A Demon's Guide to Wooing a Witch (Glimmer Falls #2)

by Sarah Hawley

A thought emerged from the chaos in his head. “Are we lovers?” He had a vivid image of her crushing him between her muscular thighs, though he couldn’t tell if that was a memory or wishful thinking. “No!” She looked horrified. Astaroth winced. All right, not lovers. His gaze dropped to her thighs again. “Pity.”

Why had his past self chosen to make an enemy of her rather than seizing the opportunity to use those thighs as earmuffs?

Astaroth wasn’t a massive man, certainly nowhere near the size of the werewolf, but when he looked like this, territorial and pissed off, he seemed . . . Dangerous. And damn if Calladia didn’t like that.

There was a softness to her, too, echoed in the gentle slope of her jawline and the curve of her parted lips. He shivered, imagined those lips trailing kisses over his torso, each one an autumn raindrop to cool the angry fire burning in his chest. He would drink that sweet relief down like a dying man, but he suspected it would never be enough.

Her needs would be extensive, he guessed. All that temper and fire needed an outlet. In bed, she’d be rough and demanding, expecting her partner to match her energy. It would be a fight for supremacy, no easy conquest, and she’d want the upper hand more often than not. His pulse accelerated at the thought. He’d happily cede the upper hand if she wanted. Being pinned down and ridden until he couldn’t see straight would be as much a victory as doing the pinning.

She laughed awkwardly. “Why would you care about defending me? I’m your enemy, remember?” “Why would you stab a werewolf to protect me?” he parroted. “I’m your enemy, remember?”

“You’re a good person, even if you don’t always believe it, but I’m not. Say the word, and I’ll punish him in the vilest ways you can imagine.”

Beauty was crafted like any other work of art, and its perfection took effort. Calladia didn’t try at all. She wore no makeup and didn’t care about fashion. She sang off-key and was more likely to punch someone than engage in polite conversation with them. And she was the most beautiful person Astaroth had ever seen.

For the first time in his long existence, Astaroth was in love.

“Being strong doesn’t mean winning every battle. Sometimes it means surviving to fight again.”

“I’ll never get enough of you,” he said against her lips. “The sun could die and the stars could fall and the earth could rip itself apart, and none of that would matter, so long as you were in my arms.”