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THE WITCHED AWAY BRIDE

My story began when a vampire I dubbed Mr. Nasty-Face sent me on a crazy, impossible task to fix his mis-Turnment of a certain succubus. Easy, right? Yeah, then I ran into the skunk who would change my life (and spray me, but let’s forget that memory). Once I got to Assjacket, well, let’s just say I ended up with the teenager who wasn’t—a kind of happily-while-you’re-here scenario. Now my teen is a grown woman with a Highlander for a lover, and I’m left to deal with Gigi. She wants me to find her a happily-for-real-ever-after and I’ve still got to solve my problems.

So to be clear, all I have to do is undo the unbreakable, pair the unpairable, and keep my man happy. One out of three isn’t bad. I’m a witch singer, not a dang miracle worker.

Just sing at a couple of weddings, the Baba Yaga said, it’ll be fun, she said, it’ll solve all your problems…except no weddings are possible with the witched away brides.

THE WITCHED AWAY BRIDE

THE WITCH SINGER BOOK 3

HEATHER LONG

CONTENTS

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Epilogue

Amazing Magic and Mayhem Authors

About the Author

Also by Heather Long

CHAPTER ONE

O nce upon a time in Assjacket…

Stop laughing. I’m being serious here. Fairytales start somewhere, and while my story wouldn’t qualify for the Mouse House, it definitely falls more in line with the Brothers Grimm. You see, my fairy godmonster dubbed me Bridget the Witch Singer while I was in the cradle. She used to tell me I brought my toys to life and stripped the paint from the walls, depending on my mood.

Silent timeouts had totally been a thing. That cone of silence spell? It still worked like a charm. Helped out when my friend Rika was my teenage pain in the ass. I kind of missed having her around as a kid, even if she frustrated me. That said, Rika as a friend proved to be enormously useful and fun, too.

Studying my appearance in the mirror, I evaluated my frock. For those of you that are wondering, yes, I know most people call it a dress. But I like the word frock, so I’m going with it. It was red and lacy with a frothy kind of look. Most women wouldn’t wear red to a wedding, but I wasn’t most women, and Martin loved me in this color.

Martin. I sighed. My favorite skunk. He wasn’t really a skunk. He’d been cursed. And I’d freed him from the curse. Another sigh wove through me. It was really rather romantic. He was brilliant, sweet, a little nerdy, and undeniably in love with me. The feeling was mutual. Still, we had a lot to learn about each other. Staying in Assjacket hadn’t been remotely boring, but as much as I wanted to linger…I needed to finish the task for Mr. Nasty-Face so I could remain free.

The last thing we needed was a horde of pissed off vampires coming after me. I’d had their claws on my throat for years, and I’d been their songbird in a gilded cage.

Not happening again. Never. Ever.

So I’d sing at some weddings, power those happily ever afters for all I was worth, get the magic answer to the question, then faster than Baba Yaga’s your bitch, I fix the twisted saga of the succubus Turn, and I’m free. Free to be with Martin forever and always, over ice cream sundaes and arguments about who should win The Singer (me of course) and…

An explosion rocked the side of the building. Really? Now? I wanted to enjoy the dazzle of my daydream of the perfect future. It was how I would psych up the power to sing the perfect damn ballad.

Another boom.

“Dammit!” Spinning away from the mirror, I stalked over to the door and jerked it open. “Shut up! Can’t you tell I’m…”

Boom!

The explosion damn near deafened me and it sent dust sprinkling down from the ceiling. I hummed a tune to create an umbrella. Disaster or not, nothing was going to spoil this hot as hell outfit before Martin got to appreciate me in it.

A roar split the morning air.

A very angry, pretty damn unpleasant roar.

“Where is she?”

Where was who? Darting outside before the cottage came down on my head, I glanced at the bedecked rose arbor where today’s wedding was supposed to take place. The groom was a wreck…literally.

I’d seen him five minutes earlier, and he’d been a dashing, beautiful hunk of man candy. Now he looked like a Build-A-Monster on crack. All seven feet of hairy beast, roaring.

“Where is she?”

The cry and hue climbed and another boom split the sunny morning. Twisting, I looked to the other cottage. The little wedding grotto had a few buildings for dressing, for partying, and for pre and post-wedding nookie.

The bride’s building was kind of gone.

Oh, that couldn’t be good.

“Where is she?” I joined in the shouting, and I tried not to curse. I felt sorry for the poor roaring bastard, but dammit, I needed to sing that happily ever after. Not possible with a bride!

Kirk

HATING KNEELING ALMOST as much as he hated the person he knelt in front of, Kirk kept his gaze on the dirt. The click of nails vibrated through him. The Baba Yaga had this thing about snapping her nails together when she was irritated. If it got to the grinding of her teeth, he was seriously screwed.

Opening his mouth, he considered all the buttering up and compliments he could offer. Then reconsidered it and shut his mouth. The last thing he needed was to misread the situation. If she wanted his comments, she’d damn well ask for them.

“One hundred thousand pounds to a casino in Monte Carlo,” she ticked off against one nail. “Two million yen to a casino in Bangkok. A half a million dollars to the Red Panda Saloon in Reno.”

The figures sounded right. Though she hadn’t mentioned…

“A collective eight million to four different reservations from Oregon to Oklahoma, all of which have been purchased by Shaman Running Bull.”

Crap. Running Bull didn’t believe in extensions. What he did believe in was scalping when someone tried to screw them over.

“In other words…” Baba Yaga paused right in front of him, a stiletto visible in his eyeline. She tapped her foot. Not a good sign. “Your debt collectors are going to start a war to see who gets to you first. A war will cause me a headache. I’m not fond of headaches.”

So was she going to have him drawn and quartered? It might be a way to satisfy all the people after his hide.

When she didn’t say anything else, he dared a peek up the length of lovely leg attached to the stiletto. A thwap on the back of his head sent his gaze back to the floor.

“I told you to stay,” she reminded him, her voice a sharp-edged blade. “Lucky for you, I have an even bigger headache today. So I’m going to use you like a hammer on an ingrown toenail.”

That didn’t sound remotely pleasant.

Clearing his throat, he waited another beat. When she didn’t continue, he said, “Ma’am?”

“Oh, you’re still here.” The stiletto in his eyeline pivoted to turn. Her heels clicked in echo to her fingernails as she walked away from him. “You need to be in Assjacket, Smirk.”

His name was Kirk but he could live with the dismissive nickname. “Assjacket, ma’am?” He hated Assjacket. It was a smelly little town with obnoxious residents…

“A witch is pissing off a lot of people and disrupting fate. So before those three killjoys show up, you’re going to go to Assjacket, get her under control, and bring her back to me. Got it?”

Sort of. “It’s not the Shifter Whisperer, right?” Because he’d take his chances with Running Bull.

“No, it’s not her.” The level of are you stupid in her tone bordered on the insulting. “If I knew who it was, I’d have already dealt with it.”

Wait. She didn’t know? There was something she didn’t— He didn’t get to complete the thought, because he flew backwards, flung by magic. He tumbled ass over teakettle through a portal and landed in the middle of a bramble bush.

The sharp thorns pricked his skin, caught at his robe and left him arms akimbo and legs twisted.

Assjacket.

Ugh, he hated this place.

It was so full of…nature.

After he endured a dozen scrapes, his robes shredded, and his hair a mess of knots, Kirk finally freed himself from the bush. He’d really liked those robes. They were weaved from the finest alpaca fleece and felt as soft as a rose petal.

The deep red welts on his arms stung. The one on his ass hurt, too. It could have been worse, he supposed. At least he had his sweats on under the robe. The grass tickled his bare feet and a bug crawled onto his toe. With a grimace, he flicked the too many-legged thing away.

Nature sucked.

Give him a tall glass of champagne and a casino any day. Glancing around, all he found were trees.

Bushes. Grass.

More trees.

Has the Baba Yaga screwed up? Wasn’t she supposed to send him to Assjacket? Another slow circle didn’t even reveal a trail, just thick forest everywhere he looked. What the hell?

A quick inventory revealed his sweats, bare feet, and a stick of gum in his pocket. He didn’t even have his watch much less a wand. “So,” he said aloud to the forest. “It’s back to basics, is it?”

