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By Brenna Lyons


Traia is a mistress witch, seduced by a werewolf that inexplicably passed through her wards and shields. Now that she knows what Galen is, he’ll stop at nothing to kill her. Or will he?

If she was any other witch, Galen would be running the other But Traia is his mate. The Goddess has made Traia’s magick useless against him and him as safe as a puppy with her. She can’t use her magick, but Traia can use mortal weapons. Unless Galen can bind her to him by the end of the night, he may end up fur cuffs on her ceremonial robes.



Traia didn’t question who knocked at her door. With vampires, weres, and zombies hunting the night, no human came to her door after sundown, late enough that he couldn’t complete his business with her and return to the safety of his own shields before the sky darkened. She rarely saw visitors after mid-afternoon.

He knocked again, a jaunty little children’s song backbeat. Traia crossed one leg over the other, making a conscious effort at ignoring him. Though it probably wouldn’t discourage him, Traia was hardly about to invite him in.

He’s not a vampire, she reminded herself. Refusing to invite him in would make little difference.

Vampire or not, I am not welcoming a foul creature into my home.

He knocked a third time, a more impatient cadence, heavier than the previous inquiries. “Traia.” His voice was soft, taunting, and all too familiar.

Traia bristled. “I’ve been nice so far, mutt. Push me much farther and I’ll make cuffs of your hide.”

He laughed at the warning. “Now, Traia. The fact that I’m knocking on your door should tell you something.”

“That you’re persistent and stupid?” she ventured rudely. He deserves no better.

“That your shields and traps won’t work against me,” he countered.

“They are simple magick. I have stronger.” As if to reassure herself, Traia picked up the items she would use to drive him off. Her gaze strayed to the final weapon in her arsenal, and she shuddered at the thought of using it.

“Perhaps.” The truth didn’t seem to concern him. “Probably so.”

“If you enter my home, you will be carried out.” Memories of his tall, strong body prompted a silent addition to that statement. By a very strong man or two of lesser strength.

“Would you care to open the door and be proven wrong? I would hate to have to break it down to do so.”

The presumption! He really is a dog.


She shivered in arousal. Her thighs dampened, and her nipples tightened. It didn’t make sense. She knew what he was. Why was he still able to affect her this way?

Traia forced her mouth to unglue. “The door is not bolted.”

He hesitated. “You’re inviting me in?”

“You wish.”

His dark chuckle set off another round of shivers and several warning bells. Traia wished she could claim a sense of dread caused them, but nothing about his approach made her feel it. It was only her mind screaming warnings. It made no sense. Her senses had never failed her so completely before. Then again, neither had her magick.

The door opened, and Traia’s mind rioted. She’d invited him in the first time—had she nullified her defenses in the process?

No. He’s not a vampire. Vampires were the only ones who nullified the magick with an invitation. Not to mention, the vampire had to be invited in at each visit, and she certainly hadn’t done so. Not at the shield line and not at her door.

He stepped into her line of sight, and for a moment, Traia forgot how to breathe. Galen! Goddess, but the man was beautiful. And he knew how to use that cock to keep her in bliss.

Too bad he means to rip my throat out.

As if in agreement, he licked his lips. Traia raised the silver amulet in warning, belatedly musing that she should have simply tied it around her throat.

Galen arched an eyebrow at the move. The door swung shut behind his hand, and he added the bolt for good measure.