My Wicked Enemy: My Immortals, #1

By Carolyn Jewel

A demon and a witch forge an unlikely alliance—and find love—in a world of magic and mages intent on their destruction.  

Carson Philips has spent her life trapped in the clutches of the sinister mage Magellan, cut off from her own magic. Near death after a daring escape, she is hunted by Magellan's demonic minions. Her only hope is Nikodemus, an unimaginably powerful demon in whose arms she finds solace and a passion so deep and true her life is forever changed.

Nikodemus hates witches, but the vulnerable woman he intended to kill touches his stone-cold heart in ways more dangerous than her magic. They are enemies by nature and tradition. For centuries, his kind has been oppressed by humans like her, yet he vows to protect Carson and help her unlock her power. What starts as an uneasy partnership becomes a profound physical and emotional connection that crosses into the forbidden.

Together, Nikodemus and Carson embark on a perilous journey to evade Magellan's persistent hunt, uncover the secrets of Carson's past, and confront the enmity between their two peoples. As they fight for their survival and each other, they must unravel the mysteries within themselves—and discover how love will save them both.

My Wicked Enemy is the first installment of Carolyn Jewel's steamy My Immortals paranormal romance series.

• Language: English
• Publisher: cJewel Books
• Release date: Mar 4, 2023
• ISBN: 9781937823191

Carolyn Jewel

Carolyn Jewel is an award-winning author who writes historical romance for Berkley Books and paranormal romance for Grand Central Forever. She is the author of "The King's Dragon" for Heroes and Heartbreakers. She lives in northern California and eats too much chocolate. She also bakes pies and cakes and feeds them to friends and family.

Book preview

Acknowledgment

Huge shout out to my agent, Kristin Nelson, for working long and hard to get this book back in my hands.

Author’s Note

This book has been substantially updated and edited from the version as originally published.

CHAPTER 1

‡ ‡

Someone was following her. Her heart beat so hard and so fast she had to breathe through her mouth. The same man had been at the coffee shop south of Market Street and in the crowd emerging from the BART station. Now he was here at this Chinatown intersection waiting for the walk signal to change color.

Panic unfurled from the knot in her stomach then slithered along her spine and up through the top of her head. At the coffee shop, he’d been wearing a black turtleneck and jeans. Earlier, he’d blended into the financial district crowd in a dark suit and tie. Now, he wore a delivery company uniform and gripped a dolly loaded with boxes. There was no question in her mind that it was the same person.

His gaze swept across her, and she looked away quickly. Streaks of color flashed at the edges of her vision, a sure precursor total debilitation.

If Magellan had sent him, she was as good as dead. If he was what she suspected—hoped—she might still be as good as dead.

Her coffee was long gone, though she still clutched her empty cardboard cup. Her splitting headache pounded harder. In an hour, maybe less, she’d be prostrate, unable to do anything but lie in a darkened room and wait for her episode to fade. The clamor of outdoors wasn’t helping. She was unused to the noise or the sheer number of people around her.

She crumpled her coffee cup and tossed it in the trash. Please, please let her stay on her feet and remain clear-headed enough to figure out whether she could safely make contact. Too late now to long for the familiarity of home. As of yesterday, she was officially homeless.

Her first night in San Francisco had been spent in a doorway. She’d be thrilled if she did the same for a second night because it would mean she’d survived another twenty-four hours knowing things she wished she didn’t.

Would the light please change already? Yesterday home had been a Tiburon mansion with the staff of fifteen it took to look after Álvaro Magellan. Today she was across the Bay in San Francisco with a hundred dollars and clothes that used to belong to someone else.

At last, the light went from red to green. For half a breath, no one moved. Two cars and a bike messenger zoomed through the intersection on their red. Normal, everyday people surged forward, and Carson went with them. The delivery man crossed to the opposite side of the street, same side as her. Halfway down the block, the crowd thinned.

Carson stopped to look at a jewelry store window, angling herself until she spotted him again. No more delivery man outfit. He wore cowboy boots and jeans pale along his thighs and white at the knees. A two-day growth of beard shadowed his cheeks. His dark hair probably lightened several shades someplace with a real summer. A haircut would not be amiss.

