out.
My assumptions about the way her wards work are correct. I may enter
as long as one of the coven members brings me through the threshold, but
leaving revokes the invitation.
“Are you coming with me?” she asks with a giggle.
 “Of course,” I bark. “I will follow you until the day you die beneath my
claws.”
Alienor threads her fingers into my fur, her touch making my skin ripple
with molten rapture. Pleasure skitters along my spine, down to the tip of my
tail. It almost feels like I was never cursed.
We walk together through the garden of tall flowers, through the small
copse of trees that circle the boundaries, and out into the gravel carriageway
that leads to the village.
At this time of the morning, people are too busy going about their
business to notice a massive hound. Superstitions about my form have
developed over the years to the point that only those either attuned to death
or about to die may see my form.
The magic powering me is ancient, forbidden, and more aligned with
death than that pathetic man who succumbed to my claws.
My chest inflates with pride. Not only did I fend off my wife’s suitor,
but she cleaned up my mess. In the morning, she allowed me to take my
pleasure while I gazed upon her beautiful body, and now, she has made me
a breakfast fit for a king.
It’s only a matter of time before she casts aside the locket and invites
me to her bed.
I want to gaze up at Alienor and admire her beauty, but no force in the
realms could ever part me from her touch.
This time tomorrow, she will use those fingers to pleasure my two-
legged form. If she is fortunate, I may even permit her to run that pink, little
tongue over the four heads of my cock.
Alienor shares brief greetings with other witches as we pass a street of
stores, each producing unique scents. Aromas of baked bread mingle with
the scents of wax candles, burned sugar, and freshly butchered meat.
My mouth waters, even though I have satisfied my appetite for food.
The only hunger that remains is the one I have for my wife.
 Alienor slows outside a glass-fronted building with forest-green panels
and light-green panes. The sign above the door says APOTHECARY STYX
1302.
It thrums with the same treacherous magic as the grandmother’s house
—the combined power of my wife’s descendants.
Alienor crouches to meet my eyes and cups my face with her delicate
hands.
“This is where I work, but you can’t come in,” she says.
“You cannot tell me what to do,” I bark.
She tilts her head, her eyes softening. “I know you want to keep me
company, sweet boy.”
I sniff. “You are mistaken.”
She nibbles on her bottom lip and darts her gaze toward the
apothecary’s wooden interior. “Alright, but if I let you in, you’ve got to be
quiet. Sit behind the counter and be good.”
“A king does as he pleases,” I bark.
“Okay, then.” She springs to her feet and smiles. “Let’s go.”
She guides me inside, and a cacophony of herbal scents assaults my
nostrils. My eyes water and my nose streams, but my magic compensates
for the overwhelming stenches.
Her place of business is a vast space about twice the size of her cottage
with walls of glass jars set upon cabinets painted the same shade of green as
the exterior.
My eyes narrow. It’s almost as though these witches want people to
believe they are attuned to nature instead of nefarious dark magic.
I cringe away from an oaken table decorated with iron pestles and
mortars, the magic under my skin recoiling. The Unseelie power keeping
me alive reacts to anything that affects faeries.
Alienor slips her fingers through my fur and guides me behind a large
counter.
 She points at the floor. “Sit.”
Without thinking about it, I lower myself onto my haunches, rest my
head on the counter’s wooden surface, and peer out across the store.
“Good morning!” A blue-haired witch in a patchwork cloak bustles
inside. “I’d like to try a crystal dildos. Do you have one that lasts an hour?”
As Alienor leaves me to help the witch, I raise my front paws on the
counter. My wife was never this solicitous when I ruled over England.
People revered her and paid homage to her beauty, yet now she is the one
who serves commoners.
The door at the back of the store opens, and the cousin I clawed steps
out, her features sour. She still wears all black, except her locket is now
silver.
Its metal had been tarnished the last time I saw her. Perhaps that had
eroded the protective magic?
I make a mental note to find a way to corrode Alienor’s protective
locket if I cannot convince her to take it off.
Alienor glances over her shoulder, her features falling at the sight of her
cousin.
I perk up.
The cousin waits for my wife to finish helping the witch with her
purchase before walking to the counter.
Alienor raises her chin. “What was that text about?”
The tremble in her voice makes my hackles rise. Is the cousin now a
threat? I lower myself into a crouch and survey the other witch’s hands for
signs of a weapon.
Alienor is mine.
Mine to stalk, mine to torment, mine to kill. If the cousin so much as
hurts my wife, she will be the first to die.
“You’re a magic thief,” the cousin snaps.
Alienor rears back. “What are you talking about?”
 “Obtaining magical services under false pretenses is a crime.”
All the tension in Alienor’s shoulders melts away. “Are you talking
about the broomstick?”
“Yes,” the cousin snarls. “You promised to steal it back, yet you’ve
done fuck-all.”
I lower myself onto the floor and tune out the rest of their squabble.
This conversation is likely about the grandmother’s peculiar broomstick.
It does not do a man good to dwell on the depravities of women. Even
my dear wife is a degenerate.
My jaw tightens. I intend to punish Alienor for pleasuring herself with
that crystal when she had a perfectly good and willing husband, begging to
give her cock.
“Alright,” Alienor hisses.
“You’ll get it?” the cousin asks, her voice filled with hope.
“Tonight.”
“Now.
“But I’ve got to take care of the shop—”
“I’ll man the counter.” The cousin folds her arms across her chest.
Alienor’s shoulders sag. “Alright, but if Grandma is being so protective
over it—”
“Over what?” asks a new voice.
I peer around the counter to find the grandmother stepping into the
shop, holding the broomstick.
The cousin strides toward the older woman with her shoulders squared.
My ears prick up. It looks like there will be a battle.
“Grandma,” the cousin snaps. “That broomstick belongs to me. Give it
back or—”
“Alienor,” the grandmother says, her voice cold. “Have you been
playing with the compost?”
I swing my gaze to my wife, whose skin turns the color of spoiled milk.
 This is about to get interesting.
“Grandma?” Alienor asks, her voice wavering.
“Grandma!” The cousin stamps her foot.
The grandmother raises a palm. “Quiet, Agnes.” She turns to Alienor.
“Answer my question.”
My wife places a hand over her mouth. “I turned the compost if that’s
what you mean.” Her words are so muffled that even I struggle to hear.
“When I lived at your house, you always used to make me aerate the heap.”
“I thought you had grown out of crawling in the dirt.”
Alienor frowns. “What do you mean?”
“There’s a huge hole in the pile. It looks like you burrowed into it to
create a shelter.”
My jaw drops.
Last night, I watched Alienor from the trees. After burying her dead
suitor and his severed head, she spent hours putting the dirt back into a neat
pile.
She stumbles, her back hitting the counter.
If Alienor didn’t tamper with the compost heap, then a third party must
have gone there to dig up the body.
Who?
 Chapter Seventeen

ALIENOR
Oh shit!
I stare from Grandma to Aggie, my heart around my ribcage like a
clipped pegasus. Ropes of tension wrap around my chest until I’m
struggling for breath. What happened to Norbert’s body?
Grandma purses her lips and glares at me as though demanding an
explanation.
With a forced laugh, I say, “What do you mean? I wouldn’t burrow into
a compost heap.”
Her eyes narrow. “Why do you look like you have something to hide?”
I gulp, my gaze darting toward the counter.
There’s no sign of the hound. I hope to the goddess he stays hidden. I
know exactly what’s happened with the compost heap. The Boogie Man
must have watched me bury Norbert from the shadows and decided to dig
up his body.
What if he’s planning to parade the corpse somewhere public? If anyone
sees it, the Magical Council will order a forensic report. That’s when their
enforcers will discover traces of my magical DNA all over Norbert.
There’ll also be hundreds of witnesses to verify that we had spent the
afternoon together.
 Fuck.
I need to persuade the Boogie Man to give me back Norbert’s dead
body.
“Alienor,” she says, her sharp voice slicing through my panic.
“Whatever happened to the compost heap, it wasn’t me.” I walk around
the counter, step over the slumbering hound, and pick up my bag. “But I’ll
go home and clean the mess.”
“No need,” she says with a delicate sniff. “I repaired the damage with a
spell and erected a shield. No one will tamper with my beautiful compost
again.”
Aggie strides forward with her hands on her hips. “Now that you’ve
finished telling her off about the compost, you can give me back my
broomstick.”
Grandma’s cheeks turn pink. She mutters something to Aggie, but the
roar of blood between my ears muffles her words.
Right now, the Boogie Man could be framing me for a murder he
committed. He wants me dead by any means, even if it’s via execution.
Aggie grabs the broomstick with both hands, but Grandma won’t let go.
While the two of them play tug of war with its shaft, I reach down and pat
the hound on his shaggy head.
“We’re going home,” I murmur.
He rises to his feet and follows as I edge around the counter, trying to
avoid the notice of two witches fighting over a secondhand method of
transportation.
The broomstick shudders and liquid spurts out of its tip, filling the air
with the scent of tree sap.
Warm droplets splatter on my face. I wipe my eyes and grimace. What
kind of broomstick leaks fluids? Someone needs to take it back to the
manufacturer. Better still, a bonfire.
 Grandma and Aggie are too busy bickering to notice me leaving, and
I’m not about to announce that I’m abandoning my post to cover up a
murder.
The hound and I jog down the street in silence. At this time of the
morning, the roads are filled with traffic. Witches fly overhead on
broomsticks, and those who can afford magically charged cars take to the
streets.
I cross the road that leads to Grandma’s driveway, nearly bumping into
an old man on a bicycle reading his newspaper, while the hound snaps at his
back wheel.
As I pass through the ring of trees that make up the boundary wards, the
hound barks.
I turn to find him standing on the other side of the trees.
Bending down, I place my palms on my knees. “Come on, boy.”
The hound sits.
“Come.” I jog a few steps toward the chamomile lawn, but he barks
once more.
I turn back and frown. “What’s wrong?”
He gives me two sharp barks.
I scratch my head. “If you don’t want to come with me, then I’ll leave
you—”
He barks again and taps on the ground with his right paw.
Something’s wrong, and I’m not sure what the hound is trying to say.
After glancing around Grandma’s huge garden to make sure the Boogie
Man isn’t lurking nearby, I walk through the wards, slips my fingers
through the fur at the back of his neck and give him a gentle stroke.
“Don’t you want to be my friend?” I ask.
He whines.
My brow furrows. Everyone’s acting so strangely this morning. First
Grandma and Aggie, and now the hound. Even the Boogie Man can’t make
up his mind whether he wants to fuck me or wants me dead.
Anxiety ripples through my insides, making my stomach churn. I’m
wasting time. The Boogie Man is plotting my demise, and I’ve got to stop
him before he does something incriminating with that corpse.
“This is your last chance.” I give the hound a gentle tug. “Come with
me, or I’ll continue alone.”
As the hound rises, my heart soars. I keep my fingers in his fur, giving
him the reassurance he needs to cross the threshold. Once we pass the ring
of ash trees and he doesn’t bolt, the tension around my chest relaxes.
It’s silly that I feel safer with a huge black hound at my side. A monster
like the Boogie Man might tear him apart with his claws. Perhaps if I fed
the hound, he might become my protector.
We jog side by side through the chamomile lawn. Instead of heading
toward the guest cottage, I hurry to the compost heap for clues.
Grandma wasn’t joking when she said she repaired the damage. It’s a
pristine mound of soil with a thin covering of dried grass clippings. There’s
no sign that I had even turned it hours before.
“Shit.” I run a trembling hand through my hair. “He fucking took the
body.”
The hound whines as though to ask who I’m talking about.
Tears sting the backs of my eyes as I turn to my new canine companion.
“I have a stalker who hates me so much that he wants me executed.”
He tilts his head, seeming to understand my every word.
“Something important was buried in that heap, and now it’s gone.” My
voice trembles. “What should I do?”
A cool breeze rustles the leaves, making my spine stiffen. I turn around
in a circle, looking for signs of the Boogie Man. “What was that?”
The hound bolts toward the orchard.
“Wait,” I say, my voice breaking. “Come back.”
 As he disappears out of sight, I hurry to the nearest ash tree. Norbert
told me that their wood harmed the Unseelie. If I fashioned a weapon from
a branch and plunged it into the Boogie Man’s chest, I might get him to
give back Norbert’s corpse.
One foot stumbles over the other. I have to splay out my arms for
balance.
Actually, stabbing the Boogie Man is a brilliant idea.
But first, I’ve got to find the winged menace.
When I reach the boundary of ash trees, it takes a few minutes to find a
branch to whittle into a stake that’s both small enough to conceal and thick
enough not to snap. I tuck it under my arm and continue back to the cottage.
Once inside, I rifle through the drawers to find a sharp blade, cut down
the branch to the length of a pencil, and sharpen its tip into a point.
Attracting the Boogie Man will be easy enough. I reach beneath my
skirt, pull down my knickers, and leave them on the doorstep.
I pause a few feet away, beneath the cottage’s sloping roof, and wait
beneath the vines for the swoop of leathery wings. It’s going to be
impossible to defeat the Boogie Man in a fair fight, even when I’m using
my underwear as a distraction.
He’s always demanding sexual favors and complaining about the
chastity curse. What if I pretended I found him attractive?
The Boogie Man is arrogant enough to believe I’d be so overcome with
arousal that I’d want to touch him. Then when I get close enough, I’ll
torture him with the stake.
Moments later, a shadow falls over the chamomile lawn. I glance up to
find the Boogie Man sweeping down from the sky with his wings
outstretched.
With the sun shining through his black hair and coloring its ends a
vibrant shade of indigo, he looks like a dark angel.
Bastard.
 He lands with the grace of a peacock and stalks toward my doorstep. As
he stoops to swipe my underwear, I step out from behind the vine.
“Alienor,” he says without malice and picks up the scrap of lace.
“I can’t stop thinking about you,” I blurt.
The corner of his lips lifts into a smile. “Did you see something you
like?”
I raise my chin. “What if I said yes?”
“I would tell you to take off your locket.”
My spine stiffens. That’s not going to happen. Even if the locket can’t
suck out his soul, it still protects me from his claws.
I smooth out my features and force a smile. “I just want to touch you.”
The Boogie Man’s smirk turns into a full grin. “Beg.”
Annoyance tightens my skin into goosebumps, and every muscle in my
face clenches. It takes all my willpower not to grimace at the creature’s
audacity. He’s the one stealing my underwear, yet he talks like I’m the one
who’s desperate.
I am desperate. Desperate to plunge my stake in his heart.
I play along, lower my lashes, and give him what I hope to be a coy
smile. “Please, Your Majesty? Just for a minute.”
He chuckles. “Since you asked so nicely…”
My breath quickens, and my heart skips a beat. I close the distance
between us and stand a foot away from the Boogie Man.
Up close, he’s breathtaking. His hair flows over the contours of his
sculpted face, making him look like a piece of art brought to life. He stares
down at me through eyes so green that they make the lawn look parched.
Until this moment, I hadn’t noticed his irises had such beautiful, golden
flecks.
A rapid pulse thuds between my thighs and makes my pussy pulse in
sync. I want to lean forward and kiss his curving lips to feel if he’s warm or
cold. I want to run my hands over his muscular chest to feel if the black
markings curl around my fingers.
My gaze drops to the huge red cock standing at half-mast, and it’s not
just my mouth that starts watering. Clutching the stake behind my back, I
force my eyes back up to his smirking face.
“Tell me what you desire, Alienor,” he says in a deep voice that makes
my skin tingle.
Since when did this bastard take control of the situation?
I’ll play along.
For now.
Because in a few minutes, I’ll have this monster screaming for mercy
and begging to tell me where he hid Norbert’s corpse.
“You,” I murmur. “It’s you I want.”
“Elaborate.”
My jaw tightens, and it feels like I’m grinding my molars into dust. “I
want your gorgeous body. Your thick cock. I want to run my tongue over all
four heads.”
The Boogie Man hisses through his teeth. “If you want my cock, then
get on your knees and take it.”
 Chapter Eighteen

HENRY
Alienor’s beautiful brown eyes widen, and her cheeks turn a delightful
shade of pink. She believes I tampered with the compost heap, but she
would be wrong.
I suspect that this sudden change of mood is a ruse to seduce me into
revealing my plans. The foolish woman doesn’t understand that I only want
her dead. That doesn’t mean I won’t permit her to give me pleasure. She is
the picture of the kind of I innocence yearn to ravish.
Besides, getting closer to Alienor will bring her one step closer to her
demise.
I ignore the twang in my withered heart that reminds me of her sweet
caresses, her generosity, and her love. It doesn’t matter that Alienor is the
first woman to have touched me in centuries or that time has made her soul
beautiful.
My cock is so engorged with arousal that my head spins. What’s left of
my heart beats hard and fast enough to make me feel human.
“Kneel,” I hiss through clenched teeth. “If you want my huge cock then
you must bow before your king.”
Her gaze wanders down my chest, and the magic beneath my skin
tingles. I have never been so thoroughly admired.
 Back when we were first married, I was her plaything, her puppet, her
pawn. I existed to satisfy her appetites and her ambitions, but the woman
standing here trembles with admiration and awe.
My heart swells, and I almost forget the bargain that tore it to shreds.
When her lips part with reverence at the sight of my engorged heads,
only the curse stops me from cumming on the spot.
“Alright,” she says, her voice breathy.
Alienor reaches a trembling hand toward my left pectoral. I suck in a
breath and puff out my chest, my skin thrumming with anticipation.
Will she touch me, or is this a ruse to work me into a frenzy until I spill
my secrets?
Her fingers brush my nipple, sending tiny bolts of sensation across my
chest. My breath catches, and I have to swallow back a whimper.
Damnation.
If this woman withdraws her touch, I will decapitate her on the spot.
Another hand joins the first one and she strokes down my chest, igniting
long-dead pleasure centers across my body. I forgot how thoroughly I
enjoyed the touch of a woman.
Alienor glances up at me one more time before easing herself to her
knees.
“Good girl.”
I reach for her chestnut hair, but the magical barrier protecting her body
repels my hand.
The flare of anger that usually explodes through my chest concentrates
at the base of my cock. It quivers in expectation of her hot, wet mouth.
“Afraid?” I ask with a smirk.
Alienor licks her lips, filling me with a burst of heat.
“It’s so long and thick,” she says.
My chest inflates with pride. “It’s nothing you cannot handle, my dear.”
 “How will I get my mouth to fit around all four heads?” Her gaze flicks
up to meet mine.
The shyness in her eyes is intoxicating. I doubt that this incarnation of
Alienor has much experience of men and certainly none as impressive as
me.
When we were married, I always wondered how I compared with her
first husband, King Louis. Now, I have no such worries. I may corrupt my
wife as I please.
“Hush, Alienor,” I say, surprising even myself with my patience. “We
will make it work.”
She inhales deeply, as though gathering her courage, and drifts forward
to wrap a delicate hand around my shaft.
My knees buckle, and it takes every ounce of magic to remain standing.
I’m so huge that her fingers don’t meet as she squeezes me around the base.
I hold my breath, waiting for the first kiss, the first lick, the first suck.
“That’s it,” I say between panting breaths. “Now, give it a taste.”
She runs the tip of her pink tongue over the head on the far left and laps
at the salt crystals forming over its slit. “Mmmmm.”
A shudder runs down my spine, and I stifle a groan. It has been eight
hundred years since any woman has touched me, and I cannot wait a
moment longer.
Without thinking, my hand rises to the back of her head, only to be
repelled by her protective magic.
My jaw clenches. “Are you going to tease me all day?”
The annoyance in her eyes makes my heart soar.
She slides her hand up and down my shaft and lowers her head to run
her wet tongue over all four heads.
“Fuck,” I hiss through clenched teeth.
She makes a satisfied little hum.
“Eyes on me,” I growl.
 Her gaze snaps up to meet mine, and for the first time in an eternity, I
feel connected to another being.
I could lose myself in Alienor’s eyes. Her irises are a rich shade of
brown with flecks as bright as the sun. They reflect the warmth of her heart,
and the life I believed we had when we were first wed. I grind my teeth and
force back thoughts of her betrayal.
Alienor opens her mouth wide and engulfs the tips of my cock in her
wet mouth. Her lips close, creating a gentle vacuum that has me rocking
forward on the balls of my feet, and she lowers her head down my shaft.
The edges of my vision blacken with shock, and my excuse of a heart
skips several beats. She’s doing it. Alienor is sucking my cock.
My enemy.
My queen.
My wife.
A breeze swirls around our joined bodies, filling my nostrils with the
aroma of chamomile flowers mingled with the scent of her arousal.
I swallow hard, not quite believing that Alienor is wet for my accursed
cock, but it’s the same scent that she leaves on her underwear. Of course,
she likes it. Her enchantment made it appeal to no other woman but her.
My mouth waters. I want to thrust in and out of her tight mouth, climax
down her throat, and lay her down on the lawn to devour that sweet little
cunt until she squirts.
“That’s it, my darling,” I say, my hips canting forward. “You’re doing
so well.”
She slides further down my shaft, the apples of her cheeks rounding
with pleasure. I make a mental note to give Alienor more praise.
Before I can thrust into the back of her throat, she pulls away.
“Alienor,” I say, my voice a low growl. “You can take a lot more than
that.”
She makes a sound of protest, her mouth vibrating around my cock.
 “Use your words.”
I snap my hips, hitting the back of her throat. Sweet tension skitters
down to my balls. I arch my back with a groan.
Alienor gags.
I gasp.
Since she was the one who engulfed my cock, her protection won’t stop
me from fucking her hard and deep.
She stares up at me, her eyes widening, as she comes to the same
conclusion.
“You are going to be a good girl for your king, yes?” I say.
Whatever she says next is muffled by my girth.
I smirk. “What’s that, my dear? I can’t hear you.”
Her hand shoots up, and she plunges a stake into my side. Pain explodes
through my abdomen like a strike of blue lightning. Wincing, I grab the
whittled piece of wood and yank it out.
Black blood soaks the wood, some of it running down my hand.
Alienor gazes up at me, her eyes wide.
My blood heats.
She tried to kill me.
Again.
Any other time, her assassination attempt would push me to the edge of
my rage, but not today. I have Alienor exactly where I want her—kneeling
before me with her lips wrapped around my cock.
I expect her to pull back and scurry toward the safety of her cottage, but
she swallows, sending a rush of sensation to my balls.
“That was very naughty.” I flick the blood over her cheek, making her
wince.
Alienor remains in place, her features frozen.
I rake my claws an inch away from her eye. The magic protecting her
from my wrath crackles up the insides of my fingers to my palm.
 Alienor slides her tongue over the spot where my shaft meets my
cockheads, her eyes flaring with defiance.
My breath quickens.
Nothing about her behavior says she wants to escape.
“Are you going to be a good girl and let me finish?” I ask.
She sucks my cock so hard that my knees buckle.
“Damn you, Alienor,” I say without bite. “I’m going to fuck your throat
so hard, you’ll be feeling me for a century.”
She makes more muffled sounds around my shaft, the pleasurable
vibrations setting my skin alight.
I pull back a few inches and snap my hips, hitting the back of her throat.
Alienor squeezes her eyes shut and gags.
“Look at me,” I snarl.
Her eyes open, loosening tears that slide down the sides of her face.
My balls tighten, and my magic roars at the sight of her struggling
under my girth. “I’ll make you choke on my cock.”
At the next thrust, her eyes widen, looking like she might expire. That
cannot happen—not yet. I need Alienor alive at least until after I’ve
emptied eight centuries' worth of frustration down my willing wife’s throat.
“Deep breaths,” I say. “Through your nose.”
She gives me a sharp nod, followed by a noisy inhale.
“Are you alright?” I ask without thinking. “If you can’t handle it, tap me
on the side, and I will slow. Understood?”
The enchantment powering my immortality rears up, sending needles of
pain across my chest. It wants to remind me of centuries of suffering,
centuries of promising Alienor no mercy.
I ignore my thirst for retribution and focus only on the pleasure.
Alienor pulls back a little, inhales a deep breath, and says, “I can take
it.”
 “That’s my girl,” I say with a proud chuckle. “I always knew you
could.”
She breathes hard through her nostrils as I fuck her mouth. Long, deep
strokes at first, my spine shivering as my heads meet the back of her mouth.
Alienor swallows, the muscles of her throat squeezing my cock tight
enough for me to see spots. I cannot remember the last time I felt so much
pleasure.
She lowers her lashes and slips her hand under her skirt. The remnants
of my heart flip. Alienor pleasuring herself as she takes my misshapen cock
is the greatest compliment.
My arousal surges, tightening the muscles of my groin. I could spill into
her this instant, fill her tight little mouth with enough salt to turn her innards
into pickles, but I force down the onrush.
Not yet.
“Look at me when I’m fucking you,” I snarl.
Her gaze slides up my body and stops at my eyes.
Alienor’s pupils are so wide that I can barely detect the brown of her
irises.
“You’re such a good little pet for me, aren’t you, my dear?” I say, my
voice choked. “You were made for my pleasure.”
Alienor’s blush darkens as she nods, hums, and bobs her head. She
hollows out her cheeks, creating even more suction around my shaft, and
takes me past her gag reflex.
My magic stops tormenting me and turns feral. All thoughts of
vengeance evaporate into the ether. Even my breath stills as Alienor’s
muscles close even tighter around my heads.
Hot, wet, undulating pleasure ripples down my cock. It races through
my veins, sending tiny lightning strikes of sensation across my every nerve.
I stare down, seeing double, not quite believing that my wife, my queen,
my betrayer is capable of giving such rapture.
 Her movements quicken. She’s determined to make me spend down her
throat, and I’ll be damned if I disappoint.
Alienor raises a hand, rubbing it up and down my chest and abs and
thighs. The black magic beneath my skin rises to meet her touch with tiny
snaps. She lowers her hand to my hip and slides it around my back and over
the leathery pelt that covers my thighs and buttocks.
My magic thrums, my wings flare, and my tail whips from side to side.
She was never this wanton when we were married.
Never so eager.
And I have never wanted a woman with such abandon as much as I
want Alienor.
The arm beneath her skirt twitches, and I groan. It should be me burying
my head between those creamy thighs and worshiping at her little pink altar.
Me, licking and sucking her swollen pearl until she squirts.
But no force across the realms will separate me from such skillful cock-
sucking.
The pressure building up around my balls intensifies, and some of the
magic encircling my chest rushes south. I suck in a breath, feeling like I’m
on the verge of exploding.
My knees buckle, and my wings slice through the air to keep my body
upright.
This is the moment I fill her mouth with centuries of built-up salt.
“I’m—”
The enchantment keeping me alive tightens around my throat, cutting
off my words. I might want Alienor to survive for another round of sex, but
the power wants her dead.
Because as soon as she is dead, my bargain will end.
As soon as my bargain ends, the Barghest will claim my soul.
The soul of a king.
 Before I can think of what it might mean to modern-day England, my
mind turns numb, my spine shivers with tingles, and my body unleashes
centuries of pent-up orgasms.
Every ounce of sensation exits my body through my shaft. The force is
so intense that it knocks Alienor backward and renders me powerless to do
anything else but endure the onslaught.
My wings thrash, filling the air with the sounds of high-pitched
slashing. They’re the only thing keeping my trembling body upright.
Liquid silk gushes through my cock, instead of the usual grate of salt
crystals.
The muscles of my pelvis work overtime to pump out the fluids, making
the rest of my body seize into pulsating spasms. My eyes roll to the back of
my head, and my chest fills with a triumphant roar.
I have never felt such intense rapture.
Somewhere on the edge of my awareness, I hear Alienor’s cries. My
mind is too numb to tell if it’s out of pleasure or panic because this orgasm
is all-consuming.
All my strength escapes through the climax, and it feels like Alienor is
draining me of my magic. The sensations are so powerful that I don’t care if
I survive this encounter. I just never want it to end.
The orgasm continues for what feels like a lifetime and doesn’t release
me until all strength leaves my muscles and my limbs turn limp.
When it finally relents, I blink the blackness from my vision, my mind
now fresh with newfound clarity.
The woman kneeling in front of me is not my wife.
My wife was thirty-two when we wed. This maiden looks no older than
twenty-one.
I have never wanted a woman more.
She gazes up at me, her pretty lips parted with shock, and her eyes filled
with horror.
 “Alienor…”
My words die in the back of my throat as I realize what is wrong. A
thick substance glistens over Alienor’s skin, her hair is gathered into wet
clumps, and the front of her dress is soaked.
Drenched.
I take in our surroundings, my mouth falling open with a gasp.
The chamomile flowers wilt under a thick layer of pearlescent white
semen, and the grass surrounding them lies smothered and submerged.
I just ejaculated a river of cum.
Flooded the entire garden with jism.
The innocent woman kneeling thighs-deep in my spunk could have
drowned.
But she survived.
And I am utterly, wholly, and without reservation, captivated.
 Chapter Nineteen

