by Plum Pascal
It’s Nibbles who breaks the silence. His round, boyish face lights up with a shy smile when he spies me.
“You look real nice, Miss Aurelian.”
“Miss what?” Nash repeats.
Nibbles looks up at the enormous man and looks suddenly concerned. I wave my hand in the air to grab both their attention. “Sorren, Leith and Nash, we will discuss that matter later. In the meantime, meet the Lost Boys and Peter Pan.”
I reach out and ruffle Nibbles’ chestnut curls fondly, which only makes him grin wider. The rest of the Lost Boys mutter their greetings to the bears, none of them taking their eyes off me for long. It makes me feel a little self-conscious. I don’t look that different in a dress, do I?
Leith grumbles something that sounds like a greeting or maybe it’s a burp.
Embarrassed by the bears lack of friendliness, I fill the silence. “We’re heading to Discordia’s within the fortnight.”
I turn and notice Sorren, who examines Peter’s face with the expression a butcher wears before deciding just where to cut a hunk of meat. I rush to make further conversation before he can start getting any ideas.
“The Lost Boys are a group of sellswords who work closely with the Guild these days,” I say to Leith and Nash because Sorren isn’t paying any attention. “Their leader is Peter. This is Nibbles, there’s Mayhaps, Riddle, and Quinn.”
Only Nibbles smiles when I mention his name. Otherwise, the Lost Boys remain stone-faced. It’s so unlike them. Usually I can’t get them to be serious, even when it’s required for a job. What in the name of Avernus am I missing here?
I rap the table with my knuckles, bringing the silent stare-off to a standstill. All eyes swivel toward me and I raise a brow expectantly at Peter.
“I’ve got the gold we agreed on. Do you have the siphoning stone?”
He drags unhappy eyes from Leith’s face to mine. The tension in his expression eases when he looks at me. He shoves a hand into a pouch at his belt and withdraws a single smooth river stone. It’s a moss green that blends almost seamlessly with his fae-made armor. It’s about the size of a gold piece, and it looks utterly innocuous. Still, my heart quickens at the sight of it. It’s possibly the most valuable thing in this bar. It’s full to capacity with the power of an omnifarious, Neva, one of the ten chosen heroes that would fell Morningstar and his rabble once and for all.
Peter’s grin creeps back onto his thin lips again, and I’m happy to see it. Somber Peter is a dangerous Peter. Between the startlingly red hair, the eyes, and the sharp cut of his cheekbones, he looks absolutely puckish and very much like himself.
“We’re always happy to help you out, love. Just the usual price, and we’ll be off.”
I roll my eyes so hard, I think I may strain something. “Seriously? This again?”
Peter’s white teeth reflect the bobbing flame at our table. “C’mon. You never used to mind. What’s the harm?”
None at all, really. Three gold pieces for the group and a kiss on each of their cheeks. A kiss on the cheek which Peter will turn into a kiss on the lips and sometimes a grope of my tits. Well, he’s only tried that the one time and since then, I caught onto him.
I reach into my pouch, drawing out the three coins. Peter sweeps them off the table and tucks them into his own pouch. “And the other half?”
Sighing good-naturedly, I lean across the table to kiss his cheek. He turns at the very last instant, as per usual, turning the chaste kiss meant for his cheek into a lip lock. There’s certainly more… vigor in his kiss this time, as compared with the last time he did this little ploy. If there weren’t a table between us, there’d be some body language in the kiss, too. My eyes fly open wide as his tongue skims my bottom lip.
A growl splits the air and then I’m reeling back, a hand fisted in the back of my dress like someone dragging a kitten by its scruff. I crane my neck to see Nash’s face contorted in rage, the russet shade of his bear’s eyes staring out from his human face. His teeth are sharper than usual, and he bares them at Peter in a snarl.
Then he lets go of me, and I go tumbling to the floor. I glance up just in time to see Nash’s fist collide with Peter’s face.
