Wicked Destiny: A Reverse Harem Urban Fantasy Series (Wicked Witches Book 1)
Table of Contents
Before you begin…
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Wicked Witch
Wicked Destiny
Wicked Witches Book One
L.C. Hibbett
This book was written, produced, and edited in Ireland. Slang words and idioms particular to each culture have been retained to respect the authenticity of certain characters. No part of this book may be reproduced, stored in a retrieval system or transmitted in any form or by any means, without the prior permission in writing of the publisher. This book is a work of fiction. All characters in this publication other than those clearly in the public domain are fictitious, and any resemblance to real persons, living or dead, is purely coincidental.
Copyright © L.C. Hibbett 2017
Edited by N. K. Editing
All rights reserved
First edition
Table of Contents
Before you begin…
Chapter One
Chapter Two
Chapter Three
Chapter Four
Chapter Five
Chapter Six
Chapter Seven
Chapter Eight
Chapter Nine
Chapter Ten
Chapter Eleven
Chapter Twelve
Chapter Thirteen
Chapter Fourteen
Chapter Fifteen
Chapter Sixteen
Chapter Seventeen
Chapter Eighteen
Chapter Nineteen
Chapter Twenty
Chapter Twenty-One
Wicked Witch
Before you begin…
Wicked Destiny is the first book in an urban fantasy series and the romantic elements are of a slow burn, reverse harem nature. The characters are predominantly Irish and the book is written with this in mind—there will be syntactic and word level differences due to the use of an Irish voice. Many of the characters in the book have been borrowed from Celtic mythology, but creative license has been exercised. Destiny’s prequel short story is included at the end of this book and you may wish to read it before you start the novel, but it’s not essential.
Have you read Beauty’s Beasts? The Poison Courts is a companion series to the Wicked Witches and each standalone novel in The Poison Courts tells a different origin story for the secondary characters in the Wicked Witch series.
Chapter One
When push comes to shove, you’ve got two choices in life—drown or swim.
In the movies, it’s easy to see the fall coming; you can’t miss the moment when everything starts to go to shit. A slick guy in a designer suit strolls into a bar, ominous music starts to play, and you just know it’s the beginning of the end for the beautiful heroine. Maybe if I hadn’t been distracted, I would have seen it coming. Hell knows I’d been waiting for the ax to fall since the day my mother was snatched from my arms when I was six years old. Or maybe, I wasn’t the heroine. Maybe that’s a role reserved for svelte, kind-hearted beauties and not for red-haired witches with the power to suck the life from a small country in the blink of an eye. Either way, when life finally caught up with me, it didn’t come with a bang, but in a whisper so quiet it almost passed me by. By the time I realized what it all meant, there was nowhere to run but into the eye of the storm. Story of my life—a day late and a dollar short.
“Seriously, why does she keep making that weird face?” I squinted across the café at a blonde customer who was pouting into her cell phone. The girl twisted her face to find the most flattering angle of her beautiful profile while her friends sipped their skinny lattes. I lowered my voice and affected my best David Attenborough accent. “Duck-mouthed human females: a rare opportunity to watch this fascinating creature in their natural habitat. The offspring of a human female and a male duck often appear human in nature until the onset of puberty, when the avian genetic code begins to make a desperate effort to assert itself, forcing the female duck-human hybrid to stick her lips out like a beak whenever anyone flashes a camera in her direction.”
Lan smirked at me as she shuffled out of the kitchen. I wasn’t expecting any other response. In the eighteen months I’d been working at The Paper Heart, I’d never once heard the old lady’s voice. At first, I’d found the silence unnerving, but over time I’d grown accustomed to it. She tipped her head in the direction of the only occupied table and I arched my brows. All three girls had their phones raised and were pushing their lips out and sucking in their cheeks. I gave an exasperated sigh. “Ah, come on. This is bloody ridiculous. Fly away home little duck brains, it’s almost closing time.”
