Chapter 17

Kate

The cupcakes look perfect, but they smell even better.

My contribution to the magical mix? A kiss. I press my lips to each cupcake, and a tiny golden heart puffs out like a little cloud. I stand up straight, tucking my hair behind my ears.

“You’d never even know they were made with fresh cum.” I cross my arms as I study the dozen cupcakes—err, cumcakes. It’s nice that we’ve got extras. Brooks says they freeze well, and that they’re basically charms. They’ll last for a couple of weeks easily.

“Won’t be able to taste it either.” Brooks picks one up and hands it over to me.

It’s bakery-quality for sure. The cream-colored frosting is piped in a perfect swirl, topped with a chewy caramel candy and drizzled with a bit of extra sauce (caramel sauce, not semen). It’s sprinkled with some sea salt, too. The liners are Halloween themed—it was all I had in the cabinets—so they’re orange with black bats.

Very appropriate.

I take the cumcake with a sigh, peeling the paper down the sides and closing my eyes. When I breathe in the smell, all I get is caramel. No sign of male ejaculate. Good to know. Not sure if I could stomach it if the cumcakes were musky.

I hesitate, and the men seem amused. Tanner takes the first bullet, yanking the paper down and biting half of it off in one go. He chews absently, eyes on the ceiling. I see his shadow, mouth open in a wild, bestial grin. It’s definitely licking its lips.

“Fuck, these are good. So much better than the cum bread and shit we baked in the woods.” Tanner finishes off the second half of the cumcake as Brooks picks up his own and Marlowe crosses his arms to watch.

Tanner then takes his hat off and tosses it onto the table in preparation for the spell.

I don’t know what to expect, but it’s definitely not what happens.

The air around Tanner swirls in a spiral, like a mini tornado whipping the fabric of his clothes and hair. It doesn’t affect anything else in the kitchen which is impressive enough. Even more impressive is when the tornado builds, obscuring him from view.

Holy crap, they’re the dark woods version of magical girls! This is like some gothic, elemental Sailor Moon shit.

It only lasts a few seconds before fading away, leaving Tanner in a forest green suit jacket and slacks with brown boots and no shirt, no tie. The suit jacket is undone, showing off his perfect abs and chest, his occult ink and our knife-made coven sigil. He looks down and grins, buttoning the jacket and then holding his arms out.

“You don’t think they’ll kick me out for missing a shirt, do you?” he teases, and Brooks shakes his head.

“They won’t pay near enough attention to us to care; that’s the whole purpose of the spell.” Our leader downs his own cumcake in just a couple of bites, and this time, it’s fire that spirals around him, cocooning his body in flames. I can’t feel any heat, and nothing catches on fire, but when the flames fade away, there he is in a perfect black-and-white tux. His shadow reaches up, as if adjusting the bow tie even though Brooks doesn’t make a move to do the same.

“Don’t think about it, Lo,” Marlowe whispers to himself, shoving the entire cupcake in and cringing as he chews and swallows, washing it down with a huge glass of milk before he steps back from the table.

Predictably, he’s obscured by a rush of water that doesn’t get anything wet but which does cause Stix to go sprinting from the kitchen with her tail fluffed in the shape of a feather duster. Demon wings snap wide behind him, like a great unveiling.

Marlowe is left scowling and licking his lips, like he wants to banish the taste of cumcake from his mouth. He looks handsome as hell in a blue jacquard blazer with silver thread and crisp, dark blue jeans.

I’m blushing as I take my own cumcake and edge toward the kitchen doorway.

“I’ll be right back,” I blurt before rushing up the stairs to our room.

I know they’ll follow me, but that’s not the point. We can leave the door cracked and pretend there’s such a thing as privacy in this house.

I toss my hat onto the bed, look into the mirror above my dresser, and take a bite.

First off, the cumcake is heavenly. Moist, warm, the perfect blend of sweet and salty. I’m not someone who enjoys frosting as a general rule and yet, I eat it all, licking my fingers clean and grinning as vines whip out of the wood floors around me. I’m caught in a swirl of green leaves and chlorophyll as they twist and writhe, tearing my clothes off—literally, tearing them off—and leaving me naked. The vines wrap around my body after ravaging me, plastering themselves to my skin and fading away until I see myself in the gown that I picked out.

It’s not quite the same as any one thing I looked at online, but an amalgamation of designer dresses I’d never be able to afford. Gauzy violet shrouds me, leaving my witch-inked arms exposed but clinging to my curves and ending in purple feathers at the floor-length hem. The dress is opaque at the top, decorated with silver stars and moons. The lower half, starting mid-thigh, is see-through, showing off my legs.

The gown is high-necked, low-backed and absolutely stunning. Ethereal. I look and feel like a witch queen, especially when I pick my hat back up and place it on my head. Oh, and the shoes—

Somehow, I’ve forgotten shoes.

Oops.

