Witch Wanted

by Mina Carter

  “Just sex… and you’d better have something for that.” She nodded toward the impressive bulge in his jeans. “No glove, no hot monkey sex.”

  He frowned. “I’m a bear Shifter.”

  Bears. So fucking literal. The fucking she could do with tonight, the literal… not so much. “Yeah, yeah… I know. It was a turn of phrase.”

  “Oh, I know what hot monkey sex means.” His lips quirked as he stepped forward, looming over her. She bit back a whimper as her ovaries went into meltdown at the look in his eyes.

  “My point was that Shifters don’t carry diseases and neither do witches,” he stalked her across the room. She backed up, aware that he still hadn’t agreed to the no biting rule.

  She ended up trapped between the bed and the window, back against the wall. Folding her arms, she glared at him. Stubbornness was one of her more endearing traits.

  “I am not having a litter of teddy bears,” she warned him. “Cute as they may be, it’s a hard no from me.”

  His lips quirked as he looked her over. It was a heated, knowing look. Like he was imagining her without her clothes on and liked what he saw.

  “We have babies and you’re not in heat anyway.”

  She blinked at that little nugget of information. “Wait… what? Want to run that by me again, handsome?”

  By heat, he must mean the fertile phase of her cycle.

  “Did you pinch my cell and check my menstrual app?” she demanded. If he had, they had a problem. Some things were private, like a girl’s cell. He could have found anything… like her bank details or, bloody hell, the folder in her pictures of all the on-screen hotties she liked to ogle.

  He prowled toward her, looking more like a big cat than a bear shifter. “I don’t need modern technology to tell me when my mate is in heat.”

  There he went again. On about the mate thing. He was ruining her plan for a night of hot, no-strings attached sex before she got chucked out of the country.

  “I said no biting.” Her eyes narrowed as he reached for her, pulling her up against a hard body that made her want to whimper and give thanks she was female. “Or I’ll turn you into a frog.”

  “Been there, done that.” He shrugged as he leaned down to brush his lips over hers. The kiss downstairs had only whetted her appetite, a savage ache in her body and hoo-hah demanding that she throw him on the bed and have her wicked way with him right now.

  She pulled back despite it. “NO biting, or no hot monkey action.”

  He sighed, the sound with more than an edge of growl and his frustration evident on his face. “For now.”

  “Ever.”

  “Moon’s teeth, woman!” he hissed, hand spreading over the back of her hips and yanking her up hard against his erection. “Just go with it. Don’t you realize I’ll do or say whatever you damn well want at the moment… I’m desperate to be inside you.”

  Hearing the sheer need in his voice, she melted, thrills shooting through her body until even her toes curled.

  Maybe it was a bad idea, especially as she hadn’t told him she was leaving town tomorrow, but fuck it. Literally. She wanted him more than she’d ever wanted a guy in her life.

  So she nodded, thrills of anticipation chasing through her. Her hoo-hah tightened in approval of the idea and anticipation as he bent his head and claimed her lips again.

  It was a hard, dominant kiss and she opened to him instantly when his tongue swept over the closed seam of her lips. He drove within, teasing her tongue with his, large hands roaming over her body and exploring her with a deft touch.

  “Oh my,” she moaned as he expertly divested her of her clothes to leave her naked in his arms. She shivered again, meeting his gaze boldly. She wasn’t embarrassed about her body. No way, no how. She’d earned every one of her curves, thank you very much.

  His eyes flared with darkness as he looked down at her. “Perfect. And mine.”

  She couldn’t help the pleased smile that crossed her lips at the reaction. Yeah, every woman wanted to see that mixture of stunned reverence and lust on her man’s face. Even if he was only her man for the night.

  “A bit overdressed there, Sheriff?” she murmured. “Let me help you with that…”

  He lifted his chin, nostrils flaring as she reached for his belt. Her slender fingers made short work of the buckle, the leather flap slapping lightly against the soft skin of her stomach as she flicked the button of his fly free. The sound of the zipper dropping was loud in the silence, and his cock sprang free to fill her hand.

