Witched to Death

C
opyright
© 2016 by Deanna Chase

First Edition 2016

Cover Art by Janet Holmes

All rights reserved. No part of this publication may be reproduced, stored in, or introduced into a retrieval system, or transmitted in any form, or by any means (electronic, mechanical, photocopying, recording, or otherwise) without the prior written permission of both the copyright owner and the publisher of this book.

This book is a work of fiction. Names, characters, places, and incidents are products of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously. Any resemblance to actual events, locals, business establishments, or persons, living or dead, are entirely coincidental.

Bayou Moon Press, LLC

W
itched
to Death
is a Kindle World offering featuring Ida May from the Pyper Rayne novels.

T
here are worse
things than being a ghost summoned from New Orleans to Asscrack, West Virginia… especially when you wake up mortal, naked, and in the arms of the oh-so-sexy Diesel Jacobs.

Diesel Jacobs is the new wolf in town. Plagued by a curse that leaves him shiftless, he seeks out Zelda, the healer of shifters, for help. But when her spell to cure him produces Ida May, his former sort of girlfriend, suddenly he has a lot more problems than being unable to shift.

Still smarting from being dumped over a hundred years ago, Ida May is in no mood to help…and unfortunately for Diesel, she’s the only one who can get his shift back.

T
here’s only
one thing that could tame a pissed off ghost who’d been suddenly snatched from her beloved New Orleans to the backwoods town of Asscrack, West Virginia… and that was waking up a solid, flesh and blood human.

Naked.

And in the arms of the sexiest man I’d ever laid eyes on. Diesel Jacobs.

Who wouldn’t want to press her bare breasts up against the rock solid chest of a badass wolf Shifter?

Too bad I was still pissed at him.

“What hole did you crawl out of?” I asked, glaring at him, trying not to swoon at his whiskey-colored eyes and impossibly long eyelashes. Seriously, it should be criminal for a man to have lashes that pretty.

“Ida May?” he gasped out, his eyes wide as he hastily set me on my feet. “What are you doing here?”

“How the hell should I know? Just a second ago, I was on Bourbon Street admiring a Harley, and now I’m here. In the dead of winter, freezing my ass off. Literally.” An ice-cold chill had seeped into my bones at the loss of his body heat and my teeth began to chatter. Somewhere deep inside, I knew I should care why I was here, but honestly, I really didn’t. For some reason, I was flesh and bone and in the presence of a smokin’ hot wolf Shifter. Life could’ve been a hell of a lot worse. Especially since I’d been dead for almost a century.

“Well, this is awkward,” a female voice said, heavy on the sarcasm.

“That’s an understatement,” a male replied.

I turned and spotted a pretty red head bundled up in a gorgeous wool pea coat. She was wearing formfitting jeans and this season’s rich caramel-colored Prada boots. I knew that because what else did a ghost have to do all day long? Browsing fashion mags was just as good a pastime as anything else. And holy hell, I lusted after those boots almost as much as I did Diesel.

Next to her was a tall, equally gorgeous male with dark hair and dark eyes. He had his hand on the small of her back and after giving me a quick nod of acknowledgement, he carefully averted his eyes, staring instead at Diesel. “I’m fairly certain this wasn’t the outcome you were expecting.”

Diesel shook his head, stunned disbelief still written all over his face.

I crossed my arms over my chest, more to keep warm than to try to maintain any sort of decency. My breasts had probably seen more admirers than the Mona Lisa. Or at least it seemed that way. Working in Storyville—the former red light district of New Orleans—during the early twentieth century meant clothing wasn’t really a priority.

“Jesus, Diesel, are you just going to let her stand there and freeze to death?” the woman chided.

“Oh, right.” My ex-flame proceeded to pull his T-shirt over his head, exposing his lick-worthy pecs and abs that went on for days. How old was he now? A hundred and thirty? Two hundred? One never knew with Shifters. They lived ridiculously long lives. So did certain witches and warlocks. And yet, I’d died at the tender age of twenty-seven. Life sucked sometimes.

He held the gray shirt out to me. “I’m not sure where you came from or why you’re, uh, naked, but you might want to put this on.”

“I came from New Orleans. Where else would I have been?” I asked, taking the shirt. His warmth still clung to it, along with his faint oak scent. Memories of him holding my hand as we walked through Jackson Square, our heads bent together, flashed through my mind. Anger flared to life in my chest as it always did when I thought of him, and I slammed the door on memory lane.

The frigid winter air seeped into my bones and I started to shiver. The shirt wasn’t going to do much in that department, but it was better than nothing. Gritting my teeth, I tugged the Diesel-scented shirt over my head and tried to forget we ever shared a past.

“Oh, hell,” the redhead said, and shrugged out of her coat. Handing it to me, she jerked her head toward a small path in the woods. “Let’s get inside before you lose a foot to frostbite.”