I dig through my closet, finding black ankle boots from the same Halloween costume that summoned the only LBD to Kate-the-overall-lover’s wardrobe. I slip into them and then decide to spice up my outfit with a little bit of makeup (which I never wear), a silver pentagram necklace (yes, from the damn Halloween costume), and some amethyst earrings that used to belong to my grandma.

Peeking beneath the skirts of the dress, I’m happy to see that the lingerie I wanted is in place. Forgot to style my hair though. Oh well. Next time I eat a cumcake, I’ll remember all of these lessons.

I gather my orange and black hair into a braid, pull it over my shoulder, and tie it off with a black leather strap that came off one of the boys’ pants. Or boots. Or hats. Something. It’s definitely Witchwoods leather because it’s warm in my hands which is … unusual.

“Done.” I do one, last twirl for myself before grinning and then heading out to the upstairs landing.

I nearly trip on the top stair and plummet to my death, and it’s all the fault of those awful fucking Witchwood Boys.

They turn in unison to look at me, and their shadows do the same, caught by the light from the fireplace and thrown across the curtains behind them. Tongue and tails. Antlers. Wings. Crouching demons reflecting back the wants and desires of the men they’re attached to.

My hand is on the banister, a precarious sense of imbalance in my brain. The men are as taut as bowstrings, ready to fire should I fall. They’d catch me in muscled arms or webs of water or flame, a cushion of dense air to keep my bones from breaking.

I straighten up, my fingers tightening on the old wood. My horny shadow creeps forward, ready to slink down the stairs ahead of me. The men stand together on our living room rug, fireplace crackling and grandfather clock ticking. Ebon cocks her head, watching them from her perch. Stix is an adornment on the sofa while Flick stands guard, waiting for a command.

Tanner adjusts his unbuttoned jacket, flashing his naked midsection underneath. He smiles up at me, but it’s a wicked little smile, slick and haunted. Bewitching. A trick-or-treat smile.

Marlowe crosses his arms and hides his red-blooded blush beneath the shadow of his hat brim, finger resting against the edge of it and tapping out an uneasy rhythm. A spare bone charm sways with the motion.

Brooks waits impatiently for me to join them, studying me with an intensity that makes my toes curl in my shoes. He doesn’t have to say anything at all to be commanding, especially not when he’s decked out in a witch hat and a tux with a bright red bow tie.

Seems like they took the time while I was sprucing up my bare-bones cumcake outfit to do the same with their own.

The sight of them has me bewitched. I can’t move. All I can do is stand there and study the three colossal witches consuming my living room. That soft, cozy spirit is still there in the furnishings and the fire, but there’s an impatient heat to everything, an edge that only they can bring.

My skin tingles, as if a blade is passing harmlessly across it. I’m not being cut, but I could be, if I moved the wrong way. They’re terrifying, but beautiful. Haunted but handsome. Witch hats and ink and scarification, magic and mayhem.

I start to notice little things, like how Marlowe’s switched out the laces on his navy-and-white sneakers for the thick, leather ones from his Witchwoods boots. Dried flowers and bones shift the vibe of his tennis shoes and denim jeans, adding to that unnerving predatory nature I first noticed in the woods. He’s also swapped out the shirt beneath his blazer for a too-tight and overly casual tee that shows off his muscles.

The sprig of rosemary, lavender, and thyme in Tanner’s jacket pocket likely comes from the pots on the back deck, pots that have lain dormant (aka dead) since my grandma’s passing. I’ve been using them to practice my magic, and seeing that little makeshift boutonnière there makes it more than worth it. Bet it smells good, too. It’ll add to that forest beast scent that clings to his skin, an apropos fragrance that matches the hardness of his taut, naked tummy and chest. I catch sight of his left nipple as he shifts his weight slightly.

Brooks has a heavy belt looped over his slacks, his machete hanging on his right side, a brown leather bag attached to the other. He’s wearing rings on his fingers, big heavy metal ones, some with skulls, a few made out of wood. He reaches up while I watch and unties his bow tie, letting it hang in two violent red stripes over his crisp white shirt and the black silk lapels of his jacket.

Firelight carves them into striking visages, sharp smiles and hooded eyes, playful tongues and lip biting and tense jaws. Three witch men in pointed hats and arcane romance, carnal expectation nipping at their heels.

I walk down the stairs with gauzy violet fabric swishing around my legs, our shadows swirling together into a dark mass on the walls and ceiling.

“Hi,” I tell them, pausing a few feet away, as if that small distance could keep me safe. I could disappear into the Witchwoods, and they’d still find me. They’d hunt me, but I’m not prey because that’s what I want. Always. I want them to come for me. A smile stretches across my face and I laugh, putting my hand to my lips. “I can’t pretend that you haven’t cast a spell over me.”