ALIENOR
The pulse behind my clit slows, as do the ragged breaths from an
intense climax.
Tiny tremors skitter down my thighs. Thighs that are half-buried in the
Boogie Man’s release.
What the hell just happened?
One minute, I was ready to stab the Boogie Man with my stake. I even
had a list of questions to yell during the interrogation. Then he grabbed the
weapon and tossed it aside, and my strategy changed to seduction.
Warm, sticky fluid seeps through my hair and into my scalp. I thought
the Boogie Man could only climax salt.
This is pure, unadulterated cum.
And it’s dripping into my eyes.
I dig my fingers into the dip where the bridge of my nose meets my eye
sockets and give that entire space a firm wipe. Masses of semen gather in
my hands. I flick them to the side, letting the fluid land with a dull splash.
This is a dick disaster.
A spunk storm.
A cum catastrophe.
How am I going to explain this to Grandma?
 Focus.
The Boogie Man stole Norbert’s body and probably wants me executed.
I don’t know if the blowjob I gave him broke his curse or suppressed it, but
I just granted him the orgasm of his life.
He fucking owes me.
So, now’s the time to make him return the favor with a corpse.
My gaze lands on his muscular thighs. That huge cock of his has
disappeared into his leathery pelt, indicating that he’s well and truly
satisfied.
Of course, he is.
Grandma’s garden is swimming in semen. It even made the poor
chamomile flowers wilt.
I tilt my head up to find the Boogie Man gazing down at me, his green
eyes shining with wonder. It’s the first time I’ve seen him without his
scowl, and he looks oddly relaxed.
Even the black markings across his chest seem less agitated.
I take that as a good sign.
He offers me a clawed hand.“Allow me to help you to your feet, my
dear.”
“Um… No thanks.”
I try to rise, but my legs tremble so much from the aftershocks of my
orgasm that I have to take his hand.
As he pulls me up, his fingers squeeze around mine, and he brushes the
pad of his thumb over my knuckles.
My gaze snaps to meet the Boogie Man’s face. The corners of his eyes
crease with the beginnings of a smile, and he pulls my hand close as though
he wants to bring them to his lips.
Shivers skitter down my spine, the only part of me that isn’t completely
drenched.
 Right now, every inch of my body—including my clothes and
accessories—is soaked in cum. I can’t tell if my locket still works or if he’s
able to respond to my touch because I’m touching him.
Testing that theory could be dangerous. At any moment, the Boogie
Man’s mood will switch from amorous to murderous, and I’m not about to
get clawed in half.
I pull back my hand and wrap it around my middle.
This is beyond awkward.
The Boogie Man inclines his head. “I would like to offer you my eternal
—”
“Where did you put Norbert’s corpse?” I ask.
His features fade into an unreadable mask.
What? Was I supposed to blush and simper and tell him it was my
pleasure? Thanks to this beautiful bastard, I’m in the worst trouble of my
life. Grandma and the rest of the coven want to bind my magic, and I might
be under suspicion of murder.
“Tell me what you did with the man you killed,” I say with more bite.
The Boogie Man’s gaze darts around the submerged garden. I have no
idea what’s taking place in his twisted mind. For a creature without shame,
he looks almost embarrassed.
An imaginary noose wraps around my throat. My mind conjures me
swinging from the gallows.
“Why won’t you answer my question?” I ask.
The Boogie Man stares down at his submerged feet.
“What?” I snap.
Maybe he’s hesitating because the damage he did has already been set
in motion and it’s only a matter of time before enforcers storm Grandma’s
garden.
My throat, which is already raw from that blowjob, dries to the
consistency of straw. It takes every ounce of courage to ask the next
question.
“Did you dump Norbert outside the Magical Council building?”
“I did not,” the Boogie Man replies.
“Then where did you put it?”
He jerks his head to the side.
“Where?” I yell.
“It was not me who unearthed your dead suitor,” he says.
I reel forward, my eyes widening. He’s lying. This has to be some kind
of ploy. Who else would tamper with Norbert’s corpse? Only Grandma was
on the grounds last night, and she was tucked away in the house.
If Aggie had found the dead body, she would have mentioned it this
morning when she tried to get back her broomstick.
“No.” I shake my head. “You’re the only person who knows where I
buried Norbert.”
He steps toward me, his hand outstretched. “I swear to you, on my
honor as a king, I did not take that man’s carcass.”
“But you killed him,” I spit.
The Boogie Man has the nerve to flinch.
“So, what was all this about then?” I wave my arms around the garden,
which is now a shallow swamp of semi-translucent semen.
“You have my eternal gratitude for relieving me of my burden.”
“I only sucked your cock because I thought you’d hidden Norbert’s
body.”
The Boogie Man grimaces because he knows. Knows he obtained a
blow job under false pretenses. Knows that he wasted time that could have
been spent searching for Norbert. Knows that I’ll get the blame for
something else he’s done.
“You lied to me,” I say.
His features fall. “Alienor.”
“Go fuck yourself.”
 I wade through the ankle-deep fluid toward the cottage, and pause at the
door, my heart pounding hard enough to burst my eardrums.
The Boogie Man hovers several feet away, looking like a lost puppy.
Fuck him.
And his huge dick.
I fling the cottage door open, expecting a deluge of cum to cascade
across its stone floor, but the magical barrier keeps the semen at bay.
Thank the goddess for small mercies.
Without a backward glance, I step inside and kick the door shut.
“Shit,” I whisper, my voice breaking. “If the Boogie Man doesn’t have
Norbert’s body, then who?”
I pace the room, covering the floor in damp footsteps and splatters of
spooge.
It can’t be Grandma. Grandma was the one who found the hollow in the
compost heap. If she knew that was where I had buried a body, she sure as
hell wouldn’t complain about it in the middle of a public store.
Aggie? I shake my head.
Aggie is so desperate for the return of her broomstick that she wouldn’t
hold back such a vital piece of blackmail. Besides, she wasn’t even on the
grounds last night.
And it certainly wasn’t me because I was awake the entire night and
never returned to the heap.
I run a trembling hand through my hair. “Now, I’m starting to believe
the family’s bullshit that I’m a sleepwalker.”
A frantic bark pulls me out of my musings.
The hound has returned.
Is he fighting the Boogie Man?
I jog to the door, ready to defend the hound. When I fling it open, I find
the poor creature shivering on my doorstep, his fur glistening with fluid.
 “You’re drenched.” I place a hand on his shoulder and guide him into
the cottage.
The hound hesitates at the doorstep and makes a questioning noise in
the back of his throat. He’s scared and confused and in desperate need of a
bath.
“Come on, boy,” I try to keep my voice even.
It’s not the hound’s fault that the Boogie Man continually gets me into
trouble. I can’t even blame the creature for not being there to offer me
protection from the man who wants me dead by any means.
The hound’s gaze wanders to the kitchen cupboards, where he knows
there are lots of preserved meats.
My lips form a tight line. I only fed him a few hours ago. He’s not
getting any more.
“I can’t have us both tracking cum around the cottage.”
The hound tilts his head and whines.
“We both need a wash.”
He digs his paws into the floor and growls.
“Yes, even you,” I say.
He shakes his coat, splattering cum across the rest of the floors, the
walls, and even the kitchen cabinet. Afterward, he gives me a happy bark as
though to tell me he’s clean.
My jaw clenches, and I have to stop my nostrils from flaring.
“If you understand that washing equals bathing, then you must also
understand that dirtying walls is bad.” I wag my finger.
He barks a denial.
“You either get clean or get out.” I point at the door.
The hound gazes up at me through puppy dog eyes but makes no move
toward the exit. I take that as a reluctant apology.
“Alright then,” I say. “Let’s go to the bathroom.”
 He walks at my side, his gaze fixed on my face. He’s either scrutinizing
my mood or wondering why I’m covered in this thick, glistening liquid.
I push the bathroom door open. “Yeah, I know I look strange.”
The hound steps inside and barks a question.
“There’s this guy,” I say. “Actually, he’s a monster.”
He lowers himself onto his haunches the way children do when listening
to a story.
My gaze darts to the tall window, where the Boogie Man stood earlier in
the morning. My heart sinks a little when I find that patch of the garden
empty.
There’s no sign of him. Not even in the distant trees. Not even in the
sky.
What did I expect when he now has what he wanted? I won’t see the
winged bastard until the next time he’s horny and needs to cum.
With a sigh, I peel off my dress and toss it in the laundry basket.
The hound barks at me to continue my story.
“Maybe he isn’t a monster,” I mutter. “He’s the husband of our coven’s
founder and was supposed to have died in the twelfth century but something
happened to keep him alive.”
He cocks his head.
“Yeah, I know it’s strange, but he must have gained Unseelie powers
because he’s invisible to everyone except me.” My throat thickens. “And
Norbert, who he murdered.”
The hound whines.
“Don’t worry.” I run my fingers through his damp fur. “The Boogie
Man won’t hurt you. I’ll protect you with my life.”
He shakes his head, his deep-green eyes hardening with offense.
“You’ll protect me?”
The hound puffs out his chest and nods.
 Determination shines in his gaze, and for a moment, it feels like he’s
been my companion for longer than a day. I can’t believe this hound has
chosen me, of all witches, when he could have selected one with power and
prestige.
I can’t believe I have my own familiar.
“Thank you.” I wrap my arms around his thick neck, the backs of my
eyes stinging with tears.
It’s just like the fairy tales when the heroine helps an injured animal
who turns out to rescue them much later in the story. Not that I fed the
hound out of the expectation that he would protect me from the Boogie
Man…
Perhaps, maybe I did.
As I loosen the hug, the hound sniffs at my belly.
I giggle. “Are you trying to catch the Boogie Man’s scent?”
He gives me an angry bark.
I peel off my bra and then ease off my knickers, which are not only
soaked in his cum but my release.
As I place both items into the laundry basket, the hound growls a
warning.
I whirl around. “What’s wrong, boy?”
He flicks his head to a point behind where I’m standing.
My gaze wanders out of the window, toward the trees, where I fully
expect the Boogie Man to lurk, but there’s no trace of any movement.
A shadow travels across the cum-covered grounds. I tilt my head to the
sky to find a figure riding a broomstick.
“Shit,” I whisper. “It’s Grandma. There’s no way she won’t notice all
that semen. Hide behind the door!”
 Chapter Twenty

HENRY
The long-dead king I used to be would say that my behavior was
unbecoming of a nobleman. The monster I have become just wants to fuck.
Alienor’s breasts bounce as she flounders around the bathroom, her
body still glistening with my seed.
It is a wondrous sight.
It’s as though I have claimed every inch of her body—every inch except
those that make up the inside of her glorious cunt.
Alienor would not be receptive to my two-legged form at the moment,
so I cannot take her against the wall. Even if I could convince her for a
second round of pleasure, the grandmother is flying in on her broomstick.
My magic keeps me invisible to others, but no spell in this realm or the
next can conceal over eight centuries of pent-up ejaculation.
“Shit!” Alienor clutches her hair.
“Calm down, my dear,” I bark.
“You don’t understand.” Her voice trembles. “Grandma’s going to see
all this and freak.”
“Don’t let her into the cottage,” I bark.
Alienor rushes to the wall, slips on a white bathrobe, and strides to the
bathroom door. I follow after her, but she turns around and points a finger
between my eyes.
“Stay here, boy.”
“You will need protection from her wrath,” I reply.
“No.” She gives my nose a firm tap.
“You cannot order a king!”
Alienor cups my face with both hands. “Grandma doesn’t know you’re
here, alright? She’s going to be in a foul mood when she discovers the
Boogie Man’s cum everywhere. Add a giant hound to the mix, and she’ll
toss you out of the wards.”
Actually, she makes an excellent point.
“So, will you be a good boy and stay in the bathroom?”
“Very well,” I bark.
She leans down and presses a soft kiss on the tip of my nose. My heart
leaps in my chest like a hare.
I swipe my tongue at her but hit the magical barrier.
A growl rumbles in my chest.
How can I claim the object of my infatuation when the power protecting
her is impenetrable?
“None of that.” She shoves me backward and hurries out of the door.
“Alienor,” the grandmother shrieks from outside.
I jam my front paw into the doorway so I can peer out into the rest of
the cottage. Before I can get settled, Alienor’s front door slams open, and
the grandmother flies in on her broomstick.
My breath catches.
The older woman is a formidable figure. Now that I am no longer
blinded by rage and sexual frustration, I can see vague similarities between
the older woman and my betrayer wife. It’s mostly in the vicious twist of
the lips.
Alienor stumbles backward, her hands clutching at the bathroom.
“Grandma, it wasn’t me—”
 “Another of your magical accidents?” the grandmother asks.
“No.” Alienor shakes her head. “It was the Boogie Man.”
The older woman dismounts her broom and stalks toward what’s mime.
My jaw clenches and my claws scrape against the bathroom’s stone
floor.
Now that my head is clear, and I realize that Alienor is too pure-hearted
and innocent to be the reincarnation of my wife, all I want to do is protect
her. Alienor is mine. There is a reason why only she can get around my
chastity curse. Fate must have made her to end my eternal isolation.
But if I can’t get through the magic of her locket, it will be impossible
to attack the grandmother.
“Explain yourself,” she says.
Alienor’s mouth opens and closes. “Um… The Boogie Man flew in—”
She dips her head.
I know exactly why.
Alienor is too embarrassed to admit to having sucked me so skillfully
that she unleashed a torrent. Her cheeks redden, and she shuffles on her
feet.
The grandmother huffs.
My poor sweet maiden looks guilty, even from my point of view.
“If he really exists, then how did he get through the wards?” the older
woman asks.
“I don’t know,” Alienor whispers.
She sighs. “Perhaps we need to take you to an overseas specialist.
Someone who deals with rare cases of abnormal magic.”
“But it isn’t—”
“I will call Klara to put a semi-bind on your power. Just for now until
the coven can convene. That might take the edge off your magical
outbursts.”
 “What kind of witch magic produces an entire lake of cum?” Alienor’s
voice rises several octaves.
The grandmother purses her lips. “There are creatures out there capable
of destroying entire villages. I did wonder whether you could be a dragon
animancer.”
A growl rumbles through my throat. I found the grandmother’s
ignorance amusing when Alienor was my enemy. Now, it is infuriating.
“What about my locket?” Alienor asks with a gasp.
My heart skips, and my tongue lolls to the side. If the magic protecting
Alienor weakens or disappears altogether, she will be mine.
“Don’t worry, dear. It will still work with the semi-bind.”
The grandmother turns to the open door, where milky ejaculate sloshes
against the magical barrier protecting the cottage. My chest swells with
pride. How many males can lay claim to having drowned an entire garden
with their semen?
Magic crackles in the air as she reaches into her pocket, making my
hackles rise. As she extracts her wand, it emits streams of red that fill the
entire doorway.
The magical backlash spills across the cottage, making Alienor skitter
back several steps. I have to squint to see the witches’ outlines but even that
becomes impossible.
When the magic clears, I blink spots from my vision, only to find the
cum has disappeared.
Not just from the garden.
There isn’t a trace of jism on my fur. It’s even gone from the space
between my paws. My gaze darts to Alienor, whose hair and skin are as dry
as it was before she gave me that earth-shattering climax.
“What did you just do?” Alienor asks, her voice breathy.
“Buried it deep in the earth,” the other woman replies.
 To my disappointment, all the tension melts away from Alienor’s
posture, leaving her looking relieved. Received at the disappearance of my
spunk.
My hackles rise, and I try not to interpret that as a rejection.
“I just remembered something,” she blurts.
The grandmother turns to her, brows raised.
“Have you heard of Unseelie faeries? The Boogie Man looks just like
one.”
“Aaah.”
“What?”
“You read Concubine of the Seelie King’s brothers and now your magic
is manifesting images of Prince Salazar le Fae.”
Alienor rears back. “No.”
The grandmother wraps her fingers around the broomstick, which seems
to shiver under her touch. It drifts to a horizontal position, and trembles as
she mounts.
My head tilts. If I wasn’t so preoccupied with Alienor, I might
investigate the mystery of the broomstick.
As they fly out through the open door, Alienor gives chase.
“Don’t bind my magic,” she yells. “I need it.”
The grandmother flies toward the larger house without a wave or a
backward glance.
“Fucking Boogie Man,” Alienor growls, her hands balled into fists.
I hang my head, my ribcage vibrating with a mournful whine. The
chances of Alienor sucking my cock again or allowing me to fuck that tight
little pussy diminish by the minute.
Pushing the door open with my snout, I pad across the cottage’s interior
to find Alienor shimmying into a pair of white knickers.
“What are you doing?” I bark.
 “My life’s going to shit because of that winged bastard,” she snarls to
herself.
“I meant no harm.”
Truthfully, I meant to murder Alienor. Since the magic rendered that
impossible, I lashed out at everyone around her, including her suitor. Part of
me wanted to punish her for finding another man. Another part wanted the
authorities to blame her for the murder and slice off her head.
A glitch of magic drew me to Alienor’s descendent, and now I am
obsessed.
I walk around her as she throws on garments until she is fully dressed.
“Where are you going?” I bark.
She moves to the kitchen counter, making my canine instincts rear up at
the prospect of delicious meat, pushing my concerns to the back of my
mind. My mouth salivates, and my tail wags from side to side.
I’m powerless to resist sating my appetite, and Alienor does not
disappoint. She extracts an entire chicken, a leg of pork, and thick sausages,
placing them all on a large platter.
“You be a good boy and wait for me here, alright?”
I rush to the feast and barely register what she says next.
Something about the library.
My higher instincts try to catch the thread of her words but the need to
feed is all-powerful.
It doesn’t help that she continues to empty the cupboards and surround
me with more meat.
I give up trying to make sense of her actions and lose myself in the
food.
Alienor will return eventually. When she does, I will be there to offer
comfort.
And satisfaction.
 Chapter Twenty-One

ALIENOR
Now that the hound has enough food to keep him busy for an hour, I can
finally focus on saving my hide. I pick up my bag, sling it over my
shoulder, and step out into the garden.
The sun hangs straight overhead, making the wilted chamomile flowers
look parched. I shudder at the thought of all that salty liquid contaminating
the water table and hope Grandma hasn’t made things worse.
She forgot to yell at me for abandoning the store. Aggie’s probably
working the counter right now, cursing me for making her do my job and
for failing to get her broomstick.
My lips tighten, and I continue down the path of stepping stones toward
the edge of the garden. I should feel like shit for taking advantage of my
cousin, but I’m so weighed down by problems that it’s hard to breathe.
I need to get rid of the Boogie Man before he does something else to
ruin my life. Once he’s out of the way, I can investigate what happened to
Norbert’s corpse.
Maybe it’s still in the ground, exactly where I left him. Maybe the
Boogie Man only created that hole to make me panic because a frantic
victim is a vulnerable one.
My foot catches on a loose stepping stone.
 That’s it.
The Boogie Man must have made the hole so I could trade my locket
for the corpse or do something equally as desperate.
Something desperate like trying to seduce him.
I gulp, my throat still raw from sucking that huge cock.
“That was stupid,” I mutter under my breath.
If I had any sense, I would have run the moment he tossed away the
stake. But by then, my stupid libido took control and convinced me to
extract information through seduction.
Heat travels south, and the pulse between my thighs pounds almost as
hard as it did when I was teasing myself to orgasm.
I continue walking down the stepping-stone path, faster this time, to rid
my mind of those salacious memories.
The Boogie Man is a murderer, a monster, and a menace. Keeping him
around will only lead to a painful death—either at his claws, the
executioner’s blade, or the hangman’s noose.
My pace quickens, and I break into a jog that doesn’t stop until I reach
the library’s top level.
I stand in front of the door leading to the restricted section, my heart
pounding.
“This has got to work,” I whisper over and over until the words become
a blur.
Rapid heartbeats resound through my chest as I reach into my bag and
extract Norbert’s bracelet. It works the same way as my locket—a store of
enchantments, currency, and identification.
I shouldn’t be able to use it without his express permission, but since he
died while wearing the bracelet, they no longer belong to him.
The first one slips on with ease and blasts my forearm with cold magic
as it tries to connect with my power. I lean against the wall, my stomach
roiling as remnants of Norbert’s death magic mingle with mine.
 My arm wraps around my middle. “Fuck.”
The bracer pulls on my power, making me double over. I push back,
trying to get some kind of balance. When Grandma gave me the locket, it
felt like a welcome hug. Nothing like this—nothing like the dull terror of
wrangling with the grim reaper.
Shit. Norbert was more powerful than I imagined.
It takes a moment for the magic to settle, allowing me to finally
straighten. Sweat beads on my forehead as I push the bracer on the door,
and I pray to the goddess that the library didn’t revoke Norbert’s access the
moment he died.
The door clicks open, and my heart soars.
“Now, it’s time to find everything I can on the Unseelie.”

I return home hours later with a heavy heart and a stack of papers I copied
from the reference books: History of the Unseelie Faeries, Demise of the
Unseelie, Unseelie Bargains.
The hound jumps down from the bedroom and trots toward me, his
tongue lolling to the side.
My heart clenches. The poor boy must have been lonely.
“Sorry.” I rub the back of my neck. “I went to the library.”
He cocks his head.
“It’s a place where people read and borrow books.”
He pushes his snout into my stack of papers.
“Those?” I reply with a chuckle and place them on the dining table.
“They’re just pages I copied from some ancient works.”
As the hound sniffs at my papers, I fix myself a huge bowl of instant
oats, dried apples, and cinnamon sugar. I wish I had the energy to make
something more nutritious, but I’m still exhausted from spending the night
burying Norbert’s corpse.
The hound barks a question.
“What’s that?” I open up a cool cupboard and extract a bottle of milk.
A soft thud has me whirling around. One of the dining chairs lies on the
floor, surrounded by scattered papers.
I leave my bowl on the counter and rush toward the mess. “What are
you doing?”
The hound gives me a sharp bark.
“Bloody hell.” I pick up the papers. Thanks to my mischievous new
familiar, it’s going to take a while to arrange them into any sort of order.
“This is a mess.”
His high-pitched whine makes my chest tighten, and I turn to find him
crouched behind one of the dining chairs with his paws resting on its back
and his snout pointed downward. He gazes up at me through huge, puppy
eyes that make my heart melt.
The poor thing looks guilty.
“You’re really upset with me for leaving you behind.”
His soft bark tells me everything I need to know. My hound was lonely
without me and upset that I left him alone.
I gather up the papers into a pile, cross the room, and place them on the
highest shelf I can reach. There’s no way the hound can mess with them
now.
“Sorry, boy.” I turn to him and smile. “But there’s a spell there that can
solve all my problems.”
The hound growls, probably annoyed that I spoiled his revenge.
I return to the counter to add some milk to my oats and take them to the
dining table. The hound sits at my side, looking like he needs to be stroked.
I run my fingers through the shaggy fur on his head and eat.
 “There’s something I need to do in a few days,” I murmur. “You should
know because it’s a little scary.”
The hound stills.
I shovel a huge spoonful of oats into my mouth.
“It’s called blood magic,” I say through chewing. “It’s one of the most
powerful enchantments a person can do, but my situation has become pretty
desperate.”
He makes a shocked noise in the back of his throat.
“I know, but there’s a banishment spell that requires a dangerous
amount of the caster’s blood. If I can take supplements to build up my
hemoglobin, it will allow me to perform the enchantment without getting
hurt.”
The hound pulls his brows together, seeming to worry.
“It’s so nice having someone to talk to.” I turn to meet the hound’s
soulful eyes. “Everyone in the coven thinks I’m defective because my
magic doesn’t work the way it should. I know they love me, but all that crap
with the Boogie Man is trying their patience.”
When he lowers his gaze, it’s almost like he understands what it means
to live under constant threat.
“Where did you come from?” I ask. “Were you another witch’s
familiar?”
The hound closes his eyes, and I wonder if the memory of his previous
owner is too painful to bear.
“I’ll take good care of you.” I press a kiss on his snout. “If I can
convince Grandma that my magic isn’t dangerous, then she’ll let me move
back to my cottage. I’ll even set up a dog bed next to mine.”
His outraged bark makes me chuckle.
“Alright! You can sleep with me.”
The hound gives me a satisfied nod.
 My eyes droop as I finish my mouthful, and I exhale a huge yawn.
Everything is catching up on me, and I really need to sleep.
“I’m going to bed.” I set down my spoon. “Are you coming, too?”
He bolts across the living space and into the bedroom. As I pick up the
spoon and bowl he pokes his head through the door and gives me a cheerful
bark.
“Alright,” I say with a giggle and leave the bowl on the dining table.
Trudging across the warm, stone floor on limbs heavier than lead, I peel
off my clothes and leave them where they drop.
When I step into the bedroom, I find the hound lying on his side, taking
up half the mattress. He’s even turned down the bed.
“Good boy,” I say with a tired smile and crawl in beside him.
It takes a moment to arrange myself around the huge hound, but I end
up lying in a tangle around his limbs. He’s surprisingly comfortable for a
wiry-looking animal with patches of fur.
“Good night,” I murmur.
The hound yawns.
I close my eyes and fall into one of the most relaxing slumbers I’ve had
since the Boogie Man started trashing my room, safe in the knowledge that
my hound loves me enough to defend me from his claws.
Thankfully, the Boogie Man hasn’t worked out a way to breach the
cottage’s wards.
My spirits tumble deeper into sleep until all the rogue thoughts in my
mind evaporate into the ether. Every muscle on my bones melts against the
hound’s larger body, and strong arms wrap around my waist, pulling me
into a warm hug.
I keep falling until I reach the other side. Silver light streams through
my eyelids, making them flutter open.
White curtains hang mere feet away from where I lie. I follow them up
to the ivory frame of a four-poster bed.
 Is this a dream?
I shift on the mattress, only for the arms around my waist to tighten. A
hard chest brushes against my back and an even harder cock presses into
my ass.
Wait. What?
“Good morning, my darling,” says a deep voice. “Did you sleep well?”
 Chapter Twenty-Two

ALIENOR
I turn my head and gaze into the dark green eyes of a handsome young
man I’ve never met. He looks a little familiar, although my mind can’t yet
process how. He can’t be more than twenty and has messy red hair,
alabaster skin, and a light covering of stubble.
His lips curl into a grin that makes his entire face light up. Then he
lowers his lashes to gaze down at my bare breasts.
My heart skips. I suck in a breath and blurt, “What are you doing in my
bed?”
The man loosens his hold and gazes down at me, his brows furrowed.
“What’s wrong, my darling? You look like you’ve seen the Barghest!”
Even I know the legend of the ghostly black dog that feeds on people’s
terror. Seeing such a creature is nothing compared to finding myself naked
in a four-poster bed with a strange man.
“Who are you?” I ask.
His frown deepens. “Alienor, are you alright?”
Shit.
He knows my name.
I swallow, my pulse beating a heavy drumroll. What the hell is
happening? This can’t be a dream. Dreams are vague, abstract, and
whimsical. This is all real.
The firm mattress beneath my body, the silk sheets on my skin, the
masculine scent and delicious heat radiating from the man in bed with me—
It’s all real.
“Alienor, should I call for the court physician?” He turns around and
reaches through the heavy white curtains.
“No.” I grab his bicep.
His skin is smooth and warm and encases hard muscles. I’ve never been
able to touch anything in my dreams. By the time my mind registers that
I’m asleep, it always jolts me awake.
“Just tell me what’s happening,” I blurt.
The man’s gaze softens. “It’s our wedding night, my darling. Do you not
remember?”
My throat tightens.
I study his face once more. Arched brows, a perfectly straight nose with
a tiny dip in its septum, full, kissable lips, and a strong jaw. Utterly
handsome, but so far, completely human.
Raising a trembling hand toward the man’s head, I thread my fingers
through his hair and push it back to expose perfectly human ears.
Now, it’s my turn to furrow my brow.
He’s not an Unseelie faerie.
I bite down on my bottom lip.
Earlier, he called me Alienor. Perhaps he thinks I’m my ancestor.
“Henry?” I whisper.
His expression lifts into a wicked smile. “Now, you remember?”
“Of course,” I rasp.
So, I’ve either traveled through time or I’ve stumbled through a glitch in
the magic that connects me to Queen Eleanor of Aquitaine. I meet his eyes
again. The irises aren’t as bright as the Boogie Man’s. King Henry doesn’t
have the golden flecks, but that’s the only difference.
 This has to be what the Boogie Man looked like before he turned into a
monster. He’s handsome. It’s not the same unearthly beauty that could make
a girl fall to her knees, but this is a more everyday attractiveness that’s
infinitely more comfortable.
“You should know I’m not your wife,” I murmur.
“Of course, you are. We consummated the union last night.” His eyes
twinkle. “Twice.”
I let my eyes wander down to his bare chest. His pectoral muscles are
defined, and there’s only a hint of a six-pack. He looks like a man who is
strong and fit but doesn’t spend hours at the gym. My gaze travels down to
the large tent in the silk sheets concealing the erection that pressed into my
ass.
Shit.
Now, I want to see if he has one head or four. And if it’s flesh-colored
or bright red.
“Do you see something you like, my wife?” King Henry asks, his voice
light with amusement.
“Maybe,” I squeak.
A little voice in the back of my head tells me I need to stop flirting with
this centuries-old king and start finding a way back to the twenty-first
century.
I tell that little busybody that there’s plenty of time for time travel.
Maybe I just need to satisfy my curiosity.
A knock sounds on the door, and King Henry’s features tighten.
“Who dares to interrupt?” he snarls.
The door creaks open, followed by hurried footsteps and the sound of
knees hitting a stone floor.
“Begging your pardon, Sire,” says a desperate voice from beyond the
bed curtains. “A messenger from King Louis is at the door, ordering you to
return his wife upon threat of war.”
 “What?” King Henry roars.
“I’m afraid it’s true,” the man says in a much smaller voice.
King Henry turns to me, his eyes hard. “Hasn’t King Louis taken
enough from you? First your honor as his wife, then your daughters. Now,
he wishes you to remain a spinster so they will inherit your lands.”
I give him a weak nod and remember that Elenor of Aquitaine was a
powerful woman in her own right. As the Duchess of Aquitaine, she owned
a significant chunk of France.
“Stay where you are.” The king places a hand on my shoulder and gives
me a firm squeeze. “I will send King Louis a message he will never forget.”
Before I can muster up a reply, he slides out of the bed and disappears
behind the curtains. Multiple footsteps rush inside, and I hear the sound of
splashing water.
I crawl to the end of the mattress, peek through a chink in the drapes, to
find a small army of servants dressing King Henry in a long, purple robe
with a red cloak.
“Damn,” I whisper. “Who knew their marriage caused such
controversy?”
After they place a small crown on his head, King Henry strides out of
the room with his entourage.
I’m about to fall back on the bed when a woman slips inside wearing a
floor-length green gown, her hair covered in a white headdress. The long
sleeves and elaborate belt resting on her hips tell me that she is no servant.
“Your Majesty?” she ask.
I poke my head out from between the curtains. “Hello?”
“Thank the goddess.” She places a hand over her chest and exhales. “I
see the love enchantment I placed on you is waning.”
My eyes widen.
“Wait—what did you just say?”
 She bustles around the side of the bed and parts the curtains. Up close,
she has unlined skin, but there’s a twinkle in her eyes that says she’s far
older than she appears.
The woman climbs up on the bed, reaches beneath her cloak, and
extracts a black velvet sack that stinks of lavender.
“We don’t have time.” She glances over her shoulder as though she’s
expecting King Henry to return. “Lie back. Now that you’re full of his seed,
I’ll be able to make the enchantment permanent.”
“Are you a witch?”
She purses her lips. “Have you changed your mind?” Her gaze rakes
down my body. “Forgive my forwardness, but once the magic fades and
your nineteen-year-old husband sees that the wife he married is in her
thirties…”
The woman falls silent, leaving me to fill in the gaps. I vaguely knew
Eleanor of Aquitaine was older than her second husband, but I never
dwelled on the age difference.
Footsteps approach, and the woman stiffens. She leans forward and
whispers, “As an experienced midwife, let me remind you that women your
age are usually barren or die in childbirth.”
My breath quickens. Even though I’m only twenty-one and have had the
best possible healthcare, part of me wonders if I’ll have to spend the rest of
my days as a long-dead English queen.
“If you don’t want another annulment, you’ll lie back and let me help
you conceive a son.” She reaches into her cloak and extracts a velvet sac
that clinks with the gentle thuds of stones.
“Could you help me?” I ask. “I’ve come from another time.”
She purses her lips. “I knew I shouldn’t have let you talk me into such a
powerful spell. Now, you’re affected by your husband’s delirium.”
My shoulders sag, my spirits weighing down with confusion and
disappointment.
 So, this is how my ancestor managed to bear King Henry eight children
after the age of thirty?
I lie back, and she places a circle of small stones on my belly and recites
the same kind of fertility ritual Aunt Klara uses in her clinic.
The witch even invokes the goddess Rhea to strengthen the love spell
she placed to bind King Henry to Eleanor of Aquitaine. It’s a form of dark
magic that requires either blood or semen, and the heat in my core tells me
she’s relying on the latter.
My throat tightens, and I study the woman’s features. Her eyes spark
with the same kind of vigor Grandma’s had around the time she acquired
Aggie’s broomstick. She is without a doubt not only a powerful witch but
the woman who introduced magic to our ancestor.
The skin on my belly tingles, my clit swells, and the muscles of my core
clench with the need to be filled. Shit.
“How is it?” she asks, her eyes twinkling.
“Pretty amazing.” I squeeze my thighs together and swallow back a
moan. “Should I be feeling so aroused?”
“I made the enchantment extra strong,” she says with a wink. “You’re
so fertile right now that he’ll drop whatever he’s doing to give you a son.”
“What?”
She disappears behind the curtain. “Now, you exude more than enough
allure to keep your nineteen-year-old husband from straying.”
Heat surges to my pussy, making me moan. “Ooh.”
“We older women stick together, eh?” she says from the other side of
the room.
“F-fetch H-henry.”
I can barely squeeze out the words. This meddling witch just put me in
heat.
Who knows what harm will come to me if I don’t find satisfaction?
 Chapter Twenty-Three

ALIENOR
I’m burning.
Burning with arousal.
Burning with uncontrollable lust.
Burning with an insatiable need.
Blood roars between my ears, muffling the sound of the witch closing
the door as she slinks away. I would chase after her but the furnace in my
belly has melted my limbs. Every muscle in my body is now heavy and
limp.
The stones sink into my belly, fueling the heat. I’ve never had period
pains—as the granddaughter of an apothecary, I have access to so many
healing herbs, but what I’m feeling has to be worse.
Who am I trying to kid? I’m in heat like a yowling cat.
Sweat beads on my forehead, and my breaths become shallow. My folds
are so slick that the moisture coats my inner thighs. Will I attract every male
in the building or will the magic just focus on King Henry?
A spasm squeezes my belly, sending lightning bolts of pain across my
insides. Now I know why that witch practically sprinted out of the room. If
I ever catch up with her, I’ll make her regret doing something so unethical.
“Fuck,” I moan.
 The door opens with a loud bang. Heavy footsteps rush across the room.
“Leave us,” Henry says from the other side of the curtain.
A whimper escapes my throat. I can’t tell if it’s out of alarm or relief.
“But Sire,” a male voice replies. “How do we respond to King Louis—”
“Send him his messenger’s head,” Henry snaps. “Now get out.”
The door clicks shut, and Henry crawls through the curtain, still dressed
in royal regalia.
“I could never stay away from you, my love,” he says, his cheeks
turning as bright as his hair.
Prickly static crackles across my skin. He’s wearing too much. If my
arms didn’t feel like they were pinned to the mattress by lead weights, I
would tear at his robes.
“Please,” I whine through panting breaths. “I need you.”
His chest rises and falls as his gaze travels down my body. “Why is it
that each time I see you I fall deeper in love? You are utterly enchanting.”
My jaw clenches. I know exactly how she did it. With dark magic to
ensnare an innocent young man.
“Henry.” The word comes out strained.
I want to tell him he’s the victim of a love spell, but the need for his
touch is so overwhelming that if I don’t have him this instant, I might die.
“None of this is real,” I whisper. “A witch put you under an
enchantment.”
King Henry continues as though I haven’t spoken, his eyes glassy and
trance-like. Has the love spell taken control of his free will?
The burning intensifies, and the blood rushing through my arteries, my
veins, my every little capillary beneath my skin turns to molten lava.
Fuck!
What difference would it make if I let him continue? This isn’t real. It’s
just a dream. And this incident happened over eight centuries ago. What
I’m feeling right now—the searing arousal, the blistering need—that’s real.
 “Tell me what you want.” He hovers a trembling hand over my
shoulder.
I have no idea why he’s nervous, considering he pumped me with
enough semen to turbo-charge the spell. Maybe the witch’s enchantments
have elevated his emotions to a higher level of love.
“T-touch me,” I say, the words ragged. “Fill me. Please.”
As he straddles my unmoving body, the heavy fabric of his robes
brushes against my skin. I feel every fine hair of his cloak’s fur trim.
He gazes down at me with more love and admiration than I’ve had in
my entire existence. Not even Norbert looked at me like that. He was just a
stalker, desperate because I gave him half a chance.
When I was growing up, the boys in the village barely gave me a second
glance. Everyone with a lick of sense knew what happened to a man who
took advantage of a witch from a powerful coven. Even after I turned
eighteen and became free to date, they still gave me a wide berth.
The only man who didn’t fear the Styx coven was Norbert, and I expect
that’s because he was a necromancer.
King Henry’s happy sigh makes my chest hurt. Basking in his gaze feels
so close to stealing that tiny cracks spread across my heart.
He brushes his lips against mine, filling my nostrils with a woody scent
that ignites my skin like wildfire.
The silk velvet of his cloak sweeps across my body in warm caresses
that spread flames across my nerves.
It’s too much.
Not enough.
What I need are his hands.
“Now,” I groan.
“As my queen commands.”
He lowers his head and sucks my nipple into his mouth, sending tiny
sparks of pleasure across my skin. With one hand, he kneads my breast, but
it’s not nearly enough to douse the flames of my arousal.
I buck my hips, as much as I can with my bones so heavy, and Henry
trails a hand down my belly. The little stones that sank into my skin heat
with his touch, now feeling like they’ve turned to burning liquid.
Shit.
This is some heavy-duty magic.
I hope to the goddess that it doesn’t affect my real body when I finally
return to the present world.
Henry’s fingers reach my pubes, setting the skin there alight. My legs
flop open, and I moan with anticipation.
“Are you wet for me, my love?” he murmurs from around my nipple.
“Always,” I reply with a pleasant shiver.
He always turns me on. Always makes me tingle. No matter which form
he takes, whether he’s a nineteen-year-old king or a centuries-old Boogie
Man, twisted by resentment and the need for vengeance.
His fingertips graze a circle around my swollen clit, making both our
breaths quicken.
“I was in a very important negotiation with an emissary from France.”
He gives my nipple a gentle nip, detonating an explosion of ecstasy
through my flesh. My back arches. I’ve never felt anything so intense.
“Oh?” I whisper.
He moves his attention to the other breast. The finger ghosting around
my clit presses harder, and I swear I can feel his fingerprints.
My pussy clenches, wanting his cock to join those fingers. The only
thing stopping me from screaming for more is the guilt plucking at my
heartstrings.
“King Louis wants to declare war to get you back,” he says with a
chuckle. “Would you believe he claims your annulment is invalid?”
He rubs my swollen bundle of nerves with firmer strokes, making my
mind go blank.
 Squeezing my eyes shut, I gasp. “Aaaah.”
“I know why he would fight for you,” King Henry says from around my
nipple. “Your beauty is a thing of legend, and your charm is unsurpassed.”
He rolls my other nipple between his fingers in time with the caresses
on my clit. All I can do is lie on that mattress, taking everything he’s
prepared to give.
“You are the most eligible woman in Europe. What I don’t understand is
why he ever let you go.”
“H-he wanted a son.”
King Henry scoffs. “I will give you all the sons you can handle. You
don’t need that withered old man.”
He sucks hard on my nipple, making my toes curl. Somewhere in the
back of my mind, I wonder if the enchantment keeps him from realizing his
wife is the same age as the King of France.
As his fingers leave my clit and slide through my slick folds and down
to my opening, my cheeks heat to the temperature of my core. I have never
in my entire life felt so aroused—not even when I was sucking the Boogie
Man’s huge cock.
All thoughts of deception by magic vanish, and I’m left with a desire
that cannot be quenched.
“You’re dripping wet,” he says, his voice breathy with wonder.
“Wet for you.” The words escape my lips before I can stop them.
He runs his fingertip around my opening, making its muscles clench and
unclench. I throw my head back and moan, wanting him to slide it in,
stretch me open, and make me full.
“I want to feast on your sweet cunt.”
“Seriously?”
“Would you like that, wife?”
“Yes,” I hiss through my teeth.
“I will taste the woman whose beauty will start a bitter war.”
 Oh, fuck. He’s making me sound like Helen of Troy.
King Henry trails soft kisses over my ribs, each press of his lips making
tiny bursts of pleasure. My shudders and moans increase with intensity as
he reaches my belly.
I’ve never had anyone touch me there. I’ve never had anything but
crystal dildos, enchanted rose petals, and my fingers.
Growing up in the room next door to Grandma’s kept me in a constant
feeling of surveillance. When I turned eighteen and got my own place, I
was too busy coping with my stalkers—Norbert and the Boogie Man.
King Henry’s hot, wet tongue sweeps into the dip of my belly button,
making me moan.
I had no idea that part of me was so sensitive.
At this rate, I’m going to lose my virginity to a king who died eight
hundred years ago.
 Chapter Twenty-Four

