His hands seemed to gulf the curves above her hips, almost wrapping around her entire body. She was petite, but Heath was huge, even if he was the “smallest” of his pack. That would be like calling an AR-15 less deadly than an AK-47—sure, one is slightly larger in size, but they’ll both kill you in the blink of an eye.
She turned on her heels in the circle of his arms. His expression was inscrutable, while his gaze didn’t veer from her face. She decided she might invest in some platform boots if she kept hanging around him, since her head didn’t reach his shoulders.
“You looked like a pixie,” he said, his voice low and rumbling. “Glitter filled the air around you like a cloud.”
She couldn’t stop herself from asking, “Do you like pixies?”
That seemed to break his awe. He released her, his hands flexing like they were acting against their will. She liked it when he touched her, instantly missing the warmth of him when he moved away, almost as far across the room as he could get from her.
“I’ll protect you from Kiril and his woman,” he said, reaching into Leila’s drawers to find clothes for her to put on over her drying magic ointment. Seriously, Sophia was going to have to buy that Briony woman flowers. And chocolate.
She frowned as his words registered; that wasn’t what she’d asked of him. Sure, this morning the faeries had gotten the best of her. Now she knew exactly how aware she had to be, even if that meant carrying around a lighter everywhere she went.
Sophia had toted around a lit candle for months after Sebastian was sent to New Orleans, alone and terrified the man who haunted her nightmares would be back, and this time she wouldn’t get away.
“Let’s go find your brother.” Heath threw her a dark Tulane hoodie and a pair of cargo pants that would hang on her without rubbing off her ointment before he strode from the room, not bothering to speak over his shoulder. “And no, I don’t like pixies. I like women.”
She threw on the clothes in quick, jerking movements and took off at a run, catching up with Heath at the end of the hall. Instead of stopping before she reached him, she tackled him from behind, causing him to stagger. She swung her weight, bringing him to the ground.
As she’d intended to.
“Sophia, what the—” he started, flipping from his side to his back, his hands bracing on her knees at his sides.
It was then that she realized he’d let her take him to the ground. Normally, that would have made her angry. Now it only gave her more determination to bring this wolf to his knees.
She leaned down over him, almost swearing she could see hunger in his eyes as he watched her, seemingly impassively. “Every inch of me is woman,” she whispered, uncaring that she was covered in green ointment and a hoodie. He knew how her body looked. He was remembering how she’d exposed more than even she was comfortable with the night she’d let herself be kidnapped.
It had been months ago, but she could still feel the heat of his gaze when he’d first seen her in that slinky red dress, his possessiveness when he threatened all the other men who’d tried to approach her.
She’d thrown away the dress as soon as she could tear it from her body, but kept Heath’s reactions to her stored in a mental vault she hadn’t realized she had until now.
He made her feel like a woman, and she didn’t intend to let him forget it.
“I know,” he said with a hint of a smile. His hands squeezed her knees.
It threw her—she hadn’t expected him to give in so easily. He didn’t even attempt to move. She wondered if he was purposely gripping her, trying to keep her from getting away, or if he was going on pure instinct.
What would he do next, this man who always did the opposite of what she anticipated?
“What are you doing?” Sebastian was standing over them, his frown a slash across his face. He gingerly lifted Sophia from Heath, setting her on her feet. “Well?” he demanded, but she knew he wasn’t referring to her and Heath.
Her brother was utterly ruthless, but he cared about her before anything else, something he’d proven consistently until he’d made a sacrifice so great, he’d been sent away. She was still angry he’d tied her up earlier, but she was under no illusions that he’d intended to hurt her.
Sebastian would protect her at all costs. It was who he was, a part of him so ingrained she could no sooner take it away than his wolf at the full moon.
“It’s working,” she said, rolling up her sleeve to show him the almost-dry goop that lay flat on her now-smooth skin. A few areas still twinged, but even that mild pain was lessening by the second. Briony’s ointment somehow knew it wasn’t finished quite yet.
