BLURB
Banish the demon, stop the prophecy, and do not fall in love. Easy, right? Yeah, not so much.
Mina Donovan is a woman of many talents. Fire elemental, psychic, Legacy witch, magical asset for an FBI paranormal task force…she does it all. Her latest struggle? Not crushing on her sexy best friend. Logically, she knows they can’t be together. Too bad her heart has never bothered with logic.
The friend zone is the last place pyro expert Josh wants to be with Mina. Not that he has any choice in the matter. A witch hunter falling for a witch? Not smart. He’ll just have to learn to ignore his attraction to the gorgeous woman who already owns so much of his heart.
If Mina and Josh have any hope of finding their way to happily ever after, they’ll have to banish an all-powerful demon and take down an evil magical organization. Oh, and they’ll also have to figure out how to stop the prophecy that warns a dragon will consume Mina.
It’ll take more than magic to fix this supernatural dilemma.
EXCERPT:
Chapter One
The staked witch burst into flames. Mina swore and jumped clear of the blaze. By the powers, she’d lit the wrong target with her elemental magic.
Again.
At least it’d only been a mannequin.
The camera above the door blinked a steady red, a judgment of her failure. Her boss could be watching right now. Or worse—her sisters.
Embarrassment sent hot tingles across her skin, and her pulse thudded louder in her ears than the massive fan above. Why couldn’t she control her powers?
If this had been one of her video games, she’d wield her magic with precision worthy of a stupendous title. Something inspiring. Something enviable. Something that would make her, Mina Donovan, legendary.
Second spare to the heir of a ruling witch family? Yeah, not so much.
Reality sucked in every supernatural way. Or at least it had these last few weeks.
Her actual targets—giant cotton balls tacked to a wall across the room—mocked her with their bright white while the mannequin and its formerly Mean-Girls-esque you-can’t-sit-with-us designer threads burned like a tiki torch.
“You missed.” Of course her district attorney sister picked that moment to walk into the room. Delia was everything Mina wasn’t—accomplished, distinguished, polished. Never mind how her sister’s blue-eyed, blonde-haired dressed-to-the-elevens flawlessness compared to her own frizzy-curled, height-deprived, rolled-out-of-bed look. “Unless you’re practicing to light one of us up like a witchy sparkler?”
“Hardly.” Being recruited to a secret FBI task force right after college had seemed cool. But it should’ve come with a neon warning: “All loved ones may be collateral damage.” Last night, her oldest sister and baby niece had almost died. Not her fault entirely, but that didn’t ease her guilt. Or help her get a grip on her powers. The now flaming mannequin was proof of that. “What happened to safety cones and boring bulls-eyes for training? Whose idea was it to put humanish targets in here anyway?”
“The boss’s. A13 wanted to test your aim so you won’t torch us out in the field. After this little demonstration, I’ll be sure to stay out of the line of—”
“Don’t say it.” Mina jabbed the button for the secondary exhaust system to blast out her know-it-all sister’s opinions as much as smoke. If she’d heard one bad fire joke, she’d heard them all from her snarky sisters.
The roar of the combined fans wasn’t enough to shut Delia up. “Good thing this place is retrofitted for magical elements training. One wrong spark in LA, and the whole city burns.”
Not the reminder Mina needed right now. She changed the subject. “Who decided on the witch hat and the giant demon dummy?” Red-sequined horns sparkled in the light from the fire.
“My fiancé has a sick sense of humor. You started that little inferno. You going to put it out?”
“Yes.” She hoped. But when she pulsed a thread of magic toward the mannequin, the flames shot higher than its pointed hat.
“Did you mean to make the fire worse?”
“Yep.”
Delia’s yeah-right look was a speed dial straight to Mina’s self-doubt.
If the place had been made of anything but concrete, the fire would’ve raced across the room taking everything out. As it was, black circles spread in a messy scrawl on the ceiling.
Mina closed her eyes. The orange glow burned behind her lids, a flashing pyrotechnics show that didn’t help her maxed-out stress levels. With a deep breath, she imagined darkness where there was light. When she dared a peek, the fire was gone. Thank the powers.
“Quick work.” Delia sounded almost impressed. “Maybe we should race sometime.”
“Right, except if you’d used your air element, we’d both be unconscious. Me from oxygen deprivation and you from magic drain.” Petty, but true.
Delia’s powers would have her blonde butt on the floor within seconds—the price of her whirlwind-slinging element. Then the designer diva would be pissed off that she’d gotten soot on her suit. The tornado-tosser looked anything but amused. “Okay, super witch.” Which sounded like a not-so-subtle reference to another word ending in –itch. This was big sister bossiness at its worst. “Care to hit any of the real targets now? I thought you’d been working on this during your training sessions.”
“Don’t you have something better to do? Like making out with your fiancé? Since that’s all I see you doing these days when you’re training.” Mina wiggled her fingers in air quotes with the last word.
“Jealous?”
“Nope.” She totally was. Legacy daughters—those witches born to rule the witch Senate—were traditionally forced into arranged matches for powerful bloodlines and big bank accounts. But not her sisters. No. They’d each risen above that to find true freaking love. “So why don’t you get back to your guy instead of interrupting me?”
“Don’t be such a brat. I was just checking on you.”
Because Mina was the screw-up baby sister. Not as bad as their brother, but he’d set the bar low. As in conspiring with the Revelare, a demon-led organization looking to overthrow the witch Senate—that kind of low. “I can do this by myself.”
Author Info
Luna Joya writes sexy hexy romances in the award-winning Legacy Series.
Fluent in sarcasm and penal code, Luna prosecutes by day and writes at night. She loves history, especially Los Angeles and Hollywood lore.
A survivor of traumatic brain injury with steel body parts, she lives in SoCal with her combat veteran husband and their two-pound terror of a rescue pup.
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