February 3, 2017
Erotic Paranormal - Wiccan Haus series
She’s caught between the para and human world…he’s always been an outcast.
At the Wiccan Haus, they’ll find each other and paradise.
As a crossbreed good fairy, Bliss is tired of goodness, light, and everything that’s right. Talk about boring. Her human half demands a bad boy. Someone who’ll curl her hair and toes, while also cherishing her. In other words, the whole enchilada.
Enter Fallon. Tall, dark, handsome, and seriously dangerous. No, seriously. He’s a reaper. Trouble is he’s started to covet human emotions. Longing. Lust. Love. He needs healing fast to get his head screwed on right and go back to the way he was.
Bliss doesn’t agree and is determined to show him another way. Sometimes you have to break all the rules to find your destiny.
Of all the places Fallon wanted to be, the Wiccan Haus wasn’t one of them. Of course, innumerable problems awaited him off the island he couldn’t escape any longer. His superior ordered him here to heal or else.
Fallon couldn’t imagine what new shit he’d get stuck with that’d be worse than what he’d known his entire existence.
Dread dogged him, but he slung his knapsack over his shoulder. Time to get this show on the road. Then again, maybe not.
Bliss loitered in the doorway, gaze hopeful, lips parted, her fragrance lingering as she did. She smelled of the first warm breeze in spring. Air wrapped in sunshine. Yet her musk conjured visions of decadent nights lost in her carnal embrace. An enticing paradox.
His cock stiffened and his balls plumped.
No one had to tell him she was a good fairy with a darker, human side. Sin flared in her gray eyes. Oatmeal-colored freckles sprinkled her small nose and rosy cheeks. For a fae, her height amazed, but her hair color was the ultimate giveaway as to her true ancestry, being a crossbreed. The top part was startling white, the bottom half that grazed her shoulders was pure black. Two toned like Myron’s, but naturally so.
Bliss couldn’t hide what she was any more than Fallon could with himself. Beneath his T-shirt, he bore a mark that revealed his heritage. The seer didn’t have to see it to know what Fallon was. Humans didn’t either. Eventually and instinctively, they caught onto the danger he posed for them or their loved ones.
Bliss hadn’t noticed. Yet.
Her smile invited—a come-on no sane man could resist. Sugar and spice with loads of vice. By all the gods in the universe, she was something. Rather than walk, she glided and wore clothes once popular in the nineteen-sixties: a sheer white blouse with puffy sleeves and faded blue jeans. She was and wasn’t barefoot, having tied strings around her slender toes and ankles then decorated them with silver and crystal hearts. Wickedly cute.
She should leave.
She had no business being around him. For her to believe he could deliver anything but grief, as he had to countless others, was seriously nuts. His outer appearance and persona attracted her, not the monster inside. The reaper he was and would always be.
Contrary to what humans or many paras believed, reapers weren’t skeletal, decked out in funeral attire, their hair oily and slicked back, skin icy, breath fetid.
Even the bravest fool would run from someone like that, which made reaping far too difficult.
TGR, or The Grim Reaper, Fallon’s boss, came up with a solution. He made his male and female soldiers attractive so they could easily seduce those whose souls they sought. Like a moth drawn to a flame or a fly stuck in a spider’s web, the poor suckers didn’t see anything but good looks and forgot to protect themselves until it was too late. That’s when Fallon and his fellow reapers pounced. The mortals still fought, pleaded, and wailed, but by then they didn’t have a prayer.
Hell of a way to make a living, especially when innocents or the young needed reaping.
For eons, that hadn’t been a problem for him. He’d carried out his orders swiftly and without regret. Unfortunately, no one had warned him not to observe humans too closely. His downfall came when he’d actually noticed their joy, love, fear, sorrow, and regret.
The first feelings he’d experienced stunned the crap out of him. The next tempted. Too soon, he’d become seriously addicted to human desire and happiness, which compromised his job performance since it involved nothing except despair and sorrow. Before he knew what had happened, he’d landed here.
Doing his best to ignore Bliss, he stalked to the front desk.
Myron flipped a card.
In no hurry, he waited. If necessary, he’d give her the entire week to make the first move. He was used to everyone sneering at him because of what he was and wasn’t eager to face her expected contempt.
She tapped the king of spades, which must have meant something to her, and lifted her face.
He braced for her revulsion.
She arched one slender eyebrow. “The Wiccan Haus welcomes you. Take care while you’re here though. No one gets reaped on this island. That’s a hard and fast rule.”
And here he thought her distaste would be bad. To have Bliss find out what he was, and like this, proved far worse.
His face burned.
“Relax.” Myron inclined her head to the doorway. “She left.”
Bliss had. Except for him and Myron, no one else was in here. Giddy with inexplicable relief, Fallon cut through the BS. “You and the staff have nothing to worry about. I have no intention of reaping. That’s why I’m here. I don’t want to snatch souls any longer.” He longed to have some joy and fun in his existence, rather than constantly facing unhappy shit.