Only a few feet from her, he slouched against a wall, and she had to wonder if he really did work for Magellan. Álvaro Magellan only hired the yes, sir type, and she couldn’t imagine the words yes, sir passing this guy’s lips. Not to mention Magellan required that his staff wear a full suit and tie and maintain buzzcut hair, and so far he’d been in a suit only once that she’d seen. Assuming she could trust anything she’d seen so far.

Her pulse slowed enough for her to breathe through her nose again, but her headache worsened. She took a few steps along the display window, grip tight on the scuffed purse she’d pulled out of a thrift store bin. She’d left with nothing but the cash she’d taken from the drawer, and all of it was in that purse.

Her skin prickled in a wave from the top of her head to the backs of her legs and stayed that way along the back of her neck. She moved to the next store, pretending interest in a series of porcelain cats. The proprietor of a shop with a sidewalk display of Long-Life Happy Balls held out a hand and circled the chiming metal balls around his palm. She acknowledged him, but his face vanished behind streaks of orange.

Cantonese pitched and rolled in her ears, and, for an instant, she understood the words. Then the meaning flashed out of her head, and all she heard was the impenetrable rhythm of a language born on the Asian subcontinent. Cantonese was dying out in China, displaced by Mandarin. But here, in cities like San Francisco, with Asian populations that had immigrated during the gold rush and after, Chinese meant Cantonese.

Traffic sounds whirred in the background, horns blared, wheels rolled over asphalt, engines accelerated. Carbon particulates gave the air a sharp scent. Pigeons cooed from eaves, and she heard the Doppler shift of conversation and tinny vocals from other people’s earbuds as the crowd flowed around her. Music from one of the open shop doors floated over the noise. She concentrated on breathing, but her headache refused to recede.

Well, well, well, said a voice directly behind her. The soft and mellow words chilled her to the bone. If it isn’t Magellan’s witch.

Her symptoms vanished. The streaking colors, the distorted sounds, the chill in the pit of her stomach blinked out of existence. Her thoughts cleared. She was miles from home. In San Francisco. In Chinatown. Half a block past the intersection of California and Grant streets and more than a mile from the doorway where she’d spent last night. If she were to keep walking, she’d end up in the bay.

Her stomach clenched, and she turned. Whoever he was, he knew Álvaro Magellan’s name. His eyes were gray with a hint of blue. His jeans fit tight around lean hips and thighs. He smiled with a friendly, open grin.

Every girl just loves to be called a witch, she said with bravado she didn’t remotely feel. Close up, he was even better-looking than she’d thought.

Sweetheart, no compliment intended.

All right then. She might feel like last week’s leftovers, but she was not going to let this man set the tone for this encounter, not with her life at stake. Why are you following me?

His eyelids lowered halfway, but his gaze moved from her head to her feet and then back, at last, to her face. She’d been around men enough to know that, among other things, his perusal was a sexual assessment. Asshole. Why the fuck you think, witch?

If Magellan didn’t send you, I have no idea.

He snorted.

Who are you? Friend, foe, or something in-between? One of them?

He cocked his head. His lashes were thick and dark. Nikodemus.

He knew about Magellan. He knew enough to offer that name out of all the names he could have given. Definitely one of them. No last name, Nikodemus?

No.

Whatever his real name was, he was dangerous. That much she knew about the people who inhabited the world she’d uncovered. She pushed past him, heart pounding. Pain streaked through her head, and she would have sworn her hair was electrified. Her knees shook. Her body might just float away. Another shiver streaked through her.

Was it something I said? he called after her.

Definitely an asshole. She took maybe three steps, and there he was, walking backward on the sidewalk in front of her so she had to look at him and everyone else had to get out of his way. Her breath caught in her lungs, and the deficit quickly made her light-headed.

Sweetheart, he said, extending his arms wide. His voice invited her attention, begged for it in a beguiling tenor. Why are you walking away?

