Bewitching Her Monsters: A Paranormal Why Choose Romance (Bewitching Monsters Book 1), page 1
BEWITCHING HER MONSTERS
BEWITCHING MONSTERS
BOOK ONE
YVE VALE
ENTRAVERSE PUBLISHING
Published by Entraverse Publishing
Sedona, AZ 86339, USA
YveVale.com
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, business establishments, actual events, or locales is entirely coincidental.
Copyright © 2023 Yve Vale.
Cover Art © 2023 Yve Vale.
All rights reserved.
No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.
CONTENTS
Author’s Note
1. Author Interrupted
2. Walks into a Bar
3. Doggy Rescue
4. Haunting Dreams
5. Witch Place
6. Invited
7. Brunch Mistaken
8. Scrambled
9. Paranormal Inactivity
10. Waking Dreams
11. No Go
12. Ghosting
13. Nightmares
14. Doggie Daddy
15. Witches Gone Wild
16. Possessed
17. Walk of Pity
18. Background Check
19. Not Again
20. All Wrong
21. Spliting Fur
22. Betrayed
23. Lost
24. Found
25. Coming Undone
26. Reborn
27. Here We Go
28. Healing
29. Bucket Listed
30. Horns and All
31. Aftercare
32. Dungeons
33. Remembered
34. Betrayed
Acknowledgements
Books by Yve Vale
About the Author
AUTHOR’S NOTE
The Bewitching Her Monsters Series is a dark yet humorous paranormal why choose romance.
The female main character will end up with more than one of the love interests. Group scenes are on the agenda.
This series also has a quite a bit of male/male romance within the group that will occur with and without the female present.
But there’s no cheating.
So if this is NOT your jam, then put this book down now and walk away. You won’t be happy with this series, because there’s going to be sword fights.
Wink wink nudge nudge. You know what I mean.
If you believe love is love, you like to have some laughs too, and of course, some spicy times, then please charge forward!
This series also contains several dark themes that some readers may be sensitive to. For more information, visit:
https://yvevale.com/triggerwarnings
1
AUTHOR INTERRUPTED
JADE
Attempt number three:
Goliath pulls me to his broad chest and growls, “You are coming with me, menace.”
I twist and scramble to get away. But some part of me wants him—a very needy part between my legs.
“No, you… brute!” I kick to make him drop me.
Not a smart move since he’s carrying me over treacherous and rocky terrain.
His clawed feet are the only things keeping us from slipping down the mountain and plummeting to our deaths.
“Stop, Nora,” he orders, clasping my head to his shoulder and trying to comfort me. It’s the first time he’s called me by my name. This should settle me somewhat, knowing I’m not just some nameless sacrifice to him.
But the toxin in my system is making clear thoughts impossible. I can’t settle down. My actions might get us both killed. I don’t want that.
After a few more minutes of scrambling over the mountainside to escape our enemies, Goliath sighs with relief when we see a narrow entrance to a cave ahead.
Once we are at the mouth of the cavern, Goliath sets me down. “Don’t move,” he warns in a whisper.
For the first time today, I listen to him. If there’s an animal out here that is bigger and scarier than his beast, then we are fucked. His monstrous bearlike form is four feet taller than my height. I have to crane my neck backward to see his face. Holy crap, he’s big.
I shiver with the thought of how big his other parts will be. I believe I’m about to find out.
After a quick investigation, he returns, apparently having deemed the cave safe for me to enter. He picks me up and carries me inside. Just enough light filters in to see it’s previously been used as a shelter. A flat, smooth rock the size of a small bed is clear of debris at the far end. He sets me down.
Without an ounce of hesitation, he rips off my jacket and shirt, yanking them over my head and revealing my breasts. “I need to be inside you,” he says roughly.
I try to cover my chest, but he won’t let me.
“Mine.” He circles his massive arm around my waist and pulls me closer. His claws dig into my flesh.
I can’t control the whimper that leaves my throat, and it causes his enormous cock to inflate. He presses it against my stomach.
He sweeps my legs from under me, and I fall backward. But his large hand catches me and sets me on my back gently. The rough stone beneath me scratches my sensitive skin, and I try not to squirm as Goliath rips my pants off me and spreads me open for his viewing pleasure.
His long tongue sweeps out, taking his first taste of my slick center. He groans with approval and strokes his hardening dick.
“You can’t claim me,” I protest.
“I have won you in combat. And you want me,” he argues, flicking his tongue out to brush against me again. “Don’t you?”
