The Witch's Gift: A Yuletide Love Story, page 1
The Witch’s Gift
A Yuletide Love Story
C.C. Wood
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
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Titles by C.C. Wood
This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, events or locales is entirely coincidental.
No part of this book may be reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form without permission. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials in violation of author’s rights. Purchase only authorized editions.
Copyright by Crystal W. Wilson 2019
Cover by
Jena Brignola, Bibliophile Productions
Chapter One
I sighed heavily as I stared down into my drink. How in the hell did I end up here, just a few days before Yule, hiding from my family?
Oh yeah, my aunt Fenella's rabid attempts to "find me a man".
It began as soon as my parents and I arrived at her house in Dallas. Every December, my mother and her sisters took turns hosting the Yule celebration. This time it was Fenella's turn.
Being a witch from a good family and coven, and almost twenty-nine, my aunt decided it was high time I settled down with a nice young warlock.
Unfortunately, the warlocks she introduced to me were the same. Boring, bland, and attractive in a slightly anemic way. They were all good-looking and well mannered, but clearly cut from the same cloth. The nice guy cloth.
I couldn't exactly tell Fenella this, but I liked men with an edge. I know. I know. The stupid bad boy cliché, but there's a reason it became a cliché. Also, I didn't necessarily want a bad boy, but I also didn't want an average Joe either.
What was so wrong about wanting to find a man who made my heart beat a little faster and made me feel a little more alive?
I wasn't asking for much. He didn't have to be movie star handsome or rich. I'd settle for someone with a decent sense of humor and a job. However, all the men Fenella introduced me to seem to have personalities cut from the same beige cloth.
With another sigh, I sipped my drink. I'd ordered some Christmas special from a chalkboard hanging above the liquor shelves. It wasn't bad. It was spiced punch with a healthy dollop of some sort of strong liquor. Probably moonshine.
I glanced around the almost empty bar. The lighting was dim and a couple of pool tables were near the back of the large room. Two older men sat at the end of the bar, drinking their beers in companionable silence.
It was the perfect place to escape from my aunt's obsessive matchmaking.
I heard the front door open behind me and glanced up at the mirror behind the old-fashioned bar.
Time stopped.
There was no other way to describe it. As soon as my eyes locked on the man making his way across the room, nothing else existed.
His dark brown hair was shaggy and a good month past needing a cut. Even windblown and wild, it suited him. His face was arresting. He wasn't traditionally handsome. His nose was crooked and his mouth was thin, but I couldn't tear my eyes away. My gaze wandered down his body, taking in the flannel shirt and faded jeans that clung to his thighs as he walked.
I'd never experienced anything like this.
The pull toward him was so strong it was all I could do not to walk over and touch him. It was frightening.
My mouth went dry as he kept striding straight toward the bar. Eyes moving back up his body, I sucked in a sharp breath when I saw he was looking back at me in the mirror.
Heat flooded my cheeks and I quickly adjusted my stare back down to my drink. I knew without looking in the mirror my face was bright red. He caught me gawking at him.
I tried not to react as he pulled out the stool next to mine and settled on it. Deliberately keeping my eyes lowered, I took another sip of my drink while seriously considering chugging it and getting the hell out of there as quickly as possible.
The bartender moved in front of us and set a bottle of beer in front of the man with a thud.
I jumped a little as the sound jerked me out of my plans to run for the hills. That's when I felt it. The buzz of power. It ran along my flesh like a breeze and all the hair on my arms and neck stood on end.
The man seated next to me wasn't human and he was powerful.
As soon as I realized it, my mind was assailed by images of fur and fangs. He was a wolf. My head shot up and I looked over.
He was staring back at me.
I froze, my breath coming fast as my heart beat harder against my sternum. His eyes were incredibly beautiful with deep blue and amber striations in a starburst pattern radiating from his pupils. I couldn't tear my gaze away.
"Hey," he drawled. "I'm Blake."
His voice was deep, a little gravelly, and carried a hint of the South. My sister, Priscilla, called it a black-magic voice. With those three words, I knew I could listen to him read a phone book all night and never be bored.
"H-hey," I stuttered.
The corner of his mouth kicked up in a half smile. "What's your name, sugar?"
"Candela," I replied, my voice a bit cooler than before. Something about his smile and the easily tossed out term of endearment bugged me.
"Pretty."
I hummed slightly in the back of my throat in response, but didn't say anything else. Instead, I took another swallow of my drink and once again thought about leaving. I felt awkward because I had a bad feeling this werewolf thought I would be easy pickings because he caught me staring at him.
I flinched when I realized his face was close to my hair and he was breathing me in.
"What in the hell are you doing?" I asked, my voice vibrating with anger.
His head lifted, our faces a few inches apart. "What are you?" he growled, his pupils shrinking as he continued to sniff the air.
I barely repressed an eye roll. "What do you mean, what am I?" I asked. "What are you?"