The bush where he’d lost his robe shuddered, the rattle dragging his attention. Another shiver and leaves tumbled away, then a furry little creature popped out and glared at him. A reddish little mongrel thrashed its long furry tail as though in agitation.

“I didn’t know raccoons came in red.”

“I didn’t know Warlocks came with muscles.” The snappish reply had all the huff of a thirty-year smoker at the backroom pool table. “You wrecked my house.”

Had he? “Send the bill to the Baba Yaga. She arranged the transportation.”

Pivoting, he marched away from the beastie. Damn Assjacket and its overpopulation of Shifters, rodents, and other hostile occupants.

“Hold your horses there, jack.” The rodent appeared in his path with a poof.

“The name is Kirk.”

“Didn’t ask, don’t care. You wrecked my house.”

Impatient with the day, he said, “And I told you to send the bill to the Baba Yaga, you little Trash Panda.” Raccoons were filthy little creatures.

Indignation filled the animal’s screech. “Trash panda? You overindulged schmuck. I’m a Red Panda…or as I prefer to be known, Firefox.”

He said the last with a hint of dramatic pause, but the joke fell flat. Kirk raised his eyebrows. “Sorry, you don’t look anything like a fox.”

An explosion in the distance echoed through the woods and scattered the birds. Good Goddess, could his day get any worse?

Then the animated stuffed animal launched at him all claws and teeth.

Apparently, it could.

CHAPTER TWO

Bridget

“BREATHE,” Rika told me, holding out the brown paper bag. “The last thing we need is for you to flip your lid. Mac is calming the Beastie Boy down, and there’s some lynch mob forming at the saloon, but I think Fat Bastard challenged them all to a poker tournament, so maybe they want to lynch him.”

That was a cheery thought. At least the Shifter King was on point. He could keep whatever the hell the Beast was in check. I pulled the crackling paper bag away from my mouth to study the woman who’d been my teen charge and now served in the capacity of best friend. “Any sign of the bride?” Shoving the bag back into place, I sucked in my breaths slower.

My panic didn’t have as much to do with the identity of the bride so much as she was a bride. I had the brass ring in sight, a solution to my problem. I couldn’t do anything if she didn’t walk down the aisle.

It didn’t help that she wasn’t the first bride to bolt on her wedding day. Maybe I was a curse on weddings. Two other brides had vanished before they could walk down the aisle, but since one of them was a cougar Shifter, most of us just assumed she changed her mind. The other chick? Her I didn’t know, but I’d just managed to land the singing gig when she packed up in the middle of the night and…

“No,” Rika said, and took a seat next to me on the steps. We were both ignoring the leaves and dirt. Her dress was a stunning shade of green overlaid with the tartan of her Highlander hunk. The only reason Rika and Angus were still in Assjacket was because of me. They could have escaped to the highlands of Scotland or somewhere more exotic, but she was being a real friend.

Sticking to my side ‘til I had the answer I needed and my guarantee of freedom. “And if you don’t get it, well you’ll need us to fend off the vampires…which could be fun, ya know?” The girl really had a warped idea of fun. Still, I appreciated the support.

I would regret asking my next question, I knew I would, but I asked it anyway. “And the explosions?”

“The bridal cottage is gone.” The statement of the obvious earned Rika a wry look, but she gave me an impudent grin. “You knew that.” It wasn’t just gone. A pile of matchsticks lay where the cottage had been. A raven circled it, agitation in every wing flap.

The gathered crowd for the wedding had divided into little clusters of concern. Martin was out there, likely soothing the guests as well as fishing for nuggets of information. People told him all kinds of things, even when they didn’t intend to share. It was a gift her Martin possessed. Goddess knew she confided in him willingly.

Missing brides was a problem, because the town had seen a rash of couplings over the last several months. Some went the mating route and skipped a formal ceremony. Others stole away in the night to elope—whether to another city or another dimension or just elsewhere.

Elsewhere sounded fun. Like…anywhere else. Maybe they could go to Vegas. “Do you think if I went to Vegas and sang at one of the chapels, that would count?”

Rika didn’t dignify the question with an answer. A roar sounded in the distance. The bridegroom was really not taking the turn of events well. Why hadn’t they just got married wherever they met? Or had they? I couldn’t really remember the details. Maybe the fanfare here was just to give Assjacket another reason to party.

Rubbing my chin, I let my gaze skip across the gathered. One runaway bride wasn’t really a thing. Two? Well, if they were cycling through weddings every weekend this summer, then not a really big thing either, right? I mean Zelda and Mac had certainly gotten the fertility thing going on, and they had a lot of happy people. Happy people meant lots of sex and love and proposals of one sort or another.

So runaway brides were a reasonable byproduct when one figured the odds, right? My gaze landed on the pile of sticks that had once been the bridal cottage. Really not thinking she bolted unless she really blasted out of there. Most brooms didn’t have that kind of kickback.

“I’m going to hell,” I said to no one in particular. Rika squeezed my arm, but surrendered her spot next to me as Martin arrived. The adorable man with his thick mullet of dark hair and a white stripe gave Rika a smile and sat next to me. Without saying a word, he took my hand and pressed his lips to my knuckles.

“I’m going to hell,” I repeated and leaned my head on his shoulder. “I know I should feel bad for the groom.” And the caterer, the decorator and everyone else involved, because the wedding they’d planned wasn’t going to happen.

“It’s hardly your fault, love.” Not even the soothing sound of his voice accompanying the gentle rub of his thumb against the back of my hand could quiet the turmoil within me. “I know how important your singing at the wedding was, but I’m sure they’ll find her and you’ll have your opportunity.” What he didn’t add was there was a wedding the next day. I could probably sneak in and just serenade the happy couple and bless them with a happily ever after…

“I know, but I was thinking about the cake. They’re not going to try and save that are they?” I pointed toward the castle cake which had been constructed right down to fairytale paths, forests, gargoyles and spires. It really was a work of art. And I was starving.

“Why don’t we go and find you some fried foods, wine, and chocolate? Maybe not in that order.” Man, he loved me.

“I feel like I should stay.” Not that I remotely wanted to, but all it took was one right twitch, the bride was back, she danced down the aisle, kissed her frog—beast—whatever he was—and they were off to their happily ever after. If I missed it, then I would be one less wedding toward my goal. Yep. Going to hell.

“Even if she turned up right now, I doubt they’d go forward with the big ceremony.” Though he crushed my whimsical hope, he continued to stroke my hand.

“We have a problem.” I might as well admit it, and get it out in the open. We were all thinking it.

“Aye, lassie,” Angus said as he joined us. At least Rika had convinced him that wearing a shirt was less distracting for the other women in town. The man might be a highlander, but he had the lush, bronzed and buff torso of a romance novel hero. Sliding an arm around Rika, he pulled her to him as he completed our weird little quartet. “We’ve definitely a problem.” The thickness of his accent eased in the weeks since he’d been freed from the book.

Which was awesome, because Rika might be in love with the mouth full of marbles, but I was much fonder of understanding more than every fourth word.

“Maybe we should take this discussion elsewhere.” Martin stood and tugged me to my feet. “They’ve got a lot of questions and minor hysteria going on here. The less distracting we are, the better.”

In other words, if today’s events drew the attention of the Baba Yaga, well…yeah, that wouldn’t be a fun conversation. I made it a point to not encourage non-fun conversations with witches who had the power to take my head off without chipping a fingernail.

We prepared to adjourn from the gathering just as a shirtless man in dark gray sweats stumbled out of the forest accompanied by a red panda. Angry red welts marred his skin, and his eyes were wild and a little bit angry. Kind of like the red panda’s.

Neither belonged here. They were earning a fair amount of attention from the populace.

“Not our problem,” Martin whispered against my ear. Truer words had never been spoken because not only was the man a train wreck walking, he possessed an aura of power. Never a good thing. Nope.

Reaching for Rika’s hand, I let her weave the snap of spell which carried us back to our place—our hidden little getaway in the woods, near enough to town to walk, far enough to avoid the madness.

I didn’t have to look far to find the source of all ills. A green haired witch with two different colored eyes and a full set of pouty lips sat on my front porch.

Seriously, whose Wheaties had I peed in, in a former life?

