Witch Fire

Anya Bast

CONTENTS

ONE

TWO

THREE

FOUR

FIVE

SIX

SEVEN

EIGHT

NINE

TEN

ELEVEN

TWELVE

THIRTEEN

FOURTEEN

FIFTEEN

SIXTEEN

SEVENTEEN

EIGHTEEN

NINETEEN

TWENTY

TWENTY-ONE

TWENTY-TWO

TWENTY-THREE

TWENTY-FOUR

Dedicated to my husband,

who is the inspiration for every hero I write.

The fire has never gone out, baby.

I love you.

Also to all my loop-dwelling friends,

both writers and readers,

you make the Internet worthwhile.

Thanks for the laughter, the information,

and sometimes the commiseration.

You guys rock.

To all the writers who are still trying, write on.

No matter what happens, write on.

Acknowledgments

This book could not have been written without the critiquing attention of Lauren Dane (aka "Scissors"), Megan Hart (aka "Sparkles"), Brent Kellmer, Cathy Pegau, and Jody Wallace, not to mention the wonderful and ever-supportive 3J Crit Group. Thank you all so very much.

An extra thanks to Brenda M. and Lauren Dane for patiently listening to me prattle on while I brainstorm at them. Thank you for your friendship.

Very special thanks to the awesome Laura Bradford of the Bradford Literary Agency for believing in me. Thanks to Cindy Hwang for letting me share this book with the world.

Last but certainly not least, thanks to my family and friends for their steadfast support.

ONE

ONE

He looked like sin an seemed like salvation. Salvation for her sluggish libido, anyway.

Seriously preoccupied by the man sitting at table eight, Mira slung plates of liver and onions, the special of the day. She couldn't remember the last time a man had distracted her this way, made her feel like a clumsy fifteen-year-old again. She couldn't remember the last time she'd looked at a man and had an instant, primal reaction. Hell, she'd begun to think she'd completely lost her sex drive.

It was still alive and well.

She tucked her pen behind her ear as she finished taking an order and glanced at the man. He sat at a booth in the corner, sipping black coffee and reading the Star Tribune. He'd been there for close to two hours and hadn't wanted any food. Normally that would annoy her, especially since he was taking up prime real estate during the busiest time of the day, but she was prepared to forgive him. Eye candy like him tended to be rare in Mike's Diner. He was so gorgeous she felt like throwing herself at the poor guy, but her boss frowned on scaring the customers. Anyway, recently divorced, grease-stained waitresses probably weren't this man's normal fare.

It wasn't just his physical appearance that made him so attractive. It was his attitude and his mannerisms. It was the way he held himself so confidently. He was one of those men to whom women had a deep, instinctive reaction, a response that harkened back to caveman days when females were most attracted to the biggest, baddest male around.