by Anne Malcom
I showed fang. “Okay, then I’ll do that as a reward for you telling me what the fuck is going on. No murder spree until we do.”
She pouted, then sighed. “Okay, fine. So I’m not quite on speaking terms with them. You remember this?” She tapped the ancient book that had an unnerving energy about it and contained information about the prophecy that was ruining our lives.
“Is that the one with the billionaire who likes to tie up virgins?” I asked dryly.
She poked her tongue out at me before she glanced down at the cover once more, her eyes seeming to glow on contact with it. Of course, I had to have imagined it. The alternative was too fucking freaky. “Well, I didn’t exactly come by it honestly,” Sophie said, her eyes back to their normal silvery violet hue.
“I’ve not come by a thing in my life honestly,” I said, careful to keep my voice light. “I don’t get how that’s meant to make me mad. It makes me proud of my baby witch.”
She grinned. “Not so baby anymore.”
I rolled my eyes. “Yes, I know you’re all-powerful now with freaky time travel powers and weird voices that tell the future and freak me the fuck out.” I waved in dismissal. “Yesterday’s news.” Of course, that was a total lie. I worried about her growing powers every fucking day.
“Well, it’s not yesterday’s news to the coven,” she said, eyes darting to the tense wolf. “They’ve, um, tried to take me in. By force.”
I narrowed my eyes, my blood hot. I hated those fucking witches. “And you didn’t tell me this sooner?” I snapped.
She narrowed her own black-rimmed eyes. “I had it handled,” she bit back. “And you were busy, you know, dying.”
“Dying can wait when my best friend is getting bullied by lame witches. Not even death will stop me from sticking up for you, witch.”
“Well, and you’ve wanted to kill Hazel for a century.”
I shrugged. “Added bonus.” I glanced to the wolf, his intense stare—more intense than usual—zeroed in on Sophie with something that told me there was more to the story.
“And obviously they didn’t take their defeat well,” she continued.
“Bullies never do,” I muttered.
She nodded. “But, by law, they’re meant to put aside such grievances when the craft is threatened, meant to share knowledge, magic, in order to defeat those who commit blasphemies against The Four.”
“I’m guessing they didn’t feel like sharing and caring?” I surmised.
Sophie shook her head once. “No, they like to keep their toys to themselves, add me in if they can put me in a cage. So I might’ve gone to my old home, cursed a couple of them and taken the book by force. They’re not happy.” She glanced at the wolf. “They’ll likely attack me in the coming days or weeks.”
I clapped. “Awesome. So mani, pedi, maybe stop by Chanel to get the new Boy bag that just came in, and then we’ll go murder each and every one of the witches who want to hurt you.”
She chewed at her lip, ignoring the wolf who was now glimmering with rage. I wondered if he was struggling to stop the change since he was obviously touchy about the subject of witches trying to capture and sequester Sophie to use her as a weapon.
I always knew he was weird.
“I don’t think that’s a good idea,” she hedged.
I moved my concern and anger away from the wolf, who I worried would ruin my rug if he turned. “Of course it’s not a good idea,” I said. “Which is precisely why we’re doing it.” I eyed her. “Come on, Sophie. Be the reason someone believes in evil today. Do a bad deed.”
“Yeah, I’m usually all for bad ideas, and bad deeds,” Sophie said. “But killing off the witch coven will bring more heat.”
I folded my arms. “If you can’t handle the heat, then you should’ve realized that was the temperature of Hell and stopped sinning so darn much,” I said with a smirk.
She grinned as the air became thicker, instantly hotter, like there was an open inferno right in front of me, singeing my eyebrows. Some of my skin started to redden, and soon it would blister.
Sophie stopped just in time. “I create the heat, bitch.” She smiled.
I rolled my eyes, again hiding my growing worry that the witch was now able to control temperature. That was new, and from my limited knowledge of witches, that power, like Ron Burgundy, was kind of a big deal.
“Show-off,” I muttered. “And if you’ve fucked up my eyebrows, I’ll forget the fact that you’re my friend and kill you right here, right now.”
