His last hope of finding his brother is a disrespectful demon, If he can control it ...Witch Margaret Chrysler needs a provocative charming demon, which she must watch out for how much she needs a hole in the head.However, he finds himself tied to a demon with a dark past as hot as his annoying, all so he can find his trapped brother.He had better track down the kidnapper quickly, before he goes crazy. Or worse ...Stealing his heart.Atticus Vhampson loses care of the others in the magical prison of the Shadows. So when Margaret lets him go to help her, her plan is simple: Seduce the Sexy Witch, Steal her powers so she won't be bound again, and be happy.Much to his frustration, though, there is a fatal flaw in his plan, the Witch makes him want to keep him.And that would be a disaster.//////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////////

He had to hold back a laugh. She really did have some spunk, and damn if she didn't like it. Giving him an insulting enough look, he said, "Believe it or not, I do have certain standards." Raising his head, he looked up as if he remembered, a slow smile flashed on his face. “I think I’ll pay a visit to that luscious blonde a few houses down. She looked very much agreeable. ” And with that he turned to leave.Behind him a fiery emotion from Marga erupted in him. The air was filled with his power — his control over it grew louder and louder — with the lamps in the room flashing. The feathers rose on his neck. His own magic, which was simpler and more natural in nature, leaped in response to the power resisting him.  Keeping it tightly controlled, he continued to walk out of the living room. She was about to open the door to the foyer when Marga sighed, full of conflicting emotions to drive a psychiatri

They drove back in heavy silence in the quiet of dawn. Atticus stared out the window, while Marga was lost in thoughts so dark they threatened to break her. She’d been foolish enough to assume they would track down the demon without delay—through the anguished haze in her mind, strung out by the desperate need to rescue Marissa, she’d completely forgotten Atticus couldn’t use his powers during the day. By the laws of nature, he was a creature of the dark, his magic inextricably linked to the reign of the night.  She mentally reached out to sense his aura, but all she encountered was the average vibrancy of a healthy male mind and body, and though it appealed to the woman inside her, it differed little from a human energy pattern. Like his demon powers, Atticus distinctive preternatural aura lay dormant for the day.  The same would hold true for Marissa’s captor, but Merle didn’t fool herself. Her sister would still suffer

When Atticus came downstairs into the kitchen, Marga was sitting at the cooking island, glaring at him over her bowl of cereal. Ever since that other witch and Blondie—whom he’d successfully stared down in Marga’s room—had left, Atticus was in an exceptionally good mood, and after taking his first shower in twenty years, he was humming under his breath and walking with a bounce in his step. Much to Marga’s annoyance, as he could tell by the look she gave him. He met her glower with his biggest grin and enjoyed the following nervous tic of her eye. Ah, he’d never tire of teasing the hell out of her. It was just too much fun.  She’d showered as well, and had put on fresh clothes, the scent of her laundry detergent mingling with her natural aroma in a special blend that made him want to inhale deeper. Made him want to close the distance between them and taste her, in every possible way.  Hunger, raw and brutal, roared

Janine Luscher’s spell hit Atticus square in the chest just as the magic Marga was weaving fused around them. The air shimmered, charged with power that seeped into his bones and changed the fabric of his being. For the span of a heartbeat lasting an eternity, every fiber in his body, down to the faintest pulse of his energy, merged with the age-old magic this world breathed. If not for the death grip Marga had on his hand, he would have dissolved into the power holding together the layers of time, space, and beyond.  But she never let him go.  When everything around him shifted and the world itself split into a thousand shards of untapped possibilities, Marga’s hand pulled him through, rooted him. The air fused back together, and all around him, the dizzying kaleidoscope of colors, sounds and scents dimmed as one reality took over and solidified.  He only had a brief moment to blink at their new surroundings—a quiet street sw