Kerr, the hunky Shifter who smelled like ginger, cinnamon, and an intoxicating male musk—a combination that made her mouth water and her pussy damp—moved closer to Amethyst’s side and slightly behind, as Roger invaded her personal space.

Roger seemed mesmerized by the reliquary Amethyst now held. His nose twitched rapidly as he reached for the artifact with a shaky hand.

“Roger,” Kerr uttered in a delicious Southern drawl.

Kerr was so close behind her, she could feel his body heat from her head to her toes. Normally, Amethyst would’ve moved away from a stranger, but she stayed in place. She liked being surrounded by his strength. She felt no threat from him—now or earlier when he’d cuddled her on his lap—only protective vibes.

Kerr’s deep baritone turned admonishing. “Watch the hands, man.”

“I wasn’t going to touch her, Kerr.” Roger dropped his hand. “I wanted to see if I could feel the sex magic.”

Amethyst looked over her shoulder and found Kerr’s gray-green gaze on her. His eyes slitted like a cat’s. He must be a cat Shifter of some kind. He moved like one, all sinuous feline muscle. His thick hair was brown with natural highlights. But it was his scent that made her want to rub her body all over his and absorb him into her pores.

Her instantaneous reaction to Kerr was so far outside her normal behavior as to be in an alternate reality. While Amethyst’s interactions with Shifters had been few while growing up— Mildred had banned all Shifter species from their particular corner of England—she had met a few Shifter species when traveling on jobs for Baba Yaga.

On the whole, Shifters seemed to be just like any other witch, or human, for that matter. Some had been nice; some, not. Some educated; some barely literate. All Shifters had Earth magic which allowed them to shift and a few had magic comparable to witches.

But none of the male Shifters she’d ever met had drawn such strong and immediate physical reactions from her. It was an enigma, one she felt the urge to solve.

“Sex magic?” Kerr asked Amethyst as he moved to her side and placed an arm around her waist. It was a shielding move—as if he thought Roger might be a danger to her. “Shouldn’t that type of magic be considered dangerous in mixed company?” Kerr snapped his teeth. “Roger, man, I told you to move back.”

Roger squeaked and hopped back much like his animal might have.

“Kerr…” She turned within the clasp of his encircling arm to face him. Placing a hand on his wide chest, she meant to push him back … put some space between them. Instead, she found herself calming him down. “It’s okay.” She stroked his chest. “The reliquary is warded. The magic can’t leak out. It’s totally safe.”

Under her hand, Kerr’s heart pounded. He bowed his head, his heavy-lidded gaze focused on her hand. He took several slow, deep breaths as if inhaling her, then … purred, a low, rough rumble she felt all the way to the marrow of her bones.

When she moaned at the sensation, Kerr’s eyes darkened to a deep forest green and dilated with … oh my Goddess, was that arousal?

While her brain processed her unusual reactions, her body, obviously a quicker study, skipped ahead at the speed of light and responded. Her nipples and clit tightened into throbbing tight buds. She ached, and her pussy—the hussy was wet and swollen—begged for a release that she sensed only this man could provide.

So, this was sexual hunger. She’d never experienced instant lust for any man … ever.

This intense response to Kerr was exponentially stronger than all her other actual intimate encounters added together by a factor of ten. Bloody mother-humping-hell. She was out of her depth and sinking fast. Plus, she wasn’t actually sure how she’d gotten to this point. In less than a half-hour, her body had formed some sort of symbiotic relationship with his, and she had no clue how to react, how to protect herself from the consequences of the strange phenomenon.

One thing she did realize—the attraction was not solely on her side.

Kerr wanted her … a lot. A lot a lot. His body posture and actions in the short time she’d been here screamed protective and territorial.

The twenty-first century part of her psyche didn’t appreciate being claimed like a parcel. Unfortunately, the prehistoric part of her brain—the part which had wrested control of her body’s reactions—lusted after the hunky Shifter. Bottom line, higher level thinking and normal society’s rules didn’t seem to have a place in whatever the bleeding hell was going on between them.

Nervous, and feeling way out of her comfort zone, Amethyst licked suddenly dry lips.

Kerr’s hungry gaze zeroed in on her mouth. A low growl vibrated the chest she, unconsciously, still stroked.

Amethyst swallowed a needy moan and forced herself to breathe slowly to calm her racing pulse. If Kerr could arouse her to the point of panting by merely looking at her, what would happen if he touched her … really touched her … more intimately?

As if he could read her thoughts, Kerr winked, then smiled, a sexy twist of his lips that had her picturing him tearing off her clothes and taking her right then and—

Bloody hell. Now she was having pornographic daydreams. She was turning into a needy slut!

Amethyst blushed, then tore her gaze away from his intense regard and focused on Roger’s zealous scrutiny of the artifact still clutched in her hand—the hand not petting Kerr, an action she couldn’t seem to stop.