  “What the hell do they feed you guys?” She blinked in surprise. “That’s no way going to fit.”

  He chuckled, the deep sounds doing things to her body that should be illegal. “Oh, it’ll fit baby. You were made to take me.”

  She’d have to take his word for that, all her thought processes scattering as his clever fingers slid between her thighs and parted her pussy lips. He stole her ability to breathe as well when he pushed two fingers inside her, his thumb finding her clit.

  “Hot,” he growled against her lips. “Wet. And tight.”

  Uh-huh… she nodded, prepared to agree with anything he said, just as long as he didn’t stop what he was doing.

  He walked her backward, although it was less her walking and more him lifting her up for the few steps to the bed. They fell onto the soft surface together, his hand sliding from her for a second. When he braced himself over her, the knee he used to nudge her thighs apart was bare.

  Oh lordy, he was big. She swallowed as he pressed against her, but the heat in her body and her ovaries cheering overrode any nerves she might have.

  “I’ll be gentle. I promise,” he rumbled in a low voice as he leaned down to kiss her. True to his word, he pressed slowly, holding her gaze as he slid inside her—one long, gloriously pleasure-filled movement that made her whimper as he filled her completely.

  He stilled, buried in her to the hilt, a look of worry on his handsome face. “Are you okay? Did I hurt you?”

  She shook her head. “No. I’m good. Don’t you dare stop!”

  “No, ma’am!”

  And he didn’t. Lady goddess, he didn’t. Livvy bit her lip as he pulled back and set up a steady pace. He moved over and within her with powerful thrusts that got heavier and harder until the old wooden headboard slammed into the wall. Time and time again, like a machine or a steam train going past.

  She bit back her grin. All they were missing was the whistle. Then his next thrust and the pleasure that hit her broadside stole the thought right out of her mind. His hips met hers in a frenzy, and then it was too much.

  The most earth-shattering orgasm she’d ever had exploded through her body, the heat in her blood going supernova. She screamed out his name, a call he answered as he slammed into her one last time and froze. His bellow as he came rattled the panes in the windows.

  Then he collapsed over her, wrapping her up in his arms.

  “Mine.”

  12

  His little witchy mate snored. Delicate little snores that were cute and adorable but snores all the same.

  Brock lay on his side watching Livvy sleep peacefully in his arms. She was exhausted, bless her, mainly because he’d kept her awake until nearly dawn. His body stirred at the memory, demanding that he wake her with kisses so they could start all over again, but he ignored it. She needed her sleep and he needed to get going soon.

  Even if he was pack leader and technically ran the town, he was still its sheriff and also a town employee. If he was late for work, he’d technically have to discipline himself. That could be an interesting write-up for the records.

  But he had a couple more minutes to spend with his mate in his arms. Watching her sleep, he realized he would wake to her beautiful face now for the rest of his life. Warmth spread out through the center of his chest at the very thought.

  The first rays of sunrise peeked around the edges of the curtains, lightening the room and highlighting her perfect little features. She was the mo
st beautiful woman he’d ever seen. So tiny and delicate, she brought out the protective, rawr element of his bear nature. He’d do anything to protect her and keep her safe from harm. Even lay down his own life if necessary.

  His gaze drank her in greedily as he tried to imprint every detail on his memory forever. Her big, dark eyes were closed in sleep, eyelashes fluttering gently against her pale cheeks. A button nose with a tiny tilt at the end was set above those bee-stung, pouty lips that liked to give him sass when she was awake.

  He smiled to himself, sweeping a big hand over the cello curve of her hip and waist. His mate. His. She’d refused to let him mark her, bite her, just yet but that didn’t bother him too much. She would, he told himself, and soon.

  They were mates. Soul mates. Destined for each other. The great mother goddess wouldn’t have brought them together only to take her from him. She wasn’t that cruel.

  She also wasn’t that stupid. He was a Shifter. Once he found his mate, he’d follow her to the ends of the earth. Beyond if necessary.

