by T. S. Ryder
Speak of the devil. The tinkling of the bell announced a visitor and even before she saw him, she recognized the slimy, greedy aura of Thor Wragge.
Wragge owned a knockoff art souvenir shop directly across the street from her. He even dared to refer to as a gallery! The mindless could find any number of replicas of famous pieces of art over there, from The Mona Lisa to kits that would instantly paint any room like the Sistine Chapel.
Wragge had a setup in his basement that constantly put out his rip-offs via magic, but there technically wasn't anything illegal about it, as he never claimed to sell the originals. It was just bad taste and lack of originality.
"Can I do something for you, Wragge?"
Piper refused to call him by his first name. Whether it had been him or his parents to arrogantly give him his name, he was no God of Thunder. He was a powerful warlock, yes. He was attractive enough with neat, sandy-brown hair and brown eyes, but he wasn't even of Norse descent.
"I just thought I'd come over and take a look around. I've been getting so many customers lately that I need a nice, quiet place to think." Wragge flashed a smile at her.
Piper bristled. She had seen the steady stream of customers in and out of Wragge's shop. In the last three days, she had had four. But that didn't matter. One of them had bought a thousand-dollar sculpture and that was worth the hours of sitting in the back, working on her own art while listening for the bells announcing a customer's arrival.
"If you're here to offer to buy me out again, forget it." Piper folded her arms across her chest, squashing her breasts down. They were large, like the rest of her and Wragge had a tendency to ogle them.
Piper was glad that Baxter wasn't here–the last time he had faced off with Wragge, he'd nearly attacked the man. Baxter already had a difficult enough time finding a job simply because he was a Werewolf. He didn't need jail time to make it even worse.
"You say that every time," Wragge smiled a toothy grin at her. "It's such a delightful little shop. I could do such wonders with all this. And you. It's a shame all that potential is wasted."
Heat rushed to Piper's face and she glowered. "Get out."
Wragge smirked and left.
Chapter Two
As the door swung shut, Piper noticed somebody standing in the corner. Had a customer just witnessed that exchange between her and Wragge? Piper repressed a groan as she tried to compose herself.
The man wore a light coat, most likely indicating that he was a Werewolf since their internal temperatures ran hot. He stared up at her painting of Baxter. He was in a half-shifted state, his deep eyes staring straight out of the portrait, one finger crooked seductively, his shirt dropped and strategically placed to cover his groin.
It was one of her favorites and Baxter liked to brag when they had dinner with her dad, that people were always coming up to him and asking for his autograph because of it.
As she approached, the man turned.
He was well muscled, all seven feet of him, with brown hair that matched his brown eyes. His hands were the size of dinner plates and had feet to match. There was a self-confident way he held himself that made Piper instantly attracted to him. She had always been a sucker for bad boys and bad boy vibes were coming off this guy in spades.
"Sorry about that," she said, indicating the door Wragge had just left from.
He gave her an easy grin. "No problem. I don't mind waiting. Patrick Giles."
Piper took the offered hand and introduced herself, smiling politely. "Can I help you find anything?"
"I'm Patrick Giles," he repeated, his grin widening.
Her brow furrowed. Did he think she hadn't heard him the first time? "Piper Diamond."
"You don't know who I am, do you?"
Piper bit her lower lip. The name did sound familiar, but—
Oh.
Oh, my. Piper felt her eyes widen and she struggled to keep herself in check. "You're the center forward for the Uphoria Wolf hockey team - thing."
"Yes. That thing," he chuckled.
Piper mentally kicked herself. She didn't even like hockey and she was acting like he had stepped out of her favorite daytime drama. She tried to recover herself. "Pleased to meet you. Can I help you find anything?"
"I've already found what I want."
His gaze swept down her full figure, making her face feel even hotter. She found herself wishing that she had worn something with a deeper scoop to show off her cleavage and sternly reprimanded herself.
I'll have to tell Baxter about this when I get home. And that wink. Will he be angry?
The thought cheered her up–maybe he'd stop wanting to drag her to the games with him. Then again, Baxter never got jealous, so he'd probably think it was funny.
Patrick turned back to the picture of Baxter and gestured to it. "How much? I can't find a price."
Piper's jaw dropped. Why did he want this sexy, seductive painting of Baxter? Had she got it wrong? Was that wink last night meant for her mate, not her? Anger swirled in her. Baxter never got jealous, but she did, as irrational as it was, as Werewolves mated for life.
"It's not for sale. It's from my own private collection."
"Did you paint this?"
"Yes."
"Is he your boyfriend?"
"He's my mate," she rose her chin and glared defiantly at Patrick, but he only grinned at her.
"I'll give you five thousand for it. I have a friend in New York who is looking for something just like this one. I'd like to give it to her as a present."
Piper's jaw hung slack, not hearing much past five thousand. The painting, as much as she loved it, wasn't even worth half of that! Five thousand dollars? That would certainly give her a good bump in her profits, would even push her out of debt again. Maybe even enough to buy a new car. Or at least fix the one she and Baxter had.
Numbly she nodded. "I'll package it up for you."
Patrick lifted the painting down and smiled, following her into the back, where she eased the picture into a box for travel.
