Wing Witch

By Mariah Thayer and K.O. Newman

Sookie was a goddess in the kitchen, but a mediocre witch at best. Her spells seemed to take on a life of their own, to often hilarious–usually harmless–results. She just wanted her wings to be tastier. It was only a little spell, a few herbs and spices added to the sauce, a little rhyme to bind it together, and just a taste of razzle dazzle. Instead of bringing customers back for more finger-licking goodness, she found herself with a shifter problem. Specifically, a sexy, horny and tad bit geeky soul mate, who just wants to love her (and, ahem, love her). Worst part? The spice seemed to have settled in her girly bits, which sets them and her soul on fire every time she sees him.

Roman, a maine coon shifter, was without a cluster or a place in the world. When the mating call hit him between the eyes, he heeded it instantly. His body was burning for his one true mate. If only he could convince her to give him a chance.

Something is disrupting the careful balance holding the spells in place that keep the town safe. Eyes are pointed at Roman and the other supernatural beings who have begun settling in Winter Haven, and the call to kick them to the curb comes all too soon. Can Sookie learn to accept her mate's claim and heed the call of their bond? Will Roman lose the one connection he has left? Can love win the day and set about righting the wrongs, or are they destined to be star-crossed lovers? And what will happen to Witchy Wings, stuck in the middle of all of the chaos? 'Cause all Sookie wanted to do was show people nerdy girls can make hot sauce too.

• Language: English
• Publisher: Mariah Thayer
• Release date: Jul 21, 2023
• ISBN: 9798215555033

Mariah Thayer

Author of urban fantasy and the occasional paranormal romance. Inked lady, writing mama, and traveling weird girl.

Book preview

PROLOGUE

Sookie

The view out the kitchen window was heavenly. The mountains that surrounded our little town had started to turn, and the first hints of autumn were in the air. I wish I could have enjoyed it. Instead I was sitting at the bar of my restaurant, my head pounding as I went through receipts.

Well, we’re ahead of last week. Jemma tossed her rag at the bucket that sat behind the bar, the splash it made had me rolling my eyes. Tips ain’t bad.

The bar is the only reason we keep our head above water. Rubbing the dip between my eyebrows, where all my tension seemed to live, I sighed. Who was I kidding? Winter Haven wasn’t big enough to have a restaurant like Witchy Wings. Not that people turned their noses up. We just weren’t like those little towns in my books. No one comes for the theme nights, or to watch Stargate on the big screen. They come for booze. They come to drown their sorrows, not play Dungeons and Dragons while staring at Harrison Ford taking on the Empire. I dropped the receipt I was trying to read, and sighed. And they certainly don’t come for my cooking.

Don’t you dare knock your cooking, babes. My bestie scooted to the front of the bar–how she could do that and not collect a night's worth of sticky spills, I had no idea. Well, I did, it was witchcraft. Literally. Jemma was one of the top spell casters growing up. While I had languished close to the bottom, always coming up with sticks of butter in transfiguration instead of the pretty butterfly that she could create with two hands tied behind her back. Your wings are fucking epic.

Maybe Winter Haven just isn’t ready for modern bar food yet. My head hit the bar and I blew out a long breath. Is the outside world really that bad?

Wouldn’t know. Jemma popped her gum with a long fingernail and winked. Ain’t been out of Winter Haven. I subsist on the same shit that Donny Darko delivers on Sundays.

Don’t call him that. I tucked the receipts back into my little folder and stood, stretching my back until it popped. Jake is a perfectly nice boy.

He’s a year younger than us, and has clearly dug into that emo phase for life. 

She shrugged. Stepping off the bar, her feet floated to the ground with a twinkle of magic, bright pink like her gum. If Jemma wasn’t my absolute bestie, and my biggest cheerleader, I would fucking hate her guts for being too damned perfect. He stares.

I just want them to know how good the food is here, to come in and gobble up my wings like they mainline pitchers of Miller and Sangria from the bar. Maybe stay for an episode of TNG. My shoes echoed hollowly through the empty restaurant. My hands smacked the swinging doors to the kitchen, and I was greeted by the sight of golden leaves tumbling across the window in the street lights. I could almost smell the breeze. Maybe a little magic could persuade them.

What was that? Jemma shouted from the front of house.

Nothing. My eyes went to the rows of spices and herbs that lined the stainless steel shelves. You can go if you want. I’m going to do some more inventory then I’ll lock up.

You sure? Her head popped into the kitchen, making me jump.

Yeah. Head home. Mr. Mephistopheles is waiting for you. I shooed her away. I’ll see you at six.

In the PM you mean? Jemma grinned at me and pulled me into a warm hug. You are an amazing witch, Sook.

Not what everyone says. I held her tight, feeling the warmth that she offered me. They don’t even bother whispering anymore.

Don’t listen to those assholes, you’re my favorite witch. Pressing a quick kiss to my cheek she swept out of the restaurant, locking the door behind her. Not like Haven had any kind of problem with robbery. We only had a sheriff to keep out any stragglers lost in the mountains from staying long enough to see anything that their mundane brains couldn’t handle.

As silence settled around me, I let my fingers walk over the jars of herbs, ticking a few down into my hands before I turned to my trusty mortar and pestle. I need something to pull attention, something to spark interest, and then something to bring them in the door. A dash of catnip went into the stone bowl, followed by some holy basil and touch of wormwood. After a quick muddle I added some oil to bind it and set it in the moonlight.

