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    The Witching Hour
    The Witching Hour
    The Witching Hour
    Ebook38 pages28 minutes

    The Witching Hour

    By Britt DeLaney

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    About this ebook

    Tasha is a witch, imprisoned by a spiteful warlock for over three centuries. Her curse prevents her from leaving her house on all but one night - All Hallow's Eve. From dusk to dawn she can indulge in the pleasures of the flesh, draining poor mortals with her appetites and trying to satisfy herself after entirely too much deprivation. When she finds herself mysteriously drawn to a handsome stranger during her revels, she may have finally met her match. But will her endlessly tasty new treat end up being a trick that she never anticipated?

    LanguageEnglish
    PublisherBritt DeLaney
    Release dateOct 28, 2016
    ISBN9781370874644
    The Witching Hour
    Author

    Britt DeLaney

    Britt DeLaney lives and writes near Philadelphia. In her spare time she watches too much Netflix, eats too many Pop-Tarts, and is currently writing her ass off.

    Read more from Britt De Laney

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      Book preview

      The Witching Hour - Britt DeLaney

      WitchHat

      1

      TASHA CHECKED HERSELF one last time in the large, oval mirror that hung in her foyer. She wasn’t disappointed. Three hundred and twenty-three years, and she still didn’t look a day over twenty-five, which, of course, is when she’d stopped aging.

      Her honey-blonde hair was still lustrous and thick—long enough that when she was astride a man, he could feel it tickling his thighs as she rode him. Her legs were still long and lean, her stomach flat but soft, her backside curved and shapely enough to make a man instantly picture himself behind it. Her breasts were still lush and firm, and her face was radiant and unlined. Her pale skin was a sharp contrast to the deep mahogany of her eyes, so brown they were nearly black, sitting atop strikingly high cheekbones and a delicately sloping nose that led down to the fullness of her lips, slightly turned up at the corners now as she gave herself a nod of approval.

      I’ll do, she said, glancing up at the pendulum on the clock, willing it to tick-tick-tick the remaining minutes away.

      Come on darkness. . . she murmured.

      The witching hour. Her one and only escape from this madness. At sunset, the spell would drop and she could open the door and walk free – but only until daylight of the following day. The terms of the curse were very specific about that. The moment light streaked the sky over the horizon, she would be instantly transported back to this dark, drafty old house, sealed into it like a tomb, never to feel that sunlight on her skin, or sample the pleasures of warm skin and wet mouths for anything but this one night every year.

      And it was all thanks to that bastard, Hieronymus Copperthwait.

      Three hundred and twenty-three years ago, he’d been the newly elected representative to the Coven Council, overseeing all magical business and domestic issues relating to the witches and warlocks of his region. No one particularly liked him, but Coven Council representative was a thankless job, requiring a lot of pedantic discourse and

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