Lan rewarded me with a soundless chuckle and I leaned my elbows on the counter while she loaded the remains of today’s cakes onto a tray. The Paper Heart was just a little coffee shop attached to an art gallery and studios, but it served the best desserts in Galway city; Lan’s fudge cake was better than sex. Well, considering I’d only had sex once, leaving me pregnant and on the run from my vile excuse for a family, maybe I wasn’t experienced enough to reliably compare anything to sex. Desserts, on the other hand, were my area of expertise—and it was damn good cake.
My fingers itched as I stared at the girls. All it would take to send them on their merry way would be a little rune traced into the air. Nothing horrible, obviously, just a sudden allergy to designer mascara or an outbreak of zits. I didn’t make a habit of using my magic at work—lots of the customers at The Paper Heart were human and revealing the supernatural world to a human was one sure way to draw the attention of the International Guild of Supernaturals—bad news for any super, but really bad news with an extra serving of shit sauce for a witch who was trying to get accepted into the ultra-exclusive coven of the Free Witches. But the selfie queens weren’t humans so maybe I could make a little exception. I wriggled my fingers and muttered under my breath, zoning in on the most frequent selfie offender. “You’ve got five minutes to finish that coffee, duck face, then it’s war.”
The scent of soap and oil paint surrounded me and the tiny hairs on my arms trembled as a warm presence leaned into my back. My boss’s voice hummed in my ear. “Are you referring to one of our customers as ‘duck face’?”
“Maybe…” I scrunched my nose at Lan as she scooted into the kitchen and the little sneak winked at me. She was lucky she was too cute and old to hex—I wasn’t above using my magic for petty revenge if I thought the Free Witches wouldn’t find out. I fidgeted with the stack of flyers I’d already straightened. “In my defense, Nick, the customer in question does spend a disproportionate amount of time pouting like a duck.”
“Ducks can pout?” I felt Nick shifting his weight behind me and I imagined his crossed arms and the teasing grin tugging at the corners of his lips. The three blondes hadn’t missed his entrance either. Eyelashes fluttered wildly and hair shimmered as it was flicked over shoulders. My lip curled as I watched the primal display. If they’d painted their naked arses red
like baboons, it would have been a less nauseating sign of their attraction. I glanced over my shoulder at Nick and found myself an inch from a bare, sweaty chest.
“Oh, for fuck sake.” I grabbed one of the fresh shirts Lan kept under the counter and tossed it at Nick’s tattooed torso. Shifters weren’t huge fans of clothes, and with a body like Nick’s, who could argue? I snapped my gaze away from his damp skin. “Nick, this is why we have little twits hanging around here until closing time. Cover yourself up when you finish painting.” I glanced down at the table where the three girls were all but panting as Nick tugged the plain white shirt over his head. The fabric stretched tightly over his arms and chest, but at least it covered his six-pack well enough that I didn’t have to worry about anyone swallowing their tongue. I rapped my knuckles on the sign I had laminated and taped to the wall. “What’s the rule, Nick?”
“Clothes must be worn where food is being prepared,” Nick chanted.
Lan nodded from the kitchen and I gave her a thumbs up. “See, Lan knows the score. You never catch us wandering around half-naked.”
For one agonizing moment, I thought I saw Nick’s gaze flit over the huge apron I insisted on wearing to disguise my curves before he raised his palms in surrender. “Okay, okay. I’m sorry. No more nakedness. Man, I only came out of the studio to say hi.”
“Great, now you can say hi to your little admirers and tell them it’s closing time. Which means they’ll be hanging around here all day tomorrow, desperate for another encounter with the talented, charming, and often near-naked Nikolai Sarkus. But I won’t care because it’s my day off. Enjoy.” I gave Nick my sweetest smile and he narrowed his eyes.
“Hey, I’m the boss here, Des, I could always change the roster.” His hand reached for the dry-wipe pen attached to the magnetic staff timetable but I snatched it and shoved it into my pocket.
I shook my head. “No chance, asshole, I have plans. Now, run along and tell the kiddos the strip show is over—it’s closing time.”
