Hexual Healing (Hex Appeal)

  Hexual Healing

  Gem Sivad

  Harvest the magic of Samhain and sex

  Heal the beast, rebound the hex

  Burn, witch, burn…

  Incantations, scryings and hexes abound when hedge witch Missouri Hess breaks out her rough magic. The autumn solstice is days away, Bitter Creek Holler is pulsing with mountain mysticism, Miz is burning up with enough sexual energy to light Fenway Park and her lover is MIA. She…is…pissed.

  Nothing in his Special Forces background has prepared shape-shifter Thomas Hunter for the torture of jaguar mating heat or the wrath of a furious witch. Though he’s on a mission in DC, his beast wrests control, returning them to their mate.

  After Thomas delivers his own brand of sexual healing, it’s back to DC with Miz. There’s twisted magic at work. Someone has unleashed a snake-eyes death hex. Good thing Miz is all about hexual healing. And Thomas stands ready to take all the heat from her sexual burn.

  Hexual Healing

  Gem Sivad

  Chapter One

  Miz stood on the porch of the old house inhaling the crisp mountain air and listening as mourning doves called woo-OO-oo-oo-oo. Their soft cries were a predictor of coming rain. So were the fall midges swooping low to bite at her ankles as she stared across treetops at the vacant cabin on the opposite ridge.

  The foliage lining the corridor to Shep Buchanan’s cabin appeared a uniform brown instead of the blazing autumn oranges and yellows that would be displayed later in the day under the October sun.

  As she watched, the trees between Hess and Buchanan property twisted eerily, appearing to move, widening the path invitingly. Thin-fingered branches shifted and waved in an otherwise nonexistent wind, beckoning her to visit the ridge beyond. Miz snorted, making the sound loud enough for tree ears to hear if there were such things.

  “Not interested. Not hanging around looking woebegone. Not whining. It’s over. He’s nothing but a memory.” Her muttered bullet points were messages to herself. While her summer lover had been in Bitter Creek Holler, he’d stayed in Shep Buchanan’s cabin and Miz had ridden her Harley on the path through the creepy woods to his place.

  From her porch every morning, she had a bird’s-eye view of the cabin where they’d made ferocious love. It was a painful reminder that Thomas—Mr. Special Forces, Jaguar Shape-shifting, Chocolate Sex on a Stick—Hunter had ditched her. She tried to block the thought even as it came, but the ache inside her chest, heart-high in fact, made her want to rend her clothes and shriek denial at the sky.

  We didn’t have a relationship, for God’s sake. Get a grip. We fucked. He was good at it and I needed it. Miz had to force herself to get on with the day. A blanket of depression sapped her will to continue. She still needed the sex Thomas had supplied. Her body hummed with excess power that had accumulated since he’d gone.

  She considered the possibility of finding another repository for her after-healing burn, but discarded the idea of having sex with someone besides Thomas.

  Dammit, I ache for the man. Her eyes watered and she blamed it on dust in the air. Slapping at insects, she dumped the rest of her coffee on the grass, set the cup on the rail and tried to keep her teeth from clenching. If she didn’t stop grinding them soon, she’d wear off the enamel.

  Crossing to her Harley, Miz threw her leg over the seat as a swarm of mosquitoes attacked. She’d never been bothered by bug bites before, but recently… Remembering the way Thomas had battled a horde of insects constantly, she shook her head.

  Maybe he’d infected her with some insect-attracting disorder. Irritated at the thought, she pulled on her helmet before starting the motor. Miz rode down the lane, taking the first turn faster than was wise as she drove out of Bitter Creek Holler.

  “Time to go to work,” she muttered, feeling the ripple of power wash across her senses as she drove through Hess magic, her ward doubled in strength by the time of year. It was less than a week until Samhain and earth magic pulsed in the surrounding air.

  Traffic was heavier than usual on the interstate. A car wreck on the turnpike had slowed everything down. Miz skipped carryout coffee and drove straight to Hands-On, the massage parlor she co-owned.

