Maximum Witch

chapter Two


“W-what the hell are you doing in my bedroom?” Willa Jameson flailed wildly in the blanket’s tenacious grasp, attempting to put distance between her and the enormous guy leaning over her.

“Easy. You’re going to hurt yourself if you keep jumping around like that.” The stranger started to reach for her and she shrieked again. Her right arm finally escaped the imprisoning covers, and she swiped out with her fist, landing a solid punch to his face.

Grunting, the man jerked his head. Dark eyebrows slashed low over penetrating blue eyes while he gingerly probed the bridge of his nose. “Shit, you nearly broke it.”

“If you don’t get out of here, I’m going to break a lot more than that, you creepazoid.” Her voice growing shrill, she clutched the pillow beside her and prepared to lob it at his head. It was a puny deterrent, but maybe it’d at least throw him off balance enough that she could make a run for it.

He dropped his hand. “Creepazoid? That’s the thanks I get for rescuing you?”

His incredulous words managed to pierce through the thin top layer of her panic, only to add to it several times over as she stared at the totally unfamiliar posts of the bed she was lying on, as well as the brass lamp resting on the adjacent nightstand. She double blinked. “This isn’t my room.”

“I know. It’s mine. I brought you here after I dragged you out of the Atlantic.”

Atlantic? As in…ocean? There was no way that could be possible. She hadn’t set foot in any body of water that big in almost twenty-two years, not since her parents drowned.

A creepy sense of déjà vu washed over her, poking at the edges of her consciousness. Her mind latched onto a disjointed memory—stepping from her car, the steamy heat from a parking lot curling around her calves. Beyond that, everything remained hazy. She slowly lowered the pillow, and it tumbled from her lax fingertips. The stranger’s attention drifted below her collarbone, and an unmistakable spark of interest darkened his eyes. She glanced down. It took a second for it to sink in that she was only wearing her bra. Gasping, she snatched the blanket and wrestled with it, trying to cover herself. “Why am I naked?”

“You’re not. I left your underwear on you.” Despite his gruff reply, a ruddy flush crawled along his neck.

The rest of his statement registered, and she peeked beneath the blanket. Sure enough, she wasn’t wearing any pants. A squeak popped from her throat. “You undressed me?”

“You were soaked through.” He climbed off the bed and stooped toward the floor. He straightened a second later with her sodden clothes bunched in his hand. “See? I couldn’t leave you lying around in them, for Christ’s sake.”

She frowned at the garments that were dripping a small puddle on the beige carpet. Even from where she sat, the distinct briny scent of the ocean was unmistakable. It made no sense. Her crippling phobia of the ocean should have prevented her from going anywhere near the Atlantic.

Unless…

The strange hallucinations plaguing her lately. Somehow she knew they were responsible. Those weird compulsions and visions that seemed to be totally disconnected with who she was. The person she knew herself to be.

Had she finally completely lost it? Judging from the evidence staring her in the face…hell, yeah. Groaning, she dropped her forehead against her raised knees.

“What’s wrong? Do you feel sick?”

The warmth of a large palm branded into her shoulder, and she jerked her head up, her gaze crashing into his. Undeniable concern rode his rugged features. It occurred to her that she should be worried about a big, hulking stranger touching her like this while she was half-naked and lying in his bed. She should probably also be worried about the pleasurable tingle fluttering low in her tummy.

Oh goddess. What’s wrong with me?

The stranger lifted his hand away. “You don’t have to look at me like I’m seconds away from attacking you. I’m not.” He scruffed his fingers over his bristly jaw, drawing her attention to the strong, tanned column of his throat. And lower. His shoulders were huge, delineated with acres of sleek muscle tone and sun-kissed skin. There wasn’t a speck of hair on his chest, leading her to wonder if he was one of those guys who waxed, and also leaving her with the weird—and completely inappropriate—desire to tiptoe her fingers down his washboard abs while she sucked on those flat male nipples.

