Page 29 of The Forty-Year-Old Virgin Witch

“Warlocks aren’t real. My mother said—”

He sneered. “Most witches pretend we aren’t real, because some covens can’t handle it.”

I wrinkled my nose, not sure what to make of him. Warlocks—or men with magick—were just rumors. They weren’t actually real, according to my mother. Then again … perhaps using her as my only reference source wasn’t a wise plan. Clearly, one stood in front of me now.

Quinn walked to the table and calmly scooped the herbs back into their glass jars with his hands.

“Warlocks aren’t natural, they—”

“Shut. Up.”

The venom in his voice was surprising, and I realized I probably didn’t know what I was talking about.

“Alright then,” I said. “Tell me about warlocks. Where do you come from?”

Quinn hopped up on my table, his feet resting on my chair. “Let me guess; your coven told you we steal magick, that we are a curse and a plague to be stomped out of the world?”

I reared back. “Goodness no, not even that much. Just that you weren’t real.”

Quinn rolled his eyes again and reached over to scratch Damon behind his ears. Damon hissed, and Quinn pulled his hand back.

“We are real.”

I sat down in the empty chair. “Obviously.”

He stared at me a moment, and I thought I recognized a quick glimpse of fear. Then it was gone, replaced by the annoyingly confident mercenary again.

“I don’t have time to get into this. What about you? Why are you living out here alone, like a human?”

I pushed him off the table, but he simply used his magick to hover in the air. Show off.

“It’s none of your business.”

“Well, I already know it’s because you rejected your inheritance. It’s obvious to any supernatural who meets you.”

My face turned beet red. It was? Did that mean Karl and Luka—Oh no. Their sudden presence in my life suddenly made a much more horrifying sense. Any supernatural knew that if a witch chose them for the inheritance ritual, it would be a large power boost to both of them.

It was why rituals were planned out so far in advance, with contracts and money changing hands in exchange for power and prestige. If a witch was feeling rebellious, she’d bypass the entire system and choose a human. That was how it used to be done, in the old days. The ritual was about the witch and her only, and not about what someone else could get out of it.

Now if you tried that shit, your coven would punish you and the human. Why waste such a resource when there was money to be made and favors to be reaped? The entire reason I’d run away was to avoid being auctioned off like meat to whomever my mother had contracted for me.

I thought what Luka and Karl had with me might be the beginning of … of something. I could still feel Luka’s soft lips and strong arms around me, and the careful, critical way Karl examined me to ensure I was alright. It wasn’t all a lie, was it? I had gone two decades staying away from men for this very reason, only to be caught off guard after all these years. How could the heart be foolish enough to latch onto people so quickly?

“Are you alright?” Quinn asked.

My hands were shaking—no, my entire body was. I refused to sink into another panic attack, so I clenched my hands into fists. I needed to focus on the most important matter at hand.

“You’re saying anyone who meets me knows I’m a virgin witch?”

Quinn shrugged. “Well, anyone who isn’t human, obviously.”

Cat shit.

“I’m guessing you didn’t know that.” He laughed.

I ignored Quinn. I ignored everything except the racing of my pulse and the heavy thudding of my heart against my ribcage.

“I’m also guessing from your reaction that you ran away from your coven.”

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