  As soon as she arrived and parked she went inside and poured herself a cup of the freshly perked brew. It was a nice benefit of Jenny’s contrition. Miz had always been the coffee maker in the past. All things had changed since Miz had discovered that her and Jenny’s so-called friendship had been nothing more than her massage parlor partner spying for Hank Wyatt, alpha of the local werewolf pack.

  Damn, I can sure pick ’em—Hank, Jenny, Milo—all my life spent in Bitter Creek Holler and not one real friend. Worse than that, Miz had had three lovers in her life and none of them had been loyal either.

  Hank Wyatt claimed she’d been his intended mate. Hah. She snorted every time she heard that story. Hank sure hadn’t had any problem dumping his so-called mate when he’d also claimed Miz had burned out some imaginary bond between them.

  She’d been seventeen, scared and on her own when her granny passed on. Hank had stepped in and taken charge. He’d kept the rowdies from bothering her and she’d been grateful. More than grateful, she’d thought they were in love. But she’d been young and dumb and even after he’d stopped dating her, Hank had found ways to use her.

  Milo had been different. Though they were fuck buddies who had straight up sex with no attachments, she’d thought they were friends. They’d shared a common contempt for all things related to Hank. When Milo and Jenny became a couple, Miz stepped aside, glad that her two friends had found each other. Unfortunately, she’d been left sexually adrift again.

  But it had all been part of a fabric of lies. Hank had wanted her for her abilities, Milo had wanted her for her connection to the secret shifters in the area and Jenny had been instrumental in channeling information about Miz to both men. Miz peered at her once friend over the rim of her cup and prodded her with a question.

  “Tell me something, Jenny. Are you still spying for Hank?”

  “I don’t have to now,” Jenny answered quickly. “The walk-ins Hank sends us keep him posted on the happenings here. As for Bitter Creek Holler, everybody knows everything anyway.”

  Hank had capitalized on her discovery that werewolves existed in Bitter Creek Holler. He’d revealed her gift of healing to the pack and directed them to come to Hands-On for treatments if they were injured and able to walk.

  Families who’d never spoken to her now carted their wretched, wounded, weak, broken members to her. Most of the time, her hands pulsed wicked heat and the patient walked out healed and strong, leaving Miz sick and weak.

  And the fulcrum of power—the magic that possessed her—fermented and grew until it threatened to devour her. Miz shuddered, need for one specific person clawing her belly. She focused on Jenny instead.

  “You don’t have to spy, but are you?” Miz repeated, holding Jenny’s gaze. She watched as telltale red crept up Jenny’s neck to her cheeks. Evidently being a werewolf hadn’t stopped her human part from showing shame.

  The entire concept of men and women who could also become beasts astonished Miz. She’d lived in the midst of a werewolf pack her entire life and never known it. Her granny had built wards made of intricate spells and separated the Hess home from the encroaching woods.

  She’d said it was to keep out the animals. Granny hadn’t mentioned that half the people in Bitter Creek Holler spent part of their time in beast form. Now that Miz knew, she wondered how she’d ever not.

  After she’d healed Jenny last summer and watched her shift from beast to woman, Miz had recognized the pungent odor of wolf she’d often smelled. Now she understood that every shifter carried w
ith them their own particular musky scent.

  Odd how she’d spent a lifetime with her senses muted and now couldn’t tune them out. Some might wonder how she’d been obtuse and unaware so long. She’d certainly had the mental discussion with herself often enough.

  I ignored others’ strange behavior and hoped others would ignore mine. Her answer was a parody of the golden rule. Being a truth-sayer and hedge witch who could heal with her touch, Miz had had plenty of moments of odd to hide.

  Then Thomas had visited Bitter Creek Holler and everything changed. The ache inside her intensified as she thought about it and she said abruptly, “Explain this whole mate thing to me.”

  Jenny made a wry face and sighed. “I wish I had firsthand information,” she admitted.

  “So why haven’t you mated?” Miz asked.

  “It has to be the right person. My wolf tolerates my human male friends but mating is more than that. It’s finding your other half. When I find my mate, my wolf will be—”

  “But how will you know if someone is your mate?” Miz interrupted Jenny impatiently. “Hank said I was his mate but I did something wrong and it ended.”