“Us over you?” Tanner looks at Brooks and Marlowe, and there’s some signing that goes on that I, of course, can’t understand. “Kitten, you’re ravishing.” Tanner’s lips twitch as he looks back at me. “You’re going to be ravished.”

“But only after dinner,” Marlowe says, swiping his hand over his mouth. “What did I tell you? You’ll love us and hate us tonight.”

“That’s sort of been my vibe with you guys since moment one,” I pretend to gripe, swiping my hands down the front of my dress, as if I’m not completely and utterly affected by their presence. “What’s new?”

“No.” Brooks is dead serious. He’s not even smiling. “Tonight is going to be different. We’ve fucked each other, confessed our love, lived together, but we haven’t gone on a single date. This, Kate, is our very first and we’re going to make sure that we brand it into your heart and soul, a memory to carry into eternity.”

I snort a laugh, but none of them are smiling at me, not even Tanner.

They’re serious.

I end up blushing, but only with excitement.

“Did you guys talk about this when I wasn’t around?” It’s hard to fathom, since we’re always together.

“We did.” Brooks signs something and the other two men smirk. Assholes. “You sleep heavy, Kate, especially after a few hard, body-wracking orgasms. We have plenty of time to talk amongst ourselves.”

I don’t know what to say, so when Tanner offers me his arm, I take it, and off we go.

Our first date. But not our last.

Tonight, we’ll toast to a lifetime of happy memories, and I won’t think about the Witchwoods.

Nature is bountiful and barren in equal measures.

I would do well to remember that.

It’s nearly ten o’clock when we arrive at the restaurant, a good sixty minute drive from our house. Doesn’t matter though. This is one of the only upscale places in the whole county, and they take reservations all the way until ten-thirty.

The Alchemy Lounge is located down a quiet road past the sleepy seaside town of Trinidad, buried in redwood trees and nighttime shadows. There are no streetlights out here, very few houses, and zero phone service.

We pull into the small parking lot alongside a row of other cars, and Tanner is right there to open my door for me. He holds his hand out and helps me from the backseat with a private smile touching his lips. It’s hard to see, with only a touch of silver crescent in the sky and a string of Edison bulbs draped over the restaurant’s front entrance.

“I’ve got butterflies, Kate,” he whispers to me as we stand there on a foggy night with the smell of the bay clinging to the air. The trees whisper in the breeze, and I do my very best not to think of the Hag. If she shows up, we’ll deal with her as best we can. “And I can tell you this with all certainty: I’ve never had butterflies before.”

“Stop that. I’m already a sure thing, remember?” I tease, but Tanner only shakes his head as Brooks and Marlowe wait on the front steps for us. Soft jazz music pipes through a set of speakers to the back patio, and I can hear light chatter and the clinking of dishes.

“No, kitten. I’ve said a lot of bullshit in my past to try and get laid. This isn’t anything like that.” He pulls me close, crushing my hat brim against his chest and putting my nose up against his undone jacket and all of the hot skin underneath. I breathe in and there it is, an herb garden in his pocket.

We hold each other in the dark for a moment before separating and cresting the front steps. Marlowe is holding the door and Brooks is already checking in with the host.

The foyer is narrow and eclectic, old rugs on the floors and local art on the burgundy walls. There’s a chandelier on the staircase to my left that’s made of brightly colored glass, twisted tubes of striped orange and white or blue and yellow, all tangled together.

We can’t see any of the tables from where we’re at, so I can’t say for sure if the glamour spell is working, but the host at least didn’t seem to register that we’re online-famous. Didn’t seem to care that we’re wearing witch hats.

He leads us to a table up the stairs, past several groups that also pay us no mind. Couples on dates. Families celebrating birthdays. A group of girlfriends with an empty bottle of wine between them.

Marlowe pulls out my chair for me, and Brooks smiles, like he approves.

We take our seats at a square table, allowing us to sit in our preferred spots. North for me, South for Brooks, East for Tanner, and West for Marlowe. The table itself is covered with a rug and then topped over with glass to keep it clean. There’s a tiny vase of fresh flowers in the center, and a view of the garden and the redwood trees out back, lit with more Edison bulbs.

It’s cozy, an upscale hippie chic that’s oh-so Pacific Northwest. Even more so, it’s Humboldt County in all its strange glory. It’s an interesting vibe for sure, unique and cozy, like we’re separate from the rest of the world, tucked away in our dark little forested corner of the California coast.

“You’re right: it hasn’t changed at all since I was last here.” Marlowe snorts as he looks around, studying the decor and the other customers. “Literally, not one thing. Not the chandelier, not the rugs, nothing. Fucking how? It’s a time capsule.”

“When you have a formula that works, you don’t fuck around,” I tell him, smiling as the waiter approaches and passes out our menus, handing the wine list over to Brooks as if he can sense his big dick energy, and then listing out the specials for the night. I don’t need to hear any of them; I already know what I want.

