Witch Wanted Read online

  Clearing her throat, she held her hands out to the side and spoke.

  “Evil little shits may not stay,

  I command you now to go away,

  evil brownies, I banish thee

  by my words, so mote it be.”

  The smoke did its thing, winding around her hands and then spilling over onto the grass and sneaking out to disappear into the bushes. There was more swearing in little voices and then loud pops as the magic banished the brownies. One tried to make a run for it, shrieking as it ran toward the garden fence, but a snake of sparkling lilac chased it down. It turned and flicked the bird at Livvy before it too disappeared with a shower of sparkles.

  “I can’t believe that is actually a spell,” Brock laughed as she collected her basket and stepped primly off the lawn. Nodding to Mr. Pressley, she swept out of the garden and around the corner, heading to the front gate.

  She shrugged, the last of the smoke that had surrounded her hands dissipating. “You’d be surprised at the magic in seemingly normal things.”

  She certainly had been. Up with the lark this morning, she’d hit the books hard. By the time breakfast had appeared on the table in front of her—courtesy of the house’s invisible servants—her mind had been blown but she still wasn’t any closer to answering her main question.

  Why had she been without magic most of her life if she was a real witch?

  But the answer to that had to wait as she attended to the town’s needs. One thing was for certain, though, she would keep going until she found an answer.

  “Aye. Natural magic,” Brock rumbled, catching up with her by the sunflower patch. “Us bears are used to the knowing of that.”

  He really was very good looking when he wasn’t a) trying to run her over with his truck or b) throwing her in a cell. So good-looking that a girl could get... ideas.

  “The knowing?” she asked.

  His blue eyes twinkled as he drew closer. An arm leaned against the wall by her head as he wound a lock of her hair around a strong finger.

  “Yup. Just as I know this color is not natural.”

  “Suburban witch. Purple drizzle,” she said promptly. “Hard to get and stains towels like a bastard but there’s no better color out there.”

  She didn’t move away or pull her hair out of his grasp. He’d been far chattier since he’d arrived this morning. Pleasant... Flirty even. Treating her like a normal person—not looking at her like she just crawled out from under a rock.

  At least he didn’t hit you with a truck and throw you in a cell this time without giving you proper medical attention, the waspish voice in the back of her head added.

  She ignored it. It was always a bitch in the morning. Like her, it needed seventeen mugs of coffee to get going. And she’d found the perfect mug in the cupboard this morning. A penguin in a witch’s hat riding a broom. It was awesome. She loved penguins. Witch penguins were even better.

  “I wanted to apologize for yesterday.” Brock’s voice had dropped to a low, intimate pitch. The conversation was just between the two of them as Mr. Pressley’s amazing sunflowers rustled in the breeze behind them.

  “Oh?” Her heart skipped a beat as he moved closer. It could have been the nearness of his bigger, ripped body or a case of arrhythmia... She wasn’t sure which.

  “Yes. Yesterday I was...” He trailed off, jaw working and his expression discomfited. If he’d been younger, he probably would have shuffled his feet. “I was not a gentleman.”

  The admission was all but torn from his lips and she bit back a smile.

  “Oh...” There she went with the phone sex voice again. Bloody hell. “I think there’s a time and a place for being a gentleman.”

  The wind rose a little, forcing her to lean in to catch his reply.

  “Really now?” he murmured, easing even closer. His hand slid from her hair to cup the back of her neck and she tilted her face up. He would kiss her, surely? Wanting him to, she closed her eyes...

  “Grnnnafffphhhk!”

  The strange noise and abrupt way he yanked his hand from her hair had her opening her eyes in confusion. Had he changed his mind about kissing her? If so, it was a bloody rude way to go about it. She wasn’t a supermodel by any stretch of the imagination, but she also wasn’t a twenty-pinter a man needed serious beer goggles on to even kiss.

  Her eyes widened at the sight before her. The rustling sound hadn’t been the wind. Instead, Mr. Pressley’s prize-winning sunflowers had Brock suspended in mid-air, stretched out between them like some plant-based Medieval rack. One had a leaf slapped over his mouth, his eyes above it as surprised as she was.

