The Witch Thief (Harlequin Nocturne)
Read The Witch Thief (Harlequin Nocturne) Online
Authors: Lori Devoti
Lori Devoti returns with a scintillating tale of lovers with a scandalous past reunited.
THERE WAS HELL TO PAY… AND THE WITCH WAS GOING TO PAY IT
Joarr Enge never believed in the powers of the chalice he was tasked to guard—but he sure as hell wasn’t going to let the captivating witch who’d robbed him escape. Now, a century after her betrayal, Joarr commandeered Amma’s body and blocked her magic. She would spend
every
moment by his side until the chalice could be found.
Amma had risked everything to uncover the secrets in her past—even the rage of her powerful and mysterious dragon lover. But as Joarr’s passionate fire tempted her to dream of a future with him, could their magic unite two separate worlds for the most precious thing of all…their son?
Resisting Joarr was like resisting a promise from the gods.
But hard as it had been, Amma
had
resisted.
And then he had shocked her by somehow shutting off her attempts to drain his magic. A skill she hadn’t realized dragons had, but now that she did, she would be smarter and not let any opportunity slip by.
She had to get him to shift as frequently as possible and soak up the resulting magic like a sponge, silently and unobtrusively.
He had no idea who she was or what she was capable of. He also had no idea what was at stake for her.
She placed a hand on her abdomen. The dragon couldn’t learn her secret. Couldn’t learn she’d found a way to get the family she craved....
Books by Lori Devoti
Harlequin Nocturne
*Unbound #18
*Guardian’s Keep #32
*Wild Hunt #41
Holiday with a Vampire II #54
“The Vampire Who Stole Christmas”
*Dark Crusade #62
*The Hellhound King #82
Zombie Moon #91
The Witch Thief #136
*Unbound
Lori Devoti
grew up in southern Missouri and attended college at the University of Missouri-Columbia, where she earned a bachelor of journalism. However, she made it clear to anyone who asked that she was not a writer; she worked for the dark side—advertising. Now, twenty years later, she’s proud to declare herself a writer and visits her dark side by writing paranormals for Harlequin Nocturne.
Lori lives in Wisconsin with her husband, daughter, son, an extremely patient shepherd mix and the world’s pushiest Siberian husky. To learn more about what Lori is working on now, visit her website at www.loridevoti.com.
The
Witch
Thief
Lori Devoti
Dear Reader,
The Witch Thief
is the story of dragon-shifter Joarr and the witch Amma.
A century earlier, Amma stole the dragons’ most prized possession and fled. Joarr followed, but instead of catching her, got caught himself and was trapped for a hundred years in his dragon form.
Joarr is bent on revenge, and Amma on trickery, but neither can foresee the journey before them.
Joarr is the strong alpha male who thinks he cares for nothing or no one.
He is, of course, very wrong.
Amma is a lost soul who has spent her life wondering where she belongs. She thinks she has the answer now and a plan to finally be happy, but Joarr and the dragons could take it all away. And she will do anything to keep that from happening.
Or will she?
I hope you enjoy reading their tale and meeting perhaps my most unique character yet, a blood-drinking dwarf.
For more information on my other works, visit my website at www.loridevoti.com.
Lori Devoti
This book is dedicated to all the fans of the
Unbound
world who have waited patiently for this book. You rock—each and every one of you!
Prologue
One hundred and one years earlier…
L
ips, fiery hot, trailed down Amma’s neck. Her lover lapped at her skin; the fierce heat of his breath and touch sent tingles of anticipation down her spine. She pulled her hair from his path and bared her neck to his caresses. Her fingers wrapped around his biceps. His skin was cool to her touch.
Sweat beaded between her breasts; he found the tiny drops and licked them away. His eyes flickered like blue flames in the dark. She nipped at his chest, caught a bit of flesh between her teeth and pulled. His hands grabbed her around the waist and he tumbled them over until he straddled her, stared down at her. She let him, let him capture her wrists in his hands.
They’d played this game for hours, as they’d played it once before, weeks earlier right after she’d first met him and allowed him to lure her to his home. She’d been bored then, looking for something…someone…new to entertain her, and she’d found him—Joarr, her first dragon lover. Who knew the heat between them would be so intense—both literally and figuratively? But she’d soon discovered he offered her more than that. The dragon had a secret…a treasure. Of course, she’d heard tales of dragon treasure, but who really believed the stories to be true?
