Page 5 of Hexy Beast

“I like her,” my wolf says in my head.

I ignore him. He likes every woman with a testy attitude and a great ass. He has a type.

Effie looks past me toward the edge of the forest where the rest of my squad is waiting in the roadway like I ordered them to. No, we can’t actually see them because of how thick the trees are, but I can feel them. When you’re a werewolf, your pack is always a part of you.

“Oh shit,” she says, her eyes rounding in surprise. “That’s not good.”

I whip around, ready to go after whoever dares to approach my werewolves, before my brain has a chance to hey-dummy me. By the time my mind catches up with my body, it’s too late. Effie Sherwood’s sweet, juicy ass is sitting on the leather seat of my motorcycle, and she’s revving the engine. Then with a smart-assy wink, she blows a kiss my way, and the next thing I know, she’s speeding straight into the heart of the Killjoy Forest.

And what am I doing? Standing here with my mouth open as she gives me a jaunty little wave and then races deeper into the forest. It’s like I can’t make my brain process what just happened because it shouldn’t have happened.

No one steals the alpha’s motorcycle—especially not a wild witch with an attitude problem who fails to realize she doesn’t have the upper hand.

But she did.

“And,” my wolf notes rather smugly, “she looks damn good doing it.”

“Shut up,” I tell him.

He lets out a snort. “Oh, now you’re talking to me.”

I’d tell him to fuck off, but all my attention is focused on catching a chaos witch—but I can’t do that in my current form.

Chapter Three

Effie…

Really, stealing an alpha werewolf’s motorcycle should be harder than this.

I guess what they say is true. The bigger they are, the harder they fall for shenanigans from sweet little ol’ me.

Shifter, witch, or vampire men are all the same—boring, predictable, and easily distracted. Thank the Fates for vibration spells.

Although the feel of this motorcycle between my thighs isn’t half bad either. I could definitely get used to this.

I zip around several trees, plow through a brambly bush (oops on the paint scratches, my bad), and zoom toward where I know my sister Leona is in trouble. How do I know? Ask any oldest sister that question, and they’ll tell you, we always know. We just do.

That’s when I spot Leona standing in between two talking trees (yeah, welcome to Witchingdom) who seem to be offering her advice. Even from a distance I can see her eyes are watery, the tip of her nose has turned red from the effort not to cry, and the pale skin at the base of her throat has gone all splotchy, which only happens when she is about to lose her shit. She looks like her whole world has been ruined.

Fuck that.

Not while I’m alive to have breath, her world is not. I may not be the heir to the Sherwood magic, but I’m still the sister most likely to kick the ass of anyone who looks at my siblings sideways.

Out of the corner of my eye, I catch a glimpse of something large, dark, and furry sprinting to catch up to me. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out Darius has shifted into wolf form because he isn’t happy that I snagged his bike. Too bad, so sad, Mr. Tough Guy Werewolf, because there’s no way you’re getting between me and saving my sister.

I gun the motorcycle’s engine, swerve around a few more trees, and dodge a bunch of rabbits and squirrels scurrying to safety. The bike’s Milwaukee-Eight engine roars as I head straight for Leona before turning at the last minute and coming to a hard stop. Leaves and forest floor debris go flying, but I barely notice. My entire world shrinks down to my sister. I’m off the bike a second later and sprinting over to Leona, wrapping my arms around her in the kind of I-love-you-and-I’m-going-to-kill-you-when-this-is-over hug only an older sister can give.

“Who are you?” Leona asks, looking wide-eyed over at the motorcycle when I finally relax my hold enough for her to get a breath in.

“Your big sister, you lucky witch.” Narrowing my eyes, I take a step back and hold Leona by the shoulders, giving her a serious once-over. Whatever happened since we last talked, this is worse than Mom (who sent me on this mission) expected. “If you offed your not-so-secret husband, I know how to hide the body.”

Before Leona can answer, Darius—who is still in full wolf form—trots over, lets out a low growl, and bares his teeth at me. Then he sits down next to my leg as if physical contact will keep me from stealing his motorcycle again.

Oh, honey, you have no hope of getting me to do what you expect.

Still, his fur is super soft, and I am such a sucker for that, so I drop my hand to his huge head (which hits close to boob height for me, because even sitting in wolf form he’s freakin’ huge) and give him some good behind-the-ear scratches.

He starts a rolling snarl, showing off his massive incisors (and making Leona take a step back), but I am unimpressed.