Wizard of Time Read online

  An Ellora’s Cave Romantica Publication

  www.ellorascave.com

  Wizard of Time

  ISBN # 9781419909238

  ALL RIGHTS RESERVED.

  Wizard of Time Copyright© 2007 Ciar Cullen

  Edited by Helen Woodall.

  Cover art by Philip Fuller.

  Electronic book Publication: February 2007

  This book may not be reproduced or used in whole or in part by any means existing without written permission from the publisher, Ellora’s Cave Publishing, Inc.® 1056 Home Avenue, Akron OH 44310-3502.

  This book is a work of fiction and any resemblance to persons, living or dead, or places, events or locales is purely coincidental. The characters are productions of the authors’ imagination and used fictitiously.

  Content Advisory:

  S – ENSUOUS

  E – ROTIC

  X – TREME

  Ellora’s Cave Publishing offers three levels of Romantica™ reading entertainment: S (S-ensuous), E (E-rotic), and X (X-treme).

  The following material contains graphic sexual content meant for mature readers. This story has been rated S-ensuous.

  S-ensuous love scenes are explicit and leave nothing to the imagination.

  E-rotic love scenes are explicit, leave nothing to the imagination, and are high in volume per the overall word count. E-rated titles might contain material that some readers find objectionable—in other words, almost anything goes, sexually. E-rated titles are the most graphic titles we carry in terms of both sexual language and descriptiveness in these works of literature.

  X-treme titles differ from E-rated titles only in plot premise and storyline execution. Stories designated with the letter X tend to contain difficult or controversial subject matter not for the faint of heart.

  WIZARD OF TIME

  Ciar Cullen

  Dedication

  Many thanks to the staff of Ellora’s Cave, especially Helen Woodall. This little tale is dedicated to my generous reader and writer friends, especially Val, Danny, Chuck, and Laurie, who always support my quirkiness. Wizard of Time

  Chapter One

  “Can you keep it down?”

  Gideon hissed in response, sauntering away from Trevor, toward the woods.

  “Stupid lizard,” Trevor mumbled under his breath as he scanned the dark forest edge for Morgan.

  “I heard that! Second-rate wizard,” Gideon sniffed and gave Trevor the finger.

  “Stop that! It’s vulgar. Any other wizard would fry you if you gave him the finger!”

  “Any other wizard would be able to turn me into a dragon! I would have stayed a human, you know, if I thought I’d have to live like this!”

  “I’m doing my best. You really carry grudges, don’t you, Gideon?” Trevor pushed back his long dark hair and cursed quietly. “What’s happened to my powers? This is unbearable.”

  Gideon blew a raspberry and scurried into the forest.

  Trevor saw a flash of black cape and moved quickly behind a tree. What was she doing now? He worked very hard not to laugh aloud as Morgan cursed when she hit her hand with the hammer and dropped the nail that was far too large for the job.

  “Why doesn’t she use magic?” he wondered, shaking his head, remembering how powerful Morgan had been, even as a girl.

  Morgan tripped over a huge gnarled root and cursed as she hit the ground, fliers scattering in the light spring breeze. She tried to get up, but fell backward again as her skirt caught on a low bramble. She finally extricated herself, still cursing.

  “Crummy tree!” She kicked at the trunk and then hopped around on one foot in pain.

  “Oh, Morgan,” Trevor muttered. She was hopeless. And hopelessly lovely. Her cheeks were flushed with a tint of scarlet from her fury and exertions, her beautiful breasts nearly fell out of her dress as she fumbled around. Her white-gold locks covered her shoulders, having fallen out of the braids she usually wore. Trevor watched in amusement as Morgan searched the ground for her spectacles. She finally stood, tucked her glasses into her cleavage, straightened her dress and took a deep breath. Then she continued her mission, posting fliers on nearly every tree along the path into town. It took her three hours.

  Trevor followed closely behind, tearing down every last one of them and shoving them into the deep pocket of his dark cloak. He had already burned hundreds of the blasted things. She just wasn’t giving up. Well, she’d have to give in eventually, he thought.

