Witchful Thinking A Jolie Wilkins Novel H P Mallory by H. P. Mallory 2UURZ5XSY88C, B0053CTMBI instant download after payment.

From H. P. Mallory—the exciting author of Fire Burn and Cauldron Bubble—comes her new paranormal romance featuring the sassy, self-deprecating witch Jolie Wilkins.
 
Jolie thinks she’s seen it all, but life continues to spring surprises. The latest shocker? She’s just been crowned Queen of the Underworld. Jolie may possess a rare gift for reanimating the dead, but she doesn’t know the first thing about governing disparate factions of supernatural creatures. She can barely maintain order in her own chaotic personal life, which is heading into a romantic tailspin.

First there’s sexy warlock Rand, the love of her life, from whom Jolie is hiding a devastating secret. Then there’s Sinjin, a darkly seductive vampire and Jolie’s sworn protector—though others suspect he harbors ulterior motives. As the two polar opposite yet magnetic men vie for Jolie’s affection, she must keep her wits about her to balance affairs of state and affairs of her heart. Overwhelmed, under pressure, and longing for love, Jolie decides it’s time to take charge—and show everyone that this queen won’t take jack.

From the Paperback edition.

H. P. Mallory is the author of the Jolie Wilkins series as well as the Dulcie O’Neil series. She began her writing career as a self-published author and after reaching a tremendous amount of success, decided to become a traditionally published author and hasn’t looked back since. H. P. Mallory lives in Southern California with her husband and son, where she is at work on her next book.

PRESENT DAY
FAE VILLAGE, CAIRNGORMS FOREST, SCOTLAND

At the sound of a knock  on the wooden door, I lifted my gaze from the parchment in front of me where I’d scribbled my journal entry. I laid my pen  on the  oak desktop  and stood  up,  catching a glance at my outfit as I did so, and I had to laugh.

One fact about the fae and fae communities in general was that magic ruled.  When  you were in a fae  village, and  if  you happened  to be female,  fae magic  dictated you be dressed   in what looked  like Renaissance  garb. My dress  had an empire  waist and was  so long that it skimmed the ground. The material was light and gauzy, off-white, and bedecked with pink ribbon piping around the waist,  the bust, and the wrist-length sleeves. I didn’t even have to look at my hair to know it was three times its usual length, now grazing my butt in a mass of golden sausage curls, kissed by pink cherry blossoms.

I’d gone   into battle dressed in stretch  pants and come out of it looking like Rapunzel.

I pulled  open the door  and found  Rand  standing  be- fore me. His chest was bare, revealing ripples  of sinuous muscle. Rand’s physique is nothing short of awe inspir- ing, but his muscles  aren’t  the  type  you’d find in the gym. He’s  not into lifting  five  hundred  pounds  and grunting as loud  as he can to make sure  everyone knows he’s lifting five hundred pounds. No, Rand’s physique was sculpted from hard work and training  with were- wolves,  master vampires,  and fae kings.

I couldn’t help but stare as my eyes trailed  his beautiful upper body and rested on his blue-and-green-tartan kilt.  While fae magic  bedecked women   in gowns,  the same magic endowed men with kilts. It was like living in the book  covers of every Highlander   romance in existence.

Rand still wore the filth and misery  of the war—blood and dirt staining   a face that  surpassed  all others in its beauty. Well, maybe the master  vampire  Sinjin Sinclair (who just happened  to be  Rand’s  detested ally—long story) could compete with Rand’s good looks, but at the moment I wasn’t thinking  about vampires. No, instead, I was getting drunk on the beauty of a warlock.

Rand is tall enough,  maybe six-two or six-three, but he appears  even taller by the proud way that he carries himself. He has chocolate-brown hair, cropped short. If you took  that same chocolate, melted it, and added just a touch  of cream,   you’d have the color  of his eyes. His complexion  is  what could  only be  called   sun-kissed, without interruption  by freckle or mole. And his face is pretty angular—a strong jaw, cleft chin, and high, sharp cheekbones. The beauty of his lips—full  and plump under his strong nose—is on par with his gorgeous eyes. When he smiles,  his dimples light up his entire  face until you would  swear you were beholding someone heaven-sent.

Neither of us said anything for a second  or two. We just stood there, staring at each other  as if we were from different  planets and unable to communicate. And it made sense  because, although  we definitely  loved each other, the best way to describe our relationship  was as an emo- tional roller coaster. As such, I still  didn’t know where we stood—whether  we were together as in boyfriend– girlfriend or . . . not.

Jolie.

