Vincent: Her Warlock Protector Book 5 by Hazel Hunter

her."
    "Oh, for fuck's sake."

CHAPTER TWENTY-EIGHT

    BEING WILLING TO do what the other guy would not do, that was what was going to win this war. Lionel's mission was to recruit the exorcist. The reason the Templars continued to exist was the elimination of all witches and warlocks.
    The shower beat against Lionel's back, the water scalding red streaks down his pale skin as he tried to scrub away the last few hours.  
    The Detective was right, after such a memorable introduction to the local authorities I am not going to get away with killing someone on this island without sticking my head through a noose.  
    He used a nail brush to scrub his hands for the third time as he assured himself he had done the right thing. Unless someone is bleeding on the floor, Wiccans turn to their coven leaders or Magus Corps rather than the local authorities. The nail brush was thrown to the floor of the shower in exchange for the loofa which sat on the shower ledge.  
    If this forces the coven leader to bolt, the coven will scatter.  
    Skin scraped raw, he stepped out of the shower. Make them run and they will kill themselves.   Looking at himself in the mirror over the sink, he stared into his own pale, icy eyes. He hardly recognized the person who stared back. Only a sick bastard enjoyed the ugliness required. He still liked to think of himself as not quite that sick a bastard.   Confused, yes. Temperamental, certainly. Sick? Not yet.

CHAPTER TWENTY-NINE

    IT WAS LIKE being in a manual transmission car with a missing gear. At least that was how Vincent felt as he sat across the table from Amanda, a candle burning between them. She was dressed to kill, the dress clinging to her in all the right places. And yet from the moment he’d picked her up, there’d been something guarded about her, something awkward. Anger he’d expected, but not this. His attempt at conversation in the car had been equally disastrous, the apology for the punch-up falling on Amanda’s deaf ears.
    There was a lobster tail and a steak on the way and more than enough stilted conversation to go around. He decided to take the headlong approach.  
    “The Magus Corps exists to protect witches,” he said.
    Amanda looked at him through her eyelashes, glass of wine paused halfway to her lips.  
    “Yeah, you’ve said that.”
    “I do a lot of undercover work, there is a lot of travel. But not so much I’m not around.”  
    "I know."
    Vincent knew his face held surprise, but he didn’t try to hide it.
    "I called your mom,” she said.
    " What? "  
    Their food arrived, and the waitress handed Vincent a stack of cloth napkins to go with the lobster bib.
    "Okay, my mom called your mom,” Amanda said when she’d left. “No one really understands what you do, but I get the basics, I think."  
    She picked up her fork and knife, looked at her plate, and sighed.
    His plate was an ocean of butter in which swam a lobster.
    “I think you should join a coven,” he said. “I happen to know of one with an opening.”
    “You want to tell me about that fight in my parking lot this morning?”  
    She set the knife and fork down, folded her hands in her lap, and waited.
    Vincent’s jaw clenched. That was only going to complicate things. And it had nothing to do with Amanda.
    “I see,” she said, picking up the fork and knife again. This time she cut into the steak.
    Vincent picked up a lobster claw.
    “I forgot these,” the waitress said, and put a pair of lobster crackers on the table and walked away.
    “I’m not even a full-on witch,” Amanda said lowly. “I’m just practicing.”  
    With the butter-slick lobster in hand, Vincent paused.
    “What if I said you could do more than collect spells in a book?”  
    She could hardly meet his gaze. “I don’t know,” she said looking down.
    This was not how he’d seen the evening playing out. Something had changed, and he was damned if he knew what. Pressing his lips into a thin line, he stared down at