Page 13 of Hexy Beast

Which lasts for all of about three seconds, because my magic may be on the fritz, but that doesn’t mean my mouth is.

“Darius Aetos, I am not your fated mate.”

It’s ridiculous. I’m a witch. We don’t do that. And anyway, fated mates is bullshit.

Right?

Tell me I’m right, because otherwise, that means the fact that I can’t get away from the most one-grunt-for-yes-two-grunts-for-no grumpy-ass werewolf shifter in all of Witchingdom is more than a curse. It’s a life sentence—and I’m not the kind of witch who can do that kind of time.

His only response to my declaration is a weary grunt before he gets on his motorcycle.

I march after him, annoyance and frustration twining together like twin tornados inside me. “What is that supposed to mean?”

Ignoring my very valid question, Darius hands me his helmet and starts his bike, the engine a loud roar that almost drowns out the anxiety rushing through me.

He tips his chin to the space on the seat behind him. “Get on.”

Ha! Like that is going to happen. “I’m not going anywhere with you.”

He shrugs those broad shoulders of his as if to say, suit yourself, and starts down the road. I watch, holding my breath until he rounds the bend. My lungs are burning by the time he disappears and the sound of his motorcycle’s engine starts to fade. I give it another two seconds of pure what-the-fuckery panic before all the air whooshes out of me in relief.

The charm or cursed item or whatever it was he’d gotten on to me must only work if I try to leave, not if he does.

Well, Happy Fucking Samhain to me, because he is gone, and I am still here. Thank the Fates. Now I just have to figure out how to get—

The ground roils under my feet and the oh-shit realization isn’t even fully formed before everything disappears and in a blink I’m on the back of Darius’s motorcycle, tucked up tight behind him, helmet on, with my arms wrapped around his waist.

I have no idea how he keeps making this happen, but I know one thing for sure.

The Fates can kiss my ass, because I am not anyone’s fated mate—especially not Sir Grunts A Lot’s.

Chapter Six

Effie…

Darius races down the mountain roads like the entire Sherwood family is breathing down his neck instead of little ol’ me. Not that I’m not scary on my own—I am petrifying—but my whole family coming together to kick your ass is frightening on a whole different level, which Grumpy Fur-kins seems to understand deep in his bones, judging by the way he’s practically flying down the highway.

I’m sure there are trees and animals and picturesque lakes along the way, but I don’t see them. The whole world is a blur of green, brown, and blue as he hits a billion miles per hour. Hairpin turns? Maybe he gives the rear brakes a light press. S curves? I swear to the Fates, he speeds up on every one. Road taking a sharp up or down? He just leans into it like he’s daring the universe to break his neck.

It is literally the most fun I have had in years. If I didn’t think I’d go flying off, I’d unwrap my arms from around Darius’s middle and throw them in the air.

Wait.

Maybe there is a silver lining to whatever boomerang charm he managed to stick on me.

If I bounced off the motorcycle into the atmosphere, I’d just poof right back on.

Right?

RIGHT!

“Don’t even fucking try it,” Darius says, his gruff tone teasing my natural pain-in-the-ass tendencies.

“Try what?” I ask as innocently as someone like me can muster.

He makes a ninety-degree turn at a speed that should have sent us flying off the mountain. “Whatever it is your twisted brain is thinking up.”

“Oh, you think my brain is twisted?” I lean in, really plastering myself against his back, so my lips are practically touching his ear. “Honey, it’s like a roller coaster up there. It’s all loop-the-loops and turns and death-defying drops.”