The Secret Life of a Witch 3
(Mystic Willow Bay Witches, #3)
Jessica Sorensen
Contents
Chapter 1
Chapter 2
Chapter 3
Chapter 4
Chapter 5
Chapter 6
Chapter 7
Chapter 8
Chapter 9
Chapter 10
Chapter 11
Chapter 12
Chapter 13
About the Author
Also by Jessica Sorensen
The Secret Life of a Witch 3
Jessica Sorensen
All rights reserved.
Copyright © 2017 by Jessica Sorensen
This is a work of fiction. Any resemblance of characters to actual persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental. The author holds exclusive rights to this work. Unauthorized duplication is prohibited.
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For information: jessicasorensen.com
Cover design by Mae I Design
Created with Vellum
Chapter One
Do you ever wonder if your life has been a complete and utter dream—or a complete and utter nightmare, depending on what kind of life you have? Or have you ever had one of those moments when you question if you’re dead and what you’re seeing is the afterlife, but you don’t realize it? Or do you sometimes question if you’re trapped in a coma and your mind has created a delusional world when you wake up in a demon lair with rap music booming through the stony walls? No? Huh. Well, I guess it’s just me then.
Just in case you ever do find yourself in these sorts of situations, take my advice: you’ll question if anything is real.
“What the hell happened?” I mutter, clutching my head and blinking around at what I can only assume is a demon lair. Well, either that or I’ve stumbled across a very high-tech bear cave.
I immediately shake my head. Seriously, Evalee, a high-tech bear cave? What the hell is wrong with my brain! That is the million-dollar question, isn’t it?
I rack my mind for how I got here, trying to put together the pieces of how I ended up lying in a bed, in a cave, with lantern lights covering the domed ceiling, a stereo with a pretty great base system, and the largest flat screen television I’ve ever seen.
Slowly, bits and pieces creep back to me …
Hunter confessing our entire friendship is a lie …
The secret society he, Opal, Ryleigh, and my fake parents belong to …
Me being some sort of part-witch, part-demon, part-creature in question freak …
Max the demon showing up, kidnapping me, and carrying me someplace where time moves faster than in Mystic Willow Bay …
Me begging Max to put me down when I started to feel dizzy …
Then blacking out after hanging upside down for too long.
“Freakin’ demons.” I press my fingertips to the brim of my nose and take a few measured breaths, telling myself to remain calm, that whatever’s about to happen can’t be any worse than finding out I’ve been lied to my entire life by everyone I thought cared about me. “It really can’t be worse,” I mutter, my heart clenching in pain. “Nothing can … I don’t think.”
Sucking in an inhale, I lift my head and sit up straight in the bed. I give my body a once-over to make sure everything is normal and that Max didn’t do anything to me while I was passed out, like … say curse me with a unicorn horn pox. Except for a couple of scratches, my pale skin appears free of any horns. However, my shorts do have a couple of tiny burn holes in the hem, and so does my black T-shirt and plaid shirt.
“What in the freaking smoking witches happened?” I slip my finger through one of the singed holes and frown. “Why does it look like someone pressed cigarettes into my clothes …? Or like a dragon breathed on me?” My eyes widen. Perhaps, while I was unconscious, we ran into a dragon.
Fearing other parts of my body are burnt, I push from the bed and shuffle toward a tall, oval mirror perched in the corner of the room. As the cool, jagged, rocky floor scuffs against my bare feet, I become aware that I’ve lost my boots. Well, either that or Max jacked them so I can’t easily run away.
Grimacing at the thought, I move in front of the mirror and examine my body. My long brown hair is a tangled mess, but fortunately appears the same length as always. And except for a black smudge across my left cheekbone, my face looks normal. Well, as normal as a face can look with weird rainbow eyes.
Blowing out a stressed breath, I comb my fingers through my messy hair then move on to my next problem—figuring out where in the bleep I am. I know from the small, glittering stream of water cascading down the walls that I have to be in a demon’s lair. But is this Max’s place? Why would he bring me here? Why did he take me at all? He never did give me any answers. He just told me that I could call him Max and that I’d be returned back to Mystic Willow Bay in time to save my sister. That means he’ll eventually let me go, right?
I nearly laugh at my stupid thoughts. Ha! Just because a demon says something, doesn’t make it true. In fact, usually every day is opposite day for a demon, most of them being liars.
Which would make you a liar, too.
A shaky exhale trembles from my lips as reality crushes down on my shoulders.
I’m part demon. I’m part of the group of species that kills for fun, curses people for no reason, and lives underground; sometimes in sewers, and sometimes in gross, nasty lairs. Although, this lair doesn’t resemble any of the photos I’ve seen of demon lairs. Perhaps this room is the nicer section of it.
Summoning up every drop of courage I possess, I inch toward the arched doorway across from me to get a better look at where I am. The closer I get, the louder the music becomes, blasting out any other noise and giving me no sense of what’s going on.
Am I alone? Is a cluster of demons waiting for me to step out so they can feast on me?