A low growl erupted from the wolf.
Everyone ignored it.
“I’m down for the killing and mayhem part of the equation,” Sophie said after a pointed look at my eyebrow area that made me rather panicked.
I snatched my purse, intending on walking to the door, not saying anything. There had been far too much talking lately and nowhere near enough killing.
Thorne stood there, barring the way. I glared. “Seriously, dude?” I sighed.
I looked to Sophie, jerking my head. “Little help here?”
She glanced over at me, getting my meaning just from the look of irritation on my face, which of course was what best friends were meant to do.
She chewed on her lip. “Do you think that’s the best idea?”
I frowned. “I thought we’d established what I think about ideas that are good,” I snapped. “And as my bestest buddy, and partner in crime and homicide and the occasional torture, I thought you’d be on the same wavelength.” My angry stare went to the dog. “Don’t tell me the wolf has made you soft, Little Red Riding Hood,” I said, teasing glint to my voice.
The air around her shimmered in anger. I’d hit my mark.
Thorne and the dog realized at the same time what we—more accurately, Sophie—were going to do, and both their bodies went wired as they tried to move. Thorne attempted to snatch my wrist, the wolf halfway through lunging at Sophie.
In a sweet burst of magic, both froze.
“Don’t insinuate that I’m soft again,” she hissed at me, her eyes darting to the furious gold ones of the wolf.
I grinned and leaned in to kiss Thorne’s stubbled cheek. His quicksilver gaze followed me and blanketed me in his fury.
“You wouldn’t have let me have fun any other way,” I explained, patting his cheek softly. “Bye, babe. Have fun at book club with the wolf buddy while the women bring home the charred witch bacon.”
I glanced at Sophie. “Shall we?” I asked.
She flickered an uneasy gaze to the magically frozen wolf once more before she painted a jaunty and slightly forced smile on her face. “Let’s go have some fun.”
Chapter 6
Sophie had unfortunately convinced me against going witch hunting, blabbing on about The Four and staying true to the craft “no matter what kind of twatwaffles deserve a magical bitchslap.”
“I thought you don’t follow rules?” I said, sipping a mimosa and getting my feet massaged. She unearthed a bottle of vodka from her purse and poured it into her mimosa.
“I don’t,” she said, holding up the bottle as if to bring her point home.
I shook my head when she motioned to pour some into my glass. “The Sophie I know and kind of like would kill anyone for even whispering a mention of locking her in a closet for a minute,” I told her. “These witches are planning on sequestering you in a dungeon for the rest of eternity. You even told me yourself that if they caught you, there would be no way for the knight in shining Chanel”—I pointed to my chest—“to come save the day and kill everyone.”
She sipped her drink, then screwed up her nose and added more vodka. “That’s why I’m not planning on letting them catch me,” she said cheerfully.
I sulked. “You know the surefire way of making sure they don’t catch you?”
“We’re not killing them, Isla,” she said tightly, smiling at the nail lady who’d given her a strange look. We were used to strange looks. “Vampires are so darn bloodthirsty.” She winked a
t the nail lady, who then snapped her head down to focus on painting Sophie’s toes purple.
“Well don’t come crying to me when they sequester you,” I huffed, shaking off the cool feeling of dread that clenched me in its grasp for a second.
Sophie finished her glass. “You’ll be the one crying. You’d die of boredom without me.”
“I’m about to die of boredom with you, since you’re telling me I can’t kill anyone,” I pouted.
She grinned, tapping at her phone. “I’m not saying you can’t kill anyone.” She held up the screen to me. It was Scott’s bloodstained, one-eyed, grinning face.
Of course he was taking a selfie in the middle of a battle—it was the stupidest thing to do.
I sighed. “I did want to kill him at the start, and I do a little bit now for taking a selfie with such bad lighting, but I kind of like the little fucker, so I don’t want to kill him.”
It was true. The more he hung around, the more I didn’t want him to die.