“But—”
“No. You are mine. And I am yours… finally.” His eyes glint with mischief. “Do I need to make you ready for my cock? Is that it, my treasure?”
I can’t say anything as I stare at the threat to my vagina’s health and well-being. Even with proper and thorough preparation, that thing will destroy me.
I nod my consent. I might as well get a couple of orgasms out of this before it’s death by dick.
He feasts on my cunt. His long, thick tongue slides through my folds and plunges into my channel.
It takes next to no time at all before my body quakes with an impending orgasm. He shoves two giant fingers into my pussy, and I scream. When I stop trembling, he lines up the baseball bat sized appendage he calls a cock, and I…
Wait, wait, wait… This monster has a baseball bat-sized cock?
And doesn’t he have claws???… In her vagina?
Come on now…
He really is going to kill her. Ugh. Author problems.
Nora is dead by dick, and I’m not even past writing chapter four.
Frustrated, I lean back in my chair and stare at my computer screen.
Can I call him a monster if he can retract his claws while they’re fucking?
How big of a monster cock is too big?
Age-old questions.
Knowing I need some outside opinions, I open up a chat with a couple of fellow authors and begin asking them what they think.
They are all for the biggest dick imaginable…
Mere: A knot the size of a grapefruit and a wine bottle size dick.
All I can think is, ouch.
My FMC’s poor cervix. But this is a fantasy land where all things are possible. Maybe women there have truly magical pussies, and they won’t get their organs rearranged by a monster-sized cock with the girth and length of a wine bottle.
Darnett: You could be vague about how big is big.
Bekka: There is no limit but our imagination.
They are right. I just need to lean into the fantasy.
Sighing, I rub my face and realize my muse is a bit broken. I don’t really like Goliath or Nora. I won’t get anywhere without an inspirational boost.
Oh, well. Time for my ritual to get the magic flowing again.
Off to my little kitchen, I steep my tea and glare at the herbal blend while I wonder if this is what’s failing me. Maybe I need a change. Maybe I need a lot of changes.
However, I know the true culprit of my writer’s malaise (Never call it a block. It gives it power). I haven’t been the same since Rob. Perfect name, really, since he’s the thief that robbed me of my muse.
For comfort, I head to my support group in the other room. They’re my hostages, who I keep for their happiness as well as mine. My fur babies.
“I have a confession. I’m a romance writer who doesn’t believe in love at the moment,” I whisper to my guinea pig. “Sorry. I shouldn’t confess that to anyone. Not even you. If I don’t get inspired here soon, your food is on the line.”
As a paranormal romance author, I should believe in magic and love, if only in my imagination. And usually, I do. But right now, I don’t believe in tiny magical moments in life.
Sure, I have my favorite crystals and know their metaphysical properties. I’ve researched all the mythical creatures. I tell myself it’s all in the name of research. But deep down, I want magi
Maybe it wouldn’t be Hogwarts’ level of magic. But I have seen miracles and the power of positive thinking. I just haven’t felt it in a while.
It seemed ‘magical’ when I first met my ex-boyfriend. But apparently, that kind of magic doesn’t last. Maybe it was only magic lust.
The weird part was that I wasn’t really attracted to Rob.
So if it was magic that I felt when I met him, it was a black magic spell.
2
WALKS INTO A BAR
JADE
Slamming my teacup down a little too hard onto my banged-up writing desk, I curse my continued writer’s detour.
I shuffle out of my writing cave and into my bedroom, flopping onto my disheveled queen bed with a grunt. I pull the tangled blanket over part of my body and give up on the effort it will take to completely cover myself up.
Maybe I should make my bed once in a while?
But what’s the point in keeping it tidy when it’s just me here now? Besides, I take about five to ten power naps a day, anyway. Sometimes I believe I must be a damn cat trapped in a human body.
Now I’m wondering about the various animal shifters and what combination of fancy peens I could use in my next book.
Speaking of animals, I need to feed my horde of rescues. Groaning, I lift myself off the bed to slip into the spare bedroom, where I have my odd collection of friends.
My guinea pig squeaks as soon as he sees me. He’s one of the extra fluffy breeds, reminding me of the ‘Trouble With Tribbles’ episode from the first Star Trek series—a mop of fur with legs.
I open up Trouble’s cage and lift him out to give him plenty of affection, holding him to my chest and giving several kisses on his little head. “How are you doing today, buddy?”
Trouble squeaks again, and I swear in my head I hear him tell me he’s fine, but I get the mental image he wants food. Sometimes I wonder if it’s just my imagination or if I’m really picking something up.
Animal whisperers are real… right?
