FaRoFeb 2025 Micro Story 4
PARANORMAL ROMANCE
Part 1
by HR Moore
Well, this was it, then. The hour had come, the hour I would face ritual punishment before my coven. It wasn’t my fault they couldn’t take a joke. Not that it had even been my doing, really. It had … well, it didn’t matter now, I supposed, as I used a pulse of silver air magic to throw aside the whipping boughs of the ancient Wicked Willow.
My raven-black robes flew wide in the unnatural breeze, and I lifted my hands as I stepped towards my fate, ready to throw my cowl over my long, auburn hair and resign myself to darkness.
But I froze mid-grab because I found myself alone. No circle of waiting sisters. No high witch. No sooty cauldron bubbling with the noxious green elixir of justice. Just me and the willow and—
“You’re late,” said a low, melodic voice from behind me, so close his breath caressed my raised hand.
I whirled around, my fingers itching with gathering magic as I faced the tall, dark-haired man I’d convinced myself I would never see again.
“You shouldn’t be here,” I whispered, his presence almost making me forget how to breathe.
He tipped his head, impatience in his amber-tinged eyes. His strong jaw and the determined set of his brow were all too familiar, but the lines around his eyes were a reminder that he would be even more formidable now.
I willed my feet to run, but even after all this time, I was spellbound by this terrifying, mesmerizing man despite my best efforts to erase him from my mind. “What do you want?”
He huffed a displeased laugh. “You know.”
I slowly shook my head. “No … I can’t … I—”
“Myanna,” he said, his voice a commanding rumble that vibrated through my soul. “You knew this day would come.”
Find HR Moore’s books at www.hrmoore.com.
Part 2
by T.K. Tucker
Not really. It had been years.
The last time I’d seen him, we stood on opposite sides of a crimson-drenched cemetery. When his molten gaze clashed with the emerald of mine, I’d seen only hatred there.
But there was a time, long ago…
I swallowed hard, and he tracked the movement with all the interest of a starving predator. “I was potion-drunk when I spoke that silly vow. It was a mistake. You were a mistake, Draven.”
Annoyance flickered across his features before he stepped closer to me, purposefully. Despite the magic searing in my veins, I stood frozen in his presence. His power was palpable, all-consuming. Even the light of the moon bent and surrendered to his will. He was full of darkness. Dangerous.
And so damn bewitching.
“Leave here,” I said, my voice shaking, “and I will not report this violation to the high witch.” Where in the hells was the coven anyway?
Draven grabbed my wrist with the speed of a striking viper, pulling me against his firm, muscled frame that was more familiar than I cared to admit.
When I finally reacted, the jab I threw at his ribs had all the effect of a fly hitting a brick wall.
“Stop this,” he growled. “You act as if you’re going to the gallows.”
“Aren’t I? Isn’t that why you’re here? I spoke those blighted words, and you’ve come to collect. The joke really is on me. Though why now, I—”
He chuckled darkly, interrupting my tirade. “I don’t intend to kill you, little enchantress. I could have done that a thousand times over the years.” Shadows billowed and swirled around us as he gathered me impossibly closer. When the Wicked Willow disappeared from my sight, the depthless black surrounding us entirely, his lips brushed against my ear. “You are to be my wife.”
Find T.K. Tucker’s Books at tktucker.carrd.co.
Part 3
by Jennie Lynn Roberts
His wife! Was this some kind of cruel joke? I glared back at him. “The high witch will destroy you for this.”
Draven shook his head, eyes gleaming like enemy fires in the darkness. “She offered you, Myanna.”
“It doesn’t make sense,” I spluttered. He was too close. Too potent. I had to think. “The coven has laws. They won’t allow this.”
“The coven agreed. They’ve realized that you’re nothing but trouble.” He chuckled again, his breath hot against my cheek, but there was no humor in it. “They should have asked me; I could have told them you’re nothing but trouble years ago.”
I sucked in a gasp. That hurt far more than it should. I tried to pull away, desperate for some distance, but his arm tightened, pinning me.
He smirked. “Your coven wanted a truce. You’re the pledge to bind our accord.”
Hostage, more like. Or sacrifice. I shivered. They wouldn’t just hand me over like this. Would they?
Memories of all the times I’d rebelled against the high witch’s oppressive rule flickered through my head. Punctuated by that one terrible night. The needless death. The frantic warning I’d sent… too late.
Zairelle would send me, alone, to atone for all their sins. To live with the man I’d loved. To face his hatred—and my own guilt—day after day, all while enduring this mockery of the only thing I’d ever truly wanted. Goddess help me. “I’d rather d—”
He cut me off with a rough shake. “Careful, Myanna, you might still get that wish. That is what you promised, after all… To the Death.” The words hung between us for a long moment before he muttered a guttural incantation and set the shadows spinning.
I blinked into the hot wind, my stomach churning as the scent of ancient smoke and centuries of decay twisted through the roiling gloom. But Draven’s grip never faltered. His arms were steady as he held me close.
If I turned my face, I could shut my eyes, press my nose into his neck, and pretend that he was still my lover. Pretend that we were not descending into the one place where my magic was utterly useless. A place where every soul despised me—and none more so than Draven himself.
Find Jennie Lynn Roberts’ books at jennielynnroberts.com.
Part 4
by Daniela A. Mera
The darkness threatened to engulf me. I was not a stranger to the night, but the moon had always found me.
Here… My goddess could reach me no longer. This was the final circle of hell, and Arch Devil Draven was the only thing keeping me tethered to sanity.
His mouth pressed to the top of my head.
“Myanna, Myanna. Open your eyes,” he practically purred. I felt the vibration through the points where our skin was pressed together.
