I Want Your Hex Read online

  I Want Your Hex (Hex Drive Book 3)

  Magic & Mayhem Universe

  Renee George

  Contents

  Foreword

  Blurb

  Acknowledgments

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  My Peculiar Road Trip (Peculiar Mysteries In Between)

  About the Author

  Paranormal Mysteries & Romances

  Foreword

  Blast Off with us into the Magic and Mayhem Universe!

  I’m Robyn Peterman, the creator of the Magic and Mayhem Series and I’d like to invite you to my Magic and Mayhem Universe.

  What is the Magic and Mayhem Universe, you may ask?

  Well, let me explain…

  It’s basically authorized fan fiction written by some amazing authors that I stalked and blackmailed! KIDDING! I was lucky and blessed to have some brilliant authors say yes! They have written brand new stories using my world and some of my characters. And let me tell you…the results are hilarious!

  So here it is! Blast off with us into the hilarious Magic and Mayhem Universe. Side-splitting books by fantabulous authors! Check out each and every one. You will laugh your way to a magical HEA!

  For all the stories, go to https://magicandmayhemuniverse.com/. Grab your copy today!

  Copyright © 2019 by Renee George

  I Want Your Hex (Hex Drive Book 3)

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents either are the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, businesses, companies, events, or locales is coincidental.

  This book contains content that may not be suitable for young readers 17 and under.

  The Author of this Book has been granted permission by Robyn Peterman to use the copyrighted characters and/or worlds created by Robyn Peterman in this book. All copyright protection to the original characters and/or worlds of the Magic and Mayhem series is retained by Robyn Peterman.

  Blurb

  When your crushing on a vamp, who happens to be a tramp, it's time to practice safe hex.

  When the Rogue Magic Control Agency is tasked with security for a secret meeting between the Midwest’s vampire king and the Baba Yaga, witch Drag Jones is bummed that the mission is so boring. Walk the perimeter. Make sure there are no traps. Don’t stake any bloodsuckers. Blah. Blah. Blah.

  Turns out, vampires are sneakier than she could have ever guessed, and their powers don’t register on her magic-sensing radar. And one, in particular, a gorgeous smart-ass named Baz, has her rethinking celibacy. She can't decide if she wants to stake him or kiss him. Given the right motivation, she might do both.

  Vampire Baz Delgados is ninth in line to the Ravenblood throne, and head of security for the king, his older brother. When Baz first spots the pink-haired cutie in combat boots, he can't take his eyes off her. Something about the beautiful witch sings to his undead soul.

  Unfortunately, an ancient enemy threatens not only the burgeoning new alliance between vampires and witches but also the lives of everyone Baz and Drag love. They must work together to fight this new evil, or they’ll lose everything … including each other.

  Acknowledgments

  I have to thank my favorite cookie and one of my besties in the universe Robyn Peterman for allowing me, once again, to play in her sandbox. This world has so many hilarious roads, and it allows for so much creative freedom! I adore you, darling!

  And, as always, I have to thank the other Robbin in my life, my sister. I love you to the moon and back times infinity plus plus plus. And to Michele Bardsley, who save my mother-fluffing’ bootie on this one, I owe you so big, darling!

  Next, I want to thank my readers and my rebels. Without you all, there would be no reason to write these stories. You rock!

  And lastly, thank you hot, black coffee and McDonald’s Diet Coke. I owe every word to both of you.

  Chapter One

  "Pat-a-cake, pat-a-cake, Saturday’s man.

  stake me a vamp as fast as you can.”

  Old Saturday Dudes Nursery Rhyme

  * * *

  “Screw those assholes.”

  Drag Jones, RMCA Field Agent

  The damp night air clung to my skin like a spider's web I couldn’t peel away. An extremely loud rapid-fire of hard clicks blasted over my head. I dropped to the mossy floor of the Mark Twain Forest in southern Missouri, my hands sparking with defensive magic. I clicked my tongue piercing, a silver barbell, against my front teeth, a nervous habit that, if I had been a human and not a witch, could cause real dental damage.

  "Calm down, and quit doing that," the big, burly beast of a bear-man, affectionately known as Time Bomb, said. "It's a tree frog."

  I stopped clicking my piercing but didn't get up. "Aren't they tiny? I swear that noise had to come from something huge!"

  "Trust me," Time Bomb said. I heard him chuckle. "It's a harmless tree frog."

  I put away my magic and stood up, dusting dirt and moss from my jeans. "I can't believe I got roped into this job. I don't like trees or bugs, damn it. I'm not cut out for all this," I waved my hands at the surrounding trees, "nature. Ugh."

  "Nature is fun," my partner said. "Quit being such a drag."

  “Ha, ha. That joke never gets old.”

  Drag was the moniker I'd adopted over the years, and it fit me better than my birth name ever had. "This is such a waste."