ALIENOR
King Henry kisses and nips at my lower belly, setting every nerve in
that area alight.
Bloody hell.
It’s really happening.
I’m going to get fucked by royalty. Would that make me a queen?
As the finger circling my entrance enters me up to the first knuckle, my
mind goes blank.
“Oh,” I say with a breathy moan.
“You like that?”
“Yes.”
“Do you want more?”
“Please.”
He withdraws the finger, making me cry out with a protest, but as soon
as he lines a second, I whimper.
“Please, Henry.”
“I never thought the former Queen of France would be so wet and
wanton. Yet, here you are, quivering for my touch.”
His fingers enter me to the hilt, their blunt tips brushing against my
cervix. I clench around the thick digits and moan.
 “You’re so tight and slick,” he growls. “A perfect fit.”
He pumps his fingers in and out of my pussy, making me jerk against
the movements.
“More,” I whisper. “I need more.”
“And you shall have it, dear wife.”
His wet tongue swipes at my clit, and my vision explodes into stars. I
squeeze my eyes shut and groan.
“Did you like that?” he asks, his voice husky.
“Yes,” I say from between clenched teeth. “Please, I need more.”
King Henry sighs, his warm breath fanning over my fevered flesh. “You
beg so prettily, my queen.”
Need burns in my core like an inferno. He talks too much when he
should be fucking. I buck my hips and moan, “T-touch me.”
His tongue takes a second swipe a my clit, this time, making the
muscles of my pussy clench in anticipation. He pushes my legs further
apart, laying me bare.
“You have such a beautiful cunt,” he murmurs into my folds. “So pink
and wet.”
“Yes.”
He makes delicate, deliberate strokes, as though I’m a delicious morsel
he needs to savor. Impatience skitters across my skin making it tighten, and
I clench and unclench my fists.
This is too slow, too soft, too sweet.
King Henry is too much of a gentleman.
I need more friction.
I need it rough.
Reaching down, I twist my fingers into his red hair and hold him in
place.
He chuckles. “My, you’re eager.”
“Harder.” I jerk my hips. “Faster.”
 “As my queen commands.”
He pushes down with his tongue, lavishing me with firmer strokes.
Tingles travel across my flesh, making my nipples tighten and my toes curl.
With his free hand, he reaches beneath his layers of robes, presumably
to play with his cock. I circle my hips in counterpoint to the movement of
his tongue.
This is enjoyable, but not enough.
The Boogie Man wouldn’t be so gentle.
The Boogie Man would take what he wanted.
Hell, the monster King Henry became fucked my throat without mercy,
without restraint. I imagine the Boogie Man between my legs instead of this
red-headed man, and my arousal spikes.
Moisture trickles down my inner thighs, making me squirm. The Boogie
Man would probably growl as he feasted on my pussy.
“Oh, fuck,” I say.
“That’s right, my love,” he says.
King Henry traces wet circles around my clit in time with the fingers
sliding in and out of my channel.
I bite down on my bottom lip, roll my nipples between my fingers, and
try to conjure up how the Boogie Man’s claws would feel pressing into my
thighs.
After several minutes of his tongue, I’m nowhere close to orgasm.
My gaze drops down to King Henry.
He’s a handsome enough man—too young for my tastes since I prefer
them a bit older, but I don’t feel the fire of excitement.
My breath quickens with the realization that the Boogie Man has trained
me to get turned on by the prospect of danger. Being with him is like riding
a tiger and never knowing when it would strike.
I can’t believe I’m pining for the Boogie Man.
 The muscles of my pussy clench with need, urging me to continue. I’m
so hot and needy and desperate for a climax that my mind conjures up an
idea based on a spicy video I once watched online.
“Can we try something?” I ask.
He raises his head to meet my gaze. “What do you desire, my wife?”
“I’d like to sit on your face.”
His eyes widen. “You wish to use me as your throne?”
I nod.
His gaze roves up and down my naked body, his chest rising and falling
with rapid breaths. My pulse quickens. This is probably a lot to ask of a
monarch, but I would get off a lot quicker if I controlled the pace.
“Could we try it?” I ask.
“Of course.”
King Henry rises from between my legs, making sure to place a kiss on
my knee before he moves to my side. My heart softens at the loving
gesture.
“Where do you want me?” he asks.
“Just where you are,” I reply with a smile.
He lies flat on his back. “Like this?”
“That’s perfect.”
He shivers, his cheeks turning pink. “You are the most exciting woman
I’ve ever met. Every hour I spend with you is a brand new revelation.”
I gaze down at him and sigh. Should I really be riding an innocent
man’s face under false pretenses? I’m not even his wife, and even if I were,
the emotions he feels for me are a product of dark magic.
The furnace in my core flares, filling my veins with a surge of
unbearable heat. This is the reason why love spells are so dangerous. If
administered incorrectly, the people involved could burn to death with
desire.
 King Henry pulls up his robes, gathering swathes of fabric toward his
abs. “Use me.”
Guilt twangs at my heartstrings with claws as sharp as the Boogie
Man’s.
This is wrong.
But this is just a dream.
It’s not really happening, even though this world feels utterly real.
It’s alright to ride a guy’s face if he’s just a figment of my imagination.
Isn’t it?
“Hurry, my darling.”
He pulls up the last layer of fabric and reveals a huge cock, weeping
with precum.
My mouth waters, and I scramble onto his face.
“You are exquisite from all angles.” King Henry grabs my ass with both
hands, his thumbs spreading open my cheeks.
Heat blooms across my skin at the thought of him inspecting my
asshole. Maybe he could rim me later?
I lower myself onto his face and shiver at how his fevered breaths gust
over the length of my pussy. Once fully seated, I wriggle from side to side
to make myself more comfortable.
King Henry’s nose lies flush against my asshole, his nostrils exhaling
sharp puffs of air that make my sphincter muscles tremble. I try not to think
about that and concentrate on the tongue running up-and-down strokes
along the length of my slit.
As I settle all my weight on his face, he makes a muffled sound.
“What’s that?” I ask with a smirk. “Use your words.”
His response is to lash his tongue back and forth over my clit.
The muscles of my core clench, and I wish his nose was a little longer,
so I could fuck that, too.
 King Henry builds up a steady rhythm of strokes, and I lean forward,
placing my weight on my legs. He reaches up to stroke my thighs, my belly,
and even my breasts.
I wrap my fingers around his and make him squeeze my nipples. He
gets the hint and pinches them between his fingertips with a pressure that
borders on pain.
The sensation races straight to my clit.
“Oh, fuck,” I say with a moan.
He does it again, and I circle my hips, rubbing my sex against his lips
and tongue and teeth.
Yes.
This is exactly what I need.
King Henry is exactly what I need.
Grinding my pussy over his face, I take pleasure at my own pace. King
Henry makes several muffled sounds, his fingers rolling my nipples.
I’m so close…
Sparks of sensation dance around my clit, igniting a fire that spins faster
than a fire whirl. I move harder, faster, using King Henry’s face like my
own personal sex toy.
“You’re so fucking good at this,” I groan, my hips picking up speed.
The pulse behind my clit pounds so hard that I feel it echo between my
ears. Shit. This is more intense than anything I’ve ever achieved on my
own. It’s even more pleasurable than when the Boogie Man had me on my
knees while I stroked my clit.
Pressure builds around my core, an incessant ache that drives me to ride
the king to the finish line. Every inch of my skin tingles as though I’ve been
set alight by invisible flames.
My orgasm hovers in sight just as King Henry’s hands drop to his side
and he stops moving.
 I can’t see if his chest still rises and falls because it’s covered in so
much fabric.
Dread tumbles through my gut.
Why is he lying still?
A little voice in the back of my head screams at me to stop, to get off
him, and administer mouth to mouth. My hips continue their relentless
sprint toward orgasm.
Fuck. What if I just suffocated the King of England? What if this is real,
and I just changed the course of history? My guilty conscience wants me to
check that he’s alright, but the furnace in my pussy forces me to continue.
I’m using King Henry’s face, just as the Boogie Man used my throat
when he flooded grandma’s garden with all that cum.
An orgasm tears through my insides like an inferno, setting every nerve
alight. Molten ecstasy surges through my entire body, stretching down to
my toes and up the sensitive skin of my scalp.
My back arches as spasm after spasm seizes my limbs, threatening to
launch me off the bed. I lurch forward and grab King Henry’s thick
erection, squeezing out streams of precum that drizzle over my fingers.
All concerns for the unmoving man evaporate under the heat of my
climax.
A deep voice chuckles. “You moan so prettily in your sleep, Alienor.”
It’s raspier than Henry’s and tinged with bitterness.
The face beneath my pussy vanishes, and the room goes dark.
What the hell?
My eyes snap open. I’m no longer in the four-poster bed, and there’s no
more scent of lavender. Moonlight streams in from the window, and there
isn’t a heavy curtain in sight.
The man gazing down at me is wickedly beautiful, his eyes no longer
the soft, green hue of King Henry. They’re sharp and bright and malevolent.
I’m in bed with the Boogie Man.
How the fuck did he enter my cottage?
 Chapter Twenty-Five

HENRY
Alienor is even more alluring when she sleeps.
I am not just saying that because she gives me food.
There is a radiance to her that transcends beauty, an unspoiled
innocence that soothes my inner beast. Her sweet scent fills my nostrils. As
a hound, I can discern each delectable note: vanilla, orange blossoms,
peach, and lemon with subtle hints of jasmine and rose.
How could I have ever mistaken this sweet maiden for my treacherous
wife?
My queen’s nubile young descendent is the epitome of kindness. The
love she gives me fills my chest to the point of bursting.
Stray fibers from my withered heart ache as she cuddles into my fur. I
want that creamy skin rubbing against mine.
Even if it’s just for a moment.
Closing my eyes, I shift back into my two-legged form. Alienor’s head
rests in the juncture of my shoulder with the rest of her body tucked into my
side.
Since she touched me first, the magic protecting her allows our skin to
connect, and when she sighs in her sleep, her nipples brush against my skin.
That’s when it registers that she is naked.
 Sensation rushes to my cock, making it swell harder and faster than
ever. If I wasn’t already lying down, I’d become light-headed from the
movement of blood.
“Alienor,” I say with a groan. “What are you doing to me?”
I feel nineteen all over again, a boy in his first flush of love. Eight
centuries ago, I was too blinded by Queen Alienor’s magnetism. I was on
the verge of becoming the King of England, and she had been the Queen of
France and the most sought-after woman in Europe.
My marriage to her had been more than just a means to obtain power.
Queen Alienor had captivated me with her beauty, her mystique, her allure.
For the first thirteen years of our marriage, I was in a perpetual state of lust.
Decades later, when poor Rosamund cleansed me of the controlling
magic and opened my eyes, I realized that everything I had once believed
about my wife had been a lie.
Alienor twitches, making her pubic hair brush against my thighs. My
cock surges.
“Sweet sacrilege,” I say from between clenched teeth.
I try to place a hand on her shoulder, but the magic protecting her won’t
allow me to even graze her skin.
“Take off that locket,” I murmur.
Of course, she doesn’t hear the words, but her hand rises to my chest
and brushes against a nipple.
A lightning storm of pleasure strikes my flesh, making my muscles
seize. I grab the base of my cock and groan.
“Who are you?” she murmurs.
“Are you talking to me?” I ask.
“No,” she replies.
“Then are you dreaming?”
“Just tell me what’s happening.” She sounds distressed.
 I draw back to look her full in the face. Her brow furrows, and her lips
form a tight line. This looks like the start of a nightmare.
“Alienor,” I say. “Wake up.”
“Henry?” she whispers.
The sound of my name on her lips sends a jolt of ecstasy to my heart. I
swallow, my throat tightening with anticipation. Is she dreaming about me?
“You should know I’m not your wife,” she murmurs.
“I realize this now,” I tell her, but it seems like my words fall upon
unhearing ears.
Over the next several minutes, she continues a one-sided conversation. I
still can’t tell if she’s talking to me or a version of myself she is imagining.
This is most peculiar. In the years that I have stalked Alienor, she has never
talked in her sleep.
Alienor seems curious one moment and then confused the next. I gaze
down at my sweet angel, my lips curling into a smile until she exhales a
lustful groan.
“F-fetch H-henry.”
My throat dries.
My cock spasms.
My lips form the words, “I am here, my sweet.”
Heat pools between her legs, and the side of my thigh that’s pressed
against her cunt warms. Her nipples tighten, and sweat breaks out across
her skin.
“Alienor,” I ask. “What’s happening?”
When she circles her hips and grinds her sex against my leg, it makes
my chest shudder with a moan.
All four heads of my cock swell to the point of pain, each oozing liquid
precum.
Her flesh becomes slicker and hotter as she smears her arousal over my
thigh. Alienor is so wet as she grinds against me that the sounds her sex
makes are obscene.
My balls tighten, drawing in toward my belly with an urgency that
makes me hyperventilate.
I throw my head back and groan. If I were a gentleman, I would slither
off this mattress and allow Alienor to enjoy her erotic dream in peace. If I
had any sort of decency, I would revert to my four-legged form and stem
this illicit arousal.
But my chivalry died long ago with my humanity.
I lie beside Alienor, my hands curling into fists.
“Fuck,” she says with a moan that makes the fine hairs on the back of
my neck stand on end.
“Please.” Alienor’s breath becomes ragged. Urgent. Desperate. “I need
you.”
“Use me,” I say from between clenched teeth. “Take what you need
from my body and show no restraint.”
Alienor curls her hands around my biceps and bucks her hips, her blunt
nails gaining purchase into my flesh.
Bloody hell.
She is riding my thigh like it’s an out-of-control stallion.
I lie on the bed as still as death, not daring to move in case she awakens.
Alienor breathes hard, her sweet musk filling my nostrils.
Even if I wanted to stop this, I couldn’t. Not with her body pressed so
closely against mine that my entire side sizzles with the heat of her arousal.
Not with my ears filled with her pants and cries and moans.
She moves back and forth, pressing her weight against my most
sensitive wing bone. It’s the one that connects straight to my spine that I
usually keep tucked to my side. Tingles travel up and down my back,
sending a surge of urgency to my balls.
Alienor tightens her fingers around my nipple, making my breath catch.
As she pulls on it with a pressure that borders on pain, I hiss through my
teeth.
There’s only so much a man can take before his resolve breaks.
The hand gripping the base of my cock makes gentle strokes up and
down the shaft. Now that I’m fully in the presence of the woman who can
negate my chastity curse, I can pleasure myself without discomfort.
Alienor is so wet that I feel every petal of her sex as she writhes against
my thigh. Her sweet pearl presses into my flesh, seeming to swell to twice
its normal size.
“More,” she says, her voice an urgent plea. “I need more.”
“Don’t stop,” I growl, wishing the magic would allow me to touch her.
“If only I could turn you on your back, I would feast upon your little cunt
like a banquet.”
The sound she makes is needy.
“Would you like that?” I ask.
She answers my question with a breathy moan.
“I would suck on your little pearl until you squirted my face with sweet
nectar.”
Her soft cries go straight to my cock. Precum drizzles down my shaft
and lubricates my hand. There’s so much of it that a tiny pool of moisture
forms on my leathery skin.
I quicken my strokes, timing them with her urgent thrusts.
“Alienor,” I say, my voice beguiling and deep. “Answer my question.”
“Oh, fuck,” she replies.
“You want my tongue?”
“I’d like to ride your face,” she replies.
My jaw drops, and sensation rushes to all four of my cockheads. My
sweet Alienor is a dirty little angel. A dirty little angel I long to besmirch.
“I would give you more pleasure than you can handle in one lifetime,
but you need to take off that locket,”
 The fingers torturing my nipple draw back, making my stomach lurch.
But as she pulls her hand toward the locket, my breath catches.
“That’s it,” I growl. “Take it off.”
She picks up the locket between her thumb and forefinger.
“You’re so fucking good at this,” she says.
Satisfaction rumbles within my chest like a triumphant beast. I pump
my cock harder, in unison with her quickening movements. All four heads
turn purple, each streaming so much precum that droplets spatter over her
tender flesh.
Her breathing quickens, and her words melt into pleasured moans.
“Good girl. Yank that locket and pull it off your neck.”
Alienor’s hand falls from the object in question. I’m about to protest
when she grabs my cock and squeezes it with all her strength.
My breath hitches. There’s only so much a man can resist under such
extreme circumstances.
She pumps my shaft as every muscle in my body seizes and becomes
powerless under her touch. Even my withered heart stops beating in
anticipation of what she’ll do next.
“Oh,” she says with a breathy moan, her thumb swiping over each of
my heads.
Heat shoots up my shaft, and the muscles them around tighten before
loosening with a huge gust of spunk.
“Alienor!”
As I spurt jet after jet of warm fluid, my mind goes blank, and I even
forget my name. My spirit soars from my body, making a wingless orbit
around the moon.
As my cock stops spurting, I exhale a satisfied sigh. “You moan so
prettily in your sleep, Alienor.”
She stiffens, her hand dropping to one side.
Then her eyes snap open.
Alienor blinks once, twice, thrice.
And then she shrieks.
 Chapter Twenty-Six

ALIENOR
A scream tears from my throat—not just at the shock of finding myself
in bed with the Boogie Man.
He looms above me, his sharp green eyes penetrating mine like daggers.
Moonlight streams through the window, coloring the ends of his black hair
a sinister shade of indigo.
His unearthly beauty is unsettling compared to the natural features of
King Henry.
Panic strikes at my chest like sheet lightning, turning my nerves to ash.
The magic protecting the cottage has kept him out until now. How on earth
did it fail?
“Alienor,” he says in a voice as cold as death.
I flinch, only for him to stretch a hand toward my face. His fingers are
as dark as the leathery pelt on his legs, each ending in obsidian claws.
The hairs on the back of my neck stand on end. If he so much as touches
me—
I tumble to the edge of the mattress, my bare skin grazing his wing’s
leathery membrane. The bone at its end twitches as though trying to catch
me before I fall to the floor, but I throw myself off the bed and land on my
ass.
 This is it.
The moment he finally gets his revenge.
He’s going to slice me the way he trashed my bedroom.
The Boogie Man folds his wings behind his back and rises off the bed.
Panic pounds on my chest with heavy fists. I can’t move, I can’t
breathe, I can’t think of anything except the way he’ll secure my death.
The Boogie Man offers me his hand again.
My gaze drops to his open palm, and my brow furrows. This is probably
some sort of trick.
I skitter backward and scream, “Get away from me.”
His shoulders sag, and his features fall with what looks like
disappointment.
A hysterical laugh bursts from my lungs. He has the nerve to look
disheartened after breaking into my house and climbing into bed with me
without my consent?
My heart beats so hard, its echoes muffle the sound of my frantic
breaths.
“How did you get in?” I ask, my voice trembling.
The Boogie Man doesn’t answer—the bastard doesn’t have the decency
to explain how he overcame my coven’s defenses.
Blood roars between my ears, fueling my rage. I want to tell myself that
the locket still works, but if it did, he could never have been able to climb
into my bed and tangle his limbs with mine.
If it did, he would never have been able to give me the most powerful
orgasm of my life.
I should get up, run, call for Grandma, but the lead weight of dread
keeps my ass rooted to the floor.
“What did you do to my hound?” I ask.
Once again, he doesn’t answer.
 His silence makes my ears ring. Tears rise to the corners of my eyes,
and I blink hard to hold them back. I shouldn’t even need to ask. Not when I
saw the Boogie Man claw Aggie. Not when I saw him decapitate Norbert.
He must have murdered my poor companion and slithered into his place
on the bed.
“Where’s my hound? Did you kill him to get close to me? What did you
do?”
His long pause twists my insides into painful knots.
In my dream, I rode King Henry’s face until I climaxed. The Boogie
Man must have performed oral sex on me while I was asleep. There’s no
other explanation, and his blank expression is beyond suspicious.
“I did nothing,” he finally replies.
My throat burns with a mix of terror and fury.
“Liar.”
The Boogie Man takes another step closer, sending a lance of panic
through my heart.
I scramble to my feet and back toward the door.
He follows.
“Stay away.” I raise a palm and step back onto the living area’s cold,
stone floor.
“I couldn’t touch you even if I wanted to,” he growls. “And the hound
was me.”
My steps falter, and I gape at him over my shoulder. “What?”
The Boogie Man’s huge frame takes up the entire doorway, looking like
the embodiment of my worst nightmare.
I try to speak, but my throat is hoarse. With a deep breath, I force out
the words, “What did you just say?”
“I am capable of taking multiple forms.”
It takes several seconds for his words to fully register, and I clap a hand
over my mouth. The sweet, attentive hound who followed me everywhere
was the Boogie Man?
The same creature I poured out my heart to and allowed to sleep in my
bed?
Bile rises to my throat, and I swallow back bitter betrayal. That hound
was supposed to be my companion, my familiar, the only person in the
world who was completely mine.
I thought I’d made a friend.
Rage surges through my veins and burns my skin. I back away from him
on trembling legs.
“Why did you do it?” I ask.
He jerks his head to the side, as though explaining his trickery is
tiresome.
“You’re determined to murder me with those claws,” I snarl.
He pauses. “Never.”
I hurry deeper into the darkened living room, my gaze landing on the
dining table. The copies I made at the library are missing, but then I
remember that I placed them on a high shelf.
Now, I understand why the hound tried to trash them. He didn’t want
me reading up on spells that could send him back to hell.
“Alienor—”
“You told me time and time again that you wanted me dead.” I rush
toward the papers on the shelf. “At least now I know why.”
The Boogie Man steps into my path and reaches for my shoulders.
“Listen to me.”
“Why?” I duck and continue toward the papers.
His growl makes my spine seize up with a cold shiver, and I stiffen.
“If I suffered what happened to you, I’d also become murderous,” I say.
“Eleanor of Aquitaine used magic against you before your marriage and
throughout. That’s the worst kind of violation.”
“That is true,” he replies.
 I continue toward the shelf, but he doesn’t follow.
The papers rest in a messy stack, some of them torn apart by claws. I
snatch the pile and rifle through each copied page, trying to find the spell to
banish faeries.
“Your wife cursed you into an eternity of chastity, so you wouldn’t
cheat—”
“I would never—”
“But she tried to steal your throne, she killed your mistress, then when
she finally got some magic of her own, she used it to commit your murder.”
My breath catches with a sob. “It’s no wonder you want revenge.”
“You’re wrong.”
My gaze catches on the word BANISHMENT on a paper torn in half.
Now, I’ve got to find the rest of the spell before he snatches them from my
fingers.
“I can’t listen to you anymore. The only time you’re ever nice to me is
when you want to get sexual. Your personality switches the moment you’re
satisfied, then you’re back to being vengeful.”
“That is untrue.”
My jaw clenches. What’s the point of arguing with this creature? He’s
no longer King Henry—he’s twisted with dark magic, betrayal, and
centuries of sexual frustration.
A half-torn paper drifts to the floor. I pick it up, find the rest of the
enchantment I need, and add it to the top of my pile.
If this banishment spell is going to succeed, I need to get the Boogie
Man to leave me in peace.
But how?
I pretend to rifle through the papers and mutter under my breath. How
did he get past the wards?
Wait a minute…
 When I walked home with the hound, he paused outside the boundary
until I grabbed his fur and pulled him across. That’s pretty much an
invitation. My mind is too addled to remember how he got into the cottage.
I either told him to come inside or was stroking his fur as we crossed its
threshold.
What if I tricked him into stepping outside? Would he be able to return?
“Alienor, what are you doing?” he asks.
“Taking these papers to grandma and finally proving you exist.” I head
toward the exit, hoping he believes my lie.
“You are naked.”
“Don’t care.” I fling the door open and step outside into the night.
I stride down the stone path, clutching the papers to my chest with one
arm and pumping my fist with the other. A cool breeze swirls around my
exposed skin, making it tighten into goosebumps.
The moon is nearly full, illuminating the petals of the chamomile
flowers, which are still wilted from being drenched in cum.
In a day or so, the moon will be full, marking the deadline to prove
myself worthy of having magic. I shiver at the impending coven meeting. If
Grandma and the others knew the extent of what was happening in my life,
they would bind every trace of my power.
It’s a good thing that I have the means to save myself and get rid of the
Boogie Man.
“Alienor,” he says, his voice hoarse.
My gaze darts over my shoulder.
The Boogie Man stands in the cottage's doorway, his huge wings tucked
behind his back. My jaw tightens. Why isn’t he following? For this
banishment to work, he needs to step completely out of the building’s
threshold.
Taking a step backward, I continue toward Grandma’s house.
“Please come back,” he says. “I don’t wish you any harm.”
 “I know what happened to you when you were young. You didn’t
deserve to be a victim of my ancestor, and I’m sorry.”
My throat thickens. In a way, I’m not much better than my namesake. I
also let King Henry give me sexual pleasure under false pretenses.
“Alienor.”
He steps out.
I hold my breath, silently urging him to come closer, closer, closer until
he leaves the cottage’s boundary of protection. I even take a few backward
steps to lure him out.
“The rest of the coven can perform the spells I need to keep you away.
It’s just a matter of asking them for help.” I take another step back.
The Boogie Man walks toward me, his arms outstretched. He stares
down at me with a tender humanity that reminds me of King Henry.
I drop my gaze and push down the stirrings of guilt.
He’s no longer the nineteen-year-old king who was manipulated under a
love spell. The creature standing before me is the vengeful, twisted result of
my ancestor’s machinations. He clawed Aggie, killed Norbert, and
infiltrated my bed under the guise of an innocent hound.
Every villain has their origin story.
When he stands in front of me and hovers a hand over my shoulder, my
heart soars with triumph.
The Boogie Man has just crossed the magical boundary, and the only
way he’ll get inside this cottage again is with an invitation.
I sweep past him, through the barrier, and back toward the front door.
“What are you doing?” he asks.
“Sending you back where you belong.”
I turn back toward the garden path to find him standing five feet away
with his hands pressed on the invisible barrier.
His expression goes blank. “You don’t know what you’re doing.”
 “If you were once a human and now look like an Unseelie faerie, then
you probably made a bargain with one,” I say. “Now, I just need to open up
a portal to your realm.”
“Let me in,” he growls, his eyes flashing.
I slam the door shut, continue to the dining table, and set down the
paper.
If the Boogie Man hadn’t found a way into my bed, I might have waited
a few days to build up the reserves of blood to perform the banishment
spell. Now, I’ll just have to make do with what’s in my veins.
A dark figure lurks on the other side of the window, his arms waving,
his wings outstretched.
Ignoring him, I read through the torn parchment three times before
starting. The banishment spell requires half a gallon of blood as well as the
victim’s bodily fluids.
My gaze drops down to the cum drying on my belly, and I grimace.
After scraping it off with the blunt edge of a knife, I put it into a mixing
bowl and cut my wrist.
Fortunately, my crappy levels of power allow me to move small
amounts of liquid, so filling the bowl only takes ten minutes. I place a
bandage over the wound as soon as I bleed out the required amount.
“Alienor!” The Boogie Man roars from outside.
I dip my fingers into the blood-and-semen mixture and draw out some
symbols on the dining table.
This branch of magic is forbidden for a reason. Anyone can use their
life force to power an enchantment as long as they can follow the
instructions. It requires no talent, no training, and no commitment to law or
ethics.
Then I recite the incantation.
The air becomes thick with magic, making all the fine hairs on my skin
stand on end. It’s like being caught in a whirlwind of static electricity that
intensifies with each passing breath.
I turn toward the window, where a circle of glowing chamomile flowers
surrounds the Boogie Man. They dance around him, lifting his long hair off
his shoulders.
“Alienor,” he says, his voice hoarse. “What have you done?”
“I’m tired of you ruining my life,” I say.
The flowers form a cocoon around his body, encasing his huge
wingspan.
My breath quickens.
It’s really happening.
The magic is really sending him back.
The air goes still for a second, and the static electricity stops.
I hold my breath, my gaze fixed on the glowing sphere.
As it winks out of existence, all the windows implode, sending shards of
glass flying through the room.
My stomach drops. I crouch into a low ball, whimpering as the debris
slices through my skin, and crawl under the table. At its center is a tiny
sphere of magic that’s supposed to offer protection against storms.
The air fills with a rumble, and the ceiling collapses, sending huge
lumps of plaster to the floor.
As the cottage crumbles, my last thought before I fall unconscious is
that I hope the Boogie Man won’t suffer the same painful fate.
 Chapter Twenty-Seven