He growled again and goose bumps broke out on my skin.
With a sigh, I shoved my stool back a bit so I could turn to face him. "I'm a witch," I answered quietly, crossing my arms over my chest. "Is that a problem?" I was trying to keep my voice down because, while the bar was nearly empty, people were still around. I didn't want them hearing this conversation and calling the nearest psych ward to come pick us up.
"Witch?" he repeated.
I nodded, lifting an eyebrow at him. While I hadn't met many shifters, the ones I had were a damn sight friendlier than he was.
Suddenly, his body relaxed and I realized how tense his muscles had been while we spoke, as though he were preparing for an attack. It was definitely time to go.
I twisted in my seat and met the bartender's eyes, pulling my wallet out of my purse as I did so. He immediately got the picture and went to the register to ring me up.
"Hey, look, I'm sorry, Candy. It just took me off guard. You don't have to leave."
Glancing over my shoulder at Blake, I shook my head. Not only had he scared me, but he also compounded the problem by calling me Candy.
"It's fine. I think it's time for me to get going anyway." That was complete bullshit, but I really didn't want to get into an argument with the wolf. Fenella's coven had just worked out an alliance with the pack in Dallas and I didn't want to be responsible for any sort of "diplomatic issues" between them.
His hand curved over mine. Because of that small touch, I held my breath. I noticed everything: the slight roughness of callouses on his fingertips, the latent strength behind his grip, and the heat of his skin against mine. His flesh was so hot it practically burned.
"Please don't leave." It sounded like a plea. His thumb swept over the back of my hand. "Stay and talk to me."
I paused, my eyebrows lifting. "Why?" I wasn't trying to be snarky or rude. I wanted an honest answer.
Blake seemed to understand that and released his hold on my hand. "It's been a rough week. It'd be nice to spend a little time talking to a pretty woman."
Something about his tone captured my attention. He sounded...grim. I let myself look at him, really look at him, for the first time. Behind the striking eyes and sculpted face, I could see pain.
Without thinking it through, I lowered my guard just a bit, and his emotions suddenly swamped me. He was sad, almost unbearably so, and lonely. My own heart ached as I felt what he did.
As a witch, one of my strengths was empathy. I could experience the feelings of others. I usually kept myself guarded, locked up tight to keep out the rollercoaster of emotions other people radiated. My mother said my ability to empathize was what made me the best healer in the coven.
And, to my surprise, I realized I wanted to help heal Blake.
Chapter Two
Torn, I studied Blake. I wasn't all that sure I wanted to stay and talk to him. He'd growled at me for crying out loud! Still, the part of me that yearned to fix those who were broken was telling me to keep my ass right on my seat because he needed me to help him. Before I could make my decision, the bartender walked up with my ticket and Blake waved him off.<
"Hey, Jimmy. Just put her drinks on my tab."
The bartender glanced at me then nodded to Blake, his face impassive. He turned and carried the check away.
With that, the decision was made.
"That wasn't necessary," I muttered, stuffing my wallet back into my bag.
Blake shrugged. "Think of it as an apology for acting like an ass."
I couldn't suppress the small smile, which curved my lips. "Apology accepted then." If he could be grown up enough to say he was sorry, then I could let it go.
Though I hadn't ordered one, Jimmy, the bartender, brought me another Christmas punch. I thanked him and took a sip, turning my eyes back to Blake.
"Okay, so what are we talking about?" I asked him.
"What?"
"You said you wanted to have a drink and talk to a pretty woman. What do you want to talk about?"
The corner of his mouth kicked up again in that attractive half smile. "I did say that, didn't I?"
I nodded, leaning an elbow against the bar and resting my head on my hand.
"Well, let's start with the basics. Where are you from?"
"Houston," I answered.
"Are you here for the holidays?"
"Yep."
"Are you going to answer all my questions with one word answers?" he asked with a grin.
I shrugged, smiling back at him. "Maybe."
He laughed and I discovered it was just as attractive as the rest of him.
"If you're here to see your family, then why are you at this bar all alone?"
It was my turn to chuckle. "My aunt. She's decided it's high time I settle down with a nice young man."
Blake's brows lifted. "What? What are you, twenty-three, twenty-four? That's a little young to be thinking about marriage isn't it?"
I outright giggled. "Flattery will get you nowhere with me, Blake."
"What?"
"I'm almost twenty-nine, which according to Fenella, means I should at least be engaged to a perfectly groomed warlock."
"Twenty-nine? Really?"
I leveled him with a look. "Now you're just overselling it."
He laughed. "Seriously, I almost didn't sit down next to you because I thought you were probably too young for me."
"How could twenty-four be too young for you?"
Blake was still grinning when he answered me. "I'm thirty-four. I draw the line at being a decade older than the woman I'm flirting with. She rarely gets my jokes."
It was my turn for disbelief. "No way. You look even younger than me!"