  Night after night Trevor had done his best to insinuate his energy into her heart, her brain, her body, pleading with his magic to work this one time. Because Trevor intended to be the only person Morgan could turn to in her hour of need and Trevor suspected that hour was at hand.

  “Well, you’re in trouble too, asshole,” Trevor groaned. What a trying, frustrating, painful, awful month. Grieving the loss of his mother, losing his talents, pathless, nearly powerless. Trying to keep tabs on his man-crazy twin sister. He had moved back into the house where he was born, where he lived until he was thirteen, thinking that it might not be such a terrible place to set up shop. And as Trevor expected, Castle Borough hadn’t changed much in over a decade. Dreadfully boring, like watching grass grow.

  Until he laid eyes on Morgan, for the first time in thirteen years. Trevor had been horrified to find himself still fiercely, utterly attracted to the voluptuous witch. In adolescent hormonal frenzy, he had found her beautiful, captivating and worthy of the most exciting fantasies. Nothing had changed, except Trevor now knew what it was to be with a woman. And he wanted Morgan in no uncertain terms.

  Vengeance. It will be all the sweeter, tasting that gorgeous flesh, pushing yourself into her body and her heart. You’ll enjoy this ride.

  —

  Morgan sat at her kitchen table, one swollen foot propped on a chair. She fought back the tears that always seemed to threaten to fall these days. Hopeless.

  “I miss you.” She spoke to no one in particular, thinking wistfully of better days, when her parents were alive, before her protégé ran off with King Artimer’s fool.

  Who do you really miss, Morgan? A man who never existed. A life that was never yours to begin with.

  Morgan tried to shake off the longing from her most recent dream. Night after night she tossed and turned until her body burned and the sheets tangled around her ankles. She would wake just as her dream lover leaned in to kiss her, the scent of patchouli and apples filling the air. Had someone cast a horrible spell on her? No. It was loneliness, plain and simple.

  “Face it.” She brushed away a tear. “You’re going to end up an insane old maid.” Morgan pushed away the flickering memory of her last boyfriend. The jerk. The two-timing lying, controlling asshole. The manipulating son of a bitch.

  And now this—the unkindest cut of all.

  Morgan had lost her powers.

  It had started subtly. One complaint a week. First Blackie, the smithy, furious that the baldness had returned.

  “Forget it,” he had screamed. “I’ll spend my money on Regain! Snake oil saleswoman!”

  “It was snake oil!” Morgan had pushed a gold coin into his hand and watched him storm down her cobbled path to the road. The following week, Samantha Knockerwood’s hog turned back into her detestable mother-in-law. Gordy Smatherwood’s batting average dropped suddenly and the Knights lost the first four games of the season to the Dragons.

  “King Artimer isn’t going to be very pleased about this one, I can tell you,” Gordy had poked at her. “The Dragons haven’t beaten the Knights since Art became our sponsor.”

  “You mean since you began drinking my potion, you idiot!” Morgan stomped her foot in frustration.

  “Whatever!”

  “You’re a lousy infielder! The whole vi
llage knows it!” Morgan yelled after him and slammed the door. But yelling was no use. Her reputation was at stake. She shuddered. In a few weeks she might be tied to a stake with flames licking at her legs. The villagers didn’t burn witches—they burnt useless witches.

  Morgan reread the wrinkled flier lying on the table. Why wasn’t it working? Was there something in the wording? She had labored over it for hours.

  “Sorceress needed immediately for thriving local business. Mature, independent self-starter with superior customer-service attitude. Two years’ experience required. Competitive wages, room and board, health benefits. No familiars allowed on premises. Apply directly to Morgan Daemoniani, 2 Enchanting Way, Castle Borough.”

  Not a single response, not a bite, not an inquiry of any sort.

  Morgan removed her glasses, rested her head on the table and sighed. One tear escaped its blue prison and fell onto the starched white linen tablecloth. She watched the wet spot expand slowly. I’ll lose the king’s business. He’ll call in the mortgage on the cottage and I’ll be destitute. Maybe if she pleaded with Art. After all, King Artimer was her cousin.

