Page 11 of Hexy Beast

The late afternoon sun is shining straight in his face, but he doesn’t squint. Too cool, I guess. I shield my own eyes with my hand and glare at him, most assuredly not admiring the way he looks at home standing on the side of the twisty-turny highway leading up the Oros Hills. The trees around here at the higher altitude have already gone full fall. Everything is yellow and orange and that burnt red shade that makes me want a pumpkin spice latte (don’t judge me for being basic). Really, if I were here with anyone else under any other circumstances, I wouldn’t mind. It seems like a place where a witch really could get in touch with her wild side. But I’m not here for other reasons. I’m here because this jerk fucked with my magic.

I add a little extra fuck-you to my icy attitude and tilt my chin a little higher. Whatever comes next, I can take it.

But then Darius does the one thing I’m not expecting. The low-down, dirty jerk grins at me. It’s not a sexy smirk or a happy smile or a joyful up-curl of one side of his mouth. It’s a grin, a full-on gleeful-at-someone-else’s-misery grin.

I’d love to magic it right off his face, but I have more important things to worry about right now. Namely, how in the world did he work it so I’d keep boomeranging right back to him? What in the fuck has this cocky werewolf done to mess up my transportation-spell ability?

Planting my hands on my hips, I stare at him with the kind of you-are-about-to-feel-my-wrath glare that only the eldest daughter can give. “What did you do?”

He meets my gaze without flinching. “Kidnapped you.”

That’s not what I meant, and he knows it. He did something. He—

Realization smacks me upside the head and I understand exactly what he’s done.

“Ha. Ha. Very funny.” I let the sarcasm soak each syllable. “Where is the charm? Where is the cursed object that you put on me to glitch out my transportation magic?”

He rubs the back of his neck with one of those massive hands of his. “I didn’t charm you.”

“Yeah, no kidding,” I scoff. “You are negative in charm. I’m talking about the charm. What is it? A brownie’s hair barrette? A troll’s toenail? A pixie’s left wing? Whatever and wherever it is, take it off me.”

His eyes skim down my body, following my hands as I pat myself down, feeling for anything unusual. I’m watching him for any tell that would give away the charm’s location. A flex of his square jaw. A quick shift of his dark amber-eyed gaze. A flinch of his long, thick fingers.

But none of that happens.

Instead, that grin of his fades little by little the more of myself I touch, replaced by a harder, hungrier set of his jaw. So I do the only thing I can in a moment like this.

I slow down.

I slide my fingers down the side of my throat and across the V-neck opening of my favorite sweater.

I bite my bottom lip because of the effort it takes to twist my arm behind myself and glide underneath the waistband of my dark jeans.

Smoothing my palms over my well-cushioned ass, I give him a wink before bringing my hands around my hips, across my thick thighs, and up the inside of my legs, almost but not quite touching the apex.

The low, barely controlled growl that rumbles from Darius as he watches sets off sparks of awareness that I will absolutely not pay even the slightest bit of attention to because you do not fuck with a witch’s magic—especially not the abilities of the eldest daughter in one of the most powerful witchy families there is. Piss off one Sherwood, piss off them all.

Anyway, this little show’s purpose is to make him all off-kilter so he fesses up, not to make me spiral. It’s payback with a side of horny torture for the win. And fear not, I am winning.

My victory is in the tense set of his shoulders, the lust turning his dark amber eyes nearly black with want, and the deliciously substantial, hard length of his dick pressing against his jeans. I have definitely gotten under the big bad wolf’s inked-up skin.

You can stop judging me right now for the way my heart is fast beating in my chest and how my mouth has gone dry and for the fact that I’m still biting down on my lip even though the only thing I’m straining against is the urge to let out a little groan of my own as I become wet with arousal.

You have to feel it to sell it.

That’s all.

Nothing (much) more.

Darius takes a step toward me, looking like he’s about to have me for lunch, dinner, and afternoon tea.

Before he gets any closer, though, a howl breaks the silence, and a second later, a wolf with pink-tipped fur bounds out of the woods and onto the roadway. It doesn’t stop until it’s standing near Darius and me, sniffing the air between us.

My heart is going a million miles an hour for a whole new reason. Of all the times for my magic to glitch, when I’m miles deep in werewolf country is probably the absolute worst.

My lungs are starting to burn, but fear has made exhaling impossible. This isn’t like with Darius. Yeah, he looks scary and tough, but it’s too easy to see through all that. He’s all growl and no bite—at least when it comes to me.

But this wolf sniffing my hand like it’s trying to determine every last detail of my recent past? I have no idea what’s going to happen next, something I don’t mind when it comes to an impulse vacation, but I really don’t like when the ending could be me getting gobbled up in the not-fun way.