Page 3 of The Forty-Year-Old Virgin Witch

My courage failed and I fled into the house through the back door. His voice chased after me, laced with exasperation.

“Easy witchling, I was only joking. Can I come in?”

Karl was obviously a supernatural of some kind if he couldn’t cross the ward—that was the entire reason I had them. But just in case…

“NO!” I screamed back through the door and threw myself down at my small kitchen table. Calling it a kitchen was generous, since my cottage was mostly one room separated into different functional areas. The ‘kitchen’ area had my small wood stove, a large sink, and pots and dried herbs hanging upside-down from the ceilings. My bed was against the far wall, with the door to the front in the middle, and the door to the back garden directly opposite on the back wall. The final corner held a small claw-foot tub and toilet that was hidden by a long curtain. Others might have called it cramped or dirty, but to me it wasn’t. To me, it was someplace warm, someplace cozy. Someplace safe.

My heartrate had mostly returned to normal when the pounding began on my door. I banged my good hand on the wood table in frustration, knowing it couldn’t be Karl. I had made sure the ward included the front gate, so whoever it was certainly wasn’t him. Unless he made good on his word and did break through my wards.

I considered ignoring it, but if it was someone from the village, I didn’t want to raise any suspicions. The small village was usually peaceful, but any sort of odd behavior was bound to be questioned for weeks. I was safe here only so long as I could blend in and not cause any problems.

I got up from my chair and tried to block out my throbbing hand. I even managed a somewhat pleasant smile the moment I opened the door.

I didn’t expect to see a second devastatingly handsome man, though this one had shaggy blonde hair and hazel eyes. His skin was tanned, and he was large—his biceps were as big around as my thigh! He flashed a winning smile at me and held up a new jug.

“Davie sent me with this. Said you forgot it.”

His voice was tinged with an Eastern European accent. Was he Russian? He was dressed casually in simple dark jeans with a button-down shirt. I shook my head, focusing on his words.

I highly doubted he'd been sent.Davie knew I hated strangers, and he likely would have waited until I came back later for a new jug. Still, I wasn’t about to refuse free beer.

Frowning, I realized I’d be unable to carry it with one hand. I reluctantly opened the door further and pointed to my table in the kitchen area.

“Set it down over there.”

The man grinned like I had just awarded him a prize, and bounded inside with more energy than was necessary. He made quick work of depositing the jug, then proceeded to stare at the interior of my cottage. To my annoyance, he didn't appear in a hurry to leave.

“Your name is Aggie, right?”

That was it. I would murder Davie the next time I saw him—or at least curse his bollocks to swell or something else horrifically inconvenient. I gestured toward the door, my ‘bitch face’ settling into place.

“It’s getting late. If you would just—”

“What did you do to your hand?”

I blinked, and he was in front of me, my knuckles already held against the rough skin of his fingers. It was already swollen and turning a dramatic shade of black and blue, so I couldn’t lie and say ‘nothing.’

My pulse raced at the close proximity, but I didn’t pull away. When was the last time someone else had touched me? His hands were heavily callused and crisscrossed with numerous scars. Was he a laborer? Despite the texture of his skin, I was surprised by how … nice it felt to have my hand held.

“OY! You didn’t tell me you injured her!”

It took me a split second to realize the man wasn’t yelling at me. Karl’s faint voice echoed through the open kitchen window, but I couldn’t make out the words. Obviously this man could because he rolled his eyes and muttered ‘idiot’ under his breath.

“Why don’t you just heal it? Witches usually—”

My panic flared again. How did he know I was a witch?

“Do you know Karl?” I demanded, finally gathering enough wits to yank my hand out of his.

He shook his head, golden curls bouncing riotously against his head. When that green gaze met mine, I had to look away. Had I been such a hermit for so long that I couldn’t even look a man in the face now?

“Hardly. I know his clan though, my pack—”

“Can someone let me in already?” Karl whined from the front.

My head spun with all the information—a man more solid than concrete who couldn’t pass my wards without permission, who had a clan, and another man who wasn’t bothered by the wards but had a pack. That could only mean—fuck. A vampyre AND a lykos?

“Are you a lykos then?”

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