Motherducking Witches: Bad Magic Bounty Hunter

By Michelle Fox

Hey, all you cool cats and vampires, I'm witch and bounty hunter Sylvie Orion. Or at least I was. Who and what I am now seems to be up for debate. I mean, other than the fact I've been named the world's most wanted witch.

(The reward is buy-your-own-island money. Hex, I even want to turn myself in)

Currently, I'm missing my soul and all the magic that comes with it. For extra athame-in-the-eye fun, I'm being held prisoner by Shifter Nation. Whoa Goddess, do they have plans for me. Plans no sane witch would ever agree to be a part of.

I never wanted to start a war.

I just wanted to live a quiet, witchy life.

But my soul has its own destiny, and if I don't get it back, I'll have no say in what happens next.

Hold on to your wands, beyotches, because this witch never says die.

The next installment of Bad Magic Bounty Hunter series is a full length novel and a perfect read for fans of Stephanie Plum and Twilight.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Michelle Fox
• Release date: Jun 20, 2020
• ISBN: 9781393121862

Book preview

Chapter One

Vitor was kissing me. Hard.

And duck me with a hex, I kind of liked it.

He did this thing with his tongue and fangs that sent shivers up and down my spine. I leaned into him, yielding to the demands of his lips. Wow. We should've kissed a long time ago. This was amazing. My inner sex witch was wetter than moon charged water.

He moved to my neck, nuzzling with soft lips before plunging his fangs into my flesh. I arched back and gasped.

Vitor pulled back and looked at me. He pushed my hair away from my face. Are you all right?

I nodded, too overwhelmed to speak.

He scorched me with another kiss. I tasted my blood on his tongue and felt the strength in his arms. He was sweeping me into his orbit, and it made my heart pound. Before I was completely gone, I turned my head, breaking the kiss.

What is wrong? He frowned at me, both handsome and deadly all at once.

I wanted to say, 'everything', but my lips had a different script. I am always all right with you, First Night. I cupped his cheek in a tender touch.

It was a close call tonight. He closed his eyes, his lips thinned, and his brow furrowed. I was almost too late. They were ready to burn you.

Their phony High Priestess cannot stop me. A fierce indignation throbbed in my voice. I was super mad about something. It was making my inner sex witch sad. Make love, not war, right?

We have to be smarter.

How can I outsmart stupidity? Pride? Ego? I was seething and broke free of his embrace to pace our small bedchamber. A cozy fire snapped in the hearth. They have forgotten the truth of who they are.

You cannot say that to them. They are deaf to it.

I stopped and looked at him. What should I do, First Night?

He made a 'calm down' gesture with his hands. Persuade them. Appeal to them.

Hold them accountable. Strip them of power. Force them to confront the lies they tell themselves. I tapped a finger on my lips. The urge to rain righteous retribution down upon all supernaturals was so strong, it hurt to resist.

You cannot afford to anger them before we have secured the portal.

I deflated, anger evaporating. You’re right. What would I do without you? You are my calm, my strength, my constant.

He took my hand and kissed it. For eternity. You are my heart, my light, my destiny.

But we must do something, Vitor. Every time I come back, they are more and more lost to me. So few remember the true danger and the cost of failure.

We will figure out something, but tonight there is nothing to do but this...

His mouth claimed mine and we were kissing again. Tingles zoomed all over my body, and heat pooled in my core. My inner sex witch floored it, kicking my libido from zero to the speed of light. My pants flooded...

...with something cold? What?

I startled, and the world rearranged itself. The living room of my new prison came into focus first, and I registered the cold beer fizzing between my legs second. I'd fallen asleep and the bottle had tipped from my slack hand right into my crotch.

I blinked and rubbed my eyes until I was fully in the real world. It'd been a dream. A stupid, impossible dream. Kind of like when Vitor had fanged me and we'd flashbacked to another time and place together, except not real. That had been a memory, this had been...a wish. Vitor was gone, and I wasn't the First Witch. And the word portal had come up before, but as far as I knew, they didn't exist.

Visions could be wrong, right? I sure hoped so. I had enough problems without more shit getting real.

Stumbling into the kitchen, I set my beer bottle in line with the others and grabbed a towel to clean up. I wiped my crotch and then cleaned up the couch. Thankfully, it was leather, and the beer did no harm.

My own leather outfit—pants, a vest, and jacket—had some kind of self-cleaning charm and was fine after a few seconds. If only there was a charm strong enough to clean up my life. Or empty a bladder before it exploded. Damn. All the beer had caught up with me and it had brought Niagara Falls with it. I power walked up the stairs and to the one bathroom in the house.

