Abigail & The Warlock

~ SHORT SEDUCTIONS | STORY 9 ~

Maybe creating a lightning storm in the living room of her mentor, the great and powerful warlock, Jack Briggs wasn’t the best idea. Following him to Seductions after he disavowed her was a completely stupid idea. Admitting she loved him was probably the worst of them all.

But lately Abigail Harding has not been known for making good decisions. Can she possibly turn this night around and gain control of her magic and the man she loves?

Welcome to Seductions. Step into the most popular bar in New England and enter a world where Others live side-by-side with unsuspecting humans. At Seductions the drinks are always tasty, the romance is always hot, and the patrons aren’t always human.

More from this Series

Excerpt

Jack Briggs was a combination of Attila the Hun, Zeus, and Merlin all rolled into one impeccable and perfectly handsome package. There was nothing worse than having one of the sexiest men walking smile at you, give you that look like he was interested in you and your progress, and then in the blink of an eye cut you down to a blithering, whimpering, endlessly apologetic idiot.

Abigail was tired of apologizing. She was also quite resentful of the way Jack’s dark brown wavy hair was always perfect, no matter what witch-made windstorm blew threw.

Tonight’s debacle included gale force winds, torrential downpours, and a lightening storm in Jack’s living room. It had taken less than a minute’s time to put the entire place in shambles.

His plush velvet couch was soaked and sizzling from the lightening strike. His massive bookcases crashed to the floor, volumes upon volumes of legal books and spell books strewn across the hardwood. A hole large enough to drive a Range Rover through smoked in the middle of the room, and the embers of a burning ash coffee table glowed from the basement below. Apparently both the table and the newly polished floor were unable to withstand six rapid-fire lightening hits.

Jack’s voice boomed above the storm as he shouted an incantation to render his pupil’s errant spell impotent. Abigail’s eardrums hurt, and nearly every ounce of magic energy drained from her body as he spoke the hideous chant.

He’d used it on her several times over the past few months with a growing frequency that now seemed like a daily event.

Rage colored his face. His dark blue eyes, generally the color of the mid-summer hydrangeas Abigail was so fond of, turned black as night. From his neck, up his cheeks to his forehead, the brightest shade of red she’d ever seen flared.

At six-feet and four-inches tall he already towered over her five-foot, four-inch frame. But when Jack was angry, er, outraged he somehow seemed bigger, wider, scarier.

“How the hell did you do that?” He grabbed her by her arms and held her up off the floor so they were nearly face-to-face.

“I, you, well, I don’t know! You said to practice—”

“Not in my house! I never said make it rain in my living room!”

“Well, I thought—”

“That’s just it. You thought.” He dropped her onto the floor, thankfully not in the hole. “And somehow when you think, thoughts get confused, ideas become ridiculous. Simple spells turn to dangerous, diabolical disasters.”