Page 3 of Knot His Type

Chapter Two

Jack

“Ipromise you, Jack Beaumont, one heat with me and you’ll forget about whoever it is who keeps you tied up in knots.”

My hands twitched to reach up and cover my face. Because I knew what was coming next.

“There’s only one knot you need, and it would fit perfectly inside me.”

Yep. There it was.

Lana Rogers was a gorgeous, vivacious witch who was on the verge of a heat. And she was sitting in my office across from my desk, begging me to rut her. This was a dance we’d been performing for months, and the outcome was always the same.

But Lana was unshakable.

She was also bonded to Morgan Rogers, a well-known warlock in Mystic Springs. It had been an arranged bond, which was why she was seeking someone to please her outside of their pairing. One of the many reasons I hated arranged bonds.

Unfortunately for both Lana and myself, she wasn’t the witch I wanted in my bed.

Looking past Lana and out into the station, I wished for some sort of emergency that could comfortably remove me from the situation. The only thing I saw was Carson Trenholm’s smug smile meeting me as he looked up from his desk.

Bastard.

Carson was one of three witchkind, myself included, who masqueraded as a human cop in order to keep track of what was happening in Mystic Springs. I wasn’t sure if any of them actually liked the job. It was just sort of what we did to look out for our kind.

I’d never sat out to become a police officer. It had just sort of happened.

By warlock standards, I was still a man in his prime. Even though I’d started my “career” as a police officer in London when Jack the Ripper was still making headlines, I didn’t look a day over 32 and didn’t feel a day under 800.

When I’d come to Mystic Springs, I had intended to get away from the dirt, grime, and ugliness of New Southchester, where I’d worked as a detective for nearly 80 years. That hadn’t been an easy feat, but not altogether impossible. As far as the humans of New Southchester were concerned, I was a third-generation law enforcement officer. Occasionally, before I’d left, a grizzled cop would slap me on the back and tell me how proud my dad would be if he could see me on the force.

They’d never realized my “dad” was me and that I wasn’t the least bit proud of what the senior Beaumont had done. Hiding amongst the human cops had allowed me to keep up with the dark deeds of the magical community. And despite my best efforts, nothing seemed to get any better.

For years, there’d been a contingent of warlocks who had the idea that witches were made merely for their ability to breed. Over time, the magic used to bond an unwilling witch to a warlock had gotten more sophisticated, but the goal was the same. Force the witch to bond with a warlock that she never would have chosen and then force that witch to carry as many of the warlock’s offspring as possible.

The mental and physical toll this took on the witch usually shortened her lifespan drastically. If the wear and tear of repeated forced births weren’t enough to wear her body down, the mental anguish she suffered would likely send her into a deep depression.

The rituals to bond witches to these warlocks were lengthy and involved. Numerous spells and potions were used to achieve the result the warlock wished for.

Now, the process had grown more streamlined. Modern medicine combined with witchcraft was sometimes a terrifying combination.

I’d spent years trying to stymie the traffic of witches in such a way. I’d hid in the shadows, listening to the rhetoric and plans the warlocks, known among the magical community as Traditionalists, made to force a witch into compliance.

The work had always been unnerving and exhausting, but it wasn’t until I’d met Claire Landon that it had become personal. The goal of trying to create a safer world for witches and warlocks had become one laser-focused.

Now, I simply wanted to find the warlocks who had tried to turn Claire into their broodmare. And when I found them, I wanted to do worse to them than what Claire had done to the two men who hadn’t been able to get away that day.

“I’d love to know where you went off to and who you were with.”

The feminine voice pulled me back from memories of Claire. The witch on the other side of my desk was nothing like Claire. Lana was all poise and practiced seduction. She sat in the rickety office chair looking like an expensive bauble that had been misplaced in a second-hand shop.

Where Claire was untamed fire and energy, this woman was carefully manicured chaos. Chaos because I knew that her current goal in life was to convince me to rut her. She’d been pursuing me for years and what Lana didn’t realize was that I was hopelessly lost to another witch, even if that connection was a false one.

Lana adjusted herself on the seat before me, the vinyl of the seat squeaking beneath her. It was a sure sign she was inching closer to her heat. Luckily, the other warlock on the force was mated, and the one witch wasn’t interested in women.

Then there was me. It was a little more complicated, but I knew that Lana’s heat wouldn’t trigger a response in me, either. But she didn’t know that and I wanted to keep it that way for as long as possible.

“Is there any other reason you’re here in my office, Lana?”

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