HENRY
I claw and slash through the magic encasing my body. It is weak
compared to the power I absorbed from the ash tree and from Alienor’s
dead suitor, but this enchantment is so attuned to my power that fighting it
is futile.
Each time I carve open the magic, the glowing flowers form a seal.
“Alienor, what have you done?”
Regret washes through my veins like spoiled wine, souring the last
vestiges of my heart. I should have courted her like an honest gentleman
and not stolen intimacy from her as a hound.
The magic flares, bringing with it the high-pitched sounds of breaking
glass. Invisible restraints seize me around the neck, just as the flowers
recede.
Every window of Alienor’s cottage shatters, showering her with glass.
Lurching forward, I try to reach her, but an invisible force pulls me from
the human realm, through a void of darkness, and back into the ruins of my
palace.
I fall onto my outstretched wings, bringing up a cloud of plaster and
dust. The throne room’s crumbling walls loom over my fallen form, and for
the first time since becoming immortal, I realize that I have wasted so much
time seeking revenge.
My heart shatters.
Alienor couldn’t survive the explosion. Not after sacrificing so much of
her blood. My mind replays the explosion over and over until the memory
tears a hole through my insides and seizes my soul.
Alienor cannot die.
Her life has only just begun.
I could save her. If I transferred some of my immortality into her injured
body, the way the Barghest revived me from my deathbed, then she would
survive.
Perhaps in time, she might even open her heart and forgive my
transgressions.
Determination thrums through my veins, and I push myself up to
standing. If Alienor hasn’t made the banishment spell permanent, I have
power left to travel across realms and come to her rescue.
But I need to reach her.
Now.
I stride through the empty throne room and into a hallway filled with
rubble, only for my steps to falter as the shadows gather to form the
Barghest.
He stands as a ten-foot-tall canine with a mass of green magic pulsing
from within his skull. Matted fur clings to his shoulders, but there’s no flesh
on his neck or breast. Instead is a rib cage filled with broken bones that
barely keep out the magic.
The Barghest has deteriorated.
And he’s taking up the entire hallway.
My jaw tightens, and my insides twist into painful knots. Of all the
times for him to appear, why now, when I need to rescue Alienor? Why
now, before our bargain is complete?
 “What do you want?” I ask from between clenched teeth.
“You have returned,” says the Barghest.
“You are observant,” I reply, my words measured.
Keeping my breaths shallow, I hold my features into a stoic mask. He
cannot know I am desperate to reach Alienor.
“Was your trip to the human world a success?” he asks.
“No.” I step toward him.
He shrinks into the shadows, to my surprise. As I pass him, the green
light within his bones fades as though he finds something about me
repellent.
If Alienor wasn’t dying, I would pause to consider this, perhaps even
ask him a question, but I don’t care why the monster recoils.
Ignoring him, I continue through the rubble, out into the palace’s
overgrown gardens. Every one of the mushrooms that make up the circle
has either lost its cap or stands at an angle with its stalk snapped in half.
Sabotage.
My only means of reaching the human world is destroyed.
I whirl around and glower into the light glowing from his eye sockets.
The Barghest stands within the confines of my palace, looking as though he
wants to keep his distance.
“This is your doing,” I snarl.
He sniffs. “I am weary of this bargain. It is time for me to reap.”
My shoulders stiffen.
Not now.
Without these mushrooms, I cannot return to Alienor. Without the
Barghest’s immortality, my body will crumble into ash and bone.
“The word of a faerie is its bond,” I say.
He raises his front paw to the bones of his snout and examines his
claws.
I clench my jaw. “Our bargain is not complete.”
 “True,” he replies. “But there is always a loophole. For example, if you
find your wife and decide not to kill her—”
“It is a pity then, that I still cannot locate my wife after all these
centuries.” I grind my teeth and wait for him to make his move, but he
continues to keep his distance.
When I step toward the Barghest, he flinches backward.
Interesting.
“Will you repair the mushroom circle?” I ask.
“No.”
The answer strikes like lightning. I resist the urge to react.
“How can I fulfill my bargain if you don’t allow me to leave?” I ask.
His magic flares, filling the hallway with light. “The agreement was to
keep you alive until you could avenge your murder. If you change your
mind, then it becomes null and void.”
And then he can take back his magic.
Not just the power he lent me but the interest on that loan will be my
soul.
Eight hundred years ago, when I lay on my deathbed, betrayed by my
wife, my children, and my court, I gladly traded my soul for the chance of
revenge.
I didn’t care what happened if the Barghest used my soul to become the
King of England. Back then, the country that abandoned me could burn.
Now, I have a reason to keep England out of the clutches of that
creature–Alienor. But I have to save her, first. Time is passing. If I stay, she
will surely die.
With a final glance over my shoulder, I make a mental note never to
return to this realm. The magic here is weak compared to the grandmother’s
ash trees. I no longer need this place to replenish my power.
“If you won’t allow me safe passage out of this realm, then I will take
an alternative route.”
 I walk into the circle of broken mushrooms, not caring about the
dangers.
The Barghest growls. “Wait!”
It’s too late. I have already wasted precious time talking to this creature.
Now, I must rescue Alienor.
If the journey breaks my immortal body into millions of spores, then
perhaps my soul will become free to join hers.
 Chapter Twenty-Eight

ALIENOR
Everything hurts.
My bones ache as though they’ve been crushed in an avalanche. My
skin stings from being sliced open by shards of glass.
Even my organs feel pulverized.
And my head…
An ache resounds through my broken chest and grates against the back
of my throat. It’s so dry and coated with plaster dust that I wonder if I’ve
been mummified.
On the plus side, all this agony means that I’m still alive. Or probably
dying.
Everything is dark, and I can’t move a limb, open my eyelids, or even
twitch a toe. So, I’m trapped in this prison of pain. I inhale a trembling
breath and focus beyond the discomfort.
Nothing is weighing down my body, and it feels like I’m lying flat.
Lying flat in a coffin or lying flat on a surface meant for the living. That’s
the real question?
A soft breeze brushes against my skin, and my nostrils fill with the
scent of ripe apples. So, I’m outside, laid out on the paving stones,
somewhere between Grandma’s house and the cottage ruins.
 “What took you so long?” Grandma asks, her voice sharp.
“You didn’t specify the nature of the medical emergency,” Aunt Klara
mutters. “Besides, it took a while to find Aggie.”
Grandma mutters something under her breath.
“What has she done now?” Aunt Klara asks, sounding bored.
“Does it matter?”
“From the looks of those black wisps over the cottage, I suppose she’s
opened something dark.”
“That’s what the rest of the coven is for,” Grandma says. “But we can’t
fix those rifts until we help Alienor.”
Grandma rattles off a list of my injuries. Cracked skull, crushed spine,
fractured ribs, broken humerus, dislocated kneecaps, multiple lacerations
and two ruptured arteries temporarily staunched to prevent exsanguination.
With every word, my spirits sink deeper into the ground, until they’re
hovering somewhere beneath the roots of the chamomile flowers. I try to
tune out Grandma’s voice and lose myself in oblivion, but Aunt Klara’s
exasperated huffs grate on my frayed nerves.
What on earth is that woman’s problem? I always knew she found me
annoying and a burden to the family, but she acts like I’m the first young
witch to have ever gotten herself into trouble. From her belligerent tone, it
sounds like she thinks healing a family member is a major inconvenience.
“Sorry I’m late,” shouts a voice from above.
Aggie lands her broomstick so close to where I’m lying that the stones
at my back tremble under the impact.
“Fuck,” she cries. “What happened to her?”
“Blood magic.” Grandma’s words are clipped. “Along with tiny fissures
in the wards leading to the goddess knows where.”
Aunt Klara huffs again. “If you had listened to me when I told you to
bind her magic—”
“That’s enough,” Grandma snaps.
 Nausea rises to the back of my throat, tightening my airways so I
struggle to breathe. Aunt Klara sounds so triumphant that I’ve screwed up.
I almost don’t want her to fix my broken body.
“Let’s focus on healing poor Alienor,” Grandma says with a sigh.
“Should we start with a levitation spell to get her inside?” Aggie’s
magic wraps around my shoulders, waist, and hips.
“Don’t move her,” Grandma yells.
As the magic lifts me off the ground, white lightning explodes across
every nerve, making my muscles seize. The pain is blinding, all-consuming,
and fills my inner ears with a searing scream.
Aggie’s magic releases its hold, and my mind collapses in on itself,
dragging me into unconsciousness.

I’m not sure how much time passes, but my mind teeters on the edge of
awareness. Light flickers through my eyelids, and I inhale the scents of
must and mold and mildew.
A cool draft blows through the thin sheet covering my skin, which does
nothing to stop it from tightening into goosebumps.
It feels like I’m in a basement.
I try to open my eyes, but my muscles won’t move.
Light footsteps echo across what feels like vast, stone walls. I try to tell
myself that this is not a crypt. My pain has gone, but that doesn’t mean I’m
dead.
The air around my body shifts, and the light flares, bringing with it the
scent of burning incense. This has to be some sort of ritual, but why is it
taking place in a basement?
I try to curl my fingers and wiggle my toes, but they’re bound with
bands of magic. My pulse kicks up a notch. I focus on breaking out of my
restraints, but they tighten.
“We’re ready to begin the extraction.” Grandma’s voice echoes across
the chamber.
“Wait,” Aggie says. “I thought we were only binding her magic.”
“It was never hers to begin with,” Aunt Klara mutters.
My stomach drops with a boulder of dread. If I could furrow my brows
right now, they’d pull together into a frown.
What does that even mean?
Every witch is born with a certain amount of magic, which needs to be
bound until they’re mature enough to practice it without hurting themselves
or exposing our kind to the humans.
“That doesn’t make sense,” Aggie says as though channeling my
confusion. “How could she not have her own magic?”
I send my cousin a silent word of thanks.
“Why don’t you tell her?” Aunt Klara’s voice drips with so much
venom that I can’t believe Grandma hasn’t yet noticed that her only
surviving daughter is such a rattlesnake.
“It wasn’t just Faye who died the day Alienor was born.”
I gulp.
She’s talking about my mother.
“Alienor wasn’t breathing when we pulled her out of Faye,” Grandma
continues, her voice breaking. “And there was no heartbeat.”
“A stillbirth,” Aunt Klara adds.
My breaths turn shallow.
Was I born dead?
“Then why is she alive?” Aggie whispers. “What does any of this even
mean?”
“Your grandma wanted to grant Faye’s wishes for a strong daughter and
didn’t have the heart to admit that she’d died. Instead, she took the baby
into this crypt and used a portion of our ancestor's magic to resuscitate her.”
 Every fine hair on my body stands on end.
Grandma stole Eleanor of Aquitaine’s magic to save my life.
“She opened the sacred sarcophagus?” Aggie’s voice rises several
octaves.
The air shifts and I imagine my cousin whirling around to confront
Grandma. I’m still reeling from the revelation that I died that it barely
registers that I’m in a crypt with the Boogie Man’s wife. The thought that
her magic is powering my life makes my stomach churn.
Grandma launches into an explanation of how she infused me with
ancient power, but I can’t focus on the words.
Aunt Klara probably thinks I’m responsible for the death of her sister. It
explains why I’ve always found her curt and impatient—it’s her festering
resentment.
The backs of my eyes sting with the beginning of tears. Aunt Klara is no
different from the Boogie man. Both of them despise me for something that
wasn’t even my fault.
Anguish settles on my chest like a pile of rubble, threatening to crush
my soul. If I don’t have magic, then I’m not a witch. If I’m not a witch, then
I’m no longer a member of the coven.
Will they cast me out?
“Stand back, Mother,” Aunt Klara says with a sniff. “I told you nothing
good would ever come of reviving that baby. She’s only useful for the most
menial of tasks, and she’s now become a danger to herself and others.”
“Mum, you can’t just carve out a witch’s magic,” Aggie yells.
“You wouldn’t defend her so much if you saw the malevolent power I
had to extract from your wounds,” Aunt Klara says.
“But what if she dies?”
“She won’t,” Grandma replies. “Alienor is strong.”
“But—”
 “She should be lucky to be alive,” Aunt Klara snarls. “Stand aside, or I
will have you removed.”
The tip of a wand lands on my breastbone, and hot agony pierces my
heart. Then magic gushes from the wound, stealing my breath.
My eyelids flutter open, only to find white light flowing from my
midsection to an open sarcophagus placed upright at the foot of my
platform.
Standing within it is a mummified corpse.
As its insides glow with iridescent power, my eyes roll to the back of
my head.

Hours or maybe days later, my body spasms, and I wake up with a scream.
My pulse beats a rapid drumroll, making me bolt upright with my eyes
flying open.
“Shit.” I glance around at my surroundings.
The featureless white walls of grandma’s guest room loom overhead,
and the last vestiges of sunlight stream in from a narrow window that
overlooks the gardens.
All traces of agony have gone, replaced by a pulling sensation on my
skin. My gaze drops down to my exposed arms. They’re covered in red
wounds that haven’t quite knitted together to form a scar.
It’s as though Aunt Klara ran out of magic and had to delay the
cosmetic repairs.
That, or she left the cuts to heal naturally to teach me a lesson.
Memories flood to the forefront of my mind from what happened after I
awoke in bed with the Boogie Man and decided to perform the banishment
spell.
 Grief swirls around me like a draft. It’s a culmination of the loss of my
hound, the Boogie Man’s deception, and the realization that the magic I
welded was never mine.
I clutch at my chest, my heart sinking at the lack of power from my
locket. Without magic, there’s nothing to maintain its power. I’m
completely unprotected. But most importantly, without magic, I am no
longer a witch.
“Maybe Aunt Klara was right,” I mutter under my breath. “Maybe I
should consider myself lucky to be alive.”
I swing my legs out of bed and walk to the window. Every movement is
like a paper cut across my nerves. Even my scars sting and make me hiss
through my teeth.
It’s dark outside, and the cottage is a blackened ruin, illuminated by the
full moon. A small crowd of women gathers on the scorched earth around
the building with their wands raised.
Shit.
Now the rest of the coven knows I’m a magic-less failure.
I’m not even sure how the cottage even caught fire. Tiny tendrils of
smoke rise from the rubble, only to get caught in the invisible barrier above
the garden.
I bite down on my bottom lip.
That’s not smoke. It’s the remnants of my black magic.
The spell I performed to banish the Boogie Man must have burned
through the fabric of reality. I probably would have known this if I had
bothered to read all the fine print, but I was in no fit state to consider any
consequences after discovering him in my bed.
Grandma must have kept the tendrils within the confines of her wards to
keep what I did from the Magical Council.
Now that it’s the full moon, the rest of the coven must be trying to clear
up the mess.
 “Bloody hell,” I mutter.
If the Council discovers I performed a spell of this magnitude in our
coven’s headquarters, it won’t just be me who gets into trouble. They’d
punish Grandma, Aunt Klara, Aggie, and all the other members.
“What had I been thinking?”
Common sense gives me a kick up the backside. It had to be done. The
Boogie Man was getting closer and closer to breaking through my defenses.
He already told me his plan to fuck me before murdering me the way he
tried to kill Aggie.
The way he succeeded with poor, dead Norbert.
I exhale a weary sigh.
There are several reasons I acted alone: the Boogie Man was more
powerful than a necromancer. Nobody believed me when I told them he
existed. The only person who could see the Boogie Man ended up dead.
I did the right thing.
Heavy footsteps creak up the stairs. They’re far too loud to be female. I
pick up an iron candlestick holder and step out into the hallway.
All the lights are off, with moonlight streaming in through the skylight
and illuminating the dust motes.
Something shifts in the shadows.
“Who’s there?” I whisper.
The dark figure steps out of the gloom. He’s tall, dressed in black, with
long, stringy hair that falls into clumps around his narrow face.
But it’s not the Boogie Man. The Boogie Man is muscular with huge
wings. This person is the same height but looks like he might drift away in
a breeze.
I take a step back toward the door and ready myself to bolt.
Norbert flicks his hair off his face, revealing an incision mark across his
neck stitched together with heavy thread. His features are no longer sallow
—they’re completely devoid of color.
 He leers down at me, his dark eyes glowing silver in the light of the
moon, and says, “How about that goodnight kiss?”
 Chapter Twenty-Nine

HENRY
Overgrown plants loom over the clearing like crooked spires. They bend
and twist to the will of the Barghest.
With one blast of my magic, my shadows stretch across the circle to
reform the mushrooms. The stalks straighten as my power raises the broken
caps from the ground and settles them at awkward angles.
Every marking on my chest burns like acid, setting the surrounding skin
alight.
“Stop,” the Barghest roars. “Stop before your body crumbles.”
He is more concerned about losing his investment. Without the body he
gave me, he cannot obtain my soul. Without my soul, he can never generate
the magic required to rule England.
Even if I lose what’s left of my humanity, my place is beside Alienor.
Every mushroom in the circle rises from the ground, bringing up clouds
of dirt. They glow in the eternal moonlight from their caps to their stalks to
the tiny threads still attached to the earth.
Spores break off from the mushrooms’ gills like faerie dust, creating
thick clouds of silver.
“Henry Curtmantle,” the Barghest roars. “Cease this foolishness or
perish.”
 Magic crackles across the surface of my wings, filling my nostrils with
the scent of burning flesh.
“It is too late, old friend,” I say as their leathery membranes crumble to
dust.
“Our bargain—”
Magic implodes in my ears, and the world falls silent.
Even the silver clouds dim as my vision blinks in and out of existence.
The Barghest was right. This circle of broken mushrooms is tearing me
apart, but he left me with no alternative.
It’s impossible to tell if I will emerge in the human realm as a man, a
hound, a shadow, or as wisps of a king who should have remained dead.
I inhale a deep breath only to find I have no lungs. When I exhale it’s as
though what’s left of me scatters across the wind. My body is everywhere at
once, even though my mind remains intact.
If I don’t concentrate, I will forever exist as a disembodied soul.
Alienor.
The thought of her lying in a pool of blood, sliced open by shards,
makes me ache with sorrow. Guilt plucks at my heartstrings at having
caused her so much pain.
If I hadn’t been so blinded by rage and lust and sexual frustration, I
would have known she was innocent. If I hadn’t lied to and threatened that
sweet maiden, she might have offered me love.
The ache in my heart spreads across my chest, and I groan, exhausted,
spent, and tangled within thick branches.
When I open my eyes, I’m gazing out across a moonlit garden of
chamomile flowers bordered by an orchard. I cannot yet move my head
from side to side. It’s hard to tell if I am back to myself again or have
merged with the tree.
Magic thrums around my consciousness. Little by little, sensation
returns to my limbs. Even the chamomile flowers beneath me sway with
encouragement.
The energy pulsing through my body is a mix of the garden’s ancestral
magic and something entirely familiar that I thought I had lost forever.
My semen, or rather, the centuries of power infused in my seed.
Alienor’s grandmother buried it deep into the earth, nourishing the trees.
And now these trees are nourishing my broken and scattered body.
This time, when I inhale, I have nostrils to recognize the scents of
deciduous trees, dark magic, and death.
Death?
Death magic. The remnants of Alienor’s suitor whom I killed.
The fibers of my heart skip several beats.
He’s alive?
Somewhere on the edge of my awareness, I’m sure I hear a scream.
“Hurry,” I growl yet make no sound.
The tree picks up its pace. I clench and unclench my hands and kick my
legs.
“Hurry,” I repeat, my voice hoarse.
My wings try to flap, but they haven’t yet formed. I cannot even feel the
bones that connect to my spine. I writhe on the branch and wince as the
rough bark scrapes across my balls. It looks like the magic hasn’t yet
replenished my pelt.
When a second scream reaches my ears, I can no longer wait.
It’s Alienor.
She’s in trouble, and she needs my help.
I thrash my arms, my legs, my head—move everything I can to break
free of the branches. They strain and crack under my weight but don’t give.
With one push of my magic, the tree releases my body from bondage,
and I tumble to the ground. I flare out my wings, only to find them still
gone.
 I land hard on the ground, bringing up a cloud of leaf litter that brushes
against my newly sensitized skin.
“Alienor!”
I scramble to my feet and race across the garden toward the
grandmother’s house. With each step, grit from the paving stones digs into
the soles of my feet, reminding me that I’m not yet fully formed.
My legs are without their leathery coverings, leaving my human flesh
exposed to the elements. My cock and balls, which normally recede into my
hide, now bounce freely with my movements.
The grandmother’s home will no doubt be protected by magic. Magic I
cannot penetrate without trickery or an invitation. But as I reach the
grandmother’s house, a small figure dressed in black swoops down from the
skies and lands on a broomstick.
It’s the cousin I ripped apart with my claws.
She whirls around, her hand clasped over her chest, and screams, “Who
are you?”
My steps falter. Can she see me?
Trivialities like this no longer matter.
“Alienor is in danger,” I snarl. “Let me inside.”
“Get away from me!” The cousin pulls out a wand, its end already
charged with magic.
My jaw clenches and the cordons of my neck tighten. How is she
unconcerned about the fate of her cousin? I raise my arm, only to find my
hands devoid of claws, so I blurt the first thing that comes to mind.
“Your other broomstick.”
“What about it?” The magic at the end of her wand fades.
“I know why you’re so desperate to have it back.”
Frustration burns through my veins. I breathe hard through flared
nostrils. I dig my heels into the soil, and my power reserves race through
the earth and into the soles of my feet. As I draw on my magic, the skin on
my legs thickens into a leathery hide.
If the cousin doesn’t allow me to cross the threshold, I will find a way to
push through with my newly absorbed power.
“You’re bluffing about my broomstick,” she says, her voice faltering.
“It contains the spirit of a man.” My mind scrambles to put together the
pieces. “That’s why it shoots tree sap when agitated. It’s also why your
grandmother likes to take it on long rides.”
Her eyes flash, and she lowers her wand. “I’ll kill her.”
“Let me inside and I will keep your secret.”
She raises the wand again and points it at my bare chest. “Or, I could
silence you forever.”
Two lines of agony slice down my back as my wings push their way
out. The markings on my chest flare with magic that burns hotter than my
vexation.
The cousin staggers back. “What the fuck are you?”
Alienor screams once more, making my blood turn cold.
“Invite me in,” I hiss. “Alienor is in trouble.”
She turns on her heel and bounds up the stairs that lead to the house’s
front door.
“Damnation,” I growl and give chase.
I regret ever having left this aggravating woman alive.
As she reaches the top of the stairs, the air fills with another scream.
I grab the end of her broomstick and let her guide me through the
threshold.
The house is dark, with only the barest trace of moonlight streaming in
through a window on the roof. I tilt my head, search through the shadows,
and await the next sound.
“Over my dead body,” Alienor screams from the level above.
 I barrel past the cousin, take the stairs two at a time, and rush toward the
sound of her voice.
A man’s excited, heavy breaths rasp across my eardrums, making all the
hackles in my body rise. As I reach the top of the stairs, I catch a glimpse of
movement from behind a half-open door.
“Come on,” says a familiar male voice. “It’s only one kiss.”
The edges of my vision turn red.
I bolt through the door, finding a thin figure crouched beside an unmade
bed. Alienor must be hiding beneath it.
The man reaches under its frame and pulls out a slender ankle attached
to a delicate foot.
Alienor screams.
Rage explodes across my vision, and everything goes black.
 Chapter Thirty

ALIENOR
I gape up into Norbert’s pale face, my mouth opening in a silent scream.
Moonlight reflects in his eyes, making them shine like silver coins.
He walks across the room on stiff legs as though each step requires
every ounce of concentration.
My insides tighten with cold shock.
Norbert is dead.
I saw him die.
Hell, I even buried his headless carcass beneath the compost pile.
So, why is he here in my bedroom?
He puckers his bluish lips. “Kiss me.”
I take another step toward the door, barely choking out the question,
“What are you doing here?”
“Walking you home, of course,” he murmurs. “You promised me a kiss
with tongues.”
Nausea slithers up my throat. “Norbert, I think you need a healer.”
His eyes narrow. “Why would you say that?”
Oh, shit. How much does he remember? That he’s dead because of me?
That I brought him into a situation where a jealous monster decapitated him
with his claws?
 My lungs tighten, letting in the shallowest of breaths. If Norbert
witnessed me dragging his body across the garden and covering up for the
Boogie Man, only to make out with him the following day…
“You’ve got a bit of….” With a gulp, I make a vague gesture at my
neck.
“A bit of what?” He cups his hand behind his ear.
Fuck!
He knows, and he’s here for revenge.
“L-listen.” I hold out both palms. “I’m sorry for what happened. I had
no idea—”
“Why didn’t you inform the guild?” he asks.
“Guild?”
His features harden. “Necromancers revive their dead all the time. With
the right enchantment, they could have put me back together as good as
new.”
“What?” I whisper.
“I’ve been through the process twice already with no lingering side
effects.”
My mouth opens and closes. “Wait. You were already…”
I can’t complete the sentence. Not with Norbert shuffling toward me
like something out of a human zombie movie. Not with him scowling down
into my face like I’ve screwed up the quality of his afterlife.
“Um… Why don’t you necromancers warn people?”
He closes the distance between us in the blink of an eye and wraps a
thin arm around my back. His stubby little erection presses into my belly.
Every muscle in my body stiffens.
I scream, “Norbert!”
Now that he’s no longer facing the direction of the window, I get a
better look at his eyes. They’re so milky that it’s hard to believe he can see
anything through the film of white.
 “I had to drag myself out of a shallow grave and stitch my head together
without the use of my magic because someone stole my bracelets.”
Guilt squeezes my heart. My gaze drops to his unmoving chest. I hope
he doesn’t realize I’m still wearing his stolen property.
“Can’t you return to the guild for a tune-up?” I mutter.
“While stinking of Unseelie magic?” he replies with a sneer. “I’d get
struck off on suspicion of illegal enchantments. Are you going to give me
that good night kiss, or will I have to take it for myself?”
I force my arms up and place both hands on his chest. No heat radiates
beneath my palms—not even the coldness of death. Norbert’s body is room
temperature and smells of fresh compost.
“Close your eyes,” I say, my voice trembling.
“Why?” he hisses.
“So, we can lose ourselves in the kiss.”
He stares at me for several heartbeats, making my stomach plummet to
the floorboards. In a moment, he’s going to knock me out and take what he
wants.
He closes his eyes and puckers. “With tongues.”
Shit, shit, shit!
I bring my knees between his legs. With a grunt, he loosens his grip
around my waist. I shove him back with all my might, making him stumble.
“Help!” I turn on my heel and sprint out of the door.
Norbert seizes a handful of my hair and pulls me back into the room.
“This was going to be nice and easy, but now you’ve given me no
choice.”
I bend over double, grab his wrist, and pull at his fingers. Norbert’s grip
is as tight as rigor mortis.
“You’re going to be my corpse bride,” he snarls.
Nausea hits me straight in the gut. He’s going to kill me. Kill me and
bring me back to life so I’ll join him as a living corpse.
 “Over my dead body.” I kick out, and the heel of my foot strikes his
kneecap.
He stumbles backward, taking a handful of my hair. “That’s the plan.”
With a blood-curdling scream, I head back toward the door, but he grabs
me around the waist again and tosses me across the room.
I land on the side of the bed, just as he stalks toward me with a curved
blade.
Fuck.
I crawl beneath the bed, hoping that I’ve made enough of a commotion
to alert one of the witches outside. Magic crackles at my back. It’s one of
Grandma’s cushioning enchantments that I used to stay alive when the
cottage fell on my head.
Wriggling into the sphere of protective magic, I curl myself into a tight
ball, making sure Norbert can’t reach any part of my body.
Norbert bends at the bedside, his hand fumbling around for my hiding
spot. “Come on,” he whines. “It’s only one kiss.”
How on earth did Norbert get through the wards of Grandma’s house?
More importantly, how am I going to escape becoming his corpse bride?
As he reaches through the barrier of protective magic, my stomach
plummets through the floorboards. Even in death, necromancers are more
powerful than witches. Norbert wraps his thin fingers around my ankle and
drags me out.
“No!” I scream at the top of my voice, trying to alert the rest of the
coven.
Menacing growls fill the air, making every fine hair on my body stand
on end. I can’t tell if Norbert has regressed into something more terrifying
than a corpse determined to make me his eternal companion, but his grip on
my ankle loosens.
I lie with my back flush against the wall, farthest away from the other
edge of the bed, trying to put as much distance between myself and what’s
happening.
“Easy now.” Norbert’s voice trembles. “I have no quarrel with the
Barghest.”
My breath catches, and I gaze out into the bedroom, not seeing any trace
of Norbert. King Henry mentioned the Barghest in my dream. But what is a
monster that feeds on terror doing in Grandma’s house?
The Barghest snarls so loudly that my stomach churns and every inch of
my skin tightens into goosebumps.
Norbert’s scream curdles my blood. His head falls to the ground with a
thump and settles on its side.
He stares at me through milky eyes, whispering the word, ‘help’ over
and over, as whatever’s out there mauls the rest of his body.
My ears fill with the sound of tearing fabric and flesh as limb after limb
falls on a pile, some of them landing on Norbert’s disembodied head.
I breathe hard, trying to remain still, quiet, trying to contain my panic. If
the monster shredding Norbert apart finds me hiding beneath this bed, then
becoming a necromancer’s zombie plaything will be the least of my
worries.
“What the fuck?” Aggie screams from the doorway.
“Get out of here,” I shout. “Get help.”
“Stop that,” she yells at the Barghest. “You’re killing him.”
I rear back, the base of my head hitting the skirting board. Can’t Aggie
tell Nobert’s already dead?
“Aggie, leave!” My voice breaks. I can’t allow her to get hurt again.
“He can’t hurt me,” she says with a huff. “I learned my lesson from the
last time I dyed my locket.”
Maybe it’s the sound of all that carnage but it takes several seconds to
register that she’s referring to when she got clawed by the Boogie Man.
Tarnishing the metal of her protective locket must have eroded its magic.
 “For fuck’s sake, Aggie,” I yell. “You might be protected, but I’m not.
Call Grandma and the rest of the coven.”
“I can handle him.”
My vision fills with a flash of light.
The Barghest makes a mournful howl. It’s so familiar.
Shit.
This isn’t any Barghest. It’s the hound.
No, it’s the Boogie Man.
The Boogie Man just rescued me from Norbert.
My breath quickens, and hundreds of questions flitter across my mind,
starting with how on earth he returned after getting banished.
I crawl out from under the bed to find the hound twisting from side to
side with ropes of white magic around his neck, his jaws snapping at my
cousin.
Aggie jerks her wand toward the ceiling, and the magic hangs him like a
noose. The hound’s legs thrash back and forth, trying to free his neck.
My heart shatters. My mind flitters through every tender moment I
shared with the hound, how he made me feel wanted—like I was no longer
alone. My chest aches at the thought that she’s a devoted creature, even if
he really is the Boogie Man.
I can’t stand to see him in pain.
“What are you doing to him?” I rush across the room, tripping over one
of Norbert’s legs.
“That animancer just murdered a man.” Aggie points at the floor with
her free hand. “Can’t you see all the torn body parts?”
“He saved me from Norbert,” I say.
Aggie gives me a blank stare.
“Remember that necromancer who stalked me for months? The one you
and Grandma chased off with that repelling spell?”
 Recognition flashes in her eyes, and she gazes down at the mangled
corpse. “What was he doing in here?”
“He was already dead and wanted to make me his sex puppet,” I
mumble, not wanting to share the gory details. “Now, will you please
release my hound?”
Aggie lowers him to the floor but keeps the noose around his neck.
I clench my hands into fists and wish I had the magic to cast her out.
“We need to send for the rest of the coven,” she says. “This situation
calls for a cover-up and the creation of a new soul crystal.”
“What are you talking about?” I glance at her wand.
She licks her lips. “You should have seen his cock. It’s fucking huge.”
I step toward the hound, bristling at the thought of the Boogie Man
getting aroused in the presence of another woman.
Common sense whacks me upside the head. Why am I acting so
possessive when he fought to save my hide? After everything that happened
between us, the Boogie Man could have stood back and let Norbert end my
life.
Pulling back my shoulders, I look my cousin in the eye. ““Let him go.
He just rescue me from a fate that would have made me beg for death. ”
“He’ll make an excellent dildo.”
I jerk back, my mind jumping to the rose quartz I used to pleasure
myself in the bath. “What?”
Aggie smirks. “What do you think we put in the crystal massagers to
make them so satisfying? Moonlight?” Her gaze wanders to the hound. “I
don’t suppose you know we enslave men since you never got initiated into
the coven.”
I bristle at the reminder and cringe at what she’s left unsaid. My magic
is gone, and I will never become a real witch.
The hound growls, his hackles rising, and he pulls back on the leash of
magic as though to pounce. I rush to stand between him and Aggie,
although I have no idea how I could ever protect anyone from her and the
rest of the coven.
“Don’t tell me you trapped men inside those dildos,” I whisper.
“I’ll even let you watch.” She flicks her wand at the hound, turning him
back into the Boogie Man, and encases him in light.
Her nose wrinkles and her gaze drops down to the leather pelt around
his legs. “What’s he done to himself?”
Annoyance tightens my skin. I swing at Aggie, my fist landing on her
jaw.
“You bitch!” She stumbles backward and points her wand.
Pale blue magic fills the room, sending tendrils of electricity through
my skin. Agony overwhelms my senses as every nerve in my body sizzles.
“Fuck!” I cry out, my vision turning white.
My knees buckle, but strong arms sweep me off my feet before I hit the
wooden floors and pull me into a muscular chest.
I rest my head on the Boogie Man’s shoulder, letting him jump out of
the window and fly into the skies.
 Chapter Thirty-One