  “What the fuck?” she breathed and then dodged to the side as a sunflower made a grab for her.

  “Oh no you don’t, you yellow arsehole,” she muttered, blasting her would-be opponent with a bolt of purple energy. Oh cool, she could shoot things with purple fire. Awesome.

  The sunflower hissed at her, the seeds in its “face” forming a terrifying scowl. It lunged again, and she dodged to the side. So intent was she on escaping it, she missed the one sneaking up behind her.

  Leafy “arms” wrapped around her like steel cables, hefting her aloft. Another leaf slapped over her mouth and nose, cutting off her ability to breathe, let alone cast a spell.

  Panicking, she struggled wildly. Fuzzy’s small whimpers behind her and the sound of somebody else struggling told her the plants had both her canine familiar and Mr. Pressley as well.

  There was nobody left to call for help.

  Despite her struggles and kicks, she couldn’t get free. Her struggles became smaller and smaller, and her world greyed and darkened around the edges.

  What the actual fuck?

  They’d been ambushed by fucking... plant life?

  Brock was so shocked that he didn’t react for a second or two, which gave his captors a chance to get an iron-clad grip on his arms and legs. By the time he got himself together enough to struggle, they held him fast.

  Trying to yell a warning to Livvy, it emerged as a muffled grunt, and he was forced to watch in horror as the plants grabbed her. Eyes closed as she waited for his kiss, she didn’t stand a chance. She wouldn’t have anyway, he realized. While they were occupied with each other, the bastard plants had surrounded them. There was no escape.

  The plant with Livvy chittered in triumph as it hefted her aloft, slapping a large, leafy “hand” over her mouth. The rest erupted into rustling and chittering. Brock had never heard sunflowers cackle evilly before. It wasn’t a pleasant sound.

  Of all the possible dangers they could have faced in town... sunflowers had not been on the list. Death by small talk, yes. Or by soggy biscuits and tea, definitely. Homicidal plant life, definitely not.

  Livvy’s gaze met his in panic and she began to thrash against her captor, her eyes starting to lose focus. With a start he realized the leaf was over her nose and mouth.

  She couldn’t breathe.

  Fury started deep in the pit of his soul, erupting outward in a deadly conflagration. How dare these assholes come into his town and assault his witch? When she’d become his witch he didn’t know and didn’t care. She was his, and she had been since the moment he’d seen her. She just didn’t know it yet. The fact he’d hit her with his truck and thrown her into a cell probably meant the path of true love would be bumpy, but he was up for the challenge.

  Once he got rid of these evil bastard sunflowers.

  He waited, trying not to let panic overwhelm him as the witch went limp. He let the fire that inhabited his soul build up to fever pitch. Then, with a snarl, he let his bear rip free. His body jerked, and bones popped and cracked as they reconfigured themselves. Skin became liquid and slid to cover his changing shape. It hurt like a bitch, but it was a good hurt.

  One he was used to. One he craved.

  The plants around him went from holding a hundred-and-seventy-pound man to trying to hold onto a seven-hundred-pound bear. Trying being the operative word. His bulk wa
s no match for spindly plant limbs and they tore. He crashed to the ground, landing on his ass with a heavy thump. Within a heartbeat he was on his feet, swinging massive paws around him like battering rams.

  He roared his fury to the sky, slicing through stems and stalks with razor-sharp claws. The sunflowers screamed and tried to rush him, but he was having none of that from jumped-up garden flowers. He’d show them who was boss.

  Ripping one up by the roots in a massive paw, he used it to beat another. Its head whipped around, half the seeds splattering across the wall. It sagged, screaming as it held leaves up to its damaged “face.” It was the stuff of nightmares had Brock been given to that sort of thing.

  He wasn’t. He so wasn’t. Not when his witch was in danger.

  Roaring again, he sliced at the plant holding her little dog, cutting through the leafy limbs with one quick strike. He grabbed the familiar with a huge paw before it fell and hurt itself. He placed it gently on the ground before turning back into the fray.

