Chapter 1
Kate
I pinch the bridge of my nose under my glasses, squinting away from the bright computer screen.
I need to get new glasses. But the bookstore keeps me so busy, I never have time to go to the eye doctor.
Not to mention my doctor is miles away in Bozeman.
Or maybe I keep myself too busy. I listen to the chattering of our weekly Tuesday night occult reading group.
The Crescent Coven, as they call themselves, was still going strong despite the late hour.
I could hear hooting and hollering from the center of the store, where all our book clubs met.
It was well past ten, so I decide to go and do a little freshening up around their area.
“How’s the book coming along?” I ask innocently.
“Oh, Kate, this one is absolutely sinful!” Merna, the leader of their book club, gives me a wink, brandishing a cover with a shirtless man on the front. “Makes me wish I could have some hot stud spring to life whenever I do my own spells!”
The group erupts in laughter, nodding their heads and giving each other knowing looks.
I blush slightly at this and can only think to say, “Well, I’m glad you’re enjoying it. Anything I can get you, ladies?”
Merna wiggles her eyebrows at me. “Well, I think that’s our signal, my dears. We can’t keep poor Kate here so late every week. After-party at my place!” The Coven starts getting up to gather their things, puttering around picking up trash.
I jump in quickly, not even sure why I am compelled to say, “Oh, no, ladies, please. Let me do the cleanup, I don’t mind, really!”
I wave away their protest and the polite back and forth that must happen before I say the magic words, “I insist!”
Finally, I am alone. I begin to collect the paper plates, small plastic cups of half-drunk soda and used napkins.
I have known these ladies for nearly fifteen years now.
Some have come and gone, but the regulars, like Merna, have always appreciated what our little bookstore offers them.
A safe place to gather and chat about their monthly book selections, sometimes occult and sometimes plain fun, like this month.
I don’t miss the looks they give me behind my back, though, the long, pitying stares and the way they catch each other's eyes whenever a question is asked about what I did over the weekend or if I’m seeing someone.
I always give the same answer: “I just relaxed this weekend!” or “No time for someone special, there’s so much to do at the store! ”
The truth is, I just feel stuck. I’ve been working for Lucinda Carver since I left my hometown in California right after high school, itching to run away from my oppressive parents.
My family owned a cabin in Coldwater Springs, so it was the only other place I knew.
Back then, Owl it’s hard to tell.
He’s impossibly tall and muscular with sheer wings that shimmer like a beetle’s.
His body is a deep midnight blue with an almost purple reflect, and covering his body are silver runes.
He has impressive curvy horns. I trace a finger over his hands, those long, strong fingers and claws.
I blush when I notice that the artist has him naked, complete with a very generous depiction of his cock, hanging thickly between his thighs. My blush deepens when I notice that the runes envelope that gorgeous cock as well, wrapping around the base and coming to a stop just at the tip.
The artist's rendition has him staring directly at me, and I suddenly feel flushed. Get it together, Kate.
Admittedly, it has been a very long time since I was last with anyone.
I don’t even know how long, but the length is in years, and I try not to think about it too much.
To be fair, the pool of suitors is not large.
There are either the locals, where everyone knows everybody’s business, and who has slept with whom since the dawn of time.
Or there are tourists, who are gone within a week and don’t come back.
And then there’s me, still considered a “newbie,” even though I’ve lived here for a long time already.
I shake my head and try to focus my attention away from the image of this man?
Demon? Angel? The words on the page don’t look like English, even though they are using the English alphabet.
Squinting in the low lamplight, I trace my finger under each word, sounding them out under my breath, trying to discern any meaning from them.
“Primis tenebris, audi vocem,
Venias nunc per pactum sacrum.
Umbris saltans, flamma surgit,
Fatum nectit, porta pandit.”
In a flash, the runes on the pages begin to glow, the pages fluttering as though being caught in a gentle wind.
The illustration of the impossibly sexy demon begins to smudge on the page, the ink twirling.
I drop the book in a panic and scoot away from it as quickly as possible, backing myself into my pillows and watching in horror as the twirling black and blue ink becomes a tornado that leaps off the page and lands in the middle of my room.
Then, the ink begins to settle and shift.
First, I see hands forming with claws like glassy obsidian, and slowly the rest of the twirling ink solidifies into him.
I feel my mouth is open, but my jaw will not obey my brain to close.
The creature is looking around my room, and his stare lands on me, head snapping in my direction.
I am frozen to the bed, watching him advance on me, crawling over the intricate metalwork at the foot of my bed frame.
