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“If he really exists, then how did he get through the wards?” the older woman asks.
“I don’t know,” Alienor whispers.
She sighs. “Perhaps we need to take you to an overseas specialist. Someone who deals with rare cases of abnormal magic.”
“But it isn’t—”
“I will call Klara to put a semi-bind on your power. Just for now until the coven can convene. That might take the edge off your magical outbursts.”
“What kind of witch magic produces an entire lake of cum?” Alienor’s voice rises several octaves.
The grandmother purses her lips. “There are creatures out there capable of destroying entire villages. I did wonder whether you could be a dragon animancer.”
A growl rumbles through my throat. I found the grandmother’s ignorance amusing when Alienor was my enemy. Now, it is infuriating.
“What about my locket?” Alienor asks with a gasp.
My heart skips, and my tongue lolls to the side. If the magic protecting Alienor weakens or disappears altogether, she will be mine.
“Don’t worry, dear. It will still work with the semi-bind.”
The grandmother turns to the open door, where milky ejaculate sloshes against the magical barrier protecting the cottage. My chest swells with pride. How many males can lay claim to having drowned an entire garden with their semen?
Magic crackles in the air as she reaches into her pocket, making my hackles rise. As she extracts her wand, it emits streams of red that fill the entire doorway.
The magical backlash spills across the cottage, making Alienor skitter back several steps. I have to squint to see the witches’ outlines but even that becomes impossible.
When the magic clears, I blink spots from my vision, only to find the cum has disappeared.
Not just from the garden.
There isn’t a trace of jism on my fur. It’s even gone from the space between my paws. My gaze darts to Alienor, whose hair and skin are as dry as it was before she gave me that earth-shattering climax.
“What did you just do?” Alienor asks, her voice breathy.
“Buried it deep in the earth,” the other woman replies.
To my disappointment, all the tension melts away from Alienor’s posture, leaving her looking relieved. Received at the disappearance of my spunk.
My hackles rise, and I try not to interpret that as a rejection.
“I just remembered something,” she blurts.
The grandmother turns to her, brows raised.
“Have you heard of Unseelie faeries? The Boogie Man looks just like one.”
“Aaah.”
“What?”
“You read Concubine of the Seelie King’s brothers and now your magic is manifesting images of Prince Salazar le Fae.”
Alienor rears back. “No.”
The grandmother wraps her fingers around the broomstick, which seems to shiver under her touch. It drifts to a horizontal position, and trembles as she mounts.
My head tilts. If I wasn’t so preoccupied with Alienor, I might investigate the mystery of the broomstick.
