kate storm 04 - witches dont back down by meredith allen conner Page B
Authors: meredith allen conner
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easy to spot. There was a white piece of paper, folded on top, letting everyone know not to sit there. Literally the sign said, "Do Not Sit Here." I figured Spike had written the sign. He says exactly what he means. I figured the single white rose in the beer bottle was Sandra's work. She's a total romantic.
When Sandra first hired me to find her a match, I'd been somewhat shocked. Sandra is gorgeous. Perfect blonde hair, perfect blue eyes, perfect body. And a killer sense of style. When I first met her she was crazy coordinated. Her purse would match her belt and her shoes. Barbie in the flesh. I'd been a little intimidated. And I'd gone through several potential matches without finding a single one that was right for her.
Until I met Spike Harrison.
Every time I saw them together, I felt the same bone deep satisfaction I'd felt the first time I'd introduced them.
They were perfect for each other. Opposites in so many ways and yet they fit together better than pieces of a puzzle.
Seeing his sign and her rose made me smile. Different shaped puzzle pieces that made up a wonderful whole.
Ash pulled out my chair for me.
It wasn't just a date night thing. Ash is a very courteous demon. And I'm a very appreciative witch. So it all works.
Ash ordered us both a beer then leaned forward and caught my hand in between his much larger ones.
"You look beautiful," He said, amber eyes roaming over me from my riotous curls to my significant cleavage.
He meant it, too.
Ash isn't a demon to say things lightly.
When he looked at me, he didn't see a mess of curls that resisted any attempt at control or style. He didn't see excess weight. Or a half-breed that didn't quite fit in to one community or another.
Ash somehow saw me. The heart of me.
The witch that believed in love despite being cursed to Fail in Love. The hopeless romantic who refused to give up or give in. The loyal witch.
I'm a lot of things. Good. Bad. Insecure. Determined.
Before Ash, when I'd thought about myself, the parts that made up my whole, I'd always found something lacking.
Cursed. Half-bred. Mortal.
Parts that never seemed to fit together well. Leaving gaps. Large gaps. I couldn't ever be a solid whole. I was always slightly broken. I was always less.
Ash never saw me as less. Not once.
From the moment our eyes had met, he'd seen more than I'd ever been able to. More than I thought was actually possible.
Somehow, Ash has always seen me as more. Period. Not less. I wasn't just this or that, I was both. Unique. And special.
"You look very handsome yourself." I used my free hand to cup Ash's left cheek when he started to turn away.
Ash rarely acknowledges his scars. He ignores them.
The moment our eyes had met for that first time, I hadn't seen them either. I'd been caught up in his eyes. In what I saw in them. In what they made me feel.
When I had finally been able to see beyond the tractor beam pull of his gaze, and I could see the angles and planes and scars that structured Ash's face, I'd been torn. I love scars. I find them fascinating. They don't bother me.
I wanted to caress them and yet at the same time I wanted to place myself in front of him and brandish my wand like a sword.
Not that Ash needs anyone to defend him. He's quite capable of hacking any threat to bits.
I got that.
In the beginning I thought Ash truly wasn't bothered by his scars.
Until I touched them for the first time. And I realized I was the only person he'd let touch them.
Ash saw his scars as a weakness.
I saw them as a strength. He'd endured horrible pain and he'd come out on top.
We both saw things in each other we ourselves were not capable of seeing.
It confused me at the start until I finally understood it was part of love.
Love makes you stronger. There is a power in it. A magic all on its own.
Ash turned back to me. He tightened his grip on my hand. And I saw in his eyes what I was feeling.
"We're going to make this work, Kate."
Morgause. The Curse. His
When Sandra first hired me to find her a match, I'd been somewhat shocked. Sandra is gorgeous. Perfect blonde hair, perfect blue eyes, perfect body. And a killer sense of style. When I first met her she was crazy coordinated. Her purse would match her belt and her shoes. Barbie in the flesh. I'd been a little intimidated. And I'd gone through several potential matches without finding a single one that was right for her.
Until I met Spike Harrison.
Every time I saw them together, I felt the same bone deep satisfaction I'd felt the first time I'd introduced them.
They were perfect for each other. Opposites in so many ways and yet they fit together better than pieces of a puzzle.
Seeing his sign and her rose made me smile. Different shaped puzzle pieces that made up a wonderful whole.
Ash pulled out my chair for me.
It wasn't just a date night thing. Ash is a very courteous demon. And I'm a very appreciative witch. So it all works.
Ash ordered us both a beer then leaned forward and caught my hand in between his much larger ones.
"You look beautiful," He said, amber eyes roaming over me from my riotous curls to my significant cleavage.
He meant it, too.
Ash isn't a demon to say things lightly.
When he looked at me, he didn't see a mess of curls that resisted any attempt at control or style. He didn't see excess weight. Or a half-breed that didn't quite fit in to one community or another.
Ash somehow saw me. The heart of me.
The witch that believed in love despite being cursed to Fail in Love. The hopeless romantic who refused to give up or give in. The loyal witch.
I'm a lot of things. Good. Bad. Insecure. Determined.
Before Ash, when I'd thought about myself, the parts that made up my whole, I'd always found something lacking.
Cursed. Half-bred. Mortal.
Parts that never seemed to fit together well. Leaving gaps. Large gaps. I couldn't ever be a solid whole. I was always slightly broken. I was always less.
Ash never saw me as less. Not once.
From the moment our eyes had met, he'd seen more than I'd ever been able to. More than I thought was actually possible.
Somehow, Ash has always seen me as more. Period. Not less. I wasn't just this or that, I was both. Unique. And special.
"You look very handsome yourself." I used my free hand to cup Ash's left cheek when he started to turn away.
Ash rarely acknowledges his scars. He ignores them.
The moment our eyes had met for that first time, I hadn't seen them either. I'd been caught up in his eyes. In what I saw in them. In what they made me feel.
When I had finally been able to see beyond the tractor beam pull of his gaze, and I could see the angles and planes and scars that structured Ash's face, I'd been torn. I love scars. I find them fascinating. They don't bother me.
I wanted to caress them and yet at the same time I wanted to place myself in front of him and brandish my wand like a sword.
Not that Ash needs anyone to defend him. He's quite capable of hacking any threat to bits.
I got that.
In the beginning I thought Ash truly wasn't bothered by his scars.
Until I touched them for the first time. And I realized I was the only person he'd let touch them.
Ash saw his scars as a weakness.
I saw them as a strength. He'd endured horrible pain and he'd come out on top.
We both saw things in each other we ourselves were not capable of seeing.
It confused me at the start until I finally understood it was part of love.
Love makes you stronger. There is a power in it. A magic all on its own.
Ash turned back to me. He tightened his grip on my hand. And I saw in his eyes what I was feeling.
"We're going to make this work, Kate."
Morgause. The Curse. His
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