Page 43

Present Day

New Orleans never sleeps, especially not in the French Quarter where my shop, Midnight Wytch , sits in the middle of all the frenzy. The scent of sage and incense mingles with the smell of spilt bourbon from last night's festivities, and the first rays of morning light creep through the windows, casting long shadows on the spell jars, herbs, and old books lining the shelves. I've always liked the electrical energy in here. It keeps my mind from wandering too much.

Owning a witch shop in New Orleans should be enough to keep anyone busy, but that's not all I've inherited. Being the daughter of an exorcist and an empath tattoo artist with a psychic streak means life was never simple. Add the fact that I'm also an RBMC princess, which makes me Royal Bastards royalty, things can get messy fast. Which is probably why my parents had decided to tell Jameson to send a babysitter after I got into a bit of trouble with the Bloody Scorpions.

Trouble .

I scoff just thinking about it. It wasn't that bad. I handled myself just fine, but apparently, the club and Jameson weren’t too happy about it. So now, I'm stuck with a biker babysitter I never asked for, one I really don't want.

Hellsing.

The sound of his boots against the old wooden floorboards makes me tense up before I even set my eyes on him. He sauntered in like he owned the place, all lean muscle and sharp attitude. That weathered leather cowboy hat cast a shadow over those bright blue eyes of his, and a toothpick rolled lazily between his lips, flashing a little bit of tongue. He literally acted as if the whole world was his playground. He was wearing my father's long black leather overcoat with the RBMC patch on the right arm, subtle but enough to make people think twice about crossing him.

And damn if the man wasn't gorgeous. His dark curls fell to just below his neckline, he had a sharp nose, thick beard over a hard chiseled jaw, but his attitude was enough to make me want to hex him into the nearest swamp.

He leaned against the counter, a slow smirk spreading across his face. "Well, ain't this cozy. You runnin' a little love spell business now, Grace?"

I rolled my eyes, crossing my arms over my chest as I glared at him. "I don't need to sell love spells to morons. But I could whip one up to make you disappear."

His grin widened, that lazy Louisiana drawl dripping with sarcasm. "Now, darlin', that's no way to talk to the man sent here to protect your pretty little ass. You oughta be thanking me. I could be out ridin', but instead, I'm stuck here babysittin'."

" Babysitting ?" I snort, flicking a strand of dark auburn hair over my shoulder. "Last I checked, I'm a grown woman. Don't need some cowboy with a death wish following me around. Go play pretend outlaw somewhere else, Hellsing."

His eyes flashed with amusement and a spark of something darker lay beneath that look. It sent a hot thrill down my spine. He took a step closer, the scent of leather and amber clung to him, and I refused to let him see the way my heart skipped a beat from is nearness. I was not going to back down.

"Pretend, huh?" His voice dropped low as he tilted his head to the side, his eyes slowly roaming over me, lingering a little too long on my cleavage.

"Careful, Grace. You wouldn't want to piss off the wrong outlaw."

I arch a brow, refusing to back down. "Or what? You'll sic your Prez on me?"

The smirk on his lips faded just a fraction. "Nah, sweetheart. If I have to handle you, I'll do it myself. Up close and personal."

His tone was laced with something dark and dangerous, and my pulse raced against my will. But I would never let him see that. Not Hellsing. Instead, I lean in, close enough that my breath brushed his cheek. "You wouldn't last five minutes with me, Hellsing."

He was close now, too close, and I hated how aware I was of him. The heat radiating off his body, the slow roll of the toothpick between his teeth. "Five minutes, huh?" His voice is low, taunting. "Sounds like a challenge, princess. You gonna try me?"

I gritted my teeth, hating how much I want to slap that cocky smirk off his face. Or maybe kiss it off. Damn him. "I don't have time to deal with your ego. So how about you go play biker somewhere else and let me run my business in peace?"

Chuckling, he turned to play with a jar on one of the shelves. That deep, rich, infuriating sound sent heat right down to my core.

"Oh, I ain't goin' anywhere, Grace. You're stuck with me, gorgeous, like it or not. Bloody Scorpions want a piece of you, and I'm here to make sure they don't get it."

I rolled my eyes again, turning back to my potions, ignoring how good he looked in that worn leather jacket. "Please, Hellsing. I can handle myself. I don't need some arrogant prick watching over me."

But as I said the words, something shifted in the air around us. The light in the shop flickered and dimmed, and the temperature suddenly dropped. I froze, every instinct screaming that something was wrong. Hellsing stiffened beside me, his body tensing, and I know he sensed it too.

Before I could react, a dark energy crashes into the shop, shattering the glass on the shelves, sending books and jars flying. My heart began to race, and I spun around, readying to face whatever the hell just came through my door. But Hellsing was already moving.

Grabbing me by the arm, he pulled me toward the back of the shop. "Get behind me," he growled, his voice low and demanding.

I resisted for a second, but the look in his eyes makes my stomach drop. His usual smugness was gone, replaced with something fierce and protective.

"What the hell is happening?" I looked around the darkened shop, panic rising in my chest.

"I don't know yet," he muttered, his eyes scanning the room. And then, just like that, his body buckled, stumbling forward as if something invisible had struck him. He dropped to his knees, breathing hard, and when he looked up at me, his bright blue eyes were wide with pain. But it was the fear in them that stopped me cold.

I knelt beside him, my heart hammering in my chest. I slid my hands over his face and forced him to look at me. "Hellsing, what's going on?"

He clenched his jaw, his voice strained, and only one word escaped his lips.

" Run ."