What the hell? Concerned he was the one in danger of being attacked, she jerked her gaze away. “I-I’m fine.” Yeah, talk about the biggest honkin’ lie of the century. “I think I just need to…use the bathroom.” Now that she’d said it, there was no denying the urgency to empty her bladder. Grimacing, she wiggled in the blanket. Beyond his shoulder, she spotted an open doorway where she could make out the corner of a vinyl shower curtain decorated with neon-orange starfish. Just the sight of that shower stall made her think of water, which of course made her have to pee even more. “Aw crap.”

“What?”

“Bathroom. Now.” She scrabbled with the blanket and tumbled off the mattress, landing on the floor with a thunk when her legs refused to cooperate. Before she could untangle herself and crawl onto her knees, her rescuer scooped her up and carried her toward the bathroom.

It felt odd getting carted around like that, and kind of embarrassing, considering her nipples were poking him in the chest as if to say, Hey, look at me, sexy mister. Thankfully, he didn’t take them up on their offer.

He lowered her to her feet next to the shower. Her toes immediately curled in protest of the icy tile floor. Jeez, it was colder than the interior of an igloo in this place. No wonder her nipples were waving a salute. Yeah, as if that were the only reason. When he made no move to leave, she hugged the blanket closer and gave him a pointed look.

His cheeks reddening slightly, he coughed into his fist. “You, uh, probably can manage the rest on your own.” Pivoting, he strode through the doorway, awarding her a nice view of his muscular back and the dimples riding low at the base of his spine. Before her brain finished conjuring the visual of tracing those intriguing grooves with her tongue, he snicked the door shut behind him.

Her wispy exhale leaking free, she shrugged from the blanket and hobbled toward the toilet. She was relieved to note that he appeared to be amazingly tidy for a guy, but halfway in the process of squatting, it occurred to her that he might be within earshot on the other side of the door. Not about to let him listen to her pee, she scrabbled for the faucet and cranked it to full blast.

Once done, she washed up, making a valiant effort not to wince at the frightening picture she made in the mirrored cabinet suspended over the sink. Wet clumps of hair were plastered together in messy tufts. All traces of her makeup were also gone, emphasizing her puffy, red-rimmed eyes. As she splashed cool water on her face, it dawned on her that her glasses had disappeared—to the bottom of the Atlantic, no doubt. Great. She’d just bought them too. Didn’t that figure?

Still, all things considered, losing a pair of glasses was minor compared to what could have happened if Mr. Hunky Buns out there hadn’t fished her out of the ocean. “Oh man. I don’t even know his name.” She’d been too busy either punching him or lusting over his dimples to ask.

“Did you say something?”

She yelped at the unexpectedness of his whiskey-smooth baritone floating through the doorframe. So he had been listening. Thank goddess she’d turned the faucet on.

He rapped on the woodwork. “I’m coming in, okay?” The door cracked open and he poked his head inside. “How’re you doing?”

“Better, thanks.”

His gaze raked her in an assessing sweep, making her cheeks heat. But underneath her embarrassment lurked something else. A hot awareness that crept beneath her skin and slid through her sensory nerves like warm honey.

She’d never been this affected by a man before. Particularly not by one she’d known less than five minutes and didn’t even have a name for beyond Mr. Hunky Buns.

There is something very wrong with me. “Could you, um, hand me that blanket over there?” She pointed to the spot where she’d deposited it by the shower. No way in hell would she bend over in front of him. Her luck, a boob would pop out. Not that there was much there to see, but still.

He hunched over and swiped the blanket, the sinewy rope of muscle in his arm flexing. The waistband of his navy sweatpants dipped low, revealing a strange band of bruises that encircled his lower abs. She also couldn’t help noticing the mouthwatering V lines where his hip and groin intersected. A whimper escaped her and his scrutiny lifted, fusing on her face. She could have bitten her tongue off for the stupid slip she’d just made. Averting her stare, she held out her hand, waiting for him to toss her the blanket. Instead, he straightened in a flash. He crossed to her, and without warning, flattened her over the sink. She gasped, both at the suddenness of the move and the dizzying reaction it created in her brain.

“W-what the hell are you doing?” She attempted to wriggle out of his hold but he only pushed her lower over the basin. A distressed yelp hiccupped past her lips. “I have a black belt in judo.” Okay, not really. But he didn’t need to know that.

“Relax. I’m just trying to check out your ass.”

She stiffened. Oh hell no. He did not just say that. “Excuse me?”

