Witch Glitch: Magic and Mayhem Book Two

by Robyn Peterman

  "Uh huh," Mac said with raised brows and a skeptical look on his face.

  "Seriously," I promised. "I can respect private stuff—kind of. But I don't get something," I said to Chuck.

  "What's that?" Chuck inquired as he carefully righted Mac's truck.

  "I thought you had to bite the bullet at my house. Was that a lie?"

  "No," Chuck explained. "It would be better is I did it there, but now I figure as long as I do it near you everything would work out just fine."

  "Let me get this straight," I said not liking where this was going. "You're telling me that if I live through taking care of the lurking fucking evil, I have watching you off yourself as something to look forward to?"

  "It sounds kind of depressing when you put it that way," Chuck said, scratching his head.

  "Is there another way to put it?" I demanded.

  "Um… none I can think of," he replied and gave me a quick hug. "And just so you know, I call mine Superman."

  "You call your what Superman?" I asked.

  Chuck was weird and clearly unbalanced.

  "My Bon Jovi," he informed Mac and me with a loud guffaw as he loped off into the woods. "Oh, and I stopped by your house and fixed the fridge. Made a little mess, but I cleaned it up."

  At least he hadn't offed himself. It would suck massive donkey balls to go home to that.

  "Thanks." I yelled after him.

  "No, problem," he said still laughing as he disappeared into the tree line.

  "Shit," I mumbled as I stared up at the sky. "I should have left well enough alone. Johnson wasn't that bad."

  "You figure?" Mac asked with a smirk.

  "Yesssssssss," I said. "However, since the word is out, I'm sticking with Bon Jovi."

  "Fine," he said way too agreeably. "What do you call yours?"

  I gaped at him and tried to think fast on my feet. My woowoo didn't actually have a name. I'd never been vain or stupid enough to name her.

  "Um…"

  "I was thinking either Katie Couric or Miley Cyrus," he suggested while he casually dusted off his truck.

  Sweet Mother of the Goddess. I had no come back. I was so confused about the connection between Katie Couric and Miley Cyrus that I was totally mute. Plus, I was not naming my vajayjay after a morning news anchor or a twerker with a two-foot tongue.

  What to do… what to do… what to do…

  "Ummmm…"

  "Or how about Queen Elizabeth?" he suggested mildly as he continued to check his fucking truck for damage.

  "Do you hate me?" I shouted as I plopped down on the ground and sat on my hands. I was so wound up, I was worried I would zap him or blow his pick up to smithereens.

  I was not naming my girlie parts any of those names. Ever. If I had to pick one I'd pick Little Red Riding Hood, but that was entirely too long to yell in the throws of passion. Plus I would laugh.

  "Not even a little bit," Mac said grinning from ear to ear.

  If he wasn't so stupidly handsome, I'd smite the smile right off his face.

  "Okay, fine," I said in defeat. "You can call your man rod Johnson."

  "Nope, I'll stick with Bon Jovi."

  "What exactly does that mean for my vahooha?" I asked, terrified of the potential answer.

  "I suppose we could go with Little Red Riding Hood," he replied with a smirk.

  "Oh my hell," I cried out. "You can read minds."

  "Only a mind that talks as loud as yours does."

  "What have I gotten myself into?" I muttered as I stood up and let him take his chances with my erratic magic.

  "A whole lot of trouble and a whole lot of fun."

  I stared at the beautiful man in front of me for a long moment. What really sucked and scared me the most was that he was as gorgeous on the inside as he was on the outside. His people respected him. He'd adopted a freak because no one else would take him. He was kind and fair and hotter than Satan's boxer briefs. And the simple fact that he could put up with me was making me let my guard down. Not smart—not smart at all.

  Of course, I didn't buy the whole ‘I'm your mate’ thing, but mate or not I was falling fast and hard. I never fell fast and hard… I never fell at all.

  Too much introspective thought was giving me a headache. Luckily I knew a sure cure for a headache. Eight big O's.

  "Alrighty then," I said reasonably. If I couldn't beat him, I should probably get laid. "Let's go to my house and introduce Little Red Riding Hood to Bon Jovi."

  "Sounds like a plan, sexy girl."

  "If we hurry we can get to the part of the story where I say, 'Oh my! What a big Bon Jovi you have' and then you can say… "

  "Um, Zelda?"

  "Yes?"

  "I definitely know what to say then."

  "Oh, okay. Then let’s go. And make sure Chuck didn't sneak back here and wedge his big fat bear ass under the hood. That would activate my gag reflex."

  "Roger that, sexy. Get in the car. Now."

  "You're awfully bossy," I said with a grin.

  "Yep, Big Bad Wolves are very bossy," he answered as he slapped my butt and put me in the truck. "You got a problem with that?"

  "Not today, Hot Stuff. Definitely not today."

  Chapter 7

  "Let's go to my room and get ready," I said as I slammed the front door behind us and took the stairs two at a time. "Strip and put on the cap. We clear?"