“Wine?” Brooks asks, flipping open the heavy leather-bound book in his hand. “We should all drink and celebrate this monumental event.” His mouth edges up in a sexy smile as he lifts his green eyes from the wine list to my face. “First time taking our beautiful wife out.”

I smile back at him, folding my hands together and resting my elbows on the edge of the table.

“Wine sounds nice. Maybe a chardonnay?” I lift a brow and Brooks drops his attention back to the list with an adorably thoughtful frown.

“I don’t know shit about wine. We’ll get whatever you want, Kate.” He scans the list as Tanner reaches up to his hat and plucks off a small charm—one of the few remaining. We’ve been going through them at breakneck speed. Tanner sets the charm on the table, and I see that it’s a tiny bottle filled with gold liquid.

“We can all drink, and then whoever has the unfortunate task of driving us back can take this. Sobers you up instantly.” Tanner sits back in his chair, his forest green jacket gaping open to reveal both nipples this time. They’re hard, too, and I can’t resist the temptation to let my gaze linger there.

“Want to flip a coin or something?” Marlowe asks, but he’s not paying much attention. He’s focused on the restaurant, as if he’s overwhelmed by emotion. He said he had his high school graduation dinner here, didn’t he? I wonder if he’s thinking about Miriam and Dennis, or his parents and the DNA test they’re going to want him to take. But then he looks back at me with his obsidian eyes, and there’s nothing there but desire and heartache, like sitting kitty-corner to me is too far away.

I reach out a hand for one of his, and he stiffens up before I stroke my fingertips over his knuckles, soothing him. Oh, we fit well together, me and Marlowe Waverley. I weave our fingertips together, and he exhales, releasing all of the pent-up tension in his broad shoulders.

“No need,” Brooks tells him, closing the wine list and setting it on the edge of the table. “I’ll drive us back.” He pockets the charm in his tux and picks up the small paper menu. There aren’t a lot of options here, but there doesn’t need to be. Everything this place does, they do well.

“Pros and cons of being the boss.” Tanner grins and studies the menu with shining eyes, like he’s still not used to being back and having so many food options available. “Brie en croute? Carpaccio? I can barely pronounce this shit, but let’s order it. Fuck, let’s get one of each appetizer.”

I laugh at that, and I don’t try to hold back. The buzz in the restaurant is nice, and without the whole world pointing their phones at us, it’s relaxing. Worth every bite of (admittedly delicious) cumcake.

“Let’s do it. We’ll break out the credit card and pay it off when …” Oh, wait. We’re never going to get paid for finishing the Pink Lady project because the owner is dead, entrails spilled and half-eaten by an angry forest god.

“We don’t have to pay tonight,” Brooks explains, looking over the menu. “The glamour makes us as slippery as our shadows. Nobody will notice if we dine and dash.”

Oh. Well. I wouldn’t normally agree to rip off a local restaurant like that, but maybe just this once. I don’t bring up Mrs. Madsen, but I know the men can tell that I’m thinking about her.

“We’ll get it all sorted, honey. Don’t you worry.” Tanner reaches out and slides his warm hand over my hair and cheek, cupping the side of my face. It’s such a familiar, comforting gesture. I lean into it and sigh, letting the soft background music and the sound of a champagne bottle being popped soothe my restless spirit.

“Aren’t you glad you just let me take the leadership position?” Brooks is teasing, but also … he’s fucking right. I don’t want to be in charge. If he says we can go out and relax tonight, that we don’t have to worry about the Witch’s Tree or our dead employer, then I’m happy to go along with it.

“Chicken wrapped in phyllo dough, huh?” Marlowe says, squeezing my hand back. “Stuffed with cream cheese and artichoke. That’s what you’re getting?” I nod and he shakes his head. “Pretty sure I remember my mom ordering this back in the day. I thought she was nuts. Smoked beef brisket for me.” He tosses his menu onto the stack and relaxes in his chair, hat crooked on his head, eyes half-lidded.

This is the most relaxed I have ever seen this man, and I love it. I love him. He’s fabulous when he isn’t scowling and sneering, and he’s still fabulous even when he is. It’s easy to see why so many gathered at a candlelight vigil to celebrate him for two decades. He’s got an energy to him that’s hard to resist.

“Baby back ribs,” Tanner declares, discarding his menu as well.

“Filet mignon.” Brooks wets his lips, like he’s already looking forward to it.

“Somehow, I should’ve known all three of you would order red meat.” I’m laughing, but I’m also serious. I relax back in my own chair, reaching out my other hand for one of Tanner’s. He grips me with rough, warm fingers, caressing my knuckles with sweeps of his thumb. Brooks and I tangle our ankles together beneath the table, and I’m so happy that I could die right there on the spot and not regret a single thing.

The waiter returns to take our drink order, but we give it to him all at once. He looks a little dazed, a bit distracted, and Brooks has to snap his fingers in the guy’s face a few times to fight through the power of our spell.