His hands stilled and he went silent for an awkward moment before he cleared his throat. “Not how I meant it to sound.” The pads of his thumbs brushed near her tailbone, hitting a tender spot that hadn’t been there before. She sucked in a sharp breath.

“Does that hurt?”

Biting her lip to stall any further whimpering, she nodded.

He swore softly. “I didn’t notice this earlier.”

The way he said those words made her nervous, like maybe there was something really scary back there. Something along the lines of a disfiguring, oozing sore that’d qualify for the Guinness World Record of grossest thing ever.

“I think it’s either a burn. Or a…bite.”

“A bite? From what?” Unable to take the horrible suspense a second longer, she twisted to the side, trying to see over her shoulder. All she managed to do was wrench her neck. Cursing, she massaged the aching tendon. “If there’s something back there, I want to see it.” Well, part of her wanted to see it. The other half of her brain—the chickenshit side—was still pretty squicked out by what it might find.

“Come here.” With a quick gesture, he coaxed her into the bedroom. They stopped in front of the dresser, and he maneuvered her until she faced sideways. It still took some creative contortion on her part, but finally she spotted what had him so concerned.

On the good-news front, the red striping of pinpricks on her lower lumbar and left butt cheek wasn’t as terrifying and icky as what she’d envisioned. But it still stung something fierce. Amazing she hadn’t noticed it before. “I wonder how I got those.”

His intense eyes met hers in the mirror. “You honestly don’t remember anything?”

She shook her head.

He dragged a hand along his mouth and chin, wiping a frown into place. That tiny downward hitch to his lips only managed to add to her escalating anxiety. “There’s a strong chance you’ve been bit. And infected with venom, which might explain why you were out of it for so long, if your system was trying to fight the effects.”

“Venom?” She could feel the blood leaching from her face.

“My buddy Boone’s on his way over. He’s a local vet, so he keeps his medic kit stocked with just about every antivenin known to mankind. Not to mention all the species in between.”

She gaped at him, wondering what exactly he’d meant by that last part. Truthfully, though, she had more important concerns to deal with at the moment. “You really think he’ll have the right serum for this?” She turned away from the mirror and stared into his eyes, silently pleading with him to ease her mind.

“Yeah. He will.”

His hand squeezed her waist lightly, instigating those pleasurable tingles again. Nice to see her body had its priorities straight. Lust should always outweigh the possibility of death. Jeez. She licked her lips, trying not to think about how nice he smelled. And how incredibly blue his eyes were. And those muscles. Don’t even get me started on them. “I—I don’t even know your name.” Somehow she doubted it really was Mr. Hunky Buns, no matter how fitting it would be.

“Maxwell Truitt. But my friends call me Max.”

Max. It suited him, for some reason. She held out her hand. “Willa Jameson. I’m sorry I didn’t properly thank you earlier for rescuing me. Or apologize for, uh, punching you.”

“Don’t sweat it.” His gaze searing into hers, his big palm closed around her much smaller one. The warmth his skin generated was nothing compared to the lush heat spiraling through her. There was something so focused and intent about the way he looked at her. She couldn’t help wondering what it’d feel like to have all that intensity zeroed in on her as his hands and mouth traveled every square inch of her.

Where the hell did that thought come from? Snapping out of her daze, she carefully extracted herself from his grip and hugged her arms to her chest in an effort to hide her body’s reaction to him.

“You’re cold.” A V furrowing between his eyebrows, Max pivoted and yanked open one of the dresser drawers. He grabbed a white T-shirt and passed it to her before returning to the bathroom. She quickly pulled on the garment. It was a thousand sizes too big, hanging nearly to her knees, but at least she didn’t have to worry anymore about her nipples proclaiming their happy hello for the entire world to see.

Something soft brushed her shoulders, and she jumped before realizing it was Max wrapping the blanket around her. For such a big guy, he was amazingly stealthy. She hadn’t even heard him walk behind her. The doorbell chimed and she jerked again. For crying out loud, skittish as she was acting, it’d be a miracle if she didn’t have a nervous breakdown within the next five seconds.

Of course, strange as her life had been the past week, a trip to the local loony bin wouldn’t be out of the question.

