Genre: Urban Fantasy Romance
Witch’s Brew Book One
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Libby is an Enchantress—a witch gifted by the Goddess to conjure spells. When a magical presence is detected around a recent string of feline slayings, Libby takes the case to uncover the reasons behind the odd deaths. Much to her displeasure, the coven also sends a sexy warlock, Kale, to assist her.
While having the muscle around proves to be useful, fighting the attraction between them is worse than a hex, especially considering Kale is keeping secrets. But soon, Libby has bigger problems than the elusive warlock when her spells turn up clues that point to something far more sinister than slaughtered cats.
Now Libby has landed herself in the midst of an uprising. She trusts no one and isn’t safe—not from the warlocks stirring up trouble. Not from the worrisome rebellion she can’t escape. And certainly not from Kale, who is weaving a very dangerous spell over her heart.
On the outskirts of town, leading back into Charleston, the streets were relatively quiet. For the most part, if any people were out and about they would be downtown to enjoy Charleston’s nightlife. Most around here, including warlocks and witches, lived a relatively normal life. Sadly, I wasn’t among them, and my “normal” involved a hunt for evil before it became danger.
In my hopes of keeping conversation to a minimum, I cranked the radio station, drumming my fingers on my thigh to the alternative song blasting through the speakers.
Kale didn’t appear to have the same wish. “Do you plan to tell me where we’re going?” I turned the music down and he continued, “With a gutted cat, no less.”
Glancing out of the corner of my eye, I noticed how his body filled my seat quite nicely. Too bad warlocks were men I avoided—I found getting with a warlock always led to disaster—because this warlock would be one to have some fun with.
While his looks might tempt me, the decision came years ago when I’d had enough of their egos, their need to be the tough guy, and their tendency to have their own agenda. My last attempt to respect warlocks ended at the age of twenty when one broke my heart. Since then, the only warlock I could stand was Peyton’s boyfriend, and even he walked a fine line of always needing to prove himself to me.
Lately, I’d stuck to the non-magical man, but those relationships hadn’t led to anything serious, nor did they belong on my fantastic memories list. Where warlocks had too much stuff, non-magical folk didn’t have enough. Needless to say, it’d been months since I heard the word date and my regions south had declared death a while ago.
I cleared my mind of unimportant things and set to answering him. “We’re going to Magnolia Cemetery.”
“I see.” He turned in his seat and set his hard stare onto me. “You’re an Enchantress?”
The rich nature of his voice made funny things awaken in my dead regions. Perhaps my libido wanted to be reincarnated. I quashed the thought with a fierce no. “Mm-hmm.” Two could play at the game he presented—if he wanted to assign labels, so could I. “You’re a Ward?”
Not like I needed the confirmation. Any warlock who worked for the coven received the title. “What’s your talent?”
I jerked my head to look at him and the car swerved before I straightened the wheel. “You draw runes?”
A hint of a smile turned up the corners of his mouth. “You look surprised.”
“I am,” I admitted with no shame. “I haven’t met a Ward who holds the talent of rune magic.” Glancing back at the road to avoid a crash, I shrugged to downplay my awe. “At least, not any from Charleston.”
“We are few and far between,” he replied, cool and collected.
My breath seemed lost in the state between shock and bewilderment. He appeared to hold back on the interesting talent. Intriguing, considering most warlocks I’d met would gush at the opportunity to prove their abilities over mine. My curiosity about the warlock next to me rose, especially since I needed to discover the reason he’d been assigned to the case. “How long have you lived in Charleston?”
Oh, this made no sense at all. We had our own Wards, who were talented in their own right, so we didn’t need Kale. I waited two breaths for him to answer, but he didn’t oblige me. “Where are you from?”
I blinked at his indifferent voice, keeping the wheel tight in my hands to ensure the SUV went straight, but looked at him. “Do you plan on telling me anything about you?”
“I just did.” He gave a halfhearted shrug. “I’m a Ward, who draws runes, and I live down south.”
I snorted loud enough to ensure he heard it. Elusive might be an understatement when it came to Kale Griffin. I almost laughed at the situation; I wanted warlocks to shut the hell up, and now one did and I’d rather he talked.
I had to wonder if he did it to get a rise out of me, since warlocks tended to do that, too, which is why I bit back the rest of my questions. He might want to play that game, but by the Goddess I wouldn’t feed into it. I slammed the accelerator down, ignoring the sexy warlock next to me. We had bigger problems.
The dead cat stinkin’ up my SUV reminded me of that.
About the Author:
Stacey Kennedy’s novels are lighthearted fantasy with heart-squeezing, thigh-clenching romance, and even give a good chuckle every now and again. But within the stories you’ll also find fast-paced action, life-threatening moments, and a big bad villain who needs to be destroyed. She lives in Southwestern Ontario with her husband and two children. If she’s not plugging away at a new story—which is rare because her muse is annoying—you’ll find her camping, curling up with the latest flick, or obsessing over Sons of Anarchy, Games of Thrones, Supernatural and Dexter.
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