Wickedest Witch (3 page)

“
Plans change.”

“
So do the seasons. So why don’t you make like a bird and migrate somewhere else?”

The idiot laughed and damn him if the rumble didn’t strike a chord and thaw a spot inside.
“Lady, I am liking you more and more.”

“The feeling is not mutual.”

Despite her attempts to give him the brush off, he proved tenacious. “Come on, you know you think I’m hot. What say you and I head over to my place and get to know each other in a more intimate sense? The springs in my mattress could use some exercise.” He didn’t just say it, he waggled his brows at her suggestively.

The
unmitigated gall of him. Evangeline’s eyes widened at his crude attempt to get in her panties, then she scowled as said panties turned damp, her body not minding his temerity one bit. “I’m going to pretend you didn’t just say that. Now leave before I turn you into a toad.” Her unexpected bodily reaction made her tone and words harsh. She didn’t like the baffling erotic interest her body had for this stranger.
Has he cast a lust spell on me?
Or was she that starved for male attention that any thug with a cock between his legs would do?

“
A toad? Don’t they have long tongues? A girl who likes her oral. Lucky you, I love to give and receive.”

“That wasn’t meant to be an invitation,” she snapped.

“Really? Because it sounded like foreplay to me. Tell you what, how about instead of you making me into a frog, I turn into your bucking bronco and you can be the cowgirl that likes to ride astride.” He said this with a cocky grin, a thrust of his hips, and finished with a wink.

Her jaw dropped at his effrontery, then tightened. She could hear the barkeep’s guffaws as he unabashedly listened in.
The nerve! I’ll teach him to fuck with a witch.
She ignored the titillating vision he painted even as her body reacted, her nipples tightening in interest.

Drawing on her inner power, and coiling it for use,
Evangeline waggled her fingers and...nothing happened. Frowning, she wiggled them again and pushed harder at her magic, aiming it right at his impossible to miss bull’s-eye of a chest. Again, nada.

The drunken idiot laughed. “Sorry, little witch. I’m protected against direct magic, being a shifter and all, but I promise I can still make lots of magic
happen in the bedroom.”

Figured the idiot with the crass pickup lines would be a bloody shifter and immune to her spells.
Darned nuisances. Where was animal control when you needed them? Then again, why have someone else handle the problem when she was more than capable? Evangeline had more than one trick up her sleeve. Hooking her foot around the bottom of the stool he perched on, she yanked it and dumped her would-be suitor on the floor. She also poured her glass of wine over him for good measure.

As he lay there looking dumbfounded, she laughed
aloud, her voice husky with derision. “Consider that a no,” she said with a cold smile before sidestepping his prone body and heading for the door. She swept out into the night, puzzled at the fact her pulse raced and her cheeks were flushed with heat. Good thing her glamour hid the signs. She’d hate for word to get around that an animal managed to fluster her. Now if only she could figure out how he’d done it.

How did that uncouth beast turn me on? Even stranger, why does a part of me wish I’d accepted his offer and gone back to his place to check out the springs in his mattress?

Ryker rose from the bar floor and shook himsel
f—
like a wet dog, wine dropsflyin
g—
before sitting back on his stool. Taking the towel Barry handed him, he rubbed at his damp hair, still in awe she’d dared to not only put him on his ass, but then dumped her drink on him to boot.

Fuck me
, that woman has spunk. Betcha she’d be wild in bed.
But could she handle a man like him? Those bony hips of hers could cause some serious bruises.
Maybe if I took her from behind, I could minimize the damage. Then again, I’d first have to convince her to spread her legs far enough to enjoy herself.
Somehow, he didn’t think she’d part those thighs too quickly or easily.

The challenge intrigued him.
Shot down or not, he couldn’t help oddly lusting after her. He didn’t come across too many women with her kind of balls.

Barry
clucked his tongue in reprimand. “You just had to antagonize her, didn’t you? Count yourself lucky you are a shifter, or right now I’d probably be mopping up a puddle.”

“
You’re exaggerating. I bet you she’s a pussy cat underneath all that attitude.

“A pussy cat?” His friend almost choked.
“More like a deadly cougar with sharp claws.”

“L
ucky for her I’ve got a broad back for scratching and super healing powers. I wonder what it takes to get her to purr,” Ryker mused.

“
You do realize you’re insane. Only a madman would risk his life trying to get close enough to try.”

A madman or a curious cat.
“All women have a soft spot. You just need to find it and stroke it just right.” With a tongue or dick. “Now, given I made her laugh and smile—”

“Because she dumped your sorry ass on the ground.”

“The how it occurred isn’t the point. I got her to do it, which means I won, so hand over another beer, bartender, and tell me more about this wicked witch.”

Ryker found his interest aroused—along with other parts—by her feisty attitude. The deadly tone she’d used when she threatened
him had sent shivers—of a good kind—up and down Ryker’s spine. Skinny or not, the female possessed courage, something Ryker rarely saw in women as they tended to find his size and reputation intimidating.
Even though I’d never hit a girl.
But not all women gave him a chance to prove he was a good guy at heart. Some took one look at him and assumed the worst. A prime example? His ex-fiancée. Was it any wonder he drank himself stupid after the way she humiliated him in front of family and friends?

He might only admit it to himself, but what a major turn
on it was to meet someone with the courage to stand up to him. What a pity, though, that the only available woman he’d found so far with that quality ended up a witch.
But damn, I bet she’s wicked in bed.

