by Cate Lawley
I dropped down into one of two twin crushed velvet arm chairs, and it immediately tried to swallow me. I might let it, because it felt so good. I slipped my strappy sandals off and kicked my feet up on the matching ottoman. “So, about your sister’s magic or lack thereof, I can just tell she doesn’t have a lot of, uh, juice. Protection and wards take a lot of skill and power.”
“You can just tell.” He grabbed a beer from the fridge and lifted it in my direction.
“Yes, please. Maybe with a chaser of whiskey.”
I’d been kidding, but when he pulled out a bottle and a few shot glasses it actually seemed like a pretty good idea. Get a little tipsy, pass out on the sofa, avoid serious conversation…
He put the shot glasses on the small table between the chairs, as well as the bottle, and then handed me my beer.
I looked at the label: a local Austin brew. “Way to go local.”
He chuckled. “I was going local before it was a thing, when it was the only thing.”
Which made me wonder how old he was. I poked a little with my magic, but got bupkis.
He dropped into my chair’s twin. “Quit it.” There wasn’t any censure in his voice, but I still felt like I’d just been found peering inside a neighbor’s window.
There was only one ottoman, so I scooted it closer to him. How had he done that? First, noticed that I’d tried to get a peek and second, blocked it without any effort at all?
He glanced at my strappy heels as he was taking his shoes off. “I feel bad for making fun of you. I don’t know how you could run in those.”
“Well, I didn’t do a stellar job of it, did I? The only reason Don didn’t catch up was because he wasn’t expecting your tackle or my binding spell.” I groaned. “Michael, this is not good. Don is going to be so pissed at you.”
“I’ll be fine.”
He looked like he hadn’t a care in the world. His sexy bare feet were propped on the ottoman next to mine, and he was slouched in the down-filled chair with his dark head tipped back and his eyes closed. Not a single care in the world.
Averting my eyes from his sexy toes, lest I develop a foot fetish on the spot, I said, “Hm. I don’t think you know how powerful he is.”
He cracked open an eye. “I don’t think you know how powerful my family is.”
Oh my God, I might be getting teary. He didn’t think twice, he just assumed his family had his back. Because they would. Which made me all warm and fuzzy that he had that in his life and then sad that I’d drug them all into my messy life.
I rubbed my tired eyes. I would not cry in front of this man. Once I was certain I could speak without losing my composure, I said, “We have to keep your family out of this. I need to get you out of this. I’ll leave tomorrow morning.”
“I don’t think so.” He didn’t even bother to crack an eye this time. He lounged in his chair, looking like he’d just had a massage.
Then another thought occurred, maybe I’d worn the poor guy out. Or maybe he was actually super stressed out about the whole situation. The Prince of Darkness and Destruction was on his trail with revenge on the brain, of course, he was stressed out. “Oh my god, I’ve ruined your life.”
And then I knew he’d gone over the edge, because…he laughed.
I’d just broken Michael Kelly.
And I might have said that out loud.
Once he’d stopped laughing, he drank about half his beer in a few swigs. Finally, he said, “You didn’t break me.” His eyes danced, and he suddenly looked an awful lot like his dad, full of mischief and merriment.
“If you’re not worried—or crazy—then I don’t think you get it.” I groaned. “Your family is going to hate me. And Livy…”
“Stop it.”
I couldn’t stop. I had to tell him. He had to understand. “Don and my dad are tight. Don’s got a lot of magic, but my dad…you have no idea. This is so bad. So bad.”
“I said, stop it.” And he grabbed my hand. “I know who Abaddon and your dad are. I know Abaddon commands an army of minions, and that your dad has alliances with some of the most powerful demon families. He wouldn’t be king of hell if he didn’t. I know all that.”
“You do?” My gaze landed on our interlocked hands. I liked the feel of his hand clasped around my own.
“I do. I think you don’t get it. You’re under a false assumption that my family and I have something to fear from your people, that we can’t protect our own, and that’s just not true.” He laced his fingers with mine. “It could be a little uncomfortable around Christmas and Thanksgiving, but that’s easy enough to manage.”