Goddess who looks down from above, I breathed as I imagined pulling my power from my center and infusing the herbs with the lavender threads of magic that I tugged from my soul. As always, it felt like it was tangled up in another bond. Knotting and catching as I pulled harder, pushing the meager magic into my spell. Please bless this little witch with the attention she needs, guide those who need the labor of my hands most, give me the ability to show my worth. Scraping the herbs from the bottom of the bowl, I anointed my third eye, my throat, the palms of my hands, and my heart before stirring the rest into the buffalo sauce I had been making. The batch was big enough that no one would taste the extra herbs mixed in. But the moment that it touched the hot sauce, the entire things went up like a fucking roman candle, setting off all the smoke alarms, and dumping a hefty dose of fire smothering foam over my stove.

Well, shit. I wiped the dense chemicals off my face. At least I got the lid on first. Carefully, I tipped said lid up and checked the contents. Barely charred. I let the lid clatter shut again, and sighed as I heard Horatio, our one and only firefighter, rattling at the front door. It’s out! I shouted.

Gotta check, Sookie! he shouted. Which I knew he would. This wasn’t the first fire ever at Witchy Wings. Certainly not the first fire in the building, which had been in my family for literal centuries.

I grabbed a rag from the pile of clean laundry and wiped my hands and face as I went to the front door to let the witch in. Spell might have gone sideways–no shocker there–but I had saved the vat of wing sauce. I could ask Jemma to craft something better another day.

It’s out, I repeated as a way of greeting, but Horatio just pushed past me and stomped into the kitchen. If you get any of the repellent into my sauce, I will have your head!

1

Roman

The sun was setting rapidly over the trees, the arid high desert air cooling all-too quickly. It smelled like dust and sagebrush and cottonwood trees out here at Pueblo Lake, and complemented by the slow whisper of waves sliding over the rocky beach, I was in heaven. Missouri had been miserable to travel through, too humid and wretched with ticks and bush-mites–Kansas had been far too flat. Colorado, though, was a wealth of natural beauty. I didn’t consider myself particularly outdoorsy, per-se, but I was a shifter, and a cat shifter at that. Felines of any stripe preferred open air to crowded cities.

I was running out of money, also, so camping out here at the lake for ten dollars a night seemed like a decent idea while the weather was still nice. Close enough to town to stop in at a trucker’s lounge or the local rec center for a shower and then in to work. I’d already gotten hired on for a seasonal gig, so the money issue would be solved quickly. Then, in about four months–maybe six, if they extended the contract–I’d be on the move again before I wore out my welcome.

With a sigh I unfolded my camp chair and dropped my pack on the lakeshore. My fishing pole strapped to the side of my bag wasn’t my sole source of food, thank the gods, or I’d have starved by now. Like I said, I wasn’t particularly outdoorsy. Not in my human form, anyway. Wouldn’t be the first time I’d spent a week as a cat just to catch birds and insects for my supper, but I sure as hell preferred to eat real food.

I set a paper bag of groceries down by my feet as I settled into the chair to watch the sun go down. Rotisserie chicken, tortillas, and hot sauce that would have to last me for dinners and lunches for a few days, some apples and peanut butter, and some protein bars. Couldn’t afford prepared meals until I got paid. Once the money was coming in steadily at my next job, I’d sleep in an extended stay and actually cook. Hadn’t had the chance for a couple months.

Contemplating the prospect of clean sheets and eyeing the sky as the first stars began winking overhead, I was licking my fingers clean from my slapped-together meal when a prickling wave passed over me, and a hook lodged in my chest.

That hook dug itself deep into my soul, plugging into a void I had not noticed until now but that felt clear as day to me with the tangible magic now tugging hard on my center. The ache it produced rolled through me, and I moaned. The sound was intimate and embarrassing out in the open. It spoke of an ancient, primal need I’d never thought I’d feel. 

Nothing else mattered. The job would have to wait. I’d call the hiring manager tomorrow if I remembered.

My pack was on my back and the rest of my camping gear in my arms to be hastily thrown into my truck. I was back on the highway and pointed northwest. Hopping onto I-70, I frowned at my phone screen as the bars dropped and my signal went dead. There was plenty out here, lots of little mountain towns that could be calling to me now, but something about the way the map went blank as I was pulled off the interstate and onto an unmarked little road off a dingy exit into a canyon at night made me antsy.

The tug on my chest only intensified. Wasn’t long, though, before I was greeted with a hand-painted wooden sign in green, looping white text declaring that I had found myself at the town limits of Winter Haven.

Whether it was the magic barrier I felt myself pressing through as I approached or the shock, I froze, my eyes fairly bulging out of my head. My foot pressed the brake pedal and I drew to a complete stop in the middle of the little inroad, headlights glaring at that sign.

Winter Haven was a myth.

A sanctuary for witches over a century old that had disappeared from the modern world. Protected with magic. Unmarked on any map, only one road in or out.

Sure as anything, the sweet agony tugging at my soul was drawing me here, like the gravitational pull of a black hole. Inescapable. A shudder rolled through me, and the hairs all over my body prickled. Drawing a breath deep into my lungs and blowing it out through pursed lips, I shook my head.

To boldly go where no man has gone before, I muttered.

Foot on the gas once more, I began a cautious crawl forward beyond the sign that made