Without breaking stride she dug in her purse for a dollar. A shock ran up her arm when she brushed the object nestled at the bottom. She flinched because the figurine burned her fingers. Whoever you are, go away. Her voice trembled, too. She found a bill and stopped to extend it to him. The paper quivered in the air. If you’re a friend of Álvaro Magellan, I don’t want anything to do with you.

He clutched his chest with both hands and pretended to stumble. A friend?

Take it. She glanced around like she was looking for a police officer. She’d grabbed a twenty. More than she could afford but worth it if he left her alone. Go away. Please.

He smiled. Despite the scruffy appearance and too-long hair, his teeth were white and even. Thanks. He took the bill. Carson.

When he moved his head, a star ruby cabochon winked from his ear. She froze. Magellan wore rubies all the time. A different one of them then? Who are you?

I told you.

No you didn’t.

He sighed. "How about we discuss what you’re doing here? All by yourself. With that in your purse."

I have no idea what you’re talking about. He had to be six-three at least, which made him a foot taller than her. Considering her headache was shifting toward the debilitating, she wasn’t going to outrun him, and she definitely would lose a physical struggle.

He leaned toward her. Magellan is number one on my hate list, Carson. His gorgeous smile reappeared. Was he even human? If he’s on yours, too, we need to talk.

Her knuckles hurt from squeezing the strap of her purse. She stared up and into his face, a lot farther up than was comfortable. No.

Carson. Carson. While we stand here chatting about Álvaro Magellan, anyone could recognize you. Anyone. He’s looking for you right now, guaranteed.

Her heart sank miles deep. Did he send you?

No.

Like I should believe that.

Look, he said gently. Let’s get something to eat. My treat. You pick the place. Money or reservation needed no object. I’ll get us in, and I’ll keep you out of trouble. That’s a promise. He touched his chest. Solemn oath.

Why? I mean why a restaurant?

You look hungry. And it’s an opportunity for a mutual exchange of information between two people with reason to hate Magellan. He tipped his chin at her. Come on. What am I going to do, murder you in broad daylight?

He had a point. She looked around. That one. There. Across the street.

Excellent choice.

Heads turned when they walked in, male and female heads, because this was San Francisco, and he had a thoroughly disconcerting presence. Five minutes later, she was perched sideways on her chair because she wasn’t stupid enough to put her unprotected back to a door she couldn’t see. The dim light eased her headache a depressingly small amount. She accepted a menu from the waitress, but the words refused to make sense. She placed her menu on the table.

Nikodemus slouched on the chair against the wall and grinned at her. He hadn’t consulted his menu yet. Carson Philips, as I live and breathe.

She gazed at him, at a loss for words. He absolutely looked human.

What are you having?

Chicken. If her head wasn’t pounding so hard, she might already have figured out why he was calling himself Nikodemus. With no last name.

Ask me anything. I’ll tell you the truth if I can.

Are you from Harvard or Yale?

He huffed out a breath. Neither.

Flashes of color streaked through her peripheral vision. A collector? Someone who lost out to Magellan at an auction?

He shook his head.

"Someone who acquires artifacts?"

He grinned. No, no, and sometimes.

Their waitress returned. He handed over his menu and addressed the woman in Chinese. She didn’t understand a word. When it was her turn to order, she pointed to the first item under the chicken section. After that there wasn’t anything to do except look in the teapot to check the color of the water, even though it was too soon for it to be drinkable.

Nikodemus, or whoever he was, watched her with a smile that set off a roiling anxiety in her stomach. Her aching head made her feel stupid and slow. Are you going to tell me why were you following me?

He cocked his head and after a lengthy silence, he shrugged. You’re Magellan’s witch.

Carson leaned against her chair and wished she hadn’t. The sudden movement made her brain hurt. I’d appreciate it if you didn’t call me that.

You know what I mean.

She rubbed her temples. Imagine for a moment that I do know. Then I don’t like being called that.

Let me clarify. He pretended to think. Carson Philips, you’re a witch.

He sounded like he meant something more than name-calling, but his exact meaning refused to come to her overstimulated brain. Obviously, though, he’d read Magellan’s writings on Nikodemus. Right, she said with a shot of bravery that came from desperation. I’m a witch about like you’re a demon thought to have first manifested five thousand years ago.

