Deadlocked (The Harry Russo Diaries Book 3)
Page 2
While I waited for Bryce to make an appearance, I looked at my cellphone and cringed. I had five new voice messages. I didn’t need to listen to them to know who they were from. Cian Nash, the most aggravating man I had ever met and a royal pain in the ass. He was also the sexiest man I had ever laid my eyes on and I had lusted after him from the moment we first met. I had stumbled across a dead body (it was Bryce’s, long story) and he was the homicide detective assigned to the case. Although I didn’t know it at the time, he was also a werewolf and the liaison between the police force and the Cimmerian. Since that day, our lives have become intertwined, something neither of us necessarily considers a good thing. After dancing around a mutual attraction, we had finally ‘done the deed’. To say it was mind-blowing would be an understatement. Unfortunately, it also ended up having an unfortunate side effect and I now found myself marked as Nash’s mate - and we’re not just talking about a hickey, the mate mark was permanent.
Call me old fashioned, but before I become permanently tied to a man metaphysically, I’d like to actually get to know him. Maybe even go on a date or twenty. Don’t get me wrong, Nash could be incredibly sweet and caring. Unfortunately, the rest of the time he was an arrogant, pushy, stubborn, alpha male that made me want to scream in frustration.
For his part, I’m pretty sure Nash saw me as a meddling nuisance who was completely incapable of taking care of herself, so you can see why it came as a surprise to find out he had marked me as his mate. I had a sneaking suspicion that he was surprised about it too. His wolf always did like me better.
The mark had been made right before everything went down with Navarre and we had yet to have a chance to sit down and talk about the situation, mainly because I had been avoiding him like the plague since my discharge from the hospital. So far, I think he had been giving me some space, calling rather than coming in person, but I doubted if that would last much longer.
With a sigh, I called up my voicemail on my phone. No point on delaying it any longer. I figured I had better hear what he had to say.
The last bit was followed by more unintelligible growling, but I thought I caught the words ‘spank’ and ‘your ass’ in there somewhere. Wait, what? Oh shit! I fumbled for the phone and hit a key. The message was sent forty-five minutes ago which meant he could arrive at any minute. I needed to get out of there and somewhere with witnesses. My question for Bryce would have to wait. I hurried to the door and peeked outside. The coast was clear so I hustled out and down the stairs to my shop.
I own a flower shop called Contain Yourself. It occupies about one third of the main floor of the building. The other part is going to be a coffee shop, once all the renovations are completed. Tess and I live on the upper two floors of the building, along with Isaac who came to live with us after I inadvertently bound him to me as my vampire servant (another long story).
I try to put a couple of hours in the shop every day, but for the most part I feel like I’ve become more of a figurehead, seeing as how Mrs. Potts, my former employer turned employee, still does ninety-five percent of the work. What I didn’t realize at the time was Mrs. P was Fae, a brownie, and the old refurbished firehall was in her care. She didn’t really need to sell the business to retire. Brownies don’t retire. I was beginning to suspect it had all been a lure to get me to come live in the building. Until Tess and I had moved in with our former-friend, Holly (you guessed it, another long story), the building had been vacant except for the flower shop. An unused building would be anathema to a brownie. Mrs. P was much happier now that it was soon to be fully occupied. She was even spearheading my coffee shop idea, helping it over the hurdles to get it up and running and bringing in her niece, Tiffy, as an apprentice of sorts to help out.
Speaking of Tiffy, surprisingly, she was at the counter, watching the shop by herself when I entered the store. Tiffy was also a brownie and this was her first experience ever coming out from Underhill. She had been extremely skittish the first few days after her arrival and still had hardly said more than three words to me.
“G-g-good afternoon, Harry,” Tiffy said, blinking nervously.
“Hi Tiffy. How are things?” I walked towards her casually, trying not to spook her.
“G-g-good. Aunt Bea is n-n-next d-door.” She smiled and gave a little nod as if proud of herself for completing her sentence.