"Is a check good?"
Piper nodded.
"I saw you at the game last night. You know, it's the blue moon tonight. We're having a special charity game. I've got a couple of extra tickets. I'd love for you and your mate to come."
"I don't know if—"
"And I'd like to commission you to paint a portrait of me. You've got a good eye for shadow and color. I don't know much these things usually cost… Is another five thousand good?"
Piper rubbed the back of her neck. "Well, really it's not worth that much—"
"Five thousand it is then." He quickly wrote a second check. "I'll send my assistant over with those tickets later. See you at the game."
With a grin that was half-smirk, he strode from the gallery with the painting tucked under his arm, whistling. Piper stared after him and then at the two checks in her hand. What the hell was going on here?
***
Baxter wasn't the least perturbed about the strange way Patrick Giles had just given his mate ten thousand dollars and tickets to a hockey game. He wasn't even the least bit annoyed when she told him about the wink she'd gotten the previous night.
"Yeah, I saw that," he said, much to her annoyance. "You've actually got tickets to the Blue Moon game?"
Piper repressed a sigh. "Yeah. And he was so generous I don't think we can stay home."
Baxter's eyes were bright, a grin spread over his face. "Who wants to stay home? I've been dreaming about seeing a Blue Moon game since I was a pup! This is going to be fantastic! What should I wear?"
His excitement was catching and Piper found herself laughing. "What's wrong with what you're wearing right now?"
"You wouldn't understand. You're not a hockey fan. I can't believe it! Patrick Giles in your gallery, buying a painting of me!" Baxter beamed. "Next time he's there call me and don't let him leave until I'm there. Do you think I could get him to sign a copy of his book?"
"Should I be jealous?" Piper teased.
Piper laughed again. "Come on. I'm taking you to dinner to celebrate this sudden, strange good fortune that we've got."
***
The game was even more violent than the last. Several times two of the hockey players went after each other, snarling and snapping, sending up a ruckus that drowned out the cheers of the crowd.
Piper bit her nails, unable to tear her eyes away from the action on the ice. She felt like she was watching a gladiator match–and for some incomprehensible reason, she loved every second of it. She especially loved when a member of the audience burst into Werewolf form, breached the Plexiglas barrier and attacked the hometown goalie when he let the other team score a point. What was wrong with her?
Baxter was beside himself, whooping and cheering and screaming. He'd bought a coke before the game started and that was soon spilled everywhere. He didn't seem to notice or care.
After the game, he excitedly relived it, giving Piper a blow-by-blow account of what they had just seen. Uphoria had won, with Patrick Giles making at least seventy-five percent of the goals. He had acknowledged her sitting in the stands and she wondered what he was playing at… He knew that she and Baxter were mated, so he couldn't be making a play for her, could he?
Werewolves mated for life. It was a biological thing. It wasn't the same for witches, but Piper loved Baxter. He was all she wanted.
The petite woman who had dropped off the tickets earlier found Piper and Baxter before they left the building and told them that Patrick wanted to see them. They exchanged shocked looks and followed after her. Piper's mind whirled.
They waited in a comfortable room, being served taquitos, loaded potato skins and raspberry cheesecake. It was so good that Piper ate everything, even though she wasn't hungry.
Patrick arrived soon. Baxter's eyes widened and his jaw dropped. It looked like he even stopped breathing. Piper wasn't sure if she should be amused or jealous, but he was meeting a hockey God, so she only gave his hand a small flick to remind him to close his mouth.
"So you're Baxter," Patrick grinned as he offered his hand to her mate.
"Y-yes."
The two stared at each other, as though sizing the other up, but not in a threatening way. There almost seemed to be electricity flashing between them. Piper became uncomfortable and cleared her throat. "I'm here too, boys."
Baxter jumped and Patrick flashed a white-toothed grin at her.
"Believe me, we would never forget that." He settled on the couch. "I'm glad you both came. I have something I want to discuss with you. I understand that you are a mated pair. I have been looking for quite a while for a couple for my trois amour and you are the ones I want."
Piper's jaw dropped. What in blazes was she supposed to say to that?
She knew that many Werewolves formed groups of three, usually with two men and one woman, but she had never considered being in one herself. She was happy with Baxter and certainly didn't want him to think he wasn't enough for her!
She did find herself attracted to Patrick, but it wasn't like she could just take him out for a test drive–mating was for life. If this threesome didn't work out, then it would break more than just hearts. It could break the Werewolves' souls.
She became aware that Baxter was speaking and forced herself to listen.
"I have always known that I've wanted an Alpha," Baxter said. "I—"
Piper frowned. "You're my Alpha," she interrupted.
Baxter smiled at her and shook his head. "I'm a Beta. I've always known I was. And, I would like for the three of us to be a trois amour."
Piper gasped. "You would?"
"I would. But my first concern is your happiness, so it's your choice."
Her first instinct was to say no. How could three people sharing their lives and bed even work? She rubbed her clammy palms against her thighs. "I, uh… I don't know. I've never considered this before."