I shivered, remembering a hundred nights tangled up with him.
“Afraid? Allow me to put you at ease.”
Sudden light drew my attention to a small platform where two obsidian thrones sat.
My mouth went dry.
“Come now. I’ve seen you split one of my demons in two, seen you yank the clouds from the sky to douse my fire. Now is not the time to be timid,” he continued, solid arms still wrapped around my body. “Sixty-six years ago, you promised to sit at my side as the High Lady of the Hells. You’ve had your time to play with your potions and herbs. Now you are mine.”
He’d never loved me; he’d only wanted power for himself.
My lips parted, about to respond, when the ground beneath us shook violently. The sound of ancient stone cracking had me burying my face in Draven’s chest. He covered me instinctively, almost as if he still cared, as if I wasn’t just a pawn in his insane quest for power.
And then an ancient voice, hot as the molten earth now seeping through the cracks of the throne room, said, “I warned you not to bring her here, Draven.”
Find Daniela A. Mera’s books at www.danielaamera.com.
Part 5
by Juliette Cross
I whimpered at the bone-crushing power suddenly constricting my chest. The crevice in the stone floor yawned wider as claw-tipped fingers gripped the edge. Draven’s half-brother—more demon than god—emerged from the infernal pit.
Draven thrust me behind him. Six-horned, fanged, and with the body of a giant viper, his brother slithered into the throne room.
“But I’m glad you brought the witch here,” Tyrax hissed, “I can finally take what is mine.”
He’d always coveted the power inside me, as had Draven.
“You won’t touch her,” Draven’s voice darkened, deepened, a storm of magic pooling around him.
The demon serpent laughed. Oppressive power gathered and swirled. One of them would die from this. Perhaps both.
My heart cracked at the thought of losing Draven … again. If I survived this, my heart and soul never would.
“No,” I whispered.
Draven snapped his head back to me even as Tyrax reared up above us, preparing to strike.
“Take it,” I whispered. I couldn’t use my magic here, but he could.
I stepped into Draven’s arms and bared my neck. “I trust you.”
His golden eyes sparked with emotion. Fangs elongated as he lowered his head, sinking them into my throat. I clung to him, moaning at the painful ecstasy, of finally giving him a part of me I never had before.
He lifted away, lips stained, disbelief shining in his glittering gaze. And something much deeper. “Oh, Myanna.”
Still holding me tight, he shot out an arm toward the beast and flicked his wrist. A splintering crack sliced the demon-god in half. He roared then crashed to the stone floor with an echoing boom–and silence.
Find Juliette Cross’s books at juliettecross.com.
Part 6
by Elle Thrasher
Darkness crept out of the pit and dragged the carcass back into its depths. As the last of the serpent spilled over the edge, the fractured floor groaned shut, leaving nothing but blood behind.
I shuddered at the sight, burying myself deeper into Draven’s embrace.
He wrapped his other arm around me and brought his lips to the top of my head. “I won’t ever let anything harm you.”
My heart wanted to believe him. Wanted to give in to the tangled knot of emotions whirling within me.
Draven brushed his finger down the marred side of my throat, and I shivered at the gentle touch. I’d given him my power. Something I’d sworn to never do… But here we were, in his world. Together once again.
“Join me, Myanna,” he said. “Don’t you see how good we could be? Why you never should have left me?”
I drew back from him, my chest tightening as my mind whirred back to that night. An ancient voice I now recognized as his half-brother had slipped into my dreams and warned me not to trust Draven, filling my mind with images of his past use of people and their magic. But had Tyrax lied? Had he just wanted to separate me from Draven for his own gains? Had I made a mistake in leaving?
I shook off the memory and peered up at Draven. “You’ve only ever wanted me for my power. I’ve always been your pawn.”
“You’ve never been a pawn, little enchantress,” he replied, his voice as smooth as the darkness lingering in the corners of the room. “You are so much more.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“As I said all those years ago.” He nodded to the obsidian thrones. “That one belongs to you. Always has, always will.”
I stared at the pair of onyx chairs, my emotional knot unfurling, years-old walls crumbling.
“Say you’ll be mine?” He stepped closer and cradled my head. Tipping it back, our eyes met. “Be my wife and High Lady of the Hells, Myanna.
Find Elle Thrasher’s books at www.ellethrasher.com.
Part 7
by Elva Birch
“I thought you had betrayed me,” I confessed to the high witch when she came to our binding ceremony two weeks later. “I thought this would be eternal punishment.”
“Did you deserve to be punished?” Zairelle asked pointedly.
“I turned an entire town into muskrats and toppled a monarchy. I started a war.”
“The town is happier as muskrats, and the monarchy was corrupt. This union heralds the end of a war.”
“People died,” I protested.
“You tried to warn them. And death is an inevitable part of mortal life. The real problem was that you were bored,” Zairelle said, laughing softly. “Bored witches of your power are dangerous to the world of the goddess above.”
I certainly wasn’t bored any longer. The Hells provided an endless challenge of danger and diplomacy, and the man who ruled by my side…
I smiled foolishly across the court at Draven, who was swooping in to keep one of his less savory cousins from biting an oblivious acolyte at the buffet. He was gorgeous, complicated, and compelling, and I loved him madly.
“Did you know this would happen?” I asked. “That I would love him? That I would be happy?”
“I only knew that you would never go to him on your own,” Zairelle laughed knowingly. “And he would never have pursued you without our interference. You are as stubborn as he is, and twice as proud.”
I had traded my raven-black coven robes for the crown of High Lady, given my power to a man I swore I would never trust again … and had unexpectedly found happiness forever.
The joke really was on me.
Find Elva Birch’s books at www.elvabirch.com.