  “Hank’s full of shit,” Jenny said, shocking Miz with her criticism of the alpha werewolf. “When you’re mated there is no breaking the bond. I might never have been mated, but I know that.” Jenny’s fierce tone surprised a comment from Miz.

  “You don’t like Hank Wyatt very well, do you?”

  “I don’t have to like him. I have to obey him. He’s alpha.” Jenny’s flat answer left Miz shaking her head.

  “Find another alpha,” Miz suggested.

  “I’m not strong like you,” Jenny said grimly. “Hank wouldn’t let me go even if I found the nerve to try to lone wolf it. Besides, I need the support of pack members. A pack has an alpha and ours is Hank.” She made a face as if swallowing bitter medicine.

  “Hank’s still getting reports from you about me, isn’t he?” Miz watched as Jenny’s expression changed to sad.

  “He wants to know the moment Thomas comes back.”

  Miz swallowed a gulp of hot coffee, feeling the burn all the way to her stomach. “He’s not coming back,” she told Jenny.

  “Did he say you’re his mate?”

  There was a time Miz would have spilled her guts, repeating every conversation she and Thomas had shared. Now she looked at Jenny, clamped her lips shut and shrugged.

  “If he’s your mate, he won’t be able to stay away.” Jenny set a basket of towels on the counter and began to fold the laundry as they talked. “And if you’re mated, he’ll have to stay here. Hank will be crazy mad if Thomas moves into his territory.”

  “We’re not mated,” Miz assured her, depressed because she knew she was right. “But if we were, I’d leave Bitter Creek Holler and Hank Wyatt behind.”

  “Yeah, right,” Jenny said and smirked.

  “Whether I sell my half of the business or not, I plan to be out of here before the snow falls,” Miz said casually. Once winter hit the mountains, there’d be no moving until spring.

  “So what will you do? Set up your own shop?”

  “Look for work wherever I move,” Miz told her partner, prepared for the horrified response.

  “You can’t move, as in leave the house.” Jenny knew more than she should about the Hess gift that included being shackled to the house in Bitter Creek Holler.

  “Well, as a matter of fact,” Miz drawled, “I can. You can report to Hank that I’ve family who can take over. I’m moving on.” She resisted the urge to say more. Jenny was still Miz’s partner but she’d proven she wasn’t to be trusted and given up the right to be her friend.

  “As soon as I find someone interested in owning half of a massage parlor catering to weird, shape-shifting mountaineers and senior citizens, I’m selling.” Miz retreated to her cubicle to wait for her first client and left Jenny folding towels and wearing a horrified expression.

  Miz’s heart lay heavy in her chest as though she’d contracted a disease she couldn’t heal. But she knew the poison she carried inside consisted of disappointment, hurt and betrayal, and she had no talent for soul mending.

  She thought her head might explode. The whole damn summer had been out of kilter with Thomas pretending to be a fisherman renting Shep’s cabin, but really he was a Special Forces operative on assignment in Bitter Creek Holler. He’d wormed his way into her life, offering mind-blowing sexcapades and claims of mating. After he’d had her believing he’d stay, he’d left.

  Thomas Hunter had gotten under her skin. It wasn’t happening again. She reminded herself that Hess women were strong and independent. They didn’t need forever from a man. If the shifty bastard ever came back to Bitter Creek Holler her wards would be up and she wouldn’t let him in.

  She repeated that vow so often she almost believed it. It was Saturday, the beginning of the weekend for her since Hands-On was closed on Mondays. She went home determined to forget Thomas.

  “Maybe I’ll stop someplace for a beer.” Sure, and apples grow in the arctic.

  She rode the Harley home as if she had a purpose. It was more than excess power that had her tingling. Change was in the air. It might just be the heavy weight of magic this time of year but Miz didn’t think so.

  Impatient to discover what spirits might be stirring in her universe, she filled a black clay bowl with clear water. As if her subconscious had been waiting, immediately she was caught in a divination. Her breathing slowed, her vision altered and the clear liquid she stared into became cloudy, forming shapes she recognized without knowing how.