“Roger…” Kerr’s tone sent chills down her spine and not the good kind. She expected him to attack the hapless Roger at any time.

“Kerr”—she swallowed and set about de-escalating the situation—“it’s okay if Roger touches the reliquary.”

“Ammy…” Kerr muttered.

Ammy? He called her Ammy. Her heart melted. Her father had called her that.

Buried grief swept over her, and she realized how much she missed being Ammy—that young, carefree witch who’d loved adventure and discovering new things in the company of her doting father. Blessed Goddess, she missed him. After his death, she’d been just Amethyst, the daughter Mildred expected to marry well and add to the family’s wealth and prestige—the daughter constantly striving for—and failing to achieve—the love of her remaining parent.

She’d really rather be Ammy.

Kerr tilted her face to his. “Ammy, darlin’, come back to me from wherever you just went.”

She looked into Kerr’s fierce, but oddly gentle, gaze. He looked ready to slay dragons for her. “My father called me Ammy. The name brought back memories.”

“If it makes you sad—”

Amethyst placed a finger on his lips. “I like it.”

He kissed her finger.

She pulled it back and looked away, and found Roger had moved even closer.

Kerr stiffened.

“Now, as for Roger and the reliquary—” she began.

“He doesn’t need to touch it.” The growl was back. The gentle Kerr of mere seconds ago had once again morphed into her savage protector. His added or you echoed in her head.

Startled, Amethyst jerked and stared at Kerr. He shouldn’t be able to speak inside her head. She had defensive mental wards, for Goddess’s sakes. But somehow, he’d gotten through them, and without the use of black magic. Only one other being could get past her wards without the use of dark magic and that was her familiar Oliver, because he was—

Oh, damn, crap, shit—“Oliver!”

A feeling of horror made Amethyst sick to her stomach. She swept the area where she and Baba Yaga had landed a mere thirty minutes or so ago. She couldn’t see her familiar’s pudgy little body anywhere. She searched for Baba Yaga in the milling crowd.

“Baba Yaga! Where’s Oliver?” Running her fingers through her curls, Amethyst cried, “I can’t freaking believe I forgot all about him.”

“Ammy—” Kerr turned her to face him. His grasp was gentle, but firm on her shoulders, and his now recognizable touch had her soul singing Ah, Sweet Mystery of Life even while she was frantic about Oliver.

“Yes, Kerr?”

“Who the fuck is Oliver?” His question was uttered in a drawling, buzz-saw snarl.

Amethyst blinked. Kerr looked and sounded rabidly jealous. What the … She didn’t have time for this shit. Oliver was lost in a strange land full of predators who’d see him as a tasty morsel.

“My familiar. My cat. Now, let go.” She shoved at his chest, but he didn’t budge. She considered using a repel spell, but recalled Kerr was a Shifter. She’d better not harm him, she could use his tracking skills. “You need to help me find him. He must’ve fallen out of the transport vortex before we landed. He could be hurt.” Or eaten.

“Familiar?” Kerr smiled, all tension gone. “You like cats?”

Out of her mind with worry, she snarled, “Of course I like cats. Most witches like cats.” Her mother being a major exception. “It’s sort of a rule. Will you help me or not?” She waved her hands wildly about, almost clocking Kerr with the artifact she’d forgotten she still held.

Kerr massaged her shoulders. “Shh, Ammy. Calm down.”

And to her amazement, she did.

Kerr removed the reliquary from her hand and placed it on a porch table. “Of course, I’ll help you. We all will.” He turned her to face the crowd, and holding her in front of him, he literally and figuratively took her back. “Everyone gather in. Ammy’s familiar is lost. We need your help in finding the little guy.”

He rubbed her chilled arms, imparting comfort along with the warmth. “Go ahead and describe him, darlin’.”

“He’s a gray-and-white tabby. Sort of pudgy,” Amethyst said, then added quickly, “well, he’s not really fat, just big-boned.”

The crowd chuckled.

Kerr gave her arms a little squeeze. “Tabbies do tend to have big bones.” She heard the smile in his voice. “Why don’t you try calling him first before we span out to search for him? He couldn’t have gone too far. Even being tossed out of the transport vortex, he’d land on his paws. You know, if I were him, I’d be off sniffing, hunting, and marking territory. It’s what we cats do.”

Her guess had been correct—Kerr was a cat Shifter. Amethyst looked over her shoulder into his warm green gaze. “What kind of cat Shifter are you?”

Kerr winked at her. “I’m a bobcat. Like a lynx, but bigger.” He muttered next to her ear. “Lots bigger.” All over.

Sweet Blessed Goddess, she didn’t need that image in her head. She had to find Oliver.