HENRY
My wings ache as I soar through the air, over the moonlit treetops, and
across its protective wards. They’re smaller than usual, barely extending
beyond my arm span, making flying painful.
Alienor is so small and delicate in my arms, her wispy nightgown barely
covering her nudity. Despite her being so light, I struggle to maintain
altitude.
It’s my magic.
Or lack of.
When the broken circle of mushrooms tore me apart, I reformed my
body through my strength of will and the power of the ash tree. Ten more
minutes of drawing magic through the earth would have made me whole,
but I have no regrets.
That necromancer would have killed Alienor… and that would have
been the start of her nightmare.
My gaze drops down to my warm bundle, whose deep brown hair
billows in the wind. Alienor’s eyes are shut, her features peaceful and soft.
“Rest, my darling,” I murmur into her hair. “You have suffered greatly.”
I fly through the darkened village and over a massive lake that reflects
the full moon. As my mind drifts back to the time I followed Alienor and
her grandmother, I regret being so blinded by hatred.
Alienor stirs, and my attention snaps back to her face. Her eyes are still
closed, with her long lashes sweeping toward her cheeks.
My heart clenches, no longer feeling so withered. Pain spreads through
my insides, even reaching my arms.
“Are you going to kill me, now?” she murmurs into my chest.
“No,” I reply, my voice tight. “Never.”
Alienor pushes her palm against my shoulder. “But you always said—”
“That was before I realized you were not her.” I tighten my grip around
her back.
She tilts her head and meets my eyes. Her pupils are deep pools of black
with the moon hiding behind the clouds, and I could lose myself in her gaze
for centuries.
My stomach clenches as she continues to gaze at me, waiting for an
explanation. Women do not look me in the eye. They bow, deflect, and
sometimes scream. They never challenge.
I clear my throat. “You have to understand that I suffered under
centuries of pent-up frustration.”
My gaze wanders toward the horizon because holding her accusing
glower is more than I can bear. Even I can admit that my conduct was cruel,
unfair, and ungentlemanly.
“So, that’s how you explain your reign of terror?” she asks.
“At the time, I thought you were my betrayer,” I mutter. “Ejaculating
centuries of suppressed semen took away my rage and confusion. I looked
at you, drenched in my cum, and realized I had made a terrible mistake.”
The corners of her eyes tighten. “Then you regret that blowjob?”
“No!” I swoop down toward the edge of the village, where the houses
are smaller and tighter packed. “It was the best thing to happen to me in my
entire existence.”
 Alienor sighs, her body relaxing against mine, and some of the tension
in my muscles loosen.
“Why did you save me after I banished you?”
“Because you're mine.”
“Yours to kill?” she asks in a small voice.
My heart weighs heavily in my chest. I cannot blame Alienor for
sending me away after I broke her trust.
“You are not my enemy,” I say, my voice strained. “You are mine to
love.”
I wait for her to ask another question, but she continues gazing up at me
through hurt eyes.
“Will you banish me again?” I ask.
When Alienor lowers her lashes, my heart plummets to the ground.
“I want to protect you,” I say. “If you send me back, I won’t be able to
come to your rescue.”
“Alright,” she whispers. “I won’t try it again.”
My heart trails somewhere close to the ground, weighing down my
spirits like an anchor. The muscles around my wings ache with the effort of
staying airborne.
She doesn’t trust me.
Of course, she wouldn’t. I am the reason she was attacked by the dead
necromancer. I am probably also the reason why I can touch her despite the
locket.
“They took my magic away,” she murmurs.
“I am sorry.”
“It was never mine to begin with.”
My brow furrows, and it’s on the tip of my tongue to ask what she
means, when she asks, “Where are you taking me?”
“Your old home.” I point down at the street of terraced cottages.
“Oh,” she says, completely devoid of expression.
 She must still be traumatized. It probably doesn’t help that the man who
saved her from the dead necromancer is her biggest tormentor.
I land in the paved yard at the back of her home, between two large pots
of chamomile flowers, and my wings fall close with a painful snap.
Pressing my hand on the doorframe, I slip my shadows into her house
and twist them around the latch. My magical reserves are so low that it
takes several seconds for the door to unlock. When it clicks, I turn the
handle and open the back door.
“Is this how you used to sneak into my house?” she asks.
Grimacing, I clear my throat, the back of my neck itching with shame.
As I carry Alienor through the threshold of her home, my brain conjures up
an answer she might find acceptable.
“When I reduce my body to shadow, I can penetrate most magical
barriers. One of the benefits of being a shapeshifter.”
“Of course,” she replies in that monotone. “You were also the hound.”
“About that—”
“Don’t,” she says.
I raise my brows and wait for her to explain.
“It’s one thing to apologize for a mistake, like how you harassed me
because you thought I was your wife, but you abused my trust.”
Alienor wriggles out of my grip, her palms shoving against my
shoulders. I set her on her feet and hold out my arms, ready to catch her as
she sways.
She whirls on me, her eyes flashing. “I thought I’d attracted a familiar.”
My brow furrows. No matter how much I know about witches, some
things about them are utterly mysterious.
“Are you talking about pets?”
“They’re rare, lifelong companions of witches.” Her voice thickens.
“For once in my life, I didn’t feel alone.”
 I could be her lifelong companion, I want to say. I would never leave
her side.
“Alienor—”
“Ouch!” She winces, and tiny cuts burst open across her skin. It’s a
latticework of scratches and slashes and scrapes, each seeping with droplets
of blood.
I lurch forward and catch her before she falls. “Alienor!”
“Oh, shit,” she says with a broken sob. “Leaving Grandma’s house must
have sapped the healing magic.”
I scoop her up into my arms, carry her through the kitchen, down the
hallway, and into her bedroom. There are no signs of damage on the pristine
white walls from my earlier visits, but guilt still twangs at my heart for
causing her so much grief.
“Would you allow me to tend to your wounds?” I lay her on the white
quilt that’s draped over her bed.
“Why would you help me?” she asks.
My brows pull together. “You don’t know?”
She shakes her head. “I banished you. That had to be painful, and—”
“Alienor?”
“What?”
“You belong to me, and I take care of what’s mine.”
She lowers her lashes for a heartbeat and then meets my gaze with an
intensity that makes me straighten. It is almost like she is reading my soul.
I search her eyes, wanting her to see the truth in my words. She is mine,
and I am hers. My lips part to express the words, but she speaks first.
“Are you even a healer?” she asks.
“My saliva has healing properties.”
She frowns up at me, her pretty lips parting with a question.
“You know that I imprisoned my wife for the curse she placed on my
cock, and how she struck back with her magic?”
 Alienor nods.
“I was on the brink of death, coughing and choking on blood and
sputum, and a monstrous dog appeared at my bedside.”
“The Barghest?” she asks.
I nod. “He offered me immortality and the power to get my revenge.”
“In exchange for your soul?” Alienor asks.
“He also wanted my body, my heart, my throne.”
Her breath catches. “Then why are you still alive?”
“Just after I made the bargain and gained the power of the Unseelie,
witches banished every being even related to the fae to another realm,” I
say with a sigh.
“So the bargain couldn’t be fulfilled?”
My jaw tightens. “It took decades to claw my way back to the human
world. By then, my wife was declared long dead. Her magic called to me
every century or so, but nothing so significant until three years ago.”
“When I turned eighteen.”
I nod, my gaze lingering on a wound on her neck. “One of the magical
properties I gained from the bargain was the ability to heal wounds.” I
gesture at the blood seeping through her white nightdress. “May I?”
Alienor nods.
My pulse quickens, and it takes every effort not to pant like a dog. I
rasp, “It means running my tongue over your cuts.”
“I understand.”
I squeeze my eyes shut, inhale a deep breath, and force back a surge of
arousal. “Take off your nightgown.”
Alienor hesitates, then hisses through her teeth.
My eyes snap open to find her eyes brimming with tears and her
features contorted with pain.
“Alienor!”
 “Every time I move, it aggravates my cuts,” she whispers, her voice
strained.
I gulp. “Allow me to tear through the fabric.”
She gives me a gentle nod.
Sensation surges to my cock, which pushes through my leather pelt.
Before she catches a glimpse of my erection, I drop to my knees and lift the
hem of her nightgown.
Alienor is in agony and covered in painful cuts, I tell myself. This is not
a time for leering.
But the blood racing south screams otherwise.
How in the name of the realms am I going to run my tongue across her
delectable skin without turning into a slathering beast?
 Chapter Thirty-Two

ALIENOR
There’s a part of me that’s freaking out, while the rest of me is still
numb.
It’s as though my body has shut down so my mind can catch up with the
back-to-back catastrophes that have plagued my life since I set a trap for the
Boogie Man.
How did he go from a specter to my nemesis to my savior? I can’t
believe he fought his way back to me from the realm of the faeries, only to
save my life. But here he is, offering to heal my wounds.
Somewhere along those lines, I’ve had more real-life sexual experiences
with him than I have with any other man.
The cuts across my body sting, even as the Boogie Man takes care to
tear my nightgown open with his claws. Strangely, I don’t flinch at his
ability to touch me directly, but even the Boogie Man's presence is
comforting compared to Norbert’s animated corpse.
Cool air swirls around my exposed skin, making my nipples tighten.
That’s when it registers that I’m lying on my back naked save for a pair
of thin, white knickers that barely cover my pussy.
I dart my gaze to the Boogie Man, who stares down at me with an
intensity that makes my breath quicken.
 The golden flecks in his green eyes burn hotter than the sun, and I can’t
tell if he’s still furious that I tried to banish him or he’s about to carry out
his filthiest threats.
It’s impossible to see the state of his arousal because he’s kneeling at
my bedside.
My skin tingles as he leans so close that my nostrils fill with his wood-
and-tobacco scent. It’s wild and untamed with a touch of spice that reminds
me of the creature he’s become.
The Boogie Man places a soft kiss on my shoulder, sending sparks of
pleasure dancing across my skin. I squeeze my thighs together and breathe
hard through my nostrils.
“Are you alright?” he asks, his deep voice caressing my eardrums.
My pulse quickens. “Yes.”
He runs the flat of his tongue over a cut that stretches down from my
shoulder, over my bicep, to the pulse point at the crook of my arm. As his
tongue runs along the entire crease, I bite down on my bottom lip and force
my breathing to slow.
It’s only an arm.
Nothing erotic about that.
So, why is my body getting so excited?
When the Boogie Man heals all the tiny cuts that run down to my wrist,
he draws back and studies the network of lesions across my chest. The
worst of them completely bisects one nipple.
He places a clawed hand on my shoulder and leans so close that his
warm breath fans over that breast. As the nipple tightens, I hiss.
“Sore?” he asks.
“It’s pretty deep,” I whisper, the words urgent. “Please, heal it.”
The Boogie Man licks a path from my collarbone, over the swell of my
breast, and sucks my nipple into his hot mouth.
 A bolt of arousal shoots straight to my core. I would arch my back, but
that would only aggravate the worst of my cuts. He swirls his tongue
around my nipple, and heat gathers between my legs. I curl my fists, only to
aggravate a lesion.
I cry out, and the Boogie Man releases my nipple with a soft pop.
“What’s wrong?” he asks, his brows furrowing.
“My hand,” I say, my voice stuttering. “It’s covered in tiny cuts.”
“I will suck each of your fingers until your skin is whole.”
He starts with my thumb and slips it between his full lips as though it’s
his favorite delicacy. The cut along its first knuckle flares to life before
knitting together.
I exhale the longest sigh of relief as the pain turns to pleasure. Is this
what it feels like when men get blow jobs?
The Boogie Man lashes his tongue from side to side against the pad of
my thumb, making my clit throb for attention. My jaw clenches. I need to
calm the fuck down. He’s healing me, not trying to get me ready for sex.
My body doesn’t get the message, and the first sign of moisture gathers
in my folds.
Shit.
What if he notices?
He releases my tongue and sucks each finger with the same amount of
attention. By the time he’s finished, the muscles of my core clench and
spasm, needing to be filled.
His tongue heals the cuts on the back of my hand, and my mind drifts to
my collection of crystal dildos. Crystal dildos I acquired from the
apothecary. And the rose quartz dildo I used to pleasure myself in the bath
under the Boogie Man’s watchful eyes.
No.
I can’t think about that. Aggie was probably just making up stories
about men trapped in crystals. She’s acted peculiar ever since she split up
with her boyfriend and probably can’t stand the thought of a man coming to
my rescue.
The Boogie Man groans. “You have such beautiful fingers. So slender
and delicate.”
My cheeks heat and I squirm on the mattress. I’m nearly naked and he
chooses my fingers to compliment?
“Do I have your permission to heal the cuts on your legs?” he asks.
“Yes,” I rasp.
His tongue travels down a shallow cut on the front of my thigh that
curves around to the inner part of my knees. My skin is warm, but his
mouth is hotter.
Sweat beads across my hairline. He’s about to find another injury that
runs up to a patch of skin inches away from my pussy.
Anticipation shivers down my spine. I want more of that tongue.
He parts my thighs so wide that the cotton fabric of my knickers
stretches taut over my swollen clit. I squeeze my eyes shut, hoping he
doesn’t notice I’m so aroused and wet.
“This one is quite deep,” he says, his voice thick.
It isn’t nearly as bad as the one on my breast, but I don’t utter a word in
contradiction. Instead, I wait for him to make his next move.
The Boogie Man traces small circles over the wound, covering the same
ground three or four times before moving on to the next patch of unhealed
skin.
His hands grip my thighs so tightly that he’s sure to leave bruises. It
doesn’t matter, as it’s another excuse to ask for his tongue.
“Open wider.” He stretches my legs further apart. “I want to see it all.”
My throat tightens with a whimper. Is he talking about the cut or the
outline of my pussy?
His leisurely, languid licks stoke a furnace inside me that’s almost as
desperate as the heat I suffered in my dream.
 “Please,” I whisper.
“Please, what?” he replies. “If there’s something you desire, I want you
to use your words.”
Leaning up, I try to study his expression, but he lowers his head to lap at
my cut. Each swipe of his tongue brings a fresh wave of arousal that adds to
my heat.
He’s moving too slowly. Too gently. But I don’t want him to stop.
“I need more,” I say, hoping he doesn’t ask me to elaborate.
“You like how I’m healing your cuts?” he asks.
I bite down on my bottom lip. “It feels so good.”
“How far do you need me to heal you?”
A pleasant shiver runs down my spine and settles between my pussy
lips. “All the way.”
The Boogie Man continues licking but doesn’t quicken his pace. He
pauses every so often to glance at the patch of fabric between my legs.
“You’re so wet, yet I haven’t even reached your cunt,” he growls.
“I can’t help it,” I reply with a whimper.
“What a greedy girl,” he purrs. “Tell me what you want.”
Heat flares across my cheeks. He wants me to ask him to lick my pussy.
I should still be freaking out. This is the creature who turned my life upside-
down.
Because of him, I discovered things about myself I could have spent a
lifetime not knowing, but his wet tongue and filthy words are the ultimate
distraction.
“Tell me,” he growls.
“I want your tongue on my clit.”
He grazes the cotton fabric stretched over my swollen bundle of nerves
with his fingertip. “Here?”
“Fuck, yes.”
“That patch of wetness keeps spreading,” he says.
 “Maybe you should do something about it.”
His deep chuckle makes all the fine hairs on the back of my neck stand
on end. “Naughty girl,” he says. “Wanting me to neglect your injuries to
give you pleasure.”
When he pulls his hand away and returns to healing the cut, my throat
catches with a sob. He’s getting so close to my pussy that my skin shivers
with each of his outward breaths.
The thumb of the hand holding me open is so dangerously close to my
knicker elastic that he could cut it open with one snap of his claws.
“Please,” I say, my breath hitching. “Please, hurry.”
“I won’t touch you until you’re fully healed,” he growls.
Frustration heats my furnace to the point of explosion. I reach down
between my legs, but something cool wraps around my wrist and pins it to
the mattress.
“What was that?” I ask with a gasp.
“You’re too eager,” he says. “I have to hold you down with my shadows
to stop aggravating your wounds.”
I choke a sob. “But—”
“Alienor,” he says, sounding unusually stern. “I want you strong and
well enough to take everything I will give you. And believe me, you will
take it like a good girl.”
“Do you promise?” I whisper.
His grin is wolfish, and the golden flecks in his eyes shine brighter. “I
guarantee it.”
The pulse behind my clit beats faster, and the muscles of my pussy
squeeze hard enough to hurt. If he doesn’t hurry, I won’t have to worry
about these wounds splitting open because my arousal burns hot enough to
reduce me to ash.
 Chapter Thirty-Three

HENRY
Alienor’s desperate mewling goes straight to my cock, which aches and
strains against the mattress. I should not take advantage of her vulnerable
state, but her flesh is too tempting to resist.
For three years I watched over her while she slept. Three years of
pleasuring myself with her underwear. Three years of trying to break
through the protective magic separating her from my claws. Three years of
longing to bury myself into her beautiful body.
And it’s now inches away from my tongue, laid out like a banquet for a
king.
Alienor squirms within the shadowy restraints as my tongue rubs circles
closer and closer toward her clothed sex.
She bucks her hips, her legs so spread wide that concentration becomes
impossible. Her underwear is soaked. Drenched. Rendered translucent by
her arousal.
I see every detail of her pretty little sex through the thin wet fabric, from
her petals to her swollen pearl. I lick a slow circle over the cut on her inner
thigh, my nostrils filling with her delicious scent.
“Please,” she cries, her voice hoarse. “Touch me.”
 Unfortunately, the cut ends half an inch from the fabric of her
underwear, and I cannot continue.
I draw back to survey her other leg for cuts when Alienor groans.
“You can’t stop there,” she says. “I need more.”
The desperation in her voice goes straight to my cock, making all four
heads swell to the point of agony.
I want to give her what she needs and more. I want to tear off that thin
scrap of fabric and feast on her sweet nectar. I want to bury myself inside
Alienor and pound into her until my ears ring with her pleasured moans.
But she is still injured.
I force out a ragged sigh, wondering when Henry Curtmantle grew such
an unwieldy conscience. It was probably around the time my wife brutally
murdered a servant for trying to free me of her magic.
“Let me turn you on your front,” I say.
“No,” she whispers. “I need you. Now.”
Precum oozes from my slits and drizzles down my shaft, soaking both
the bedside and my leathery pelt. I have never wanted a woman more
desperately than I want Alienor, but I must resist. At least until she is
restored to full health.
My shadows tighten around her ankles and wrists, and I flip her over so
she lies face-down on the bed. Long, deep marks criss-cross her back,
making my blood simmer.
“What kind of witches would leave you half healed?” I growl.
Alienor breathes so hard that it takes several heartbeats for her to
answer. “They probably needed the rest of their magic to heal the rift.”
I clench my jaw, trying to stem a rush of fury. Now that my mind is
clear, I can see that the coven dismisses her needs as trivial.
Between all those witches I spotted in her garden, they would have
mustered enough power to keep out even the Barghest, yet they only did the
minimum for Alienor’s protection.
 Leaving Alienor with shallow cuts looks like a punishment. I reserve
that comment for later since she is already still shaken from the
necromancer’s attack.
“Your back needs attention.” I keep my tone calm and even, so as not to
cause her alarm.
“Hurry,” she says.
My cock throbs in time with her frantic breaths. “I will do my best.”
Straddling her legs, I sweep my tongue across her back, only giving
enough saliva to knit the cuts together and remove any scarring.
I hover over her and run my fingers through her silken hair. Touching
her is a marvel. I place a kiss on the base of her neck, delighting at the
sparks of pleasure on my lips.
“Done.”
“You missed a spot.” She arches her back and lifts her hips until her
firm ass presses into my cock.
“Where?”
“Right here.” She grinds against my shaft until it’s nestled between her
round globes.
I slide my fingers down her back, careful not to mark her soft skin when
I reach her underwear and hook a claw beneath the thin fabric.
“Here?” I ask.
She moans. “Take it off.”
I slice it open and peel it off her behind. The part of me still addicted to
fabric carrying her scent carefully places it to the side.
Alienor tilts her hips at the perfect angle to expose both her asshole and
most of her glistening, wet slit.
“Naughty girl,” I say. “Offering yourself up like a feast.”
“I need you,” she whispers. “Please.”
My lips curl into a smile. “What do you want?”
 “I want you to turn me over, bury your head between my legs, and eat
my pussy until I cum.”
Arousal surges, and I swear that she becomes wetter. It takes every
effort not to plunge my cock into that slick heat.
“Anything you desire, milady,” I rasp.
My shadows recede from her ankles and wrists, and I roll her onto her
back. Now that her skin is free of painful cuts, I can fully appreciate the
sight.
Alienor’s face is more arresting than any portrait, with eager brown eyes
that shine with want. Her lips are parted, swollen, and panting. Panting for
me to stop admiring and give her pleasure.
My nostrils flare. How could I have ever wanted her dead?
“Hurry,” she whines.
Magic thrums beneath my veins, urging me to take what’s on offer, to
consume her until she’s a trembling heap. I move off the bed and hold my
muscles rigid. Alienor deserves unhurried pleasure, not a frenzy.
“It has been over eight hundred years since I could touch a woman I
desired,” I say. “Let me bask in your beauty.”
Her breasts bounce with her sigh. They’re full and round, tipped with
nipples the color of red wine.
My mouth salivates for a taste.
“You have the most beautiful tits.” I slide my hand over her breast, and
she arches into my touch. As I roll her thick nipple between my thumb and
forefinger, she moans.
The sound crumbles a layer of resistance. It’s too much for a man to
bear. I lean over Alienor’s side, careful to keep my cock away from her
slick pussy, and suck her nipple into my mouth.
Her sweet cry fills my ear, and she grabs hold of me and digs her blunt
nails into my shoulder. Bucking her hips, she pushes into my leg until she
covers my hide with her fluids.
 I am so close to the heaven I deserve that my balls ache with desperate
need. Ignoring it, I flick my tongue up and down that nipple and make her
moan.
“So responsive,” I murmur around my mouthful. “But at this rate, I’ll
shoot a load even more copious than the one that flooded the garden.”
“Are you going to eat my pussy?” she asks through ragged breaths.
I release her nipple and growl, “You are utterly delectable. Now, spread
those pretty thighs like a good girl, so your king may gaze upon that lovely,
wet cunt.”
Alienor whimpers, her legs falling open.
“Wider,” I rasp.
She complies.
My chest makes a satisfied rumble.
“Bring your knees up to your chest and keep them spread wide. I will
tolerate no interruptions to my feast.”
Alienor lifts her legs and holds them into place until they tremble with
need.
Blood roars through my ears, telling me to claim, to devour, to take
what’s on offer until there’s nothing left for any other man. I clench my
fists, urging myself to stay in control. This is not my wife, but an innocent
maiden who deserves my love.
“That’s my very good girl,” I say, my lips curling into a smile. “Now,
spread that cunt wide open for me. I want to see what I’m about to eat.”
She moans.
“Do it,” I say, my voice deepening, “Or you will have no tongue.”
She slips her fingers between her slick folds and pulls them apart,
exposing her little pink opening. The muscles tighten and relax in time with
her rapid breaths, and I imagine them strangling my cock.
My heart beats so hard that I feel its vibrations in the marrow of my
bones. Breaking my body apart and reforming it in the magic of the ash tree
has restored everything I sacrificed to the Barghest.
I cannot dwell on such thoughts. Not with Alienor so ready and wet for
my tongue.
“That’s it. You’re glistening wet. Now, slide your fingers inside that
tight cunt.”
Alienor’s slender fingers disappear into her opening. She works them
back and forth until I’m the one who’s groaning.
I breathe hard, trying to force back the surge of arousal, but every
instinct drives me close to my prize.
Without meaning to, I drift down toward her wet heat, entranced by her
alluring scent. I settle between her legs and swipe at her swollen flesh.
Her taste explodes on my tongue, and my eyes roll to the back of my
head.
This is heaven.
Alienor yowls, her legs clamping around my head. I grasp her thighs,
hold her open, and run my tongue up and down her sensitive nub.
“You taste divine,” I murmur into her folds.
She cries out, her fingers threading through my hair.
“You make such pretty noises for me. And your cunt is even more
beautiful up close.”
“Oh fuck!”
My tongue travels from her peak, down to her slick opening, making
her whimper for more. I could pleasure her all day and all night, and it still
would never be enough.
She moans, grips my hair, and grinds her sex on my face, coating me
with her juices. All notions of royal etiquette or fine dining vanish into the
ether, along with my restraint.
Hungering for Alienor, I feast on her flesh like she’s the first meal I’ve
had in nearly a millennium. I lose myself in Alienor’s flavor, her textures,
her desperate cries.
 “Just like that,” she groans.
Her grip tightens on my hair, making me raise my head. My gaze flicks
up to find her thrashing her head from side to side and rolling her nipples
between her fingers.
Even more sensation than before rushes to my cock. The sight of her
makes me want to cum. Snatching my gaze away, I blow a thin stream of air
on her swollen bundle of nerves.
“Oh, shit. That feels so fucking good,” she moans.
“Such filthy words,” I say with a deep chuckle. “You’re talking like a
common slut.”
Alienor groans, seeming to enjoy the degradation. I make a note to try it
again at some point to see if this is a pattern.
“I’m so close,” she says from between clenched teeth. “Just a little
more, and I’ll cum.”
My balls tighten, my arousal surges, and I reach down to grab the base
of my cock before I spurt. Climaxing is painless for me now. After I’ve
given Alienor at least two orgasms, then I will cum inside her—never
across her sheets.
I retract the claws of my free hand, leaving my fingernails blunt, and
circle her wet opening with one digit.
“Would you like this, Alienor?” I murmur. “Would you like the feel of a
king’s fingers inside your cunt?”
Her cry of approval makes my balls tighten.
I ease a finger inside her opening, and her muscles suck me in. “Fuck.
You’re so tight.”
Alienor bucks her hips and moans. Her walls clamp around my digit,
trying to keep me in place, but I twist my hand and rub a spot inside her that
makes her legs flop open.
After that, I time the thrusts of my fingers to the flick of my tongue. She
whimpers, her thighs trembling around my head. I know she can take more.
 She has to because this finger is nothing compared to the length and
girth of my cock.
“You’re taking one finger so well, but can you handle another?”
“More,” she cries.
When I give her two fingers, she tightens around them and relaxes. I
bring my mouth back to her nub and lavish it with long, languid licks.
“I want you to cum for me with my fingers inside your cunt,”
“Oh, fuck,” she cries, her muscles tightening until I’m trapped.
Before I know it, she spasms around my fingers, drenching them with
her release. My cock aches with each powerful convulsion, wanting to be
balls deep inside her tight heat.
Sweet damnation. Just the sound of her pushes me dangerously close to
the edge. I grip the base of my cock, cutting off the flow of blood, and don’t
release it until her spasms fade, and her breaths return to normal.
“Ah,” she says with a satisfied exhale. “That was amazing.”
“Are you ready for one more?” I ask.
She gapes at me, her eyes wide. “I couldn’t handle another one so
soon.”
“Nonsense,” I say with a smirk. “I’m about to show you something
you’ll never see in another man.”
 Chapter Thirty-Four

ALIENOR
Fucking hell.
I’m still gasping and shuddering from the most powerful orgasm I’ve
ever had, so it takes a few minutes for his words to fully register.
The Boogie Man rises from between my legs, leaving me splayed out on
the mattress. Cool air swirls around my exposed pussy, making the muscles
clench.
With the moonlight streaming in through the window, lighting the ends
of his black hair a bright shade of indigo, he looks like a fallen angel. He
gazes down at me through green eyes with an intensity that makes me feel
like his prey.
My gaze roves over his handsome features— his regal brow, high
cheekbones, and perfectly straight nose. His mouth is wide, with full, down-
curving lips that I’m desperate to kiss.
I can’t believe I’ve just been pleasured by a creature that defies beauty.
This has to be another dream. Maybe I’m under some kind of sedation, but
the tiny tremors still running through my pussy assure me that I’m very
much awake.
His chest heaves, accentuating the contours of his pecs. The black
markings swirl around his skin like caresses.
 “Are you ready for it, sweet Alienor?”
I drop my gaze past his tight abs, to the purpling cock he clenches with
his fist. All four heads flare out from the top of his shaft, each of them
dangerously swollen.
A boulder of dread falls into my belly, reminding me that he’s at least
three times the girth of a crystal dildo. There’s no way I could take
something so huge.
“What did you say?” I ask from between panting breaths.
“Are you ready for my cock?”
Self-preservation drifts my knees together.
The Boogie Man’s brows furrow. “Alienor?”
I gulp. “You’re just too big. I’ve never even had a real penis before, and
yours will tear me open.”
He places a hand on my knee. A few days ago, I might have flinched at
his touch. Now, the feel of his warm palm is comforting.
The Boogie Man lowers himself onto the mattress beside me. At first, I
think he’s just going to sit, but he lies at my side and places an arm around
my waist.
Is this his attempt at a hug?
“I am well aware of my size, and that I have three more heads than a
human male,” he says in a voice that’s both soothing and deep. “You can be
assured, on my honor as a gentleman and a king, that nothing I do tonight
will bring you any harm.”
“Just for tonight?” I squeak, wondering if this truce will end the
moment he climaxes.
His eyes soften, and his lips curl into a soft smile. I turn on my side, so
our gazes fully meet.
The warmth in his eyes makes my heart flip.
Who on earth could imagine the Boogie Man being so patient?
 “Alienor.” He brushes a lock of hair off my face and smooths it behind
my ear. “I can think clearly for the first time in centuries, and I no longer
wish for revenge.”
My pulse kicks up several notches, and I’m suddenly aware that all the
moisture has left my throat.
I lick my lips, and the Boogie Man drifts forward, his lips parting.
“What do you want from me?” I rasp.
“A second chance to live,” he murmurs, “To love the woman who
ensnared my heart. To love a woman who craves passion, not power.”
I lower my gaze to his mouth. “What do you want to do to me?”
“Everything,” he growls. “I want to suck you until you squirt. I want to
make you quiver. And when you’re empty and loose and begging for my
cock, I want you to take your fill.”
My breath quickens, and it takes every effort not to look down at his
unfeasibly large dick. I don’t need to because it fills one side of my
periphery like a beacon.
“That’s quite some feat,” I say.
“I have already worshiped at the altar of your cunt,” he replies with a
deep growl that makes every inch of my skin tingle. “Now I want to defile
your temple until it crumbles.”
“Please,” I whisper.
“I could give you the kind of pleasure you could never get from a
human. I could make you climax from sunrise to sunset until you begged
me to stop.”
His voice is so hypnotic that all thoughts of the Boogie Man being too
big drift into the ether. He saved my life, healed my wounds with his saliva,
and gave me the kind of orgasm I’d only read about in smutty books. It’s no
stretch to believe he could pleasure me all night.
Shallow breaths caress the tops of my lungs. All I can say right now in
response to those words is, “Oh…”
 “What do you want?” He cups the side of my face and brushes the pad
of his thumb across my cheekbone.
“All of it,” I rasp. “I want you to make me so relaxed that I can take
your massive cock.”
“That’s my girl,” he replies with a deep chuckle.
There’s a part of me that preens at the praise, another part that just
wants him to throw me down and subject my body to every imaginable act
of filth.
Any part of me that might feel nervous in the presence of the Boogie
Man has either vanished or disappeared into the recesses of my mind.
“I’m ready,” I say with a nod.
His approving growl sends a skitter of anticipation down my spine that
settles on my slit. The pulse there quickens, expecting an onslaught of
attention.
With a smooth movement, he rises off the mattress and stands at the
foot of the bed.
I gaze up into his vivid green eyes, my chest rising and falling with
rapid breaths.
“Open your legs,” he says.
“How wide?” I ask.
“All the way,” he rasps. “I another look at your pretty, wet cunt.
My throat fills with a whimper, and I let my knees fall to the mattress.
The Boogie Man makes the kind of rumble I’d expect from an apex
predator about to embark on a feast. My nipples tighten, and all sensation
floods to my clit.
“You’re glistening,” he says.
I moan. “Touch me.”
He kneels on the edge of the mattress between my feet, pushing them
further apart. “How would you like me to introduce you to my heads?”
“What?”
 “One of them wants to suck your nub.”
Suck?
Did I hear that right?
I rise on my elbows to watch him line up his cockheads along my slit.
They’re in a diamond formation, with one on the top, two in the middle,
and the last one at the bottom.
Up until now, I thought they were regular-sized penis tips, each with the
usual slits, but the top widens to form a small opening the size of my clit.
The pair in the middle split into the shape of parted lips.
My breath catches, and my legs want to close but his thighs get in the
way.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“My heads can give you so much more than one tongue.”
“But,” I say, my eyes widening at the fourth one that tightens into a
closed bud. “Are you moving them?”
“Do you trust me?” he asks.
“Yes, but—”
“Relax,” he says in that deep, hypnotic voice. “My cockheads only want
to give you pleasure. If you want me to stop, just say the word.”
I force my gaze away from the bizarre configuration and meet his eyes.
Eyes that shine with love and understanding. Eyes that burn with restrained
passion. Eyes that were frantic when he saved me from becoming a corpse
bride.
The Boogie man only wants to make me climax.
My thighs drop open again. “Alright.”
He circles the top head with his fingertip and taps at its perfectly
circular opening. Precum oozes from the hole, making my pussy clench.
“This one wants to suck your nub.”
I nod. That sounds reasonable since human women use toys that size
and shape for pleasuring their clits.
 My gaze drops to the other two. “What do they do?”
“They will clamp around your petals.” He takes my hand. “Give me
your finger.”
My stomach flip-flops because I have no idea what to expect, but I raise
a trembling digit.
One of the middle cockheads opens like a venus flytrap, except without
the teeth, and closes around my fingertip. There’s soft suction, followed by
gentle pinching. My pussy trembles as I imagine that thing clamping at my
folds.
“Oh,” I say with a giggle. “It’s spongy. What does that last one do?”
“It will prime your opening and make you beg for all four heads.”
Bloody Hell.
How on earth can a girl refuse something like that?
 Chapter Thirty-Five

