Middy. By Merlin and the Morrigan, how I want to.” Dred moved up the bed to lie next to her.
That made no sense to her whatsoever. She’d thought warlocks were always eager. At least that was what she’d always heard. Dred was supposed to be a sex god. So far, he’d been acting like a monk. It was bad for her self-esteem.
He licked his lips and closed his eyes, his snowflake lashes brushing his cheeks. Dred looked as if he were savoring some divine dish.
Middy had to clench her thighs together when she realized that the divine dish was the taste of her witchy bits.
“Then why don’t you? I thought that you indulged in all things hedonist,” Middy said as if she were the most experienced and inviting of tarts.
“Because my cock is killing me.”
Middy hadn’t expected so blunt an answer.
“Why? Did you sprain it? Or did you break it off in Aloe Hugginfroth?”
“You know what? Never mind. Plotting is more important. Did you get an invitation from Barista Snow?”
“I did, actually.”
“Don’t you think it would be nice to discuss why I need you to pose as my fiancée? Or maybe what you’re going to say to my mother when you meet her?”
“See, I would have called you. If I’d had your stupid Witch berry number. And speaking of calling, you could have called before you came over. Or, I don’t know, knocked? What is it with warlocks and knocking? Are you allergic to it?”
“What other warlocks have been over here without knocking?” Dred narrowed his eyes and in them Middy could see horrible fates awaiting those trespassers.
She found that she rather liked it. Her “fiancé” was feeling protective.
“My brothers, actually. Raven incinerated my door. Douche bag.”
“Brothers as in plural? You have more than one?”
Middy rolled her eyes. “Falcon, Hawk, and Raven Cherry wood: the Trifecta of Doom.”
“Seriously? Those are your brothers?”
“What, like there is more than one Cherrywood?” Middy rolled her eyes again.
“Damn it.”
“I think that warrants stronger verbiage.”
“Only you could sit there sky clad and discuss verbiage.”
He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, you and Mrs. Tinterbox from AP Lit senior year.”
Middy took stock of herself and pulled the duvet over her nakedness. “I’m not even going to ask. I don’t want to know.”
“Why does it warrant stronger verbiage, as you so elo-quently put it?” Dred asked. He seemed genuinely curious, as if he didn’t already know that meeting her brothers was a fate worse than death.
“Why do you think? For such a brilliant businessman, sometimes I think you’re half stupid.”
“Only half? Thanks,” he snorted.
“They want to meet you.”
“I’d assumed.” Dred shrugged.
“My mother wants you to come for dinner.”
“That’s what comes with being affianced. I thought you witches knew all about this sort of thing?”
“You don’t understand.” She sighed heavily.
“Explain it to me.”
“My brothers. The Trifecta of Doom. Back at the Academy, I never had a date make it past the foyer.”
“Well, I’m not just any date. I’m—”
“The warlock they want to slice into little pieces and make into Solstice gravy.”
“It’s not that bad. I’m rich and I have pull with the council. My lineage can be traced back to Avalon. Why wouldn’t they approve?” Dred shrugged again.
“Infamy, maybe?” Middy thought she was going to get seasick from how many times her eyes had rolled to the back of her head of their own volition. “I still think you’re insane, but since I gave you my witch’s word, I can’t really explain it to them, now can I?”
“No, Midnight. I’m sorry, but you can’t.”
A small, frustrated sound escaped her.
“I brought something to show you—” He appraised her for a moment. “I’d meant to show it to you before lunch, but . . .” He shrugged his shoulders as if it were all out of his control and winked at her.
Before lunch? They
That made no sense to her whatsoever. She’d thought warlocks were always eager. At least that was what she’d always heard. Dred was supposed to be a sex god. So far, he’d been acting like a monk. It was bad for her self-esteem.
He licked his lips and closed his eyes, his snowflake lashes brushing his cheeks. Dred looked as if he were savoring some divine dish.
Middy had to clench her thighs together when she realized that the divine dish was the taste of her witchy bits.
“Then why don’t you? I thought that you indulged in all things hedonist,” Middy said as if she were the most experienced and inviting of tarts.
“Because my cock is killing me.”
Middy hadn’t expected so blunt an answer.
“Why? Did you sprain it? Or did you break it off in Aloe Hugginfroth?”
“You know what? Never mind. Plotting is more important. Did you get an invitation from Barista Snow?”
“I did, actually.”
“Don’t you think it would be nice to discuss why I need you to pose as my fiancée? Or maybe what you’re going to say to my mother when you meet her?”
“See, I would have called you. If I’d had your stupid Witch berry number. And speaking of calling, you could have called before you came over. Or, I don’t know, knocked? What is it with warlocks and knocking? Are you allergic to it?”
“What other warlocks have been over here without knocking?” Dred narrowed his eyes and in them Middy could see horrible fates awaiting those trespassers.
She found that she rather liked it. Her “fiancé” was feeling protective.
“My brothers, actually. Raven incinerated my door. Douche bag.”
“Brothers as in plural? You have more than one?”
Middy rolled her eyes. “Falcon, Hawk, and Raven Cherry wood: the Trifecta of Doom.”
“Seriously? Those are your brothers?”
“What, like there is more than one Cherrywood?” Middy rolled her eyes again.
“Damn it.”
“I think that warrants stronger verbiage.”
“Only you could sit there sky clad and discuss verbiage.”
He looked thoughtful for a moment. “Well, you and Mrs. Tinterbox from AP Lit senior year.”
Middy took stock of herself and pulled the duvet over her nakedness. “I’m not even going to ask. I don’t want to know.”
“Why does it warrant stronger verbiage, as you so elo-quently put it?” Dred asked. He seemed genuinely curious, as if he didn’t already know that meeting her brothers was a fate worse than death.
“Why do you think? For such a brilliant businessman, sometimes I think you’re half stupid.”
“Only half? Thanks,” he snorted.
“They want to meet you.”
“I’d assumed.” Dred shrugged.
“My mother wants you to come for dinner.”
“That’s what comes with being affianced. I thought you witches knew all about this sort of thing?”
“You don’t understand.” She sighed heavily.
“Explain it to me.”
“My brothers. The Trifecta of Doom. Back at the Academy, I never had a date make it past the foyer.”
“Well, I’m not just any date. I’m—”
“The warlock they want to slice into little pieces and make into Solstice gravy.”
“It’s not that bad. I’m rich and I have pull with the council. My lineage can be traced back to Avalon. Why wouldn’t they approve?” Dred shrugged again.
“Infamy, maybe?” Middy thought she was going to get seasick from how many times her eyes had rolled to the back of her head of their own volition. “I still think you’re insane, but since I gave you my witch’s word, I can’t really explain it to them, now can I?”
“No, Midnight. I’m sorry, but you can’t.”
A small, frustrated sound escaped her.
“I brought something to show you—” He appraised her for a moment. “I’d meant to show it to you before lunch, but . . .” He shrugged his shoulders as if it were all out of his control and winked at her.
Before lunch? They
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