  The light tap on the door jarred her momentarily from her misery and then sent her back into a tailspin of dread. Another complaint. Morgan stood and took a deep breath, steeled for the worst. She slowly opened the heavy round wooden door and peeked around the edge.

  The fragrance of patchouli and apples assaulted her senses. But not nearly as much as the sight of the man. A man? Was he merely a man? No, she thought, he was surely an immortal.

  “Yes?” Morgan realized that no sound had actually emanated from her mouth.

  “Yes?” she tried again. “May I help you?” What was that feeling circling around her legs and climbing up her body, making her head swim and her skin go all crawly? Instant, mind-numbing lust. Gods, when had she felt such lust before? Had she?

  The dark-cloaked man nonchalantly held out one of her fliers and Morgan snatched it from his hand, sure that she was about to be fined for illegal posting.

  “There’s no number 1 Enchanting Way.” The man learned against the porch fence and smirked. Tiny lines formed around his spectacular hazel eyes. He took a bite of an apple as he casually ran his free hand through the luxurious long dark brown hair that threatened to fall into his eyes.

  “In fact, there doesn’t seem to be a 3 Enchanting Way, either.” He wiggled his brows, grinned and pushed away a bit of apple juice that had dripped down his chin. Morgan thought she might not be able to resist the urge to lean in and lick it off.

  “Dork. Stop flirting with her and get busy. I told Misha I’d meet him at the ball park.”

  “Your lizard speaks.” Morgan stepped back a few inches and studied the handsome creature nestled in the crook of his owner’s arm.

  “Dragon. Gideon is a dragon,” the man corrected seriously.

  “I really do think he’s a lizard. Green and sort of spiky right there.” Morgan held out a hand and Gideon hissed at her.

  “Stop that, Gideon! Apologize this minute!”

  “The witch insulted me.” The lizard buried his head in the crook of the man’s arm and began a low weeping. The man sighed deeply and caught Morgan’s eye, then nodded toward the creature a few times.

  Morgan felt as if she were going insane. The most exquisite man alive was asking her to be kind to his pet lizard, who for some reason thought himself a dragon.

  “Oh, oh, I see my mistake now!” she tried. The man nodded enthusiastically. “Yes, what a lovely dragon you have here, sir.”

  “Fearsome!” the lizard insisted with a dramatic sniffle.

  “Fearsome? Oh, oh, yes, I was just about to say that! I’m quite terrified. I surely hope you have control over your fearsome dragon, stranger.”

  Gideon popped his head back out and the man grinned widely. His smile slammed through Morgan’s brain and body and she clutched onto the door for support. She didn’t dare look at the rest of him, sensing that she would faint if she did.

  Pull it together, Morgan, find out what he wants and shut the door. He’s just a reminder of what you’ll never have. Because men who look like that are heartbreakers. And this one looked especially dangerous in that regard.

  “Sir, I’m rather busy here.” She nodded over her shoulder to the pristine living room. He peeked beyond her and nodded seriously.

  “Yes, I can see you’re quite busy, Mistress Daemoniani,” he ventured. “So I’ll get to the point. I’ll take your position. I assume it’s still open?” His question sounded more like a command.

  “Pardon?” Morgan tilted her head and felt her brain freeze up.

  “You’ve posted for an assistant. I have all the qualifications you specified and then some.” He smirked again.

  “I specified a sorceress. You are…um, a man. I think.”

  “You can’t tell I’m a man? Crikey.”

  “No, sorry, that came out wrongly. I meant…oh, never mind that. I am not in need of a wizard—you’re a wizard, right? Oh and this is your dragon? Uh-huh. Yep.”

  The man pressed his lips together and gave her a “don’t start on that again” look, indicating Gideon with a quick dart of his eyes.

  “Right.” Morgan pointed to the ad. “See, right here it says I need a woman.”

  Morgan took in a breath at the quick fury that temporarily flashed across his exquisite face.

  “That’s discrimination. There are laws against that sort of thing, at least in Upper Territory. What can a woman do that I can’t? In fact, there might be a few things I can do that a woman can’t, have you thought of that?”

