Page 6 of Hexy Beast

“I only know how to get rid of inconvenient bodies because I watch a lot of true crime shows,” I tell him. “Don’t get your fur in a twist, Darius.”

He lets out a wolfish huff and then turns his eerie golden gaze on Leona. He takes her measure for a second before the air shimmers around him, taking on that wavy look the road gets on a hot day. There’s a distinct cracking sound as he starts to shift, going from wolf to man in two shakes of a good wand. All the oxygen leaves my lungs and my brain switches over to pure static for a second as I stare slack-jawed at him. Clothed Darius is hot if you go for that strong-jawed, classically handsome but roughed-up stoic type.

Is it rude to gawk at the guy who’s naked because he shifted back into human form? Maybe.

But I’d have to old-school gouge my eyes out not to drink him up.

His WitchyGram influencer–worthy shoulder-length dark hair brushes the tops of his broad shoulders. A dozen tattoos span the width of his wide, muscular chest. The long line of his back tapers down to a high, round ass that is more mouthwatering bare than in jeans (and that’s saying something). You’d think that would always be the case. You’d be wrong. And his legs? Fates alive, there are tree trunks less solid than his thighs. Even better? Everything—and I mean everything—is in proportion.

Then, as if he isn’t stark naked among strangers, he walks past me to his motorcycle, reaches inside the leather saddlebag attached to it, and pulls out a pair of jeans.

I let out an involuntary whine of disappointment.

I have never hated denim so much in my whole life, because if there’s a man who should be walking around naked all the time, it’s Darius Aetos. Unfortunately, Mr. Tall, Dark, and Snarly knows it.

Lifting a single dark eyebrow, he grins at me. “Get a good look, or should I wait to put these on?”

I do my best whatever-who-cares shrug of one shoulder. “Like I care either way.” Then, desperate not to start drooling and ruin everything, I turn back to Leona and give her another hug. “Ignore him. He’s just my ride.”

“Effie,” she says, her voice breaking with a mix of relief and agony, “what’s going on? What are you doing here?”

“Short answer? I used a hot-wire spell on his motorcycle and came after you before he could stop me,” I say. “Long answer? Considering I arrived with the head of one of Witchingdom’s criminal underworld werewolf packs, it’s better you and Mom have plausible deniability on that one. Trust me.”

Was that absolute bullshit? Yes. It was a total accident I got to the edge of the Killjoy Forest right as the Aetos pack arrived instead of after they’d made their move to steal the spell book. Or maybe it was the Fates working their magic in my favor for once—but I doubt it. Whatever the reason I got there in time to hear them discussing their plans for a little light thievery, I’m not about to look the gifting universe in the mouth. Still, even in moments like these, the oldest sister has to maintain her air of mystery.

“Speaking of our dear mother…” I pull a burner phone out of my jacket’s inside pocket and hand it to Leona. “She sent me with this.”

Even more than an oldest sister, a mother always knows when things are hitting the fan. And our mom? There are spy organizations that could benefit from her network of sources. Whatever is going on right now with Leona, Mom already has a plan to help. She always does.

The phone rings as soon as Leona takes it. “Hello?”

She walks a little bit away to talk to Mom, and I stick close to Darius—not because I want to, but because it seems prudent to watch out for what he does next, because I have a feeling he’s not going to take my whole borrowing-his-bike thing without a little payback. That’s okay. I’m a woman who can take a lot.

He, however, seems completely content to finish getting dressed without even giving me a quick glance. Okay, that’s a little annoying. I’m not exactly someone who gets ignored a lot. Usually, I’m the one starting the party and stirring the shenanigans, so this whole you-don’t-exist thing is getting under my skin—which he probably knows.

The big werewolf jerk.

He’s shoving his large feet into a spare pair of motorcycle boots when an earsplitting crack of thunder echoes across the forest and ten tiny pixies appear hovering in the air while holding up the queen’s itty-bitty throne. She peers down at us and mumbles something about interlopers and double-crossing werewolves who can’t be trusted.

Leona pockets the cell phone and makes her way over to where Darius and I are standing. Gone are the teary eyes and the splotchy skin. Leona holds her head high and looks eerily like our mom—the one woman who never fucks up and always has a plan. My sister really is that witch. I love it.

The pixie queen shoots us all an imperious glare, and the whole forest falls silent around us.

“You owe me a golden apple,” the queen says, pointing her absolutely gorgeous gold fan at Leona. Then she turns her attention to Darius, who is standing next to his motorcycle, now slightly dinged up from my highly skilled daredevil driving. She shoots him what must be the pixie equivalent of a flirty smile, which shows off her point-sharpened teeth. “And you were warned to never come back here again.”

“It wasn’t by choice,” Darius says without looking up from his motorcycle as he checks it over, grumbling under his breath with every new dent or scratch he finds.

The color rises in the queen’s cheeks at his refusal to look at her.

Yeah, welcome to the club, sister.

Leona steps forward, handing me a golden apple as she does, and drops her head in deference to the queen. “I need your help.”

“You need more than that, but before you get to the begging portion of the show, I want my apple.” She flicks a bit of pixie dust into the air, and the apple flies out of my hands over to her while The Liber Umbrarum appears out of thin air to float in the middle of the clearing.

Now that gets Darius’s attention. He lets out a low, growly sound that’s more wolfish than human.

“Don’t even think about it,” the queen snaps at him.