I took the coat, but eyed her boots. “Those babies would go a long way to keeping my toes safe.”

“Not on your life, honey. These boots are going with me to the grave.”

I let out a humorless chuckle. “Fat good they’ll do you there.”

She raised an eyebrow in question.

“Just sayin’. Unless you die in them, they’ll be no use to you.” I should know. I’d been wearing the same dammed outfit for almost a century.

“Hm. I hadn’t thought of that. Well, for now, that’s the plan. So no boots for you. But follow me. I have a whole wardrobe of clothes that have been, let’s just say
broken in,
that you can borrow until we can get you some of your own.”

The redhead and her hottie escort turned and disappeared down the path.

I followed, wincing at the small rocks and twigs digging into the bottoms of my feet. As irritating as that was, the sensation was also exhilarating. It meant I was alive, once again part of the human experience. Oh sure, I’d appeared in solid form a time or two in my post life as a ghost, but this was different.

For the first time in almost a hundred years, I felt alive. I sucked in the ice-cold air, enjoying the stinging in my lungs.

When was the last time I’d actually felt something? Anything? I didn’t even know.

“Ida May?” Diesel said from behind me.

I glanced back, and nearly stumbled on a root as my gaze fixated once again on his spectacular man-chest.

“Careful!” he closed the distance between us in two steps and grabbed my shoulders, steadying me.

A sharp pain shot through the arch of my left foot, and I bounced on the right one as I cried out, “Ouch. Mother effer!”

Diesel glanced down, inspecting my injury. “You’re bleeding.”

Sure enough, there was bright red blood dripping onto the jagged rock I’d stepped on. Before I could say anything, Diesel swept me up in his arms once again and proceeded to carry me through the woods.

I thought about making a fuss, demanding that he put me down and take his hands off me. That’s what my stubborn, badass inner-self told me to do. But I squashed that bitch right quick. Why would I want to walk through the forest on an injured foot when I could ride in comfort in the strong arms of such a beautiful man?

Yeah, no. Diesel could carry me. I could fall on my sword of self-righteousness later when I wasn’t enjoying myself as much.

“So what… or should I say who… have you been doing for the last ninety years?” I asked him as we moved through the trees.

“What?” he asked, seemingly startled by my question.

“Let me guess, Ophelia, right?”

He jerked to a stop. “How do you know about Ophelia?”

A small self-satisfied smile claimed my lips. “I always knew about her. Didn’t you know all of the clients at Josephine’s were vetted?”

His face paled, then a brief flash of anger lit his whiskey gaze. “Clients?”

I shrugged and stared at the widening trail in front of us. “I had to tell Josephine something, didn’t I? The ladies of the house weren’t exactly supposed to be entertaining for free.”

He let out a low, almost inaudible growl as his grip tightened on my shoulder for just a moment. Then he started walking again and said, “Ophelia isn’t… let’s just say we aren’t exactly on friendly terms these days.”

These days.
Like that mattered. The last time I’d spoken to him, he told me he’d gotten word from up north and he had to leave suddenly, but then I’d spotted him in town a week later with Ophelia. It was then I’d had him investigated and found out he’d been engaged to the prissy socialite. It was also when I’d learned he was a Shifter and that witches and warlocks existed. Talk about a shock. Most of them lived their lives hiding in plain sight, with regular mortals never being the wiser. Josephine’s investigators were very thorough. While I’d gotten over him…eventually, I hadn’t ever quite forgiven the betrayal.

“I see,” I said, reining in my lingering anger. “Well, that’s unfortunate. She was very pretty.”

He snorted. “Right. Pretty.”

We broke the tree line and a large white house with a grand wraparound porch came into view.

I let out a low whistle. “Fancy place.”

“It’s Zelda’s. The redhead who gave you her coat.”

“And where do you live?” I asked, curious where he’d ended up.

“New York state. In a small town in the Finger Lakes area.” He glanced down at me. “It’s where I’ve been since I left you in New Orleans.”

My mouth dropped open. He’d told me he’d been called back home to lead his pack in upstate New York. “So you did go there, then?”

“Yes.” He climbed the stairs to Zelda’s house and just as we reached the door, a perky blonde wearing a skin-tight sweater pulled the door open, letting us in.

“Looks like you finally found yourself a bed partner, Diesel,” the blonde said, winking at him. “That’s probably a good thing for all of us. Because if you stayed available for too much longer, I was going to have to ask Jeeves how he feels about threesomes. And I’m not quite sure he’s ready for that conversation.”

“Do you mind?” he asked, jerking his head to the right, indicating she should step out of the way.

“Not at all.” She grinned at me. “He’s just crabby because he hasn’t been laid in forever.”

“Sassy,” he hissed. “Get out of the way.”