  "Yep," Mac said from behind me as he scooped me up and took the stairs three at a time. "You actually have a red cape?"

  "I do," I squealed gleefully as he tossed me onto the bed and began to quickly remove his clothes. "It's Chanel. Fabio procured it for me. Wouldn't he just have a fit if he knew what I was wearing it for?"

  "I'd have to say yes to that." Mac chuckled and continued to strip. "Should I shift?"

  "Um, no. That would be kind of weird," I said as I fastened the cape and adjusted my pigtails.

  "I thought we were playing Little Red Riding Hood."

  He stopped undressing and stood half naked and perplexed in the middle of my bedroom.

  "Operative word being play," I explained as I considered jumping his partially clad body and having my way with him. No. That would ruin the game and I already had on my costume.

  "But wouldn't it be more realistic if I shifted into my wolf?" he asked.

  "Do you want to get laid?" I inquired as I popped on some fabu red stilettos that Naked Dude had probably shop lifted for me.

  "What kind of question is that?" Mac demanded as he gestured to his painfully erect Bon Jovi.

  "A legit one. Big hairy things on four legs do not get laid by witches in red capes. Hot studs with nice Bon Jovis do. Period."

  "Nice?" he yelled. "You think my Bon Jovi is nice?"

  "Oh my hell," I muttered under my breath. "I meant ginormous, magical and the best I've ever had in my life."

  "Thank you."

  "You're welcome. Now get in the bed," I instructed, trying not to giggle. Mac was putty in my hands. Well actually steel, but…

  "You do realize that my Bon Jovi is the only one you will be allowed to look at, touch or play with ever again," he informed me in a brook-no-bullshit alpha tone.

  "You do realize you just referred to your man rod as Bon Jovi," I shot back wanting to avoid the whole mating issue. I wanted to have sex, not an argument about his archaic beliefs.

  "I'm getting used to it," he said. "And you are avoiding it."

  "I would never avoid your Bon Jovi," I said quickly as I opened my cape hoping to distract him with my boobs.

  He was moving too fast. I wasn't a Shifter. I was a witch and a commitment-phobe to boot. The whole mating thing was alarming. I'd never kept a boyfriend for longer than a month. He was smoking crack to think I could give him a lifetime no matter how spectacular his Bon Jovi was.

  "You're avoiding your fate," he said.

  "I thought fate was unavoidable," I said with an eye roll.

  "It is," he said smugly. "Which is why I haven't chained you up
in my house."

  Speechless. The gorgeous idiot kept rendering me speechless. I decided to ignore the dumbass part of my brain that was turned on by being chained up by a Neanderthal werewolf. Better to deal with it in therapy. I desperately needed to find a damn therapist.

  "I shall make a conscious effort to ignore your he-man tendencies and proceed with my x-rated fairy tale. However, you and your Bon Jovi are skating on some thin ice at the moment and my fingers are itching to zap your butt."

  "Goddess, you're hot," he growled as he hopped naked into the bed, granny cap and all.

  It was wildly difficult to argue when all I wanted to do was laugh. He was going to increase my already abundant insanity and I really didn't care. The beautiful, sexy asshead made me happy. Happy was a new place for me—frightening and overwhelming—but all kinds of wonderful.

  "Here's the deal," I said laying out the groundwork. "Since we're doing improv with this puppy, I'm going to scream in terror, stumble very sexily over to the bed and fall on top of you. I'll pretend like it was an accident and maybe my cape will fall off or possibly my panties. You can start saying some of the lines I suggested earlier and then we do it. Cool?"

  "Are you supposed to plan an improv?" he asked as he pressed his lips together to keep from grinning.

  "Technically, no," I admitted sheepishly. "But… I've kind of planned this one out a little."

  "Works for me," he said in a voice that made my panties dampen.

  He crooked his finger and beckoned me over. "Come a little closer, my dear."

  "Oh my, what big eyes you have," I said as I unhooked my cape for easier access.

  "The better to see you with," he growled seductively. "I have a few other big things that might interest you too."

  "Really?" I asked as I bit down on my tongue to stifle my laugh. "What ever do you mean?"

  "It's better if you come see," he purred. "Much better."

  "Well, since I forgot my glasses, I should probably get really close," I told him as seriously as I could.

  I thought that was a fantastic line. I impressed myself with my improv abilities. I briefly wondered if Assjacket had a community theatre.

  I stumbled for real as he pulled down the covers and revealed a body that should belong to a Greek god. Cape, shoes, bra, panties and Mac's granny cap disappeared and flew across the room with a magical flick of my fingers. His hiss sent my newly named Little Red Riding Hood into overdrive and I dove on him like I was competing on the Olympic swim team. I expected our romp to be wild and out of control.

  I couldn't have been more wrong or in deeper water. Mac flipped me, pinned my naked body beneath his and then he stilled. His lids were heavy and his breathing was labored. My tummy tingled and my brain sent off warning signals to my entire body. The intensity of the moment was too much—way too much.

