The Coven And The Red Moon

TER

The Red Moon

AND THE

fate rested in th

rant her immortality—at the expense of a live vampire’s heart. She’s ready to conjure

ng more to him than his raw sexiness. When Ivan entrusts her with a devastating revelation, Mira has to

nnection zinged his every nerve ending, sen

of sensual electricity. And Ivan couldn’t ge

he was feeling: yes, yes, all the yeses in the world. This tiny witch felt so right in his arms. He had to thank

hap

as she sang to the music filling her bathroom. She sang along with the Meghan Trainor tune about loving herself

d prolong her life a hundred years, guaranteed. But to actually perform that spell—which involved drinking the blood from a live vampire’s beating h

yoga moves and watched an episode of Bones on Netflix. Born a witch, yet pretty darn disappointed she’d not been born a mermaid,

sat at the center of it all. It was the size of a hot tub, but there were no bub

nned-up red hair. The water was starting to cool, and she’d been in for forty-five minutes. He

oasty towel hung over the towel warmer. It wasn’t the wet porcelain tile fl

familiar sc

racks to the back window to peer out, though she knew she couldn’t see into

bor on the 1960s TV show Bewitched. They didn’t look at all similar, but t

the back of Mira’s neck, prompted her to use the sid

s close to midnight, yet her yard was always illuminated from the house light above the door where she

ife always dashed through the neighborhood yards.

to the night, thinking her species, witches, had gotten ripped off because they didn’t have cool night vis

reature with an ease t

wolf,” sh

her bare skin. More skin than should have been exposed. The towel had gotten caught in the door and fallen away

hrust back his shoulders and lifted his chest, looking ready to howl

er herself as she a

rumbled in the night. It didn’t sound threat

n. It was the catalyst to setting the

aze, Mira grabbed the door pull and opened it, reachin

ound the corner of her backyard appeared a

ed in a thick white terry robe, scampere

y, she stood before the elderly policeman, whom she knew live

k, who shrugged and winced. He was accustomed to answerin

ue cry of wolf? Best not

tossed out. “Or maybe a moose. Y

jammed her bony fists to

rley here says it was a moose. She’s got very good eyesight, and her backyard is well lit. So if she

. Anderson around, walking her back to her yard. All the way they argued over why a

it. She peered out the now-defogged window, attempting to sight th

ll to encompass her yard, she

’t common. Too risky. And it wasn’t even the full moon. Werewolves were

thing for him I

he wolf away with her naked bod

had given her. Definitely animal,

ly witch. Just be thankful you didn

med a hip shimmy as she reached to drain the tub and then blew out t

*

ter brewer. They all brewed and worked shifts and took turns scheduling, but Mira was the early riser, so she generally arrived around six in the morning to st

ows and the house was packed. At the moment, the lead singer belted out a cov

s swaying her short red-and-blue-tartan skirt. Nothing felt better than a beer buzz and dancing. And she had new, red, five-inch hee

ta Cruz, California, split their time between cities during the year and soon she’d be headed for the sunny West Coast.

py,” Cerys said

I’m alway

at Mira ’s ear. “Did you notice the hunk at the bar who h