“See?” Her grin was infectious and I laughed, liking her style.

Once we were inside, I held my hand out to her. “I’m Ida May.”

She slipped hers into mine and pumped as she said, “Sassy. I exist to blow things up and to annoy Zelda.”

“And everyone else in town,” Diesel mumbled.

I frowned up at him. “You can put me down now.”

“Not yet.”

“But—”

“Your foot, remember?” He crossed the room, his boots echoing on the hardwood floors, while I wondered what it would be like to get busy on the overstuffed, extremely comfortable-looking sofa.

Better than the fainting couch in the lounge at Josephine’s that was for sure.

Diesel strode into the largest kitchen I’d ever seen, and made a beeline for the oak dining room table. He carefully set me down in one of the twelve chairs and pulled another one close, propping up my injured foot. “Zelda? Do you have a first aid kit? She cut her foot.”

The redhead, who was pulling coffee mugs out of a cabinet, glanced over her shoulder at us. “Sure. It’s in the bathroom down the hall.”

“I’ll get it,” Sassy said and disappeared.

Zelda placed her mugs and a carafe on a tray and joined us at the table. “Coffee?”

My mouth watered and I nodded. “God, yes. Extra sweet, please.”

She set a steaming mug in front of me and passed a cup of sugar. “Have at it, girl.”

It’s possible I went a little overboard. Three teaspoons of sugar and enough cream to turn the liquid blond. Hey, I’d been dead for almost a century. If I wanted to go into a sugar coma and fatten up on cream, who cared?

Taking a sip, I let out a low moan and wondered if I should’ve asked for a private moment.

“Damn. What’s in that mug?” Sassy asked, tossing the first aid kit on the table. “Because the last time I made that sound, Vinny Peppers had his tongue—”

“Oh, goddess, not again,” Zelda said. “We don’t need to hear about every sexcapade you’ve ever engaged in, Sassy.”

“Buzz kill.” Sassy grabbed a mug and fixed her coffee. After taking a sip, she shrugged. “It’s just okay. Nothing to get orgasmic about.”

“You have no idea what you’re talking about,” I said and then took a long sip, luxuriating in the rich, yummy goodness.

She put her cup down and sat back. “Whatever you say.”

Diesel grabbed the first aid kit and went to work on cleaning up my foot. I tried to ignore him, to imagine his gentle touch belonged to some random healer, but it was no use. With each brush of his callused fingers, a tingle of desire skittered over my skin.

Holy hell. This was not good.

As soon as he fastened the bandage over my cut, I pulled my foot away and tucked it under my butt, ignoring the relentless dull ache. “So,” I said between sips of the coffee, “which one of you is going to explain how I ended up here.”

Sassy propped her elbows on the table and rested her chin in her hands. “Oh, I bet this is going to be good.”

Diesel cast a nervous glance at Zelda.

Zelda let out an exaggerated sigh. “Mac?” she called.

Her tall, dark, and yummy escort from earlier strode into the room. “Yeah?”

“Can you grab one of my old robes for Ida May? I’m getting more than an eyeful here.”

“Huh?” I glanced down, noting that the coat wasn’t exactly covering all of my assets. “Oops.” Looked like I was still giving the honey away, only this time for free. After a quick shift in position, I rearranged the coat, making sure none of my girly bits were exposed. “Better?”

“Marginally,” Zelda said.

Sassy laughed and Diesel stared at the ceiling.

The man Zelda referred to as Mac returned and handed me a thick terry cloth robe and matching slippers.

“Thanks,” I said, as I replaced the jacket with the robe and stuffed my still-frozen toes into the slippers. And oh, sweet baby Jesus, they were warm as if they’d just come from the oven. I wiggled my toes and sighed in pleasure. “Now this is living.”

“Seriously?” Sassy frowned at me. “It’s just a robe and slippers. It’s not like she handed over her Louboutins and her favorite vintage Chanel dress.”

“Who cares about that? I have heated slippers.” I stuffed my hands in the robe pockets and cuddled into the fabric. If I died…again…this is how I wanted to go.

Diesel chuckled.

I eyed him, then propped my elbows on the table and mirrored Sassy by resting my chin in my hands. “All right then, let’s hear it. How did I end up here in Asscrack?”

“Assjacket,” Zelda said. “The name is Assjacket.”

I shrugged. “I prefer Asscrack.”

“That works, too,” she said.

Diesel sobered. “It’s because of me, I suppose.”

“Oh, it’s definitely because of him,” Zelda added.

Diesel shot her an annoyed look.

“What? It’s true.” She turned to me. “Diesel’s lost his ability to shift.”

“Oh?” Now that was interesting. Being a shifter who couldn’t shift, especially one who was a leader for his pack, must’ve been a real blow to the ego. “Well that sucks. But what does that have to do with me?”