The Witch Queen of Halloween

The demon readied for trouble, shoulders squared, his longsword reflecting the low light. His eyes were a brilliant gray, his fangs and horns sharpening. Smoke spun a hazy aura around his towering frame.

Magnificent male.

She might’ve expected the smoke to fill the room and choke her breaths, but it was more like shaded air. Over the years, she’d learned he could turn it thicker, using it for camouflage and even for travel.

Yet not in Raven’s Murk Castle.

She struggled to stay focused on the incoming threat and to ignore her attraction to this demon. Why was he so protective after all this time? Why’d he have to talk about doting on kids with that devoted smile on his face?

Shake it off, Poppy. Rök Kours simply wasn’t an option for her. She reminded herself of his reputation. He got off on the fact that paramours summoned him, like repeat customers who ranked him five stars.

Even if he weren’t a player, he and Poppy still would have no future. Though she’d once suspected she might be Rök’s fated one, he had convinced her otherwise. Male Loreans went berserk if denied their mates.

Cadeon had held a siege for Holly; Rök hadn’t even rung Poppy’s freaking doorbell.

Somewhere out there, his female existed or would exist. Until he found that partner, Poppy would be a walk-on in the movie of his life.

And that was assuming he even wanted more than a one-night stand. That was assuming they lived through this night⁠—

A pair of skeletons breached the dungeon’s doorway, their bony feet clattering on the stone landing. Their menacing skulls craned left to right to scan the area.

Stray question: How can they see? Or think?

Stray answer: They just fucking can.

“That’s messed up.” Rök passed his sword from one hand to the other.

“You spooked yet?”

“Nothing in the Lore spooks me—except things that come back to life when they should be at their rest.”

This unexpected admission only endeared him to her. He wasn’t flawless; yet he was full of courage to face these creatures.

Damn it.

The skeletons descended the steps, then another two followed. Then three more. In the past, her family’s house had crawled with illusions of them.

They teemed into the dungeon as if they’d been poured inside, amassing in front of the demon. The rattle of their bones and snapping of their teeth grew into an agitated din. Scythes scraped the brick walls, sending up sparks.

She yearned to fight, but she had only three battle-magic pouches left. What she wouldn’t give for an innate power!

Rök bared his lengthened fangs at them, his face growing harsher with aggression, the planes more demonic. “Come on, I’m waiting for you!” he said, taunting them. “Come to demon.”

The gang of skeletons charged, their scythes raised. Rök dodged strikes with uncanny speed and cut through the first wave. Bones flew. Femurs, clavicles, and skulls somersaulted through the air to clatter to the floor.

But they rolled back together to reassemble.

He fended off another wave. They rushed; they fell; they reassembled. So he swung the flat edge of his sword even harder for the next blitz, grunting with effort. He pulverized bones to dust, and the other skeletons held back.

Rök glanced over his shoulder. “See? Just have to hit them hard enough.” He winked at her, not knowing that behind him the dust was reforming into bone. “I don’t want to label myself a hero of old, but when the shoe fits⁠—”

“Uh, demon?” She jerked her chin in that direction.

He whirled back around. “Huh. New plan.” His sword flashed out, crumbling another foe. Before it could reassemble, Rök booted its bones toward an oubliette. The force sucked them down. Whoosh!

Clever demon!

He sheathed his sword as another pair charged. Barreling into them, he hoisted one over his shoulder and tossed it to the waiting trap. Dodging another scythe, he grappled to take hold of his next opponent, chucking it in as well.

Bogey after bogey went hurtling toward the oubliettes. Only half a dozen remained.

Yet then a scythe arced toward Rök’s face; he blocked the staff with his forearm, just as another scythe caught the backs of his bootheels. He fell backward—right across an oubliette.

“Rök, no!” Would he tumble into nothing, lost forever?

He stiffened his body like a plank. Muscles straining, he resisted the suction and still defended against blows. “I’ve got this, witch!”

“Hardly!” Poppy snared one of her pouches, power infusing her again. She aimed a beam at the skeleton closest to him, knocking its bones out like bowling pins.

The thing reformed to attack.

Whenever the skeletons swung their scythes, Poppy parried with beams—but they were too fast.

Rök flung himself to the side, just avoiding a strike. The skeleton lost its balance and tumbled skull-first into the abyss. Whoosh!

Five left.

Rök repeated the move, tricking another skeleton into the pit. Four. Between Poppy’s defensive beams and his maneuvering, they took out three more. Whoosh. Whoosh. Whoosh!

One left. The demon rocked across the oubliette and yanked his last foe by its ankle bones, sending it bouncing against the sides of the opening. The suction devoured the final skeleton. Whoosh!

Enemy defeated.

When Rök rolled to safety, Poppy hastened over, unable to disguise her relief.

Ember and mist filled her senses as he gazed up at her, his eyes glowing even more. Color flushed his cheekbones and his lips curved, tempering his demonic visage. “Are we in the clear?”

She probed the activity of her curse and breathlessly said, “For a bit.” Hecate help her, Poppy’s desire for him was only growing worse.

Did she want Rök so badly that she would join his rotation of swimbos? Maybe she wasn’t as self-respecting as she’d thought. Maybe she was weak where he was concerned.

These fears haunted her as much as her visitors.

When he’d called her the day after their debacle of a date, he’d given no explanation, just asked for a makeup, promising the best steak in all the worlds. So she’d agreed to meet on Halloween, a night when she’d known nothing could tempt her to go, not even Rök. . . .

His grin deepened as he easily made it to his feet. “Look at that worry for me.” He brushed his hands off, all cockiness, and not a scratch on him.

Her lips parted as realization hit. “You were never in jeopardy.”

“Not even a bit.”

“You were playing with them?”

Gleeful nod. “Still consider me mediocre? You actually thought you were riding in to save the day. To save me, a demon warrior, from skeletons!”

Her eyes went wide, her face growing hot. “I wasted a pouch on you!”

In a patronizing tone, he said, “Let’s consider that magic well spent. I proved my mettle, and I also got a glimpse into your feelings. You do give a damn about me.”

“Or maybe I didn’t want to feel guilt when my curse killed you.”

A flash of doubt crossed his expression. Then his easy smile returned. “Nah. You like me.” He reached for her. “This demon’s still in the game. Consider your ass mine.”

She shoved him into the oubliette.

Whoosh!