Psychic Witch: A New Immortals Universe Novel (House of Magic Book 2) Read online

  Psychic Witch

  House of Magic Book Two

  Ariel Hunter

  Ariel Hunter

  Published by Ariel Hunter and Raging Hippo

  Copyright © 2020 by Raging Hippo

  Cover Art by Mayhem

  Edited by ALD Editing

  All rights reserved.

  No part of this book may be reproduced in any form or by any electronic or mechanical means, including information storage and retrieval systems, without written permission from the author, except for the use of brief quotations in a book review.

  Created with Vellum

  Contents

  A Note From The Author

  Chapter 1

  Chapter 2

  Chapter 3

  Chapter 4

  Chapter 5

  Chapter 6

  Chapter 7

  Chapter 8

  Chapter 9

  Chapter 10

  Chapter 11

  Chapter 12

  Chapter 13

  Chapter 14

  Chapter 15

  Chapter 16

  Chapter 17

  Chapter 18

  Chapter 19

  Chapter 20

  Chapter 21

  Chapter 22

  Chapter 23

  Chapter 24

  Chapter 25

  Also by Ariel Hunter

  About the Author

  A Note From The Author

  My characters grow in all my series. They don’t start off as mega badasses. Otherwise there is no story. Please understand that you might not always like everything they do but they will get better. It’s the journey that makes them that.

  If you don’t like stories where the heroine and hero have to grow together and overcome obstacles, my books might not be for you. If you like tension that leads to steaminess later on and a rock-solid relationship—then read on. This is for you.

  Chapter 1

  I rubbed my eyelids and repeatedly banged my head down on the plush pillow.

  I can do it, I can do it, I can do it . . .

  I knew I was being a little overly dramatic, but moping around Callan’s home was not going to make the situation any better. I had stuck to my room and the library, avoiding him as much as possible in my little prison. I watched the dawn rise every morning over the gorgeous waves outside his vast living room windows. I admired sets that I wasn’t allowed to surf, and then I snuck back into my room before he opened his bedroom door to start his coffee.

  We had hardly spoken in the week since my stay at his home had started. He seemed busy with other things, often on the phone with the door closed in his room. Anya was out of town at a family event, so I wasn’t even able to ask him to teleport her in for a distraction. But she had gotten back yesterday. I knew she probably had needed some time away to think too. You know, after dying and being brought back from the dead by her best friend, then being told her memory would be erased as a result and said best friend would either be imprisoned or eliminated. In the end, things had turned out pretty good.

  Except for the potential of the Collector.

  A shiver ran down my spine and made the hair on my arms stand. I still didn’t know much about him, but if one of his loyal warlocks had killed himself in order to avoid any type of inquest, then he must be powerful. And he was after me.

  I clenched the nice fresh sheets and flipped over to groan into my pillow for a moment. I took a deep breath of the fresh rain smell of Callan’s detergent and tried to find the harmony within me.

  I can do it, I can do it, I can do it.

  All I was trying to amp myself up to do was leave the room and go face the day. I missed Anya, I missed surfing, I missed Boundless . . . I even missed doing magic.

  So, that meant it was time to find answers. I had to pour myself into my magic training with Callan in order to find out why the Collector wanted me. That was the only way out of Callan’s house. If I didn’t need his protection or his training, I could be on my own again.

  The memory of his hands on my skin and his lips pressing into mine gave me a little brush of butterflies through my stomach and I shook my head as I flipped over in the bed again.

  “No.” There was none of that to be had. He still hadn’t told me why he wanted to keep the arranged marriage, and until he decided to engage in an adult conversation about that, I certainly wasn’t going to change my mind about not wanting it.

  I grumbled to myself again and pulled up from the bed, throwing on some yoga pants and a tank top. I stretched up and pulled my blonde hair into a messy bun. I passed a mirror as I headed toward the door and halted at my image. “Fuck, girl,” I drawled. I stared at the ragged, sleepless image that looked back at me. Wasn’t like I was going to see Callan this early in the morning, anyway. He was never up before seven. The first couple hours of the day were mine.

  But still . . . just in case . . . I freshened up a bit, even swiping on some mascara before I exited the room.

  The coast was clear. Wide, gorgeous windows showcased a view of the ocean as the sun peeked over the waves. I smiled at the sight, continuing on to the kitchen with a little more pep in my step only to stop short. My lips parted.

  Callan was standing there, wearing only boxer briefs, holding a cup of coffee and an old- world text.

  “Shit.” I took a sharp step backward and pink magic flared from my fingertips, I was so startled. He raised his eyebrows at me and leaned back against the counter, lifting the cup and closing the tome. He blew out on the coffee softly; the vapor of its freshly made heat floating away from his lips, and I couldn’t stare anywhere else except his mouth.

  I flexed my fingers and calmed the pink magic again, taking a deep breath, forcing my gaze from Callan’s lips and back up to his taunting hazel eyes. Somehow, on the way up, my eyes managed to also look down. They must have gotten confused about direction. At least that’s what I told myself until I did it again.