Sebastian cursed, shocking the hell out of Sophia.
He seemed to remember himself and pulled her into a hug, holding her to him for a brief moment that revealed just how worried he’d been.
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said sincerely, tenderness in his gaze. He ran a hand through his hair. “Believe it or not, I made another terrible mistake today.”
The way he said it, she knew it involved a woman and he wanted to fix it. Sebastian was always the first to admit when he was wrong, a trait Sophia admired because it was one they didn’t share.
“Go.” She waved at him imperiously. “I know you’re a softie at heart, but I bet she doesn’t.” She smiled at him, telling him without words that he was forgiven. Brotherly warmth filled his eyes as he pecked her cheek. He shot Heath a strange look before taking off down the hall, practically leaping for the pole that would take him to the entrance on the first floor.
A single glance at a now-standing Heath told her their brief moment was long gone, their window of opportunity closed by reality. As clearly as if he had a thought bubble sprouting from his head, she knew Heath was beating himself up because she was Sebastian’s sister.
That pissed her off. She rounded on him, feeling heat coming off her skin, a sure sign that she was about to let off some steam—literally and figuratively.
“Yes, I’m your friend’s little sister, by mere minutes,” she growled, poking him in the chest. Amusement flared in his eyes before he caught it, shutting it down, turning his expression flat.
She decided to lightly burn him where she touched his pecs, his frown the only indication he gave that he felt her fire. “Man up and take what you want when it’s offered to you,” she said in a low voice that wouldn’t carry to the other rooms in the house, “or stop acting like you have any claim over me.”
He didn’t say a word, only stared at her with narrowed green eyes, his jaw working around his ever-present frown.
Sophia walked away from him. She could feel him standing there, unmoving except for his caramel-colored hair floating back slightly from the heat, the exact position she left him in. She knew he watched her until she turned a corner, and finally shoved her thoughts of him away, forcibly replacing them with images of food.
She needed to eat, and then rest. With or without Heath, tomorrow would be a long day. Now that she was almost completely healed, she had some faery asses to kick.
The beauty was, they likely thought she was still injured. As evidenced from the morning’s attack, the element of surprise was always advantageous, and now Sophia had it in spades.
If it came down to her life or theirs, she wouldn’t hesitate to kill the Fey who burned her.
* * * *
Behind the wheel of his G-Wagon, his phone pressed against his ear, Sebastian wanted to plow through the downtown traffic as he turned onto Gravier at an embarrassingly slow speed.
It was November. Even he, a self-proclaimed beer expert, couldn’t understand the urge to drink a fishbowl in the crisp, windy New Orleans night air. Yet there they were, the tourists that constantly made it impossible for him to get to his brewery in less than half an hour.
“What did you say to Briony?” Harry asked, after picking up on the second ring. He spoke warily, but Sebastian could hear his disapproval. “You made her
cry.”
Sebastian cursed. “Is she with you?”
“Er, yes,” Harry said in a tone that meant his hair was black. He was trying to hide something. Shit. Harry and Briony had been at the brewery for at least an hour, plenty of time for her to cause a significant amount of damage.
“What did she do?”
Harry let out his breath in a rush. “She took over one of the kettles,” he said quickly, referring to the huge stainless steel tub they used to boil the beer, the same place where they added hops. She could do a lot of damage to a batch of beer, but they had many kettles. It was a waste, but it wasn’t devastating.
After what he’d said to her earlier, he half-expected Harry to say she’d replaced the hops with eyes of newt and strategically placed small animal bones in beers as they were bottled.
“Only one?” he asked hopefully.
“Only one, but Sebastian? Remember, our beer is good. People like it as it is.”
What a strange thing for the young witch to say—he owned the most successful brewery in Louisiana. He knew how good his beer was. “I’ll remember that,” Sebastian told his assistant. “I’ll be there in ten—don’t let her near another kettle.”