“Aunt Bea? Oh, you mean Mrs. Potts?” I smiled at her. “You know, I don’t think I ever knew your aunt’s name.” Tiffy giggled, putting a hand to her mouth. I smiled at her again and then put a container on the counter. “Isaac made some maple fudge. Better get some before Mrs. Flannigan comes in and snaps them all up.” Mrs. Flannigan was the neighbourhood gossip who had taken to Isaac’s baking samples that I had begun to leave on the counter for customers. She came in on a daily basis to help herself but never buy anything, much to Mrs. P’s disgust. Tiffy giggled again and dipped her head shyly. I winked at her and headed through the adjoining door to see the progress on the new shop.
I stopped in the doorway and stared in shock. A complete transformation had taken place since the last time I had seen it. The new French doors, cut into the exposed brick wall and framed in a richly stained walnut, perfectly matched the existing wainscoting. The walls were a warm, pale yellow. On one side of the room, Morris and his crew - workmen that seemed to materialize out of nowhere under Mrs. P’s command - were busy installing the shelves and cabinets of what would be the workstation behind the large glass-front pastry case. There would be a long, wide counter surface along the back wall to hold the coffee machine and provide a prep surface. A second lower counter was planned, curving out from the wall to meet the display case, defining the work area and providing a place for several stools for customers looking for a quick perch to enjoy their coffee and pastry. On the wall opposite the soon to be finished work area, three booths had been installed, all fitted out in deep walnut. They hadn’t been part of my plan, but they looked great.
“Oh Harry dear, there you are.” Mrs. P bustled over to me and wrapped me in her arms, giving me the biggest, in fact the only, hug she ever had. “I’m so happy you are well, dear.”
“Mrs. P!” I was a bit shocked by the PDA. I hugged her back awkwardly.
“That anacróir Eliassander, he got what he deserved, he did.” She patted me on the back. “Don’t you worry, Harry, ‘tis not a soul on the sluagh sidhe that holds you responsible for his death or those of the pixies and redcaps.”
“Oh, well, that’s a relief,” I replied. And it was. I hadn’t actually thought about the consequences of killing Navarre or Prince Eliassander as he was known Underhill. Not to mention all the pixies and redcaps Nash and I had dispatched. It was good to know the winged fair folk didn’t hold a grudge.
“You’re just in time, dear,” Mrs. P continued, releasing me from her grip. “I was just looking at some fabric samples for the booth seating.” She looked at me worriedly. “I hope you don’t mind? They weren’t on your plan…”
“Mind? No way. They look great!” I stepped over to them to take a closer look. “The workmanship is fabulous and they fit perfectly in the space, much better for customer traffic flow.”
“Och, now.” Mrs. P blushed a little. “I’m glad you like them, dear.”
“Oh, I do. And the carvings are beautiful.” I bent to look closer at the daisies carved daintily along the back of the bench. I turned in time to see Morris puff up with pride. I guess he must have been the craftsman.
“Wonderful,” Mrs. P clapped her hands. “Now dear, help me pick out a fabric to cover the seat and back cushions for the benches.” She hurried over to the last booth and pulled out four large swatches of cloth. One was a floral, but it looked too feminine; another was too plain. The third was a pinstripe in cream with burgundy and green accents. The last had similar colours as the third, but it was a pattern that made me think of coffee beans for some reason.
“Hmmm, it’s not an easy choice.” I pointed to the third and fourth samples. “These two are my favourites, but I can’t decide.” I studied them for a few minutes. “What about if we cover the bench cushions with this one,” I pointed to the coffee bean sample, “and did the backrests with the stripe?”
“Perfect solution, dear.” Mrs. P beamed at me. “The pattern will be perfect for the seats where there are apt to be spills and we can still use some of the stripe, which was my favourite.” She bustled over to a folder and started sorting through papers. “Now have you given any thought to what you are going to call the new shop?”