  Don’t do it, don’t do it . . . shit, I did it. Don’t look again. Goddamnit, Marnie, stop looking at his dick. He can see your eyes peeking down there like a peeping Tom. You’re not sneaky, for fuck’s sake.

  The entire time I argued at myself, I couldn’t look away. He leaned lazily back against his kitchen counter with everything on display. Proud shoulders and rippled abs that should have been illegal led down to his snug boxer briefs that clung tightly halfway down his thighs, accentuating his quad and hamstring muscles. That thin fabric didn’t hide much, and he didn’t disappoint.

  Get it together. He’s just another guy. A hot guy, yes. One that wants to marry you for reasons he won’t confess, mhmm. He could probably do wicked things with those lips too . . .

  But he’s still just a guy.

  I crossed my arms and raised my eyebrows, trying to find my voice. I just hoped I wouldn’t squeak. “You know, you might think about actually wearing some clothes now that you live with someone else.”

  Callan swallowed his coffee and licked his lips, a little too slowly for it to not be seductive. My heartbeat picked up. He made a motion down his body, then gestured broadly around the house with the hand holding the ancient book. “Oh, I’m sorry, do you live here? You just skulk around, trying your hardest not to see me. Seems to me like I live with a ghost. I’ve met a few supernaturals who communicate with those who have crossed the plane. From what I hear, they’re not that prudish.”

  “If I were a ghost, wouldn’t I cause a bit more mischief than I do?” I said. “Take your carefully arranged shirts and set them out of color coordination? Maybe move around your pre
cious books in the middle of the night? Change the ones that are in alphabetical order?” I stepped closer to him and tapped his book as I said the last line.

  “Oh, if you did make such mischief, I’d catch you and bind you to me forever. Put you in a little bottle. Keep you in there until I rubbed you just the right way. Bring you out only when I need you.” The innuendo was not lost on me with the fire in his eyes. My mouth felt dry and my skin flushed. I covered it with an uneasy laugh.

  “You’re mistaking a ghost for a djinn,” I said, only half certain that was right but wanting to dissipate the tension that thickened between us like tiny threads trying to stitch together. “And I don’t think you could get me to grant you any wishes.”

  Callan frowned, his intelligent eyes missing nothing. “You don’t even know what I might wish for. I might make wishes that would make you happy.”

  “Oh yeah? You might wish to set me free? Let me go surf the biggest sets and find my own way in this world?”

  Callan sighed. Yep, I did it. Tension broken.

  Somehow, I didn’t feel as good as I thought I should at the snipe.

  I cleared my throat and remembered why I had even come into the kitchen.

  “So, if I were a ghost, I would just walk right through you, but you’re in the way, and I came in here to get some tea, so . . .” I smiled awkwardly as I internally grimaced at my crappy attempt to bring this back around. I made a motion toward the tea bag jar that was directly behind him, taking a step toward him, but instead of moving out of the way, he stepped in closer to me, so that we were only millimeters apart. I tried to reach around him, but he twisted his body, pinning me where he once stood.

  “All right, Ghost-Marnie, tell me, do you think true love could have saved you from your untimely and tragic death?” His voice was low, husky. Callan set the coffee cup down and when my eyes looked up at his again, he grabbed my chin so that I couldn’t look down this time. His jaw was set hard, his eyes fierce, commanding. The playful taunts had changed yet again, and that tension was back. The kind that made my core tighten and my breaths shallow. There was something serious in his question, something more than the playful banter, and I didn’t want to face it . . .and yet I did.

  It was confusing. Hell, I was confusing. While he wasn’t blameless, his interest in me had been clear for a while now. I was the one flashing hot then cold, liking a guy who I had no business liking.

  I opened my mouth, trying to find the words that I should have said a week ago when I moved in here.

  Then he laughed. His hazel eyes sparkled again, and he released me, stepping away.

  “If this doesn’t please you though, Marnie,” he swept his hand down to indicate his mainly naked, very gorgeous body, “I will wear full warlock robes next time.”

  “Oh,” I said slowly, trying and failing to hide a little of my disappointment. “Well, I don’t think that’ll be necessary.”

  His lips twisted in a smirk and I pressed my lips together. “Good. I want you to be comfortable.” He picked up the coffee again. “But not too comfortable, because you’re done moping. You’ve had a week and I tried to respect it. We have to return to training now.”

  “I wasn’t moping.” I was totally moping.

  He looked at me with one eyebrow raised but didn’t argue the point further. “We start training again this afternoon.”

  I groaned internally, turning to my inner mantra. I can do it. I can do it. I knew I needed to. I knew it was the answer to it all. I knew part of my reluctance was fear. The pink magic was so unruly . . . but I also needed to live a little.

  “How about this? You let me go surfing with Anya this morning, then we can train.”

  Callan sighed and I geared up for the argument where he told me no because, insert some bullshit misogynistic reasoning.

  “Get your board and call Anya. If we have to leave, we leave right away. Even if we have to abandon the boards. Understood?”

  I floundered for a second in surprise and then found my voice.

  “But some of those boards—”

  “Really, Marnie?”

  There was no room for negotiation in the ferocity of his eyes, so I nodded. He took another drink of coffee and then set it back down on the counter, reaching around behind me to slide it back toward the tea jar that I still hadn’t accessed. He smiled that cocky half-smirk at me.

  “Let me know when you want me to go get Anya.”

  “Okay . . .” I mumbled behind him as he vanished down the hallway toward his room. I took a deep breath.

  Fuck . . . This man. He made me mad. I swear, and not like the angry kind, although there was plenty of that too. I felt like a sheet in the wind around him, being whipped one way to another without rhyme or reason.

  Somehow in all my efforts to push Callan away, he’d only gotten deeper under my skin.

  I was beginning to wonder if I’d have to cut him out when this whole mess was over. My eyes strayed to his closed door, the unbidden thought following them.

  Or maybe I’d let him stay there . . .

  “Nope,” I chastised under my breath. “Not happening.”

  This was exactly why I needed to see Anya. She was the world I chose to live in. The one I picked. Not the one I was playing pretend in. The one that was holding me hostage for my power, removing the right to make decisions for myself.

  As much as my body might like this situation, it was only temporary. It had to be.

  Chapter 2

  Anya smelled like booze, tea leaves, and a hint of something other that I couldn’t name. In other words—herself.

  “Damn, Marnie, you’d think someone had died,” she joked as she finally pushed me away. It was a good sign she was able to joke so easily about it.

  The overwhelming thought that I had brought her back from the dead after the shooting at Boundless just a week ago had been a harshly waged war of self-doubt and over-confidence in my mind since I had last seen her. Was it what I should have done? Was it okay that I did it? Was I now a necromancer? If I were faced with the situation again, for someone else, or even for Anya, would I do the same thing? Would the pink magic let me? Did I think it was okay for other people to do it? I was firm in my decision at the time. And I was firm in my self-defense. But now, I didn’t really have a solid or consistent answer to any of those questions anymore. But it was still really good to see her.

  “Sorry,” I squeezed her shoulder as I stepped back, shaking away my tense thoughts. “It’s been a long week here and I’m just happy to see you is all.”

  My best friend smoothed back her dreadlocks. They had a few new golden rings laced through them that sparkled in the morning sun. Her brown eyes laughed at me.

  Callan left us alone, busying himself with checking the wards around his property. We had agreed that it would be safe for Anya and me to try surfing at his property. While the sets weren’t super long, I just needed to feel normal for a while. My normal. Not what my new normal was becoming.

  Anya picked up her board where I had basically forced her to drop it when I had assaulted her with my embrace. We walked toward the start of the shore at the best place to paddle out for the rolling sets coming in, where my board was already laying.

  “How’s your grandma?”

  “She’s good. She was surprised to see me. I guess I just really needed some assurances from my family roots, you know? And she’s the one that’s had the most experience with death since she has lost all her siblings and parents and lots of friends. I just felt . . . I don’t know. I needed someone that takes life a little less for granted than most people I’m around all the time.”

  I looked away, turning my face so she couldn’t see my slight frown. “Is that aimed at me?” I already knew the answer.

  She shrugged as she slipped out of her shoes. “You can be a little cavalier with this gift you have. So many people trying to make sure you’re safe and well-trained and keep others safe and . . . just seems like you’re taking a lot of thin
gs for granted.”

  She nodded her head toward Callan where he was headed back into his house. I sighed. He did truly seem to be trying to protect me. He didn’t want to control my powers. I knew that deep down.

  “How have you been feeling?” I asked, changing the subject to something only slightly more comfortable for me. “Any side effects or anything? Anything weird going on?” I was reluctant to ask the questions, but I did really need to know. If she were having any side effects from what had happened, she certainly wouldn’t find answers in the human medical world to help it.

  Anya patted my arm. “Everything seems normal. Nothing weird at all. Trust me, I am hyper-aware looking for anything out of the ordinary. It seems like you did a great job with your first attempt at necromancy.”

  I wrinkled my nose at her. “Do you—”

  “What is he doing?” Anya pointed to Callan. He was exiting his house with another surfboard. I frowned in his direction. What the hell did he think he was doing with that? It wasn’t one of my boards.

  “I have no idea. We are supposed to start my training again this afternoon. I bartered for the ability to see you and surf this morning. I just don’t want to train. I am avoiding it mainly out of fear. I can own that.”

  “What have you been doing the last week if you haven’t been training at all?”

  I rolled my eyes, a little bit of heat rushing to my cheeks.

  She laughed. “Have you just been sulking?”

  “Hey, a lot has happened,” I said, half-defensive and half-laughing myself. “And they are forcing me to live here.” I had a weird feeling in my chest again as I looked at Callan and added, “With him.”