Here is the second book of the The Merriweather Witches. If you missed the first excerpt I posted, you can check out The Witch and the Wolf here.
This is a romance series that combines two of my favorite genres, historical and paranormal. This series follows a family of witches in Regency-era England as they discover romance and love, as well as some otherworldly complications to their lives. I hope you enjoy!
Melora Merriweather is searching for a fellow witch to protect her from a scheming uncle with plans of marriage. When her carriage overturns on her journey, she is rescued by a mysterious man whom she learns is the very person she seeks. But, he's not the witch she thought he was...
Sebastian Collins should have left for London days ago. Now a snowstorm has trapped him with a woman who has come seeking protection, a woman who intrigues him like no other. And with each passing hour, his hunger for her grows...hunger for her kiss, her caress, and her blood.
Excerpt:
Sebastian strained against the trembling that consumed his entire body. He smelled her blood from here, even after he placed such distance between them. Of course, it did not help that every so often she took small steps toward him, advancing on him, as if she were a predator and he the vulnerable prey.
The irony of that particular thought made him grin, sadly.
Another whiff of lavender wafted to his nostrils. That and the subtler scent of her skin beneath the scented soap she favored. Bare skin. With the blood pumping so strongly beneath. She smelled of fear, confusion and anger. Her emotions mixed like a delectable cloud wrapping around him, enveloping him and making him forget who and what he was and more importantly where he was. He closed his eyes breathing deeply but trying so desperately not to smell her.
“Did you hear me?” She asked, the anger in her voice preceding another wave of the heated aroma of her skin.
“Yes,” he stated, calmly. If only he could feel as controlled as his voice. Such practice it had taken him, years upon years to master the even tones, to deceive those with whom he spoke, to conceal the truth. “Is he your brother or your father?”
“What?”
Her confusion mirrored her voice. She had such an expressive voice. If he didn’t have the ability to smell her he could still tell what she was thinking or feeling simply from the dulcet tones of her tender voice. He had no need to see her when he could listen to her. With that, he could paint a picture of what she looked like in his mind. She was young. Early to mid-twenties. Much too young for him to take. Too pure. Innocent.
Oh, how she must taste! His stomach clenched with desire but he pushed it away, focusing on their conversation.
“Phillip,” he said, forcing a masking smile over his lips. “Is he your brother or your father?”
“My father,” she stated her voice suddenly a soft whisper. He could hear her. His eyes might fail him but his hearing was beyond excellent. “He was my father.”
Sebastian turned.
The grief poured from her, spilling onto him, quelling his hunger. He could not keep the surprise out of his controlled voice. “Was? He’s dead? How?”
A slight whimper escaped her. Through his cloudy vision, he saw her figure waver and he realized with quiet dread what was about to occur. He moved. His body reacting before he could argue with the logic of his brain. When he reached her, he found her trembling and he knew it was not from the cold of her journey. He caught her just before her wobbly knees gave out beneath her.
“Forgive me,” he said, urging his voice back into the calm timbre he used so often when dealing with such as she. But as soon as he touched her, he realized with shock she wasn’t like the rest.
Tingles erupted from his fingertips and traveled up his arms into his neck and chest, stabbing him with liquid fire. It spread through him like warm wine. He realized when he had touched her before, it had never been skin on skin. His gloves had protected him…and her. He pulled her close, breathing her scent, tasting the smell on his tongue.
He wanted more. So much more...
As he held her tightly, his hand found the skin of her neck. Her pulse beat wildly against his fingers, tempting him with the gift of her blood. With clenched teeth, he moved past her neck and onto her face. His cloudy eyes observed only a blur but as his fingers drifted over the smooth skin of her cheekbones, the delicate arch of her brows, the butterfly wings of her lashes and onto the bridge of her nose, he could see a better picture of her in his mind’s eye.
She was beautiful. More beautiful than he had imagined.
His fingertips touched her lips. He felt the air stir with her gasp as her lips parted in surprise.
His gut spasmed with renewed hunger. His teeth ached, pressing against his upper lip. His mouth watered for a taste of her. And his manhood throbbed with sudden passion. He wanted her.
All of her.
Amazon | Universal
The Merriweather Witches series:
The Witch and the Wolf (Book 1)
The Witch and the Vampire (Book 2)
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