I rested my hip against the counter as I watched Nick tower over the table of drooling girls. I guessed from the thin layers and toned physiques that the three girls were shifters, like Nick, and I wondered did they know he was a Tiger. Siberian tiger shifters were huge, powerful and incredibly rare. Rumour had it the original Siberian tiger shifters were born of a tryst between the Siberian goddess Aysyt and the Norse god Loki.
Before I wandered into The Paper Heart looking for a job to supplement the income from my university grant, I’d never seen a tiger shifter in the flesh. When I lived under my father’s rule, I was forbidden to speak to any supernaturals who hadn’t sworn fealty to him—and he wasn’t keen on shifters. Or mermen. Or fae—it was a long list. He liked to toy with unsuspecting humans from time to time, taking pleasure in slowly revealing the supernatural world with all its delights and horrors. Even though humans outnumbered supers vastly, without a living god, they were the most vulnerable of all the mortals. And there was nothing my immortal father loved more than having a helpless mortal at his mercy. Wanker.
“Destiny?” Nick’s thumb stroked the inside my wrist and I started at his gentle touch, snatching my hand away instinctively. Nick dropped his arm to his side and tipped his head toward the empty table. “They’re gone.”
I watched the three girls sashay away from the café through the huge windows that fronted the building; duck lips and perfect backsides—no stretch marks or nursing bras for them. Assholes. I crossed my arms over my ample chest. “Just make sure you wear clothes tomorrow, please. And tell some of your cheesy dad jokes—whatever it takes to get rid of them before my next shift.”
“Dad jokes?” Nick raised his eyebrows.
“Don’t take it personally, Methuselah. How many weeks until you hit the big three-zero, anyway? Three decades. Yikes.” I smirked at Nick as Lan turned off the lights in the kitchen. The tiny culinary genius dropped a brown paper bag onto the counter in front of me before she disappeared into the back of the building. The traces of vanilla frosting on the outside of the bag were enough to make me drool in anticipation. A mug of tea, one (or four) of Lan’s cupcakes, my aunt Aoife asleep in her armchair, and my little girl Saoirse curled up on my lap like a warm, pudgy ball of mischievous dough while we watched some awful kids’ television—the ingredients for a perfect evening. I called my thanks to Lan and untied my apron, tossing it into my bag, ready to be laundered when I got home.
Nick stared at the apron and took a step closer to me. “Des, have you ever considered getting to know some of the girls that come in for coffee? Maybe, go for a few drinks with them after work? Check out the new club in Eyre Square?”
“With the duck faces? Are you taking the piss? They’re children,” I said.
Nick’s lips curled up at the corners. “They’re probably eighteen or nineteen; you’re only a year or two older.”
“Nick, I have a little girl and an aunt to support. I work full-time and take twenty hours of classes a week. I own one pair of trainers and one pair of boots. My phone is the cheapest piece of junk on the market, and I regularly leave the house with Saoirse’s breakfast stuck in my hair. I think it’s safe to assume whatever club the duck faces are going to, I wouldn’t fit in.” I heaved my backpack onto the counter and yanked on the draw-string in the lining. “Seriously, you need to give up on trying to arrange friend-dates for me—don’t make me bring up the never-to-be-mentioned ‘Mammy and Me’ fiasco.”
Nick’s lips twisted with the effort of containing his smirk. “I still think you pushed the eject button on the parent and baby coffee mornings too quickly—a few more of Lan’s chocolate and oat cookies, and you could have made a real connection. You’ve got to be more open, Destiny.”
I landed a punch on his bicep. “One of them tried to put her expressed milk in my tea because she was worried about my nutritional intake when I told her I’d never eaten kale. In. My. Tea.”
Nick’s chuckle swelled from his belly and burst from his mouth in a low throaty rumble. He rested his muscular butt on the edge of the counter and the skin around his eyes crinkled as he tried to suppress his laughter. “Okay, okay. I’ll stop. If you want to be a social outcast and spend your nights washing your aprons, who am I to stop you?”