“That should be Boone. Stay here. I’ll be right back.”

Clutching the blanket as if it would cloak her in a much-needed pretense of sanity, she watched him stride off. Shortly afterward, she detected the murmured hush of Max’s voice, along with another deep baritone that she presumed belonged to his friend Boone. Several minutes later, both men appeared in the doorway. She tried not to gawk due to the amount of hunky testosterone that flooded the air. Truly. But it was damn hard.

Although Boone stood an inch or two shorter than Max, it was still obvious he packed the same amount of muscle beneath his grey Henley. He stepped farther into the room, and the lamplight gilded his sandy-blond hair with gold brushstrokes, adding to his surfer god good looks. Extending a hand, he introduced himself with an easy smile. Once the niceties were done with, he placed his black leather medic bag on the foot of the bed. “Max tells me you’ve had an eventful evening.”

“So it seems.” She slid a glance in Max’s direction and took in the tension bracketing his mouth. “I wish I could remember what happened.”

“More than likely, it’s a side effect from the shock you went through earlier.” Boone’s expression remained reassuring. “Give it time. I’m sure you’ll get your memory back soon enough.”

She wanted to believe him. But the odd episodes she’d been experiencing lately made it near impossible to believe anything could be that easy.

“In the meantime, how about I give you a quick examination to make sure there’s nothing more serious to contend with than your memory loss?” Boone’s focus skipped down the blanket. Taking the hint, she dropped the covering to the ground and returned her gaze to Max, mutely conveying her gratefulness for the shirt he’d loaned her.

Boone gestured for her to take a seat next to his bag. While she did as suggested, he rifled through his things and pulled out a small penlight and a stethoscope. She was relieved to note he left the thermometer alone. Given the fact he was a vet, she was more than a little worried where the device might have last been. He tipped her chin and flashed the light into her eyes. She blinked, something that seemed to satisfy him because he hummed his approval. Next, he slid the stethoscope beneath the shirt and pressed the cold chest piece over her heart.

“Other than beating a little faster than should be typical, everything seems to be fine in this department.” He gave her a wink. “Most likely, the culprit is a little adrenaline overload. Nothing to be overly worried about.”

Or maybe it has something to do with the fact your hand is practically cupping my boob, and it’s been forever since I’ve seen even that much action. Silently moaning at the inner slut who’d apparently taken over her body, she offered a weak smile.

Boone removed the stethoscope and returned it to the bag. Max crowded closer, his frown deepening. “Aren’t you going to check the bite on her…” a quick look slid in her direction, “…backside?”

“Yeah, if you’ll give me a chance.” Boone’s expression turned wry. “And some space.”

Max dutifully inched sideways a few paces, and Boone gave her an encouraging squeeze on the arm. “How about you lay on your stomach?”

After granting both men a hesitant stare, she complied with the request and hiked the shirt around her waist, trying not to feel weird and self-conscious about giving them a bird’s-eye view of her butt. Sure, not like she didn’t have bikini bottoms on, but she also didn’t make a regular habit of flashing even that much at strangers. A soft whistle came from one of the guys. Embarrassment burned her cheeks, but then she realized the noise had been prompted by the marks on her skin, not the sight of her ass.

“You weren’t kidding. That’s one hell of a nasty bite.”

Max uttered a low curse. “Damn. So it is a bite? I was hoping I was wrong. It doesn’t completely match up with the marks on my legs.”

“Wait, you got bit too? Why the hell didn’t you mention that sooner?” Boone’s voice held a healthy dose of admonishment.

“It’s no big deal. Willa is the one I’m worried about.”

“Don’t be a stubborn jackass. Let me see these bites.”

Willa turned her head just as Max hiked up the legs of his sweats and revealed some nasty-looking gouges in his flesh. Holy crap. It looked like something had tried to shred him alive.

Boone swore beneath his breath. “Yeah, it’s safe to say you were both attacked by the same son of a bitch. The bites might not completely line up, but the placement of the puncture marks on both of you are in keeping with the guesstimated teeth alignment on a leviathan. How big did you say the thing was?”