She turned the phone back, tapping again. “I’m not talking about killing him,” she said. “He’s just pinned their location down, fighting a pack of hybrids with their vampire masters.” She closed her eyes, a sickly scent of magic rippling through the air as her eyelids fluttered like she was in some kind of REM sleep. She opened her eyes abruptly. “And there’re some witches there too,” she said with a grin. “So all’s not lost for you.”
I gaped. “You can do that? Just see who’s attending the current battle by swigging mimosa-laced vodka and having a disco nap?”
She leaned forward and stepped out of her chair. “The vodka doesn’t help the process, but it sure does make it much more fun.” She winked, standing, then motioned for me to do the same. “Come on. I’m thinking Scott and his little crew of buttheads might get overwhelmed. We need to ride in and save the day.”
I looked down. “But I can’t save the day with an unfinished pedicure,” I whined.
She put her hands to her hips. “They could die in the time it takes to paint your nails,” she said, ignoring the panicked look from our nail technicians. They’d heard it all before but always seemed to be shocked each time we talked about murder and death.
Humans were weird like that.
I chewed at my lip, looking at my naked nails in distress. It wasn’t like anyone I liked would get killed, since I only really liked Scott and Duncan in their little crew, and they weren’t lame enough to die hunting hybrids and some witches.
I guessed Chace was okay. He had a pretty kickass sense of humor, and apart from Silver, was the only one of Thorne’s buddies who didn’t actively hate me for being a vampire. He’d stood up for me on more than one occasion. Not that I needed him to, but the gesture was nice.
But I hated not having polish on my nails. It was so common.
“Isla, are you really considering finishing your pedicure despite the high chance of our friends getting killed, or Scott losing his remaining eye?” Sophie snapped, shoving her feet into her combat boots.
I scowled at her, not-so-accidentally splashing her as I thrust my feet out of the warm water. “Of course not,” I hissed. “I’m a reformed evil vampire, remember?”
I gave my manicurist a smile and threw a hundred on my chair. “Thank you so much,” I said sweetly. “I profusely apologize for my friend. She’s such a witch sometimes.”
I slipped my feet into my Manolo mules and snatched my bag. “Guess a quick stop at Chanel is out of the question?”
Sophie glared.
I held up my hands. “Kidding.”
The burst of magic smashed through my bones, pushing me through the air so I landed ungracefully on my ass at Duncan’s feet. He yanked me up with his free hand, the other snapping a hybrid’s neck.
“Up ye go, lassie,” he grunted, flashing a cheeky grin my way before tearing away to snatch a vampire out of the air going for the female slayer’s throat. She glared at Duncan, as she had already whirled and readied herself to brandish her weapon.
He continued to grin. “Too slow, mo leannan,” he purred.
She didn’t grin. Instead she kicked him right in the crown jewels and grinned in satisfaction when he grunted in pain.
“Too slow, vampire,” she hissed, turning to resume her battle.
I brushed off my shirt self-consciously, pretending not to feel the agony of the spell that had sent me flying into Duncan in the first place as I reached into the rib cage of a rogue hybrid and yanked out its heart. More to help my frayed street cred than anything else.
“I fucking hate fighting with witches. Magic is like cheating,” I muttered to no one in particular.
Sophie had been right about the witches, which wasn’t a surprise considering the bitch was right about everything these days. We’d arrived in the nick of time—they’d been about to level the entire side of slayers and vampires. Sophie had given me an ‘I told you so’ look when she’d sent forth a shield of magic to stop everyone dying.
I had decided to take out my rage on hybrids.
“Hey!” Sophie called in the middle of her stare-off with some weird witchy bitch who seemed to be in charge of the hags of Eastwick. “I resent that.”
I flipped her the bird. Then I eyed the witchy bitch who was responsible for me eating dirt. She was distracted with killing Scott, who’d started to fight her, presumably coming to my aid.
He was not doing well.
“Always saving the damsel in distress,” I sighed as I sprinted through the carnage to snap her neck while she was busy muttering curses at a pale-looking Scott. Then I poked my tongue out at her. “Look who got the last laugh, Hocus Pocus.”