“No. I guess I haven’t.” I bit my lip in thought.
Mrs. P patted me on the arm. “Well, give it some thought now, won’t you dear?”
“I…” I froze and took a deep breath, all of my senses suddenly on high alert. Although I couldn’t see him yet, I knew that Nash had arrived. “I will,” I said, hastily turning around. Nash leaned casually in the adjoining doorway. His expression was reserved yet friendly, but he gave me the impression of a spring coiled too tight.
“Detective Nash!” Mrs. P smiled and threw out her arms at him. “What a lovely surprise.”
Nash’s eyes met mine and there was something fierce in them, almost wild. He took a deep breath and then tore his gaze away to look at Mrs. P. “Mrs. Potts, you look lovely as ever.” He smiled his sexy-rogue smile at her and she giggled like a schoolgirl.
“Oh pish-posh, you cheeky boy.” She giggled again. I couldn’t help it, I rolled my eyes. The man was a lethal weapon around women. “Well dear, you didn’t come to see me, so I’ll just go next door and see what Tiffy is about.” She bustled off leaving me standing awkwardly looking at Nash. At least Morris and his crew where still there to keep things civil.
“I –”
“You –”
We both started and stopped speaking at the same time. Nash took a step towards me and I stepped sideways, crossing my arms protectively.
“I’m glad to see you’re up and out of the hospital,” I said, biting my lip nervously. “You scared the shit out of me.”
“Yeah, the feeling is mutual.” He took a step closer, his nostrils flaring as he took in my scent. He seemed to relax a little, as if reassured, and he let out a deep breath. “Listen, Harry. I know I fucked up.”
I snorted, some of the tension I was feeling dissipating. “Ya think?”
Nash ran a hand through his hair. Damn it all, it only made him look sexier. He took another step towards me, almost closing the gap between us. “I know I did.” He grimaced. “And believe me, if I didn’t, my sisters all made sure I got an earful so that I understood what a bollocks I made of everything.” I couldn’t help it, I smiled at the thought of Eileen, Evaine and Christina all ganging up on their little brother.
“You need to understand, Harry. Despite everything, despite what you think,” he looked over his shoulder at Morris and then took a final step towards me, grabbing my elbow and leaning in, his voice soft but fierce, “it was me in charge that night, not the wolf. I did it. I marked you.” He placed a finger under my chin, tipping my head up to look into my eyes. “I did it because I need you. I want you.”
I frowned at him, twisting my chin away from his grasp. “You don’t even like me half the time. You don’t know me. It turns out I don’t even know me.” I frowned, thinking of the revelation that Salvador was my father. “Why would you want me?”
“You’re my mate, Harry. I feel it to the very core of my being. You’re mine and I’m yours.” He grabbed me by the shoulders, his body rubbing up against mine.
I took a deep breath. His scent was like a drug to me, overwhelming me and I couldn’t get enough. It was warm and crisp and clean, like fresh sheets out of the dryer. I blinked, trying to clear my head.
“This is ridiculous; we hardly know each other, even if we did have sex. You couldn’t possibly know that you want to spend the rest of your life bound to me.” My voice had risen through my rant and I noticed we were starting to draw attention from Morris and the boys. I huffed out an exasperated breath and grabbed Nash by the hand. “Come with me.”
I led him towards the back of the shop to the storeroom. I waited for the door to close behind him and then opened my mouth to continue but Nash placed a finger on my lips.
“Come with me on a date.” He smiled mischievously. “Tonight.”
“A date? Tonight?” I repeated lamely.
Nash smiled and winked at me. “Yeah, a date. You know those things two people do when they want to get to know one another better.”
“I…okay.” I smiled, suddenly feeling shy.
“Great.” Nash pulled me close and kissed me chastely on the lips. His eyes widened and I could see a feral hunger there. It made me feel all warm and tingly inside. He stepped back, a cheeky grin on his face. He could probably feel the lust coursing through my veins, the bastard. I huffed out a breath and crossed my arms again. Nash laughed and made a show of looking me over. “What you’re wearing is fine, but bring some warmer layers for later.”
