First Ritual (Supernatural Battle: Coven Caves, #1)

by Kelly St. Clare

The eyes of the early-thirties human widened in confusion. I’d admit to a fondness for humankind, but they did tend to spend their lives looking baffled.

Where there were muscular forearms, often as not there were muscular arms. Sometimes muscular chests could be found between those arms. If a gal got lucky enough, that chest connected to a muscular torso and two thighs that created the frame for what particularly interested me about men. His dick. I was talking about his dick.

Call it vaginal instinct—call it whatever you like—I had an inkling this guy possessed the whole muscular set. The whole set.

Forcing my focus inward, I acknowledged the three paths within me that my magic could take—divination, battle, and apothecary—and thanked the mother before drawing my magic from each path and back to the space under my ribs.

I let my mind touch on the four affinities a magus could possess—divination, battle, apothecary, and grimoire. The three different skill levels rose to my mind next. Novice. Proven. Esteemed. Finally, with the last of the braid’s spine, I thought of the four fundamental pillars of the magus belief system, one to cradle each affinity. Create, keep, feel, protect.

If this was my execution, then I was going to look hot for it.

“I don’t tickle your pickle. Why do you want to kiss me?” “How do you know my pickle isn’t tickled?” “Because I’ve tickled pickles before. I know what a pickle that’s been tickled looks like.” My gaze lowered to his lap. “That pickle… ain’t tickled.”

“Sorry I don’t do it for you.” The magus stood, absently running his fingers over the spines of books closest. “You have the wrong parts.” “Huh?” “This pickle is tickled by other pickles, not by the pickle jar.”

Huxley almost smiled. That was twice now. Go me.

“Nothing’s happening, though?” she inquired. “I can appreciate skill without feeling the need to lick it.”

Rooke squeaked. “They’re coming this way!” Like fuck they were. “No.” “What do you mean no?” “I’m trying to manifest them not coming this way.”

Rooke hummed. “I’d be pretty certain on her wanting out.” “Why?” Wild asked. “Does she call me an arrogant asshole to you as well?” I patted his knee. “Honey. Please. What have I told you about the words I say behind your back?”

A furious growl ripped from his chest. His voice was layered by the creature within. “You’ll eat if I have to force the food down your throat. You’ll sleep when I command. I demand your happiness, and you shall give me your pain.”

My mother didn’t look like my mother as she looked at Rowaness. She appeared as a child seeking comfort. “This is not your battle, Mother.” “I fought to get you into this world, Hazeluna. That fight never stops. Mothers are the most absolute, fearsome force in this world. Why else do we share the title of the mother herself? Never doubt that I would tear someone’s throat out if they tried to hurt you. As to what’s ahead. I choose it with my head held high, unapologetically and without regret. As you will do.” My mother tilted her chin higher. “As I will do.”