Naturally it was occupied.

I knocked.

Nothing.

I knocked harder.

They growled.

My bladder did not have the capacity for prolonged negotiations. I resorted to the lowest blow I could think of outside of physically challenging whatever shifter was trying to claim the bathroom as their sole domain.

Don't make me pee on your clothes. I pounded the door some more and hoped whoever was inside didn't know I had no idea where their clothes were. I just wanted to leverage the fact that shifters were sensitive about who peed where and on what. Hurry up!

I just got in the tub. A masculine voice growled and boomed its way through the door.

At four am? Seriously? I didn't ask what kind of crazy person bathed at four am, because I'd recently learned that shifters bathed at all hours. I knew this because I'd been detained in the Packlands of Cleveland for the last several weeks. I'd had ample time to observe shifters' serious bubble bath fetish up close and personal. 

I kicked the door, which sans my steel toe boots, hurt me more than it made any noise. Ow. I thudded my fist into the wood again. There. That sounded more serious. 

Water sloshed. The door opened and a hairy chest met my gaze.

I looked up and then up some more, and then up even more, searching for a face. This shifter was as tall as a basketball player and as muscular as a serious weightlifter. The eyes, when I finally tilted my head back enough to see them, were like blue sky on a perfect summer day. Face wasn't bad, either, but my bladder hurt too much to care about anyone's looks.

I really needed to stop drinking so much beer so late at night. It wasn't drowning my sorrows so much as causing way too much bathroom drama.

Super tall shifter dude ducked to clear the door frame and stepped into the hallway, one hand clutching a towel around his waist, water dripping into a puddle around his feet. With his free hand, he made a karate chop gesture toward the bathroom. Go.

Thanks. I hurried into the bathroom and shut the door. I made my bladder happy and contemplated the full tub, bubbles mounding the water like sea foam. My life sure had taken a turn, the least of which was navigating bathroom politics in a house full of shifters.

The Packlands sprawled south of Cleveland, forming a network of farms and forest, broken only by country roads. The shifters shared houses only because it was difficult to add a modern kitchen and bathroom to a dugout den. Mostly they lived outside and came inside only for the things a den couldn't provide.

After the battle with the High Priestess, the shifters stashed me in a farmhouse that listed to the side from age. Judging by the large, beige bricks that made up the basement, the house had been built around 1920.  They'd updated the inside like they planned on making an HGTV show, though.

The kitchen was light gray with marble counters and top shelf appliances. A huge flat screen TV with a massive sectional sofa made up the living room. One of the three bedrooms held a bank of computers and tablets that the shifters seemed to use as communal property. The bathroom had a jacuzzi tub and dual sinks. Shifters loved a good bath. Every time I had to pee, there was a shifter in the tub.

They were used to peeing outside, though, making the toilet the least used thing in the house, but I was a witch, and I wasn't about to drop my pants in public. The last thing I needed was anyone talking about the First Witch's ass.

Make that the former First Witch's ass. The High Priestess had my soul and the power that went with it. Before, I'd been the world's worst witch. Now? I was the worst witch who’d screwed up being the reincarnation of the First Witch,

Also, I'd managed to get the First Vampire killed, and the First Shifter's previous hobby was punching me in the face and trying to take my soul for himself. I was fantastic at being awful. It was almost karmic. Actually, it probably was my karma. Or whatever sliver of it I’d been left with. (Obviously I had the shittiest sliver, the High Priestess got the good one.)

I frowned at myself in the mirror as I washed my hands. Why was I sticking around in Shifterdom again? It wasn't because I could trust Sheridon. I couldn't. But the High Priestess would probably kill me, which meant I wasn't safe with the witches. I also suspected the vampires wouldn't like me too much considering what had happened to Vitor.

So, shifters it was.

Enemy of my enemy and all that. Plus, when you're bleeding out, you can't get picky about who saves you. The shifters had tended to my wounds and set me up in my current digs. By set me up I meant, made it clear I wasn’t to leave.

So...yeah. It was more like prisoner of the enemy of my enemy. Woo. Fun times.

Still, it was as good a safe house as any. The shifters wouldn't let anyone near me, and I had a chance to regroup and figure out what to do with all the nothing I had. Plus, there was food, and I didn’t have to clean anything.

But what does a witch with crap magic and missing most of her soul do next?

Hell if I knew the answer to the question, but I thought about it a lot.

A firm rap sounded on the door. You almost done in there?

