Christine Warren

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Any Witch Way You Can

available on its own or in the anthology No Rest for the Witches

First released in the No Rest for the Witches anthology, delight in this magical, sexy short story from Christine. Available for the first time ever as a standalone ebook, get lost in the sinful pleasures of the being the witch has summoned to tame her world…and unleash her passion…

When a witch, craving the touch of someone who loves her, decides to take matters of into her own hands, she casts a spell of unmeasured powers into the cosmos to find the one who can set her soul on fire. And when her magic summons the sexiest being she’s ever laid eyes on, desire will consume them both…in Any Witch Way She Can.

The anthology No Rest for the Witches also features stories by MaryJanice Davidson, Lori Handeland, and Cheyenne McCray.


Any Witch Way You Can


+ “It would be tough to find a more talented or sizzling group of authors than this outstanding quartet. Between them, they run the gambit from providing madcap humor to scorching sex. No question, these paranormal mavens deliver top-notch supernatural thrills!”

— Jill M. Smith, RT BOOKReviews awarding No Rest for the Witches 4 Stars!
Read the whole review.


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Any Witch Way You Can

Read an Excerpt

Excerpted from Any Witch Way You Can

“Well, well. What have we here? A late arrival?”

Randy frowned into the blackness and tried to remember where she was. She couldn’t see anything, but she could feel a distinct chill in the air and something hard and rough under her legs. She could also hear. Oh boy, could she hear, because those questions had been asked in a voice as dark and smooth as cocoa.

But why didn’t she recognize it? She really ought to recognize a voice that made her want to purr, shouldn’t she?

Her frown deepened.

“Miranda Louisa Berry! What exactly is the meaning of this?”

Okay, that voice, she recognized.

Stifling a groan, Randy forced her eyelids open. That took care of the blackness, but no matter how many times she blinked, she couldn’t manage to brush away the pinched, disapproving face of her grandmother that currently hovered over her.

“Oh, shit.”

“Miranda, I will thank you to watch your language in my home.”

In “her” home? She was at her grandmother’s house? How the hell had she managed that. The last thing she remembered was sitting cross-legged on Quinn and Cassidy’s floor casting that silly love spell. “Shit in a shitstorm!”


Randy struggled to prop herself up on her elbows and glanced around her. Not only was she in her grandmother’s house, she was in the harridan’s formal entry hall lying smack dab in the middle of the hideously expensive oriental carpet that covered the marble floor. Being stared at by at least two dozen people in formal wear. And she still had on her pajamas. No wonder she was freezing.

“Young lady, pick yourself up off the floor this instant. You are causing me a great deal of embarrassment in front of my guests.”

“So what else is new?” Randy muttered, but she found herself pushing to her knees anyway. That was how things always went with Adele Berry. No matter how much Randy wanted to thumb her nose at the old biddy, she inevitably found herself obeying the woman’s orders as if Randy hadn’t managed to come of age more than fourteen years ago. Adele’s power of arrogance both awed and mystified mere mortals.

“Allow me to assist you.”

The cocoa voice slid over her skin again, raising goosebumps that had nothing to do with the temperature in the room. In fact, that seemed to rise every time it spoke, and this time the speech came accompanied by a lean, tanned, masculine hand that extended into her line of vision from somewhere above her.

High above her.

Craning her neck, Randy followed the sleeve of a dark, severely tailored tuxedo jacket up to a chest of impressive breadth before finally resting her gaze on a face that made the word “breathtaking” sound insipid.

The man had the features of a fallen angel, all dark and chiseled and so perfect they verged on beautiful. Only the somewhat heavy and sharply arched brows and the wicked twist decorating his mouth saved him from any taint of the feminine. His eyes helped, too, all deep and blue and twinkling with naughty humor.

“Take my hand, Miss Miranda.”

Any Witch Way You Can

Worrying that she might have drool dripping off her chin, Randy resolutely dragged herself back to reality and clasped that strong, warm hand in hers. Then she had to worry if anyone else had noticed the way she’d shivered the instant her hand had touched the stranger’s. The jolt of electricity that coursed through her at the contact could have lit up the Empire State Building for a week.

Judging by the widening of his wicked grin, the man at the other end of that handclasp had definitely noticed.

She allowed herself to be lifted to her feet, the pile of the carpet under her bare soles somehow helping her to reclaim her composure. “Randy,” she said, using her free hand to brush back a tangle of her strawberry blonde hair. “No one who knows me actually calls me Miranda.”

“Randy, then. My name is Michael. And I must say it is entirely my pleasure to meet you.”

The hand clasping hers squeezed briefly before releasing her with a gentle slide of fingertips across her palm. It made her thighs clench together.

Dear Lord.