  Scrying was dangerous for her. If she stumbled into a needy soul on the metaphysical plane, her gift of healing could kick in, impelling Miz toward the victim regardless of his or her location. Closing her eyes, Miz imagined white light surrounding her. When she once again gazed into the bowl, she stood in an aura of protective brilliance. Focusing, she sent her inner being for a walk in the spirit world.

  She secretly hoped for a glimpse of Thomas. But it was the familiar face of a Bitter Creek resident she saw instead. He’d dressed his muscular frame in a plaid shirt, old jeans and scuffed boots. His shaggy blond hair made him look country with a capital “C”. But she knew better.

  Shep Buchanan reached toward her and mouthed the words, Help me.

  Miz stumbled back, breaking the connection. She’d just spirit locked with Thomas’ boss. Born and raised in Bitter Creek Holler, Shep maintained two houses and a cabin here but lived elsewhere most of the time.

  He had his own helicopter pad for when he visited and slipped in and out without most people even seeing him. When he did make an appearance, he spent more on his weekend parties than most of the locals made in a year.

  Help him? Miz had no idea how. Her hands remained quiet, responding to nothing that she’d seen in the scrying.

  She went to bed but her sleep was restless. Finally, at four in the morning, she gave up and rose to peer out the window. Though the moon was waxing strong and would be full in a few days, at the moment it was clouded over. Stepping outside, Miz gazed at Shep’s cabin. It was dark, showing no indication of life.

  She didn’t bother returning to bed. Though it was the weekend, she drove to her shop and spent the day cleaning. She didn’t want to be home alone. She’d begun to feel desperate.

  * * * * *

  Thomas Hunter didn’t know who in DC he could trust, so he trusted no one. He waited until the early hours of morning before he left Shep’s room, telling the two guards on the way out he was going back to the hotel to crash. They had no reason to doubt him. He’d been with Shep ’round the clock for over a week.

  He didn’t go back to his room though. As soon as he collected his vehicle from the parking area he drove straight out of town, traveling faster than the speed limit allowed as he hurried on his way back to Miz. His jaguar was an angry, agitated beast hard to quell but as they neared the mountains, the beast began to calm at the same time Thomas’ anxiety increa
sed.

  He’d been holding his cat in check for weeks. The animal hadn’t wanted to leave Miz in the first place. Neither had Thomas but Shep Buchanan had called him back to the Special Forces unit and he’d obeyed.

  The proposed short trip had turned into a nightmare, making it impossible to return to Miz without putting her in danger. But the cat’s restless prowling had increased until Thomas was convinced he had to go fetch her. He couldn’t stay in Bitter Creek Holler to protect her so she’d have to return to DC with him.

  It wasn’t going to be an easy sell. He rehearsed his words during the seven-hour trip. The miles between them steadily decreased, but Thomas’ desperation increased as his mind filled with what-ifs. What if Miz refused to return with him? She had to. He needed her. All the emotions he’d struggled to control in order to do his job were loose. He needed Miz. What if she refused to be his mate? The jaguar snorted. She is the mate.

  “It’s not me you have to convince, Sunny,” Thomas muttered, mocking his beast with Miz’s name for him.

  It was four o’clock in the morning when he turned onto I-64 and passed from Virginia into West Virginia. Miz claimed the mountains were blanketed in magic and he believed her. He felt a ripple of sentient power in the air and the atmosphere became strangely exotic.

  He passed huge tracts of timber as the highway wound its way through the silent foothills toward the higher elevations. His beast loved the surrounding wilderness but Thomas would have liked it better without the insects.

  It was a fact that creepy-crawlies thrived on the heavy, sweet blood of a shifter. Thomas shuddered. All summer, the mosquitoes had been murder. Hopefully it was late enough in the year for frost to have killed all the flying bloodsuckers.

  Chapter Two

  Thomas glared from baleful cat’s eyes at the house where Missouri Hess had herself barricaded. She was in there right now, lurking behind one of her damn protection spells she called wards. He couldn’t cross into her yard, so he was stuck in the willow tree waiting for her to relent and let him in.