ALIENOR
The Boogie Man’s eyes meet mine with a gaze that penetrates my soul,
and I forget about his four cockheads.
At least for a moment.
Our minds touch and all I feel is his desperate need. It’s overpowering,
overwhelming, and hits me like a cyclone. I drop my hand to the mattress.
“You really want me,” I whisper.
“More than words could ever describe.” His voice trembles. “It’s not
because I haven’t had a woman in centuries. You opened your heart to me,
not because I was a king. I was your enemy, yet there was a part of you that
still wanted me.”
Emotion surges from my chest, making my throat thicken and the backs
of my eyes sting. Isn’t he aware of his beauty?
I exhale a long breath. There’s more to the Boogie Man than his
physical appearance. Behind the supernatural facade is a man who adored a
woman with all his heart and was prepared to go to war for love, only to
realize it had all been a manipulation.
She even cursed him with chastity to force the relationship to continue.
King Henry could have executed his wife, but he imprisoned her
because she was the mother of his children. His act of mercy backfired, and
his wife murdered him to take his throne.
Somehow, he managed to overcome his thirst for revenge and show
affection for the descendant of his killer.
I raise a hand and run it up his bicep. “That time we were in bed
together, I saw a glimpse of your life. You were so devoted, so noble. I’ve
always wanted that kind of love.”
His eyes sparkle. “You will have all that and more.”
I push myself up and place a kiss on the corner of his mouth.
The Boogie Man slides his fingers through my hair and holds the back
of my head in place.
“Alienor,” he says, his voice hoarse. “I would tear apart the world and
slice through every man, woman, or witch, just for a taste of your sweet
lips.”
My heart pounds faster than raindrops in a summer storm. Hearing
those words fills my heart with warmth.
He swallows, inhales a deep breath, and asks, “May I kiss you?”
“Please.”
He brings his lips to mine in a movement so slow that even the air
between us stills. It’s stupid to feel so nervous after everything we’ve done
together and amid all the filthy things we’re about to do, but this kiss means
more since he came to my rescue.
Sparks crackle at the first touch of his lips, and my eyes flutter shut. The
electricity between us is almost like magic. He makes me feel wanted,
loved, and complete—like I’m a real witch, not a charity case or an outcast
drained of borrowed power.
The Boogie Man’s fingers tighten in my hair with a sharpness that
makes me gasp.
“Look at me.”
My eyes snap open, and I meet pupils so wide that all his irises are a
tiny ring of green.
 “If we do this, you will be mine,” he says in a voice of steel. “Forever.”
Blood roars between my ears, deafening his words to a muffle. I barely
know what that means. “Until death do us part?”
“I mean we will share my immortality and magic.”
“How?” I say with a gasp.
“There is a way,” he replies. “But it won’t be easy. Do you want this,
Alienor? Do you want me?”
My heart flutters. Do I want a man I find attractive beyond reason? The
only man I’ve ever been drawn to despite the danger? The only man I’ve
ever found exciting? Do I want an eternity with the mischievous spirit
behind my hound?
Grandma would say I’m being reckless to contemplate spending more
than a few nights with a man, as would the rest of the coven, but I’ve
always been an outsider with loneliness as my only companion. I’ve never
had anyone truly look at me and like what they saw.
The answer to his question is as easy as exhaling.
“Forever.” I close the distance between us and bring our lips together.
The Boogie Man takes over the kiss, his lips firm and demanding. He
threads his fingers through mine and guides me down to the mattress so
we’re lying chest to chest.
He tastes of wild mint, of the forest, of summer days frolicking in the
sun, and somewhere among those mingled flavors is the taste of my pussy. I
melt into the kiss, satisfied that a part of me now belongs to him.
My mind dances and swirls in unison with the kiss. It’s savage,
untamed, and awakens every nerve. As the Boogie Man explores my mouth
with swirling caresses, a part of me turns feral. I kiss back, meeting him
stroke for stroke until every inch of my body melds into his.
I can’t move. His weight on top of mine is a warm cocoon that I never
knew I needed until this very moment. As he devours me with his tongue,
he slides his shaft back and forth against my wet slit. The ridge of one of his
cockheads grinds over my swollen clit and it almost feels like a tongue.
I buck my hips, wanting more. Needing it.
“Ready for my cock?” he asks.
“Please,” I murmur into the kiss. “Now.”
He reaches between our bodies and repositions his erection. One of its
heads attaches to my labia like a sucker, making me shiver. I would ask
what it’s doing, but two other heads clamp down on my pussy lips and push
them open.
My eyes bulge. My pulse ratchets up to maximum capacity. My mouth
opens in a noisy gasp.
The Boogie Man resumes the kiss as though he hasn’t just set loose
three of his cockheads and is about to unleash the fourth. On instinct, my
free hand slips down, but he grabs my wrist and pins it above my hand.
Now, I’m completely at the mercy of his peculiar cock.
The heads are more gentle than fingers, yet as nimble as lips. Each
moves independently from the others and explores my pussy with soft
pinches and squeezes and strokes.
The first head travels upward toward my aching clit. It feels smaller
than the other two and more agile. I grab the Boogie Man’s shoulders, my
entire body stiffening as it makes its slow ascent.
Fuck. That thing has a life of its own.
Before I know it, the cockhead engulfs my clit.
It’s wet and warm and tight, like a tiny mouth. The flesh around my clit
draws together with a gentle vacuum and sucks once, twice, and then builds
up a steady rhythm.
My vision turns white. I gasp into the kiss and dig my fingers into his
shoulders.
Is his cockhead trying to… milk my clit?
The Boogie Man draws back, his eyes sparkling. “How is it?”
 “Shit!” I hiss from between clenched teeth. “It’s fucking intense.”
The corners of his mouth tilt with a smile. “Just as promised.”
“But, but…”
All the words die in my throat. My brain is far too scrambled to demand
answers, such as how a man can have a sucker for his cock.
Magic.
That’s the only explanation. I think Eleanor of Aquitaine must have
invented the world’s first living sex toy.
As the other two heads slide up and down my folds, I suck in a ragged
breath.
The Boogie Man trails kisses along my jaw, which is good because I
can’t focus on kissing. Not while he’s lavishing my pussy so much
attention.
“That’s it,” he says. “You will take everything I give you like a good
girl.”
“Yes.” I arch my back, my nipples tightening.
A cool sensation slides over my breasts. I glance down to find shadows
swirling across my skin. My breath quickens. The shadows narrow and
darken until they feel like fingers pinching and rolling my nipples.
I’ve never in my entire life had so much stimulation. Soft lips kissing
my neck, shadows caressing my breasts, three talented heads teasing my
pussy… And another cockhead that’s currently a mystery.
My arms twitch with the urge to reach up and stroke his wings. I want to
know if they’re tough like leather or soft like suede. His fingers tighten
around my wrist, so I relax and let him take control.
“What.” The smaller head squeezes my clit, and my breath catches.
“What does that fourth one do?”
It taps at my opening, then strokes a tight circle around it, setting the
skin there alight. The muscles of my pussy clench and relax as though
limbering up for him.
 His kisses travel down the column of my neck, sending lightning bolts
of pleasure across my breasts.
“When you’re ready, it will be the first to penetrate that tight, sweet
cunt,” he replies.
“Why don’t you stick it in right now?” I ask.
He chuckles, the sound rich and deep. “Let’s see how many orgasms it
will take to make you soft and loose.”
“But I can’t climax so soon after the first.” I shake my head.
“Is that a challenge?” He sucks on my collarbone.
My cheeks burn hotter than the furnace between my legs. I’m so wet
that I worry about drowning that fourth cockhead as it makes the most
obscene squelches. As the larger pair fondle my folds, the smaller one
continues to pull and suck at my clit.
I try to raise my hands off the mattress, but the Boogie Man pins me
down. “You’re going to cum for me,” he growls into my neck and increases
the suction on my clit. “Now.”
I jerk forward, my insides tightening like the coils of a spring. “Wait—”
The sucking intensifies until my eyes roll toward the back of my head.
My body convulses as all the pressure, all the pleasure, every sensation he’s
given me until this moment, releases in a barrage of tingly heat.
All the muscles of my core clench and spasm with an orgasm so
powerful that it feels like he’s infusing me with power. I thrash as magic
travels along every nerve and gathers in my pussy.
Each contraction sends a burst of pleasure that makes me twitch and
gasp. I didn’t think anything could be more pleasurable than his tongue, but
this is insane.
Throughout the climax, the fourth cockhead presses at my entrance as
though asking permission to enter. I tilt my hips, wanting him to push his
way in, but I’m breathing so hard that I can’t form any words.
 “Good girl,” he rumbles. “I love the way you climax at my command.
Now, give me one more.”
All I can do is shake my head.
It’s impossible—I’m still in the middle of cumming. My clit throbs,
already overstimulated from all that sucking, but the cockhead surrounding
it makes a twisting motion, which hits the sensitive bundle of nerves like
the strike of a tuning fork.
“Cum for me, Alienor,” he snarls.
I’m gasping, clenching, trying to resist, to hold onto a semblance of
composure, but the cockhead squeezes and sucks and swivels around my
clit without mercy or restraint.
“Now,” he roars.
A second, more powerful orgasm crashes over my senses like a tidal
wave. It overwhelms the first and washes away the last of my doubts. My
back arches. Every muscle in my body seizes. I throw my head back and
scream.
The windows of my bedroom explode, and bright light floods the entire
space.
“Fuck!” the Boogie Man roars, his body lifting off mine.
Streams of magic wrap around his torso like electric cables, binding his
arms, legs, and wings.
I’m still shuddering and spasming from two orgasms battling inside me
for dominance but a voice in the back of my mind screams, What the
bloody hell?
His shadows release my skin, taking away some of the intensity, and I
jerk my head to the side to discover the source of all those lights.
Grandma sits side-saddle on her broomstick with her wand pointed into
the room. Flying in formation around her is a horde of witches holding aloft
their wands.
“What are you doing?” I ask with a gasp.
 Grandma’s eyes blaze with a fury that burns hotter than her magic.
“Filthy creature,” she screeches. “You will suffer an eternity of torment
for defiling my granddaughter.”
 Chapter Thirty-Six

HENRY
Ropes of magic wind around my body and lift me off the mattress.
Alienor lies beneath me, her face a rictus of horror.
The grandmother and her entourage of witches hover at the broken wall,
looking like an army of harpies sent on a mission of vengeance.
Damnation.
If I had remained in the ash tree a few moments longer, I would have
gathered enough power to render myself invisible. But then poor Alienor
would have died under the machinations of that necromancer.
I flare my wings, but the magic encasing them presses down on the
bones. My markings surge from my skin to push against the bindings but it
shoves back. This is as futile as a battle against lightning.
“What are you doing?” Alienor pushes off the bed with a sheet wrapped
around her body.
“Stand back, dear,” says the grandmother. “We shall heal your wounds
after dealing with this monster.”
“But he’s not—”
“Quiet,” the aunt snaps and swings her stream of power to Alienor.
A ball of magic hits Alienor’s midsection, flinging her across the room
and attaching her to the nearest wall like a spiderweb.
 “You will be the first to die,” I roar.
“Silence.” The aunt slashes her wand through the air and makes a thin
cut on the side of my face.
“Aunt Klara?” Alienor’s voice breaks. She glances from me to the small
army of witches, her features drawn.
The aunt’s face hardens. “Don’t Aunt Klara me. Is this the creature who
nearly killed Agnes?”
Agnes hops off her broomstick and rushes across the room to Alienor’s
side. “Let go of her, Mum, she’s the victim.”
“She’s a magnet for dead men,” the aunt says with a sniff. “How can
one girl get assaulted by a corpse and then get herself abducted by a
centuries-old king?”
“Hush, Klara.” The grandmother raises a hand. “Let’s not jump to
conclusions.”
Despite my impending punishment at the hands of these witches, a lump
forms in the back of my throat. If these people truly cared about Alienor,
they would never stand by while one of them caused her harm.
I extract my claws and try to slice through the magical bindings, but the
effort is futile. This is the same kind of enchantment Alienor and her cousin
used to confine me to her cupboard all those days ago. With over a dozen
witches imprisoning me with their power, I have no chance of ever
escaping.
“Release Alienor,” I snarl.
“We will do no such thing,” says the grandmother. “Not until you
explain why you are haunting our coven.”
“Remove those bindings, and I will tell you everything you need.”
“Do it, or we’ll damage your plaything.” The aunt switches the magic
restraining Alienor from white to red, making her scream.
A fist of terror punches through my ribcage and seizes my heart. “You
would murder your kin?”
 I dart my gaze to the grandmother, who glares at the aunt with her lips
pursed and her brow furrowed with disapproval. She may not like the aunt’s
tactics, but she remains silent while Alienor is hurt.
My jaw tightens. The only way to save Alienor is to turn the witches’
bloodlust onto me.
“What do you want to know?” I snarl.
The grandmother turns to me, her features hardening. “Are you Henry
Curtmantle?”
“I am.”
“Are you the same creature who has victimized Alienor since she turned
eighteen?”
“Correct.”
“How are you alive, and what do you want with Alienor?”
Memories tumble to the forefront of my mind, and I have to choke back
a surge of bitterness to form the words. “I was on my deathbed, coughing
up blood from one of my wife’s many curses—”
“Get to the point,” the grandmother says.
I clench my teeth. These witches hate to be reminded of their sins. “An
Unseelie faerie came to my bedside and offered me a bargain. If I could
give him my birthright, he would give me the magic I needed to get
revenge.”
“Impossible,” she whispers. “Faeries don’t exist.”
“The Magical Council erased all knowledge about the fae from our
history books,” says Alienor. “But anyone with access to the library’s
restricted section can read about them.”
Klara scoffs. “That’s why she took up with the necromancer.”
“I presume you failed to get revenge on our ancestor?” the grandmother
asks.
“The witches banished the faeries after I struck the bargain. I lost track
until Alienor’s magic called to me from across the realms.”
 “You see!” Klara launches into a string of nonsense about stolen magic
and dead babies.
Many of the witches behind them break into chatter, and the magic
restraining me wavers. I push against it
The grandmother ignores her outburst.
“I believed she was my wife.”
The aunt scoffs. “That little thing—”
“Klara,” the grandmother hisses.
Apparently, she draws the line of being interrupted but has no issue with
Klara hurting Alienor. I ball my hands into fists. As the matriarch of the
coven, the grandmother could prevent this abuse. She doesn’t because the
violence against Alienor furthers her goals.
Perhaps the grandmother will be the first to die instead of the aunt.
“Why did you believe Alienor was your wife?” the grandmother asks.
“Their magic was identical,” I snarl.
“You see?” Klara says with a triumphant smirk.
My eyes narrow. That comment sounds like one of many from a long-
standing argument, but I am in no mood to decipher the meaning. Not when
Alienor is still under suspicion of colluding with me to hurt the coven.
“What do you want from me?” I snap.
The grandmother bares her teeth. “Silence.” Her tone is as cold as
winter and promises an eternity of torment. “I will set the pace of this
interrogation.”
A shiver runs down my spine.
“Was this your plan all along?” the grandmother asks. “To manipulate
Alienor into a magic-less state to render her powerless?”
My nostrils flare.
The grandmother is astute. I turn my gaze to Alienor, who stares at me
through watery eyes.
 How could I admit to her and in front of her entire coven that I wanted
her dead? Not just dead, but I wanted her writhing beneath me, begging for
more and more until I shattered the chastity curse with my claws and cock.
“Answer me,” she hisses.
When I remain silent, she turns to Klara, who carves another slice of
magic into my skin.
“What was your plan for Alienor?” the grandma asks once more.
“I needed to break through the enchantment protecting her. I wanted to
break through the curse.”
“How?”
Regret weighs heavily in my gut, pressing down on me even harder than
the witches’ magic. I must guard my words.
If they discovered that somewhere during my quest for vengeance, I
realized Alienor was not my wife, they would want to know how. They
would want every detail of how she took me in her mouth and caressed my
accursed cock until I spilled centuries of pent-up spunk.
My jaw clenches. No.
I could never besmirch the honor of a woman I have come to love. If I
fail to defeat these witches, Alienor will be alone and in need of a family. I
cannot let them cast her out.
“Answer my question!” The grandmother’s voice becomes shrill. “How
did you intend to break the chastity curse?”
My throat tightens, the markings on my skin writhing with shame. I
glance into Alienor’s pleading eyes. She wants me to tell the truth so her
coven might show me mercy. She doesn’t understand that these witches do
not know the meaning of compassion.
Her aunt makes another slash of magic across my face.
I grind out the words, “My curse was to be broken with Alienor’s
death.”
 The grandmother’s slow nod tells me everything I need to know about
my fate. I will either not leave this house alive or they will transport me to
their stronghold to draw out my torture.
She raises her brows. “And you stole her underwear because?”
“It was the only way to obtain relief under the chastity curse,” I mutter.
A few of the younger witches at the back snicker as though the agony
and frustration a man ensures when his cock is imprisoned is a source of
amusement.
I raise my chin and search out the faces within the crowd.
Let them laugh.
If they are foolish enough to return me to the grandmother’s house, I
will be the one to make them scream.
“I’ve heard enough.” The grandmother flicks her wand and floats me
across the room. “It’s time to take this scoundrel to our ritual room.”
Warmth races through my blood, my heart drumming against my chest
with triumph. I straighten within my bonds, breathe harder, faster, trying to
restrain my elation.
These witches have no idea that they’re making a mistake.
Alienor sobs.
My chest deflates at the sound of her pain, and my heart sinks back into
its resting place. What will become of her?
“Please,” she says. “Let him go. Don’t you understand he saved my
life?”
The aunt scoffs, as do the other witches. I want to slaughter them all for
mistreating such a pure soul.
Her grandmother runs a hand over the shaft of her broomstick. “That
dark magic you executed to tear a hole in our realm could have alerted the
Council and endangered every member of this coven.”
Alienor shudders. “But I didn’t mean to—”
 “Now, we’re going to use Henry Curtmantle’s magic to make sure
nothing else slithers into our realm.”
My nostrils flare.
“What does that mean?” Alienor is openly sobbing now, her cries
tearing at my soul.
“We’ll drain every ounce of blood from Mr. Curtmantle to power our
the enchantment, and we’ll sell what’s left of him at the apothecary.”
Bile punches the back of my throat, and the markings on my chest
shrivel into my flesh. Overpowering these witches might be more tricky
than I thought.
If I fail, I face a fate worse than being stuck in a barren realm, a fate
worse than death.
I will be alive while they grind my bones to dust and display my
remains on their shelves. But most likely, I will become an object of sexual
entertainment, much like the wretched soul stuck in the grandmother’s
broomstick.
 Chapter Thirty-Seven

ALIENOR
I’m still crying when Grandma orders the others to drag the Boogie
Man into the garden.
There’s nothing I can do to help him. Not when I’m stuck to the wall in
a web of magic. Not when I have no power of my own. Not when everyone
in the coven already thinks I’m a joke.
The Boogie Man turns his head, and our eyes meet. He communicates
so much with his beautiful face. Anguish, determination, hope.
My heart lurches, trying to reach him from across the room. That spell I
did to banish him to his realm must have diminished his magic. It’s the
reason why the coven can see him, touch him, harm him. He’s no longer the
invincible creature I could never defeat.
The coven cocoons him in magic that shimmers brighter than the stars
before it disappears with several pops. They’ve rendered him invisible.
Invisible so they can transport him across the village without suspicion.
A sob catches in my throat as the witches rise into the skies. They’re
going to bleed him dry and then turn his body into potion ingredients, the
way they do with exotic animals.
“My apologies, Alienor,” Grandma says, her voice pulling me out of my
misery. “I should never have dismissed your claims of being stalked.”
 I turn to meet her sad features. Her mouth is downturned, her shoulders
rounded, and she almost looks her age.
“He might have started like a stalker, but he changed. He spent his
whole married life under a love spell—”
“How were you supposed to know she was telling the truth?” Aunt
Klara says as though I haven’t spoken. “We all thought she would end up
abnormal.”
“Because you took our ancestor’s magic to revive me when I was born
dead?” I snap.
Grandma turns to Aggie. “Have you been spilling coven secrets?”
Aggie flinches. “No. I didn’t say a word.”
Shit. Now, my big mouth is about to get Aggie into trouble.
“She didn’t,” I blurt. “I overheard you all talking about it while you
were healing my wounds.”
Grandma sweeps her glare to Aunt Klara, who shuffles on her feet. “I
didn’t want to overload the girl with magical anesthesia. Not while her life
hung in the balance.”
“Or maybe you just wanted me to suffer,” I say. “You’ve always hated
me and now I know why.”
Everyone falls silent. Aggie fidgets at my side, making no move toward
her broomstick. I stare out into the garden, where the other witches are now
tiny blots in the sky. If I don’t use this opportunity to convince him not to
slaughter the Boogie Man, I’ll lose him forever.
“Please, don’t hurt Henry,” I say. “He saved my life.”
Grandma’s brows pull together. “Did you not hear what that creature
said? He came to our realm because he sensed our ancestor’s magic. The
same magic I used to revive you. Your Boogie Man saw a chance of
breaking his chastity curse with your murder.”
Pain spreads across my chest at the truth in her words. It thickens my
throat and burns the backs of my eyes. “He might have started out like that,
but he changed.”
“He changed tactics,” Aunt Klara says. “When clawing at Aggie didn’t
work, he decided to use seduction.”
“Then why did he save my life?”
“Because it had to be him to strike the killing blow,” Grandma says, her
eyes softening. “Not a third party.”
Aunt Klara shakes her head. “Use your brain. His wife’s natural death
didn’t break the curse, so getting at you is his second chance.”
Grandma dabs at her eyes. “Well, I’m sorry we couldn’t save you from
getting violated. Klara, heal her wounds.”
“No,” I blurt. “He didn’t force me to do anything.”
“Then you’re as naive as you are useless,” Aunt Klara says with a sneer.
Grandma raises her palm. “Enough. We have a rift to seal.” She turns to
Aggie. “You will repair the damage to the wall and administer to Alienor’s
needs until we have removed the threat.”
“Babysitting her again?” Aggie whines.
Bristling, I try not to be insulted that my cousin sees me as some kind of
burden.
“Why do I have to stay with her?” Aggie asks.
“Because I say so.” Grandma runs her hands down the broomstick’s
shaft, making it float back into the garden.
Aunt Klara flies out with her, and they both disappear into the skies,
leaving me alone with a furious Aggie.
“You were having an affair with the Boogie Man, weren’t you?” she
says, her voice sharp with accusation.
“Could you release me from your mum’s spiderweb thingy?” I ask.
“Answer my question,” she snaps. “You shagged him after he tried to
murder me with his claws.”
My heart sinks into my stomach and lands with a splash of acid. Aggie
has a point. If Grandma and Aunt Klara hadn’t arrived the morning Aggie
released the Boogie Man from the trap, she probably would have bled to
death.
“Well?” She taps her foot.
“He lashed out because he believed you set the trap. And maybe he
thought your locket would also protect you from his claws.”
Aggie’s cheeks turn pink. “Mum already gave me so much shit about
tarnishing the locket for fashion.”
“Your mum’s a bit of a nightmare.”
She huffs. “Tell me about it.”
“I hate the way the rest of the coven treats you,” I say, choosing my
words carefully. “They act like you’re as useless as me.”
Aggie’s face tightens, and she balls her hands into fists.
I run back through my words, making sure I didn’t say anything
insulting. Since the only one who should get offended at what I just said is
me, I continue.
“You’re good enough to make custom spells at the apothecary. People
pay a fortune for your services, but instead of taking advantage of your
advanced talents, they make you stay and babysit me?”
“Yeah,” she growls.
“And they didn’t even bother to include you in the first spell they
performed to close the rift.”
Aggie’s shoulders rise toward her ears. She dips her head and wraps her
arms around her middle, looking like she wants to hide.
“What’s wrong?” I ask.
“Actually, I ducked out.”
“Why?”
She mumbles something under her breath, making me lean against the
bindings but I still can’t hear a word.
“What did you say?” I ask.
“I wanted to take back my broomstick,” she says.
 My lips tighten. This nonsense again.
I shove away that thought. So much has happened these past few days
that I’ve dismissed Aggie’s angst about the broomstick as frivolous. Now is
probably the time to take it seriously.
“Look, I’m sorry I never got around to stealing your broomstick back.”
“It’s alright,” she mutters, her gaze fixed on the floor. “You had your
hands full with the Boogie Man.”
Silence stretches out for several heartbeats. This is my opportunity to
break free, but I need to word things carefully.
“Maybe I can make things up to you,” I say.
Aggie’s eyes narrow. “How?”
“I could steal it for you while she’s busy closing the rift.”
“A fat lot of good that would do,” she says, her voice bitter. “Grandma
set up a dozen wards around it. Every time I try to get the broomstick back,
her magic attacks.”
I bite down on my bottom lip. Aggie so close to letting me go. I just
need to come up with a plausible reason.
“But Grandma’s ward repels magical beings, doesn’t it?” When she
gives me a hesitant nod, I continue. “What about those who don’t have
magic?”
“I’m listening…”
“How do you think dead Norbert managed to sneak into Grandma’s
house? I crawled under the bed and burrowed into a protection sphere, but
his hand slipped through—”
“Because he was dead and didn’t have any magic?”
My heart soars. I’m so glad she didn’t suggest that Norbert used his
necromancy. “Exactly. Now, you were there when Grandma and Aunt Klara
removed my power. I’m practically a human now. What if I bypassed
Grandma’s wards and stole back your broomstick?”
 Aggie flicks her wand, and the web of magic vanishes, along with the
sheet covering my nudity.
She rolls her eyes. “Get dressed.”
I jog around the bed to the wardrobe and throw on a hoodie and a pair
of black leggings. By the time I’ve slipped on a pair of shoes, Aggie is
already sitting on her spare broomstick.
“Come on.” She waves me over.
Aggie doesn’t need to tell me twice. I sprint across the room and mount
her broomstick. The journey from my cottage to Grandma’s place is about
ten minutes.
Maybe between now and then, I might work out a plan to rescue the
Boogie Man.
 Chapter Thirty-Eight

HENRY
White fills my vision, but I feel a familiar thrum of magic as the witches
descend toward the grandmother’s garden. My heart beats harder, faster,
and stronger in anticipation of drawing in the reserves of magic.
Every ounce of power held within the ash trees and deep within the
earth is mine. Centuries of semen, just waiting to be used.
I descend, down, down, my skin thrumming with excitement. Just a few
seconds of touching grass will replenish my magic. Then the witches will
regret mocking Alienor.
Instead of lowering me to the ground, they float me several feet across
the grandmother’s garden with the cocoon of magic wrapped around my
body. I’m so far away from the plants that drawing on the magic I left there
is impossible.
Damned witches have thought of everything.
“Take him straight to the ritual room,” says one of the coven witches.
I thrash within my bindings, but the strings of magic wriggle into the
space beneath my wings and lace them together until their bones threaten to
snap.
They’re careful not to allow any part of my cocoon to touch the door,
the floor, or the walls, even though I can sense the changes in the
atmosphere. The grandmother’s house smells of potions and lavender, tree
sap, and sex, while the space I’m traveling through is danker, dustier, and
reeks of mold.
“Release the bindings,” says a voice.
The magic encasing my body vanishes, leaving me staring into the dark.
I blink to adjust my eyes to the abrupt change. When my vision clears, I
stare up into an arched ceiling that crumbles like the one in my old throne
room. The walls are jagged, as though the witches carved them out with
slashes of their wands, and the floor consists of dust and dirt.
I’m hovering above a stone altar large enough to sacrifice a giant. In
front of it stands a crude statue of a woman holding a book. She wears the
crown, wimple, and long blue robes favored by my wife.
My lip curls at the thought of these women worshiping that traitorous
wench like a goddess.
“Should we put him down on the slab?” asks one of the witches.
I turn my head and glare into her sour face. She has the same dark
brown hair and eyes as Alienor but none of her charm.
“Leave him in stasis until Klara arrives with the High Priestess,” says an
older woman with lank, gray hair.
I grind my teeth. “You can at least allow a man to rest before you drain
his blood.”
“Silence.” She flicks her wand, sending a strike of magic to my groin.
“Where have you put that big red cock?”
“It shriveled under your foul countenance.”
Her features twist into a rictus of rage. “You ancient piece of shit—”
A door slams open, sending an echo through the chamber that makes the
witches jump.
“Silence,” Alienor’s aunt snaps. “Ready the altar.”
With a flick of their wands, tall candles flare to life and flood the
chamber with yellow light. My breath hitches, my skin tightens, and every
fine hair on the back of my neck stands on end.
I am no longer the hunter.
I am not even the prey.
I am the spoils of a successful hunt.
Footsteps echo through the chamber, drowning out the pulse between
my ears.
The grandmother appears in sight, clad in a white robe.
“Henry Curtmantle,” she says. “For the crime of defiling a member of
the coven, how do you plead?”
I grind my teeth. This is a trick question. They already intend to use my
blood to close off the rift between our realms. She wants to gather
information to use against Alienor.
“You will address me as Your Majesty or King Henry,” I snarl.
“Your reign ended in 1189,” the grandmother says with a smirk. “Now,
answer my question.”
“I would have taken what I wanted by now if you hadn’t interrupted,” I
snarl.
She shakes her head and clucks her tongue. “Unfortunately, the coven is
only as strong as its weakest link.”
The other witches nod and murmur their approval.
“This is why we should banish her,” says the aunt. “That way, we
eliminate all threats.”
My nostrils flare, and my blood simmers with fury. They would leave
her without family or protection? I resist the urge to speak in her defense.
Any protectiveness toward Alienor would only add fuel to their vengeance.
“We can discuss Alienor’s banishment after securing the realms.” The
grandmother holds out a palm. “Hand me the sacrificial sickle.”
The gray-haired witch steps forward with a curved knife the size of a
dinner plate etched with intricate runes. I twist and turn, trying to recoil
from the blade, but invisible magic holds me in place.
 “Touch me with that thing, and I will tear out your liver,” I snarl.
The aunt yanks me by the hair to meet her hard eyes. “You’re in no
position to hurt anyone, Boogie Man.”
Rage sears through my skin and the markings on my chest burn so
fiercely that they produce smoke.
“Stay away,” I growl.
“Ready the receptacle for his blood,” says the grandma.
As a heavy bowl slides against the stone altar, terror strikes my heart
like a lightning storm.
I am not afraid of dying.
I am not even afraid of spending the rest of eternity as motionless body
parts.
But I cannot stand so much as a day apart from Alienor.
The grandmother raises the knife and makes a clean cut across my
throat. Warm blood cascades down the sides of my neck, some of it
gathering into my collarbones before spilling into the bowl.
“Tell me something,” the grandmother muses. “How did you break your
chastity curse?”
“I didn’t,” I say from between clenched teeth. “Not when Alienor’s
magic was so close to my wife’s.”
She raises her wand and taps it on my crotch, setting my balls aflame.
“Fuck,” I roar.
Blood cascades out of the cut, leaving me breathless. Each beat of my
pulse fills my ear with a cacophony, but it’s nothing compared to the
sensation of ropes of fire around my cock and balls.
“It would seem the curse is still intact,” she says as though she hasn’t
put me through something excruciating. “Now, it’s unraveled. You will be
free to fornicate with other women.”
“What use is that when you intend to bleed me to death?”
The witches burst into raucous laughter.
 “What’s so funny?” I no longer have the energy to snarl.
“Once we’ve drained you of your blood and magic, we’ll put the rest of
your body to use.” The grandmother’s voice comes from far away, as
though she’s speaking to me from a chasm.
Her words take several slow heartbeats to register. I open my mouth to
protest, but all I can do is rasp.
The aunt hovers over me, her eyes bright. “We’ll turn what’s left of you
into a phallus, encase it in crystal, and sell it to the highest bidder.”
At least I think that’s what she said. The rest of the sentence disappears
into a blur as black spots fill my vision.
If I lose any more of my essence, I will never awaken. At least not in
this body.
“It’s full,” says a voice.
“Wonderful,” the grandmother says. “Lower him to the slab.”
My mind battles against the blood loss, the confusion, the fatigue. I fall
through the air and land on the stone podium with a heavy thud.
I can’t even muster up a triumphant smile. I’m too busy trying to soak
up magic from the stone before I lose consciousness.
 Chapter Thirty-Nine