  "What are you doing?" I demanded, staring at his collarbone. His eyes were telling me a story I wasn't ready to hear. "This was not in the script."

  "I was under the impression this was an improv," Mac replied as his large hands began to gently caress my face, my shoulders, my hips and my stomach. "Your skin is so soft," he murmured as his lips followed the trail his hands had taken.

  "We're supposed to do the nasty," I insisted as a lump formed in my throat.

  "We will," he promised. "I just want to worship you a little bit."

  "I'm really not worthy," I tried to tell him, but he was having none of it.

  It was as sexy as sex itself. No one had ever simply touched me. Men had always gone straight for the boobs or the Little Red Riding Hood. This felt so good and so right I was tempted to smite his ass. Damndamndamn. This alpha assmonkey was going to break me. And I was probably going to let him.

  But not quite yet.

  With a little burst of sparkling golden magic I levitated us into the air and rolled on top of him. His delighted chuckle was music in to my ears. He wasn't afraid of me even though I could blow up Assjacket along with the rest of the USA. He liked my crazy, my shoulders, my magic and my boobs.

  "Is this in the script?" he asked as his full lips brushed mine and he pulled my hips to meet his.

  "Kind of," I said as a slow sensual burn began to coil in my stomach. "This is kind of a mixture of Little Red Riding Hood and Peter Pan… with the flying and all."

  "I like it," he said as his teeth scraped my neck.

  I shuddered and lost a bit of control, which resulted in us plopping back down on the bed with a thud.

  "Oh sweet Goddess on High, this is like a movie. You know, one with Kate Winslet or Reese Witherspoon, but with some raunchy voodoo woowoo thrown in. I need some caramel popcorn and a vodka," Mac said in a high feminine voice.

  Wait. WTF? Had I kneed him in the nuts and made him a soprano?

  Had I accidentally shoved his balls up into his body and turned him into a girly man who liked Kate Winslet and caramel popcorn?

  Holy Hell, I was a fucking magical menace.

  "Um, that's really weird. Did I squash your nads?" I asked.

  "No, why do you ask?" Mac, back in normal voice, replied.

  "Well, when you mentioned Kate Winslet, Reese Witherspoon and popcorn in a girly voice."

  "What are you talking about?" he asked completely confused.

  "You just said this was like a movie and then you said raunchy voodoo woowoo," I accused.

  What kind of weird game was he playing? Maybe this was good. Maybe he was crazier than me and I could legally kick him to the curb and blow this town. Well, not blow as in blow up—just get the hell out.

  Except I didn't want to kick him to the curb. And I didn't want to leave.

  So the fuck what if he liked to pretend he was a girl every so often? As long as his Bon Jovi could still make me lose brain cells, who was I to judge?

  And as long as he didn't want to wear my panties and insist I pretend I'm a dude this could still possibly work.

  "Zelda, I have never uttered the words raunchy voodoo woowoo in my life," Mac said as he sat up and gave me an odd look.

  "You didn't say that?" I asked as I sat up too.

  "Nope and I didn't hear a thing," he added watching me carefully.

  Shit. Was I losing it?

  "Well I heard it," I told him as I pulled the covers around me. This was not going as planned. My having a psychotic break was fucking up my fairy tale.

  "Of course you heard it," a musical feminine voice trilled. "Because I said it."

  "What the…" I muttered as I glanced wildly around the room searching for the body that belonged to the voice.

  "What's going on?" Mac asked as he pulled me against him and prepared to shift.

  "Cover your Bon Jovi. We have company and it's a female. I will not have any woman looking at your thingie except me," I snapped.

  His wide grin made me want to smack my own head off. I sounded as possessive as him. Not good.

  "I don't see anyone," he said as he scanned the room.

  "Me neither, but we definitely have a guest. Show yourself," I shouted as I waved my hand and promptly re-dressed Mac and myself in the clothing that littered the floor of my bedroom.

  "You have to guess my name," she said accompanied by a somewhat deranged laugh.

  I rolled my eyes and sighed. Apparently orgasms were not in the cards for me today. I was not even remotely afraid of the body-less spirit in my room. The nutty woman's presence wasn't threating.

  Annoying? Yes.

  Deadly? Absolutely not.

  "Oh my hell," I said wearily. "If I guess your name, will you leave?"

  "Maybe," she said.

  I bet she was lying through her teeth… if she had teeth. Who knew what she even was? Was she a person? An animal? A ghost? A demon?

  Mac stayed at attention, ready to shift and kill at a moment’s notice. Goddess, he was hot.

  "Oookay, fine. Is your name Rumplefuckinstiltskin?" I inquired in rather impolite tone.

  "Nope!"

  "Coitus Interruptus?"<
br />
  "Nope!" she shot back gleefully.

  "Pain in my ass?" I snapped. This could go on for days.

  "Now that's just rude," she pouted.

  "But you barging in on my somewhat immoral out of wedlock escapades in a red cape and pigtails isn't?" I shot back.