“Hey, I’m not a social reject. I’m just selective,” I said.
Nick pushed his dark hair off his face and looked at me from under dark brows. His bronzed skin was flecked with paint. “Prove it—come to the pub with me.” Sensing my reluctance, Nick caught my shoulders and made a pleading face. “Come on, Destiny, I could do with a pint. Lexi’s weekend with Maya was a bust.” Maya was Nick’s twelve-year-old daughter and Lexi was his ex-partner, who flew in from New York to spend time with their daughter once a month. She seemed like a nice lady whenever I met her, but Maya was a sensitive kid and the change in routine always seemed to upset her. Families, nature’s very own torture device. Nick tilted his head to one side. “Keep an old man company for one pint? I’m buying.”
I felt my cheeks dimple as I glanced the clock. Ten past five. My aunt Aoife would have brought Saoirse home from the park and they’d be getting ready to watch Saoirse’s favorite cartoon show at five-thirty. Supper was already prepared and ready for reheating, thanks to Lan and the endless selection of leftovers she hand-delivered to my Aunt twice a week. I could spare half an hour. Just to be a good employee. I ignored the butterflies in my stomach as I searched the pockets of my rucksack for my cell phone. “Okay, one pint. Because you’re almost thirty and sad and desperate. Just let me text Aoife to let her know.”
Nick grinned and pumped his fist in the air. “You beauty, it’s a date. I’ll go tell Maya and Lan that I’ll be back in an hour.” He bounded toward the stairs that led from the art studios to his apartment and my teeth nipped at my bottom lip as I unearthed my phone and tapped on the screen. It wasn’t an actual date. It was just something people said. There was absolutely nothing else to it. I twisted to check my reflection in the window
, wishing I’d brought a hairbrush to work. Or lipstick. Did I still possess a tube of lipstick? I groaned under my breath. “This is a terrible idea.”
A flicker of blue caught the corner of my eye, and I stiffened. It was nothing extraordinary—a bright blue sweatshirt, hood pulled over the man’s head to protect him from the evening chill. The figure didn’t glance into the café or pause, but something stirred in the pit of my stomach. I didn’t recognize his gait, but I felt certain it wasn’t the first time the man in blue had passed the window today. Nor was it the second. I stared at his back as he disappeared into the crowds of merry revelers thronging Quay Street. My lips were dry as a poem from my childhood slipped off my tongue unbidden. “Once met, no longer strangers. Twice met, now friends. Thrice met, we’ll be lovers or foes ‘til the end.”
I shoved my arms into the sleeves of my worn leather jacket and tried to shrug off the tingle at the base of my skull. A familiar pressure began to build inside my chest and I dug my nails into my palms, inhaling slowly and deliberately.
I knew there was no rational reason to fear a stranger who happened to pass the café a few times in one day—it was a busy street. And nobody in this city knew who I was; my father had no friends here. This wasn’t Dublin, where supernaturals hid behind expensive sunglasses and tinted glass, looking down on the unwitting humans from their ivory towers. Galway was a city of hope and change—where a witch forged papers could get a job from a tiger shifter with no pack and they’d never ask each other for an explanation. There was no logical reason for the metallic taste in my mouth or the pounding in my chest, but logic wasn’t what woke me screaming in the night.
I jammed my phone into my pocket and buckled my rucksack with tingling fingers. Going for a drink was a bad idea, it was too risky. Even in the lively, music-filled pubs, you never knew who might be watching. What if somebody from my father’s clan traveled to the city? What if the coven was secretly observing all those who’d expressed interest in joining? Would the Free Witches approve of a witch socializing with a shifter? I needed to get home. I needed to hold Saoirse in my arms and run a bath for Aoife. I needed to see for myself that we were still safe; still hidden in plain sight. I’d text Nick to apologize—not like there weren't a billion women who’d be happy to take him up on his offer of a drink. Pretty, sweet women with no baggage. The bell danced over my head as I snapped it closed behind me.