He lifted his beer and took a sip. I couldn't stop myself from watching his throat work as he swallowed. It was crazy. How could watching someone drink beer be sexy?
In Blake's case, however, it was.
"Perfectly groomed warlock, huh?" he asked.
"Yeah. She's been parading eligible men from her coven in front of me all week. They're nice and good looking but..." I trailed off, not sure if I should share the rest.
"Boring, right?"
My face heated a little. "Yeah."
He leaned a little closer, his shoulder bumping mine playfully. "You like the bad boys, huh?"
My blush intensified and I cursed my fair skin because I knew he could see it. "Not exactly. I just don't like boring ones."
"Now why do I get the feeling you're not telling me the whole truth?" he murmured.
"Oh, zip it," I retorted, picking up my glass.
Blake chuckled. "Well, you're safe from me, sugar. I'm too old to be a bad boy."
I gave him a sideways glance, which made his laughter increase. "Now, why don't I believe a word of that?" Blake might not be a bad boy, but he had an edge and I liked it a lot. In fact, I got the distinct impression the sharpness beneath his exterior could be lethal.
"Because you're smart as well as beautiful?"
"Nice save," I teased.
As we continued to chat and drink, our conversation kept that same light, flirty tone and I realized I was having fun. He was intelligent, but didn't take himself too seriously. He was also sexy as hell.
Still, I noticed he avoided talking about himself. He would ask me questions, joke, and laugh, but he didn't reveal much personal information.
Finally, I said, "Well, you know why I'm hiding out in this bar tonight. Why are you here?"
As soon as his face began to shut down, I regretted my question immediately. That grim expression returned and his eyes were no longer lit with humor.
"I'm escaping too," he muttered, draining the rest of his beer. He lifted a hand and looked down the bar toward Jimmy. "How bout a shot?"
The bartender hesitated, his eyes wavering back and forth between Blake and me, and then he sighed and turned toward the shelves behind him.
Though I hated that I'd extinguished the humor in his gorgeous blue eyes, I couldn't stop myself from asking, "What are you escaping?"
Blake scrubbed a hand over his face, suddenly looking tired and drawn. "Memories."
The shot glasses hit the bar in front of us and I watched almost blindly as Jimmy poured three shots of clear liquor from a bottle with no label.
He grabbed one as Blake and I took ours. Lifting it in the air, his eyes on Blake, he stated, "To David and Rose." Jimmy gave me a pointed look before we all tossed them back.
The liquid went down warm and smooth, leaving a trail of heat in my throat and chest to my stomach. As I set my glass down on the bar top, I noticed that Blake was glaring at Jimmy.
"Thanks, man."
Jimmy just shrugged, gave me another pointed look, then took the bottle and shot glasses and made his way back to the other end of the bar.
Turning to Blake, I asked, "Who are David and Rose?"
He sighed, but wouldn't meet my eyes. "My parents. They're dead."
I wanted to touch him, put my hand on his or my arm around his waist, but his entire body seemed to scream that he didn't want me to touch him. Even with my shields up, the pain coming off him in waves, crashing over me and beating against my skin, was so great I couldn't keep it all out.
"I'm so sorry, Blake," I whispered.
My words never penetrated the trance he was in. I could sense his mind was somewhere else. He stared down into his drink, clearly not seeing anything in front of him.
"The week before Christmas, they were hit head on by a drunk driver," he mumbled, turning the bottle around in his hands over and over. "It was an ugly way to go." His eyes darted up to mine, desolate and deep. "Wolves don't die easily. We're hard as hell to kill, but that dumb motherfucker managed it when he got behind the wheel of his car hammered."
I took a second to give the bar a covert glance. Blake and I had been here a while and it had cleared out, except for Jimmy.
Sensing that I was worried about being overheard, Blake said, "Don't worry, Jimmy knows. He's one of us." Then he drained the rest of his beer.
That surprised me. I wondered why I hadn't felt the bartender's power.
"Every year I get drunk, try to forget. Never fucking works," he mumbled.
Unable to hold back any longer, I wrapped an arm around his shoulder and pressed my lips to his cheek. "I'm sorry, Blake. What can I do?"
Suddenly, the flirtatious tension that crackled between us all night intensified and snapped tight, the air vibrating with it. Slowly, Blake turned toward me. Our faces were so close that our lips almost brushed and I could feel his breath on my chin.
Every nerve in my body felt as though they were coming to life, just waiting for his touch. I watched as his pupils expanded and he dropped his eyes to my lips.
"Help me forget, Candy. At least for tonight."
I knew what he was asking. I'd never had a one-night stand before. I'd had opportunity, but it wasn't really my style. Until Blake. He was a bad boy and, for once, I was going to be a bad girl.
"I will," I whispered.
Chapter Three
I went to the restroom to freshen up while Blake paid the tab. As I washed my hands, I met my own eyes in the bathroom mirror. I almost didn't recognize myself.