The battle quickly dissipated after I did that, or Sophie won her magic staring contest. Though I was pretty sure it was thanks to me. Sophie didn’t even break a sweat. Or a nail.
Lazy witch.
She did look rather haunted and pale, that otherworldly glow pulsating around her—and not in a Jeffree Star highlighter type of way.
I was about to wander over, mildly concerned, but of course an inappropriately concerned werewolf darted over to her. I’d noted him and Thorne arriving just as the battle had ended. I’d rather enjoyed that they’d screeched in with a lot of urgency and tight faces, obviously ready to save the day. They really needed to get the memo that they were attached to two females who didn’t need saving.
Then again, Sophie wasn’t doing much for that, looking all sick and pale as the wolf roared over to her.
Just in time too, as she chose that point to collapse into his arms. He clutched her with a tenderness that seemed to somehow directly juxtapose the brutal way he held himself. I glanced down to see the hands holding Sophie were now claws.
I rolled my eyes. “I’m meant to be the resident drama queen,” I muttered, quickening my pace toward her to make sure she hadn’t died or anything. “But even for me, collapsing into a man’s”—I glanced up to the bleeding werewolf, probably having tripped and cut himself on the fang of a dead hybrid—“or kind of man’s arms is a little bit of overkill.” My light tone only succeeded when I realized she was not, in fact, dead.
She blinked away whatever old evil was inside her to push to her feet and attempt to swat at the werewolf’s arms. I didn’t blame her, I wouldn’t want his paws over me either.
“If I remember correctly, you’ve collapsed into Thorne’s arms on more than one occasion,” she sneered.
As if he’d been waiting for the precise moment to undermine me, Thorne appeared, bloodied as well—strange, since I was sure they’d arrived after the battle ended—and snatched me into his arms, eyes running over me, looking for a sign of injury.
I cursed my outfit choice because it showed a great cut of my cleavage, but now also displayed the ugly black bruise from the force of the witch’s magic.
His entire form went wired, placing his palm over the area with extreme gentleness, as if he needed to feel my heart beating. Which was stupid. I was standing there having an argument with Sop
hie—of course it was beating. And I’d already had plenty of arguments with Sophie while it wasn’t beating too.
I glared at him, then focused on Sophie’s previous words. “Yes, but on most of those occasions, I actually died,” I clarified. “Plus, Thorne is super-hot, and so am I, so we got away with it.”
I gave Sophie a once-over. Even pale to the point of gray, she was smokin’ in a tattered black mini, black cropped tee and multiple chains slung around her neck. Her makeup wasn’t even smudged. Well it was, but I was pretty sure that was on purpose.
“You are totally hot in your Panic at the Disco type of way,” I said. My eyes went to the wolf turned man, with his flexed and sweaty muscles covered in blood. “He, on the other hand?” I shook my head. “Not so much.”
The wolf didn’t even have it in him to growl at me, too busy gazing at Sophie all intense like, muttering something into her ear.
“You’re gonna need a flea shot now,” I observed.
She didn’t even have enough presence of mind to glare at me, and that worried me. She was blinking rapidly, eyes oddly vacant, vulnerable. Sophie focused on the witch whose neck I’d just snapped. Familiarity saturated her gaze. She pushed up from the wolf’s arms, ignoring his growl as her eyes scanned the rest of the battlefield.
There were a couple of bleeding and injured slayers, but none dead. Silver was helping Chace reset the bone of a younger slayer who’d obviously dislocated his shoulder.
Scott was lying semi-lifeless near the body of the witch I’d killed. I’d give him a moment, and if he didn’t get up, I’d worry.
Duncan was having a fist fight with his girlfriend. She landed the perfect blow on his mouth and didn’t even flinch when the force of the blow cracked some bones in her hand.
I totally dug her.
I expected Duncan to punch back, but he snatched her hand out of the air, not to break it more but to cradle it in his large palms.
Strange.
“Hey, team, what’s cracking?” Chace cut in, giving me a playful punch on the shoulder and obscuring my vision of the strange vision of Duncan being… tender?