“Hopefully, he didn’t miss anything,” he says after the man leaves, and then Brooks is chuckling. It’s a deep, masculine chuckle, and it warms me straight to my bones. “This spell is handy, but it’s not ideal for good service.”

“Better than being swarmed.” I sigh and take a sip of the ice water we were given when we first sat down. “Admit it: none of you were truly prepared to face the horrors of social media.” My gaze shifts to Marlowe, and he gives me this devilish look in response.

“You’re right: YouTube and MySpace were nothing compared to whatever the fuck this attention-seeking mess is today. I’m almost glad I grew up without it.” He closes his eyes and lets his head fall back. “But I don’t care. We have a full coven. There’s not much we can’t do—if anything at all.”

“With time and effort, a little trial and error, Lo’s right. We’ll take care of the internet and the Hag, and then we’ll settle down and start our family.” Brooks glances up as the waiter returns with the appetizer board—not any of the items we ordered, but the one that comes standard with every meal.

A charcuterie plate of sorts on a wooden board. Goat cheese and tiny pickles, green olives and rye bread and salmon slices on cucumber, nuts and dried fruits and a bit of honey, prosciutto and apples and triangles of sharp cheese. Pate. Figs.

“Fancy,” Tanner says, and then he shrugs, digging into foods that I’m not sure he even recognizes.

“Start our family.” I repeat the words and then laugh again, shaking my head. “We can do kids—eventually. But that’s not necessarily my version of happily ever after. I want to enjoy being with you guys without them for a while. Say … ten years? Maybe longer.” I pause. “Do witches live longer than humans?”

“Not sure.” Brooks picks up a piece of rye bread and uses his knife to add goat cheese to the small, dense slice. “I’ve met a total of five witches besides us—my mentor and the coven she sent home—and I never got to see any of them make it past old age. I suppose we’ll find out.”

“I’m sure there’s a spell for that.” Marlowe grabs a piece of salmon-topped-cucumber and pops it into his mouth. The fish is raw, thin-sliced, and locally caught. Very nice. Very fancy. I’ve only been to this restaurant a few times in my life, and all of those times were with my friends’ families save once. My grandma brought me here for my eighteenth birthday. I miss her so fiercely all of a sudden, but I thank her for leaving her journal and her stories and giving me the courage to try the Witch’s Tree.

Without it, I’d be home alone with my pets and a dream of something more.

“How many kids was it?” Tanner asks, combining an apple slice with the cheese. “Did we agree on two each?”

“One each,” I counter, mixing a bit of pate and goat cheese on a slice of rye and then topping it with a dried fig and a drizzle of honey. Exquisite. I groan as I take a bite, and my hat reacts by licking my cheek and snaking a crumb from the edge of my lips. “Oh, damn, that’s good. You guys need to try it like this. I’ve just made the best combo ever.”

All three of them stare at me like I’m something precious to be kept and loved and fucked. Dark eyes and silver-blue eyes and green ones staring down at me. We’re quite the sight in our hats and our esoteric outfits. Too bad nobody can really see us. I think we make a beautiful family, a sensual romantic quartet, if you will.

“Personally, I love the idea of getting Marlowe pregnant.” Tanner grins, like the troublemaking little shit he is. “Use a charm, turn him into a woman. Get a few extra kids that way. What do you say? We could conjure adorable babies together.”

“Even if I were down for playing a game like that, I’d only let Kate fuck me.” Marlowe tries my magic combo for himself and makes a face. “The fig was overkill, Kate.”

“You’d get pregnant with my baby?” I ask, lighting up. Our drinks—a lavender lemonade to go with my wine—are delivered, and Brooks pours us all a glass.

“Hell fucking no. That was a hypothetical.” Marlowe picks up his glass, and I do the same. Brooks and Tanner join us, poised for a toast.

“I’ll birth one baby for you, kitten.” Tanner sucks on his lower lip, and I can barely stand to keep my eyes on his face when so much of his midsection is exposed. “To our coven, to our family, to our Kate.” He lifts his glass.

“To our coven, to our family, to our Kate.” Brooks and Marlowe repeat the words, but I can’t very well toast myself.

“To our coven, to our family, to my husbands.” I’m smiling so big that my face hurts, clinking my glass to theirs and taking a sip. I’m no wine expert, but it’s nice. More importantly, it’s alcoholic. I finish my glass and Brooks immediately pours me another. “Fine. At least three kids, but no more than six— someday. I’ll admit: I am curious to see what it’d be like to have a dick. Even more curious to see what it’d be like to stick my dick in one of you.”

Marlowe scoffs, like the idea is grossly unappealing. Brooks’ face softens, but also smugs. And yes, that’s totally a word. He smugs right up.

“Hon, no offense, but I think things are best as is. I don’t see you topping any of us—especially not with a dick. Just admit that you like spreading your legs and letting us do the work.”