Barry handed him a frosty bottle of Coors Light
, as in light on the alcohol. Ryker shot him a dirty look, which his friend ignored. Rubbing his chin, Barry mused aloud, “What do I know about the wickedest witch? Not much.”

“It’s probably more than me. All I know is people say her name like she’s the kiss of death.”

“She i
s—
if you cross her. Again, so rumor says. You do know who her granddaddy is, right?”

“Um, no. Should I?”

“Rasputin.”

“Who?”

“Rasputin as in the Russian sorcerer who had the czar dancing to his tune like a puppet on strings until the attempted assassination. History has it they poisoned him and when that didn’t work, beat him, shot him four times, and then drowned him.”

“
And he survived?”

Barry’s head bobbed up and down. “Although, they thought he was dead when they fished him from the water. The
y buried him, then dug him up and set him on fire. And then shit got weird.”

“Weirder than their overzealous attempts to murder the man?”

“Apparently, he sat up, covered in flames, and walked away.”

“No fucking way.”

“Hey, I’m just telling it like it is. After that, though, Rasputin stayed away from politics. Some claim it’s on account his daughter chained him in a dungeon because he turned into a brain-eating zombie.”

“We had to do that to a great uncle of mine. He wouldn’t put his human skin back on after his wife died and started going after humans.”

“The point I was trying to make is she comes from some seriously evil stock.”

Ryker snorted. “
We all have family members we’d prefer to disown.” Ryker knew all about the family black sheep, or in his case, panther. Whatever you wanted to call him, his pack would prefer he made himself scarce. “What else do you know? She’s single, you were saying.”

“As far as I know
, and self-employed. She’s got her own company. Wicked Incorporated.”

“What does she do?”

“Odd jobs. Specialty jobs. Kind of like you, as a matter of fact. She’s talent for hire. If you have a problem, be it a protection detail, surveillance, location of an artifact or person, she’ll do it, for a steep price.”

“Is she any good?”

“From what I hear? The best. Although, her methods aren’t always the nicest. She tends to have a heavy hand when it comes to questioning people. Or should I say she’s keen on threats and easy with the magic.”

“Threats are an effective way of getting information. Nothing wrong with bending a few laws, breaking a few fingers
, and dangling someone off a high balcony to get them to spill the beans.”

A sound escaped Barry
, a cross between a choke and a laugh. “Fuck me, I should have known you’d be the last person to think her tactics were too rough.”

“Are you calling me a thug?”

“If the brass knuckles fit.”

“
Who needs those when a bare fist will do?” Ryker grinned and held up his weapon of choice before thumping it on the bar.

“You are such an idiot.”

“And you need to dump out this piss you call a beer and hand me a bottle of the real stuff.”

“
You know, you’re really making me wish she could have turned you in a frog just so I could have thrown you in that radioactive pond and watched you run from those mutant flies,” Barry muttered as he handed over a frosty Bud.

“
As if a few isotopes would hurt me. I come from solid stock.”

“
I wonder what your mom would say if she heard that.”

Ryker winced.
The last time someone implied his mother was less than svelte, they spent a few days healing from the beating she gave them. Mother was a touch sensitive about her weight. “You’re getting off topic. I want to know more about this witch.”

“Why? You’re not planning to see her again
, are you? I think she made it pretty clear where you stood.”

“
Can’t say as I blame her. I’m not exactly at my best.” Understatement. He currently looked like a homeless slob. The next time he ran into her, and he would, he’d make sure to make a better impression because for the first time since he’d left his parents’, he felt like smiling again. And he owed it all to one sassy witch.

Like it or not, we will meet again. And next time, I’
ll be ready for her.

The brisk ride through the late night sky, the stars lighting her way as she flew on her bristle broom, did much to cool her anger. Alone, she couldn’t help but replay, with a snicker in her mind, how she’d dumped the cocky shifter on his ass. The look on his face? Priceless.

Men were all the same. A
lways assuming women were weak creatures who would drop their panties with any crude pickup line. Not her. She preferred a man with manners, grooming, and if he wasn’t model good-looking, at least a modicum of sense so they could converse without her wanting to rip out his tongue and shove it where the sun didn’t shine. Of course, what she wanted and what she got were two different things. A reputation like hers was a great thing, except when it came to dating. Who wanted to claim a wicked witch as a girlfriend? Who wanted to date someone who could turn them into a roach if they pissed her off? Who wanted to love a woman who could not only take care of herself, but would do so with an evil cackle and true pleasure?

Wicked or not
, though, don’t I deserve love too?

Weak of her, she knew, yet she couldn’t help the stray thought, a thought she’d pondered more and more lately
, especially as plans for her sister’s wedding snowballed. Seeing her younger sibling so happy—bleh—so in love—gag—roused something in her. She wouldn’t exactly call it jealousy, but it was close. She envied what Isobel found.
Will I ever find someone who accepts me for who I am?

Once upon a time, she’d thought Derek might. Sure, he didn’t exactly provide her with intellectual conversation, but he’d at least given her companionship. Usually in her bed or his, away from curious eyes. They didn’t really date, or go out for dinner
much. They fucked. He went home. It wasn’t the most fulfilling of relationships, but at least it was something, and better than being constantly alone.

But I like being alone.
Or so she convinced herself. Who wanted to share their space with a man who would demand half of her closet and drawers? Who would leave his socks on the floor and commandeer the remote? Or worse, expect her to cook. Of course, she chose that moment to recall the dinner at her sister’s place as Isobel and her fiancé puttered together in the kitchen, chopping and measuring, sharing laughter and conversation as Evangeline rolled her eyes—secretly hating them for their happiness.