Don't Hex and Drive

Believe it or not, I didn’t plan to hit a witch with my car today.” He shifted the gear stick into first and accelerated down the street. “It was on the agenda for tomorrow.

This woman. Her body. Her soul. I wanted it all.

You’re mine tonight.” He lifted me in his arms and headed for the door. “I can walk, you know.” “Where’s the fun in that?

I was a simple girl. And I honestly didn’t want to debate whether a fallen tree really made a sound in the woods if no one was there to hear it. I’d rather discuss what kind of tree it was and if it held any medicinal properties that could be brewed into a healthful tea.

I can take care of myself just fine.” She meant take care of her own pleasure just fine. My pants grew tighter while I imagined taking care of her in my own way. “I’m sure you can, but I’d like to apply for the job.

Stygorn. A vampire born of one of the ancients whose level of intuition, gift of glamour, strength, and speed was unparalled by any other supernatural. The only one with more power than the Stygorn was a Siphon witch like Jules. Except the Stygorn’s level of power also gave them the ability to evade and/or harm Siphons by stealth.

Her eyes opened, then she looked at me and did something rather uncharacteristic in my short acquaintance with her. She smiled at me. And my heart nearly plummeted into my stomach. Christ. One smile, and I was devastated. Lost. Swimming in an ocean of what-the-fuck.

I just have a lower tolerance for people.” His sudden laughter shook something loose inside me. “Low tolerance for people?” “They annoy me,” I mumbled.

My gaze was solely focused on his mouth now, realizing with a rush of heat that his tongue was pierced.

Maybe I need to try a vampire next on Zapp and see for myself.” Then I turned and walked up Magazine Street toward home.

muscles rippling under dark bronze skin a thing of fantasies. Some women’s fantasies, anyway. Not mine. Totally not mine.

It felt like a sweet lullaby, a song of old, like footsteps on wooded paths taken only by her, lilting with waves of potent energy that cocooned the witch at my side. If I could reach out and touch that magic that was hers, I would. I wanted to drink it down and absorb her beauty.

I was Mr. Darcy. Introverted, shy, and nervous in large crowds and around strangers. Except the difference between me and Mr. Darcy was that I had no desire to grow outside my small social circle.

But then he had to do his shirtless yoga every day! Except for Friday. I didn’t catch a glimpse of him through the fence on Friday on my way to water the pansies. Instead of yoga, he decided to wash his car in the driveway.

I remember watching Pride and Prejudice with Clara where Matthew Macfadyen played the stoic, painfully shy, and socially awkward Mr. Darcy.

Pulling down a bottle of Maker’s Mark from the cabinet, I then grabbed two rocks glasses.

Christ. One smile, and I was devastated. Lost. Swimming in an ocean of what-the-fuck.

Devraj added in that teasing rumble, “Got to love Big John. Always there to give a helping hand.

Please, Isadora,” he begged, his brow furrowing in a pained expression. “Write my name.