Georgiana

THE SCRATCH of the nail file worked to shape what had been square tips into rounded. She managed to blow all the paint off her nails with that last trick. Which was good, now she could give them a shiny, buff job. She’d just reached her pinky nail when a splash of light dazzled her eyes. When the glare cleared, she found Bridget returned along with the group she’d begun to think of as Bridget’s posse.

Her handsome man was Martin. Too academic by Gigi’s standards. Rika was the impudent witch who’d stolen the man Gigi had spent over a century trying to coax out of the novel. Then there was hunky Angus himself, with his waterfall of perfect hair, chiseled jaw, and mouthwatering chest muscles. The man wore a kilt like he meant it.

Rika made a low sound of disgust. “You.”

“Rika,” Bridget interceded, stepping between them. The witch singer wore the most spectacular dress. “She’s a guest, remember?”

“Not a welcome one.” Though Rika sounded more irritated than hostile.

“Angus, why don’t you and I go get some food on the grill and leave the ladies to chat?”

“I should stay and protect them from the witch.” The Scots’ brogue rolled off his tongue, thick and lyrical.

Clearing her throat, Rika gave her highlander an adoring look. “We’re all witches, beloved.”

“True, but you are a good witch.” Angus deposited a kiss on the other woman’s upturned face.

Acid curled through Gigi’s gut. The lusty man was supposed to have been hers…she’d even cast the spell to leave him in the pages of a book until he’d work out his wild oats. Only, it hadn’t worked out for her. The book went missing, Rika uncorked the spell, and now she had Angus and Gigi had…

Wiping her hands together, Bridget let the others sort themselves out as she made her way to where Gigi sat on the porch swing. The house spells wouldn’t let her in the cottage, but she’d gotten used to the tingle of their zapping her where she sat. It was kind of like a massage.

“Good morning, Georgiana.” Bridget was always so nice, even cheerful when she spoke to Gigi. She didn’t carry an ounce of rancor or disdain, unlike Rika. Nor fear like Angus. Or even impatience, which echoed clearly in Martin’s tone. No one else in town seemed interested in talking to her, which left her with Bridget.

Maybe they could be best friends. “I don’t think it’s such a good morning.” It had started out pretty well. She’d managed to sneak into the bridal cottage before the bride arrived. The witch in question, however, with her foofy rainbow hair, had proven a lot tougher than she’d expected.

Collapsing the cottage hadn’t been on the agenda. Not exactly.

“No?” Bridget leaned against the railing rather than joining her on the swing. Gigi tried not to let her hurt her feelings. Of course, Bridget was wearing a fancy dress so maybe she didn’t want to get it dirty. Clinging to that reasonable conclusion, she resumed filing her nails. There were a few scorch marks around the edges. She’d need a serious manicure to clean up the damage.

“No,” she said, after Martin and Angus disappeared into the house. Gigi half-expected Rika to follow them, but she paused on the steps, leaning against one of the roof posts instead. The lack of emotion in her expression warned she wasn’t on Gigi’s side.

Not a surprise.

“What’s wrong?” Caring coiled in Bridget’s words, beckoning Gigi to confide in her. She’d been like that since Gigi’s first appearance, even taken her out for coffee a couple of times. She never invited Gigi into her home though, but Gigi could forgive the oversight.

Rika still lived with her and Bridget was loyal. She probably didn’t want to upset her housemate in favor of the witch who could be her bestest friend. Chick should realize she can’t have the hot guy and the best witch friend at the same time. No need to be greedy.

Blowing out a breath, Gigi curled her fingers into her palms. “I took your advice and I’m working on my own happiness.”

“That’s fantastic,” Bridget said with a smile, and leaned forward. They’d discussed this both times they’d had coffee. Bridget had a theory that the only happiness a person could possess was the one they made.

Flushing, Gigi sat up straighter. “Oh, I am so glad you agree. The bride this morning was difficult, but I managed to scoop her up like the last two.”

There was a distinctive pause. “Come again?” Bridget’s lashes fluttered rapidly.

“The brides. If I can’t get married, no one is getting married. You said make my happiness, so I am. I witched away those brides and they’ll stay gone until I find my guy…” Determination filled her, but she hesitated. “I’m still not sure how to find my guy, but you were right. I’m the only one who can make it happen.”

Unfortunately, Bridget’s smile faded. Worse, a tight grouping lines appeared between her eyebrows and her lips pursed.

She didn’t look as pleased for her.

“That’s what you meant, right?” Gigi bit the inside of her lip. If she’d made Bridget cross with her, it was going to make asking her if she wanted to go get a mani/pedi uncomfortable.

CHAPTER THREE

Bridget

THE POUNDING in my skull was a dozen little chipmunks playing with maracas. The chipmunks were Rika’s familiars, a wild, unruly lot raced through the house like they were wild cats. Pinching the bridge of my nose, I concentrated on swallowing the first words which led to mind.

Screaming “Are you insane?” at the top of my lungs wouldn’t accomplish much—or maybe it would turn Gigi into a pile of nuts if I hit the right note. Pausing, I peered at her. Would it be so bad to turn the green-haired bag full of cats into a pile of nuts? I could make them fancy nuts—some salted and some candied—the perfect dish.

Hope bloomed in Georgiana’s worried expression, but it wasn’t her face I focused on. It was the stern, yet sympathetic look Martin focused on her via the living room window. He raked his fingers through his mullet, and left my hands itchy with the desire to fist his hair while he took me to bed.

Yep, I’d so much rather be doing him than dealing with Georgiana. For her part, Rika had gone stock-still. Her mouth moved, but no words came out. So maybe her control wasn’t as good as mine. My jaw was rigid.

Okay. Not helping, Bridget. I pinched the bridge of my nose until tears sparked in my eyes and said in as calm a voice as I could manage, “You made the brides disappear?”

Maybe I’d heard her wrong.

“Yep.” Georgiana’s smile blossomed once more.

Son of a witch cracker’s balls… She might blast her after all. Not that blasting her would bring the brides back or solve Bridget’s other issues, but it would sure as hell do something about the seething boil of frustration in her gut. “Just to make sure I understood your reasoning—you kidnapped the brides because you want to be a bride?” Because kidnapping brides was not the first thing that I would put on my to do if I wanted to get married.

“I did.” Another fervent nod, and she scooted forward on the swing. She’d traded her long dress for a pair of furry boots, skintight leggings, and an oversized shirt with a fancy belt. A challenging fusion of fashion, particularly when you took in her pig-tailed hair.

It was right about then, that I noticed the missing bits at the ends of her hair. She’d done more than scorch her fingertips; she’d lost some hair to her little escapade.

Good.

She could lose a whole lot more.

Rika still hadn’t moved or said anything—traitor. My beloved Martin continued to watch over us, but he was also not interfering.

Had someone stamped a sign on my back that said kick me, I like it, or something?

Clenching my hands together, I concentrated on my breathing. A gifted singer had powerful breath control. I needed every ounce of it here. “Are you in love with one of the grooms?” It was a stretch, but she was knocking off brides like they were targets in a shooting gallery.

“Oh, blegh. No.” Georgiana’s pixie face crumbled in distaste. “Not even a little bit. Besides, I’d be really worried that this morning’s creature feature had fleas…no, I just want my own wedding. Rika took the man I’d set my cap out for and I’ve accepted it—graciously I might add.”

Graciously? Dumbfounded, I couldn’t say a word.

“So I think it’s only fair that the next wedding we celebrate be mine. I want you to be my maid of honor. You can be there for me and after. I could be there for you—I’d even be willing to do a joint wedding, you and me. Not Rika.” The deliberateness of the last line earned a snort from Rika. When I glanced at my so-called best friend, I found her struggling not to laugh.

This was so beyond not funny.

I’d rather be sprayed by a skunk. You know, I’ve been sprayed by a skunk twice and it was a lot more pleasant than this. I went back to pinching the bridge of my nose. It seemed the safer response.

“Do you have a groom in mind?” I didn’t look at her. I wasn’t really sure I could school my features. Georgiana was an enormously powerful witch. She couldn’t get through my wards—that much I knew—but she was also capable of some really big booms and cataclysm like fallout.

Cottage turned to matchsticks type fallout.