According to Hunter, if a demon tries to drink my power, they die. I wouldn’t have believed him, if I hadn’t seen it with my own eyes.
That revelation makes me feel a tad bit better, but any sense of comfort goes bye-bye, see ya on the next full moon when I exit the room and step out into a smoke-filled room with chairs, tables, and a fireplace.
Oh, yeah, and about ten flippin’ demons, both male and female, smoking cigars, drinking whiskey, and playing a game of cards.
I instantly screech to halt and start to back away, but it’s too late. I’ve already been spotted by every single one of them.
“Um …” I try not to panic, yet my anxiety shoots through the roof as ten pairs of red, bloodthirsty, murderous eyes fixate on me.
And all of them look ready to kill.
Chapter Two
Okay, maybe I jumped to conclusions when I said all of them look ready to kill. Only a couple look murderously bloodthirsty, but that could be that they’re just thirsty.
My guess is confirmed when a demon with sandy-blond hair and sporting a tux materializes in the room to refill everyone’s glasses.
As the demons drink their freshly poured whiskey, the bloodthirsty looks go down a notch. A few of the other demons seem utterly bored with my presence. One of them even yawns. Some appear mildly intrigued, other marginally annoyed. Another
laughs at me.
The sound sends a chill up my spine. I know that mocking laugh.
I squint through the smoke and, sure enough, I make out a dark-haired, pierced, Goth prince laughing at me from the far back corner.
Max is dressed head to toe in black, with chains hanging from his pants and leather bands covering his wrists. His clunky boots are kicked up on a table, and he’s tipped back in the chair with his hands tucked behind his head. So casual. Not a care in the world. As if he’s unafraid of me trying to run, trying to fight. Like I won’t do anything.
Irritation works underneath my skin, only amplifying as a smirk spreads across his face.
I narrow my eyes at him and glance over my shoulder, looking for a place to run, and not just to escape, but to prove a point—that I’m tougher than I look. But it’s an act. A reaction … Okay, okay, maybe I’m not tough. That doesn’t mean I can’t change that.
Elevating my chin and throwing his smirk right back at him, I spin on my heels and rush toward a narrow crack nestled in the far back wall. I’m not sure if I can fit through it or where it leads, but I’m not about to stand around and let these demons do … Well, whatever they’re planning on doing to me.
The second I try to squeeze through the crack in the wall, I smack into an invisible barrier and fly backward, landing on my ass.
“You’ve got to be kidding me,” I grumble as a puddle seeps through the bottom of my shorts. “An invisible force field? Really, Max? That’s the best you’ve got?”
The music dies, and the quiet that follows has me feeling about as stiff as a broomstick.
“You say that like you didn’t just get knocked flat on your ass.” Max’s voice comes from right beside my ear, so close I can feel his breath.
Startled beyond all magical control, I nearly pee my pants. Thankfully, I manage to keep my bladder in check. Although, I’m not sure it would matter since the ass of my shorts is already sopping wet.
“You know, if I had my wand, I could escape,” I lie, leaning forward and stumbling to my feet.
“Sure you could.” His condescending tone makes my fingers curl inward.
I turn around to face him with my hands balled at my side, attempting not to notice how much more intimidating—and sexy—he looks up close.
Sexy? Jeez, Eva, get a grip on yourself.
Sadly, this isn’t the first time I’ve had to tell my hormones to cool the freeze spells down while being around Max. Demon or not, there’s no denying the guy is attractive. Well, if you like that Goth, bad boy look, which I usually don’t. My taste has always been blond-haired, piercing free, slightly on the preppy side guys. Aka Hunter. Then again, the last time I saw Hunter, he pretty much looked like Max, except for with blond hair and no piercings. That I could see, anyway.
I crinkle my nose at the memory of how he told me that was how he looked when he wasn’t around me. He looked so strange to me. Hot? Yes. Maybe even hotter. But unfamiliar. Not the best friend I thought I knew.
“What’s that look for?” Max questions with a curve of his brow. “You’re not thinking about that pretty boy wizard you’re in love with, are you?”
My lip twitches that he knew exactly where my thoughts were. “Nope. I was actually thinking about how much this place reeks like a sewer. That’s probably because of all the demons lurking around.”
Instead of getting irritated, he smirks. “You and I both know that you think I smell”—he makes air quotes—“ ‘lovely’.”
I roll my eyes. “I’m pretty sure you’re a little confused about the proper way to use air quotes.”
His smirk never falters. “And why’s that?”
“Because, at some point, I would’ve had to say you smelled lovely, and I can assure you I never have.” Aloud, anyway.
His lips span into a haughty grin. “Are you sure about that?”
“Um, yeah.” I try to convey confidence, but the arrogance in his expression is making me all squirrely.
He reaches forward to lightly tug on a strand of my hair. “You know, you’re quite the little sleep talker. At first, I was a little annoyed, especially when you kept going on and on about that stupid blond, wannabe punk rocker wizard. But when you shifted your focus on me …” He grins. “Well, I found it quite amusing and very insightful.”