TWELVE
Kassidy
The punch almost knocks Peter off his feet. Almost. Peter’s been at this game for over sixty years now and he’s fought opponents that give me nightmares, just from the tales he’s told. He may be impulsive and silly, but he’s the best for a reason. If Nash weren’t inhumanly strong and fast, the blow would never have even landed. As it is, Peter staggers back, nearly upending the next table over before he can steady himself.
His hand goes to his belt and, quicker than my eyes can follow, he’s drawn his leaf-blade knife from its sheath at his waist. It’s a favorite of his for close-quarters combat, when the sword would be too cumbersome or unwieldy. To hear him tell it, he stole the hand of Captain Hook with that very blade when he was a younger man. I never learned what the Captain’s offense was on that occasion, or if it was just one of Peter’s cruel whims.
The grin slashes across his face like a wound, the baring of teeth a fierce challenge to Nash’s rumbling growl.
“You keep your fucking hands off her!” Nash’s roar shakes the tavern walls and brings the other guest’s activities to a standstill. The orc and the night hags eye us warily, clearly sensing the fight that’s brewing.
“Testy, testy,” Peter taunts. “Didn’t do nothing she didn’t want, little cub,” Peter croons, a cruel edge of mocking to his tone.
Oh, fuck. He’s in one of those moods. I hate it when he’s like this. His teenage machismo doesn’t rear its ugly head often, but when it does, he’s a right bastard, just looking to spark trouble. Nash is a powder keg looking to blow.
Sure enough, the words land like a struck match and Nash is in motion again, charging Peter like a bull, another furious bellow shaking the tavern walls. I look to Leith but he just shrugs as though this isn’t his problem. Bastard. And Sorren is… well, Sorren’s no help. Guess I’m going to have to deal with this myself.
Peter dodges Nash’s fist and then takes a glancing blow on his shoulder when the second comes down. He grimaces, but doesn’t otherwise react. The knife flicks out and he readies it for a thrust.
Oh, fuck no. I’m not letting this happen. Not over something as silly as a stolen kiss.
I put on a burst of speed and knock clumsily into Nash, pushing him sideways into a table. Peter’s blade comes down on empty air and Nash’s howl of fury raises every hair on the back of my neck.
By this point, the rest of the Lost Boys have drawn their weapons as well and are squaring off against the remaining bears. Leith looks just as bemused as I feel; Sorren’s smile is sharp-edged and curved like a scimitar, promising deadly things to follow. He can’t shift, but the sword he carries will do the job nicely.
I grab a knife of my own from the table and hack at the layered skirt that binds my legs. I’m going to be useless in this fight if I trip all over it. I’m butchering the poor thing, but it does finally come off, leaving the remaining tatters tickling my thighs. It’s so short now, it can barely be termed a dress at all. Maybe a long shirt?
With one hand, I clutch the knife, and the other lashes out to the nearest Lost Boy—I think it’s Mayhaps, but I can’t be sure, everyone’s moving too fast—and I curl my fingers around his bicep, leaching his strength almost instantaneously. His knees buckle and I let go when his eyes threaten to roll back into his head. I want him down, not dead.
Riddle brings his slingshot up, loading it with what appears to be another riverstone. I know better. The violet stone is enchanted to burrow in on impact, making it just as dangerous as any arrow.
Why the fuck are they doing this? Nothing done so far warrants this kind of backlash. They’re acting as if they want to kill each other. Over what? A stupid kiss? Yes, Peter overstepped his bounds, but it’s not anything to go to war over.
I round on Riddle next, using the newfoun
d strength and agility I’ve drained from Mayhaps to sink into a crouch and sweep his legs out from under him. He goes down in a flailing tangle of limbs and I slap a hand to his chest, siphoning enough strength to be sure he stays down. The shot he meant for Leith shoots up instead, blowing a hole in the tavern roof.
I wince. Someone’s going to have to pay Layla for the damage.
Sorren is wading into the fray now, the naked blade of his sword glinting in the low light. I straighten from the crouch and take three running steps before bounding onto a table, using it as a springboard to come down like a proverbial bag of rocks onto Sorren’s back, then riding him to the ground. I sink my hand into the tangle of brown hair on his head and mash his face into the ground.