  Then, he charged the group trying to spirit Livvy away over the garden wall. She was limp in their grasp now, her skin so deathly pale his heart stuttered in his chest. How long could someone go without breathing? Could witches go longer? He sure as fuck hoped so.

  He hit them like a large, furred wrecking ball. Stomping at least three sunflowers underfoot. Their dying screams filled his ears as he lashed out again and again, using the fury in his soul to power the destruction.

  His claws made contact, scything through the limbs that held Livvy prisoner. Her body jerked in mid-air, the stems that had held her arms cut, and she hung upside down, her long purple hair a bright banner trailing almost to the dirt of the flowerbed below. Roots stirred the ground, reaching for her hair, but he crushed them under paw as he turned to deal with her remaining bonds.

  They gave with a fleshy sound that turned his stomach. Whirling neatly on his paws, he got underneath to break the witch’s fall. She landed on his back, sprawling across the thick fur before slithering down his side to the ground.

  “I KILL YOU! YESYESYES!” The high-pitched and furious yapping from Livvy’s familiar got Brock’s attention and he was forced to lift a massive paw as the dog charged into the fray. Barking and snarling, he attacked a sunflower, sinking sharp teeth into one of its “legs.”

  The thing looked confused, lifting its root foot and looking at the dog in puzzlement. Fuzzy just growled and shook himself from side to side, tearing huge gashes in the plant’s leg. The sunflower howled in pain, clutching the injured limb as Fuzzy dropped to the ground and went for the other leg.

  Brock shook his head. The little dog might be as ugly as sin, but it sure had the heart of a bear. The werebear hid his smile as he went back to slicing and stomping. Neither he nor Fuzzy stopped until the sunflowers were nothing more than a crumpled mass of broken stalks and smashed heads. They were both covered in plant sap and seeds.

  It was complete and utter carnage.

  “I ain’t never seen sunflowers do that before,” the newly freed Mr. Pressley muttered in shock. He was sitting right where he’d landed after Brock had cut him free. “I mean, occasionally a stem might fight back a little when I’m pruning but this is the first time my plants have actually tried to kill me.”

  “Might be a good time to switch to plastic house plants?” Brock suggested, his deep voice altering as he made the shift back from bear to human. “After burning everything here,” he ordered. “Roots, seeds and all. Make sure none of it remains. Collect the ashes and send it to the witches cottage.”

  He gathered Livvy up in his arms. With careful fingers he smoothed her hair back from her face. She was still breathing and her color was coming back.

  He took a breath to still his galloping heart. The thought of how close she’d come sent ice crawling over his skin and he fought back the urge to pull her closer. For all of 2.4 seconds. Giving in, he yanked her into his arms, buried his nose in her hair and breathed deeply.

  Then his eyes snapped open.

  Hidden under the lilac and rose smell of the shampoo she used on her hair was the one scent he’d been looking for all his life.

  Livvy La Faye was his mate.

  10

  Livvy came to… slowly at first. She was delightfully warm and snuggled up to what she could tell was a wonderfully ripped male physique. Awesome, she thought through the fog in her head. She’d obviously pulled a guy at some point. Also good. She’d been so long with no action she’d been worried about her hoo-hah closing up or something, like piercings that had been taken out.

  Her sense of wakefulness expanded enough that she registered the sound of an engine. Sex in a car? Now they were talking! There was a lot to be said for nookie outside the bedroom. A hell of a lot.

  “Drive straight! Watch that mailbox,” a deep male voice ordered, the sound more felt than heard through the broad male chest she was resting against.

  “I’ll have you know I can drive, young man,” the reply came in a deep growl, but one with a waver in it that Livvy mentally labeled “old lady.”

  She only knew one old lady who could even come close to a growl.

  “Mrs. Oakenthorpe?” she murmured in question, coming to enough to open her eyes a little.

  Only to find Sheriff Brock looking down at her in concern.

  “Hey there,” he said softly. As softly as a bear Shifter could manage anyway.

  “How are you feeling?” His brow creased, emotions playing across the backs of his eyes. “You gave us quite the scare, you know? When you wouldn’t wake up, I was… worried about you,” he admitted.