He didn’t crack a smile. I like the weather here better.

Hardy har har. He was about thirty, maybe younger. How did you find me?

Why are you running from Magellan?

Who said I was? Her fingers trembled, so she pressed her palms to the white tablecloth and stared at the backs of her hands. Can’t a girl go shopping if she wants? She sounded light-hearted, but her tendons and veins stood out. She forced her fingers to relax. He knew she was running from Magellan. How? How did he know anything about her, a stranger, when she barely knew the people who lived in the same house with her?

If you need to get away from him maybe I can help.

She looked up from her hands and couldn’t stop the absurd hope that maybe he could. Why would you?

I’m a nice guy. He leaned in. If you want my help, tell me about Magellan.

She couldn’t feel the right side of her head anymore. For some reason, staring at the star ruby in his ear helped her focus. The throbbing pain dampened enough for her to find words. My parents died when I was eight.

Sorry to hear that.

I’ve lived with him since then. Lived with him was about all it had been, too. My parents named him my guardian.

Hard life living up there in that mansion on the hill.

Sure. God forbid Magellan ever found her in one of the many off limits areas of house. She glanced away. To be honest, I spent more time around the staff and his bodyguards than around him.

He pulled the wrapper off a pair of wooden chopsticks and broke them apart. Bet he had you homeschooled.

I couldn’t go to a regular school.

No letting the likes of you run free in the world.

The likes of you. You sound just like him.

Then I apologize. Truly.

Normal school would have been too stressful for me.

Right. He didn’t sound like he agreed with her.

It’s true. She’d spent her childhood and most of her young adulthood going to specialists who did tests, and poked and prodded her, and handed out pills in a rainbow of colors that did nothing to stop her headaches. They got worse and their sequelae longer-lasting and more severe. Idiopathic migraine with accompanying fatigue.

Uh-huh.

Magellan doesn’t care for children, but he did spend a lot of money on specialists.

Yeah, a real stand-up guy. He examined his chopsticks. Gray eyes with a hint of blue. Like the sky before morning had completely arrived. Really pretty eyes, she thought. Upstanding citizen. The fucker.

Carson breathed in slowly. With zero reasons to protect Magellan, what did she have to lose? Nothing, she figured. But she also didn’t want to give away any advantage she might have. Start with the little stuff and see how things went. He made it perfectly clear his work comes first.

His work. Nikodemus dropped his chopsticks on the table. His T-shirt, imprinted with the text Alcatraz Federal Penitentiary, fit snug against his torso. Whenever he moved, muscles flexed somewhere. You help him with his work, do you?

She winced because his voice hurt her ears. He’s a busy man.

I’m sure he is.

Well, Nikodemus, people write to him constantly, asking for his opinion on some artifact or about the myths he studies.

Myths.

Yes. Myths. They want reprints of his papers or an appointment to view his collection. Someone has to answer the phone, reply to emails and keep things organized. That was me. A live-in executive assistant, you might say.

Nikodemus stared at her too long with eyes that held more than icy anger. His eyes were a fortress. He could look out, but she’d never get in. She checked the tea again. It was still too pale to drink.

You think he studies myths about demons? she heard him say.

She abandoned her inspection of the tea and locked gazes with him again. He didn’t seem so affable now. That’s what I believed until yesterday.

CHAPTER 2

‡ ‡

The waitress, a pretty Chinese woman no older than Carson herself, brought their soup and spring rolls. Nikodemus looked the woman up and down. In leisurely fashion. Their waitress couldn’t take her eyes off him. Understandable, to be honest.

The waitress—she was really very pretty—said something to him in Chinese. He replied in the same language, and the two of them laughed. He watched the waitress walk away.

There was silence while he ate his soup. Food no longer appealed to her over-anxious stomach. When he was done with his soup and the spring rolls—he ate them all, including hers after she declined—he looked at his wrist. He didn’t have a watch, but the motion conveyed his meaning. His gaze was intense but she didn’t look away. The star in his earring flashed in the light. Underneath the table, she scrubbed sweaty palms on her jeans.

