Just as Paxton lifted the full glass to his lips, someone jostled too close and bumped his arm, spilling ale down his chin and the front of his tunic. He glared at the grinning face of his younger brother, Tiern.

“Oy, got a little something there, Pax.” Tiern pointed at his older brother’s dripping chin. The girls behind them laughed, and Tiern rewarded them with a smile.

“Don’t make me snap you, clumsy twig.” Paxton wiped his chin with the back of his wrist, but Tiern was unperturbed by his dark mood. The younger Seabolt brother appeared as put together as always, with his brown hair tied back neatly, in contrast to Paxton’s wavy strands hanging messily around his face.

“Everyone’s right shaken up about this monster, aye?” Tiern pulled out a wobbly stool, scraping the hard dirt floor, and sat.

The barkeep peered down at Tiern’s boyish face. “What’re you having today?”

“Just water for him,” Paxton said. When Tiern frowned, he continued. “We don’t need you getting silly off one ale.”

“I don’t get silly.”

The barkeep chuckled and poured water from a jug. “Aye, you do. You start hugging everyone and telling them all the things you love about them.”

Tiern pulled a face and took his water, muttering, “It’s no crime to be friendly.” He abruptly set down his water. “Oh! Did you hear about Mrs. Mallory?” His face was uncharacteristically serious.

Paxton’s ears perked. “Is she in labor?”

“Already?” asked the barkeep.

“Aye, she is, and it’s too early. Mum was running to their cottage to help when I left.”

Paxton’s stomach soured. The barkeep shook his head and looked away. It was never a surprise when pregnancies failed, yet each time felt like a blow to the village. The birthrates in Lochlanach were at an all-time low—only four children under the age of five in their entire village. It was said to be that way through all the lands of Eurona, having declined drastically in the past hundred years, though nobody could say why. Many blamed the Lashed Ones, as if it were some sort of magical curse. Paxton knew the truth, but he could not voice his theory without being seen as a Lashed sympathizer.

At that moment the oak door to the pub flew open with a bang and Mallory’s husband ran in, his face ashen and his eyes red. People made a quick path for him as he moved to the bar, peering around frantically as if lost.

“Mr. Sandbar,” the barkeep said. “What do you need?”

“I . . . alcohol. To stave off infection.” He looked about wildly, shoulders stooping. “There were two. Twins . . . boys. Both gone.” The entire bar gasped as a wave of sorrow passed through the room. Mr. Sandbar lifted a shaking hand to his disheveled hair. “Mallory’s bleeding too much.”

“Okay, man. Stay calm for her.” The barkeep filled a cup with clear liquid and thrust it forward.

“I can’t pay you right now. I—”

“Don’t worry about that. I know you’re good for it.”

Before Mr. Sandbar could take the cup the door opened again and everyone went still. In the doorway stood Mr. Riverton, an ordinary-looking man in his early thirties. But to the village he wasn’t ordinary at all—he was their one and only registered Lashed. He rarely came out except to pick up a bottle of mead from the bar now and again. Paxton felt himself go tense all over as his fellow villagers glared at the man. Mr. Riverton hadn’t fared well in the last few years, but Lashed never did. They seemed to age faster than normal people, dying decades sooner than they should. It didn’t help that most couldn’t find jobs and had to support themselves on the land or starve.

Paxton had caught his own mother sneaking food to Mr. Riverton’s lean-to porch early one morning, but he’d never told her he saw.

Mallory’s husband began breathing fast and ragged as he took in the sight of the Lashed man.

Mr. Riverton looked about at the staring faces, landing on Mr. Sandbar’s. “S-sorry, I was only picking up something to go . . . I’ll just . . .” His hand fumbled for the door handle to exit, but Mr. Sandbar flew across the room in a rage, brandishing a knife from his pocket that he shoved to the Lashed man’s throat, pressing him against the wall. Everyone crushed forward to see. Paxton and Tiern leaped from their stools, pushing through the crowd.

“What did you do to her?” Mr. Sandbar shouted.

Mr. Riverton kept his hands up, his eyes closed. “I didn’t do anything. I swear!”

“I saw you look at her two days ago. You stared at her stomach! What did you do?”

“I was glad to see how well she was progressing—that’s all!”

“Lies!” Mr. Sandbar pressed forward, piercing the Lashed man’s throat, causing a trickle of blood to flow. “You’re a filthy murderer! Just like your hero, Rocato!”

Mr. Riverton’s panicked eyes shot open. “Rocato was a madman! I’m nothing like him—”

“More lies!” Mr. Sandbar’s shout came out a sob as tears began to seep from his angry eyes. “You took my boys, just by looking at her!”

“Mr. Sandbar!” Paxton shouted. He grabbed the mourning man by the shoulder. “He can’t hurt her with his eyes. You know this. He has to touch with his hands to work magic, and I’m certain he’s never gotten that close. Am I right?”

Paxton looked at Mr. Riverton, who whispered hoarsely, “I never touched her.”

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About the Author

Author photo courtesy of Melissa Harris Photography

WENDY HIGGINS is the New York Times bestselling author of Sweet Evil, Sweet Peril, and Sweet Reckoning, the first three books in the series, as well as Flirting with Maybe. She was born in Alaska and lived on five different military bases across the US. She attended George Mason University for her undergraduate degree in creative writing and Radford University for a masters in curriculum and instruction before becoming a high school English teacher. Wendy now lives on the Eastern Shore of Virginia with her husband and children, writing full time. You can visit her online at www.wendyhigginswrites.com.

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Books by Wendy Higgins

Sweet Evil

Sweet Peril

Sweet Reckoning

Sweet Temptation

Sweet Evil 3-Book Collection

Flirting with Maybe

The Great Hunt

Credits

COVER PHOTO © 2015 BY HOWARD HUANG

BACKGROUND ART © JUSTIN HORROCKS/ISTOCK

COVER DESIGN BY TOM FORGET

Copyright

HarperTeen is an imprint of HarperCollins Publishers.

SWEET TEMPTATION. Copyright © 2015 by Wendy Higgins. All rights reserved under International and Pan-American Copyright Conventions. By payment of the required fees, you have been granted the nonexclusive, nontransferable right to access and read the text of this e-book on-screen. No part of this text may be reproduced, transmitted, downloaded, decompiled, reverse-engineered, or stored in or introduced into any information storage and retrieval system, in any form or by any means, whether electronic or mechanical, now known or hereafter invented, without the express written permission of HarperCollins e-books.