  “Get some sleep, love,” he whispered and leaned over to place a gentle kiss on her temple. She murmured in her sleep, a pleased little sound that warmed his heart and soul.

  Sliding from the bed, he reached for his clothes and dressed quietly, so as not to wake her. She sighed and turned over, her purple hair a banner against the white sheets. He took a last look as he slipped out to the door.

  Downstairs, there was a travel mug of coffee waiting for him on the table, along with a pastry in a bag.

  “Thank you,” he said aloud to no one in particular. He’d been to the cottage often when Briony had been in residence, so he was familiar with the servants and how to act around them.

  Fishing his cell out of his pocket, he checked his messages. His eyes widened. Calls, messages… if it hadn’t been on silent, his damn phone would have blown up.

  Guilt hit him hard and fast as he called the station. The one time he had a night off, and the shit hit the fan.

  “Bottomslick Sheriff’s Department, how may I help you?” Brock’s deputy, Mac, answered the call, his deep voice holding a rare hint of frustration and harassment.

  “Hey, Mac, what’s going on? My cell all but blew up with missed calls and messages?”

  “Brock! Thank the fucking moon!” Mac hissed. “We’ve got problems. Big fucking problems. You need to get down to the Kingston’s. Pumpkins kidnapped their kid.”

  Brock blinked. Then he chuckled, the sound wary.

  “I’m sorry, I thought you said… pumpkins kidnapped their kid?”

  “I did.”

  “Fuck.”

  “Yeah. They’re not the only ones either. The Murrays have reported their dog missing and the school is barricaded in by a ring of the little fuckers.”

  “Pumpkins?” Brock asked, still not sure he was hearing right. First sunflowers, now pumpkins… what the fuck was going on?

  “Yes, boss,” Mac replied. “Pumpkins. Little round orange bastards with a bad attitude.”

  “Any idea where they came from?”

  There was a silence and then, “All reports indicate they came from the vegetable patch.”

  “Ha-ha, very funny, Captain Obvious,” Brock hissed between his teeth as he ran up the road toward his truck. “I’m just leaving Livvy’s now. I’ll be right there.”

  He heard a startled intake of breath from the other end of the line.

  “You did the witch? Already?” Mac chuckled. “Way to go, man. I didn’t realize you were interested in tapping that. She’s a nice bit of as—”

  “She’s my mate,” Brock warned with a growl. “So be very careful what the next words out of your mouth are.”

  He practically heard the nervous swallow from his deputy. “Shit, man, congratulations. That’s fucking awesome!”

  “Thank you.” Brock allowed his irritation with the man to dissolve in the wake of his pleasure at finding his mate finally. “I’ll head right over to the Kingstons’ place and see what’s going on. Keep me up to date with new reports…” He cast a glance back toward Livvy’s cottage. Pumpkins kidnapping kids was witch work, but she wasn’t up yet… and he needed to get there fast.

  “Get your ass over here and pick Livvy up. Then follow me, okay?”

  “Yes, boss, of course,” Mac answered quickly but Brock could hear the phones ringing off the hook in the background.

  “Get that,” he ordered. “I’ll catch you later.” Then he cut the call.

  He had his cell in his hand still as he rounded the side of his truck, thumb poised to call Livvy when he heard an evil little chuckle from ankle height. He looked down in time to see a green stalk wrap around his ankle, and he bellowed.

  He was too late. The stalk yanked, sending him crashing to the ground. Pain exploded through his skull and he knew no more.

  The sunflowers had been caused by the worst case of negativity Livvy had ever seen. She sat back with a frown, still unable to believe the results of the finding enchantment in front of her.

  But there it was, written in chicken bone and guts. Well… almost. One thing Livvy had learned in her fast-track witch knowledge course, courtesy of the late Briony was that, for some spells it didn’t matter what you used.

  If the spell called for a herb, basil would work just as well as thyme… or vervain, or whatever you had on hand because it was the intention that counted.

  Of course, that only stood true for some magic spells. For others, such as protection spells or for healing, it mattered very much what herbs were used. Using the wrong herb could mean the protection spell was about as useful as a chocolate fireguard, or you gave your patient a heart attack instead of easing their sore throat. Neither were good outcomes.

