Who the hell wants someone to menacingly tower over them?!
"You and Riot drove me away," I repeated as Ziff shrieked his frustration—he hated to see us fight—and darted back and forth across my shoulders, nibbling at my ears. "And you were the one that asked for a female. Whether or not you take her as a mate isn't my problem. The council will complete my binding, I'll have my magic back …" I stepped in even closer to Fin's lean body, his muscles tight and compact, made from nature and not a gym. Putting my left foot between his legs, I leaned up and put my mouth to his ear. "And I'll be this much closer to leaving you in the dust forever."
Chris screamed from the back room as I hovered there, my mouth enticingly close to Fin's ear. My fingers itched to reach out and stroke along the soft fur of his tails. Instead, I pulled back and slipped out of my trench, tossing it onto the couch and flashing all my curves (the few that I had anyway) in the tight denim jeans and lavender tank I was wearing.
"The door is to your right," I snipped, even as I railed at myself on the inside. What are you doing? You're mad at Fin, but you don't hate him. Don't do this.
"You think you're chasing me away, but you're not. I know you better than that, Thea Hunt." Fin reached up and took hold of my long, dark braid, rubbing the ebony hair between his fingers. His smile was slightly crooked, mischievous. Like a fucking fox. He even had a vulpine face with a wide but sexy mouth, pointed chin, and well-defined cheekbones. The air was perfumed with the sweet scent of wet earth and leaves, fox pheromones. "We're destined to be, Thea."
Fin leaned down suddenly, like he thought he might steal a kiss. I danced out of the way and then backed toward the door, opening it wide.
"Out," I said, turning my attention away so Fin wouldn't see how tempted I was to push him down on the couch and ride him. "Go. I will contact you when Revel Jones shows up."
"Revel Jones?" Fin asked, drawing my gaze away from the wall and over to his face. "The mail-order bride." He answered his own question and then reached long fingers up to rake through his rust-brown hair. "Inviting some strange girl into town to mate? It's not going to turn out the way you think it is, Thea."
Fin stormed past me, the smell of cinnamon and cloves trailing along in his wake.
He slammed the door so hard that one of Chris' porn—I mean art prints fell off the wall, the glass shattering to pieces as Ziff trilled a wild cry of pain and fluffed his tail in front of my face. I pushed it aside and then stepped forward to lock the door.
If Fin were to come back and kick it down, maybe I wouldn't be able to control myself next time?
Chris let out another scream and I rolled my eyes.
"Fucking addicts," I cursed, sweating and shaking, my heart pounding. I reached up a hand to stroke Ziff's fur, putting pressure on his back to comfort him. Like I have room to talk about addiction, look at me. Shaking my head, I moved into the kitchen to grab supplies for the predictably shitty day I was doing to be having: an ice pack, some water, a granola bar, and … bottles of Chris' best sake and plum wine. Those last two things, though, those were for me.
Fae-Bitch owed me.
The next morning, I was in a predictably bad mood, and Chris was flouncing around the apartment like he wasn't recovering from a comedown but actually still high on his drug of his choice.
"Chin up, girl, we made it through the worst of it!" he chortled, completely and utterly naked and sporting a fully manicured and flaccid penis that I had less than zero interest in. He curled his wings around his shoulders and gave me his best doe-eyed look.
"You fucked up bad," I said, sitting up from the couch and groaning. Sleeping in skinny jeans sucked serious ass. Why hadn't I taken them off before crashing? "You relapsed and you want to act like it doesn't mean shit?"
"You and Fin have so much chemistry," he purred, moving into the living room and putting his penis right at about eye level. With a groan, I leaned back into the decorative unicorn and rainbow pillows and tried not to love Chris so much for being a super gay cliché. He always joked and told me I was urban-fantasy-cliché. Guess we both embodied our own special little corners of the universe, right?
"I can't believe you keep in touch with my ex." Ziff curled in a ball on my chest and then meticulously went about cleaning between his tiny toes.
"Exes," Fae-Bitch ventured and I closed my eyes. "I was going to tell you," he continued as I grabbed Ziff and rolled toward the back of the couch, knowing I should be infuriated with this man right now. It was hard though, when he basically glittered as he walked. Chris was too peppy and upbeat to be mad at. "Anyway, when we first met, you were still toying with the idea of going back to the Earth. The boys always came around looking for you, and well, shit, Thea-Pea, friends are rare in this world. I take 'em where I can get 'em."
