Lady Sass(Witches and Werewolves Book 1)(10)

By: Jen Talty

Her reasoning for the outburst had been that Jackson had been cruel toward her, only the entire encounter had been filmed, so no one believed her.

But Jackson never made a statement, which actually made him look as though he could have done or said something deserving of a Cosmo being tossed on his nice white shirt.

“I’m sorry your childhood was so rough.”

He shrugged his shoulders. “It’s not your fault my father’s a big prick.”

“My father is a good, loving man,” she whispered, wishing she could have taken the words back.

“I’m sure he is. So many others aren’t as blessed as you have been.”

She let his words hang in the breeze as he merged onto the highway, heading east. Her father’s protection spell blanketed her body like a warm, fuzzy throw. The spell would warn her of anyone wishing to cause her harm of any kind.

The Royal Family of the Coven of the Silver Flock would never use witchcraft to bring harm to anyone, or to better themselves over someone else. People often wondered why they even called themselves witches if they didn’t use it, which made her laugh, because they practiced witchcraft every day. Being a witch was a way of life, and they used their craft to help ease the pain of the sick and seek guidance in their future.

Every witch in the coven had their own Book of Shadows, a collective book of family spells, rituals, and meanings of life.

“Where are we going?” she asked.

“My cabin.” He glanced in her direction. “It’s peaceful, quiet, and no one will bother us there.”

She checked the rearview mirror. Any of the paparazzi could have followed them, but she would have sensed that with the protection spell.

Or maybe not, since Jackson wouldn’t let her father cast the same spell on him.

Her father was more than a High Priest. He was a Wizard and a master of his craft.

The wildest thing she’d ever seen her father do was make a Thanksgiving feast appear in a homeless shelter when a blizzard had prevented the food trucks from getting through. Over the years, as she read in the family Book of Shadows, her father’s good will and constant modesty humbled her.

She stared out the window, arms folded over her chest, legs crossed at the ankles as he turned onto Route 39 heading north through the Angeles National Forest toward a small town called Falling Springs. The city buildings had been replaced with lush greenery. Tall trees lined the curvy road. Colorful bushes speckled the hilltops. As a kid, during the full moon, her father would fly with her and her sisters over this area, often stopping to spend the night at one of the campgrounds.

Deep down, she was no city girl, but Beverly Hills wasn’t really a city, and she enjoyed all the comforts of home as much as she enjoyed a good campfire.

“We could just stop at a diner somewhere. No need to go all the way out there just for you to have to drive me home in a few hours.”

“I’m not driving you home.”

“Excuse me?” She glared at him with narrowed eyes, making sure she didn’t accidentally stab him with her mind. “You expect me to call a car service?”

He shook his head. “Not at all.”

“Then what? Because if you think I’m spending the night, you better protect your crown jewels because I won’t hesitate to kick you.”

That got his attention as he squirmed in his seat. “Look. This movie is make or break for both of us. We’ve never worked together, much less had a conversation with each other. Spending time alone will only give us a better shot at proving to the world I’m still on top and you’ve got what it takes.”

Sitting up taller, she smoothed down the front of her slacks. “Having lunch together is one thing, but I’m not spending the night at your cabin. Is this how you treat all your co-stars?”

He released the wheel, tossing both hands in the air. “I’m not planning on hitting on you. I no longer sleep with actresses or anyone I work with. This just gives us time to figure each other out so we can jump into our roles—”

“Do you feel that?” A rush of heat, followed by a cold prickle floated across her skin just as the steering wheel jerked to the left, into the other lane, into the path of an eighteen-wheeler.