Page 13 of Witch Bound and Down

"Don't you always." Sage's gaze shifted to Bullseye, and her eyebrows rose appreciatively. "And who's your friend? Because honey, if that's what's causing your magical aura to do that sparkly thing, I approve."

Bullseye felt heat creep up his neck. Hazel's magic had been doing something to him all night, making his minotaur instincts more aware of her presence, her scent, the way she moved.

"My magical aura is not doing a sparkly thing," Hazel protested, though her cheeks had turned pink.

"Sweet child, your aura is practically disco-balling right now." Sage grinned, revealing teeth that seemed to have tiny stars embedded in them. "Either you've been eating glitter, or you've got it bad for the walking mountain of muscle beside you."

Bullseye's chest rumbled with a satisfied sound he couldn't quite suppress. The idea that Hazel's magic was responding to him sent a primitive thrill through his system.

"Smart frog," Sage said approvingly when Hopper made a disparaging comment. "I like him. So, what kind of favor are we talking about? Because I just saw about thirty patrol cars go screaming past here, and something tells me they weren't chasing speeders."

"We need a place to lay low for a few hours," Hazel said. "And maybe some... alternate clothing options."

"Lay low from who?" Sage's expression turned serious. "Please tell me you didn't hex Sheriff Lawman again."

"Not exactly," Hazel hedged.

"She ran out on his son's wedding," Bullseye supplied. "It was actually impressive."

Sage's eyes lit up with delight. "You finally told little Smokie to take a long walk off a short cliff? Oh, this is the best news I've heard all month!"

She led them through the main dining area, past tables full of supernatural creatures conducting their nighttime business—werewolves, vampires, and various beings that were harder to classify in the dim, neon-washed lighting.

"Tuesday nights are always a little weird," Sage said cheerfully.

They passed through a doorway marked "Private - Violators Will Be Transformed Into Something Unpleasant" and found themselves in what appeared to be Sage's living quarters. The space was surprisingly cozy, with overstuffed chairs that looked designed for beings much larger than the average human.

"Expansion charms," Sage said, noticing Bullseye's confused look. "Very handy when you're entertaining minotaurs."

When Hazel settled into the chair closest to his, her knee brushed against his leg, and Bullseye felt that familiar jolt of electric awareness. Her scent—something like wildflowers and magic—wrapped around him, making his mouth go dry.

Sage waved her hand, and a coffee service appeared on the table between them—actual china cups with coffee that smelled like it had been blessed by caffeine gods.

"So," Sage said, settling into her own chair with a cup that steamed purple, "let's hear the whole story."

As Hazel launched into their evening's adventures, Bullseye found himself studying her profile. In the warm light of Sage's living room, she was even more beautiful. Her magic had settled into a subtle glow that seemed to emanate from her skin, and when she gestured, tiny sparks danced between her fingers.

"—and then we were flying," Hazel was saying, "which was amazing until the helicopter showed up."

"Lieutenant Fangsworth," Sage said knowingly. "That boy couldn't catch a cold in a blizzard."

"So you'll help us?" Hazel asked.

"Honey, I'd help you just for the entertainment value." Sage's violet eyes fixed on Bullseye. "But there's more to this story, isn't there? Because no offense, sugar, but you've got 'professional troublemaker' written all over you."

Bullseye nearly choked on his coffee. "That obvious?"

"The way you keep checking sight lines to the exits, the fact that you're carrying multiple communication devices, and the general air of 'I regularly outrun federal agents for fun and profit' kind of gives it away." Sage grinned. "Plus, Hazel's taste in men has always tended toward the exciting side of disaster."

Something possessive and satisfied curled in Bullseye's chest at being lumped in with Hazel's romantic history, even if the comparison wasn't entirely flattering.

"I do not have a type," Hazel protested.

"Wood nymph. Storm wizard. That vampire who turned out to be married to three different people in four different centuries. And now a minotaur who's clearly running from something bigger than wedding drama."

Bullseye's CB radio crackled to life. "Breaker one-nine, this is Snowman calling Bullseye. You copy?"

He unclipped the radio. "Go ahead, Snowman."

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