“No. That’s where you come in.” The perfect amount of straight face delivery coupled with her clap of hands sent a jolt up my spine, detonating somewhere behind my eyes because, I swear to the goddess of all, I felt mushroom clouds go up in my vision and haze everything over.

“Drinks!” Martin announced as the screen door slammed behind him. “Angus is setting up food on the picnic table out back. Why don’t you go out and join him, Rika? And Georgiana? Just follow Rika.”

I didn’t look up, I just wanted to set her on fire. No nuts. Just pure flame. Burn, baby, burn. Hell, I could hear every note to Disco Inferno in the back of my mind and it wouldn’t take much to…

“Here you go babe,” Martin murmured, his soothing voice quenching the fiery tempest of my anger. He wrapped my hand around a cold glass, and I drained the contents in one gulp. Sweet wine.

Too sweet.

“Give me another.”

The sugar would definitely help.

“You might want to keep your wits about you,” he suggested, until I glared at him. Then he just handed me the bottle, after removing the cork.

I drank about a third of it, before I took a breath and sagged against him. “Did you hear her?”

“Oh yeah,” he said, patting my arm. “That’s why I thought it best to separate the two of you until you got it under control.”

“How the hell am I ever going to get her under control?” Not to mention, why was she my problem? I could make a huge argument about not fair, and crazy witches, and an already top-heavy list of big ticket items weighing me down, but I didn’t. Martin espoused the lovely adage of one didn’t get presented with a challenge unless one was up to it.

In this moment, however, I refused to be the one. Just hell to the no. I didn’t want to be a whiner, but I didn’t want this responsibility. “Martin, I just want to sing at my weddings, get the answer from the Baba Yaga, get Mr. Nasty-Face off my back and then run away with you.”

“Well, I’m glad I made the list.” The indulgence in his tone neutered any possible sting. Then he brushed his lips to my forehead. “So, think about this way…what would Nanny do?”

Goddess love him. He had a point. Still chewing on that thought, I wasn’t ready for a newcomer to charge up the steps to our porch—not to mention it being the half-naked newcomer who’d stalked into the wedding clearing, his red welted chest starting to blister in a few places.

With furious eyes, he glared at both of us and Martin straightened. My beautiful man was more thinker than brawler, but I could almost feel the magic rippling over him.

“Where is the witchnapper?”

Oh, that couldn’t end well.

Then it hit me.

Maybe it could.

Kirk

THE WAY the purple haired witch narrowed her eyes at him gave Kirk pause. He’d charged over to the witch singer’s house because the insanity at the wedding grotto had given him an altogether unpleasant headache all the yelling, growling, and weeping had bestowed upon him. His feet hurt after tromping through the wilds. He’d run into another cluster of bushes, and now had an unbearable itch crawling along his arms.

So, he probably could have been more polite to the two occupants all snuggled up with their bottle of wine, but he just wanted to bag the bridenapper, get his debts paid off, and leave before he caught something permanent. Yet, the moment he snapped at her, she went from a look of cool fury to utter speculation.

Dread coiled in his stomach. Witch singers weren’t bad witches right? Not that he could recall.

“Hey,” the trash panda announced from his feet. “You should start by introducing yourself, bub.”

“Oooh,” the witch singer let out a soft exhale of wonder, and went to her knees. “Hello there, you beautiful thing.”

The red furred little bugger puffed up and all but strutted over to her. “Hello, pretty lady. Forgive my brutish companion, he fell into a mulberry bush then crashed through a poison sumac patch. He’s in a very bad mood.”

“Is he?” The witch singer didn’t even look in Kirk’s direction. Instead she opened her arms and the trash panda hurtled into them and snuggled her. The man who’d been standing next to her watched the whole exchange with a bemused smile. The red furred head rubbed against the witch singer’s chin, a distinctive cuddle, and then she rose pressing a tiny kiss to the creature’s head.

Sure. The rodent got a friendly greeting. The longer he stood there, the more Kirk had a chance to admire the stunning red dress the singer wore, and the way it made her skin glow and emphasized her…zap! Pain shocked him back a step and he jerked his gaze to the mild-mannered man still standing near her whose gaze now focused on him.

The faint tilt to the corner of his mouth told Kirk all he needed to know. Nodding once to the other warlock—because he definitely had the power to be a warlock—Kirk folded his arms. The urge to scratch was driving him crazy. They shared a long moment of masculine understanding. The witch singer belonged to the man with the white stripe in his hair, and he’d defend what was his.

“Look, Martin. Isn’t Firefox adorable?” The singer was still cooing at the trash panda and it was all besotted with her, too. Sparkles filled the air, and he could almost hear the ringing of the bells. The little rodent was her familiar. Well, it could have said something when he fell on it.

“He’s perfect for you, lover.” The man settled a possessive hand on her hip and drew her and her newly accessorized trash panda to him. The critter wrapped around her shoulders like a fur stole and it matched her dress. Even her purple hair began to change colors until it fell in an ombre wave that ended red as the raccoon’s fur.

“Congratulations,” Kirk announced, determined to play the cards he’d been dealt. He summoned a bottle of champagne and held it out. “Allow me to present you with this token upon discovering your true familiar. A day worth remembering.”

“Uh huh,” Martin grunted as he accepted the bottle. “Now, introduce yourself and maybe summon a shirt since you’re half naked and not even an appealing naked at that.”

The witch singer giggled, and it held all those wonderful notes of a perfect concerto. For a moment, Kirk completely forgot why he was there. Even the air around her seemed to shimmer.

“Bridget, darling,” Martin murmured. “Why don’t you take Firefox in and get him comfortable while I take care of our guest?”

The witch spun and gave Martin a kiss that had Kirk’s ears turning red before she whispered something against the other man’s lips and vanished. The moment she disappeared, Kirk remembered how to breathe then took a step back.

Raking a hand through his hair, he stared at the other warlock. “Holy hell.”

“And all mine,” Martin reminded him, even as a little fireball began to dance on his fingertips.

“No problem. I’m not even going to look next time, I swear.” He was a gambler, not stupid. Remembering the warlock’s earlier request, Kirk mumbled a quick summoning spell and held out his hand. A clean t-shirt landed in his palm and he quickly tugged it on. The cotton was like blades sinking into his skin after his tumbles through the woods, but he’d live.

“If you’ll forgive my earlier rudeness,” he began again, attempting to regain the high ground he’d already mercilessly ceded. “I am Kirk. The Baba Yaga has sent me to deal with the witchnapper of brides. I’ve tracked her to this location.” Lest Martin think he meant the lovely witch singer, he held up a palm, fingers apart with no spells at play. “If you could point me to the other occupants, I’ll make sure your sweet lady is in no danger.”

Martin’s slow smile should have been his first warning. “All I can do,” he said, still playing with his fireball. “Is tell you that we will give you the answer you require to solve the Baba Yaga’s dilemma if you do us but one small favor…”

Kirk was almost afraid to ask, so he simply raised his eyebrows.

A green haired witch stomped around the side of the house, her long tresses bouncing with every step, as did her considerable and quite shapely bosom.

“Gigi,” Martin beamed. “Perfect timing. Bridget’s had to dash off to an emergency bonding session with her new familiar, but she found you the perfect escort to find your wedding dress. Kirk. Gigi. Gigi. Kirk. You two have fun now. We’ll want to hear all about it later.”

The man simply disappeared, and a door slammed somewhere else. Then another.

Kirk stared into the curious bi-color eyes of Gigi and his heart did the strangest thing—it quaked. She smiled at him and clapped her hands together. A couple of fireworks exploded around her, then she dashed onto the porch and seized his hands.

“I love shopping!”

Before he could so much as open his mouth, the world slipped sideways and Assjacket was long behind them.

CHAPTER FOUR

Gigi

FASTER than a cold breeze blowing in of the bay could chill a hot a San Diego day, Gigi whisked her escort from Assjacket to Paris. It was late afternoon in the city of love, but there were two couture shops she loved. The moment they stood in front of the first Jean-Merci’s, she paused to smooth a hand over her sleek green hair and studied her companion.

Kirk blinked rapidly, then sunglasses appeared in his hand and he slid them on to shade his stunning onyx eyes. Oh, she’d never seen such dark eyes. He was tall, too. Very tall—and wearing sweatpants? Pausing at his attire, she pursed her lips.

