Spell Cat by Tara Lain Page 0,20

a witch, but he’d never used any powers on his students—ever. It was a point of honor.

“Wow, seems so much longer.”

Killian had to smile. “I’m not that much older than you are.”

The kid’s mouth fell open. “Really? Jeez, you seem so—I mean, you’re a PhD and everything, and you know so much.”

“I did complete my schooling a little early. But I’d be quite lost if you were to ask me about physics. I’m just good in my specialty.” Yes, and he could perform a few tricks with their damned laws of physics, but he’d keep that to himself.

Right now, however, the main law of physics in the universe was that he had to get away from the hellish physics professor, or he would turn into a puddle of goo or come in his pants—whichever was messier. It didn’t seem possible, but his rebellious dick kept twitching, and soon he’d be hard again. “If you’ll excuse me, I must get on to my next appointment.” Yeah, appointment with his right hand and some more lube. He looked disgustedly at the freaking familiar still upside down in Blaine’s arms. “Al, are you planning on staying with Professor Genneau?”

“Mrawr.” The cat didn’t move.

The physicist looked up—devilishly. “Alas, he’s made his choice.” He leaned down and whispered in Al’s pointy black ear. “I have delicious turkey breast in my refrigerator, and I’m sure there’s more than one can of tuna.” He stared up at Killian. “There are clean white sheets on my bed, and a delicious fire in the fireplace, so I’m sure you’ll be very comfortable… Al.”

Jimmy raised an eyebrow. “Are you going to let him sleep with you? All that black fur?”

“Oh yes, I want him to sleep with me. I truly love cats.”

Jimmy snorted.

Killian was so out of there. “Keep the bastard feline. I don’t care.” He grabbed the small notebook he’d brought in with him and fled toward the door. He was a Master Witch. No, the Master Witch. He shouldn’t have to run from anyone. Why did this human have such power over him?

He pushed open the door, and flash, a furry collar wrapped around his neck. Strangle or pet? He petted the beast as he walked toward the motorcycle. “Well, one thing is damned sure. You’re no spy for my mother, because she’d shit a brick, as my students would say, if she saw the two of us drooling over than damned human.”

“Mrawr.”

Chapter Seven

Killian sat on the beautiful old Persian rug he’d found in a secondhand store for a hundred dollars. Aloysius purred beside him. The apartment was illuminated by a small fireplace that unfortunately made him think of Blaine’s erotic description of his bedroom. He was really trying to concentrate. He had to. Thoughts of the human consumed him. He had to push him out. Marrying a female was unbearable enough. Doing it while yearning for this bloody physicist was more than he could stand. He had to fight fire with fire, pardon the cliché.

He and Aloysius stared into the carved Moroccan bowl nestled on a small stand before them, with a conjured flame reflecting blue, red, and golden light on the walls. How long had it been since he’d conjured in a big way? Months? Longer? Crappy Master Witch he was. Why hadn’t the power been given to someone who would appreciate it? The very least he could do was surrender his life to his community, and he couldn’t even accept that eventuality with grace. No, he had to use his powers to, well, not thwart the process exactly. He was going to marry Lavender and do his damnedest to produce children, although he had no idea how. After his latest encounter with Blaine, he realized that just finding someone to fuck was not going to drive the damned human from his system. He was too attracted. The feelings were too intense. What he needed was love, or at least the semblance of it. He’d longed for love his whole life. If he could feel in love with someone, even if it wasn’t completely real, he could forget Blaine. Surely he could.

“Am I doing the wrong thing, Al? Will it just make matters worse if I find someone to love me… just for a while? Will it make having to marry Lavender more awful and hopeless?” He lay back on the rug, and the cat familiar curled up on his chest, staring into his face.

Al was not usually affectionate with him—unlike with Blaine, the bastard—so this