I knock his face hard against the wooden floor and snarl, “Drop it!”
Sorren barely reacts to the pain; he gives me a grin that’s more feral anticipation than smile. I knock his head into the floor again, harder this time.
“I said, drop it!”
“Or what?”
I grit my teeth and then reach deeper, toward the power within him. I’m expecting there to be less of it, since he has no access to his bear form. But it’s all beneath the surface, at least as much as his cousins possess—if not more. The energy feels... cold. Like I’ve just dunked my hand into ice water. Drawing on it feels like breathing in winter air, the kind that slices into your lungs and makes you gasp at the pain.
Taking enough to make Sorren’s grip relax leaves me buzzing with arctic power. I kick the sword away from his grasp, just in case he gets any funny ideas.
Most of the remaining Lost Boys have taken the hint and stepped away from the brawl, lest they face my wrath. Not Peter, though. He and Nash are still embroiled in a fight, each looking like he wants to take the other’s head off. I don’t know what the fuck has gotten into these two, but it ends now.
I seize the edge of one of the round tables, hoisting it easily off the ground with Sorren’s stolen strength. Gathering as much power as I can muster, I sling it like a disc toward the warring pair. They both look up in time to see it coming and spring feet apart to avoid being hit. The table hits the far wall, shattering into dozens of broken pieces.
Looks like I’m the one paying for damages, then. Damn it. I’m going to wring both their necks for this, I swear.
I stalk forward, planting myself stubbornly between them. I’m not physically imposing. Both Peter and Nash are more than a head taller than me and probably weigh two to three times what I do. Neither advances, nor tries to shove past me.
“Enough!” I shout, voice echoing back to me in the stillness. “Nobody move, or so help me, I’m going to kick every single one of your asses!”
Every eye in the room is on me, and I feel the weighty stares on my back. This story will be all over the town by tonight. So much for keeping a low profile. What the fuck was Nash thinking?
I round on him and he at least has the good grace to look somewhat abashed. His eyes have returned to normal and he won’t hold my gaze for long.
“You,” I hiss. “You’re coming with me.”
Peter snickers. “Someone’s in trouble.”
I spin on one heel and slap Peter so hard, he staggers. My handprint glows a vivid pink against the pale cream color of his skin. He blinks huge green eyes at me in shock. ‘Kassidy…”
“Don’t you fucking start,” I warn. “Keep your mouth shut, Peter, or I’ll sew it closed.”
I march away, catching Nash’s arm as I make my way toward the front door of the tavern. He doesn’t struggle, thankfully, though he could. With Sorren’s strength, I think I could be a match for him, now, and beat him bloody for the stunt he just pulled. I don’t, and he doesn’t make me.
I finally pull him to a stop near the side of an inn, jerking him into the shadow of the building to get away from prying eyes.
“What in the name of the Gods was that?” I hiss. “Are you trying to get yourself killed?”
“As if that little, fucking rat could kill me,” he snorts. “I’d have snapped him in two.”
I give Nash a light slap, nothing like the one I gave Peter. It does make him blink at me, though.
“That isn’t the point, Nash! You started it! And Peter’s our contact, in case you’ve forgotten. He’s delivering the best chance we have to steal back your brother’s heart. Had you forgotten that?”
“He touched you,” Nash argues stubbornly. “He tried to stick his tongue down your…”
I slap Nash’s cheek lightly once more, and it succeeds in shutting him up. He glowers defiantly at a point just to the side of my face.
“It’s nothing. Peter does this every time we see each other. He’s a hopeless flirt and he’s not discriminatory. Any woman will do. He’s done this since I turned fourteen, and I had even less of a figure then. It’s the way we agreed to pay each other. Three gold coins and a kiss on the cheek... though recently, it’s been on the mouth, as you’ve noticed. A kiss for each of the crew and then I’m off. It’s just sport to him. He wouldn’t have taken it so far if he didn’t guess it would bother you.”
Some of the tension curled in his muscles eases at my assurance. He’s still not looking at me, though.
“You didn’t warn us.”
“Because it isn’t your business what I do with Peter—or anyone else, for that matter.”