Baxter sighed. "I should have spoken to you about my feelings before now. I'm sorry. But maybe with time—"
"We'll date," Patrick interrupted. "Get to know each other. No rush to make up your mind." He stood. "I'll drive you home. My assistant will drop off your car."
Chapter Three
Piper did not sleep well. Baxter had fallen asleep just as she made up her mind to talk about Patrick's proposal. So she stewed in her thoughts all night, eventually moving to the couch so that her restless tossing and turning wouldn't disturb her mate.
What was a witch to do? She'd had dreams about two men, but it wasn't something that she'd ever seriously considered. Now a second Werewolf directly told her that he wanted her and her mate as his mates. They didn't even know each other.
Would they even get along? Would all of them be mated to each other, or would it just be Baxter and Patrick mated to her?
The next morning as she made her breakfast, a protein fruit smoothie, Baxter wrapped his arms around her waist and nuzzled the back of her neck.
She turned to him. "Are you serious that you wouldn't mind having a trois amour?"
A smile twitched his lips. "Yeah. I am. Like I said, I've always known I wanted an Alpha. And if that Alpha can get us free tickets to hockey games—"
"This is serious."
"It's really not that complicated. I want an Alpha and I've seen Patrick assert his dominance with his team time and time again. He's a strong, confident male and exactly the kind of Alpha I want. But what you want is equally important. If you're not comfortable with adding a third mate, then I will be satisfied with monogamy."
"But would you be happy?"
Baxter pressed his lips to hers. "I'm happy when you're happy."
Piper sighed. She owed it to her mate to at least try this out. Nothing would become permanent until they mated, anyway. The image of the three of them kissing and groping each other came to her mind, making her cheeks flush. "Bax…"
He waited, but she couldn't figure out what she wanted to say so, she just shrugged. She rubbed the back of her neck, which prickled uncomfortably.
Wait.
She stiffened suddenly. Jerking away from Baxter she swore fluently and rushed for her coat.
"What is it?"
"The security spells at the gallery were tripped!" She swore again, shoving her feet into her boots. How long had it been going? How could she not notice before?
Because I was so distracted and tired. Or it had just happened.
When she stepped outside she saw a thick layer of frost sticking to the car windows, so she rushed back in, grabbing her dollar store flying broom. It was really too cold out for broomsticks, but this was an emergency.
Baxter opened his mouth to protest, but Piper pushed off, quickly gaining altitude so she flew over the buildings. The wind bit through her coat and her ears soon numbed. With one hand she pulled her blue and purple hair over her freezing cheeks, attempting to stay warm.
She was at the gallery in a matter of seconds and as she landed, her heart sunk. The large front window had been smashed, shards of glass everywhere, the metal grating Baxter had installed blown open. Somebody had used a powerful hex to get inside.
Piper rushed in, digging into her pants pocket for her cell phone.
She'd been so sure that her magical security system would be enough to stop anybody from breaking into the gallery, that she had been reluctant to spend cash she didn't have on a non-magical system. They were so easily disrupted and didn't prevent people from entering. The magical security system was meant to keep out everything and everybody except for her when the gallery was closed. Obviously, it hadn't worked.
Baxter arrived just after Piper phoned the police to report the break-in. He rushed to her side and wrapped his arms around her.
"This always happens," Piper seethed, pushing him away. She was in no mood for physical contact right n
ow. "As soon as I get a break, something terrible happens. I really need to go to a magi and see if I'm hexed. I've been saying it for years but this time, I'm actually going to do it!"
"Go get your inventory list so we can see what's missing," Baxter said calmly.
Piper shook her head–of course. She was so distraught that she didn't even think about checking inventory. It was one of the reasons she loved Baxter. While she was getting emotional and certain that she was hexed, he focused on the more practical side of things. He was always there to keep her grounded.
By the time the police showed up, Piper had gone through the inventory both in the front and back of the shop.
"Nothing's missing," she told the police, leaning against Baxter as relief coursed through her. "It's just the damage to the storefront."
"Probably some out of towners mad that their team lost in the Wolf League," the police officer, Anna Johnson, a bulky, tall Werewolf, said, jotting down something on a notepad.
"As if I have another reason to hate hockey," Piper muttered.
Johnson chuckled. "I wouldn't say that too loudly or else the locals will come after you, too. You're in Canada, after all. Hockey's our biggest religion. If I didn't know you were born and raised here, I'd swear you were a foreigner. But rumor has it that Patrick Giles wants the two of you for a trois amour."
Piper flushed at the expectant look that Johnson gave her, but Baxter nodded proudly.
"Are you planning a wedding, or will you keep it to a private mating ceremony?"
"Aren't you supposed to be policing, not gossiping?" Piper interrupted. "We're not certain we're going to have a trois amour."
Johnson shrugged. "There weren't any usable scents and the magic is your basic garden variety. No special prints on it."
"That seems a little too well planned for a drunk angry person," Piper frowned. "You have to go through like five steps to scrub your prints from magic."
"We'll make sure to put a patrol on every hour after it gets dark to this area, just in case," Johnson said. "In the meantime, I suggest that you get this cleaned up and ready to open for business. The town's rumor mill will be producing a lot of curious folks to come see the witch that Patrick Giles has his eye set on."