  Morgan stared at the man’s hazel eyes for a moment and then for several moments more and couldn’t think of a single response. He lowered his head slightly and narrowed his eyes, staring at her from beneath dark brows. His gaze fell to her lips and then to her breasts. Morgan felt a chill and a whiff of magic.

  And to her horror, she found herself blushing. I don’t blush, I don’t embarrass and I’ll be damned if this…this hunk wizard will intimidate me.

  The man chucked his apple core into her garden and then quickly pushed past her into the living room.

  “I think I’d like some coffee. You know how to make coffee, of course?”

  “How dare you! I didn’t invite you in!” Morgan slammed the door behind her and stomped her foot in frustration.

  “Nonsense. Everything about you is screaming for me to stay. And now I’m inside. So we may as well get down to business. I’d really like that coffee now.”

  He removed his cloak, threw it on the sofa and settled into an overstuffed chair near the fire.

  “Why don’t you make yourself at home? Take a nap? Call out for some pizza?”

  He ran his hand through his hair and then examined his fingernails, ignoring her.

  “Oh, all right. I’ll get your damned coffee. Then you and your dragon can leave me alone and get on with your day!”

  Morgan hurried into the kitchen and went to work on preparing the best cup of coffee she could. You don’t want to impress him, that’s not it. Just trying to show manners.

  She called out to him, “How do you like it?”

  He drew the words out slowly. “Hot. I like it very, very hot. And strong. And sweet. And creamy.” His voice was like syrup, coating her insides.

  “Yes, that’s how I like it too.”

  Hot. Strong. Sweet. Creamy. Hot. Strong. Sweet. Creamy. The words rolled around in her brain until she was panting, sweat beading on her brow, a picture of him naked and hot and strong and sweet and creamy pounding through her and starting a throbbing down low. Well, at least you don’t have a cock to betray your feelings. Get him out of your house.

  When she returned to the living room, he stretched and clasped his hands behind his neck, expanding his muscled chest and arms in dramatic fashion. Gideon was sound asleep in his lap, snoring rather loudly.

  He propped his boot-clad feet on her linen tablecloth. Morgan was about to reprimand him
but was sidetracked as he shifted his weight and she saw the muscles ripple beneath his tight leather pants. She let her gaze run up his body to take in the rest of him. The cups clattered on the tray as she set it on the table, hands shaking.

  Morgan indicated the tray and he took a cup and lifted it to his lips, tasting the tiniest bit. He closed his eyes and moaned in pleasure, then took another sip.

  “Simply incredible. Liquid ecstasy. Mmm. Hazelnut, isn’t it? With a hint of vanilla?” He moaned again.

  Morgan breathed a sigh of relief and then tried to cover it up with a cough.

  “Now, sir. As I was saying, I appreciate your visit, but I really do need a witch.”

  He leaned forward and propped his chin on one hand.

  “Morgan, it’s me.” His voice was almost a whisper.

  “Sorry?”

  “It’s me. Trevor. Trevor Rains.”

  Morgan looked at the man in confusion for a moment and then laughed.

  “I don’t know who you are, but you are not Trevor Rains.”

  “No?” Trevor slowly unbuttoned his shirt and pulled away one side to reveal a small fleur-de-lis over his heart. Morgan worked hard to tear her gaze away from his smooth chest and nipple and a glimpse of ripped stomach. Fleur-de-lis. Where have I seen that?

  “Morgan, do you remember the swimming hole we used to go to after school—the five of us? And the day you told me that only girls wore flowers, but that I had a flower on my chest so I must be a girl? Then you told Braxton to dunk me and he did.” A quick flicker of fury passed across his face. “Whatever happened to Braxton, by the way?”

  Morgan let a tiny cry escape and reached out her hand as if to touch his chest. “Braxton dumped me six months ago. Ran off with Lilly Marsh after she inherited her father’s estate. Trevor?”

  Trevor?

  This man, this…this mage, dripping with energy that grabbed her by the belly. The boy she had kicked in the balls for his efforts. The boy who had followed her everywhere, had written a note to her every day, stood outside her door in the pouring rain, waiting to carry her books. The boy she had humiliated for a full year. Until he disappeared, rumored to have joined the Academy out of a crushed heart and embarrassment.