I kick him under the table, but he’s unfazed. His eyes sparkle as he takes me in with a depth of emotion I’ve never seen before.

“Okay, now I’m for sure growing a dick and then pounding you in the ass with it.” I sip my wine as Brooks snorts a laugh of his own.

“We’ll see about that.”

“I’d let you play around, kitten—but with me as a woman. I’m curious to see what a female orgasm is like. It’s so much harder to get one, but damn if it doesn’t look all-consuming.” Tanner eyes the bottle of wine like he’d much rather just pick it up by the neck and chug straight from it.

“I don’t think any of you could handle being female. It takes finesse, and you’re all a bit too brutish to pull it off. What sort of ingredients would a spell like that take anyway?”

“Menstrual blood. Semen. Spit. Blood. The usual.” Brooks pours everyone more wine, and we empty the bottle so fast that we’ve ordered bottle two and then three before our first appetizers even show.

We dig into creole shrimp and grilled portobello together, much on crostini with gorgonzola cheese. We ordered five appetizers, not including the board, but it disappears like magic in the big bodies of my men. I’m happy to see them fed, relaxing in a restaurant instead of fighting for their lives in the woods.

Conversation stays fun and flirty through the appetizers and into the main course. I’m laughing and smiling my way through bites of flaky phyllo dough and cheesy twice-baked potato. It isn’t until dessert arrives, and my head is pleasantly drowsy with wine that the romance and the sex really kick in.

We order digestifs and coffee with cream, chocolate cake and a goat cheese mousse in the shape of a heart, drizzled with raspberry sauce.

“Open up, my love.” Marlowe’s voice is slurred and happy, lazy with food and wine and affection. He’s smiling beautifully at me as he holds out a fork and puts a bite of cake between my lips. I suck on the fork as he tries to draw it out, and his breath catches. “Slow down there, Kate, or I’ll knock all of this shit onto the floor and fuck you right here. With the spell, nobody would care or even notice.”

I giggle because I’m just drunk enough to do that, picking up my coffee and breathing in the scent before I take a sip.

Tanner’s hand has not-so-subtly rucked my skirts up under the table, fingers tracing over the bare skin of my thigh. He’s sipping cognac from a tulip-shaped glass and watching me like a wolf in the woods. Patient, but hungry. He leans in suddenly and presses a hot kiss to my mouth that has me breathless and dizzy with need.

I honestly wish they’d all knock the items off this table and take turns on me, but I know they won’t. They’re going to edge me until I’m crying for it, naked on our bed back home. It’s fine. I get it. It’d be hard to relax here with the Hag out there somewhere. At least at home, we have protections in place.

You liar. You’re so horny you could cry.

I can feel every part of my body in a way that’s rare, a heavy, drowsy need that makes my breasts ache and my nipples sting, my pussy hot and swollen and slick. If I close my eyes, I can sense every whorl of Tanner’s fingerprints on my leg.

When I open my eyes, I see Brooks, coffee mug in hand, pupils dilated as he studies me over the rim of the mug. He sips, and I feel it in my core. He licks his lips, and the contact of his leg against mine under the table is like a fuck. He smiles, and I go ice-cold and then white-hot. The massive eyeball on his hat is half-lidded, glazed with sensuality. He blinks, and all of the smaller eyes on his hat open and blink along with him.

I offer him a nubile smile in response, and he digs his teeth into his lower lip before setting his mug down. My hat swallows around my head, the tongue hanging loose and coiling on my right shoulder. It’s as satisfied as I am.

We’re all glowing softly, too. Eyes as bright as jewels despite the indolent sexuality in the room. Skin lit up from underneath and shimmering. Because of the glamour, nobody really notices us, but they can feel that simmering heat. I see couples scooting closer, men loosening their ties, women crossing and uncrossing their legs.

We’ve perfumed the room with chocolate cake, cognac, and sex.

With magic.

And what is magic if not dessert, liquor, good company, and carnality?

The wolf ears on Tanner’s hat twitch, an adorable contrast to the lewd grin stalking across his handsome face. The mushrooms on Marlowe’s hat have bloomed into black tulips with teeth, and they’re smirking at me.

We’re satisfied in so many ways, bellies sore with laughter, cheeks flushed with liquor and romance. But there’s one more itch I’d like to scratch, and we can’t do it here. Correction: they won’t do it here.

“Can we go home now?” I ask, trying to push the coiled tongue back inside of the hat. It resists me at first, but then it retracts like a snake burrowing into its hole. I finish off the last of my coffee, scrape the final bite of goat cheese mousse from the plate and then run my finger through the raspberry sauce so that I can lick it off with my eyes on Brooks.

“No. I’m not done with my coffee.” He’s still smiling, but it’s not a mirthful smile. It’s an acknowledgement of the ache between my legs, the one that spiderwebs through my veins and into my nipples, up the delicate column of my throat to my tingling lips, coils in my lower belly and makes everything feel tight and needy and unsatisfied.