"Riot and Fin are bisexual, why don't you date them?" I murmured into a pillow with a rhinestone phallus on it. No joke. It was a shimmery penis pillow. "Because I'm done with them. I want to go out and get laid, forget all about them."
"Why don't you call Mik—" Chris started, but I quickly stifled that by stabbing him with the heel of my stiletto boot. I'd gotten a bit too drunk last night and forgotten to even take off my damn shoes. Some fox I was. I was so separated from mother earth, I might as well be human. "Fine, why don't you nap on the couch for a bit …" I let Fae-Bitch wrangle my boots off and toss them to the floor. "I'll start my beautification routine, and we'll go out tonight. A shifter bar, just for you."
"I hate shifter bars," I murmured, although I felt my heart rate pick up speed just a tad at the thought. There were dozens of shifter bars in Denver, some of them catering to specific species, others an eclectic mix. Since there we few kitsune left in the world, we didn't exactly have a place of our own. There was a kitsune-only club in Tokyo, but that was about it.
"Well, you might hate shifter bars, but you also need shifter ass. Let's just go out and find you some tail." Chris tugged on one of my nine tails with a chuckle, and I kicked him with my bare foot. "Sleep, bitch, and I'll wake you up in a few hours."
"I have surveillance to do," I murmured as Chris slapped my leather-clad ass and sashayed down the hallway. I fully intended to get up, but then he put on Glamazon by RuPaul and … well, screw it. Curling up tighter around Ziff, I swished my tails and then fell promptly asleep.
"Girl, get up and hop in the shower. Nobody wants a dirty pussy." Chris rolled me over and picked Ziff up, lifting up a small plum for the fennec fox to nibble on. "I already picked out an outfit for you. It's in the bathroom. Go."
With a groan, I sat up and realized how dark it was outside.
Shit.
Snatching my phone off the coffee table—which I'd thoroughly disinfected last night—I checked and found several messages from Mikhail.
"Crap," I grumbled, opening my texts and staring at the finality of his last message, that ominous period at the end of his sentence. Call me back now. But I didn't like being bullied by Riot and Fin, and I wasn't going to let Mik do the same. He was my employer, sure, but I deserved time for myself, too, and I didn't have any specific orders just now. I had every right to go out if I wanted to.
"Let's go," Fae-Bitch said, his wings shining in the yellow lamplight. He was dressed in full drag, and probably a lot prettier than I was going to look. "If you hurry, maybe I can do your makeup?"
I stood up with a sigh and stared at my phone once more before turning it off.
Mikhail was going to be pissed.
But I was going out, and I'd be damned if he was going to stop me.
Split Skin was just about the worst name for a club I'd ever heard in my life, but the grungy, animalistic quality of the place drew crowds like no other shifter joint in the city. As soon as I set foot in there, I knew I was in trouble.
The entire place reeked of sex pheromones, and I felt a hot thrill chase across my skin, like the tips of a lover's fingers.
"Chris," I said, batting my heavy false lashes and wondering why I'd let him dol
l me up like this. Makeup, I loved. Who doesn't want to get painted every now and then? And my morning ritual always included a pop of color on the lips, and a bit of shadow. But right now? It wasn't clear who was the drag queen between me and Fae-Bitch.
"Kitty girl," he purred in my ear, "it's Vixen tonight, remember?" With a smile, he swayed his way down the steps and abandoned me at the top of a short set of stairs, the crowded room laid out before me in sinful layers of sex.
I'm in trouble.
The second my eyes met the pale blue ones of a man sitting at the bar, I knew I was screwed. Or was going to get to screwed. My nipples pebbled and I reached up to flick my braid over my shoulder … only to remember that Chris had fluffed and curled and hair sprayed it to high hell.
I did look fierce though.
Ziff chirped from my shoulder, not at all bothered by the booming music, the heavy cloud of tobacco and pot smoke, or the reek of sex. My little sidekick had seen it all before, and I didn't go anywhere without him unless I had to.