What do you believe now? He moved his head to get his hair off his forehead. If he kept it properly short, it wouldn’t bother him.

The waitress brought their entrees. She handed Nikodemus a slip of paper and spoke in a stream of Chinese that included the English words cell phone. She placed a fork beside Carson’s plate while Nikodemus slipped her number in his wallet. His gaze sidled to the waitress, and he winked when he caught her eye.

There’s no point is talking if you’re not going to pay attention.

Oh, I’m paying attention. It’s just you haven’t said anything. He’d ordered something with tentacles and ate with dexterous chopstick facility. It smelled savory. He helped himself to rice and spooned some of his food onto the rice.

She picked up her fork. Bits of fried chicken with vegetables sat on her plate in a shiny, sticky red sauce. Her stomach turned. She replaced the fork. If I told you, you’d think I was crazy.

Have you been in Magellan’s private office?

Not past the documents room. She swallowed the lump in her throat and almost couldn’t. He doesn’t allow it.

The only crazy this is so far is crazy boring, he said after she’d opened and closed her mouth twice. Maybe this will help. This morning, the top items on my to-do list were these. He held his palm in front of his face. Eat breakfast. He made a little check motion on his palm. Get laid. Another check mark on his palm. Kill Álvaro Magellan. Did not do that. He went back to his meal. All Carson could do was watch, hypnotized by his beautiful eyes. You’re on that list, too. In fourth place. Kill Carson Philips.

Me? What was the saying? The enemy of my enemy?

You help him in his work.

She used her fork to rearrange the food on her plate. Did I write you a rude letter? Tell you we didn’t want to buy your fake Babylonian figurine straight from the grave of Hammurabi himself?

If I had an artifact, it wouldn’t be fake. His attention locked onto the strap of her purse, looped over the back of her chair.

No way could he know what was inside. Could he?

Maybe today I can get three out of the four. I’d rather kill Magellan, but offing Magellan’s witch would make this a top-ten day for me. Does that help? Because despite any impression you might have of me, Carson, I am not patient. You’re not telling me anything that matters. Let’s start with something simple, witch. What do you think Magellan is?

You keep calling me that. Why?

One eyebrow lifted. His chopsticks stopped halfway to his mouth. How can anybody who lives in that house be so fucking ignorant?

She put down her fork and clasped her hands on her lap. I ran away. I had to.

He cocked his head. Why?

She looked Nikodemus in the eye and found she wasn’t yet prepared to voice the truth. To start with, he’s insane.

He ate a bite of tentacle. Insane like he thinks he’s a potted plant, or insane like a psycho killer? He glanced at the ceiling, pretending to think. "Oh, wait. He is a killer. His gray-blue eyes returned to her, colder than before. For a moment, she thought she saw something else in those icy depths. Movement of some sort. Her breath caught. Seriously, Carson, talk, or else all you’re doing is wasting my time, and that pisses me off."

Orange flashes filled her vision. Nikodemus touched her shoulder, and the throbbing pain eased. She knew, intellectually, the two things—his touching her and her pain easing—were unrelated, but that didn’t stop her from making the connection. He’s insane. Or else I am.

Carson, he said in a softer voice. Talk to me. I can’t help you if you don’t talk to me.

The gentleness of his voice struck hard. He didn’t mean it, but she was so desperate for someone, anyone, to be kind, that she wanted to believe. She forced herself to look at him. She was a wretched liar, always had been, and the whole point of running away was that she’d already faced the truth. Demons and magic are real.

He scratched his chin, nodding. Keep going.

Why did you tell me your name is Nikodemus?

He made a face. Because it is?

That’s ridiculous. Her vision went screwy again, and she was seriously afraid the restaurant would dissolve around her. There’s an ancient demon called Nikodemus, so I’m just wondering if maybe you’d seen the name somewhere before and decided to start using it.

I’ve seen it lots of times. But I’ve always had the name.

Honestly. Nikodemus is, arguably, the most powerful demon in the entire pantheon.