“Where are we going?” My curiosity was piqued.
“It’s a surprise. I’ll pick you up at seven.” He turned and opened the door to the hall. “I’ve got to go. I’ll see you tonight.” He closed the distance between us again and pulled me into another kiss. This time it wasn’t even close to being chaste. A few minutes later, he left me panting as he disappeared out the door with a chuckle. Damn that wolf, he was way too sure of himself.
“I’m still mad at you!” I shouted half-heartedly after his retreating form, but I couldn’t wipe the smile off my face.
Chapter Three
I think I was still smiling stupidly when I arrived back upstairs. Luckily, Isaac was too busy puttering around the kitchen to notice. It had been several months since Isaac moved in, but I still found it a little weird to see a vampire in an apron. You usually don’t associate vamps with homey domesticity, but Isaac loved to cook. He was a real foodie, but his specialty was dessert. His excessive baking was the whole reason I had decided to open the coffee shop.
“It smells delicious in here,” I said, walking over to the island and hopping up onto a stool.
Isaac turned from where he was busy deglazing a roast pan and nodded his thanks. “I thought I’d make us all a nice, home-cooked meal tonight.” He turned back to the stove and continued to work his culinary magic.
“Great idea, Isaac. Is Tess going to be home? I thought she had a late class.”
“She called to say that it had been canceled and she would be home by six.” He placed a small plate in front of me laden with warmed pita, cut into triangles. He followed it with a bowl of hummus, drizzled with garlic oil. I had already snatched up a pita ready to scoop up a mouthful when I paused. “Is something wrong, Harry? I thought you liked hummus.” Isaac looked at me with concern.
“Mmmmm, I do, I do. It’s just…the garlic.” I shrugged, feeling my face heat up. “I have a date tonight. With Nash,” I added, sheepishly.
“Oh dear.” Isaac frowned.
“What? What’s the matter?”
“Besides the hummus, I have Cornish game hens with garlic and rosemary in the oven.�
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“In that case then,” I said with a smile, scooping a generous helping of hummus. “In for a penny, in for a pound.” I gave him a grin and then popped the pita into my mouth. “Mmmmmm, delicious.” Isaac chuckled and went back to the stove. I munched on a few more mouthfuls and then slid off my stool and grabbed a beer from the fridge. I waved it at Isaac, offering him one and then laughed at the face he made. Tess and I had so far managed to get him to scale down on the formal attire, but he drew the line at drinking that ‘hoppy swill’, as he called it.
“So Isaac,” I said between mouthfuls, “I didn’t get a chance to ask you last night, what is the Mariposa?” After Salvador had made his hasty exit, I had excused myself, needing the peace and quiet of my own bedroom. Later, when I had emerged from my cocoon of self-pity and the scalding hot bath I had soaked in until my skin was as wrinkled as a prune, Isaac was nowhere to be found.
He froze for a split second before continuing his task of putting a tray of asparagus under the broiler. Whatever the Mariposa was, it had put both Isaac and Salvador on edge.
“And, while you’re at it,” I added, “maybe you could tell me why there are vampires watching the building from the roof next door?” I raised an eyebrow at him.
Isaac stood and stepped away from the oven. He grabbed a towel from the counter and wiped his hands. He was buying time. I gave him another pointed look.
“The Mariposa is a person, not a thing,” he finally said, coming to stand in front of me. “She is better known as La Mariposa de la Muerte, the Butterfly of Death.”
“Charming.” I rolled my eyes, shaking my head. “And I guess from the way Salvador freaked last night, she’s not a friend?”
“No. I wouldn’t call her that.” Isaac stopped as if wondering how much to say. “They were once friends, but no more, not for several hundred years.” He went back to the oven and pulled the asparagus out.