"Now, shall we introduce ourselves?" I whispered, staring at the blue-eyed man as he lounged on a stool, dressed in a suit and looking oddly out of place in the leather-and-glitter crowd. His hair was slicked back, and he had a pair of black-framed glasses on his face. The whole look should've turned me off; I was not into corporate weasels. But the heavy fur cloak on his shoulders and the way the edge of his mouth twisted up at the side … intrigued me.
The heels I'd borrowed from Chris—gay best friends are the shit—shimmered with black sequins as I stomped down the steps the way my BFF had taught me, and carefully worked my way through the crowd.
Ears and tails dotted the mixed partygoers—werewolves, lynx shifters, bear shifters, even a woman with horns that I couldn't quite place. It was eclectic and beautiful, a mixing pot of sex and seduction without a single human being in sight.
This is exactly what I needed to unwind, I thought as the dance crowd parted near the bar, and I paused in silent frustration. The stool the blue-eyed man had just occupied was empty. With a sigh, I stepped up to the bar and ordered a cartridge for my vape pen—they served more than just alcohol here, with an entire menu of cannabis products.
The bar-and-bud-tender handed over a sativa strain with promises of energy, creativity, and focus. Fun. Pulling the tiny rose-gold battery from the very tight back pocket of my (also borrowed) red leather pants, I screwed in the small cartridge and took a short, quick pull, exhaling sweet smelling smoke across the surface of the counter.
"There are four bars in this establishment," a voice purred in my ear, sending a chill down my spine that was either lust … or terror. I seemed to be having issues with those sorts of emotions a lot lately. In that, I couldn't very well tell them a-fucking-part. That did not bode well for my sanity. "And only one of them makes a proper cosmo."
Glancing to the right, I caught the hint of a naughty smile tracing across the man's thin lips. He was hot as hell, but in a cold, distant sort of way, like a glossy magazine ad. If it weren't for that dirty fur draped over his shoulders, he'd be almost too perfect. That was a fucking skinwalker for you. They were rare enough that I was surprised to see one here, especially considering my Sunday target was also a skinwalker. If this guy’d looked anything like the description in my dossier about Nix Locklear, I’d have called Mik.
But I didn’t need Mik tonight, and this guy, he didn’t match the tan-skinned, dark-haired Native American man I was looking for.
Blue-Eyes set down the most decadent looking pink drink in a martini glass, a twisted orange peel floating on the surface. He held up one of his own, and as I moved to set my vape pen down, he used two pale fingers to pluck it from my hand and hold it to his own lips. I found myself mesmerized as he took a slow, steady inhale, gave me a genteel shark smile, and then exhaled.
Muscles down below clenched in anticipation.
This was the guy, the stranger that I was going to take home.
"Cheers?" he asked me, very carefully and slowly setting the vape pen aside and looking over his glasses to meet my eyes. There was something dangerous about this guy, cutting and cold and awful. I'd have to be careful, even if a one-night stand was the only thing in our future. Without my magic, someone like this might be too risky, but I'd be damned if I was going to let myself feel weak.
I could handle this.
"Cheers," I returned, lifting my glass up to his and clinking the edges. The general rule of thumb was smoke first and then drink, but whatever. Kitsune could handle a hell of a lot more booze and THC than a human anyway; I'd be fine.
Mik would murder me.
But I was not the one with daddy issues, thank you very much. A parent's stern disapproval didn't mean much to me. Mine hadn't been around long enough to drill that into me.
"So," Blue-Eyes continued, pushing his black glasses up and into his pale blond hair. "What are we celebrating tonight?" His eyes were the color of ice chips, almost colorless, and they sparkled mischievously as he looked me over and licked his lower lip with a slow, purposeful sensuality.
"A night off,” I said, purposefully vague, lifting my drink to my lips and taking a slow sip. The tart bite of cranberries rolled across my tongue as I swallowed.
"A night off, huh?" the man replied, his voice low and smooth as cognac. It was eerie, how unassuming his words were and yet, how full of power, too. I could feel magic tickling my skin as he spoke. "Well, now, if you need your night filled"—the man paused here to emphasize the word with the drooping of his eyelids, putting on a dark and dangerous bedroom look that had me squeezing my thighs together—"then I'd be happy to take care of that void."
