Do You Believe in Magic

Do You Believe in Magic - By Ann Macela

PROLOGUE

Floating along on a bed of rainbow colors, he’d never felt so pleased or comfortable or happy or smug in his life. In a few minutes, his soul mate would be there, and they’d come together in their First Mating.

He was ready. More than ready, his body told him.

Where was she? Why wasn’t she there yet?

He stood up and began to pace. The colors of his bed swirled and coalesced into the walls, floor, and ceiling of a room. A door appeared on the far side. It opened.

Through the door walked his dream woman. Tall, blond, gorgeous, built.

Oh, yes, built.

But clothed. More than merely clothed. Dressed in what appeared to be a suit of armor right out of the Middle Ages. Complete with some sort of round helmet in her hand. It looked like a basketball.

What the hell was going on? She was supposed to mate with him, not fight. She was supposed to be naked like he was. How could they mate with that metal between them?

“Why are you wearing that ridiculous getup?” he asked.

She looked at him like he was crazy—or like she was totally surprised to see him there at all. Maybe she hadn’t heard him. She turned, as if to leave.

He shouted, “Where are you going?” His voice seemed to come out in a whisper.

She glared at him, ran her eyes up and down his body. That only served to excite him more, and his erection grew to painful proportions and throbbed to match his increasing heartbeat.

He reached for her, but she retreated a step. Held up her hand like a traffic cop. “Stop!”

He couldn’t move. He’d run into an invisible wall.

“No,” she said. She put the helmet contraption on her head, lowered the visor, turned, and stalked out the door, slamming it behind her.

“No!” he yelled.

“Noooo!” he groaned as he realized his soul mate—the only woman in the world for him—had left, abandoned him, denied their connection.

“Noooooo,” he whimpered as the enormity of her action hit him in his magic center, and he doubled over in pain. Without a soul mate, he was doomed to live alone and lonely forever.

“No,” he snarled as he thrashed in his bed, finally waking himself enough to come to his senses.

He sat up, panting and sweating like he’d just played a fast quarter on the court. His chest ached as if somebody had punched him. And he felt horribly, totally sad and abandoned.

He concentrated on breathing until his body was back to normal.

What a nightmare. Where had it come from? He never had bad dreams, much less anything like that . . . disaster.

He must have been spending too much time around his sister and her new husband. All their soul-mate togetherness must have rubbed off on him. Reminded him he might meet his mate soon.

Not that he wanted to. He was only thirty-four and wasn’t ready to settle down. He had at least a couple more years of glorious bachelorhood. The dream was just a manifestation of his wanting to get his latest job going and over with.

Why, then, did he feel so wasted? So alone? So lost?

Like a bad hangover, the feeling of utter devastation followed him into the shower, and he had to concentrate on programming spells before it went away.