He leaned back and pressed a hand to his chest. Arguably? Look, I can’t help my name any more than you can help yours.

You collect artifacts.

Sure.

Why? Because they’re ancient or is there some other reason?

Like what?

She shrugged. I don’t know. If she wasn’t really talking to Nikodemus, she was in deep trouble. Maybe because they have some power and with the right words, that power can be used. Like that. It’s an obsession with Magellan.

His mouth quirked, then stilled.

Magellan believes demons can control a person’s will and even take over their bodies.

Ooh, scary, he said, not looking at all scared. He glanced around the restaurant. How many pod people do you think are here?

He says they’re evil incarnate. She leaned toward him, her attention on his face, alert to any change that would signal who and what he was. A demon or a colleague of Magellan’s? A mage, a sorcerer, can control them and keep them from harming people. Or a witch, she thought. A witch could control them, too.

He looked at her, totally calm. Is that right?

Demons can be controlled with the proper magical… baloney. She wriggled her fingers in the air.

One eyebrow arched. Baloney?

Hocus-pocus. In the cold light of day, she wanted to stand firmly on the side of rationality and logic but the events of yesterday were indelibly etched in her memories. Artifacts, incantations, all the things Magellan collects and writes about. They’re real. They have real power that can be used by people like Magellan.

"Supernatural creatures who take over a person’s will. Like in The Exorcist, you mean?"

She laughed to cover her anxiety. Maybe his name was Nikodemus, but he wasn’t Nikodemus. Time for an exit strategy.

That’s a load of horseshit, Carson. Do a three-sixty with a human’s head, she doesn’t keep calling you names. She dies. He put his hands around his throat and made a choking sound.

She wanted to laugh again, but she couldn’t. Her stomach was acting up, churning away. He reached for her, touched her shoulder, and she felt better just from the distraction of the contact. It’s true. Not about the three-sixty, but the rest of it is.

Well, now, he said, letting his fingers slide off her. Almost immediately, her headache pulsed. Demons living among us. That’s interesting. He poured himself tea. Was he smiling? She wasn’t sure. She waved off his mimed offer to fill her cup while he continued. Plenty of normal, sane, yet misguided people believe demons exist. What else?

Fear churned through her, but she kept her body and expression still and decided she was done dancing around the horror of what she’d seen. I saw him kill a man.

You sure it wasn’t a demon?

She lifted her hands, remembering the sheen of red on Magellan’s fingers. I misspoke. I saw him kill a demon in human form.

His fingers were slender, with nails almost too long. She remembered reading somewhere that guitar players kept their nails long. Maybe he was a musician. Teacup in hand, he leaned against his chair and stared at her with one arm folded over his chest. A demon?

She stared at the table before looking up. His smile was gone. She’d never seen eyes of such a pure, piercing color. That, along with her headache, made her dizzy. Someone with eyes like his could take your heart with one lingering glance. Something flickered in the blue-gray depths of his gaze. Yes.

He took a sip of tea. You do know how deluded you sound, right?

Yes. She didn’t bother with the rest. But I think you know I’m not.

"How do you know, Carson?"

Because it was someone who used to work at the house. For Magellan.

The restaurant was full of people in the middle of normal conversations over as meal, but the silence at their table was complete. Didn’t you say you weren’t allowed in the basement?

How do you know it happened in the basement?

Call it an educated guess. He gestured. Continue.

I came downstairs to look for something in the documents room. I thought I heard a scream, a terrible, terrible fight of some sort, and when I checked, his office door was open, and I saw a man on the floor and then he changed into a monster with talons and ochre skin, and Magellan stabbed him.

Was Magellan alone?

She shook her head. One of his colleagues was there. Some of the staff. They all saw me.

What’d he do? Magellan, I mean.

He told me to go to my room, and I did. But I didn’t stay. She rubbed her hands over her face. I ran.

Why didn’t you call the police?

With her head hurting the way it was, she needed more time than usual to get her thoughts together about what to say and what to leave out. I did.

And?