"Oh, would you now?" I asked, setting my glass down and taking a seat on the stool. I needed those few extra inches of space between me and this guy. "Maybe I could get your name first?"
The man's mouth twisted to the right in a sideways smirk.
"Just call me … Sir, and I'll be happy," he said, and I raised both brows, trying to hold back a laugh. Seriously? But I took another drag on my vape pen and grinned. Fine. Tonight was all about getting away, about fantasy, so why not?
"Okay, Sir, you can call me Chris." I bit the end of the vape pen and leaned back, letting 'Sir's' eyes sweep over my black sequin drag queen heels, red leather pants, and barely-there black halter. My ears and tails were out, a clear sign of my species even if I wasn't totally sure what flavor Sir was. He was a skinwalker, yes, but what kind? Coyote were the most common, but the fur on this man’s shoulders was too ragged and wild for me to be certain. Then again, I’d heard that skinwalkers could literally change their skin every few years, so who the hell knew? He could be a coyote this week and a buffalo the next for all the fuck I cared. Skinwalker knowledge wasn’t exactly common knowledge, and Google was less than helpful when looking for answers about a people who worked as hard as they did to keep all their secrets.
It had been a heated debate with Chris whether it was even safe for me to show my nine white tails in public, but eventually we’d agreed that people wouldn't know how old I was. For all they knew, I was two hundred and eighty, and well old enough to have earned all nine. If I was that nervous about showing my cards, I doubted this guy would be much more forthcoming about his. I could ask his species, but I simply didn’t care to.
"It's a pleasure to meet you, Chris," my companion replied, giving a tiny half smirk on my fake name. "Would you care to go somewhere quieter? To … talk."
Ziff chittered something that sounded like a laugh in my ear, then scurried his way into the leather Armani bag slung over my shoulder specifically for him. Chances were he'd sleep the rest of the night, which worked well. Nothing worse than having a tiny fennec fox staring at you while you got pounded doggy style.
"Talking, hmm?" I watched Sir though my heavy lashes as I sipped my drink, my tails swishing lazily behind me. "I came here to dance. Do you dance, Sir?"
He coughed a half laugh, rubbing at the shadow of stubble on his cheek as his unblinking
eyes drilled into me, dipping to the low V of my halter top, then trailing over the delicate lines of the cherry blossom tattoos on my exposed midsection.
"No," he replied eventually, meeting my eyes, "and I don't believe you came here to dance, Chris. You came here for a distraction from whatever life issues are weighing down those lush shoulders of yours."
"Oh?" I raised an eyebrow, smiling but not bothering to deny it. "And you think you'll be a better distraction than dancing in this sweaty club full of sexy, pheromone pumped shifters?"
His ice-blue eyes were full of confidence as he took a sip of his own drink then licked his lips slowly. "I know I am."
My breath caught in my throat at the heavy sexual innuendo carried by his tone, and I had to bite the inside of my lip to prevent myself from doing something embarrassing, like tearing that perfect tie off his neck then begging to be tied up with it …
"Come on," he said, placing his empty martini glass back on the bar top and holding out a hand in invitation to me. "I have an apartment nearby."
I sucked in a breath and eyed his extended hand. For any normal kitsune girl, or human girl for that matter, it would be a supremely stupid move to accept a stranger’s offer to visit his apartment. Especially in the middle of the night after both alcohol and pot … but normal didn't even come close to what I was.
No, I was more than capable of taking care of myself should this guy turn out to be a psychopathic axe murderer. Hell, if anyone was the murderer here, it was me. So it was only a second before I placed my own small hand, with its sharp red nails, into his palm.
A feral looking smile curved over his face as his fingers closed around mine. "Excellent choice, Chris."
"What are we waiting for, Sir?" I challenged him, and his eyes lit with amusement.
"Nothing at all," he murmured, running his tongue across his lower lip and turning to the exit with my hand still held firmly in his. "It's only a couple of blocks from here, are you okay to walk?" He eyed my deadly high, sequined heels and I shrugged.
The Nine: An Urban Fantasy Reverse Harem Romance (Foxfire Burning Book 1) Page 7