Witches Get Stitches (Stay a Spell, #3)

by Juliette Cross

“I’ve read Jules’s fortune with my new Tarot cards Mom gave me. Said she would be head of New Orleans one day. Mom said that was definitely true, so I’d say not too bad.”

“Now, hush up and focus on your future. Never smart for a Seer to divine for herself anyway.”

“Your dream career will take some time, but it will come. I see success. Struggle there, but also success.”

She hit me with a sharp look. “Your true love is broken inside. Like all of his kin.” She glanced back down at the bowl.

“But Violet can heal him?” Clara frowned down at the bowl. “Maybe,” said Aunt Beryl. “Wait, yes. You can. If you think with your heart, not your head.” Something more aligned to Clara, not me. “How will I know him?” I asked, anxious about this new revelation in my future. “By his eyes.”

“You did want new business, right? What better way to attract business than to tattoo a witch in a bikini top in thirty-degree weather on New Year’s Eve?”

“Doesn’t surprise me. You’ve got more magic in your little pinky than any Seer I’ve ever met.” “Stop it.” I batted my eyelashes then turned serious. “Even your grandmother?” “Don’t you dare tell her I said so.” “Wow,” I whispered all sultry. “Is this some witchy ploy to seduce me?”

“I want to keep you as a friend,” he added. “I’ve seen the broken hearts you leave in your wake.” “You say the sweetest things.” “That last kid. What was his name?” “Ben?” “No.” “Darius?” “No.” “Hopper?” “No.” He lifted the needle from my skin again. “How many guys have you dated this year?” “Define dating.” “Exactly. So, no. As tempting as it is, we will not be leaving the friendzone, Ms. Savoie.”

“Something about the ancient druids and shamans… In the early days, some of the witches and warlocks used their magic to permanently spell supernaturals.”

breathed airily, wondering at the sudden hum of magic just beneath my skin at Zaire’s mention of enchanted tattoos. I could actually feel my psychic line tapping me on the shoulder. It was a light premonition, a sign for me to look and listen. I was so attuned to my magic as a Seer that I knew what each surge of power meant. My ability made itself known on a giant sliding scale. Everything from full-on visions of the future to tiny tap, tap, taps on the psychic line telling me to pay attention. Like right now.

For most supernaturals, magic pinged along our radar with various degrees of energy. Depending on whether it was a witch of significant power or a vampire with very little, the pulse of magic varied. For me, it was different. I couldn’t just feel magic; I could taste it. And right now, danger was settling evenly on my tongue.

The ones giving me the vibes were the four men walking onto the rooftop. Werewolves, actually. Hot as fuck werewolves to be super specific.

The tallest one was a smoking hot, five-alarm fire. His black hair and bronzed skin were a turn-on, but it was more about the way he moved and assessed the place with predatory stealth that sent a delightful shiver along my skin. All the same, there was a sensitivity and gentleness in the lines of his face. I could taste his dominance from here, and yet he was also giving off cinnamon-roll vibes. What a paradox this werewolf was.

“Don’t even think about it,” Zaire whispered close behind me. “Why not? Out-of-town hook-ups are the best. No strings attached.” “Not that one.” “You know him?” “A friend of mine does his ink. That’s Nico Cruz, a member of the Blood Moon pack.” “Oooo. He’s in a werewolf gang. Delicious.”

Zaire huffed a laugh. “There was rumor he lost it one night,” he whispered low. “Clawed the hell out of a sixteen-year-old. One of his own pack.”

“Leave it to you to draw the most dangerous super in the room.”

“What? I don’t look like the spiritual, deep-thinking kind of girl?” Because that’s basically what the blue orchid meant—the deep thinker. Though I was aware that I was an over-thinker, I really chose it because it was just so damn pretty, and blue was my favorite color.

“The blue orchid is also the rarest of them all.” His gaze narrowed, smile widening. “I’ll bet you’re a one-of-a-kind witch, aren’t you?”

Still, I was getting a kick out of Nico’s mixed expression of shock and arousal.

“Same price as last time?” I asked, scooping my tank-top back up onto my shoulders. “Two blow jobs and a steak dinner?”

I swear I heard a deep-throated growl from the big werewolf still standing in my private bubble. Zaire arched a brow at me and shook his head. “You know what the payment is.” “One BJ and dinner?” “Jesus, Violet. Stop it.” He looked at the two werewolves, shaking his head and chuckling. “She’s joking. That’s just her way.”

Okay, maybe he was putting off the bad-boy vibes when he walked in, but up close I knew there was no sign of danger danger. And my, how I enjoyed this close-up view of his pretty face.