ALIENOR
I lean forward on Aggie’s broomstick, holding its shaft in a death grip.
Wind blows through my hair and fills my ears with a high-pitched whistle.
The land beneath us is a blur. She’s traveling twice the speed limit, but
that’s not the reason why my heart is trying to smash through my ribcage.
By now, the coven could have ground the Boogie Man into potion
ingredients or whatever they do to their enemies.
My heart clenches hard with an ache that spreads across my chest. I
can’t stand the thought of him suffering after he’s endured so much.
Enchanted at the age of nineteen into marrying a manipulative woman.
Cursed decades later the moment he realized he’d been duped. Usurped,
poisoned, and condemned to centuries of bitterness and sexual frustration.
The Boogie Man deserves better.
“Ali,” Aggie yells over the sound of the wind.
“What?”
“You really like him?”
I gulp. Now’s probably not the time to admit my feelings toward the
man who maimed her and left her for dead. “It’s complicated.”
“Don’t give me that bullshit,” she snaps. “We both know you didn’t
volunteer to steal back my broomstick for nothing. You used to be terrified
of the Boogie Man, now you’re running to his rescue.”
I glance at her over my shoulder. Aggie’s features are hard with
determination. She’s more than capable of taking me back home out of
spite. If I don’t tell her the truth, I can say goodbye to ever seeing the
Boogie Man again.
“It’s because he’s hot, right?” she asks.
“No,” I blurt. “It’s more than lust. The Boogie Man was the only person
who ever paid me any attention.”
“That makes no sense.” She shakes her head for emphasis. “You have
the rest of the coven—”
“Who treats me like I’m a joke,” I snap. “I’m not even a real member.”
The broomstick dips as we travel over a lake whose still waters reflect
the moon. Something about the vapor over such a large body of water
makes it impossible to fly both at high altitude and at full speed.
I exhale a long breath. “All my life, I’ve never had a person of my
own.”
“What about Grandma?”
“She was always busy with coven business, managing the apothecary
chain, brewing, volunteering, and reading. I was just an afterthought.”
Aggie remains silent. I’m not sure if that’s because she feels bad that I
didn’t grow up with a mother or even a friendly aunt. At least she’s stopped
judging me for having feelings for the Boogie Man.
“But he’s so vicious,” Aggie mutters.
“He’s spent centuries thirsting for revenge. After everything that
happened to him, I’m not surprised he lashed out. But he should never have
attacked you with his claws.”
Magic crackles over my skin as we pass the wards. It’s the slightest
resistance because I am powerless. The reminder that I’m no longer a witch
hits me like a punch to the gut.
 I slump forward, trying to hold back a surge of anguish. Now is not the
time for self-pity. I have a Boogie Man to rescue.
The plan I formulated is shitty but it’s the best I can do without a scrap
of magic. Sneak into the ritual room with grandma’s relaxation bombs,
crush them underfoot, and put everyone to sleep. Since I’m practically a
human, it will make me the last one standing.
Over two dozen broomsticks hover at the bottom of grandma’s steps,
signifying just how many witches I need to bypass to reach the Boogie
Man.
Aggie parks hers over the stairs and walks along the procession of
broomsticks.
My gaze darts toward the house, and bile rises to the back of my throat.
The Boogie Man is downstairs probably screaming as they sacrifice him to
fix my mistake. He returned from banishment and risked everything to save
my life. I need to get to him. Now.
“Ali,” Aggie snaps.
“What?”
I turn to find my cousin standing at the back of the broomsticks with her
wand pointing at my throat.
She bares her teeth. “If you so much as duck out of helping me—”
“No, I wasn’t trying to,” I lie. “Which one is yours?”
“Him.” She points at the only broomstick edging toward the path of
stepping stones.
I dismount and jog after my cousin. “Have you given him a name?”
“Something like that,” she mutters.
The broomstick backs away from her, looking like Grandma’s wards are
doing an excellent job of keeping Aggie from reclaiming her property. I
shake my head and reach for it’s shaft, which doesn’t flinch from my touch.
It’s warmer than the average piece of magical wood and thrums with a
vitality that was lacking in the broomstick we rode.
 I squeeze tighter, and the shaft shudders under my touch. It almost feels
like it has circulation.
“Bring it here,” Aggie says.
My skin prickles into goosebumps. “That stuff you said earlier about
turning men into dildos—was that true?”
“What? No,” she snaps. “Of course not.”
Aggie reaches into the pocket of her dress and throws a lasso at the
broomstick, but a sphere of magic flares up, and the rope slides to the
ground.
“Help me,” she says.
I turn to her and frown. “Did you turn a man into a broomstick?”
“Not really,” she says with a shrug.
“What the hell does that mean?”
Aggie’s features harden. “Right now, they’re turning your Boogie Man
into a dildo. A crystal dildo that Grandma’s going to shove into her snatch
over and over until she finds someone else’s boyfriend to molest. Is that
what you want?”
My jaw drops as realizations hit me like a cyclone. The crystal
massagers. The reason why men steer clear of our coven. The reason why
our apothecaries sell more personal massagers than herbs.
Fucking hell.
Aggie points her wand at my chest. “Pick up that rope.”
I’m shaken—both at finally learning the truth and at the thought that the
Boogie Man might end up trapped as Grandma’s sex toy until the end of
time.
“Easy now.” I raise both palms.
Aggie snarls. “Just do as I say.”
My hackles rise. I should fight back, try to save the poor bastard trapped
in that broomstick, but the Boogie Man is facing the same terrible fate.
 Feeling like the world’s most selfish bitch, I pick up the rope and wind
it around the broomstick’s shaft.
“Secure it with three tight knots,” Aggie says.
The broomstick shudders as I follow her instructions.
“Now, pull it toward me.”
Pine-scented resin explodes from its tip, just as the wind changes
direction and splatters me with warm drops.
“What the fuck?” I scream.
“It’s just tree sap.”
It is no such thing. After my first blow job, I’m no stranger to spunk.
I hand Aggie the rope, leaving her wrestling the broomstick like it’s an
untamed horse. Ignoring them, I sprint across the chamomile lawn, up
Grandma’s stairs, and into the hallway. It takes a bit of scrambling around
all the bathrooms before I gather enough relaxation bombs to subdue a
coven.
My pulse echoes in my ears as I speed down the stairs, passing several
layers of basements. As a child, I explored every inch of Grandma’s house
but could never reach the room at the very bottom.
The ritual room is where the coven conducts their most confidential
spells, but I’m wondering if this is where the witches turn men into
inanimate objects.
A lightning storm of panic strikes my heart as I imagine Grandma
clutching a twenty-four-inch dildo made of rose quartz. I pick up my pace
and reach a heavy wooden door.
The magic protecting it snaps at my skin the way it used to do when I
was a child, trying to catch a glimpse of the other witches. This time, when
I lean my weight on the door, it doesn’t throw me back.
My ears fill with the groan of rusty hinges, and the scrape of wood on
stone. I step into a darkened chamber, filled with the scent of earth and
something else.
 Spunk?
When my eyes adjust to the gloom, my hands drop to my side, and the
bath bombs tumble to the floor.
The Boogie Man stands atop a stone altar with his wings outstretched
and with shadows streaming from his feet. Every witch, including
Grandma, hangs three feet off the ground with ropes of black around their
necks.
I reel forward, my breath catching.
This is worse than the time the Boogie Man murdered Norbert.
 Chapter Forty

HENRY
I breathe hard, trying to draw power from the stone platform. Blood
continues to spill from the slit in my throat, draining my magic faster than I
can replenish it.
The edges of my vision turn black. At this rate, I will lose consciousness
before I regain my strength.
Minutes pass, and the witches turn their attention from me to perform a
ritual to prevent beings from crossing into their realm. I take that time to
knit together my severed veins and stem the bleeding, so I can siphon my
magic from the earth.
“Ritual complete,” the grandmother says. “The rift is permanently
sealed.”
Her voice snaps me out of my trance, and I cringe at the witches’ round
of applause.
“Ready the subject for dildofication.”
I gape at a twelve-inch column of onyx with a rounded tip hovering
above my crotch.
“How?” replies the gray-haired witch. “He doesn’t have a cock.”
“I saw it earlier before it recessed into his pelt,” Alienor’s aunt says.
“Find a way to ease it out.”
 “I’ll do it,” says a witch whose voice I don’t recognize.
“Allow me,” says another.
“No, me.”
A quarrel breaks out over which of them gets to coax out my cock.
Streams of magic hit my crotch, making the flesh beneath tingle. I shudder,
clench my teeth, and reach out toward my power.
The wretched witches fail to realize the flaw in their plan. Thanks to the
grandmother’s attack, my cock is deeply hidden in the recesses of my pelt
and is in no state to come out let alone expand.
“Wait.” The grandmother’s voice cuts through the squabble like a ritual
knife. “I must have miscalculated. It would seem that our ancestor’s curse
was irrevocable.”
“What does that mean?” asks a voice.
“Mr. Curtmantle is still under the chastity curse.”
If I had the energy, I would grind my teeth. Even if she didn’t want to
acknowledge me as the King of England, I am still the Duke of Normandy.
I shove that thought aside and focus on drawing more power.
“Open the crypt,” the grandmother says. “Curtmantle will become
aroused in the presence of his wife.”
Shock kicks me in the gut. I snap my gaze toward the statue and curl my
fists.
A wand swishes through the air, followed by the scrape of stone as the
statue splits into a sarcophagus. Cold permeates my skin, and shivers run
down my spine. It’s as though they’ve opened up a doorway into winter. I
inhale a sharp breath, only for my nostrils to fill with the familiar scent of
lavender.
“Alienor,” I growl, not at the woman I have come to love, but at the
creature who stole my life.
The sarcophagus opens, revealing my wife’s mummified remains. What
is left of her flesh is now the color of canvas and clings to her bones. She
stands with her hands crossed over her chest, her limbs held in place with
yellowing bandages.
Magic glows from a sphere behind her ribs that spills light out of her
empty eye sockets, making her almost seem alive.
I draw in a sharp breath as sensation rushes south. I know she is a
shriveled husk. I know she is long dead. I know that I hold nothing but
contempt for this desiccated corpse, but my wretched cock stirs.
The love spells, the chastity curses, and whatever else she did to me
make me believe she’s still beautiful.
“Is it working?” the gray-haired witch asks, her voice breathy.
“Try a lust spell, now,” replies the grandmother. “Then you can start
dildofying Mr. Curtmantle when he’s at full mast.”
Fury strikes me like lightning, burning me to the marrow.
“Never,” I snarl.
I did not endure eight centuries of chastity to end up imprisoned. A last
reserve of magic raises my body off the platform before the witches can
attack.
“He’s escaping,” someone screams.
I dig my heels into the stone and soak in more power through my feet. It
travels up my bones, into my gut, and fills my entire torso. It unfurls my
wings and makes my chest markings burn like brands.
After eight centuries, I have found my betrayer.
Magic sizzles across my skin, bathing me with strength. It looks like the
Barghest left me with a cache of power so I could murder my wife no
matter my weakened state.
What a pity the witches used my blood to lock him out of the human
realm.
Now, he will never obtain his end of our bargain.
“Where did he go?” the aunt screeches.
Wonderful.
 My invisibility has returned.
The witches raise their wands and attack, filling my vision with streams
of red and white and blue. I’m so glutted with power that their magic passes
through my body and hits the other members of their coven.
“Stop attacking,” the grandmother shouts.
“What’s happening?” one of the witches asks.
“Cast revealing spells. Strengthen the wards. He must not escape.”
“Don’t worry. I have no intention of leaving,” I snarl, but the witches
cannot hear my words.
I ignore their cries, ignore their spells, ignore their attempts to make me
reappear. At this moment, all rational thoughts drift into the ether, and my
entire world reduces to my desiccated wife.
“You are dead, and your soul has departed the earth,” I snarl. “But I will
destroy every part of you that remains.”
I point a clawed finger at her chest. “Once I take your descendants, I
will devour your magic.”
The light in her empty eye sockets flickers as though part of her still
lingers among the witches. Perhaps my wife is trying to protect her
progeny.
My chest fills with triumph, and I flare out my wings. I want her to see
them fall.
Panic fills the air as the witches continue to struggle. On the edges of
their alarm are delicious morsels of terror. Terror that will only add to my
power.
My mouth waters and the magic racing through my veins urges me to
feed.
I turn to my wife and grin. “Watch me drain every drop of fear from
their carcasses, every drop of magic until they join you in death.”
Shadows shoot out from my feet and snake around each of the witches’
throats. My jaw drops. I had not expected it to be so easy, since they all
wear protective amulets.
Perhaps their protection doesn’t work in their innermost sanctum.
Perhaps it’s because I’ve already tasted their terror. Perhaps I’m so close to
their progenitor that nothing fully works.
I lift the witches off the ground and revel in their screams. Their fright
is flavorsome and rich with power. I soak in their magic and moan.
“Henry Curtmantle,” the grandmother says, her words choked. “Release
my coven at once.”
Snarling, I shake the older woman until her teeth rattle. “Call me Henry
again and you will be the first to die.”
The witches’ screams echo across the chamber. I cannot fully enjoy
their agony because I cannot take my gaze off my dead wife. The magic in
her chest flares, trying to knock me backward, but it’s weak, compared to
what I have stolen from her descendants.
“See them flail, see them flounder, see them face their deaths,” I roar.
“Stop!” cries a voice on the edge of my consciousness.
For the first time since the witches opened the sarcophagus, I am no
longer compelled to look at my wife. I turn around to find my sweet Alienor
at the door.
And she gapes at me as though I’m a monster.
 Chapter Forty-One

ALIENOR
I sway on my feet, still reeling from the shock of seeing the Boogie Man
standing on the altar with shadows streaming from his legs and holding up
over twenty witches by their throats.
Every member of the coven turns to me with pleading eyes. Wands litter
the floor, and those who managed to keep hold of theirs can only produce
tiny wisps of magic.
I walk into the ritual room—a space forbidden to the likes of me—and
for the first time in my entire existence, the witches don’t see me as a
burden, a nuisance, or even a joke.
It’s stupid that I should concern myself with their approval, but it’s hard
to break a twenty-one-year-old habit. All this time, I thought they were my
superiors. They acted like it, too. But the coven became rich and powerful
from selling dildos made from living men.
“Alienor,” Grandma croaks. “Help us.”
My gaze is fixed on the Boogie Man’s stricken green eyes that glitter in
the dim light. I continue toward him, my skin prickling at the brush of his
malevolent magic.
I’ve never felt something that both burned and chilled, a mix of molten
fury and cold malice. Suppressing a shudder, I glance behind him into the
open sarcophagus. A mummified corpse stands inside with a glowing
sphere in its chest.
I would bet my missing magic that this is Eleanor of Aquitaine, the
founder of our coven.
And the Boogie Man’s wife.
“Alienor,” he says. “Wait for me upstairs.”
I shake my head. “Don’t do this. Please.”
The Boogie Man breathes hard, his beautiful features pained. His
Adam’s apple bobs up and down, and I can’t help but wonder what he’s
prepared to sacrifice to get his revenge.
Closing the distance between us, I walk to the edge of the stone altar
and into one of his shadows. The magic pulls for a brief second before
slipping away.
“I have waited centuries for my vengeance,” he rasps.
He leaves the rest of his sentence unspoken. He’s begging me not to
make him choose between me and something he has wanted with every
fiber of his being.
Grandma’s death rattle makes every fine hair on the back of my neck
stand on end.
“Do you know how you found me?” I ask.
His brow furrows.
“My mum died when I was born, and so did I.”
The Boogie Man rears back, his lips parting with shock.
“My grandma took some of your wife’s magic and used it to revive me
as a stillborn. She’s the only reason I’m alive.”
His breath quickens, and his gaze darts to Grandma, who I hope is
nodding to confirm my words.
“When witches are born, the coven binds our magic so we don’t go out
into the human world and cause havoc. But when we turn eighteen, that
magic gets unbound.”
 I reach out a trembling hand and place it on his leg. “You found me
because I carried your wife’s power.”
“Carried?” he asks.
“They confiscated it after I performed that banishment ritual,” I mutter.
His face hardens. “All the more reason to punish them—”
“No,” I blurt. “If they hadn’t given me your wife’s magic, you would
never have crossed over into our realm to find me. If they hadn’t given me
your wife’s magic, you would have spent even more centuries raging and
frustrated and miserable.”
He swallows, his expression turning pensive, and he runs a clawed hand
through his hair.
My pulse quickens. He’s conflicted. Good. Perhaps now he’ll reconsider
this outrageous mass slaughter.
“If they hadn’t given me your wife’s magic, you would never have
found me, and I would never have gotten the chance to fall in love.”
The Boogie Man’s jaw drops.
“You love me?”
“More than anything,” I whisper. “I love the nineteen-year-old king who
adored his wife with all his heart, the hound who became my closest
companion, and the Boogie Man who made me feel wanted for the first
time in my lonely existence.”
His chest heaves. “Alienor.”
“Most of all, I love the kind and loving and forgiving man who came to
my rescue, even after I banished him to another realm.”
His nostrils flare. “Don’t make me give up my quest for vengeance.”
“These witches didn’t steal your life. They wanted to, but you were too
strong. Isn’t it enough to have them squirming at your mercy?”
“They are a scourge to all men,” he says through clenched teeth.
My throat thickens. “You attacked my cousin and murdered a man just
for trying to touch me. Some might call you the scourge.”
 I try not to stiffen at his glare. The Boogie Man might huff and puff, but
he doesn’t mean me any harm. Now, I need to extend that feeling to the rest
of the coven.
“They’re also the only family I’ve ever known.”
“I will be your family,” he growls.
I shake my head. “If you plan on killing them to get back at your wife,
then you have to kill me, too. I’m also one of her descendants.”
The Boogie Man winces.
My heart beats so hard and fast that I’m surprised he hasn’t noticed. It’s
too early to feel triumph, but I’m close. Pointing at the sarcophagus, I say,
“The person who hurt you is standing right there.”
He turns to the withered corpse, his features twisting with rage. I suck in
a sharp breath and hold it deep within my lungs.
Please let him be satisfied with desecrating his wife’s remains. I repeat
the words in my head over and over until they run into each other.
The Boogie Man’s shadows snap back into his feet, and the witches fall
to the ground in an echo of groans and thuds. Before I can check on
Grandma, he leaps off the altar with a battle cry and sticks his claws into his
wife’s chest.
I step back, hoping he doesn’t tear it apart with his teeth. There’s no
way I could kiss him with bits of my great-great-to-the-power of twenty
grandmother in his mouth.
Aunt Klara is the first to stumble to her feet. “Mother, the sacred sphere
is floating away.”
“Don’t touch that,” Grandma screeches in the Boogie Man’s direction.
“It’s the source of all our power. Tampering with it would be catastrophic!”
The Boogie Man hisses through his teeth, digs his claws into the
glimmering ball, and draws the magic into his fingers. His hand glows, then
his forearm, then his bicep, then the light disappears into his chest.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
 “Everybody freeze,” bellows a male voice at the doorway.
I spin around to find a quartet in black robes, bursting through the door.
Bloody hell.
For a split second, I think it’s necromancers who have come to avenge
the murder of their guild member, but the Magical Council insignias on
their chests indicate that they’re enforcers.
The enforcers step into the chamber, only to reveal more colleagues.
Fuck.
The Boogie Man jumps down from the altar and pulls me into his chest.
“Who are these men?”
“Can they see you?” I ask.
“No.”
The crowd of enforcers part to let in the librarian who still wears her
dressing gown. A confused-looking man stumbles behind her who is naked
save for a column of rose quartz over his cock.
“There they are,” the librarian cries. “These are the women who sold me
the dildo that turned into a man!”
 Chapter Forty-Two

ALIENOR
I lean into the Boogie Man’s chest, my heart thundering as enforcers
pile into the ritual room. Each of them carries foot-long battle staffs that
wield more power than a witch’s wand.
The Boogie Man curls his wings forward, encasing me in a warm
cocoon. I wrap my arms around his waist, hoping to share some of his
invisibility.
Grandma steps forward, holding her wand aloft. “By what authority
does the Magical Council dare trespass into our private sanctum?”
“You are the matriarch of this coven?” asks the only enforcer wearing a
red cloak. She’s a tall auburn-haired witch who towers over everyone in the
room except the Boogie Man.
Grandma raises her chin. “I am the High Priestess of the oldest and
most prestigious coven in Great Britain.”
The enforcer presses a hand on her ear and pauses as though listening to
a remote voice. “Reports are coming in from around the magical world of
personal massagers transfiguring into gentlemen, some of whom went
missing as early as 1302.”
My stomach flip-flops. That’s the exact date our apothecary was
established.
 “I have no idea what you mean,” Grandma says, her face turning red.
“Please leave.”
The librarian rushes up to Grandma, her hands balled into fists.
“Disgusting woman. If I knew the dildo contained a man, I would have
demanded one that didn’t look like an eighteenth-century tavern drunkard.”
My gaze darts to the man, whose horseshoe mustache takes up most of
his face. His manboobs hang over a barrel-shaped belly covered in wiry
black hair. From the red capillaries across his nose and cheeks, it looks like
he’s still under the influence of booze.
“Please, Madam,” says the chief enforcer. “Let the Magical Council
handle the situation.”
“Fuck that.” The librarian yanks at the man’s crystal dildo, making him
wince. “I’m not releasing him until I get my refund.”
The enforcer turns to her colleagues. “Drag out every witch for
interrogation. If they resist, use deadly force.”
“Alienor,” the Boogie Man murmurs. “I can kill these men.”
“Don’t. They’ll only call for reinforcements.”
One of the enforcers grabs the arm of a young witch, and her mother
blasts him in the face with a repelling spell. Two men in black lift the older
witch off her feet and slam her into the ceiling.
The plaster cracks, coating us all in dust and debris.
“You must share my invisibility,” the Boogie Man says.
“How?”
As grandma and the other witches attack the enforcers with spellfire, the
Boogie Man’s fingers drift to the waistband of my leggings.
“Part of my body must enter yours.” He rubs a trail of sensation over
my bare skin, making my knees tremble. “Let me stick my cock into your
sweet cunt and render you impervious to the attacks.”
A whimper catches in the back of my throat. It’s impossible to think
straight when the witches of my coven are battling for their lives against the
enforcers. That’s why I forget to ask the Boogie Man why he can’t just put
his fingers in my mouth.
Instead, I wrap them around his hot erection. “But you’re too big.
There’s no way I can fit all four heads of your cock.”
He slips his hand beneath my waistband, into my knickers, and rubs my
clit. “One head will stimulate your swollen little nub, while I slip another
inside your tight channel.”
“Are you sure it will work?” I whisper.
“I am certain.” His erection presses into my thigh. “May I offer you the
protection of my magic?”
He doesn’t need to ask me twice. Hell, the answer would be a
resounding yes, even without being surrounded by deadly mayhem.
“Please.”
The Boogie Man slices through the seam of my leggings and knickers,
letting the fabric drop to my knees. A cold draft swirls around my exposed
ass and pussy, making me shiver.
He gathers me into his arms and wraps my legs around his waist, so my
slit is balancing on his shaft.
It’s almost like riding a broomstick but without all the unnecessary
wood.
“Wet for me already?” he asks with a chuckle.
Someone tosses a grenade of magic that hits the sarcophagus, breaking
off chunks of stone.
My shriek makes his features fall with regret. I love the teasing, love the
build-up, the anticipation of pleasure, but neither of us can afford to wait.
The Boogie Man tightens his wings around my shoulders and pulls back
his hips so that one of his heads pops out from beneath my crotch. Before I
can take a good look at it, it closes around my clit.
His slit is already moist with precum, and I’m so sensitive that I feel
every drop.
 “Fuck,” I say from between clenched teeth.
The cockhead sucks me with strong pulses that make my pussy throb. I
cry out as every nerve in my body trembles, and my arms drop from around
his neck.
“Careful, darling.” He wraps a strong arm around my waist, even
though his wings swaddle me around the back like a cocoon. “We can’t
have you falling off.”
The roar of blood between my ears muffles the sounds of the battle, and
streams of magic pass around our bodies as though we’re within a
protective bubble.
Another of the Boogie Man’s heads pushes at my entrance, seeming to
ask for permission. The sucking sensation on my clit has gotten me so wet
and needy that all I can do is moan.
“Please,” I whisper.
“Please, what?” he growls.
Red magic zips over my shoulder. If I had the mental bandwidth, I
would wonder if that was because my clit has penetrated his cockhead, but
I’m aching and empty and desperate to be filled.
“Stick that fat mushroom tip in my pussy,” I say with a moan.
“As my lady commands.”
One cockhead slides into my entrance, making my breath catch. This is
a hundred times more erotic than a dildo because it’s the Boogie Man’s
slippery, insistent flesh. My pussy pulses around his girth, wanting more.
“Fuck,” he groans. “You are so hot, so wet, so tight. I want to stay
inside your sweet little cunt until the end of time.”
I preen under his approval. Someone on the edge of my awareness
screams, but I can’t concentrate on the ongoing battle. Not when another of
his cockheads rubs back and forth against my anus.
“What are you doing?” I ask with a gasp.
 “Making sure all holes are filled.” He presses a kiss on the corner of my
mouth. “Would you like me to stuff you with my huge cock?”
This is crazy.
Enforcers have infiltrated our stronghold, and my coven is fighting for
its life, and all I can think about is how the Boogie Man intends to pleasure
me with his quadruple-headed cock.
“Do it,” I say. “Stretch me open.”
“Naughty girl,” he says, and pushes a bulbous head into my pucker.
Another clamps onto my inner lips and gives it a firm pull. My clit
pulses within the moist sucker, and my pussy clenches around his thick tip.
I throw my head back and scream. “Fuck!”
The Boogie Man clamps a hand around my mouth. “Don’t let them head
your voice.”
“Sorry,” I mumble from behind his palm.
The head in my pussy pushes in and out, while the one in my ass
expands. Shivers run down my spine and across my nerves. He hasn’t even
started to fuck me properly yet, and I’m already gibbering.
“Please,” I say with a moan. “More friction to my clit.”
The head clamped around my sensitive bundle of nerves bobs up and
down while trying to suck out my soul. Then the Boogie Man cups my
breasts and closes his fingers around my nipple.
“Ahhh.”
A rumble sounds from above, bringing me back to the present. The
entire house and all its basements lift several feet, letting in streams of
moonlight.
The Boogie Man’s head snaps up. “What’s that?”
“Shit,” I hiss. “The Magical Council just sent reinforcements to
transport everyone off the premises. Are you sure your invisibility will
continue to hold?”
 “Let’s not take any chances.” His cockheads slip away, and his wings
loosen from around my back.
A cold draft hits my exposed skin, and through the melee, I lock eyes
with a male enforcer. His gaze slides down to my exposed pussy, and he
drops his staff.
My stomach flip-flops.
I grab the Boogie Man’s arm. “Why did you stop?”
He turns me around so I’m standing with my back against his chest,
then lifts me off my feet, and slips his cock beneath my pussy.
I glance over my shoulder to check on the enforcer picking up his fallen
staff. Just as he raises it to shoot, the Boogie Man’s cockhead clamps
around my clit.
“Ooohhh,” I groan both out of pleasure and relief.
A stream of green light flows through our connected bodies, but neither
of us flinches.
One of his cockheads slips back into my pussy, while the other pushes
into my ass. Every pleasure center in my body lights up like berries on a
Yule log. I lean against the Boogie Man’s broad chest and groan.
He wraps an arm around my middle. “Hold tight, Alienor,” he murmurs
into my ear. “I’m about to take off.”
 Chapter Forty-Three

ALIENOR
Fucking hell.
I’m now sitting directly over the Boogie Man’s tree trunk of an erection
with one of his cockheads clamped around my clit and two plugged into my
holes.
The fourth cockhead strokes a slow path up and down my wet slit.
Pleasure overwhelms my senses, which is probably why I agreed to
such a bizarre seating arrangement. I’m facing outward, so I can’t even
wrap my arms around his neck.
The Boogie Man’s grip around my waist is the only thing keeping me
from falling onto my face. But on the plus side, I’m invisible and
impervious to the battle.
“Ready?” he murmurs into my ear.
The cockhead around my clit squeezes hard, sending ripples of
sensation to my pussy. Every muscle in my pelvis clamps hard, making him
moan.
Like fuck am I ready.
I can’t ride the Boogie Man’s dick like it's the tail of a kite. But a
shadow falls over the void where the enforcers removed the house, and I
catch sight of a prison wagon.
 My throat closes with a whimper. “Let’s go.”
“Hold tight.”
I grab the arm around my waist with both hands. For good measure, I
use every ounce of strength to clench my asshole and my pussy.
“A-Alienor,” he says with a shudder. “So tight.”
“Hurry.”
The Boogie Man bends his knees and leaps up into the air, making my
stomach lurch. I cry out, but he clamps a hand over my mouth.
“Wait until we’re airborne before crying out with pleasure.”
My chest resounds with a low moan. I might enjoy the experience more
if we weren’t in the presence of so many powerful magic users.
I gaze down at the battle below, finding some of the younger witches
already in glowing chains. Grandma and Aunt Klara fight back to back with
a pair of second cousins, forming yellow spheres that deflect the enforcers’
attacks.
A few of the other witches have formed quartets and are fighting evenly
with the Council’s minions but there’s no winning against this new round of
reinforcements.
Grandma’s house hovers twenty feet off the ground in the type of
forensic bubble enforcers use to secure evidence. Beneath the building is a
crowd of naked men, each with different colored crystals for penises.
More enforcers fly around on broomsticks, each wielding longer,
thicker, and more dangerous-looking staffs than the ones who invaded the
ritual room.
My stomach plummets as we fly through the basement space. I place a
hand over my heart, hoping Grandma and the others stop resisting arrest.
Someone from below lets out an agonizing scream, making the fine
hairs on the back of my head stand to attention. It takes every effort to tear
my gaze away from the only family I’ve ever known, a group of women
who kept some terrible secrets.
 “Are you alright?” the Boogie Man asks.
“I can’t believe the coven would do something so cruel.”
“I can.”
“What do you mean?” I whisper.
“My wife enslaved me for decades,” he says without his usual
bitterness. “It is no surprise that her progeny would do the same to other
men.”
His wings slice through the void, propelling us ten feet over the
chamomile lawn. The full moon shines down from a star-lit sky, turning the
petals a delicate shade of silver.
“That night you and I slept in the same bed, I had a powerful dream
about King Henry,” I murmur.
He stills.
“I saw your wedding night.”
“You did?”
“I was your wife in the dream, and I saw that she was working with a
witch.”
“She had an entire coven at her command,” he snarls. “I had the lot of
them executed for treason.”
An explosion sounds from below, its shockwaves pushing us past the
enforcers and the confused-looking men, past the lawn and the rubble that
was once the guest cottage, and past the compost heap.
We drift over the orchard, where two figures sprint through the trees.
Aggie is tugging on a wooden stake attached to a naked man I vaguely
remember from the village.
“Hurry up,” she snaps.
“I’ve got a good mind to tell those enforcers you transfigured me into a
broomstick.”
“Good luck telling the Magical Council how you ran away of your own
free will to cheat with my grandma,” she hisses. “What the fuck were you
thinking?”
He sniffs. “At least the old lady didn’t take me for granted.”
Part of me wants to ask the Boogie Man to save Aggie, but then I
remember all the broomstick’s tree sap. Everything makes complete sense
now. Each time someone touched its shaft, it was like stroking a man’s
erection.
I shake my head. Aggie is no better than any other member of our
coven. The only difference is that she was more creative.
The Boogie Man nuzzles my neck, sending tingles across my skin. His
arm tightens around my waist, and the cockhead sucking my slit pulses with
up and down movements that make it throb.
My lips part with a moan. I wish the one in my pussy was a little longer.
“Would you like me to return your magic?” he asks.
Every muscle in my body stiffens, and my heart skips a beat. Of course,
I want my magic back. Without it, I’m not even a witch, but it took the
skills of Grandma to siphon power from an ancient corpse.
That magic disappeared when the Boogie Man tore it from his wife’s
chest. Even if I was capable of finding that power, there’s no way on earth
I’d be able to transfer something as nebulous as magic from one vessel to
another.
I turn my head to meet his arresting green eyes. “How, when I can’t
even use a wand?”
“Use mine.”
“But you don’t even have”—
It takes several seconds for me to realize he’s talking about his erection.
I slip my hand behind my back and wrap my fingers around his shaft.
“This wand?”
His chest makes a deep rumble that sends sensation across my spine.
“Precisely.”
“But how?”
 “You must take the power for yourself.”
My brow furrows. “Don’t you need a bit of magic to be able to steal it?”
“It’s in my balls,” he murmurs. “If you wish, I can pump you full of
power.”
The muscles of my pussy quiver around the thick cockhead, making the
Boogie Man shiver. If it were so simple to snatch a man’s magic through
sex, then every witch would strive to have a harem.
Pushing away those thoughts, I lean back into his strong chest. Almost
nobody knows the workings of the faeries. I shouldn’t assume that taking
his power is impossible.
“I want my magic back,” I murmur. “But more than anything, I want to
make love with you.”
“My cock has wanted you from the moment I crossed over into the
human realm, but all of that paled when you captured my heart.”
Warmth fills my chest and makes my heart flutter. “I did?”
“For the first time in my entire existence, I can love with my own free
will,” he says, his voice choked. “And I choose you, sweet Alienor.”
If I wasn’t flying over the ash trees, suspended by the Boogie Man’s
thick erection, my knees would buckle and I would collapse in a puddle of
warm goo.
Part of me already sensed the Boogie Man’s feelings. He was
completely devoted to me as the hound, who connected to me like a
familiar. As a man, he was obsessed, but somewhere along our erotic
encounters, he stopped wanting me dead.
“When did you realize this?” I ask.
“When you made me cum so hard that I drenched the garden in spunk,”
he growls. “You chased away my fog of frustration and fury, leaving me
clear-headed.”
“Oh.”
 “Even though I knew you weren’t her, I was still obsessed.” He pauses
to inhale a deep breath. “I wanted you more than ever because I saw the
goodness beneath all that beauty.”
I want to be able to tell him how much I share his feelings, but my mind
is still a jumble. In one short night, I woke up from a magical coma, got
attacked by a zombie stalker, and discovered the wickedness of my coven.
Despite everything happening too soon, too quickly, I would never say
no to becoming a witch again.
“Pump me dry, Alienor,” he says in a voice that’s deep and hypnotic and
resonates in my bones. “Fuck me until you’ve drained every ounce of magic
from my balls. Fuck me until they’re withered and dry. And when I’m
gasping and spent, I want you to fuck me and take that last drop.”
He cups my breast and tugs on my outer lip, making me cry out.
“O-okay, I’ll do it,” I say between ragged breaths. “But there’s one
thing.”
“Name it.”
A breeze makes the trees beneath us rustle and blows in the scent of the
orchid. Leaning back against him, I tilt my head toward the moonlit sky.
The Boogie Man is perfect, but how can I phrase this without complaining
or sounding crude?
I gulp.
“You’re just so big.” The words tumble from my lips. “One of your
cockheads is nearly stretching me to full capacity. I’m not sure I can handle
all four.”
The Boogie Man rolls my nipple between his fingers, sending sparks
across my skin.
“Worry not, dear Alienor. You are already so slippery and slick. By the
time I have finished with you, your sweet cunt will be ready for any number
of cocks.”
My breath quickens. “Really?”
 “And if it hurts, I will spread your pretty thighs wide and coat your sex
with my healing saliva.”
“Oh fuck,” I whisper. “Do you promise?”
“I guarantee it,” he growls.
He drifts toward a pond that reflects the full moon and lands on a lily
pad the size of a dining table. I’m still suspended by his huge dick, so my
feet don’t reach the vast, round leaf.
My skin tingles with anticipation. I’m not just having sex for the first
time—I’m about to perform some advanced sexual magic.
 Chapter Forty-Four