  “Yes, I’m fine,” she said hurriedly. “Why wouldn’t I be?

  She sucked in a hard breath as the image of a leering sunflower filled her mind. Memory hit hard and fast, clearing out the grogginess in a heartbeat.

  “Ohmigod! The sunflowers! Is everyone okay?”

  She pushed up from her position in the sheriff’s lap, a sigh of relief punching free as she spotted Fuzzy on Mrs. Oakenthorpe’s lap as the old lady drove Brock’s truck.

  The big bear lady offered Livvy a toothy grin and waved a massive paw. It was surreal, seeing a bear drive. She barely fit into the driver’s seat but handled the truck like a pro. Pro destruction derby driver that was.

  “Watch the road!” Brock and Livvy shouted simultaneously.

  Mrs. Oakenthorpe swerved to avoid a mailbox, grinning cheerfully.

  “You’re okay! You’re okay! I was so worried. Yesyesyes!” Fuzzy chose that moment to launch himself across the truck cab and into Livvy’s arms.

  “Yes, Fuzz. I’m okay. I promise,” she chuckled as the little dog tried to lick her all over. He shook so much wagging his tail he almost ended up on the floorboard.

  “I was s-s-so scared,” he sniffled, paws on her chest. “I-I-I thought those p-plants h-h-had…” his eyes filled with tears and he wailed, throwing himself into her arms.

  “Shhh, it’s okay.” She hugged him tightly. “I’m okay. We’re all okay. I promise.”

  “Yesyesyes!” He licked her face again or tried to. She chuckled and fended him off.

  “You’re trampling me,” she laughingly told him, not unkindly shoving him off her to sit on the seat next to their bear driver. He moved over to resume his seat in Mrs. O’s lap.

  Another swerve and she reached out for something to hold on to. Her hand contacted Brock’s shoulder and she froze, looking straight ahead. The shoulder her hand was resting on was bare. As in not clothed. Naked. Her fingertips skittered this way and that. Then she spoke.

  “Sheriff, why are you naked?” she asked, rather proud of herself for keeping her voice level and even.

  Being in the arms of a hot, naked guy post awesome (obviously, since she was involved) vehicular sex session was one thing. Being in the lap of a naked law enforcement officer while a shifted bear drove his truck was another. She was fairly certain at least one of the two was illegal. Possibly both. Could bears even get driver’s licenses?

/>   “I’m a bear Shifter.” His eyes twinkled with amusement.

  “Yes, yes! I get that. I didn’t ask for your family tree!” Her voice was sharp with impatience. “I asked why you’re naked.”

  “For a supposedly educated witch, you’re a little short on the basics. Aren’t you, sweetheart?”

  His lips quirked, taking his already handsome face to panty-wettingly gorgeous. She hissed beneath her breath. Insufferable man.

  “What do you mean… basics?”

  “Clothes don’t survive the shift.”

  He winked as Mrs. O slid the truck to a stop at the end of the dirt track to Livvy’s cottage. Sideways. Livvy was impressed. The bear would have made a half decent rally or getaway driver…

  She clung to Brock’s broad shoulders—his very naked broad shoulders—and then let go like she’d been burned.

  “Right.”

  Shifting left the Shifter naked. Good to know.

  “Hey! What are you doing?” she demanded as he opened the door and slid out of the truck with her in his arms. “I can walk by myself!”

  He gave her a firm look. “You were unconscious, Livvy. You worried me. I need to make sure you’re okay.”

  “Yeah.” She huffed a little. “I guess as sheriff you have to make sure I’m okay. Town payroll and all that.”

  She didn’t mention him hitting her with his truck or throwing her in a cell yesterday. If he could play nicely, so could she.

  “Not as sheriff, no,” he said in a low voice, pausing before he shouldered her front door open. Was it her imagination or were his shoulders a little wider than normal?

  Walking across to the comfortable chair by the fire, he paused for a moment in front of it to look at her. Darkness and something else filled his eyes.

  “As a man,” he murmured and then set her down gently in the chair’s cushioned embrace.