“Yeah, yeah.” His grumble didn’t allay her concern. “Gimme a sec.” The sweatpants seemed to shiver and became a pair of denim jeans. He wore boots—not quite cowboy boots, but boots nonetheless. His white t-shirt looked crisp against his dark skin and gave her a welcome view of some seriously nice muscles. He was on the lean side of hot, but still hot.

“You look very nice,” she complimented him, the tried to avoid the blush assaulting her cheeks. With a spin, she led him inside. Marcellia, a pencil-thin woman, with drawn on eyebrows and a wicked witch’s peak in her hairline, gave her a measuring look as she entered.

Marcellia was a judgmental shrew. She never failed to look down her nose at Gigi’s curvy body, short legs, and wide hips. But today, Gigi was here for a wedding dress and she wouldn’t let the other woman get to her. “I know where my sizes are,” she announced, breezing passed even as Marcellia looked behind Gigi to Kirk.

Whatever the other woman saw straightened her up, and her movements became languid. Yet when Gigi reached the back corner of the store where the woman stocked the plus sizes, Kirk was right behind her.

“Grab a chair,” she said with a grin, delighted at his presence. Bridget really was her bestest friend. Gigi had no idea where she plucked this delightful morsel from, but she wanted to savor the attention. Kirk gave her a sidelong look before he dropped into one of the fancy poof chairs. It didn’t neuter his masculinity one bit, and he rested his elbows on his knees and gave her an expectant look.

Gigi hurried to pick out her three favorite dresses—she’d been in the shop enough to know the whole inventory—then she glanced around. When Marcellia didn’t appear, Gigi snapped her fingers and a boombox appeared on the floor at his feet.

“When I say go, hit it.” She was fond of old cassette tapes and if she was going to pick the right dress. They’d need a montage. Kirk tugged off his sunglasses, glanced at the boombox, then at her with a shrug.

Inside the changing room, she hung the dresses on the wall and then wiggled her nose. Swapping her current outfit for the first dress—an ocean of organza which left her shoulders bare and her boobs looking even more ample than they would normally. Gathering the skirt in her hands, she said, “Hit it!”

The beat of the music flooded her ass he danced out of the room and Ray Parker Jr started his playful rendition of Ghostbusters. Kirk’s eyes widened as she did a twirl in front of him. But the look didn’t have the wow factor she wanted on her groom’s face, so she boogied back into the dressing room.

Another twitch of her nose and she swapped the huge confection for an ultra-slender, body hugging cream gown that gave her the roundest ass to match her round bosom. A snap of her fingers jumped the tape to Eye of the Tiger and she strutted out of the changing room, one hand on her hip and the other against her abdomen, lest she burst some seams as she moved.

Kirk’s eyebrows seemed to crash into his hairline, but nope, no look of awe there.

Damn.

She gave a little model runway walk for effect. Her juicy body had the right hips to give him lots to think about, but she wasn’t loving the way it gave her tummy as rounding an effect as it did her ass. She slinked back into the changing room.

She twitched nose to remove the dress and sucked in a grateful breath before choosing the next gown. This one was all southern hospitality and sweetness. It even had a wide brimmed hat and she practically wanted a mint julep as she winked at her reflection and the music changed to Girls Just Wanna Have Fun.

Dancing out this time, she met Kirk’s amused grin and her heart did a little flip-flop. This dress was closer, but it still wasn’t the right one. Still, she had a good time and danced her heart out in the dress. The sway of the skirt added even more jiggle to her wiggle and she was laughing when Kirk waved her back to the dressing room.

So her three favorites here weren’t the right dress. With a twitch and a wink, she was back in her street clothes and the music stopped. Leaning out of the dressing room, she curled her fingers towards Kirk. He grabbed the boombox and took her hand. They made the jump from Paris to Tyson’s Corner, Virginia.

Sure, it wasn’t Paris, but there was another little shop here that was loads of fun.

“A mall?” Kirk’s first real sentence to her sounded positively scandalized. And she grinned.

“Trust me!”

Then she led him to Mama Jane’s. The family owned boutique was a lot friendlier than Paris’ sweet shop, but she always thought she should really do it up for her wedding.

Kirk settled in a new set of chairs and she swept through the shop gathering together a dozen different gowns. Before she even made it in the door of the dressing room, Kirk bounded to his feet and plucked two dresses away from her.

“Not a good color for you…and this is too pale. You need more vibrant colors. Or stark white because you bring all the color.” The rapid command in his tone sent a shiver along her spine and a thrill to curl in her belly.

“Do you see something you like here?” Why not? He was there to help right?

To her absolute shock, Kirk nodded and walked over to the side and returned with two dresses, one kind of filmy and the other all lace. They were totally not her style, but he’d offered so she had to accept.

“Thank you,” she whispered as her fingers brushed his. Electricity skittered through her and he gave her a sharp look at the contact. Sharp, not repulsed.

Her heart began to race. Then he did something uber sexy. He scanned the shop around them before he moved his chair so he could watch her dressing room door and the rest of the shop.

Kirk was protecting her.

How sweet!

She might melt into a puddle.

Inside the changing room, she went to work and Kirk played her patient audience from the deep gold dress which hugged her, but left everything covered—and he didn’t seem to like it any more than she did, because he just shook his head—to the hot pink spaghetti strapped nightmare that she didn’t even make a step out of the dressing room before magic gave her a light shove back inside.

The music included everything from Human League to Kenny Loggins to a little Bon Jovi, but she didn’t hit the jackpot until Shalamar declared she was Dancing in the Sheets. She sauntered out in the second dress Kirk selected for her. It was a white filmy creation. A sheath hugged her torso, while a filmy overlay floated around her.

She’d never felt so effervescent.

At her appearance, Kirk froze and she saw it—the gleam and delight vivid in his eyes.

She had her wedding dress, and felt like a million bucks.

Riding on air, she danced to the music and Kirk even tapped his foot in time to it. He couldn’t sit still, and what she’d thought had been fidgeting with impatience earlier suddenly seemed to be excitement he couldn’t contain.

Gigi was in heaven.

She had her wedding dress.

“Now that you found the right one,” Kirk murmured captivating her. “How about some lunch?”

“I’m starving.” Meeting his gaze, she felt another one of those ping-pong effects between her heart and her rib cage. Oh, if only Bridget were there, they could giggle squee—but then if Bridget were there, it wouldn’t be a date.

Nope, she wanted to enjoy the date while it lasted. She had the wedding dress, which meant Bridget was likely finding her a groom.

Best.

Day.

Ever.

In the meanwhile, lunch!

Kirk

ONE MINUTE he’d been on his knees at the Baba Yaga’s feet, sure life as he knew it was over, next he’d been dropped unceremoniously in hell. —otherwise known as nature. Now he sat in a mall eating piled high burgers, drinking sodas and eating super salty fries with a gorgeously curvy woman who’d given him his own private dance show as she figured out her bridal dress.

Sure, Martin probably shanghaied him into protecting the next bride from possible witch napping—made sense since he was there to apprehend the witchnapper—but Gigi was a lot of fun and she didn’t pretend she wasn’t hungry. She dug right into her burger and ate it with a kind of pleasure he enjoyed.

“So when is your wedding, if you don’t mind me asking?” The gorgeous dress he’d picked out was currently in a long dress bag surreptitiously lying over the back of a chair. A hint of magic kept it from being really folded, however, and no one walking by would knock it off.

Gigi froze, one fry halfway to her mouth and gave him a guarded look. Maybe he shouldn’t have asked about her wedding? Wiping his fingers on a napkin, he scratched at his shoulder and then tried to make himself stop. His flesh seemed to be consumed with the violent itching. It had made sitting in the chairs in the dress shops damn uncomfortable, at least until she’d started dancing.

Even when the dresses hadn’t suited her, she’d shimmered with pure fun.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to press on a sore spot.” Sometimes, he lacked tact entirely. It wasn’t that he didn’t appreciate manners, but he’d seen her boobs bouncing and her butt wiggling—a wedding date didn’t seem a stretch into the don’t ask zone.