“Yes, I know.” She turned over another card. “That is a complication.”
More like an unsolvable problem. He couldn’t quit his job as a human would and take up another occupation. The para world didn’t work that way since its caste system was far worse than what Hindus had come up with for their people. Paras were born or created for one set purpose, whether they were demons, fallen angles, vampires, gargoyles, good or bad fairies, elves, or other supernatural beings. No one crossed the line into another profession.
While good angels reigned at the top of the social heap, reapers sank to the bottom. Lower than pond scum, they were the so-called refuse collectors who handled the unpleasant tasks and kept the earth nice for everyone else. For that, humans and paras reviled his kind. Even the most ancient religions had never celebrated death as a good thing.
“Do you actually think you can help me here?” After this, there wasn’t anything left except constant grief and losing his mind.
“Sage will do her best. She always does.” Myron glanced past him.
A young woman with blue eyes and waist-length blonde hair offered a gentle smile, her warmth and goodness unmistakable.
Unnerved by her kindness, he actually blushed like a wayward schoolboy would with his understanding teacher. “Hi. I’m Fallon.”
“Yes, I know. I’m Sage. Welcome.” With each step she took, her long skirt fluttered around her ankles. Her blouse resembled the one Bliss wore.
Sage took his offered hand and shook firmly, not as one would when repelled. She accepted him for what he was…as a mother might. Fallon never had parents, simply TGR as his superior. If given the chance, he would have chosen Sage as his mom then Myron as a father figure, given her take-charge attitude, and Bliss as his eternity mate.
He froze and released Sage’s hand. “When do we get started?” He had to eliminate these loony feelings and go back to the stone cold SOB he’d been since time began.
Sage folded her hands in front. “We already have. I put chamomile, frankincense, and geranium in your room. The fragrances will calm and soothe you. I’ll also prepare a shake to help you relax. Once I find the right herb mixture, I’ll have it sent your way.”
“What if doesn’t work?”
She blinked. “You have to trust the process and want to heal. If you fight it then you won’t accomplish anything.”
Then what? Continuing as he had for too many months? Impossible. “Once I relax, you’ll be able to eliminate every feeling I’ve been experiencing?”
“Is that what you truly want? To feel absolutely nothing?”
Her question surprised him. “Hell, yeah. Why else would I be here?”
She patted his shoulder and gave him a soft smile. “That’s what you’re going to find out. Myron, his key?”
She tossed it to him.
Sage tapped her chin. “Don’t forget to drink the entire shake and join everyone for dinner. It is mandatory.”
“Even for someone like me?”
“Last I heard, reapers eat. It’s one of life’s pleasures. Like sex.”
She would bring that up. “I know, and I’m for both. What I meant is given that I reap, won’t my presence be a problem with the other diners?”
“No one’s perfect. We all have good and bad traits. Just make certain you don’t touch any human.”
If he did, they were toast, their hearts stopped. What a fucked-up gift he had with his talent for instantaneous death. Only paras, those with supernatural powers, and crossbreeds like Geoffrey and Bliss were safe from him. “I swear I’ll be a good boy.”
Myron tossed a card to the side. “You’d better be.”
“Yes, ma’am.” He bowed gallantly and mischievously.
The moment he reached the doorway, the women giggled. A nice sound. Far better than the moans and pleas he usually suffered through when he had to rip someone from their earthly environs and take them kicking and screaming to the great unknown.
He didn’t want to think about that. Hopefully, Sage’s herbs would work. Damn, they had to. It wasn’t as if he could go to a psychotherapist or self-medicate to get relief.
Deep in thought and worry, he stopped short of the elevators.
Bliss smiled so widely she made two dimples. They drew him to her like metal to a magnet before he regained his good sense. He kept a respectable distance though got close enough to catch her fragrance. If the universe had been fair, he would have drowned in it and her warmth. “I didn’t expect you to still be down here. Did you have trouble finding the elevators?”
“Nope. I waited for you. Thought we’d ride up together and diss this place. I can picture us after we graduate our programs. We’ll get T-shirts that say ‘I Survived the Wiccan Haus.’”
He laughed then sobered quickly. “Is it going to be that bad?” TGR hadn’t told him a thing. He simply ordered Fallon to pack and go through the portal. “Don’t they have a good success rate?”
“Haven’t a clue, but their guests are something. Thanks for saving me from Geoffrey. Admittedly, he was scared, but he gripped me so hard, he left bruises on my waist. And what about that gargoyle?” Her eyes widened. “What if he can’t shift either way ever again and is forever stuck between stone and flesh? Poor guy won’t fit in anywhere, like me.”
The elevator dinged and the doors opened.
Fallon gestured her inside first.
She pulled in her luggage, leaned against the wall, and took him in. Slowly. Shamelessly. Seductively.
His rod shot to attention. Zero to erect in half a second. He shifted his weight, trying to hide his arousal.
She didn’t look away. Pink bloomed in her cheeks.