My heart thunders in my chest. “I don’t sleep talk.”
“You can’t possibly know that for sure.” He gently tugs on my hair again. “And I assure you, you do. A lot. In fact, you might be even more chatty while you’re asleep.” His gaze drops to my lips. “And those little moaning noises you make are absolutely delicious.”
My cheeks flame, partly out of embarrassment and partly out of rage. “I don’t moan in my sleep, nor do I talk. And even if I did, I’d never, ever talk about you. At least, not in a positive way.”
The stupid grin remains as he grazes his knuckles across my cheekbone with a look of fascination. “You’re adorable when you blush.”
I angle my head away from his hand, despite the shiver his touch elicited. “Don’t touch me.”
“Demons can’t blush, you know,” he continues on, ignoring me. “At least, I’ve never seen one do it. But you, my little rainbow trout, are a complete anomaly. And an adorable one at that.”
“Stop calling me adorable like that,” I gripe while casting a glance at the rest of the demons.
Great, they’re all watching this little scene unfold, looking both annoyed and fascinated.
His brows furrow. “Like what?”
“Like I’m this cute, little sprite or something. It’s unflattering.”
“Sprites aren’t cute,” he assures me. “They’re tasty.”
My eyes pop wide. “You eat sprites?”
He gives a shrug. “I haven’t personally, but a lot of us do.” He points over his shoulder at the rest of the demons. “I don’t know why you’re getting upset after you just said it was unflattering to be compared to a sprite. I mean, clearly you don’t think that highly of them.”
I cross my arms. “Just because I think it’s unflattering to be compared to a creature that thinks the best day ever is giggling for three hours straight while circling a seven-year-old’s head and poking her until she cries, doesn’t mean I think it’s okay to eat them.”
He gives me a suspicious look. “Did this seven-year-old happen to have rainbow trout eyes and a very stubborn personality?”
“I’m not stubborn,” I protest.
He snorts a laugh. “Okay.”
My lip twitches in annoyance. “Just because I don’t fall at your feet after you kidnap me or dive into your arms when you ask me to kiss you, doesn’t make me stubborn. It makes me smart.”
“Fall at my feet, huh?” He rubs his jaw thoughtfully. “No, I’m pretty sure you did do that.”
“No, I didn’t.”
He leans in toward me, his smile all shiny and annoyingly attractive. “Yes, you did.”
“Dropping me at your feet doesn’t count.” I refuse to budge, even when he slants closer.
Sure, every instinct in me is screaming to run, that he’s a demon; but with no other place to go, all I can do is stand my ground and pretend to be more badass than I am.
He rolls his eyes. “Why on earth would I ever drop you?”
“Um, because you’re a demon,” I say, like duh. “And that’s what demons do.”
Amusement dances in his eyes. “They drop pretty witches? Huh, I guess I’ll have to add that to the demon handbook, because I’m pretty sure none of us know about that rule. If we did, we might do it more often. And I think, while I’m at it, I’ll add a rule where we have to carry around pretty witches with rainbow eyes around on our shoulders while they sleep and make hot moaning noises, because that was by far my favorite part.” He winks at me.
My heart flutters. Yes, it actually flutters. In my defense, it lasts for only a snap of a finger.
“You’re so annoying.”
He winks at me again. “Do
n’t pretend like you don’t like it.”
“If I were you, I’d get that thing checked out.” I circle my finger in front of his eye. “Because, from what I hear, when a demon’s eye starts to twitch, it means he’s prematurely aging.”
He stares at me, unimpressed. “Demons don’t age, but nice try.”
“Are you sure about that?” I slant forward and squint at his eye. “I’m pretty sure all these lines around your eyes are crow’s feet.”
He really doesn’t have any lines, but demons are vain, and I know my comment will bug the crap out of him. At least, I thought it would. All he does is lean in closer and put his lips beside my ear.
“I know for a fact you don’t think I have crow’s feet. Just like I know for a fact that you think I smell lovely and find me completely and utterly sexy in a way you’re unfamiliar with.” His hand finds my waist, his fingers folding inward. “But I won’t make you admit that.” He pauses. “Yet. Not when I have bigger things to worry about.”
I open my mouth to tell him there’s no chance in demon hell that I find him attractive, but the words are ripped from my lips when he chants a sleep curse.
Heat blasts through me, starting in my chest and working outward, making my limbs go limp.
“You evil troll …” My voice echoes away as I teeter sideways toward the ground. “Why does everyone keep putting me to sleep?”
Instead of hitting the rocky floor, I fall straight into Max’s arms.
Scooping me up, he turns and carries me away from the crack in the wall.
“Where are you taking me?” I mumble through the dizziness sloshing around in my head.
He continues walking with his eyes trained ahead. “To my room.”
“Why?” I murmur sleepily. “What’re you going to do to me?”
He chuckles, a low sound that reverberates throughout my body. “Well, to start with, we’re going to talk.” He holds me tighter against his chest. “Then, after that, we’ll see.”
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