Sebastian clicked off before he could hear Harry say, “She’s not interested in another kettle.”
When Briony had rushed to his aid earlier, Sebastian didn’t handle it well. An understatement, dickhead. He shook his head.
Things at the firehouse had gotten bad. Aiyanna saw that he’d tied up Sophia—which he did only to prevent her from getting herself killed—and called Mary and Raphael, the latter of whom thankfully refused to become involved.
Sebastian suspected Raphael approved of his actions, but was smart enough not to voice his opinion in front of his mate, who’d let him have it in a manner that rivaled Aiyanna’s temper.
He’d had no way to win. Either Sophia became injured worse than she already was, which would have been debilitating for her given her condition, or he hurt her by keeping her where she was safe. Oh, and other women he cared about would yell at him. It cut into him, tying up Sophia, and frankly Aiyanna’s and Mary’s words wounded him too.
When it came to his friends, he wasn’t the type of man who didn’t care about what others thought.
That was why Briony’s interference was so needed, as if the witch had sensed how torn up he was. Someone had seen his reasoning, but instead of simply voicing her opinion, she’d made herself his human shield.
Already furious, frustrated, and terrified for his sister, Briony added embarrassment to his list of reasons to be in a foul mood.
He was an immortal entrepreneur. He single-handedly funded his pack of criminals, and he liked knowing that he made millions in any given year, ample money to keep everyone comfortable and still donate to under-funded charities in the area. He practiced Mixed Martial Arts—was thinking about opening a not-for-profit gym right there in the Warehouse District—and could diffuse a bomb in half the time an expert human could.
He didn’t need protection from anyone, especially not a curvy witch who looked as much a fighter as he did a hippie.
So when Sophia had commanded everyone to leave the room and Briony followed him, slipping her hand into his and asking about his favorite flower in her optimistic, chirpy voice, he’d snapped.
“I don’t like flowers,” he’d snarled, yanking his hand free. “I don’t know you, and I don’t want you to touch me.”
“But—” she’d tried to say something, and he’d cut her off.
“The only thing we have to talk about is that concoction you made.” He’d stared down at her, inwardly cringing slightly when he saw her eyes filling with tears. The golden glow behind her face was dimming right in front of him, but he couldn’t stop his next words from spilling out. “If that shit hurts my sister, you’d better hide deep in your coven and pray I don’t find you.”
She hadn’t run from him as he expected, only wiped her tears, sent him one last disappointed look, and went to go find Harry.
Sebastian, hoping to erase the chocolate scent of her, had poured himself a drink. Or five.
Now, he pulled up to the brewery, wishing he could peer through the tinted windows and see what Briony was doing inside. A minute later, he walked in, expecting the worst.
What he found was the entirety of his staff standing in the brewhouse, each holding a glass cup filled with beer, but it wasn’t any of their normal brews. The color was off—it was less opaque, and tinted pink.
“What is this?” he asked in a booming voice that caused everyone to turn around. He spotted Briony in the center of the room. She’d been smiling, speaking to Jake, a human male in his thirties, and her smile only widened when she saw him.
Harry stepped forward, cup in hand. “Briony brewed us something new.” His hair turning pink in his sheepishness.
“And it’s damn good,” someone said, inducing a round of yeahs and hear hears.
Briony sashayed up to him, handing him a cup. “Here, see for yourself.”
Sebastian watched her warily, looking for signs of deception. He owed her an apology, but he didn’t intend to let himself be poisoned.
She wrapped her small, warm hand around his and tipped the cup back toward her full lips, drinking a third of its contents before releasing his hand. “I don’t poison,” she said, and he heard flint in her tone.
He took a swig, and his staff was right. It was perfect. Maybe not for this time of year, when pumpkin ale was the hot commodity, but for late winter and early spring, it would be a hit. He could taste gardenias and cherries as well as herbs and flowers he couldn’t name. It was a wheat beer, one too good to pass up, something he had a feeling Briony damn well knew.