It  was Rand’s  voice  in my head—complete  with his thick English accent—a form of communication  he and I have shared  ever since we first met at my shop in Los Angeles two years ago.

“Rand.”  I said his name  out loud and suddenly  his arms were around me, holding me tightly.  I felt the heat of his skin against my cheek as he pulled  me close. He smelled like spice and sweat,  the  scent of masculinity, the embodiment of Rand. I closed my eyes and inhaled deeply, wanting nothing  more than to fill myself with his very essence.

“I lost you,” he whispered   with a strained   voice. He was referring to my death, when  Gwynn’s  blade  had pierced my stomach. He pulled away from me, and his eyes were glassy.  “I will never forget the pain of watch- ing you die. It will stay with me forever.”

I didn’t want to think about pain. I’d  known my fair share but I also couldn’t deny him the ache in his eyes. I wanted nothing more than to soothe him, to promise we would never  be  apart  again.  “Mercedes brought   me back,” I began. I’d only really been dead for a second  or two, so did it really  even count?

He crushed me against him, almost as if he was trying to remind himself I was truly flesh and blood, and not some figment of his imagination. He held me incredibly tightly, as if he could erase the past twenty-four hours by smothering  me.

“I don’t know whether to be indebted  to Mercedes or furious with her,” he said.  I wasn’t sure where my feel- ings leaned  on the  subject  either.  I had  a damn  good hunch that Mercedes knew beforehand that I was going to die—there  didn’t  seem  to be much  of anything she didn’t know. But at the same time,  she was the one who brought  me back to life, so how mad could I be?

“Let’s put it behind us now,” I whispered.

“You said Mercedes was the prophetess,” Rand  continued.  “Are you sure?”

I nodded. If I was sure of anything, it was that Mer- cedes  was the  prophetess—the   fabled  and  legendary witch to end all witches. The prophetess was rumored to be able to change history, something  Mercedes had art- fully  demonstrated  by pulling me  back  to 1878. Her magic was so potent, it was scary.

“Yes,  I’m positive.”   The image  of her manipulating the sky came to mind. “Didn’t you see how she  ended the battle?” I mean, hello,  if that wasn’t proof I didn’t know what was.

He nodded but didn’t say anything else, just continued to hold me, stroking my head like I was a child.  Finally he spoke,  and his voice was soft.

“And what is this about you being Queen?”

That was a tough  subject,  and I could read lots more into Rand’s question  than the mere fact that he asked it. Rand wasn’t crazy about any form of monarchy, no offense to the Queen Mum. He’d  rebelled against Bella’s plans to become Queen  of the Underworld,   and  even though  he and I were allies and I was as different  from Bella as day is from night, I couldn’t imagine he’d be  any more  eager to see me  ascend  to the throne.  No, Rand believed  in the ideals  of democracy  and  justice.  Even though he was as English as tea and crumpets,  he could easily have been an American revolutionary   from the eighteenth century  based on his feelings about equality, liberty, and freedom. And he did make a mean apple pie. “I  don’t  know,”  I answered,  which was sort of the truth. I mean, I didn’t know  what Mercedes had in mind for me, and although  Rand  had been there  to witness everything  she had to say about me becoming Queen, there hadn’t been much.  In fact, as I recall, she said I’d become Queen  and it was my destiny to unite  the creatures of the Underworld,  and that had been that. “Mercedes  made it sound like prophecy,” Rand continued,  eyeing me as if he thought  I knew  more than I was letting on.

“You heard everything  I did,” I answered simply. “I don’t  know what to make of it or what it means, but I imagine Mercedes will fill me in at some point.”

“You have freedom of choice, Jolie. If you don’t want to be Queen, you don’t have to.”

How  ironic—this was the  first  time “freedom   of choice” had ever been mentioned with regard to the Underworld.  Freedom really wasn’t  something that came easily to Underworld creatures.  Their  society  wasn’t structured like ours—a lesson I’d learned the hard way. “Mercedes assumes  I have no choice in the matter.” I sighed, not really wanting to shatter  the beauty of the moment with thoughts  of my new career path.

“She said it was my destiny to unite the creatures. And if it is my true destiny,  how  can I avoid it?”

Rand was quiet for a second  or two before he shook his head. “Let’s not think about it right now,” he said, pulling me closer. “We can  figure out all of the details later.” He kissed the top of my head. I closed my eyes as I held him, but it was a false sense of security. As if foreseeing my own future,  I realized Rand would most likely oppose  me if  I chose  to follow my destiny to become Queen. It wasn’t a reality  I wanted to face.
The...