“Call your cat, Ammy,” Kerr whispered. “I don’t like the scent of your worry.”

Scent of her worry? What else could he smell off her? Nope, she wasn’t going there right now.

“Um, okay.” Why hadn’t she thought of calling for Oliver before she’d gone bonkers? Because she’d been dazed and confused since being whacked upside the head by Kerr’s addicting scent … and his strong body and—Focus!

Amethyst shouted, “Oliver? Where are you?”

When she got no answering meow or snarky telepathic quip, the crowd chimed in. Soon the calls of, “here, Oliver,” echoed in the forest clearing where Mac’s house was situated.

“Okay, okay, hold your water.” A raspy voice came from—Voice?—under the porch. Since when did her familiar talk out loud?

“Oliver, is that you?” Amethyst called out.

“Well, it ain’t Sir Patrick Stewart, doll.” Several cat-like hisses that sounded a lot like laughter followed Oliver’s retort.

Amethyst walked down the steps of the porch and attempted to figure out where under the porch her cat was. “When did you begin to talk?”

“Could always talk.” Sounds of slurping, chewing, and crunching punctuated the shocking comment.

All that noise couldn’t be coming from her familiar, could it?

“It was just easier to mind-talk with you so your bitch-mother wouldn’t hear me.” Oliver burped. “Plus, never had an audience I needed to speak out loud to before.”

Amethyst zeroed in on Oliver’s likely position, then got on her hands and knees. Kerr stooped next to her, still protecting her back. The gesture warmed her. Since her father died, no one, other than Oliver and Baba Yaga, had ever given her such support. She found she liked his protectiveness. A lot.

Another loud belch, a sound suspiciously like a fart, and more crunching had her looking through the latticework wood slats that curtained the bottom of the porch. She found Oliver’s fuzzy arse facing outward along with the bums of three other cats. “Oliver, what on earth are you doing under there? And who are those cats with you?”

“What does it sound like I’m doing? I’m snacking.” Another chomp and a crunch followed by a loud purr. “All that transporting had me feeling a bit peckish. They have tasty rodents here. All fat and juicy.” Another crunching sound. “And even the bones are good. Way better than the dried up little buggers we have in the library basement back home.” Slurping sounds. “Me new mates—Fat Bastard, Boba Fett, and Jango Fett—are showing me around. They belong to some witch named Zelda. Say hello to my witch, fellows.”

A chorus of voices called out, “Hello, Oliver’s witch.” The sounds of eating resumed.

“Oliver, you can visit with your new friends later,” Amethyst said. “Come out here. Now.”

Amethyst sensed Kerr’s increasing amusement without even looking at him. Damn, she was far too attuned to the attractive Shifter.

Her familiar finally shimmied his roly-poly body, fuzzy arse first, out from under the porch. He then sat on his haunches and fastidiously began licking his paws and cleaning his face.

“I like this place, doll. Interesting smells. Lots of two-natured types. Good hunting.” Oliver looked up from his grooming and narrowed his gaze at about her shoulder level.

The look reminded her of Kerr’s when he’d warned off Roger.

“Well, well, well … what have we here?”

Her familiar padded over to her and Kerr. Oliver wended his way around her body to reach Kerr and then sniffed the man’s ankles. Then Oliver sniffed Amethyst and growled. He hissed, then began rubbing his cheek over all the parts of her he could reach.

Kerr grumbled and bristled behind her.

Oliver angled his head and stared, then chuckled. “Like that is it, boy? You’ll need to get over it. Familiars and witches go together like bangers and mash.”

“Oliver, what in the Goddess’s name is wrong with you?” Amethyst looked from her smug familiar to a fuming Kerr and back.

“Nothing.” Oliver purred.

It was not nothing. She’d get answers from Oliver later, or … no caviar for him.

Blinking, Oliver brushed his body against her thighs where she kneeled and then moved in front of Kerr, plopped his arse down, and stared at the man. “I’m not the competition, boy. You should also know Beelzebub’s bitch doesn’t allow Shifters in her little part of the U.K.”

Amethyst muttered, “Oliver, he doesn’t need to know that.”

Her mother’s bigotry against any species that wasn’t witch was embarrassing—and wrong.

“Beelzebub’s bitch?” Kerr asked, a brow raised.

“Mildred, her unnatural excuse for a mother,” Oliver replied. “I, however, approve. My prickdar tells me you’re not an asshole.”

“I can be,” Kerr said, “but not in this instance. And while I appreciate your approval, I don’t—”

Oliver swatted at Kerr’s knee. “Ixnay. We’ll talk more … later.”

Frowning at the odd feline bonding between Oliver and Kerr, Amethyst looked over at Baba Yaga who’d come to stand next to the trio. “What just went on here?”

“The circle of life. Ain’t it grand?” Baba Yaga laughed. “Let’s party!”