Coming. I wiped my hands on a towel and opened the door. Mr. Too Tall met me with a half smile that wasn't friendly, but it wasn't not friendly either. I gave him my 'I'm harmless' smile—what other message could I offer given my current situation? Thanks.

No problem. His smile grew a little warmer.

I don’t think we’ve met. I'm Sylvie.

Bane. I was just assigned.

Oh. You’re my new babysitter. It wasn’t a question. There’d been an ongoing rotation of shifters who kept an eye on me and made sure I stayed where I was told. They didn’t tie me up under the assumption that I couldn’t outrun them. I’d like to say they were wrong, but my distinct lack of any workout routine whatsoever at all proved them right.

Yup. I’m the new babysitter. He winked at me.

I thought about shaking hands, but he was kind of naked and wet. A handshake seemed too formal, and I wasn’t going to wink back. I settled for a lift of the chin, which he returned. Night.

I moved to return to my bedroom, but he put a heavy hand on my shoulder. I froze and met his eyes, which had gone stormy.

You want to join me? His gaze flicked to my chest and then back up to my eyes.

Don't do it, Sylvie. Whatever you do, don't look down. I bit my lip and...what else? Looked down. Yuppers, the towel had a new rod to hang on. A big one by the looks of it.

I considered his offer for a second. Life had gotten lonely for all that the bathroom was always occupied, and Bane looked at me like I was delicious. I wasn't immune to flattery.

Shifters had sex drives on speed. This wasn't my first offer, and I suspected it wouldn't be my last. If I was into orgies, shifters would be ideal lovers. They had stamina like whoa, and they tended to be handsome, from muscular athletic builds to GQ suit types. Even the geeks were super cute.

So far, I'd said no. Sleeping with the enemy wasn't my strategy just yet, but they were getting to me. I could feel my resolve crumbling, although it wasn't dust yet.

Thanks, but I'm going back to bed. I jerked a thumb in the general direction of my room.

"I could join you then." He licked his lips, his tongue long and pointy and definitely strong enough to...

I put up my hand and looked away. Tonight's not good for me. But thanks anyway. I turned my back on him and bolted to my room. My heart pounded, ready for anything but sleep.

Damn. Bane had got me going. Or maybe that dream with Vitor had put my libido into overdrive and looking for an outlet. I hadn’t jonesed this bad for a D-wand in a long time.

But I couldn’t fall into bed with every shifter I met. I didn’t know the game yet. What was the agenda and where did I fit in? I didn’t know, so I held back, waiting and watching.

I tucked myself into the creaky metal frame bed and hoped for sleep instead of unrequited lust. My body changed gears at a glacial pace, but eventually I drifted off.

***

A white light flared and seared my eyes, yanking me from sleep and into consciousness. I put up a hand to block it, but the light penetrated my flesh. That didn’t seem like a good sign. Last I’d checked, I wasn’t a window.

Sylvie. A high-pitched voice called for me.

What? I reached for a pillow to smash over my face, but my hand came up empty. I looked around the room, but only saw black. Can you turn that off? I'm going blind over here.

The light dimmed from super nova to LED energy saving bulb. The room remained black, and my body was strangely weightless.

What's going on? I strained to see past the light and the darkness. Was this another sex dream?

It's me, Sylvie.

Me who? I peered into the light and made out the shape of a woman with long, flowing hair. Hair that drifted in a breeze I couldn't feel.

You, Sylvie. I'm you.

Oh. You're my soul. Okay. Things made more sense now. I was awake, but not in the real world. I was in the gray space between dimensions, where spirits could meet.

The light bobbed, like a head nodding.

I looked at it with renewed curiosity. How often did someone get to see their spiritual insides from the outside? How is this happening?

"The High Priestess is asleep, but I do not have much time.

Okay. So talk.

Find Vitor. He knows what to do.

Vitor's dust. I shook my head.

The light went utterly still for a beat. What do you mean?

You didn’t know?

Tell me what happened. Command rang in her voice. My soul had some chops.

The High Priestess took off his head, and he turned to dust.

The light dimmed, shrinking until it was just a nightlight. In one spot?

I frowned. Yeah. I guess.

My soul flared a little brighter. Then you must go get him.

The dust?

The light nodded.

But he's...dust. Vampires don't come back from that.

He is more than a vampire. Make a sacred circle under a new moon. Pour his dust in the center and say the Chant of Life.

Circle. New moon. Chant. Got it. That'll bring him back? My heart leaped in my chest. Vitor had been a pain in the ass, but he was competent, and he understood what was happening better than I did. And I remembered