  It wasn't the first time I'd made the complaint, and Time Bomb grunted. "Recon is always boring. Of course, after taking down that Caribbean cult in four months ago, boring is a nice change of pace."

  Our current team leader, GiGi Wise, and her new husband who happened to be our old team leader, Monty Abadose, had been tasked with infiltrating a cult of witches and warlocks hellbent on harnessing time.

  "Come on," I told him. "That Bahamas mission was a blast." Literally. The whole top floor of the cult's resort had exploded, almost taking our bosses with it.

  "Ha ha," Time Bomb replied. "Buckle up, buttercup. We have another two miles to cover before we can head back to camp."

  A private conference between Legabute Ravenblood, the king of the largest vampire faction in the Midwest, and the Baba Yaga would be taking place in a cabin in these Ozark woods, an uber-off-the-grid location, and our team had been assigned security.

  "Up close and personal meetings with blood-sucking lords of darkness, you know, in the dark, is a bad idea," I said.

  Time Bomb stopped, his head tilted back, nose in the air. "Unfortunately, Drag, nobody asked our opinion." His eyes narrowed. "Do you smell that?"

  "Since I don't have the snout, why don't you just cut to the punchline”"

  "A pungent musty aroma."

  I sniffed. My paltry human senses detected nada. "Musty? Like mold?"

  "Maybe," he said. "Or maybe a mushroom?"

  "Great. Mushrooms. I'm not sure that's noteworthy." I cocked a brow at him. "Unless it's moldy vampire balls?" I laughed. He didn't. "Are you sure you're not just hungry, big guy?"

  "For vamp testicles? Not unless they’re breaded and deep-fried."

  "Gross."

  Now he laughed.

  Speaking of deep-
fried food, my stomach growled.

  The corner of his lips curled up into a sly smile. He met my gaze. "I think someone's hungry. You want me to get out my knife when the delegation arrives?"

  "Shut up." Witches had a high metabolism, which meant, when it came to eating our weight in food, we gave Shifters a run for their money. "I like my balls sautéed with fresh garlic and a side of holy water."

  He chuckled again in a way that most would call sexy, but we were team members, partners, and I had put him in the friend-zone the first day we met. And, other than some infrequent harmless teasing, like now, Time Bomb had never shown any real interest in me, which made it easy to avoid any indiscretions.

  "Eeeeaaaaawwh!" The high-pitched scream put my hair on end and had me whipping around and putting my back against Time Bomb's as I frantically looked around for the assailant.

  This earned me a deep belly laugh.

  "What?" I asked in a harsh whisper. "What the hellz was that?"

  "That," he said, "is a red-tailed hawk."

  Heat rose in my cheeks. "So, not a vampire."

  "Nope." He was strangely still. "Just a hawk, most likely warning us off his territory. You can put your sparks away. They are starting to singe my jeans."

  I shook my hands. "Sorry. I'm really on edge."

  "I can tell." Time Bomb gave me a gentle push. "You know magic can't kill a vampire, right?"

  "I know that." We'd been briefed before the mission. Vampires were killed by tearing off their heads and staking them through the heart with silver. Nothing else would stop those undead assholes. As a team, it would be Time Bomb's job to do the head-off-the-neck part had to be done by a Shifter, and then it would be my turn to finish the job with a silver nail, you know if the vampires decided to get treacherous. Unfortunately, if it came down to death-measures, Time Bomb would die in the process because vamp blood was extremely toxic to Shifters. I think that possibility had me on edge more than any other factor. I wasn't close to my siblings, and Time Bomb had become like my brother--the one I chose, not the ones I'd been saddled with. As a team, we'd survived mad warlocks, evil witches, and Shifters gone wild. I only hoped that treacherous vampires wouldn't be the end of us.

  Time Bomb must have read the doubt in my face, because he said, "Remember, this is a boring job, a formality. The vampires called this meeting. They wouldn't double-cross Baba Yaga, not if they want to live to see another moonrise. Your witch queen is no joke." He shook his head, his dark hair spilling over his eyes. "Besides, you don't feel any rise of power around here, right?"

  Sensing and locating magic and power was my specialty, a big reason the Rogue Magic Control Agency or the RMCA had recruited me in the first place. If the source was close, I could feel it without any ritual, but if it was farther away, I had to call it to me. When I was a young girl living in a town full of witches, I lived with a constant buzzing under my skin. The stronger the witch or warlock, the more intense the vibrations. It even happened to some extent with Shifters, fairy folk, and even humans, who all had a basic level of mundane magic.