I blow off this thought as nothing more than my overactive imagination. I’ve always had a crazy mind. It’s why I’m an author.
However, my abuela told me stories when I was a kid that she was a powerful bruja—a witch. She passed away when I was little, so unfortunately, I never had the chance to know her as well as I would have liked. From what I remember, she was an intense character, beautiful and strange. My mother often said I inherited my grandmother’s eccentric ways. Since she hated her mother, she was not happy about that.
But my mother isn’t wrong that I’m an oddball. When I was little, I believed I could see all kinds of crazy stuff. I thought I saw auras, glowing strings connecting people, and swirling energy in the air.
I believed sometimes I could see what people were really like on the inside—glowing eyes, fur, and even monstrous faces. No wonder I used my imagination to make up stories for a living.
When I was around eleven years old, my mom screamed at me, telling me I couldn’t see what I was seeing. She cursed and ranted for an hour straight, telling me that she wasn’t going to let me be a crazy witch like her mother.
So, from that day on, I forced my wild imaginings to stop. Mostly.
But also I was just distracted by my hormones at that point in my development too.
I’m brought back to the present as my rabbit does zoomies around her cage, trying to get my attention. Without a voice, she usually rampages around to communicate her need for attention.
“Sorry, Sage.”
I set Trouble down in his habitat with a last pet, and give him a healthy serving of food and an apple slice for a treat.
Sage stands on her hind legs and scrambles to take the raisin I pass over the wire fence. Her soft furry lips brush against my fingertips, but she is always gentle, no matter how excited she is to get her goodies.
I open the door to her cage and give her the evening dose of attention, snuggling her and rubbing her soft ears.
I glance at the clock and realize I’ve wasted the entire day sitting at my desk and not writing much at all. However, I did get some edits completed on my other book due to be released next month.
And… I forgot to eat all day, and it’s close to midnight.
After giving the others their food and love, I wander into the kitchen and find I have nothing much for a human in the fridge.
I haven’t exactly been taking care of myself in the last few months since Rob left. And if I’m being honest, I wasn’t great at it when I was with him. It’s not like he kept me balanced. He wasn’t the best guy to rely on for… anything.
Without someone to remind me to take a break, I get so deep in my tunnel-vision that I forget the world outside my stories exists. Hence, the hunger pangs right now.
I know my chronic self-neglect has got to be addressed—mañana.
Left with very few choices this late at night, I’ll go to the bar down the street with a limited after-dinner hours menu. Then I’ll grab a few items at the 24-hour market on the way back for tomorrow’s meals.
Wham, bam, thank you, ma’am, problem solved.
I look down at my outfit and realize I’ll have to put something else on. A dirty and now fur-covered sweatshirt and pajama bottoms won’t cut it, not even this late at night.
I change into yoga pants and a clean sweatshirt. Yeah, I know it’s not a big step up, but I at least appear cleaner than I did a moment ago.
I grab my e-tablet for notes, hoping the odd characters who often frequent my neighborhood bar might inspire me.
Slipping into my well-loved and aged green ’69 Mustang with my engine purring, I drive the short ride to the bar. Yes, I did buy it because it was a sixty-nine.
From the parking lot, I see that the dive bar is busier than normal. Despite that, I easily find a table with a good vantage point to watch the other patrons.
Jimmy, the old barkeeper, nods to me as I sit down. He’s an odd duck but registers as relatively harmless on my douche-o-meter.
The long bar is filled with regulars. Most of them are guys in their mid-thirties and forties. They don’t bother with me anymore since I’ve turned them all down at some point. They aren’t a bad lot, but I have to have some spark for a potential date. And even though a couple of them are attractive and seem nice enough, I felt nothing for them.
The floor server, Lora, brings me a hot herbal tea set up without needing to ask if I want it. “The usual tonight, Jade?” she asks with a big grin. Lora doesn’t mind me taking up space for hours since it isn’t often busy this late at night, and I always leave a generous tip.
“Sure, thanks,” I say, glancing around the dimly lit room as she walks away.
My attention instantly darts across the sea of tables to the entrance. It’s as if gravity has become a vortex, and I’m falling into its well. I think I may have stopped breathing.
Four men—no, these are not mere men—file in the door and sit down, mostly facing me in the large, round corner booth. These guys seem to have walked right out of one of my novels. They’re so good-looking that I have to turn away since it’s like staring directly into the sun.
Their sheer hotness has burned my retinas.
My skin flushes. My mouth goes dry as something else gets wet. My clit perks up, begging for attention.
To distract my body from any more inappropriate reactions, I slurp my tea.
