I’ve written the entire Heart of the Mountain
series to prove to my partner and roommate that I can write more than super
dark m/m fantasies. So, if they’ve had to listen to me complain for six months
about shy people in love, it’s their fault. The challenge was to take an
Enemies to Lovers and explore it with genuinely sweet people. Watching this
witch and wolf learn to love not just each other but themselves has made this
one of my favorite stories (and probably my best to date).
FREEING
THE WITCH by L.J. LONGO
BLURB
Emaula
Whispel thought she’d be happy if she could live outside her mother’s magical
stone tower, but when Emaula starts working as a chef at her friend's trading
post, she becomes smitten with Porter, her co-cook. Now Emuala’s magic is
obsessed with possessing this quiet, charming wolf, and the budding witch has
to fight to control her powers and her lust, to prevent her new friend from
becoming her accidental victim.
Porter was created to serve witches by opening doors into
their dreams, and he is neither surprised by nor afraid of Emaula’s magic. What
startles him is that this powerful witch genuinely seems to care for something
as lowly as a wolf. Now all Porter has to do is prove his love for her is not
an enchantment, before her mother takes away everything Emaula holds dear.
WHERE TO BUY
EXCERPT
Time
was strange in the dreams. Minutes could be hours. Hours could pass in seconds.
And somewhere someone was trying to reach him. Someone
wanted him and had taken measures to have him. Was is the little girl? The
Munawn’s daughter. She’d be all grown-up now and remember him fondly. She must
have extraordinary power to reach him.
A light came on under a door, hemming the edges with a
low purple light and filling the room with that melancholic tint. The one who
had shaved her hair and wore black gemstones that glowed purple. Porter knew
her name, but he refused to think it. He wanted nothing to do with them. He had
been turned out. He wasn’t allowed to think of them anymore. He didn’t have
too.
The door creaked open, and Porter winced. Whether he
wanted them or not, one of them was coming through. He didn’t have much choice.
Or at least, he wouldn’t when he saw her.
The light poured into the room, flooded it with the
scents of spring, vanilla, and lavender and bluebells. Intoxicating, lulling.
The smell of a beautiful woman who wanted him. The fragrance of an herb sachet
dropped into cold water on a hot day and stirred.
“Oh, Emaula.” Porter hadn’t smelled any magic in the tea
he’d sipped as a sign of good faith. Just like him to misread a person and get
bespelled. He wished Sock had come down with him. Sock wouldn’t make that
mistake.
Porter struggled against the weight of her dream world
and lifted himself slowly on one arm. She hadn’t fully opened the door, yet.
Was just peering through, shyly.
Emaula was not a woman; she was the moon. The shadows of
the world curled around and concealed half her face, leaving only the paleness
around her starlight blue eyes and the soft darkness of the purple light.
Now was the time to stop her. To say something mean. To
beg her to stop. To remind her of her oath. Or to … to—
Emaula divested the darkness. Unveiled her lovely face.
Freed her hair, such a fine pale gold that it shone in this dream world,
illuminated her thin pink lips. Porter had forgotten how beautiful the witches
could be. How the sight of them stole breath, sanity, free will.
The woman could swear there was no harm in her. How could
he be harmed by her? When now all he ever wanted in the world was her.
She met his gaze and smiled timidly. She stepped into the
sea of sheets and pillows, delicately moving through the luxurious silks toward
his body. The black silk wound around him shimmered under the radiance of her
body. His stiff cock suffocated and strained under the sleek material.
The witch would get what she wanted. He had enough
experience with witches to know they always did. These women could be cruel.
They could be unbelievably kind, as well. And he honestly didn’t know which was
worse.
He did know there was no point in defying her. No point
in not taking what pleasure he could. No point in being mean to the mistress.
Had that been one of The Munawn’s mantras? Or another wolf’s good advice?
Emaula knelt beside him in the bed, her hands modestly on
her knees, her eyes big and earnest. “Porter, is this all right?”
He didn’t understand.
Was she asking permission? No witch did that. Had to be a
trick.
He wasn’t sure what she was so embarrassed about, but she
was damned cute when she was. She twisted her hands through the sheets as if
she had to keep herself from touching him. “Is … is this all right?”
Was it all right? What the hell
kind of question was that for a witch to ask a wolf? He wasn’t going to upset
her by saying no.
The witch stroked his thigh through the sheet. His cock,
already damningly stiff, pulsed at the nearness of her hand. That ought to
answer her question.
He didn’t even think he wanted to say no, but how could
he know the truth here? When she controlled the world? When just watching her
come into the room had reduced him to nothing but a hard cock and the inner
monologue of a scared puppy?
“Porter. Will you say something, please?”
ABOUT THE AUTHOR
L.J. is a queer author, a feminist, and a geek with an
MFA in writing Popular Fiction. L.J. has an annoying tendency to ship everyone,
disappear if no-one is supervising, and struggles with everything except making
up stories.
Find L.J. online:
