Not your mother’s romance

Enchanting Her Warlock

Sorcha Tierney craves adventure. Raised by straight-laced parents she dearly loves, but who can’t understand her addiction for heart-pounding adrenaline, she lives her life in defiance of everything they stand for, seeking the thrill of adventure and a sense of belonging. Her desperate need for a rush is what always lands her in trouble. She’s seen the back of a cruiser so many times, it was a wonder they didn’t hand her a Sharpie to autograph the door like the trouble-making superstar she’d become.

Castor Halloran lived by a rigid code of ethics instilled in him by his military parents. Those morals served him well in the police force as a decorated officer known for his innate ability to steer criminals straight. Well, most criminals. Sorcha Tierney, on the other hand, would be the death of him with her wild ways, lack of inhibition, and apparent death wish. 

Secrets revealed force both Castor and Sorcha to compromise and forge a new path despite their hostile distrust and the simmering attraction they struggle to deny. Thrust into a reality that seems born of fairy tales, they scramble to prepare for the villain waiting to strike with a ferocity that threatens to abolish not only their powerful connection, but also their lives.

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Excerpt:

“Never thought I’d see you of all people hiding since you’re such an in-your-face woman. This is an interesting new development.”

The hair stood up on the back of her neck, and she fought the urge to cringe as Officer Castor Halloran’s sultry, gravelly voice slid over her, like a hundred illicit fingers, their only goal, to make her pant for more.

She stepped out the door and threw back her shoulders.

Hide? Pssshhhh.

Except she was.

She so was.

But damned if she would let him think she was hiding from him.

Despite her stubbornness, the snap of the door clicking shut behind her didn’t go unnoticed since it also meant she sure as shit wasn’t going to get back in that way.

“Please, when have you ever known me to hide? You’ve brought me in how many times now? Six, seven?” she asked with a hand perched on her cocked, jean-clad hip, going for flippant disinterest without overselling it.

“Twelve.”

Ouch.

Okay, so she’d slid into donut-ordering territory. And she’d take a minute or two to evaluate what that meant. Later. Once she got away from—

“There you are. Are you ready to go?” Andy said, stepping out of a black Lincoln.

Because nothing bad ever happened when an understated black sedan showed up, right?

Until now, she’d just gotten tangled up in piddly shit. Usually because of her big mouth and habit of stepping in to help the underdog.

Okay, maybe overhelp—at least she didn’t stand idly by.

But this sedan, this dude in his black dress slacks and crisp, white shirt that may or may not be designer—she couldn’t quite tell—had a non-descript face that seemed like it might actually be hard to explain to a sketch artist. Average nose, average lips, face not round, but not square, and Crayola brown hair, and this fantastical story about all things non-human, delivered with a not deep, but not high voice, well, he seemed like a good way to go missing.

So missing that there wouldn’t even be teeth to identify the body after.

Yup, this guy seemed like way more than piddly shit, and that had all of her self-defense mechanisms on high freaking alert. Such high alert that sweat trickled down her back and her heart raced.

Instinct told her to run hard and fast.

She wiggled her toes in her flip-flops.

Instinct rolled its eyes at her regrettable choice in footwear last night.

With his head tilted, his blue eyes narrow slits as he squinted in the sun, or glared at her—whichever—Officer Pain In Her Ass since she’d stepped foot inside the Maynard City limits a year ago, finally looked like he’d be of use after all.

She looped her arm through Officer Halloran’s like they were the best of buddies.

Like women had done for centuries while debonair men escorted them in public.

Like he hadn’t cuffed her twelve hours earlier.

Or read her the Miranda rights.

She smiled at Andy. “I am. And Officer Halloran—Castor has been kind enough to offer me a ride—you know, on account that I don’t know you. I’m sure you and my sisters won’t mind, right?”

My sisters.

The words caught in her throat for a beat.

Did she really have sisters?

And why are you even asking yourself that? You know you don’t have sisters. Don’t get sucked into this Twilight Zone.

“I did?” the officer in question said with a twitch of his lips.

“You don’t remember? You said you’d take me anywhere I needed to go. Well, I need to go meet my sisters,” she said, holding his gaze, trying to convey some sort of urgency without coming across as needy.

His other hand rested on his hip, his palm hovering just over the butt of his gun, and for the first time ever, she found the presence of an officer a relief. Because he’d totally shoot nondescript dude if he got out of line.

At least, that’s what she told herself.

He rubbed his chin covered with yesterday’s five o’clock shadow. “I seem to recall making that offer. I just hadn’t realized you’d accepted. So where to?”

Her lungs eased out a breath she hadn’t even realized she’d been holding. “Well, ummm—”

“We’re meeting in Silver Falls, at Murdoch Construction off of Route 8. I can lead if you promise not to ticket me,” Andy said with the kind of guffaw that came after a supremely lame punchline.

The kind of punchline that rendered an audience silent with the echo of secondhand embarrassment.

If Sorcha didn’t know better, Officer Now Saving Her Ass figuratively rolled his eyes at the pithy comment. “In just a few minutes, we’ll be out of my jurisdiction. I think I can control myself until then.”

“Great. I’ll just wait in the car until you’re ready, and we’ll head out,” Andy said with a nod before turning in the direction of the vehicle of doom.

“What the hell have you gotten yourself into now?” Castor said in a harsh whisper, shooting her a weighty glare.

© Casey Hagen, USA Today Bestselling Author