I did break him. He’d gone over the edge. I snatched my hand back. “You’ve lost your mind.’
“Thinking you might marry me? Hey, I’m a catch.” He winked at me. Winked—like it was all no big deal that powerful people might be angry with him, might…I don’t know, lop his head off, or cause some kind of rift with his family. He continued speaking as if the sky wasn’t falling. “My mom tells me that all the time. Then again, maybe she’s a little biased.”
“You’re nuts. Does your sister know you’ve lost it?” This isolated cabin took on an entirely different meaning. Maybe I hadn’t broken him. Maybe he’d been teetering on the edge for a while now. Ugh. Great. So now I was the one who shoved him off the cliffs of sanity.
He retrieved my hand and laced his fingers with mine. “Are you doubting my sanity, because I want to marry you? Shame on you, to think so little of yourself. You’re a prize, even the prince of darkness thinks so.”
And then it hit me. I yanked my hand back—though it had felt amazing and very right for him to hold it. “You’re messing with me.”
“Only a little,” but he said it with that Kelly smirk, the one that was two parts charm, two parts arrogance, and too many parts mischief.
So I punched him. In the arm. I’d hate to give him a black eye or hurt his insanely handsome face.
He rubbed the spot like it actually hurt. Which made me smile, because no way it had.
“Okay, please explain to me why you’re not more worried about all of this. Aren’t you concerned about upsetting your family? They won’t appreciate being pulled into my family’s private drama. Oh, and the small fact that my dad isn’t what I’d call an inconsequential enemy.”
“First, I don’t think your dad is going to war with the leprechauns over a family matter. He’s actually considered to be a pretty fair-minded guy.” When I sputtered and choked, Michael said, “That’s news to you?”
Nothing about my dad’s purple-faced screaming tirades said fair-minded. “Yeah, that would be news to me.”
“On the other hand, there’s my family. The Kellys have been around a long time. Any family with history has power.” His tone moved from serious to playful. “And we might think war with the devil would be great fun.” Seeing my shocked expression, he looked at me. “Okay, by ‘war,’ I mean a series of exceptionally executed practical jokes.”
I huffed in annoyance and took a swig of beer. He wasn’t taking this nearly seriously enough. “What about Don’s head lopping rep? That didn’t come from nowhere.”
“Some races can grow their heads back, so it’s probably not nearly so bad as you think.” Michael scratched his chin. “Or that was a youthful indiscretion.”
Youthful indiscretion? Leprechauns were as bad as demons.
“Oh, by the way, the next time you try to get a read on someone’s magic, you might try using a little finesse, darlin, because your magic is about as subtle as a sledgehammer.”
Not true. I used that poke all the time. Okay, not all the time, but on anyone I thought might be packing magic. Which raised an interesting question. “You seem to be pretty sure that you and yours can stand up against the demons of hell with no problem, but…” How did I tactfully state that Livy wasn’t exactly fully charged when it came to magic? “Um, Livy doesn’t seem to be packing much of a punch.”
“Livy doesn’t,” he agreed.
“Don’t even tell me this is a macho thing. If you’re going tell me that men are the superior magical power, then—”
He barked out a laugh. “Please, just don’t say that in front of my mother. If she thinks I even hinted at it, my ear will be sore for a week.”
Magic tended to be genetic, so I wasn’t really getting it. “You’re saying your sister is a magical dud.”
That killed his amusement. “No. I’m certainly not saying that. Even if it were true, I wouldn’t say it like that. Where do you get this stuff?”
I wasn’t about to tell him my mom, who’d raised me with no help from Dad, was as mortal as they came, and I was primarily self-taught and didn’t mingle amongst the magical masses.
Finding Livy had been a happy accident.
When I didn’t respond, he said, “Look, my sister has made her own life choices. And she’s young.”
“But magic is genetic.” I bit my lip. Was I revealing my unorthodox upbringing? Ha. Did I care? The guy knew I was the devil’s daughter, and he’d still invited me back to his place.