  I was born and raised in a tiny supernatural village outside the Cotswolds in England between Swindon and Basingstoke. For years, I'd scratched skin off my arms and legs, creating sores that needed constant healing. It wasn't until my thirteenth birthday that my so-called "gift" had been revealed. It was 1955, and Baba Yaga had come to our village for the Festival of Samhain, and the buzzing under my skin grew unbearable to the point that I'd needed to be knocked out. Time Bomb was right. Baba Yaga was no joke when it came to magic. Her power had nearly flayed me from the inside out. But her visit had also been my saving grace.

  She'd moved me away from England to the Nevada desert and matched me with a telepathic witch, Brinzel Washington, who would become my teacher and my surrogate parent. My mom and dad hadn't put up much of a fight to keep me home. My affliction had been a source of embarrassment for them. Frankly, my leaving had been a relief. Even when I'd returned home when I turned eighteen, they were less than thrilled to have me back. It's why I decided to move back to the states permanently in 1971.

  The first time I'd walked into Brinzel's adobe, it had been as if for the first time in my life, I could take a deep breath that didn't hurt. The wards she used to keep the voices at bay had also managed to dampen her magic and distant residual power. From that moment on, I'd been eager to learn. Brinzel's telepathy had caused her much the same agony, and she'd mastered the techniques to block out the voices crowding her head. She'd taught me her methods, and they had worked. I'd gotten pretty good at blocking my receptors, and when I did open them, I could limit my range to a mile or two, so that I wasn't picking up Baba Yaga or Zelda, the current heir to the Baba Yaga scrunchie and leg warmer collection, whenever they faced disaster, which, from what I'd been told, was often.

  Even so, I had to concentrate to keep the itch at bay, which made dating a definite no-go for me. I'd tried, but moments of passion, even minor lust, split my ability wide open. My forced celibacy sucked, but I'd learned to live with the disappointment after several failed dates over the years.

  But in the short term, my power was an asset to my team, and I could, with concentration, determine the extent of what I allowed in. So, I braced myself at the expectant vibration that came with opening up to my surroundings.

  First, I felt Time Bomb's vague hum, and I had to pull back a little before it rattled my bones. I had gotten pretty good at identifying when I picked up individuals I was more familiar with, and when I pushed out farther, I felt the stings of Gigi, Monty, and Cas and Brit, a witch-Shifter couple, that worked for Monty. They were at the most distant edge of the perimeter.

  I quickly reeled in the tendrils until the power became less than a tickle, then rolled them up and stomped them down until I was blissfully numb once more. "Nothing," I told Time Bomb. "I only feel our two teams."

  "Great," he said. "See? No vampires."

  "Uh-huh." I had never actually been near a vampire before and stabbing practice dummies during RMCA training didn't count. But from what I'd read, they were extremely dangerous and powerful, and I wasn't sure I was ready for what one might set off in me. I noticed then that Time Bomb had a far-off stare going on, which meant he was listening extra hard. "You look constipated," I said. "What do you hear?"

  "Surprisingly, very little." He shook his head. "That's what worries me."

  Only after he said so, did I realize he was right. The tree frogs had stopped croaking, the crickets were no longer chirping, bird noises had ceased, and I had to wonder, had the red-tailed hawk tried to warn off us… or something else?

  "Do you still smell the mushrooms?"

  He nodded. "It's stronger now."

  His nose wasn't as good as a werewolf's, but it was pretty damned developed. The fact that the scent was getting stronger worried me. "But you still don't hear anything?"

  "Nope."

  I dropped my shields again, opening myself to the bombardment to my psyche, but still didn't sense anything unusual or alarming. "I don't feel anything."

  "I've got something you can feel," a voice said in what sounded like a loud whisper coming from behind us.

  I whipped, ready to light someone's ass on fire, but no one was there. "Who said that?"

  "Who said what?" Time Bomb asked. The muscles in his neck bunched as he hunkered down, ready for a fight.

  "You didn't hear it?"

  He turned his head to the left and right. "Nothing. But the musty scent is getting closer yet."

  "I don't like this," I told him. "Not one bit."

  "We should call it in," Time Bomb said.

  "And tell Gigi what exactly? You're having scent hallucinations, and I'm hearing voices?" The eerie quiet sent a shiver up the back of my neck. "We need more information."

  "That's why they pay me the big bucks," the voice said right before a tall man appeared out of thin air. He stood several feet away from us.

  I eeped, red magic raining from my fingers.
Time Bomb growled, his nails turning into thick, sharp claws.

  His hair was the color of pitch, but his eyes were bright golden-yellow, an intensely stark contrast. My stomach clenched as he narrowed his unsettling gaze on me.

  "Who are you?" I asked. My ability was null in his presence. I couldn't even sense Time Bomb anymore. I amended my statement. "What are you?"

  The man's full lips pulled back from his teeth in a smile that melted my panties and froze me in place. "Why don't you grab some garlic, holy water, and your sauté pan, love?"