The Witch's Dream - A Love Letter to Paranormal Romance (Black Swan 2) by Victoria Danann Page A

Litha’s mother, Rosie Pottinger, the apothecary's daughter, who caught the incubus demon, Deliverance, in her web. He appeared within her Circle with a loud pop that startled her into releasing an embarrassingly tiny squeak and jumping back. She was taken by surprise partly because of the noise and partly because of the shock of being successful. After all, who ever really ever expected to conjure a demon?
She gaped as he hissed and roared. “Cromm the bloody Crúaich!” Through a red haze of indignation he spied a culprit, vaguely registering that it was a female witch. “Tarnation woman! Do you know that bloody well hurts?”
Into the palm of his hand he spontaneously pulled a sphere of fire a little smaller than a bowling ball and drew back his arm to launch it, thinking he would teach this witch a lesson to reverberate through the annals of magical notation for generations. As he was about to release the fireball he focused on the woman for the first time. The flames spit a couple of sparks, turned blue and then evaporated in his hand as he stared.
Rosie Pottinger still stood wide-eyed and gaping at the demon while he stared back. He sensed a trace of something more than human in the young witch who could have taken her name from the brilliant color in her cheeks. Apparently Rosie’s great-great-grandmother had done more with the demon than just summon him.
Deliverance dropped his arm as his mouth spread into the sort of spellbinding smile that could only be managed by an incubus.
He lowered his volume to dulcet tones and, when he said hello, Rosie Pottinger felt her knees go weak. His accent was tinged with a gypsy dialect that was far from aristocratic. That was because he had learned Anglish in the shadows of The Tower of London.
The shirtless figure stood before the witch inviting her to look her fill as he drew her nearer to a trap of his own device. The candle flames danced in his black eyes like they were mirrors as they tracked her tiniest movements. His thick, silky hair fell to his waist, the color so intensely black that it reflected light like the glossy surface of polished slate. His coppery skin gleamed with a promise of heat and molded lovingly over musculature that demonstrated the artistic principle of shadow being equally important as light.
Indeed. Deliverance was fashioned as the personification of female sexual fantasy and desire, a perfectly designed instrument of seduction.
There are many degrees of desire. Temptation means that denial is possible. Deliverance inspired the sort of desire that burned two steps beyond that. Just the sight of him was enough to push the strongest-willed woman past need, past longing, all the way to compulsion.
Deliverance wasn’t an actual sex god as demons are not deities in the sense of mythos. They are simply a distantly related race of beings, but why quibble over details? Deliverance had never known the disappointment of rejection because he was - quite literally - irresistible.
Within the hour the apothecary’s daughter, with her comely curves and light brown hair, lay on the stone floor inside the Circle that contained the demon - or so she thought - being pleasured beyond the limits of mortality.
Certainly you might expect to know what is on the next page; that the incubus demon, Deliverance, took his pleasure from slightly misguided Rosie Pottinger and continued upon whatever demonly errand had occupied him before the interruption of his journey. But that is not the way the story goes. The demon may have intended his encounter with Rosie Pottinger to be a brief and pleasant diversion, but her demon blood called to his and, as he slowly stroked her luscious body with his own, the sweet fucking turned into lovemaking.
He stared into the witch’s eyes, green as the water standing in the lava pools of Ovelgoth Alla, absorbed her scent into his essence as he nuzzled her neck, and fell in love.
Every night when Rosie's father, the widower apothecary, had