“It’s not a sore spot,” she admitted, after finishing the fry and washing it down with a drink of her cherry cola. “It’s just I don’t have a date yet.”

“Worried about recent events?” He could sympathize. Recent events had him worried, too. The Baba Yaga had done him a favor to cover his debts if he caught a simple criminal for her. Since she didn’t do favors easily, and this kind of work was a snap for her—well, let him just remember that what she wanted from him meant it could totally end with him being screwed worse than when he started.

Better to watch all the angles.

Gigi ducked her head. “A little…but probably not how you mean.” Her pretty cheeks went rosy, and she met his gaze fully. How could a man not appreciate the gemstone quality of her mis-matched eyes? One pure sapphire, bluer than a summer sky and one sharp emerald, a faceted color that reminded him of the deep jungles he could admire but loathed to travel.

“Then what is troubling you?” In his experience, most women were happy to discuss themselves and he was more than happy to listen if it meant he didn’t have to share his innermost thoughts.

No one wanted to read a blank book anyway.

“You’ll laugh.” Her gaze dropped away and she used a fry to stir the ketchup around on the paper which had wrapped her burger.

“I promise, I won’t.” It was the easiest oath he’d ever given. The fire creeping across his flesh provided a torturous distraction. It had kept his tongue from lolling out when she’d sauntered out of the dressing room in that body hugging dress. He loved all her generous curves and the dress had flattered everyone in his opinion.

Itching kept him from drooling. A painful way to succeed, but he would take every advantage he had.

After eating two more fries and letting her gaze sweep the half-empty food court where they were chowing down, Gigi said, “I don’t have a wedding day planned because I don’t have a groom…yet.”

Yet?

What? Kirk made good on his word. He didn’t laugh, but he only managed to keep the disbelieved chuckle contained by frowning. “I’m sorry, I don’t understand. You bought a wedding dress, but you don’t have a groom—or a wedding date.”

If she’d meant she had a fellow bride, she would have said that and not just mentioned she didn’t have a groom. So, no, she had a hetero vibe and made a direct comment, so he wouldn’t Sigmund Freud it to death.

A little sigh escaped her and the thick darkness of her lashes swept low over those gemlike eyes. “It means I don’t have a groom. I want a groom. I should be married by now and working on at least one rugrat. That was always the plan, but plans kept going awry.” With the cherry color of her cheeks deepening, she sucked on her lower lip.

Kirk leaned forward, as enticed by the action as by her answer. “You had a plan to be married, without actually knowing the person you want to marry?” He was definitely not laughing, but puzzled—very puzzled.

“It’s not as strange as you seem to be making it sound.” As if to cover her note of defensiveness, she dabbed at her mouth with a napkin. “A lot of people make plans for their future—what magic they’ll study, what field they’ll go into, and even what career they want to have. Maybe they don’t want a career, maybe they want to just live on their spoils and travel.”

He totally related to the last one.

“But we all make plans. I wanted to be married. I even had the perfect man in mind… set up the perfect meeting, but it didn’t work out.” The brightness in her voice dimmed on the last.

The loss bothered him. “I’m sorry.”

“For what?” The artless sincerity in her curious nature tugged a reluctant smile from him.

“For your disappointment.” And maybe it was because he wanted to dig his nails into his skin until he drew blood, he reached for his soda and focused on her. “But if a groom is what you want…” He stressed the word want rather than saying need. No one needed another person, not really. They wanted to be with them. That made more sense to him.

Shifters needed.

Witches wanted.

Then a dark little voice in the back of his mind reminded him, And warlocks take… Muzzling the dark promise suggested in that devil’s advocate, he kept his attention on Gigi. Any dark needs he had were satisfied by gaming, and he took a lot in those games, and lost a fair amount too. It all evened out.

Shaking his head, he kept his attention on the beautiful woman eating burgers with him. “What are you looking for in a potential groom?”

Her indelicate snort surprised and delighted him. Leaning back in her chair, she pointed a finger at him. “You don’t want to know that.”

“Of course, I do. I don’t ask what I don’t want to know.” Granted, he’d rather have bagged his little kidnapper and be scot free on his debts, but one step at time. He was doing Martin and the witch singer a favor, they’d in turn answer his question, then he’d get his little criminal and bang, zoom, off to the moon he’d go.

“Fine,” she said, all skeptical and adorable in her defiance. “I want a romantic lover, who has a solid work ethic, enjoys a variety of activities from dancing to crafts, and appreciates travel while also is invested in building solid foundations whether it’s in a community or in constructing their own home. They’ll have firm family ties, respectful relationships with parents and teachers. They’ll have a past they can be proud of, and the desire to invest in their future…”

Just when he thought she’d take a breath, she continued on. Kirk had finished his burger and all of his fries during his speech. Finally, he forced himself to suck on his soda to keep from interrupting her.

“…and I guess, last and certainly not least or the most important, he has to be attractive. To me. I don’t care if no one else thinks he’s handsome, but I have to.” With a jaunty little nod, she finished.

“You’re crazy,” he admitted, then shook his head when she widened her eyes in outrage. “Hang on, don’t get pissed at me yet. Just—that’s an impossible list of characteristics for any one person to have.”

“But the right man will have them.” Good thing she had faith in that. “Besides, if you had to have a bride, what qualities would she have for you?”

“Be devoted to me and let me love her.” Kirk wasn’t a terribly complicated man. “On the other hand, I don’t have to have a bride. Or a girlfriend for that matter. It happens or it doesn’t.”

Not complicated at all.

“What if you have nothing in common?” It seemed to be Gigi’s turn to study him.

“Then she can teach me about her world and I’ll teach her about mine. If she’s devoted to me, and I to her—we’d have a lot of fun, don’t you think?” Finally giving into the urge, he scratched at his shoulder. The scrape of his nails against his shirt covered skin both heaven and hell.

“You’re a strange man, Kirk.” Though Gigi made it sound like a compliment. Reaching across the table, she put a hand on his arm, and he ceased scratching. The whisper of power was ephemeral at first but gained force as a rush of coolness washed over his skin. He damn near wept in relief.

“But I think I like you,” she finished shyly. When she would have drawn her hand away, Kirk captured it and rose to bend over and press his lips to her knuckles.

“Thank you, pretty lady.” Then, even when he had every reason in the world to usher back to the backwater of Shifterville, he said, “Want to go do something fun?”

CHAPTER FIVE

Gigi

WHEN KIRK INVITED her to go do something fun, she hadn’t really known what she expected for his idea of fun, and why would she? She barely knew the guy except that he was good looking, had a sweet smile, patient with her shopping, and chatter and a terrible case of poison sumac—now cured because her mother had an affinity for all plants and Gigi picked up a lot of the minor healing magicks thanks to herbology lessons as a kid.

Maybe he liked golf? Though he wasn’t very outdoorsy, so maybe a club? He’d definitely seemed to enjoy her dancing. Instead of either, she found herself standing in a bowling alley which smelled of foot sweat, chalk, and beer while wearing a pair of the world’s ugliest and least sexy shoes and playing with balls.

“You want the one that’s not too heavy, but still has some pull on your arm.” Kirk, it seemed, was also a patient teacher. He liked the game it seemed and had a skill at it.

It was sexy as hell when he lined the ball up and let it go. It curved whichever way he wanted it, it seemed, then struck the pins. He had far more strikes than misses. And he didn’t use magic at all.

For her part, Gigi became the master of the gutter ball, and she only broke two nails. Kirk caught her hands in his when she grimaced at the sight of additional ruin to her already scorched fingertips and he murmured three words then kissed them.

Not only were the scorch marks gone, but the nails were perfectly oval-shaped and even.

“Dude, you cannot just go around giving a girl a perfect manicure.” The chide worked, because he laughed. “You will have to beat the women off with sticks.”

“I think I can handle it.”

They played another two games before he took pity on her. Then, dress still in hand, they turned in their shoes and headed over to the arcade. Pinball proved to be more her forte—and she won three games in a row. They left the bowling alley and jaunted over to a carnival on a pier somewhere in New Jersey.

They rode the merry-go-round, which she loved, and the ferris wheel, which it turned out he enjoyed. Then they got some cotton candy, and Kirk showed off his prowess winning her a couple of stuffed animals.