Nash drops his hand to my waist, and I can feel the burning temperature even through the stiff material of the dress. My insides quiver oddly, like winged creatures have been let loose to riot. An unexpected surge of warmth pools between my legs as he leans forward, pressing our bodies tighter together.
“I want it to be,” he murmurs, dropping his head so the side of his face brushes mine. His hair tickles my cheek and my sex tightens, anticipating the kiss he presses to my throat seconds later. “I want you.”
“Nash...”
“Tell me you don’t want the same,” he says, reaching to undo the loose laces that keep the bodice of my dress up. He pulls at them slowly, deliberately, giving me time to protest. I can’t. I don’t want to. “Tell me you want me to stop, and I’ll walk away.”
My mouth is as dry as the Anoka desert, but that place between my legs is mortifyingly slick. It’s hard to swallow, hard to form the words I know I should say. That this is a distraction we don’t need, a pleasure I can’t indulge. The words don’t come—instead, a whimper escapes my throat.
“Tell me,” Nash says. “Say you don’t want it… Kassidy Aurelian.”
“Fuck,” I grumble as I swallow hard.
“That’s your real name?”
I nod. “That’s my real name.”
Nash smiles. “Then tell me you don’t want to feel my cock slipping inside you, Kassidy.”
“I do want it,” I confess.
My bodice slips, and my breasts spring free of the constraints. Nash stares down at them with such scorching desire that heat flashes through my body.
“I don’t have the control Leith does,” Nash says as he looks down at me, his eyes serious.
“What do you mean?” I breathe against him.
“If we start this, I won’t be able to stop. So if you aren’t sure, just walk away now.”
I breathe in deeply and make a decision here and now. “I’m not walking away.”
THIRTEEN
Nash
Every part of my body yearns toward her, my skin hot and tight with the anticipation that comes with the change.
I’ve never hated my father more than I do in this instant. The bear is too close to the surface; it always is when my need runs high. She’s not a werebear. She’s not a delicate fucking flower, either, but she deserves gentleness her first time. Consideration, respect. Things my beast doesn’t understand.
She pants, gasping enticingly when I skim my nose along her throat, press my mouth to that throbbing pulse point, and test my teeth against it. Her back bows, the curve of her spine flawless. It makes my mind flit to just what it w
ould look like curved over a bed, my hand in her hair as I bury myself into her heat from behind.
Not this time. It can’t be this time. But later...
“Nash... not here,” she finally manages.
Her words don’t register for a few seconds, because I’m too busy exploring the toned, elegant planes of her body. Only a few scraps of remaining fabric obscure her thighs. My cock strains the front of my pants, so hard it actually hurts. I want to be between those thighs, tasting her until she comes.
But she’s right. I can’t do this here in the back alley of the fucking tavern. She deserves more than this. Granted, I can’t take her in my own bed, but she deserves a bed all the same. I manage to let my hands fall to my sides, releasing her.
The bear’s furious roar resonates through my head. We don’t want to let her go. We can rut her right here and right now.
Fuck off, I snarl at it. Mine. Not yours. I will treat her with some damn respect.
“Where can we go?” I demand.
She swallows audibly. “There’s an inn right behind you.”
I nod. “Lead the way.”
She pauses for a moment. “What will Leith,” she starts.
“Lead the way,” I growl and she does as I order.
She shuffles toward the entrance to the inn. We catch some startled looks as we enter, Kassidy clutching her bodice to her chest for dear life. Still, the stupefied innkeeper’s wife shows us to a room on the first floor.
The second the door closes, I can’t keep my hands to myself. I have to touch her. Have to have her. Before I can seize her waist, however, she turns, lifting her chin and letting the dress drop with an almost defiant look on her face. It slithers to the floor and puddles at her feet before she kicks it aside.
Fuuuck.
She’s wearing almost nothing beneath. Her nipples are a dusky pink and point toward the sky. The small breasts are incredibly pert, with just enough soft roundness to cup in a palm but not enough to overflow it.
A growl builds in my throat. I can’t remember wanting anything so much in my life. But… I don’t want to hurt her.