His car came down the hill, looking for me, and my phone rang when I was on with 9-1-1. I threw it away. I was afraid they’d find me if I kept it with me. She took a steadying breath. "So, I

Reviews for My Wicked Enemy

[mlleehreen · Rating: 2 out of 5 stars]

You know, I think if I said, "Carolyn Jewel attended the Laurell K. Hamilton school of urban fantasy writing" and called it a day, most readers would probably get all the information they need from my review. Maybe I should add, "Not the early Anita Blake books, late-period Laurell K. Hamilton, and yes, that does mean what you think it means."

This is actually not at all what I expected from the first chapter of MY WICKED ENEMY, which I read as a sample. The writing is noticeably more polished in the beginning of the book, and has a kind of bleak simplicity that really drew me in. The heroine, Carson, is in a pretty miserable situation and I sympathized with her immediately. But after the exposition, where we get the lowdown on who the main characters are and why the mages and demons hate each other so much, the book really shifts gears.

Demons are all attracted to mages - mage blood is like demon catnip - so every demon who meets Carson wants to sleep with her. Some of them try to force her, some of them try to seduce her, but they all try. The plot makes sense and all, and it's fairly interesting, but it seems like the real purpose of the plot is to manufacture sex scenes. The book features a lot of graphic sex, and a lot of it is rough or kinky. Not saying that's good or bad, just fair warning.

As the book wore on I had a harder and harder time picturing the supernatural elements of the plot. There's a lot of stuff about magic - pulling magic, touching someone else's magic, channeling magic through someone else - and I got totally lost. I'm not sure what people can do with magic in this world, or what its limitations are. Without a really clear guide to how magic works, a lot of key scenes in the book made hardly any sense to me. I mean, I understood who won and who lost or whatever, but not the mechanics of how it happened.

It's also a big deal that the hero, Nikodemus, has both a human and a demon form, and at key moments shifts into his demon form. But we don't really find out what that demon form looks like...so I understood it was exciting and forbidden, but remained fuzzy on the details. If the author is going to go there, shouldn't she really, really go there?

[jjmachshev_1 · Rating: 4 out of 5 stars]

Way cool. I was a little worried when I started this book. I'd seen a few reviews which were less than stellar. Well...I don't know what book they read, but I really enjoyed "My Wicked Enemy" by Carolyn Jewel. It's got mages, demons, witches, and hot sex. And the premise of the book is a new (at least for me) take on the whole demon/mage thing. If I had to categorize it, I'd probably call it a paranormal, urban fantasy, contemporary romance. And a darn good one at that.Carson is a witch who has no idea what she is. Nikodemus is a demon warlord who hates all magekind including witches. He can't believe his luck when he spots Carson alone and unguarded. It doesn't take too long for him to realize she's majorly messed up and so naive she doesn't even know what he is or that she should be scared of him. Hell, she even tried to kill a mageheld demon to save him! Now her magic may be about to kill her and he's trying to SAVE her instead of kill her. What's next? Falling in love? Uh...yes.This novel is about magical slavery. Strong magekin (witches, warlocks, etc) can capture demons and force them to do whatever is requested. Trying to resist can actually kill the demon. Nikodemus is trying to get the demon warlords to work together (HAH!) to fight the mages before all of their kind are mageheld. But who will trust a demon who seems to be working WITH a witch?Fascinating. With lots of directions for the author to head in and I can't wait to see what's next. The sex is really quite hot for a mass market paperback title and includes a scene of multiple partner sex (but not full blown menage). The tentative title to her next book in this world is "His Wicked Witch" with an estimated publication date of 'summer' 2009.

[thebooknerd · Rating: 3 out of 5 stars]

At first I loved it. Then I didn't. And then I did, again. The strength of this book lies in it's intriguing set of characters. Fans of J.R. Ward's Black Dagger Brotherhood will love the cast of badasses found here, especially Xia, the biggest, baddest mother of the group. This is also a very sexy book, with the temperature ranging from sizzling to scorching all the way through. The plot is a little basic -- in truth there isn't a whole lot going on -- and this definitely reads as the first book of a series; nevertheless, the entertainment value is high. I will certainly pick up the sequel (about Xia) next summer.