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WITCH LORE
An Excerpt From: Witch Lore
Copyright © ALISON PAIGE, 2007
All Rights Reserved, Ellora's Cave Publishing, Inc.
Isabell closed her eyes and stretched out her senses. She found him like a pulsating light in the darkness of her mind. She felt his power or rather her power, the power of her spell still charging through his veins, whispering to his mind, energizing his body. But there was something different, something unexpected. She recognized the feel of her magic, like one recognizes their own handwriting, but there was more to it. The signature had been enhanced in a way. It was her power yet he’d assimilated it into his own akasha, made it his, and the feel of it sent a warm rush through her body.
Her smile grew wider. Oh this was better than she’d even dared hope. Handsome and a natural magical conduit. If he was a dimwit, she could probably live with it in the face of such a rare find in a human male. And it’d been so easy—casting the spell, luring the perfect mate to appease the fairies. Why hadn’t her mother or grandmother or her mother before her thought of it? A century’s old pact satisfied in less than a week. Perhaps she was the evolutionary perfection of fairy and human blood.
Or maybe she was just lucky.
“Uh, this is gonna sound…strange.”
Isabell startled at the rich sound of his voice. Like the long draw of a bow across the strings of a cello, the sound hummed through her body, vibrating over sensitive feminine nerves deep inside her. She glanced his way to see he was speaking to Stacy, allowed the feel of his voice to caress her like a secret pleasure.
“I was looking for… Ah, actually, I don’t know what I was looking for. A psychic, a palm reader, some people call her a witch. I don’t know, I checked the yellow pages but I don’t suppose witches typically take out ads.”
Stacy cracked her gum and rolled her shoulders. “Sure they do. Try lookin’ under A for alchemy.”
The man snorted, a half smile flickering across his lips. His eyes narrowed and his expression turned puzzled as though he wasn’t sure if she were joking. “Okay.”
Sixth sense prickled and Isabell heeded its warning, shuffling out of sight farther down the aisle. She kept the Twinkies.
“If it’s a witch you’re lookin’ for—”
“That’s right,” the man said. “The, ah, Witch of Seven Isles.”
“Yeah,” Stacy said. “Catchy, huh? She just went down aisle three.”
A distinct pop snapped in Isabell’s ears. The sound of a spell completed.
His footsteps padded along the linoleum floor behind her. His akasha, his personal power or aura, pressed ahead of him. Isabell felt it when he’d passed the Twinkies display. His akasha was big, very big and solid as a brick wall. Isabell’s chest tightened at the feel of it rubbing up the back of her thighs, over her bottom, pressing against her back. Her hands went moist and muscles low in her body responded as though stroked by a hot wind.
She dropped the Twinkie box into her basket and reached for the loaf of fresh Italian bread she’d come for. Isles Market had the best fresh-baked bread.
“Excuse me.”
Her eyes closed, enjoying his voice one last time in private. She turned. “Yes?”
He flinched back at the sight of her, blinked, his modest manly lips parting, male appreciation glinting in his eyes. He collected himself quickly enough and smiled. “My name is David Pennyfield, I believe I was referred to you.”
They were blue, his eyes, blue as bellflowers. She knew they’d be pretty. “To me? Whatever for?”
“Answers,” he said. “Assistance. I have an…odd sort of problem. I was told you were uniquely skilled to help me.”
Isabell raised a brow. “Really? What unique skill would that be exactly?”
“Magi—” Color washed through his cheeks, his breath held as though the words stuck in his throat. He exhaled and smiled. “I’m sorry. May I ask your name?”
Isabell raked her gaze over him, made a show of it, taking his measure. “You may. It’s Isabell. Isabell Faylinn Dionysus. Now I’ll ask you, if you don’t know my name, how were you referred to me?”
“Isabell Faylinn Dionysus,” he repeated, his smile growing. “Not often people offer their middle name when asked.”
She shrugged, ignoring the way his pretty eyes crinkled at the corners when his smile brightened. He was handsome but the smile was positively devastating. Oh yes, she was a powerful and lucky witch. And so terribly pleased with herself she couldn’t help making the poor dear work for what he wanted. After all, if he was going to marry a witch, and he was, whether he knew it yet or not, he’d have to come to terms with discussing magic out loud.
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