He settles into a deep squat like a baseball catcher, his tail lightly flicking back and forth.
My eyes betray me as I glance downward between his legs, where I note that the artist was very conservative in their depiction of this demon's beautiful manhood.
With horror, I notice that he sees me looking with a smirk, and I redouble my efforts to look at his face, which is lean and elegant, but even looking at his deep, black eyes is hard. It's like looking into a shimmering black pool at night, everything is absorbed, nothing reflected.
“When is this?” He demands, the voice deep and slightly raspy, as though it has gone a long time without use.
“Wh-aat?” I say stammer.
He regards me in silence. “When…is…this.” He says it so slowly, it’s infuriating.
“2025?” I wince inwardly. Why did it come out like a question? Why? “It’s the year 2025.”
More tail flicking. “Why did you summon me, human?”
I feel my eyebrows raise to my hairline. “I did what?”
The smirk is back. He sees the book on the bed, and before I can reach for it, he snatches it from the covers and begins to flick through the pages.
“You summoned me. Are you a witch? I was summoned before, and it was a witch that wanted me.” He finds the page he’s looking for, his page.
The illustration is missing, and the words are shining silver on the page, almost dripping with shimmer and light.
I find myself standing, pressing my back to the wall, breathing hard. “Wait. Wait! I’m not–I didn’t summon you!” I force myself to breathe. I can feel the tears prickling in my eyes, panic rising in my chest. “I was just reading this book for the book club. I swear. I didn’t want this.”
He lays the book down on the bed slowly and unwinds his long body, stepping carefully to where I am standing. We are inches apart. I can see every glowing rune, every eyelash, every ridge of his horns. He is too close.
“You do not want me, human?” His voice is like honey, but I want to scream. This isn’t happening. Every fiber of my being wants to stuff this entire demon back into the book where he came. His clawed finger is reaching out to touch my cheek, and my brain is short-circuiting.
“Stop!” I yell. He freezes. “Don’t touch me, please. I can’t…I can’t handle it. I feel like my brain is breaking.”
He is standing stock still, with a fixating stare, but not moving.
“What are you doing?”
“You told me to stop. So I stopped.” He says this simply, as though once more I am not understanding something so fundamental.
We stand there, together in stillness. I find my breathing returning to normal.
I step around him and sit down on the edge of the bed.
He turns toward me slowly, but instead of looking at me, he is staring around my room.
I get the feeling this one is detail-oriented; he is drinking in everything in my small space.
It’s almost as violating as his intense stare.
Grabbing the book, I start rifling through the pages frantically. “There has to be a way to send you back,” I mutter.
“Yes, and no.”
“What?” I am distracted.
“I am here for a full moon’s cycle, and then you might be able to send me back.”
I stop looking in the book. “A full moon. As in, 30 days?” My voice is squeaking with panic. “And what do you mean I might be able to send you back?”
“You are not a witch.”
I drop the book on the bed. I’m no longer excited to read this book club. “No. I’m definitely no witch. So, what am I supposed to do with you for a whole month?”
He grins wickedly at me, looking me over from head to toe. I am suddenly aware that the only thing I am wearing is a very thin, very worn t-shirt, and that it’s riding up my thighs from sitting on the bed. He is looking at me with hunger, something no one has ever done before.
“I can think of some things we can do while I am here in this realm.”
Leaping up from the bed, I stride over to him, suddenly provoked. “That is not happening, and you are going to behave yourself while you’re here. You have to stay hidden, do what I tell you. No one can know that you are here. Do you understand?”
His expression is unreadable, brows stitched together, and eyes sultry.
I can see his pulse quicken in his neck, and it is some relief to know that he is a real living thing with a life force inside.
He bows to me. “I will do what you say.” Then, out of nowhere, he kneels in front of me, crossing his wrists and lifting them up.
I stare at him. “What are you doing?”
“Offering myself for binding.”
“That will not be necessary.”
“Very well.” He stands back up. “I am Zerachiel. I am at your command.”
“Why?” It comes out in a rush, and I see the confused look on his face. “Why are you at my command?”
His brow relaxes. “It is part of the summoning.”
“Oh.” I want to cry. “Well. Okay then, Zera, Zer…”
“Zeh-rah-kee-el.” He enunciates to me, and this time, I hear kindness in his voice.
He is still standing too close to me, eyes looking at my body in ways that I don’t understand, that don’t seem real.
“Call me Zera. All my friends do.” A genuine smile this time, his teeth impossibly white against his deep blue-black skin.
“I’m Kate.”
“Kate.” He repeats.
I like the way he says my name a little too much.