“There’s truth to it. It was an accident.” “Honest. Wow. That’s interesting.” “You thought I’d lie?” “No. But I thought you might evade, since I’m pretty sure you’re trying to impress me.”

“You’re wrong. I’m not trying to impress you. I want you to see me.” “Why?” I reached out with my magical senses. “We just met.” “And when we did, the earth opened up beneath my feet.”

“There once was a werewolf from Kent, whose cock was so long it bent. So he found him a witch, to scratch his big itch, and with a great howl, he spent.”

Shit! He was good. Naughty wolfie.

“Oh, sweet Violet,” he said with a playfully condescending air. “I think you just lost.”

“There once was a wolf from the city, who met a witch who was stunning and witty.” His voice was low and luscious and gruff. “She charmed him at a glance, making him wish he had a chance, to kiss her sweet lips and her kitty.”

“Don’t go anywhere.” He leaned back a few inches, catching my gaze. “Please.” Then he grinned wider. “I want my prize.”

Fucking hell. His voice. Rough and smooth and smoky with a direct line to my pussy.

But when he sang his own masculine rendition of Skylar Grey’s “I Know You,” his attention riveted on me, I actually started to shake. Me! Shivering on that fucking stool.

Here’s the thing about werewolves. Once upon a time, a seriously pissed-off witch cursed a man who became the first werewolf. The curse divided him in half. Gifted him with the most sublime magic of creativity and cursed him to become a beast upon the full moon. So when a werewolf created art, there was magic in it. And when Nico sang to me, he sang to me.

“Keep talking, wolfie”—I leaned up and bit his neck—“or put that mouth to better use.”

He nuzzled my inner thigh with his nose. “I want to drown in your scent,” he said, voice having dropped several octaves.

The distant laughter and raucous cheers of the crowd skirted the periphery of my focus. The in-unison countdown began—ten, nine, eight, seven! Then Nico slid two fingers inside me and pumped hard and fast, playing my clit like he played that guitar. Six, five, four! “Damn, you’re so good,” I mumbled. Three, two! His answering growl vibrated against my clit before he curled his fingers slightly as he stroked out, hitting my G-spot and sending me over the edge. One! Fireworks went off in the distance with a loud, modern chorus of Auld Lang Syne as I came on Nico’s mouth,

I’d hurry a goodbye then duck out the door and haul ass back to New Orleans as fast as possible. Because whatever this werewolf was, it was my brand of addiction. Zaire wasn’t wrong when he said my sister Jules would kick my ass.

Lucky for me, I’d never see this werewolf again.

10 months later…

For the first time since New Year’s Eve, my wolf had chilled the fuck out. My body was at ease. Not because I’d done gigs like this a hundred times before, but because she was in the room. Muscles relaxed, breathing steady, I watched her greet her first table as I slipped the strap of the guitar over my head.

Her gaze swept to me, widened in surprise then narrowed. That only made me smile as I leaned close to the mic.

“Well then, my first song goes out to a girl who took my breath away the first night I met her.” More whistles. “Then she bailed on me.”

I played the first chords of “Ain’t No Sunshine,” glancing over at Violet now at the bar where she stood there slack-jawed and staring. I couldn’t help but grin wider, then I started singing. She carried on with her business, throwing me not-so-pleasant glares as she served her customers, a pretty blush high on her cheeks.

I was positive she’d thought she’d never see me again. I had no problem with hard-to-get. I was a patient man. And my wolf, he’d have no other, so she was in for a rude awakening. I wasn’t going anywhere, and I wasn’t going to give up until I got what I wanted. Her.

I’d met him when Violet’s older sister Jules gave me a brief tour right before the dinner rush. I’d been elated to discover that Violet would be waiting tables on my first night.

A fantastic house with a business attached caught my eye. It was at the end of a dead-end street a few blocks from here. I didn’t have need of commercial space, but the fact that it was so private appealed to me, especially in a busy city. No one would hear and complain if they heard animalistic growls and howls if I lost control of my wolf.

I closed on the property tomorrow, then I’d be a permanent resident of the city where Violet lived, whether she liked it or not. Right now, it looked a lot like not.

“Don’t play with me, Nico. Why are you here?” “Well, you see, my mom and dad met and fell in love. Then they got married and fucked each other and—” Unamused, she interrupted, “You think you’re funny, don’t you?” “Just stating facts.”

“Thought it was pretty obvious.” I glanced at the stage. “I moved here. Got a job.”

“I have a better question. Why’d you bail on me five minutes after I made you come on the rooftop in Austin?”

“Listen, I was looking for different scenery. Austin was getting too crowded.” And hostile. “So I decided to move. My cousin lives here in town, and I thought New Orleans seemed as good a place as any.”