“I thought this evening’s invitation list was quite exclusive, Adele.” A man of average height and above-average conceit stepped away from the crowd and raked Randy’s figure with an insulting gaze. “We have serious business to discuss, after all. Business that will affect the Council. This is hardly the time for...uninvited guests.”

The insult dispelled the energy between Randy and Michael and had her turning narrowed eyes on the source of the interruption. “And I thought you had to have balls to affect the Council. After all, my grandmother is so very good at it, and if that’s not evidence, I don’t know what is.”

The man puffed out his chest and took a threatening step forward, but Adele stepped in front of him and raised a quelling hand. “Please, Harold, excuse my granddaughter. I can assure you I will deal with this interruption with all possible speed.” Her bejeweled hands gestured to a set of double doors that had been thrown open in welcome further down the hall. “Friends, let us continue our migration into the sitting room to relax after the excellent dinner my chef prepared. I have a very fine bottle of brandy I would be pleased to share with all of you. If you will.”

Of course, her guests fell in like obedient little soldiers and filed into the other room. Not that several of them didn’t cast curious glances in Randy’s direction, and Harold continued to stare daggers at her. Adele, though, pretended not to notice as she herded everyone before her. Then she shut the doors behind the last of them and rounded on her granddaughter like a prizefighter swinging his way off the ropes.

“I demand an explanation for this behavior!” she hissed, stalking forward at a march that conclusively proved she had no need of the cane she never went anywhere without. “You have pulled some outrageous stunts in your day, my girl, but I do believe that tonight you may have out done yourself. Do you have any idea who those people were in the group you so obscenely burst in upon?”

Out of the corner of her eye, Randy noticed that Michael hadn’t joined the others in the sitting room but stood propped up against the wall near the doors with his arms folded over his chest and a very interested expression on his face. Adele, though, was too worked up to realize that she and her granddaughter were not completely alone.

Randy had been down this road too many times to mention it. You never knew when the presence of a witness might be the only thing preventing a murder. Might as well take advantage of it. “I dunno, Adele. They looked like the same old bunch of stiffs you usually invite to dinner. Was the president of the Weird Fuckers Society here tonight?”

“I told you to watch your mouth. Your father might not have raised you to behave like a civilized person, but I’ll thank you to pretend to the title while you are under my roof.”

Any Witch Way You Can

While she might be one of the women in her family who didn’t have fur, Randy could feel something rising on the back of her neck that felt remarkably like hackles. “My father raised me perfectly well,” she growled, clenching her hands into fists. “He was at least willing to love his kid no matter what she turned out to be, which is a damned sight more than I can say for you, you old bitch!”

“Ladies.” Michael stepped forward, an easy smile on his face, a hard, glittering expression in his eyes. “I’m certain no one needs to work themselves up over this.”

Adele turned on him, her expression going predictably regal and discouraging. “This is a family matter, Mr. Devon. It is none of your concern. If you would step into the sitting room, someone will help you to a glass of the excellent brandy I have already mentioned.”

As a grand dame of Manhattan’s Other society and a long-time member of the Council of Others governing that society, Adele’s tone of voice made it clear she was not a woman used be being gainsaid.

Michael Devon’s response made it clear he didn’t give a damn what she was used to. “Ah, but it’s such a lovely family, ma’am. You can hardly be surprised that a man such as myself might take an interest in it.”

“And neither of you should be surprised when I leave and let you duke this out.” Randy said, giving the two of them a tight smile. She appreciated the sexy Mr. Devon’s help, but she could take care of herself. And her grandmother’s disdain had stopped hurting her feelings a long time ago. Turning on her heel, she stalked toward the front door.

“Where do you think you’re going?” Adele demanded. “I haven’t finished with you yet.”

“You finished with me the second I was conceived, because you knew I wasn’t going to fulfill the family legacy, so let’s not kid ourselves.”

“Whatever I may or may not have done, young lady, I’d much prefer that you refrained from airing family grievances in front of my guests. Though I suppose that must be too much to ask of you.”

Randy snorted and reached for the doorknob. “You can take your martyr complex and shove it up your—”

A large hand covered hers. “Though I hesitate to appear as if I don’t believe you can take care of yourself, Randy, you may want to delay leaving for the moment. It’s nearly freezing outside, and...ah, I believe you may have neglected to bring your coat.”

Against her will, Randy found herself glancing down at her clothing, the white tank top with the slogan “How ‘bout these apple?” emblazoned over two pieces of bright red fruit that had been printed in strategic and eye-catching locations. Her silk shorts of the same color barely qualified as more than tap pants, and her legs were bare down to the tips of her cherry-red toenails. Not exactly the clothes for schlepping back across town to Cassidy and Quinn’s apartment.

Although, she’d probably get a few offers to help her work off her cab fare.

End of Excerpt