Leviathan? The rest of Boone and Max’s conversation faded to an indistinct blur as Willa’s head spun with the news she’d just overheard. A dull whoosh thrummed through her eardrums, keeping pace with her accelerated pulse. Her thoughts immediately tracked to the last encounter she’d had with one of the beasts, when she’d helped save her friend Clarissa from its evil imprisonment. They’d killed that monster. Or at least sent it back to the dark hellhole that’d spawned it. Regardless, that chapter of her life had been permanently closed.

Or so she’d thought. The fact that she’d apparently become the prized snack choice of leviathans certainly threw a wrench in her assumption.

The mattress dipped beside her, snapping her back to the present. Peering over her shoulder, she spotted Boone digging through his bag again. He hauled out a small metal case and clicked it open, revealing a syringe and several marked vials filled with clear liquid. Tension seized her. Sure, she’d known this part was coming, but it didn’t ease her instinctual dislike of needles.

Boone gave her another of his soothing smiles. He was amazingly good at instilling an air of calm. No doubt he was a real pro at lulling innocent puppies and kittens into a false sense of security before poking them in the rump with vaccine shots.

“I need you to sit up so I can administer the shot into your upper thigh. I promise you won’t feel much more than a fast prick.”

Yeah, likely story. Heaving a sigh, she wiggled onto her side before scooching onto her rear. Eyes widening, she watched him depress the plunger slightly, releasing any air trapped in the chamber.

“Why don’t you tell us a bit about yourself, Willa?”

She gaped at Boone blankly before realizing the question was one more tactic designed to distract her from the big bad needle in his hand. “W-what do you want to know?”

Max cleared his throat, drawing her focus to him. “How about what the hell you were doing in your human skin in the middle of the Atlantic?”

Boone sent him an admonishing frown that she barely registered while she blinked at Max. “Huh?”

“I think what Max is trying to ask in his typical gruff fashion is why didn’t you shift? It would have offered you more protection.”

She divided her confused stare between both men. “Shift?”

Max’s hand gestured impatiently. “Into whatever the devil you are.”

The conversation was shuffling further and further away from anything resembling normal. Or comprehendible. “What are you talking about?”

Boone patted her knee. “If you’re worried about exposing your secret, don’t be. We’re shifters too.”

Finally some of the fog began to clear in her brain as the meaning behind the word sank in. Shifters.

Being a witch, she’d been around more than her fair share. Or more specifically, shifter familiars, though she herself didn’t have one. She eyed Boone and Max, doing a double take. Jeez, she probably should have guessed they weren’t entirely human. No mere man looked as scrumdiddlyumptious as these two.

She opened her mouth, intending to ask exactly what type of shifters they were, but stalled short, the unspoken inquiry log jamming in her throat when the rest of Boone’s statement crystallized with glaring clarity. “Wait a minute. You think I’m a shifter?” She smothered a laugh at the absurdity of the notion.

Confusion scrunched the corners of Boone’s eyes. “Aren’t you?”

“Nope. Definitely not.”

Max grunted. “Then explain how the hell you even know what shifters are? Or that we exist?” His tone held a certain provoking quality. Clearly he thought he’d caught her in a lie.

Oh, she was really going to enjoy proving him wrong. “I work for the southern sector of the National Alliance of Witches. I’m surrounded by shifters all the time.”

Surprise flickered over Max’s features. “You’re a witch?”

“Yep.” She smiled serenely. “Must really suck to have your theory blasted to smithereens.”

His eyes narrowed. “You being a witch doesn’t change anything. I’m still tellin’ you, you’re not human.”

Goddess, he was stubborn. “And I’m telling you that I am.”

Max’s eyebrows slashed into a V. “No, you’re not.” His arms crossed over his expansive chest. “It’s impossible.”

The idea that he even questioned her claim, much less countered it, was odd. And kind of annoying. She sat up straighter, mimicking his posture. “Pretty sure it’s not.”

“No, sweetheart, it is.” The endearment sounded ridiculously sexy slipping past Max’s lips, despite it being paired with a dark scowl.

Some foreign feistiness that she didn’t quite understand prodded her to keep sparring with him. “And the reason would be…?”

He hunkered in front of her, his eyes flashing with challenge. “Because, darlin’, last time I checked, humans can’t breathe under water.”