This bastard.

“I think I’ll order another round of dessert.” Tanner catches the waiter’s sleeve, since the man has pretty much stopped acknowledging our existence. “More cognac please. And another cake slice.”

“Another coffee.” Marlowe lifts his mug, and I wet my lips, resisting the urge to stab all three of them with a fork. Lo slides dark eyes over to me, reaching up to pick one of the smirking tulips from his hat. He pops it into my water glass and then leans close, elbow on the table. “Didn’t I tell you, Kate? You’d love us, then you’d hate us, and then you’d vow to never let us go.”

“I’ve already vowed that,” I whisper back, and it’s almost a whine. Almost. I do have some dignity left. I turn to Tanner, but he’s sprawled in his chair, head tilted back and eyes closed. His hat is half-hanging off, but it never falls to the floor. I don’t think these hats can fall off. Or maybe they can, but since they’re semi-sentient, they do their best not to.

Our shadows are lounging all around us, half-covering the other dinner guests and their nearly empty tables. The restaurant is closed to new guests, but even those without glamours are given plenty of time to finish drinks and dessert.

“Good things come to those who wait.” Brooks takes out the charm from his pocket, opens the tiny bottle, and pours the golden liquid into what’s left of his coffee. “Be a good girl for us, Kate, and sit tight. It’ll happen, and when it does, it’ll be worth every second you spent pining for it.”

“You’re lucky that I enjoy this sort of thing. Georgia would’ve castrated all three of you by now.” I huff, but I force myself to exhale, to accept that it’s going to be at least an hour before I get what I want.

Skin on skin. Mouths on mine. Hands. Tongues. Teeth. Moans. Cocks. Climaxes. Cum and bouncing breasts and slick thighs and nails digging into mussed sheets. Fuck. I shift in my chair and that’s enough to make my pussy throb, to zing me with pleasure but offer zero relief from the desperate ache between my legs.

“I don’t believe in fate, but it’s a good stroke of luck that your wants match up with ours.” Tanner cracks one eye when the waiter returns with (hopefully) the last of our order. “You want to be our good girl, to be fucked, and we all want to fuck you.”

“Happy accident.” Marlowe adds cream and sugar to his coffee, stirs it without touching the spoon (yay magic) and takes a sip. Somehow, the sensual jazz that’s been playing this entire time is even more toothsome, like an audible display of my own inner thoughts. “I’m …” He hesitates, lifting his dark eyes to Tanner. The two of them stare at each other across the table while Brooks and I observe. He’s just as invested in repairing their relationship as I am. “I guess I don’t see the Witchwoods as a fucking curse anymore, like the worst thing that ever happened to me.”

“Does that mean you forgive me?” Tanner asks, winking slowly as he drinks down the cognac. I steal his chocolate cake and take a bite for myself before attempting to feed it to him. He parts his lips for me without losing eye contact with Marlowe.

“No. Never. But … what I’m trying to say is, I’d rather be here than in my old life.” Marlowe’s tongue teases the corner of his lip before he shakes his head, black tulips rustling. “I’m never going to forgive you, but I’ll give you a chance to start over. Just like Kate did with me.” He gags, like this is all too sappy for him to handle. “Just don’t piss me off like that ever again.”

“That’s how I feel,” I admit, looking over at him. Marlowe meets my eyes, and even though I believe that he’s sorry, that if he went back in time, he’d let me go … I still can’t forgive what he did. And that’s okay. Forgiveness isn’t owed to anyone, and it’s not always the healthier option to grant it. Only you can decide if you want to forgive someone. “Not just toward Marlowe, but to all three of you. I don’t doubt for a second that you”—I look at Tanner— “or you”—over at Brooks—“would’ve done anything differently. In fact, I’m convinced you both would’ve been even worse. ”

Neither of them comments on it, but that’s okay. Pondering what-ifs is pointless. Here we sit at a beautiful dinner after a beautiful meal with an even more beautiful night on the horizon.

We sit in silence for the rest of the meal, but silence doesn’t mean lack of communication with the Witchwood Boys. They’re used to living in quiet spaces. Brooks and I talk with our feet, with my shoe resting on his chair between his legs. With his heavy exhale. With the tightening of his hands on his mug. His hips edge forward, so that his erection can touch the sole of my ankle boot through his slacks.

Tanner talks to me through the steady tracing of his thumb on my inner thigh, through his half-lidded eyes and the relaxed wolf ears on his hat. His slothful smile, and the flash of a canine when that smile morphs into another grin. The squeeze of his fingers on my knee, the way he accepts bites of chocolate cake from my hand, like eating dessert is foreplay.

My hand is threaded with Marlowe’s, my body attuned to every shift he makes in his chair, to the way he reaches down and adjusts himself through his jeans. He meets my eyes when he does that, blinking slowly, mouth in a neutral line but body angled toward me. I can smell him, too, and not just the breeze-off-a-lake scent of his Westwoods energy, but his want. Invisible pheromones with no discernible smell, but a wild impact with every inhale I take.