It was ridiculously sweet, and kind of an aww moment. It was then she glanced around at the people passing them on the boardwalk. Couples walking hand-in-hand. Kirk wasn’t holding her hand, but he had taken charge of her dress and nothing had been allowed to crumple or hurt the bag.

Rising on her tiptoes, she pressed a hand to his shoulder then brushed her lips against his. “Thank you,” she whispered when he gave her a startled look. Before she could pull away, Kirk slid an arm around her waist and tugged her close.

When his lips touched hers, he took her breath away. He tasted of cotton candy, laughter, and a montage of dance music. The massage of his mouth against hers lasted an eternity, or maybe only a few seconds. They flowed apart as easily as they’d come together. It was a rare, and truly beautiful moment. His grin matched hers, and they both laughed. It was so freeing and for the first time in ever, she felt like one of those other couples.

Other couples.

Tears pricked her eyes, and she glanced upward as the light above turned on.

The sun had set.

It had set.

Smile fading, she looked at Kirk. She didn’t deserve to be enjoying a carefree evening on a boardwalk after a great afternoon of unique adventure. “I need to get back.” She had brides to free. What had she been thinking, whisking them away to hold off their nuptials in favor of her imaginary ones?

The ease in his expression erased, and he nodded slowly. “Of course, you’re right. I have a job to do.”

“As do I.” She extended her hand to him, and he interlaced his fingers with hers. “Thank you for today…I didn’t realize how much I needed it.”

Not daring to wait for his answer, she whooshed them back to Assjacket, to Bridget and Martin.

It was time the brides go marching in…

Kirk

RETURNING to Assjacket socked him in the solar plexus. Not just because it was the wart on nature’s hairy little backside, but because he’d been having a tremendously good time with Gigi. When was the last time he’d had so much fun without high stakes? In truth, he couldn’t remember.

They arrived at the edge of the witch singer’s porch. His earlier hosts sat on the porch swing together, looking enormously content. The trash panda—Firefox—snuggled around Bridget’s shoulders as though he’d belonged there forever.

Before Kirk could open his mouth, Gigi burst into tears and rushed toward Bridget. The singer gave a little sigh and rose. When she caught Gigi and hugged her, Kirk fought not to hurry to the curvy little witch he’d spent the day with.

Martin didn’t seem at all bothered by the hysterics. Zinging magical bolts exploded from around the two women, racing passed Martin then Kirk before vanishing in the direction of town.

“Is she all right?” Kirk asked when he couldn’t take her tears any longer.

“She’ll be fine,” Bridget assured him. The witch singer’s beatific smile didn’t unsettle him as it had earlier. Nor did her charming and attractive appearance earn more than a passing appreciative thought. No, all of Kirk focused on the curvy, green haired witch whose shoulders shook.

Worried still, Kirk slid his hands in his pockets. The much-vaunted wedding dress hung in the air next to them. The spell to maintain it in perfect condition cost him nothing. She’d been so happy to find the right dress, he wouldn’t let anything happen to it now.

As much as he wanted to stay with Gigi, Kirk had a task to complete. Maybe afterward, he could take her out and…

“We promised you an answer when you returned,” Martin said as he descended the steps with the women. “Do you still require it?”

Unfortunately, he did. The brides were being reunited with their grooms—a roar, as though some huge beast had been triumphant, split the night air. The sound startled him, but not nearly as much as the way Gigi’s eyes glittered with tears. No, the perfect gems held him rooted to the spot. Clearing his throat, he stopped trying to pull away, and spoke to her rather than Martin. “I do need those answers,” he assured her. “Maybe needing them was what sent me with you today, but I’m really glad I went.”

“I had fun,” she confessed in a husky voice.

“Me too.”

“Aww,” Martin drew out the syllable until it verged just on the edge of mocking. “You two are adorable. Gigi, did you finish doing what you needed to do?”

Fireworks exploded over the eastern woods, and a song like that of the fae rode the breeze.

“I did,” she promised with a sniffle.

“Good job. What did we learn from this experience?” The man had the manner of a teacher, but Kirk decided it was time Martin received the same lesson he’d delivered earlier. A flick of Kirk’s fingers sent a simple bolt of electricity to burn against the other man’s hand.

The action drew Martin’s attention away from Gigi. Kirk couldn’t stamp her with the same mine claim the witch singer’s mate had vibed to him earlier, but he could make it clear that she was off limits.

A kind of slippery slope that was.

Instead of annoyance, Martin exuded satisfaction

Gigi swiped away her tears. “That I need to work for what I want, and I need to be patient. I’m going to need some time for the latter.”

A laugh escaped Kirk before he could reconsider it. The words had been a terrible pun, but one he appreciated. Gigi beamed at him once more.

“I’m sorry Bridget, I didn’t think about what you needed to do, or about Rika or anyone else for that matter.” Her apology to the witch singer was swiftly accepted. The two women hugged again.

Martin extended a hand to Kirk. Before he could grasp the offer, Kirk found himself shackled to Gigi. Surprised, he glanced at the curvy little witch then at Martin and Bridget. “What is the meaning of this?”

“You needed a witchnapper, and now you have her. She understands what she did was wrong, and you have the answer you need for the Baba Yaga. Bright blessings to you both.” The witch singer leaned forward and gave Gigi an impulsive kiss on the cheek. “Be safe.”

He barely had time to process the turn of events when they whisked sideways and found themselves on the set of the comedy Cheers or maybe it really was just a little downstairs pub in Boston. Still a little dazed, Kirk adjusted his grip so he could clasp Gigi’s hand despite the shackles linking their wrists.

His next thought was interrupted when the whole room chorused “Baba Yaga!” at the grand witch’s interest.

“Kirk! You’re here!” She danced over in her neon spandex, and acid green jellied shoes to stand in front of them. “Excellent. Have you found the bride stealer?”

The air went utterly still, pregnant with a thousand possibilities. Not once did Baba Yaga’s gaze go to where he and Gigi were shackled together. Yes, he had found the witchnapper, but he was pretty sure all the missing brides had been returned, based on the electric bolts Gigi released earlier.

“The problem has been resolved,” he hedged. “The weddings are all back on, and the grooms aren’t pining anymore.”

Baba Yaga gave him a curious look. “So you didn’t find the witchnapper?”

If he said no, then he failed in his task. If he said yes, he might have to confess it was Gigi. Better to say no…because technically he hadn’t found her. Martin introduced her to him, and truthfully, he could take his punishment. It was better if Gigi were safe.

“That would be accurate,” he told Baba Yaga, splitting hairs maybe, but he decided to stand on the principals he’d rediscovered over the last several hours.

“Uh huh.” Baba Yaga tapped a manicured and bedazzled finger with its three rings against her lower lip. Her gaze went to Gigi. “So you didn’t find the witchnapper. Pity, we could have taken care of all those debts, but now I’m going to have to lose a wager of mine and turn you over to Running Bull.”

So be it. Kirk wouldn’t waver. Gigi had been dreaming out loud about what she wanted in her life.. Maybe, she’d been a little over the top, but she’d put everyone back as soon as she realized the insanity of her plan.

Not a lot of people could own their actions and learn from them. Maybe he should take a leaf from her tree and stop detonating dynamite in the middle of his own life.

“Baba Yaga, ma’am?” Gigi said, and Kirk froze. Not on purpose, but literally. He couldn’t move his jaw. He couldn’t protest or tell her to hush. “I’m the witchnapper, but I promise, I put them all back and Kirk did find me. He’s just being a consummate gentleman and trying to protect me. Please don’t give him to Running Bull.”

Dammit, Gigi. Kirk fought through the layers of molasses trapping him.

“I know what I did was wrong and selfish, and I’m so very sorry. All the brides are back where they belong, and I won’t interfere in the happily ever after of another again…ever.” The last words had the finality of an oath, and there was power in an oath.

“So Kirk did his job, but didn’t want to cash in on it and you swallowed your pride, and didn’t try to take credit for something you don’t deserve.” Baba Yaga seemed to mull it over. “I think you two are enormously good for each other. Very well…” Power flooded the room, and Baba Yaga rose, cocooned by smoke, lightning and a booming voice. “I hereby decree that the Warlock Kirk is freed of all gambling debts, which we will cover, but henceforth he shall gamble willy nilly no longer. To you, Gigi, I also decree that you will help any bride who ever needs it to find the perfect wedding dress—even if you have to host a television show with a witchzilla to do it.”