  So instead of chicken guts, she had a pile of sausages on the table in front of her and the bones had been replaced by gaming dice. And the sausages and dice said that the sunflowers were screwed in a bad way. Somehow, somewhere, bad juju had infected the normally happy looking, and definitely non-homicidal plants. They’d gone loco. But why? Why in Bottomslick of all places? And more important, where was the source of the bad karma?

  Pushing back from the table, she ferreted about in the bookcase until she found what she was looking for. A map of Bottomslick—fairly recent by the look of the wording and major roads noted. She’d spotted it when she was exploring the other day. Spying it at the back, she pulled the rolled parchment free and walked back over to the table.

  Spreading it out, she found invisible hands offering items to use as paperweights. Soon the map was secured by two skulls, a candlestick and a sugar bowl in the shape of a chicken playing guitar.

  “Thank you,” she murmured to the servants as one handed her a crystal pendant. Taking it, she held it out over the map and chanted.

  “Mother goddess, I ask your charity,

  Lend me your eye and your clarity,

  Let me be no longer blind,

  Show me the evil I cannot find.”

  There was a pause. For a moment she thought that was it, nothing would happen, but then the pendant gave a jerk. It did a little dance on the end of the chain and then pulled away from her. She let it, moving her hand and arm as it directed her.

  It wandered over the town green, meandered down a couple of roads and headed out to Mr. Pressley’s. She frowned. Could there be something in his garden, something that had broken through the town barrier perhaps, that had caused the plants to go loco?

  But then the pendant jerked quickly, racing halfway across the town to settle on… She leaned forward and frowned.

  “Dinglecock Reservoir?”

  The source of the bad juju was a body of water? Shit.

  Instantly, her mind flittered back to something Mr. Pressley had said. That his friend often brought him water when it was hot. If he brought that water from a reservoir infected with something…

  Shit, they could have a real problem on their hands. She turned and reached for her cell, intent on calling Brock to let him
know, when the door to the cottage crashed open.

  She looked up as it slammed into the wall, to see a suited figure framed in the doorway. Her breath caught in her throat.

  MI:18 had found her.

  “Fuzzy be gone,

  To avoid this moron,

  Flee and find help,

  Before I make him yelp.”

  Her chant was short and half muttered under her breath as she rounded the table. Fuzzy looked up from his basket by the fireplace and then disappeared with a small pop.

  “Miss La Faye, I am Agent Moss from MI:18. Do not try to run,” the figure in the doorway ordered, resolving into the agent who had chased her in London. He strode forward, looking at her with his lip curled, like she’d just crawled out from under a rock.

  Anger rose, white hot and incendiary.

  “Like fuck I’m running,” she snapped. “You’re trespassing. Now get the fuck out of my house.”

  “Your house?” Moss asked, looking around. He was a tall, thin man with a weasely face. “I’m sorry, I was under the impression that this property was a benefit of your employment with the town of Bottomslick.”

  His expression didn’t alter, not even a little quirk at the corner of his lips at the name. Her mood got more dour. Anyone who didn’t find the town name Bottomslick amusing, at least the first couple of times, was obviously not human or anything close. She didn’t trust anyone without a sense of humor. But then, there was a rumor MI:18 agents had it surgically removed.

  Out of the corner of her eye, she spotted the cross-stitch by the door change. Before it had the “remember who you were before you forgot” shit on it. Now it simply said “Residence of Olivia La Faye.”

  “And what of it?” she lifted her chin a little at the cottage’s reassurance it had her back. “I am town witch for Bottomslick.”

  “Ah, but…” His expression was delighted as he reached into his inner pocket. With a sinking feeling she watched as he pulled free a letter. Without asking, she knew it was from Baba Yaga’s legal office.

  “It says here that you do not have the proper paperwork to legally work as a witch in the United States. Added to that, your family has flouted British law for generations, operating as unregulated witches. I am here to bring you to justice!” he finished with a flourish of the letter as he waved it at her.