Brooks is the first to stand up, and my heart soars. I’m up so quickly that my chair nearly topples over, and he smiles warmly down at me, offering his arm.

We’re the last ones in the restaurant, the staff moving around us like we don’t exist.

Tanner goes down the stairs first, the crinkled black leather of his hat catching the light from the strange art piece that is the chandelier. Marlowe is behind us, and the smooth slide of his hand down the banister gives me chills. Brooks keeps me tucked close against him, making me feel both safe and wanted, desired.

Gentleman that he is, Tanner holds the door for all three of us.

It’s silent outside, pitch-black but for the Edison bulbs. The parking lot—which is really just a single row of spaces in front of the restaurant—is empty save for our truck. Tanner opens the back door for me and Brooks helps me in, pressing a chocolate- scented kiss to my cheek before he steps away to head for the driver’s seat.

Marlowe climbs in after me while Tanner, surprisingly, moves around the truck and joins us in the back seat from the other side.

I’m tucked between them now, hot muscular thighs trapping me on either side.

Tanner’s hand is rough, a little wild, when he shoves my dress up and places his palm on my thigh. I shudder and turn to find him staring down at me, unsmiling and way too serious. As we look at each other, he drags that palm up my thigh until he uncovers my panties.

“Oh, fuck. Did you glamour these, too?” That’s Marlowe, tracing a finger along the edge of the lavender lace with the pearl detail. I don’t know how I forgot shoes but managed to secure lingerie. Suppose that reveals a lot about my inner slutty psyche, huh?

I’m not given the opportunity to respond.

Tanner wraps an arm around my waist and hauls me into his lap, my naked legs straddling his strong thighs. My purple dress is a mess of feathers and violet linen and gauze around my hips. The silky crotch of my panties is pressed tight to the heavy bulge in his forest green slacks.

“Oh, baby,” he moans, like this game of denial is as painful to him as it is to me. His big hands cup my ass, squeezing and kneading the plump flesh, fingers edging toward the hot core that I want so badly for him to touch.

He doesn’t.

He knows what he’s doing.

His slightly stubbled jaw brushes across the tender skin of my cheek as he leans down, pressing kisses to the fabric covering my neck. Someone else’s fingers—Marlowe’s—tickle the naked skin of my back, tracing the plunging neckline of my dress.

I wrap my arms around Tanner’s neck, pushing my breasts into his naked chest. His jacket is unbuttoned and gaping open, giving me easy access to his hot skin and the scar of our coven blazoned over his heart.

Marlowe presses close on Tanner’s right side, one knee on the seat. His right hand is on my back while he uses his left to turn my chin toward him. As Tanner grazes his teeth over my pulse, Lo steals my lips.

I moan into his mouth, opening for him, tilting my head to give him better access. He’s slow and purposeful with his kisses, but his tongue is demanding. He shows me what he wants as I struggle to keep from melting into a puddle on the back seat.

Somehow, even though I can’t see him, I know that Brooks is watching us with those eyes on the back of his head.

Tanner takes my hips and pushes me down and into him, grinding his cloth-covered cock into the wet silk-and-lace that wraps my pussy like a present. I want it all off. I want to be naked. I want so much more than this careful teasing, but Tanner and Marlowe are, for once, in agreement with one another.

They’re slow and methodical, each move calculated to deal maximum damage.

Marlowe moves his attention from my lips to my neck, and Tanner takes his place, covering my mouth with his own and ravishing me with lips and teeth and tongue. I’m humming and whimpering and wiggling against them, but they’re stubborn and they don’t relent, trading me from one lap to the other.

I sit on Lo, rubbing my pussy against his jeans as he traces fingertips down my spine, as my right hand cups and caresses Tanner’s cock through his pants.

The air in the truck is hot, the windows steamy, when we finally pull into the driveway of our abandoned forest-edged neighborhood.

Both Tanner and Marlowe drag themselves away from me, the former helping lift me out of the truck when Brooks opens the back door. He takes me in his arms, setting me down on the grass beside the driveway and capturing my face between his hands.

His kiss is like a punishment for the suffering he endured while watching me with the other men. I’m yanking on the untied red lengths of his bow tie, pushing up to my tiptoes, fighting for more, more, more.

Fog swirls around us, a foreboding that we conjured and so take no heed of.

“Please,” I breathe against Brooks’ mouth, “take me upstairs.”

All of the eyes on his hat blink in unison, a slow, terrifying smile stretching over his lips.

“Katelynn.” Brooks’ voice is a command as he lays a heavy hand on my shoulder and leans down. His expression is gleeful malice. “I’ll be the one giving the orders.”

And there it is: hell in his eyes.

I close my own and get ready to embrace the flames.