HENRY
The lily pad is damp underfoot and thrums with the magic of the lake. It
is almost a shame that I have to release Alienor, even for the short time it
will take to set up the ritual.
She is perfect in my arms—warm and soft and small with tight little
holes that tease my cockheads to distraction.
I want to spend the rest of my existence inside her slick heat, but to
make that happen, I need to let go.
With a sigh, I lower her to the lily pad and release my cockhead from
around her swollen nub. Alienor makes a noise of protest as I pull out from
her asshole and cunt.
A distant shriek sounds from overhead. My gaze snaps to the starlit sky,
where a dark figure races to the horizon on a struggling broomstick. From
their outline, I expect that it’s Alienor’s cousin, escaping Justice.
“Look at me,” I say to Alienor.
She turns, her beautiful brown eyes wide.
“You are wearing too much clothing,” I growl. “Take it off.”
Her cheeks darken, making my chest rumble. I have entered her every
hole, had her swallow my cock into her throat, and lapped at her sweet cunt
while she moaned and climaxed. Despite this, she is as timid as a maiden.
 She removes her hooded garment and tosses it over her shoulder.
My gaze drops to her full breasts and down to her slender waist. I want
to lay her on a lily pad and lick every inch of her creamy skin until she’s
begging for my cock.
She peers up at me through her lashes, her arms folded over her chest.
“I would ask you to do the same, but you never wear clothes.”
“There is no need for one as beautiful as you to be shy.” I cup the side
of her face and slide the pad of my thumb over her plump bottom lip. “In a
moment, you and I will become mates.”
She gasps. “How?”
“Once you have milked me of my cum, you will share both my magic
and immortality.”
Her gaze drifts down to my cock, which thickens under her regard.
Alienor’s eyes widen, and her mouth drops open.
“How did it get so big?”
My chest swells with pride, and my balls tighten. I shove those
sensations aside, take her hand, and bring it to my lips.
“Worry not, my sweet.” I place kisses on each knuckle. “We will make
it work. I also promise to give you full control.”
Some of the tension on her features eases. She takes her eyes off my
cock, only to dart her gaze across the lake. When she finally meets my eyes,
it’s with a frown.
“But do we have to do it somewhere so dangerous and public?”
I run a hand down her silky hair. “When I struck my bargain with the
Barghest, he brought me to the palace lake and explained that transfer of
magic only works in natural bodies of water.”
Every marking on my chest flares with the remembered pain of how the
Unseelie hound sank his teeth into my heart. Alienor will not suffer as I did.
She will experience nothing but pleasure.
She licks her lips. “Alright. Let’s do it.”
 My heart skips a beat. “Then I will get into position for the ritual.”
I release her hand and step back to the edge of the lily pad. She moves
to follow me, but I hold out a hand.
“Wait,” I say.
Alienor’s eyes widen as I unfurl my wings. Just from the feel of their
bones, I can tell that the magic I drew from deep within the earth has
restored them to their former grandeur.
My cock preens under her admiring gaze and my balls ache with the
need to pump their magic into my future mate.
Pushing my weight off the balls of my feet and onto my heels, I drift
backward until my wings lie flat on the water’s surface. As their leathery
membranes stretch outward, cold liquid seeps into my hair, pulling it off my
face.
Alienor staggers forward, her mouth dropping open. “What are you
doing?”
“Creating a landing pad.” I stretch out a hand. “Come, my love. Use my
wings as a mattress and balance your cunt on my face.”
She squeezes her thighs together, looking perplexed.
“Let me soften you up with my saliva.”
The strangled noise she makes in the back of her throat goes straight to
my cock and balls. All four heads stream with liquid precum, reminding me
that I am no longer under a curse.
Alienor walks to the edge of the lily pad and takes a tentative step on
my wings. They dip an inch under her weight, making her splay out her
hands for balance.
“That’s it,” I say, my pulse quickening. “One more step. I can take your
weight.”
Alienor moves forward with a little giggle and hurries to grab my hand.
“Good girl.” I wrap my fingers around hers. “I’ve got you.”
 She stands with both feet straddling my head, and I have to stifle a
groan. The view from below is incredible. As Alienor bends her knees
forward to straddle my face, I raise my head from the water for the first kiss
of that sweet cunt.
My tongue slides the entire length of her slit, taking in our mingled
flavors. She cries out and wiggles her hips as though the sensations are too
intense.
“Stay still,” I growl. “You will take what you’re given.”
Alienor settles with her nub in my mouth, and her ass resting beneath
my chin. My tongue rubs gentle circles over that tight little bud until her
thigh muscles relax into the rhythm.
I reach around, slide a finger into her tight heat, and rumble with
satisfaction to find her loose and slippery and wet. Her muscles tighten
around the digit as I pump it in and out.
“Could you take two fingers?” I ask around my mouthful.
“I-I don’t know,” she replies through panting breaths.
“Let’s try.”
I pull out the first finger and replace it with two.
Alienor lets out a keening sound that makes my blood sizzle. Her
muscles squeeze tight enough to grind my bones.
“Fuck,” I growl over her wet folds. “You’re doing so well.”
She makes a whispery sound that’s half moan and half chuckle. “Do you
think I could take your cock?”
“Not until you’ve taken four fingers.” I lash my tongue from side to side
and groan as she flutters around my digits.
At this rate, those muscles of hers will crush my shaft.
I slide my free hand up the smooth skin of her calf, up her thigh, and
over her hip. Alienor moans and stretches, her arms pointing to the sky.
“Every inch of you is exquisite.” I slide my hand over her ribcage and
cup her firm breasts.
 She pants, her hips bucking. As I roll her nipple between my thumb and
forefinger, her muscles entrapping my digits loosen. One day, those breasts
will swell with milk for my young.
“Good girl.”
I cannot believe I used to mistake this beauty for my wife. Now that my
mind is clear, I realize that Alienor fits the glamor my wife wanted me to
see. But this time, the vision of loveliness riding my face is real.
Alienor leans back, her breathy moans drifting over my cock like
caresses.
“That’s my girl,” I snarl, my tongue flickering over her tight bud. “Take
your pleasure.”
She undulates her hips with back and forth movements, riding my face
like it’s her racehorse. Her movements coat my skin with her sweet juices.
“That’s it,” I mumble around her nub. “Use me.”
I squeeze her nipple hard, making her buck her hips and moan. Her
sweet cries of pleasure mingle with the gentle sound of my tongue lapping
at her cunt.
The taste and scent and feel of her is perfection—nearly as satisfying as
filling her holes with my cock heads. Minutes pass as we build a steady
rhythm of her grinding those slick wet folds over my face. I feel the little
muscles around her entrance opening and closing as though desperate to be
filled.
At this rate, I will be the one who climaxes first.
I clench my jaw, holding back an oncoming orgasm. Every drop of cum
in my balls belongs to Alienor. I cannot ejaculate unless it’s to infuse her
with magic.
Thighs tightening, she twists her face into an expression that borders on
pain. Except I know she is on the verge of climaxing.
I lick harder, faster, and twist the fingers inside her channel as she rides
my face with abandon. Alienor leans down and grabs handfuls of hair like
they’re the reins on a stallion.
“Oh, fuck,” she cries. “I’m going to—”
Whatever she says next is lost in her scream. She spatters my face with
warm liquid.
Bloody hell.
I just made Alienor squirt.
She throws herself back, her face contorting. “Oh my god—”
“God cannot help you,” I growl. “But you will pray to me for
salvation.”
I pull out the two fingers and slide four into her opening. This time,
there is no resistance.
My chest roars with triumph.
Alienor is finally ready.
“Now my soon-to-be mate, it’s time for you to get on my cock.”
 Chapter Forty-Five

ALIENOR
Breathing hard and fast through my orgasm, I spasm around the Boogie
Man’s fingers. No amount of blinking can clear the silver spots dancing
before my eyes.
It feels like someone has replaced my blood with lighter fluid and struck
a match. Aftershocks make every inch of my body tremble. I have never in
my entire life climaxed so hard.
Water sluices over the leathery wings beneath my shins and out toward
the nearest lily pad. Somehow, between sitting on the Boogie Man’s face
and that explosive climax, we drifted into the middle of the lake.
His deep chuckle snaps me out of my stupor.
My muscles close around his fingers as he slides them out of my pussy,
and I want to scream at the loss. But when his words finally drift through
my fog of lust, I scramble backward off his face.
He wants me to ride his cock.
He wants me to absorb his magic-infused semen.
The Boogie Man gazes up at me, his green eyes blazing with need. “Can
you handle it?”
I nod.
 I need all four of those bulbous heads, but most of all, I need to
complete the ritual that joins us in magic, in immortality, and as mates.
If my libido wasn’t screaming at me to fuck him, I would spend a few
moments gazing at his unearthly beauty and wonder how he could still want
me, knowing I come from a coven of witches just as wicked as his wife.
I crawl backward, down his body, until something hard and slippery
pokes my ass. One of his cockheads gives me a playful pinch, making me
yelp.
“Those things have a mind of their own,” I whisper.
“Then you must tame them,” he says, his eyes blazing with a challenge.
He’s right.
I shuffle down a little further until I’m straddling his hips and staring
down at his huge cock. It lies flush against his six-pack, a long red shaft
with a flared tip that reminds me of a narrow palm with four bulbous
fingers.
My throat tightens. My pussy clenches. The sight of his huge dick
makes my brain return to its senses.
“Fuck,” I whisper. “That thing is never going to fit.”
“Your body was made for me,” he says. “We can make it work.”
I pant through my parted lips watching him reach down and grip
himself around the base. All four heads stream with precum, making my
mouth water for a taste.
“Place both hands on my shoulders. I will guide it in.”
“Alright.” Leaning forward, I get into position and hover my pussy
above his shaft. “Ready.”
I expect him to raise his hips and thrust inside me, but two of his heads
pull at my labia, stretching it open. A pleasant shiver runs down my spine.
“What are you doing?” I ask.
“Taking it one head at a time,” he says in a voice that echoes across the
lake.
 A breeze blows through some nearby bulrushes, making me conscious
of our surroundings, but then his first head slips inside with a gentle stretch.
As soon as it breaches my entrance, the second pushes its way in.
The stretch is so pleasurable that I make a low, keening moan.
“That’s my girl,” he rumbles as that head slips inside. “See how well
you’re taking two tips?”
I squeeze around them, the pulse behind my clit pounding hard enough
to reach my eardrums.
He sticks his finger into his mouth, coats it with saliva, and slides it
around my stretched entrance.
“What are you doing?” I say through ragged breaths.
“Priming you for the third head.” His voice is thick and choked as if
every word is a struggle.
“Yes,” I moan. “Give me more.”
“As my lady desires,” the Boogie Man says with a groan.
One of the heads holding my labia releases its grip and slips into my
channel. I bite down on my bottom lip as it pushes, stretches, and fills me
better than a crystal dildo.
My clit throbs. My muscles clench and spasm around the three heads.
“Shit,” I whisper. “It’s too much.”
He gazes up at me, his green eyes blazing with desire. “You will take it
and love it.”
The fourth head clamps around my clit and sucks hard.
My toes curl. My fingers splay out across his shoulders. My pussy
muscles clamp so tightly that they make the Boogie man whimper. Pressure
builds up around my clit. I’m so close to climaxing that one more pulse will
push me over the edge.
“Alienor,” he says, his voice strained. “Stop clenching around those
heads unless you want me to shoot my load before the incantation.”
“It might be too late.” My voice trembles in sync with my pussy.
 “I. Will. Not. Spill. A. Drop,” he says from between clenched teeth.
The cockhead sucking my clit releases it with an obscene pop, and my
muscles relax just enough for the Boogie Man to fully sheath himself in my
pussy.
As his fourth head burrows inside, every nerve in my pelvis thrums with
pleasure.
“Fuck,” I say with a gasp. “It’s in.”
My body feels so full that I swear I can feel those cockheads hitting the
back of my throat. I’m panting so hard and blinking spots out of my vision.
“See how well you’re taking it?” The Boogie Man rubs up and down
my trembling thighs. “Now, slide down my shaft and swallow me whole.”
I’m so hot, so slick, so ready for more that taking in the rest of him is
pure ecstasy. My muscles twitch around his girth, trying to adjust.
Once he’s fully sheathed, the Boogie Man grabs my hips. “Stay still.”
“What’s wrong?”
He gazes up at me, his eyes bright. “This is the first time I have been
with a woman of my own free will.”
My breath catches, and time stills for several heartbeats. I knew his wife
put a spell on him before they were married but I had no idea she had been
his only lover. This moment isn’t just a ritual—it’s the consummation of our
connection.
“It’s also my first time,” I reply.
His lips curl upward with satisfaction, and my chest fills with warmth.“I
want to commit this moment to memory,” he murmurs. “I want to savor the
sight of you on top of me and revel in the way you squeeze my cock.”
We gaze into each other’s eyes for several moments. My heart aches at
the thought of King Henry never having experienced true love, but my chest
swells at the notion of being the one to heal the creature he’s become.
I can’t believe I’ve just lost my virginity to the man who terrorized me
since I was eighteen. I can’t believe he’s willing to share his magic. Most of
all, I can’t believe we’re about to become mates.
His cockheads twitch and swell deep in my pussy, setting off an
explosion of sensation. I rock forward, making him groan.
“Alienor.”
“Oh, fuck,” I whisper, my fingers clutching his shoulders. “I can’t
wait.”
“Then milk me,” he growls. “If this incantation is going to work you
will fuck me to the brink of death.”
As I raise my hips off his cock, one of the heads presses against a spot
that makes my breath stutter. I grind my hips, chasing the sensation until
I’ve built up a steady up-and-down rhythm.
The Boogie Man’s lips part and he gazes up at me like I’m the last
wonder of the world.
“Just like that,” he says. “Ride me hard, ride me fast, ride me without
mercy or restraint.”
“How will I know if I’ve absorbed the magic?” I ask through ragged
breaths.
“The markings on my chest will fade.”
I slide up and down his length, my muscles squeezing around his girth.
He grips my hips, helping me along, and hisses through his teeth.
“You’re a perfect fit,” he grinds out. “So hot and wet and tight. I love
how your sweet little cunt strangles my cock.”
My breath quickens as he thrusts upward, rubbing against a spot that
lights up my pleasure centers like fireworks. I never knew that sex with my
worst enemy could be so wonderful.
He enchants a series of incantations in a stream of old English mixed
with Gaelic. It’s hard to concentrate on his spell with four massive heads
stroking my insides.
A breeze sweeps across the lake, cooling my fevered skin, but it only
stokes the furnace burning within my core. Pressure adds to the heat,
building in intensity with each movement of his hips.
My hands curl around his shoulders as I ride him, harder, faster, toward
the beginnings of an intense orgasm.
One of his cockheads grazes a spot over and over that makes me see
double. Pleasure overwhelms my senses, and I squeeze my eyes shut.
The Boogie Man grabs my chin. “Eyes on me, Alienor,” he growls. “I
want to see your soul.”
“A-alright.”
His chest rumbles. “Good girl. Now, I’m going to complete the first
spell and fill you with my cum. Squeeze tight and don’t waste a drop.”
I give him a shaky nod.
With one snap of his hips, he sets off an orgasm that sends an explosion
of pleasure through my core. It pushes past my belly button, into my chest,
down my legs, and into my curled toes. The muscles of my pussy clamp
around his erection like a fist.
“Fuck,” he roars, upsetting a distant flock of birds.
As he says the last words of his incantation, his cock swells then
spatters my insides with warm cum. I tighten around him as though trying
to suck the magic from his balls.
Every star in the sky reflects in his dark eyes, or maybe the orgasm is
making me see celestial bodies. My skin tingles, my nerves hum, and my
core feels like it's been set alight. The heat travels through my system,
infusing me with molten power.
“It’s working,” I say with a gasp.
The Boogie Man groans. “Keep fucking until I’m wrung dry.”
My muscles twitch around his shaft, and my limbs tremble. “But my
orgasm hasn’t finished.”
He bucks his hips. “The sun rises in less than three hours. You have
until then to drain my magical spunk.”
 I raise my hips until all four heads flare outwards with a stretch so deep
that I feel it across my thighs. Aftershocks from the first orgasm make my
nerves vibrate like plucked violin strings.
“Fuck.” I slide back with a moan. “It’s too much.”
“Alienor,” the Boogie Man growls. “You can take it.”
He’s right. My body wants to revel in the pleasure, but I’m still a
member of a coven of criminals. Technically, that makes me a fugitive.
Tonight might be our only chance to secure this bond before the Council
comes searching for more witches to arrest.
I quicken my pace and build up a rhythm that makes him pant. The
markings on his chest are still as dark as ever and swirl to form intricate
patterns I can’t begin to understand.
Ignoring them, I lean forward and roll my hips at an angle that makes
my nerves light up like shooting stars.
“Aaah,” I cry.
“You like that, Alienor?” The Boogie man grinds against me, putting
more pressure on that spot.
“It’s incredible.”
“I could fuck you like this every day until the realms crumble to dust,”
he says. “I could never get tired of seeing you looking so wanton.”
My heart flutters, both at his devotion and at the compliment. I have
finally found someone who sees me. He doesn’t give a shit that I never had
the right kind of magic.
A hunger forms deep in my core, urging me to continue. I ride him hard
and fast until he stiffens, his back arching, his mouth opening in a silent
scream. His next orgasm sets off mine, infusing me with even more magic.
Instead of reveling in the pleasure, I resume fucking.
We continue like this all night. Even though I should be exhausted after
everything I’ve suffered, each of his ejaculations makes me surge with
power.
 By the time the first signs of sunlight peek out from behind the distant
trees, the Boogie Man’s cock softens until I can no longer feel the stretch.
I cup the side of his damp face. “Is that enough?”
He stares up through unseeing eyes. His pupils are pinpricks set within
irises as gray as sludge.
“Are you alright?” I whisper.
“One more,” he rasps.
I shake my head. “But—”
“Just to be certain.”
My gaze drops down to his chest, which is now devoid of black
markings and color.
“You’ve lost your erection. And your tattoos.”
The Boogie Man’s eyes roll backward, his wings crumpling. His entire
head submerges into the water and his body sinks like a stone.
I’m about to tumble after him but pain slices across my shoulder blades,
and I sprout a pair of wings. They flare out, keeping me a foot above the
water’s surface.
As the Boogie Man disappears into the lake’s depths, I surge forward,
but the wings hold me back.
“No!”
Did I just kill the Boogie Man?
 Chapter Forty-Six

ALIENOR
A cold fist of terror clenches my heart at the sight of his plummeting
body. I plunge my arms into the water to catch him before he reaches the
bottom of the lake.
The moment I submerge my elbows, my new wings hoist me toward the
sky.
“No,” I scream, my voice hoarse.
It takes several seconds of thrashing to work out how to fold the wings
behind my back, and after a few false starts, I dive into the lake.
The water is even colder beneath the surface, but I barely feel the chill
against my newly toughened skin. As I slice through the current, I catch
sight of my fingers. They’re just like his—black and tipped with claws.
An ache spreads across my chest, filling my heart with regret. If I had
known the Boogie Man wanted me to leave him powerless, I would never
have agreed to the sex magic.
Sunlight streams through the lake’s surface, illuminating my way, but
my eyesight is so sharp that I can see in the gloom. Down below, a dark
figure sinks at an alarming rate, making my pulse quicken.
I swim harder, stretch out my arms, and close my fingers around his
hand. It’s cold, stiff, lifeless.
 My heart sinks.
He can’t be dead.
With one mighty flap of my wings, I shoot through the water, holding
onto the Boogie Man’s hand. We break the surface, and I lay him on a lily
pad.
He’s motionless, his skin as pale as death, with his black hair limp
around his head like a shroud. His chest lies unmoving, devoid of markings.
Even his wings are gone.
I roll him onto the side and push a pulse of magic into his back. His
body spasms with a jolt, but there’s no sign of breath.
The backs of my eyes burn, but I won’t let the tears fall. It wasn’t meant
to be like this. We were supposed to be together. The Boogie Man wouldn’t
sacrifice himself just to give me magic. Maybe I did something wrong.
“Wake up.” I place a hand on his cold cheek.
He doesn’t even stir.
I smooth his hair out of his face and slide my fingers down to the pulse
point on his neck. There’s no warmth, no thrum, no sign of life.
“What was the point of giving me this magic if it meant you would
die?” My voice cracks. “Please, open your eyes.”
When nothing happens, I swallow back a sob.
“Please,” I whisper to the goddess. “Give me a clue.”
The clouds part, letting out rays of morning sun. It bounces on the outer
casing of my locket and lights up his chest.
An idea slides into place. What if something went wrong because of the
locket? The locket stopped working when Grandma and Aunt Klara
removed my magic, but it must have activated at some point during the sex
ritual.
With cold, trembling fingers, I unclasp my necklace and place it over
the Boogie Man’s heart. Then, I catch sight of the band of leather on my
wrist.
 My heart skips a beat. That’s Norbert’s bracelet.
I’m no necromancer, but what if I used my new power and the bracelet’s
magic to revive the Boogie Man?
Hovering a hand over the necklace, I channel my power into the
bracelet and recite a basic revival spell.
Black magic pours from my claws and seeps into his chest. It swirls
beneath his skin, forming brand new markings. I push more power into the
spell, but he doesn’t so much as twitch.
My shoulders sag, and my vision clouds with tears.
“You were supposed to be immortal,” I say through ragged breaths. “We
were supposed to have a future.”
I continue transferring magic until the dark color leaches from my
fingertips, and his chest inflates. Slippery leathery stretches beneath my
shins, making me pull back. His wings have returned.
A sharp breath whistles through my teeth.
It’s working.
I wait for him to exhale, but when he doesn’t, I place my hand over his
heart.
“There has to be something else,” I murmur. “What am I missing?”
The Boogie Man remains unmoving, making me wonder if I imagined
him taking that first breath. As a wagon trundles past beyond the trees, a
dog starts to bark.
My mind rolls back to the night before when he explained how he
gained his immortality.
“If the Barghest transferred his magic through a bite, could I do the
same?”
Running the tip of my tongue along my incisor, I drop my gaze to a
faded scar on the Boogie Man’s neck. I’ve got to sink my teeth into his
flesh. It’s not like I have anything to lose.
 “I’m just trying something,” I murmur in case there’s anything left of
him still inside struggling back to consciousness. “But it’s going to hurt.”
With a deep breath, I lean down, plunge my teeth into the side of his
neck and wait. Wait for the magic to transfer. Wait for him to awaken with a
noisy gasp. Wait for any sign of life.
A flock of birds flies overhead, reminding me of how much time has
passed since the enchantment went wrong. My gaze flicks up to the sun,
which now hovers over the distant trees.
Nothing can bring a man back from the dead. Not when he’s been
unresponsive for so long. Not when he’s cheated death for centuries. Not
when I have no idea how to perform necromancy or Unseelie magic.
My heart splinters, and a surge of emotion thickens my throat. Grandma
would know what to do or at least know where to find information. The
only hope I have left is to visit the library, but I can’t leave the Boogie
Man’s side.
I pull my teeth out from his neck and whisper, “Nothing’s working.”
It’s too late to call emergency services. Even if I wasn’t technically a
fugitive, two winged creatures would end up banished from the realm or
dissected by the Council.
A sob catches in my chest.
This is just like the ending of that book, Unwilling Bride of the Seelie
King, only it’s the man who has lost his life.
“Is this where I say I can’t continue without you?” My words come out
choked. “That I wanted you from the moment I saw you on that footage I
shot of you trashing my room?”
I pause, as though waiting for him to say something, but he remains
still.
“Fuck, I even miss you as the hound.”
Clouds drift over the sun, casting us in gloom. A cool breeze sweeps
over the surface of the lake, but my newly toughened skin doesn’t register
the change in temperatures.
The next idea that tumbles through my head is ridiculous and only
works in smutty fae romances. But I’ve run out of options.
It’s time to give the Boogie Man a true love’s kiss.
My wing bones twitch, although it’s hard to tell if that’s out of
encouragement or embarrassment because these things only work in fiction.
“You probably can’t hear me, but I’m going to say it anyway,” I
murmur, my fingers tracing his sharp cheekbone. “All my life, no one has
ever seen me as special. I’ve never had anyone to call my own until you.”
My wings spread out, trying to cocoon the Boogie Man. I should be
searching through forbidden texts, trying out spells, not confessing my
feelings to someone whose soul has probably left this realm.
“Trapping you was beyond exciting, and every time you returned to
stalk me, I felt special.”
I shift uncomfortably on the lily pad. “It wasn’t just because of the
attention. You were charming when you wanted to be, beautiful, and
mysterious. And you have this way with words.”
A bitter laugh bubbles from my chest. “Right now, I would give
anything to hear you growl at me or threaten me with your claws.”
Tears gather in the corners of my eyes, turning my vision into a blur of
black and white and green.
“I loved you as the hound. I knew you were meant to be mine, and when
I banished you—”
My breath hitches.
That had been vicious, dangerous, insane.
“You came back from the other realm to save me from Norbert.” My
voice breaks. “And even after the coven tried to sacrifice you and turn you
into a dildo, even after facing down your wife’s corpse, you still saw me as
my own person.”
 I blink, loosening the tears. They flow down my cheeks and onto his
unmoving lips.
“You forgave me,” I rasp. “You gave up your magic to keep me safe.”
The hand tracing his cheekbone slides down to his wet hair.
“I love you, Henry Curtmantle, Duke of Normandy, King Henry II of
England. I loved you from the moment you appeared in my trap, I loved
you when I thought you were my familiar, and the feelings I have for you
now are beyond love.”
I place a kiss on his cold lips, only for my skin to tingle with the
beginnings of tiny sparks.
Bloody hell.
Something’s happening.
He spasms once, twice, then coughs up a mouthful of water.
I draw back, my heart soaring, my wings folding backward to give him
space.
He rolls to the side and pants. I rub gentle circles between his shoulder
blades. As his breathing calms and his wings relax, I draw backward, my
eyes wide.
Did I just perform necromancy?
“Alienor?” He turns around to gaze at me through bleary eyes. “You
have wings, and your ears…”
My hand drifts up to my hair. “The spell worked a little too well. I lost
you for a moment.”
His Adam’s apple bobs up and down. “I should have removed your
locket. The wretched thing extracted me from my body, and I was trapped.”
A breath stills in my lungs. “I knew it was supposed to absorb spirits,
but—”
“What matters is that you helped me fight my way back.” He cups my
cheek and runs a thumb over my lips. “I heard every word you said as you
begged me to return.”
 Gulping, I lower my lashes.
“Look at me,” he says, his tone commanding.
My gaze snaps back to his green eyes. Green eyes that shine with the
type of love I’ve only read about in romance books.
The sun peeks out from behind the clouds, warming my fluttering heart
and coloring the ends of his hair a beautiful shade of indigo.
“You truly were built for me,” he says, his voice breathy with wonder.
“Because of your love, I am reborn, and I will spend the rest of my days
proving myself worthy of your heart.”
The words are so powerful that the air crackles, or maybe it’s the
intensity of our bond. I’m no longer the witch with the faulty magic,
waiting for her moment to shine.
His fingers trace over the tips of my wings, making them shiver. “You
are my perfect mate.”
 Epilogue

SEVEN YEARS LATER

ALIENOR
I pick up the scent of my prey—freshly cut grass, vanilla, and mischief.
The trees surrounding our home are thicker than they were the night of
the arrest, with tall chamomile flowers attuned to our magic.
Our wards are now so powerful that the intruders can’t penetrate them,
but the magic makes it difficult to hunt down runaways.
A growl reverberates in the back of my throat.
Where are Geoffrey and Matilda?
At this time of the day, they’re supposed to be napping, but it looks like
their father hasn’t stuck to their timetable.
I call him Henry these days because we both wield the same magic,
sport the same wings, and can also shift from shadows to a hound. Besides,
there’s no way I want to be known as the Boogie Woman.
A twig snaps underfoot. I jerk my head to the right, my gaze sharpening
toward a gnarled ash tree. A large figure darts between the trunks, and I
give chase.
Dried leaves and twigs snap underfoot as I rush in pursuit of my prey.
I’m faster on four legs, but I’ll have to shift if Henry decides to fly.
 Excitement thrums in my veins, and my tongue lolls to the side. I’m not
even going to attempt to be stealthy. I’ve had seven years of sneaking
around the Magical Council, and I've perfected the art of the hunt.
After retrieving his soul from my locket and his body from the lake, we
returned to Grandma’s house to find enforcers rounding up Aggie and a few
runaways into a wagon. Henry and I were too exhausted to intervene, but
we tagged along to the facility where they’d imprisoned the other witches.
It took days for us to regain our strength, but when the Magical Council
staged a public trial, we had to attend.
The judges sentenced the entire coven to death for fraud, imprisonment,
forced labor, and assault, even though the men they’d turned into dildos
were criminals.
Because most of the guilty witches had died hundreds of years ago and
were beyond punishment, the Council sentenced Grandma and the others to
death.
After raiding the library, Henry and I opened a portal into the prison and
helped the coven escape. Now, Grandma and the others live in an isolated
castle in the Champagne region of France.
Enforcers came to Grandma’s house looking for them, and Henry made
himself visible, tucked away his wings, and identified himself as the
coven’s first victim. He even claimed the land in compensation for his
suffering.
The Council let him keep Grandma’s house and garden but sold the
chain of apothecary stores to pay for the other men’s upkeep.
Since the enchantment darkened my hair and enhanced my features,
nobody recognizes me as part of the Styx coven.
Branches rustle overhead, and someone makes a muffled bark.
They’re close.
I dip into a low crouch and stalk around a twisted ash tree. Henry stands
beneath its canopy, holding a pair of squirming puppies.
 My heart swells, and all thoughts of their nap schedule vanish into the
ether as they gaze at me through Henry’s startling green eyes.
Matilda has mostly black fur with a patch of white between her eyes
that spreads down her snout and chest. She gives me a happy bark.
Geoffrey gives me an excited yip. His fur is black with patches of gold
around the brow, the cheekbones, and the paws. He looks more like me,
while Matilda is a patchy version of Henry.
“How was the coven?” Henry asks with a smile.
I shift into my two-legged form and stretch out my wings. “They’re all
miserable.”
Henry hands me the puppies and presses a kiss on my temple. “It’s time
for you to stop worrying about those witches. They’re getting better than
they deserve.”
He’s right. What the coven did to those men was unforgivable, but I
couldn’t stand back and allow the Council to murder my only family.
Matilda shifts back into a little girl with long black hair and freckles.
She gazes up at me through sleepy eyes. “Daddy’s teaching us to hunt!”
Geoffrey transforms into a boy with curly brown hair and gives me a
soft yawn. “We caught a rabbit.”
My gaze turns to Henry. Now that he’s not holding the children, he
looks exactly as he did that time he stalked me through the orchard—dark,
wild, and dangerous.
And the grin he gives me is utterly wicked.
My heart flutters. Sometimes, I can’t believe the creature I found so
terrifying is now the father of my children and my mate.
As he disappears behind the tree, the air turns still, and magic crackles
against my skin. I can’t wait to see what he’s planned.
Moments later, I feel fingers brush the hair off my shoulders, and he
traces a path of kisses up my neck. “I know you wanted them to nap while
you visited the coven,” he says, his voice low and seductive. “But I wanted
them tired for your return.”
A pleasant shiver runs down my spine. I squeeze my thighs together and
I ignore the sensation. “Why?”
“So we won’t be disturbed while I take you flying.”
I glance down at the sleeping four year olds and smile. It’s going to be a
very pleasant afternoon.
THE END
 About the Author

I write dark contemporary and paranormal romance featuring villains, monsters, morally gray heroes,
and the women who make them feral.
When I’m not writing steamy scenes, you’ll probably find me at my TikTok, @SiggyShade
Join my newsletter for exclusive short stories and updates on upcoming books:
www.siggyshade.com/newsletter
Also by Siggy Shade
Paranormal Romance:
Tentacle Entanglement
Swallowing Water

Contemporary Romance
Wicked Lessons