Hunted Witch Agency Complete Collection by Rachel Medhurst
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If he dared to take one more step, my magic would put him out of his misery. He must be miserable if he was following me. Creep.
“Come out, then,” I shouted, spinning in the dark street.
The shadows hid my stalker, but I knew he was there. I could feel the presence of the low life scum. And, if he didn’t show himself, I would show him my fist.
“Don’t even think about killing me.” Ah, there he was.
The London street shrunk as a group of warlocks came out from the shadows, their arms raised, ready for a fight. Good, let them be ready, I was also ready. And, extremely pissed off. Didn’t they know that I had a job interview to get to?
The leader was a tall man, although any person over the age of thirteen was taller than me, so that wasn’t a hard accomplishment to achieve. His dark skin was smooth, his leather jacket creaking as he moved. Closer, but not quite close enough.
My heartbeat resounded in my head, reminding me that I was alive.
Reminding me that I had a reason to live.
“What do you want?” I demanded, my hands held loosely by my side.
I hadn’t made up my mind about which magic I would use. Being a half-breed was good for one thing, the other person never knew how I would attack. Which was exactly why both witches and warlocks feared me.
The warlock held up a hand to stop the approach of the other four. They were all men, like most warlocks. Although there had been some gender cross-over, it wasn’t until I was born to a witch mother and a warlock father that female warlocks even existed.
The stark streetlamp overhead highlighted the others well. I stood back, using the darkness to camouflage myself as much as possible. The backstreet was a shortcut between two main roads in London city. My journey had been taking me to the River Thames, which was where the building for the Hunted Witch Agency stood.
Tilting his head to the side, the warlock laughed, the small insignificant sound filtering through his white teeth. He mocked me. Nope, not on my watch.
Crouching, I extended my right arm, conjuring a ball of flames. My wrist flicked, sending it towards my enemies. They scattered, their yelps of surprise making the corner of my lip lift into my cheek. They weren’t expecting me to attack all five of them.
Moving, I circled as they held up their hands. Were they seriously scared?
Or, playing me for a fool?
“If you leave now, I’ll leave your balls intact,” I said, smirking when a couple of them rolled their eyes.
They’d obviously heard of my reputation. So what if I’d accidentally de-balled a couple of witches a few years ago? We had been having fun when my magic had taken over. All had been forgiven. Yet, every person in the underworld associated my name, Devon Jinx, as the half-breed that ripped out men’s bollocks. Like the Americans say, my bad.
“Don’t fight us, Devon, he needs to see you.” The leader of the small warlock pack held his hands up in surrender.
As if I would believe him. Every single warlock in the coven of London wanted me dead. I didn’t really blame them, I had killed their leader. Again, my bad.
The person they spoke about was the one warlock who contested my claim to the warlock leadership. Wait, did I fail to mention that I was heir to the warlock crown? Well, not really a crown, but you know…
“I’m busy right now,” I said when one of them went to move forward.
My skin tingled as I prepared to defend myself. No matter how many times a supernatural creature chased me through the city of London, I would never get used to it. I was a target. Everyone wanted a piece of me.
“You killed our leader, the least you can do is explain yourself!” The main man finally snapped, his teeth pulled back as a hiss escaped his lips.