Will the power of three set me free?
Powerful magic drew me to a cozy, Pacific Northwest town called Mystic Keep, a sanctuary for badass witches like me. It’s the sort of place where things go bump in the night—every night—and anything can happen. But that’s not what scared me.
My name is Merlina Black and I’m a middle-aged enchantress whose flown around the block a few times. But when I met the warlock, Donovan O'Reilly, my heart sputtered. That’s what terrified me.
I'm old enough to know there's no such thing as a soulmate; old enough to know love ends in tragedy; and definitely, old enough to know sexy warlocks spell trouble. But, the devilishly-handsome Donovan short-circuited my circuits, stirred my cauldron, and hexed my hormones. Since bad luck and good magic happen in threes, I figured the cure for my infatuation was to find three, good reasons to not kiss him.
When Donovan asked me to join him in his lair to conjure sorcery to save the town, our lives changed forever.
Will our shared magic be strong enough to save Mystic Keep? Will I survive this experience with any circuits left to fry? And will I find a good reason to not kiss the warlock? You need to read my story to find out.
This is a steamy, stand-alone novella, a supernatural-romance set in the Mystic Keep Universe. If you like paranormal women's fiction, witchy romance with a side of humor, and/or a slice of saucy urban fantasy, you'll love this story.
Excerpt - Chapter 2
“Do not swear by the moon, for she changes constantly. Then your love would also change”.
My witch senses spiked. I folded my arms and leaned back, assessing the warlock. Donovan O’Reilly and I had met before. I guessed him to be in his late forties, and the passage of time had seasoned him well. My heartbeat hitched for a second.
Killer blue eyes dominated his perfectly sculpted face, covered with just enough scruff to make my female parts quiver. Silver strands ran through his thick, black hair, which peeked out from the hood of his cloak. His broad shoulders, thin waist, and mile-long legs made my hands itch. He was a perfect, and most delicious looking, specimen of an alpha Celtic male who would pique the interest of any witch’s passion.
Any witch but me that is. I sneered at the big, bad warlock, as one sneers at a chocolate sundae smothered with whipping cream and sprinkles when one is on a diet.
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Excerpt Chapter 2