He gave me a weird look. “Partially. Leprechaun power increases with age and practice—just like demons.”
Huh. Not rocket science, but also not something I’d known.
He drank a swig of beer, but when I didn’t reply, he sighed and said, “I’m older, and I practice more.”
“Oh.” Maybe the Kellys had more than a little magical juice. Maybe they were a match for Abaddon. Maybe they wouldn’t be scared off by my dad.
Maybe they wouldn’t hate me for dragging Michael into a very personal family matter? Ha! Try again.
“Do you want to feel me up again with your magic meter?” He flashed me a sexy, teasing grin.
“Do you want me to hit you again?”
He just chuckled. “Now, drink your beer and your shot. Someone needs to get her butt to bed and get some sleep.”
“I can definitely drink to that.” I clinked my shot glass against his, and I let go of all those questions—for now.
“I wouldn’t want you to look all red-eyed and droopy at our wedding tomorrow.”
I choked and just about spat a very expensive whiskey on my newly acquired “fiancé.”
CHAPTER FOUR
“Once you’re dressed, we can head out to the county clerk’s office.” Michael stretched, pulling his T-shirt up and flashing muscled abs.
No ab-watching, no ass-gazing, no pec-peering, no speculation as to other parts unmentioned, and definitely no touching. I told myself that this morning as I’d rolled off the sofa and practically into Michael’s bare-chested self. Small cabin.
At least we’d both passed out quickly after Michael’s crazy announcement. I’d treated it like a joke, he’d said “sleep on it,” and we’d both crashed. End of crazy idea.
“What was the question?” I asked, sipping my orange juice. I was not a morning person and refused to be held accountable for my actions prior to the consumption of large quantities of caffeine.
“No question. I suggested that we head out to the county clerk’s office once you get dressed.” Michael’s gaze flowed smoothly from my head to my toes, not pausing to admire the cuteness of my bare knees (they were very cute,) or judge the state of my hair (terrifying), or even ogle my thinly covered breasts (braless under the T-shirt I’d borrowed from him to sleep in.)
What was wrong with the guy? He wanted to marry me last night, but doesn’t want to make my lady bits sing this morning? This was all sorts of weirdly not right. Never mind that I’d told myself hands off, he should at least be looking like he wanted to feel me up. “Wait, what? County clerk?”
As soon I said it, I knew the crazy of last night had invaded the reality of this morning.
Any maid-of-honor worth her salt knew that the County Clerk was step number one down the path of wedded bliss. Or at least it was step number one on the paperwork side. For Livy, step number one had been falling in love, and then an amazing proposal, and then a beautiful ring. I sighed as my heart did a little pitter-patter. It had been more than a little romantic.
This was not romantic—not that I would expect romance from Michael. It wasn’t like we were an item.
Even so, this marriage thing had overtones of “save the hellaciously distressed damsel” that made me cringe. I lifted my juice glass to hide my peevish expression. Michael didn’t even want to have sex with me. The idea of marriage was inconceivable.
Not that it was a real marriage proposal, but that didn’t diminish my annoyance.
Unfortunately, I drained my juice glass all too soon. I eyed the kettle, willing it to boil—which it did without hesitation. The kettle sang a surprisingly gentle tune. “Look at that. Water’s ready.”
Michael shut off the burner. “You’re zapping the coffee water to avoid a conversation.” He crossed his arms and leaned back against the edge of the counter. “You didn’t want to discuss it last night. You don’t want to discuss it this morning. I don’t recall you ever being such a coward.”
“I thought you were kidding.” I headed for the French press, but ditched it when I didn’t see any beans. But I needed coffee, dang it. Michael had an unfair advantage. His brain seemed to work just fine pre-caffeine. “Since I thought you were joking, there’s nothing to discuss. But I appreciate having a place to crash while I sort out what I’m going to do, so thank you, again.”
A tin of instant peaked out from the shelf.