And since she’d left him, she’d found a buyer for one particular piece she’d seen tossed in the back of his cavern. One tiny piece she doubted her lover would even miss—a cup. Gold and engraved with a dragon’s image wrapping around its side, but nothing as impressive as other pieces she’d seen and mentioned to the Collector.
One tiny, stemmed cup and the Collector would give her what she craved—her family, her past, the truth of where she came from. She was different from her sisters, always had been. Now she would know how. Now she would find where she belonged.
Joarr whispered in her ear, a language she didn’t understand, but his smile said his words had been daring, challenging probably. She wiggled her fingers; power sizzled from their pink tips. He grabbed her hand and pulled her fingers down the length of his chest, let her magic sputter against his skin. He was showing off, showing that her magic wouldn’t hurt him.
She smiled to herself. So he thought, but he had no idea of her real power. She’d hidden that from him, presented herself as an average witch with average powers. But she and her sisters were far from average. She had been alive perhaps as long as the dragon. She hadn’t asked him his age, but she knew dragons lived for centuries, longer than hellhounds or garm. Perhaps longer than elves.
She circled his nipple with her tongue. Then, her face still pressed against his chest, stared up at him. Dragons were so crafty and secretive. How lucky was she that she’d found the one who wasn’t?
* * *
The cavern was darker than Amma remembered. On her last visit the dragon must have had some light she hadn’t noticed. Now she hung from the wooden ladder that led from Joarr’s living room down into the cavern. The dark almost impenetrable, she could do nothing except hold on and continue her descent. One foot below the other. She felt for the firm wood under the thin sole of her slipper before shifting her weight down. Finally, instead of a thin strip of wood, she felt a cold slab of rock. She twirled, her skirt whirling around her legs as she did, and with her back pressed against the wooden ladder, she called a ball of power into her cupped hand.
The space around her flooded with light. She took a step forward, eager. The treasure…had been to the right before. And it still was. Gold and jewels winked at her. The pile was even bigger than it had been a week earlier, taller than her now.
She hurried closer and fell on her knees in front of it. Piles of gold. An insane amount of riches. Humans would kill—decimate continents—for such a hoard. Had killed. But the dragon had tossed it along with broken chairs and other worthless objects into a corner. Left it piled there as if owning it was enough. He probably never spent the coins, never visited his riches.
She ran the pad of her finger over one shimmering jewel and sighed.
There was no way he would miss one tiny piece. She clutched the gemstone in her fist, then laid it back where it had been.
And that was all she would take. Just one piece. She had no use for money. No need to see herself clad in jewels. She only wanted the cup and the truth it would buy her.
She held up her hand and let the light play over the pile of gold and old furniture. In the back in the same place she’d seen it last, she spied the cup. She leaned forward, causing a line of coins to slide onto the rock floor. To her ears the noise rivaled the roar of an avalanche. She froze and waited for the trapdoor she’d lowered behind her to be jerked open, waited for the dragon to lower his head through the opening and roast her…or try to.
Could she defeat a dragon? Her heart hammered against her ribs as the thought twitched in her head, caused her eyes to dart back toward the ladder. The tales were all of heroes tricking a dragon, never a witch facing one in a fair fight. But who knew, perhaps her father had been one of those heroes, perhaps even a god… . Her sisters and she shared the same mother, but none knew their father. Amma’s could be anyone, anything.
A thrill raced through her, but uncertainty, too. She didn’t want to fight Joarr; she’d enjoyed their time together. If she hadn’t been here under false pretenses, she might even have convinced herself she cared for him. He was confident, masculine and reeked of magic. Just being near him made the hairs on her arms stand with awareness. Pressing against him, feeling him explode inside her…she’d never felt so alive.
She stayed frozen, waiting. Finally, after no movement came, after enough time had passed she felt safe again, she let out the breath she’d been holding.
After a last glance over her shoulder, she shook the moment of weakness off. The dragon was as she’d assessed him earlier—sloppy. And he was nothing to her. If she needed to fight him, she would. But the cup…the cup was her path to finding out who she really was, to uncovering her own secrets.
She leaned forward, her breasts brushing against gold, and grabbed the cup.
Then with it shoved under her shirt, she climbed back up the ladder and sneaked out the dragon’s front door.
With the dragon still slumbering inside the small house, she found the horse she’d ridden here and turned his nose toward the portal.
At the crest of the first hill, she stopped and blew a kiss back toward the dragon’s home. His cockiness had cost him; perhaps the lesson she was teaching him was worth the price of the cup… . Either way, she would remember him fondly. Her lips curling into a smile, she kneed the stallion into a canter.