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Wicked Wraiths 1: Tori’s Secret Mina Carter
Tori’s trying to find Mr. Right. So far all she’s found are Mr. Arrogant, Mr. Self-obsessed and Mr. Downright Scary. When her latest date ends in her dumping her drink in her date’s crotch, a frustrated Tori takes matters into her own hands. One quick spell later and her very own Mr. Right is standing in her bedroom. So what if he’s a Wraith, a magical construct. She doesn’t care. He’ll do the job far better than any of her buzzing friends.
However, the ghostly hunk standing by her bed is hiding more than one secret: like the fact he’s not a Wraith at all, but a sorcerer looking for a way back to the land of the living. Jacob needs an in, a chink in some mortal woman’s armour. He needs to hear the words “I love you.”
Trouble is he doesn’t plan to lose his own heart along the way…
Chapter One
“She’s all right. Not a keeper or anything but she’ll do for a couple of nights in the sack.” The voice of her date filtered around the pseudo-Grecian column and stopped Victoria Bennett, Tori to her friends, in her tracks.
Not expecting a patron to stop so suddenly, the waiter behind her almost ran into Tori’s back. Managing to scoot around her at the last minute he shot her a glare that suggested she was the living personification of all his woes. On a normal day Tori was polite to a fault but today wasn’t a normal day; she just blinked at the guy like an owl as she tried to process what she was hearing.
The hits kept coming. Richard’s chuckle floated around the column.
“Of course she’ll cooperate. Bit of the Cutler charm… liquid panty remover.” He laughed again, a harsh sound Tori had never heard from the handsome executive before. “And if that doesn’t work, then a certain special…”
Tori’s blood started to simmer as Richard lowered his voice. “Yeah, in her drink.
No, don’t worry… no blood test will pick this stuff up. It’s a lust potion. Mate of mine picked it up at one of those paranormal clubs. Says it turns any woman into an animal.
They can’t get enough of it…”
She was going to be sick. Richard planned to drug her. How freaking low could you get?
“Yeah, sure thing. If she’s any good, I’ll give you a call. No, not tonight. Sorry mate, I want my share first. Tomorrow night? Yeah, sounds good. I’ll get her over to mine and we’ll dose her up. Call a couple of the lads around and have ourselves a little party.”
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Tori went from simmering to boiling mad in the blink of an eye. He was planning an orgy, was he? She’d see about that! Her spine straightened and Tori walked around the column with her head held high.
Richard was still on his cell. His lips curved into a smile as he smoothly changed the subject. “Yeah, thanks for that, James. If you could send the Delaney tender over and I’ll review it tomorrow. Cheers, mate, you too. Oh, before I forget…”
Plastering a sickly sweet smile on her face, Tori sidled up and pressed close to wrap an arm around him. With her free hand she reached for her drink. Richard started a little in surprise but recovered well and quickly covered her hand with his own, shooting her a smile as he carried on his call.
“Richard…” Tori breathed against the side of his neck, whispering a kiss across the sensitive skin of his neck.
“Hmmm?” He flipped the phone shut.
“You know the thing about lust potions?” She pulled away as she twisted her wrist and dumped her drink in his lap. “They don’t work on those with Fae blood.”
Richard shrieked, a full-on girly shriek, as the mixture of alcohol and ice landed in his crotch. “Bitch! What are you doing?”
Tori stepped back smartly and grabbed her evening purse off the table, stopping only to cast a look over her shoulder. “I hope it gets frostbite and drops off. Have a nice evening, Richard. Don’t bother to call.”
* * *
Tori was still shaking when she let herself back into her apartment. Slamming the door shut, she dropped her keys onto the hall table and shrugged out of her coat.
The light on her answering machine winked at her as she hung the coat up on the peg.
“Tori, this is your mother…”
“Ugh, not tonight, Mom.” Tori hit the off button as soon as her mother’s tones filled the small hallway. She loved her mother to bits, but there was no way she wanted to sit through a lecture on how she was getting on in years now, and shouldn’t she be
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thinking about finding Mr. Right and producing some grandkids for her mother to spoil rotten?
Trudging through to the living room, Tori almost collided with one of the household Wraiths as it went about its business. She stepped back with a quiet apology even though the creature, nothing more than a magical construct powered by her household spells, wouldn’t hear her and couldn’t answer.
Tori flopped down into her favourite chair with relief. Sighing, she dropped her head back and closed her eyes. The trouble was she was trying to find Mr. Right, trying her damn hardest, but so far all she’d found was Mr. Arrogant, Mr. Self-obsessed and Mr. Downright Scary.
“Arrrrrgh! Where are all the normal men?” She ran her hands through her hair in frustration. “Oh, sorry, am I in the way?”
The Wraith flicking the feather duster over the coffee table in front of her had stopped, its route interrupted by Tori’s outstretched legs. It didn’t say anything. It just stayed motionless and silent as it waited for her to move them so it could carry on with the cleaning.
Apologising again, Tori moved her legs, curling them up under her in the chair as she watched the Wraith idly. They were wonderful things, the stuff of magic made real to cope with all those nasty little household jobs most modern women didn’t have the time for. Tori didn’t know what she’d do without them cleaning up around the place. Sure, she had to do her washing herself -- for some reason her household Wraiths didn’t like the washing machine -- but that was a small price to pay.
The Wraith moved around the room, ruthless in its pursuit of the smallest scrap of dust. Tall and slender, it was undoubtedly female, shimmering lines giving form to the ghostly figure. Tori turned her head to try and get a good look at it… at her. They were nearly always female although Tori had seen a male on occasion.