“It’s no trouble. But I really don’t think there’s anything ambiguous about ‘let’s get married tomorrow.’ Oh, hey, let me do that.” He snatched the instant coffee from my hands and put it back on the shelf. “What are you? A heathen?” He pulled out a grinder from a high shelf and some beans stored in an unmarked tin.
“You’re the heathen. You’re the one who bought instant coffee.”
As he went through the ritual of preparing coffee, he kept his attention firmly focused on the task. Only when he was done and had set a timer for the coffee to brew did he turn back to me. “Let’s put aside the question of marriage.”—Sanity, at last! Except his lips just kept moving. “For now. Why not tell Don you don’t want to marry him? That you’ve changed your mind. It does happen.”
I scowled at him. He wouldn’t understand. His family was like a magical, mischievous, and very hot version of the Brady Bunch.
“Annabeth?”
I watched the digital timer tick down and couldn’t help thinking it was a crazy metaphor for the ticking time bomb that was my life. It was all going to explode, the question was how? Or maybe when? And what would be left of me once it did? I sneaked a glance at Michael. And who else would be hurt?
The buzzer sounded, and I jumped.
“I’ve never seen you this jumpy.” He rested his hands lightly on my upper arms. “Are you physically scared of Don?”
“No! No. I don’t think Don will hurt me.” Actually, I hadn’t really given that a lot of thought. The rumors of violence certainly didn’t involve women he’d been romantic with. And really, I didn’t know much more than rumors. He was pompous and arrogant and…that’s all I had. “I don’t actually know him very well, you know, apart from the rumors and the some superficial greetings. But no, I really don’t think he’d do anything to me. You, I’m not so sure about.”
Michael rolled his eyes. “I’ll be fine. But what are you so worried about? I can’t help if you won’t explain why you’re acting so afraid.”
He was being so understanding. I squeezed my eyes shut, because I couldn’t see his face when I told him. He was going to be so mad or disappointed or disgusted. “I can’t tell my dad. He arranged the marriage.” It came out in a rush, but I couldn’t open my eyes.
Silence. Yep, he was probably thinking all sorts of unpleasant things, not the least of which was how a woman gets herself into such a situation in this century. Of course he was. I squeezed my eyes tighter. I knew I was thinking those things. Every single day, I thought that. Every day, I was angry, d
isappointed, and disgusted with myself for getting into this mess.
And Michael had carted my ridiculous, weak-kneed, cowardly self to his super-secret hidey-hole-of-heaven, had painted a hellish target on his head, and now I tell him that I haven’t even had the courage to tell my fiancé I didn’t want to marry. Worse, I hadn’t told my fiancé I wanted to break our engagement, because I was scared of my dad. Sort of. It was more complicated than that—but basically.
Michael’s hands were still resting lightly on my upper arms and there was no crackling tension in the air. I cracked one eye.
And he was just waiting. Patiently.
So I opened the other eye.
“Why did you say yes?” he asked, still looking decidedly not angry.
“I never exactly said yes.” I bit my lip and shrugged. “I just didn’t exactly say no.”
His hands fell from my arms, but only after he gave me a gentle, reassuring squeeze. Except now he looked a little put out. He ran a hand through his hair. “Annabeth, you do realize that you get to choose? You say who you do or don’t marry. Someone announcing it does not make it so—even for demons.” His lips quirked up for a second. “Or half demons.”
Except I was living and miserable proof that he was wrong. I mumbled, “You don’t know my dad.”
“I thought I knew you.”
Which made my hackles rise. “Hey, watch it buddy. Don’t you even start—"
“I’m not judging you, Annabeth, I’m telling you I’m confused. That I find this situation confusing. You’ve always been bold. If anything, ridiculously so. What you’re telling me doesn’t fit what I know of you. How long have I known you? Five years?”
I narrowed my eyes. He knew exactly how long. “Seven. And given how close your family is and me being Livy’s best friend—I get it. You’ve been up to your ears in Annabeth antics and Annabeth stories for years.”
He flashed me a smile. “I wouldn’t have said it like that, but I would say that I know you reasonably well.”