Which led to his next question. “How the hell did you make this in an hour?” It should have taken weeks, maybe a month. Not only had the witch brewed something that would sell, but she also created a timeframe that could speed up production infinitely. If he could figure out what she did, and double production, he’d double his staff’s already competitive salaries.
He liked the idea of making more money, especially since it would help him treat those who depended on him better. This was no sweatshop, but his men and women worked hard.
She just shook her head, downing some of her brew. She licked her lips. “I’m not telling you a thing until we come to an agreement.”
He’d anticipated that. “What do you want?” He’d give it to her, and she knew it.
“Let’s speak upstairs.”
She led him to his office, the same place he’d been earlier when Vale had brought in Sophia, her burns covering most of his body. The woman perching on the edge of his desk was the reason his sister could walk around the firehouse free of pain.
The reason she could tackle Heath—what was that about, anyway?
“I’m sorry about earlier,” he said, starting when she gracefully rose from her place and stood in front of him, closer than anyone should. “I was wrong to speak to you that way, and I’m grateful for what you did for Sophia. I saw her before I came here—she’s almost completely healed.”
“Tell her the ointment will also balance her chi.” Briony’s eyes were bright, but her smile dimmed, and she held her hand up to Sebastian’s face. It was a strange gesture, but he didn’t push her away. “I can feel your guilt, and the turmoil of the other emotions you have locked in you,” she whispered. “You know, you don’t have to do everything yourself. Accepting help is honorable.”
She’d known him for less than three hours, and that quickly she had him pinned. Something he saw as a strength, she thought was a weakness. It puzzled him.
“I’ll accept your help,” he found himself saying. She’d proven to be useful, from her ointment to her skills with beer. He also liked the way her mahogany-colored ringlets bounced when she moved. “Let’s make a deal.”
She nodded. “I’ll tell you everything I know, and work here
three days a week if you’ll solve a problem I have. Of course, no need to begin until everything with your sister is settled. Family comes first,” she finished firmly.
Further respect for her blossomed as Sebastian’s interest piqued; how could someone as tranquil as Briony seemed have a problem so severe that it would drive her to ask a werewolf to fix it for her?
“What is it?”
A shake of her head, sending the gold scarf holding back her hair swinging.
“You’ve got to tell me something,” he argued.
“I’ll tell you a piece of it after we make the deal.”
Sebastian held out his hand. He didn’t need a blood oath to fulfill his part of the bargain. He was a man of his word, and damn proud of it. He almost felt guilty; he would have helped her even without the added benefit for Full Moon. She’d saved his sister—he owed her.
“You’ve got a deal. I’ll find a solution to your problem, and you’ll tell us how to make that beer, and the way you do it so quickly.”
Her glow intensified. Her grin was ecstatic. “Deal!” she exclaimed, happily shaking his hand. Relief had her almost bouncing on the balls of her feet.
“Now, tell me.”
She stilled, but she didn’t back away. Instead, she put a hand on his arm, running it up to his shoulder until it pressed against his collarbone.
He liked the way she touched him, he realized, surprised.
“You’re going to help me break my betrothal,” she murmured carefully.
“To whom?”
She dropped her hand, and Sebastian almost took it in his. Almost.
Her deep brown eyes were huge, and darkening by the moment. “A warlock.”
Sebastian bit back a groan. Warlocks were witches without covens, because they’d been forcibly removed from them. They were rogues, and operated without the strict rules that governed witches.
Warlocks were magical anarchists with no respect for their own lives, much less the lives of others.
Briony might just get me killed.
Chapter 5
SOPHIA tossed and turned in Leila’s bed, literally rolling in the other woman’s scent. Alexandre’s scent was prominent in the room as well, especially coming from both the wooden chair and the beanbag, as if the two sat and talked often.
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