Katherine McIntyre

“Alanna Carrington, head witch of the Philadelphia Coven, hurtled his way, and with her, trouble was a guarantee.”

“Because one look into his eyes, and she was drowning in what existed there and didn’t want to surface.”

“Her lips against his, the sun soaking into their skin, and the sweet, fragrant breezes that wafted through this isolated picnic area was nothing short of perfection.”

“Despite the cold chill, she burned inside with a hunger she didn’t want to dismiss. Not tonight.”

“She felt him smile against her neck and bit down, the sensation sending shivers through her. “Bad girl. If you keep doing that, I’ll have you stripped and on your back before you can blink.”

“Ice upon ice, and yet, inside, she melted and mourned all the same.”

“They dabbled in dark magic like finger painters in first grade art class, and then most of them were either killed by their creations or ran the other way from the nightmares they unleashed.”

“Flirt with the old ladies and you’ll be fine,” I muttered, shoving my stuff into the cubby. He hung his green hoodie on the hooks right beside me. “Is that how you get by?” “Doesn’t work on the old ladies for me, but the old men on the other hand?” I paused and glanced at my nails. “Yeah, doesn’t work on them either.”

“A lazy smile reached his lips. “The mere sight of me shirtless takes your mind there? Good to know. I’d rather a solid fuck than getting my kumbayas out.”

“He knew too well the sting of loneliness and how over time it stole you away, piece by piece, until a mere shell remained.”

“Despite the way she rallied, the haunted look in her eyes was enough to break him, as lost and lonely as an abandoned child’s.”