The face refused to come into focus and Tori sighed. It was always the same. No matter how hard you tried to get a good look at them to see what they looked like, what
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colour their eyes were… it never worked. It was like they were always out of focus somehow, out of focus and silent.
Tori dropped her head back against the comfortable cushions and rubbed at her eyes. Actually, that sounded like the perfect man; silent, polite and did as he was told.
Her hands, balled into fists as she knuckled the corners of her eyes, stopped. She sat bolt upright and looked at the ghostly figure dusting the already spotless dining table.
The perfect man would be a Wraith?
* * *
“Isskal, either you behave or, I swear to God, you’ll never have sex ever again. Do I make myself clear?”
Jacob stood in the middle of the controller’s hall between two burly guards who were giving him the evil eye. He folded his arms and looked at Miknris, the Duties Controller, a dried up old hag of a woman. He wouldn’t give her a passing look apart from the fact she was his boss and, technically, he was supposed to do what she said.
Why she thought the guards necessary, he didn’t know though. He was more a lover than a fighter, and that was precisely the reason he had been hauled in here.
“Yes, ma’am. Was there anything else or can I get back to it?” He pointed over one shoulder with both thumbs, one eyebrow arched in question. “You know how it is, places to see, bored housewives to do.”
“Isskal…” The controller’s tone was warning as her lips compressed into a thin, white line. Even her nose wrinkled, her expression as disgusted as though she’d just sucked a lemon.
“My name is Jacob.”
Miknris sat upright in her chair and clicked her tongue in disapproval as she shook her head. Jacob had seen her astral form in the “real world” and the form she wore was beautiful… mysterious and seductive. A world away from the dried up prune sitting in front of him with a disappointed look on her face.
“Isskal, Isskal, Isskal… that was your name, before you…” She paused then quickly carried on. “Did what you did and were sent to us.”
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Jacob’s face hardened. “You mean before I got screwed over?”
“You weren’t ‘screwed over’ as you so eloquently put it. You died with an un-lifted curse on your soul which qualifies as unfinished business. Which means --”
Jacob finished for her, his voice raised mockingly. “Which means that I’m stuck here being used as a freaking Casanova until I can get some woman to fall in love with me and release me from my curse. Which is never going to happen unless I can talk to them!”
Miknris pulled an expression like a bulldog chewing a wasp. “You know the rules, Isskal. Wraiths do not talk. Ever. To do so risks the mortals finding out and puts our whole society in jeopardy.”
“Puts our whole society in jeopardy…” Jacob mimicked her voice mockingly. “Yeah, lady, I got the whole history lesson when the Fates dragged me in here. What makes you think I give a rat’s ass about your society? I wasn’t born in this godforsaken place and, to be honest, the sooner I fucking leave it, the better. Just those three little words --
I love you -- from anyone of the female persuasion and you won’t see me for dust.”
Miknris rose out of her seat, her expression going from purple to puce in one easy step. “Are you naturally stupid or is it something you practise at? Because, Lady help me, I can’t tell the difference anymore. Exactly what part of ‘no talking’ don’t you understand, Isskal?”
Jacob just looked at her. The woman was as stubborn as a mule, no doubt about it, but two could play at that game, and before his death, Jacob had been a master at it.
“Exactly what part of ‘I don’t give a shit about your rules’ don’t you understand, Miknris? I died. I expected the big bright light and busty babes with wings preferably not wearing an awful lot. I didn’t expect to be dragged into some sort of netherworld and fucking set to work. Fucking being the operative word here.”
Miknris’ smile was slow but it sent shivers of dread up Jacob’s spine. He knew he was complaining like a bitch about his job. After all, a guy didn’t expect to buy the farm in a car crash and end up in some freaky version of the afterlife where he was summoned at a whim to act as some bored housewife’s gigolo. Okay, so the sex was the
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upside of all this, even if some of his partners were ten-pinters. All he had to do was lie back and think of England -- figuratively speaking, of course -- but it wasn’t enough.
To break this damn curse he needed to get one of them to fall in love with him.
To do that he needed to be able to talk to them, say the words himself which would hopefully prompt a favourable response. All he needed was a couple of hours for Christ’s sake.
Women had trouble separating emotion and sex, so the women who called him were already halfway there. Emotionally open and vulnerable, they just needed a little nudging in the right direction. Some flattering words and the sort of attention Jacob was so good at and bang, words said, job done. He’d be free of his servitude under Madam Fugly here.
Under Madam Fugly. Jacob shuddered and felt sick.
Miknris smiled suddenly. A sickly sweet smile which rang alarm bells for Jacob.
Whatever she was going to say, he wasn’t going to like it.
“Oh, that won’t be a problem for you any longer, Isskal. I wasn’t joking when I said you’d never have sex again. In light of your inability, shall we say, to control yourself, I’m taking you off the sex roster. You’re being reassigned to domestic services.”
* * *
The perfect man… the perfect man.
The words went around and around in Tori’s head as she lay on her bed staring at the ceiling. Her book lay open on the cover next to her, but unlike normal, it hadn’t sent her into the land of nod within a few pages. Tori liked reading and it was a good book; however, usually she was too tired when she finally tumbled into bed to stick with it. Tonight though, she was awake enough to read War and Peace.
It wasn’t a fictional storyline which buzzed around in her head. It was the possibility about Wraiths which had occurred to her earlier. Perhaps she’d been looking for a man in the wrong places. All the ones she’d met in the last year or so had, to put it