Series: The Wrong Witch #1
Publication date: July 5th, 2022
Synopsis:
I suck at witchcraft.
Coming from a long line of famous witches, I should be at the top of the heap. Problem is, if there is a spell cast anywhere in my vicinity, I will somehow mess it up. As a probationary agent with the Arcane Bureau of Investigation, I have two choices: I can limp along and maybe pass myself off as a competent agent, or I can fail. Miserably.
Worse news? If I can't get my act together, I may not only be out of a job, I could also lose my life.
Whose idea was this again?
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Excerpt
He shifted, moving closer to me, and I had the very sudden realization that we were alone out here. "I don't hand out compliments, Wren. You acted like a leader out there because you are one. But that's going to paint a target on your back just as much as your name will."
The sound of him saying my name had my knees knocking together. Did he say something after that? Oh, that's right, I was in deep shit. Yeah, I knew that already.
"For giving a shit that people didn't fall off this bullshit mountain and die? I guess." I tried to shrug my shoulders, but every muscle felt like it was going to snap in half and slither off my body. "I was raised better than that."
Acosta snorted, the derision on his face curling his upper lip. "By Margot Bannister? Unlikely."
My gaze narrowed, my jaw clenching. What the hell did he know about my mother?
"Margot Bannister is a name on a birth certificate. Alice Whitlock raised me, and she taught me better than only looking out for myself. That a prize is nothing if I have to sacrifice my honor to get it." I met his gold gaze, those eyes for once not making me melt. "Letting people fall off a cliff because I wanted to win? That would be losing my honor. If that means I have to clean up wall lockers, well, then, so be it."
Pivoting on a heel, I tried to stalk off, but my poor feet had other plans. My stalk was more of a limp, the pitiful squish of my boot making my exit less than ideal. Plus, a warm hand caught my elbow, the gentle hold sending shivers down my spine.
"You know damn well everyone is trying to clean up their areas before you can get to them," he murmured, his breath close to my ear. The heat of his hand on my skin had my knees ready to give out. "You impressed them all out there. This was a task they were meant to fail, and they know it."
My eyes stayed glued to his hand on my arm. I wanted to look up into those eyes, but if I did, I knew I'd do something stupid. Like faint or kiss him or...
"Look at me," he growled, yanking my gaze up like all I needed was the order. His nostrils flared as his eyes narrowed, almost like he was mad at me for something--the change in his demeanor quick enough to give me whiplash. Leaning in closer, he growled, "You're bleeding. How long have you been bleeding, Wren?"
Why did my name on his lips make my insides go funny? But the best I could do was shrug.
Again.
"I was too scared to look. I worried if I took the boot off to check, I wouldn't be able to get it back on. Walking in the middle of nowhere without shoes on seemed like a bad plan."
Gently, I tugged on my arm, signaling him to let me go, but all it did was make his eyes start glowing as a growl rumbled from his chest.
No moving. Got it.
"You need a fucking keeper, you know that?" he murmured, the words harsh but his tone was something else. He readjusted his grip, pulling me closer, his nose barely an inch from mine as his gaze bore a hole into me. "When are you going to start looking out for yourself, huh?"
Annie Anderson is a military wife and United States Air Force veteran. Originally from Dallas, Texas, she is a southern girl at heart, but has lived all over the US and abroad. As soon as the military stops moving her family around, she'll settle on a state, but for now she enjoys being a nomad with her husband, two daughters, an old man of a dog, and a young pup that makes life... interesting.
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