So far so good…

“But I like the two of you together, so I do bless you with a pairing which lets the two of you be daring. In light of your day’s tone, so shall you both be in the friend zone for the time of a year and one day—and then you may have your say.”

The finish sent a dazzle of disco energy frenetically through the room, flashing lights and sparkles. Gigi leaned into him and Kirk tightened his hand. With a flourish, Baba Yaga stood before them once more.

“Well?” She looked at them expectantly.

Gigi glanced at him, and Kirk lifted his shoulders. “Forgive us,” he said, speaking to Baba Yaga once more. “What does that mean?”

“Oh, for the love of…” She scowled and ripped off her hat then glared at them both. “You are bound together for the time of a year and a day. No nookie, no sex, and no heavy petting. You can kiss. You can talk. You can dance in the rain—as long as you are together. At the end of the year and a day, you can pretty much do whatever you want.”

That didn’t sound too bad. Gigi was fun.

“What happens if we have sex before then?” Gigi asked, and Kirk tried not to grin. It was a good question.

“You won’t,” Baba Yaga assured her. “There are not takebacks, and no second chances. You blow it and he loses the biggest gamble of his life to the house, and trust me, I always win those. You would never see each other again, even if you stood in the same room.”

With that Baba Yaga vanished and Kirk found himself and Gigi back in that damn clearing in Assjacket. At least this time he wasn’t in the brambly bush.

“A year and a day,” he said slowly, turning to face her.

“That’s what she said.” Gigi’s eyes rounded as she gazed up at him. “You were really going to let her give you to someone called Running Bull and not tell her that I was the person you had to catch?”

“Friendship means more than french fries and dance montages, it means keeping what you value safe.”

Gigi swooned, then she rose and gave him a quick peck on the lips. They both went still and looked around. So, the kissing allowance was not a tease. They could do that. Both released a relieved whoosh of air.

“Thank you,” she told him earnestly. “I had a lot of fun today, so tomorrow it’s my turn to pick what we do, right?”

“No,” he said, reasonable to a point. “You also picked out a dress today, so we went halfsies today and we’ll go halfsies tomorrow. Deal?”

Gigi’s smile lit him up. “Deal.”

It wasn’t exactly a happily ever after, but a to be continued—forever and a day. Those were better stories, Kirk decided. A story that didn’t end, but promised tomorrow.

EPILOGUE

Bridget

MORE THAN A YEAR and a day ago, I came to Assjacket desperate to solve the problem for the Dallas vamps. Yet, here I remained and I’d not delivered the promised answer. It wasn’t that I hadn’t sung at dozens of weddings—I was the most in demand wedding singer in Assjacket and four other counties, but still, no answer.

Why? Because not all the happily ever afters had been just right or at least, my singing hadn’t sealed them. If the couple were firmly entrenched before their weddings, then zip, zilch, nada.

I’d be frustrated except…I had Martin. Rika and Angus were off touring the highlands together, and I’d sung at their wedding a month before. Martin and I were deeply ensconced in our little cottage and Firefox made life complete. Still…sooner or later the vamps were going to come for me, because I’d reneged on a deal.

That didn’t sit easily.

Putting aside that concern for today, I stood at the end of the aisle. Gigi appeared in her drop-dead gorgeous filmy wedding dress, feet bare and wearing a single ruby on a gold chain as a kind of pseudo crown. At the end of the aisle, Kirk looked dashing in his white tux and tails. No wear near as fine as my Martin—his tux fitting him even better than Kirk’s fit him, and Martin’s dashing with a Hawaiian shirt rather than a crisp white one.

Half of Assjacket turned out for the nuptials of the best friends turned must-see romance. Energy zinged back and forth between witch and warlock. I wasn’t singing today for anything other than a sigh of real happiness. Gigi had been an unmitigated pain in the ass, but like Rika before her, she had also become a good friend.

I wished her and Kirk nothing but happiness—and a long night to get laid, because those two were so into each other, I thought they were going to do it right there on the lawn since today marked the last day of Baba Yaga’s friendly little curse.

When I sang this time, it came all the way from my soul. It was a series of eighties love ballads, a montage effect, and I pulled out all the stops. Images danced in the air around Gigi as she walked—images of her wedding dress dancing, Kirk and her bowling, rides at carnivals, visits to zoos, and other exotic locations around the world.

Gigi and Kirk had fallen in love in every time zone and every country. They’d had an amazing year. They’d also decided to launch their own Witch Web Say Yes to Love show together…it was a game slash reality show that was already getting the best witched ratings of the year.

I sang for the friends I’d made here and for all the journeys I’d been witness to. I sang for love and for family. Most of all, I sang for Martin.

When our gazes locked and held, the music surged out of me, rising on a crescendo.

This was what happily ever after was like—happy every damn day, even when we struggled or had to take on the problems of friends. We did it together.

I let the last note fall away as Gigi took Kirk’s outstretched hand, and then—poof—Baba Yaga stood next to me.

“Damn girl, that was tear-worthy. You totally St. Elmos Fire’d that.”

Laughing quietly, I gave Baba Yaga’s shoulder a bump. I wouldn’t have done that the first time I met her, but today? She was as much there as a friend and fairy godmother as she was Witch Enforcer. “I’m really happy for them.”

“You are,” Baba Yaga agreed. “You’re also happy for you, and I’m thrilled for everything you’ve done here. Are you and Martin really going to open a school?”

We’d talked about it. Martin was a damn fine teacher and I…well, I wanted to revel in music and teaching young witches, Shifters and more to love music was a lot better than being a lounge lizard. “Yes, ma’am. Not sure where yet, but we’re definitely going to do it.”

“Yeah, I might know a little something about something.” Baba Yaga said, but her gaze fixed on Kirk and Gigi as they finally kissed, sealing their union. A pulse of pure love exploded from them and rolled through the guests and wider, out to the whole town.

It carried a distinctive taste of passion and lust along with it.

“It’s going to be a wild night,” Baba Yaga continued finally, and then she looked at me. “Bridget, you know the answer you came here to find. You’ve known it since the day the vampires tasked you with the search.”

“There’s no cure.” Of course there wasn’t a cure. There couldn’t be one. I sighed.

“Nope, and those idiots know it. But it’s not your problem anymore. The debt you owed them is gone and more than a year and a day has passed. They can’t come for you no matter what.”

I blinked. “What?”

“You’re free.” Baba Yaga smiled at me. “You always were—you just had to believe it, and in yourself. You had to find that rare gift you have, the need to give to others and to see them flourish and you have…so toodles!”

Then she was gone.

I had my answer, but more than that I was free.

Wait.

Pivoting, I found Martin striding toward me. I couldn’t stop grinning. We were free to be with each other, to keep building our happily ever after. Whooping, I dashed forward, my red dress swirling as Martin scooped me into his arms and spun me around.

And that, ladies and gentlemen, was how I knew—our song would never end.

TATA FOR NOW,

BRIDGET,

The Witch Singer

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ABOUT THE AUTHOR

USA Today bestselling author, Heather Long, likes long walks in the park, science fiction, superheroes, Marines, and men who aren’t douche bags. Her books are filled with heroes and heroines tangled in romance as hot as Texas summertime. From paranormal historical westerns to contemporary military romance, Heather might switch genres, but one thing is true in all of her stories—her characters drive the books. When she’s not wrangling her menagerie of animals, she devotes her time to family and friends she considers family. She believes if you like your heroes so real you could lick the grit off their chest, and your heroines so likable, you’re sure you’ve been friends with women just like them, you’ll enjoy her worlds as much as she does.

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Wanted: Fevered or Alive

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Some Like It Scandalous

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Some Like it Easy

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Wolf Next Door

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Wolf with Benefits

River Wolf

Single Wicked Wolf

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Wolf on Board

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Table of Contents

Title Page

Table of Contents

Chapter 1

Chapter 2

Chapter 3

Chapter 4

Chapter 5

Epilogue

Amazing Magic and Mayhem Authors

About the Author

Also by Heather Long