by Layla Nash
I could only nod, crying and laughing as he put the meat-scented ring on my finger and then rose, lifted me up in a tight embrace and spun me around. And kissed me until the world blurred and I didn't give a shit about the dinner rush. He held me up as my knees wobbled and I almost fell, pressing my face against his chest. His head bent so he could whisper through the din of the celebrating restaurant. "You can make my steak any way you want, Natalia, as long as it's forever. Say it's forever."
"Forever," I said, and kissed him back.
Then Benedict and Edgar and Carter and Atticus broke out magnums of champagne for the entire restaurant, announcing the meals were on the house to celebrate, and the toasts went on for what seemed like hours, until I was twirly-headed and dazzled and so in love I almost couldn't stand. And Logan was there to support me when I needed it, and he let me shine when the critic came to congratulate me and offer her compliments on the food. The entire night passed in a blur, and most of the next day passed in a haze of champagne and strawberries and chocolate and sex.
The restaurant got a hell of a write-up in the paper, and not even Logan could get reservations in under a month. Luckily, we kept a table in the kitchen just for family.
* * *
A Sneak Peek…
Chasing Trouble
Benedict hated getting up early on his day off. He'd been looking forward to a lazy Friday of sweatpants, grilled cheese sandwiches, and beer. Until Atticus called. From jail.
He gritted his teeth as he strode into the reception area. It would take a couple of hours to sort this all out, though Benedict didn't have his hopes up. Atticus hadn't been particularly forthcoming about what led to his arrest, and the sullen "I don't knows" felt more like teenage angst than what a goddamn man would own up to.
Benedict knew the clerks and bailiffs at the jail and the courthouse, and smiled and joked about being there on unofficial official business as the morning ticked away. All while wanting to punch Atticus in the face the moment he saw him. The feeling intensified when he paid out the ten thousand dollar bond to the clerk, gritting his teeth as he imagined all the ways to make Atticus pay it back. Son of a bitch.
The deputies brought Atticus out and for a moment Benedict couldn't speak — his little brother looked like hell warmed over, even with their supernatural healing ability. Bruises and lumps covered his face and at least two massive cuts had butterfly bandages holding them together. Benedict raised his eyebrows as he pointed Atticus into the corner. "Over there. Sit."
Atticus scrubbed a hand over his short hair, holding his bag of belongings from the property locker. "Can't we do this at home? I feel like shit."
"You look worse, and we're doing this here so I can decide what to tell Logan." Benedict scanned the handful of other people waiting in the reception area; all human, nothing to worry about. He loomed over Atticus as the younger man flopped into a flimsy plastic chair that creaked dangerously under his weight. "What the fuck is wrong with you?"
"There was a fight, the cops showed up, I tried to shift and get away but ended up naked in an alley. They used their imaginations. Nothing I could do about it."
"Why the fuck were you naked in an alley?" Benedict heard a snort behind him and lowered his voice, fury swelling his shoulders as the lion wanted to burst forth and teach his brother a lesson.
Atticus shrugged, not meeting his gaze but staring past Benedict at the door. A muscle jumped in his jaw, just under a thick white scar from his ear to his throat. "It just happened."
Benedict massaged his temples and turned away for a moment so he wouldn't grab the kid by the throat and throw him across the room. It just happened. It always just happened around Atticus. It was the fourth time in as many months that he'd been arrested for fighting, or public nudity, or any number of minor crimes. Enough that Logan was starting to get pissed.
Benedict took a deep breath and faced his brother. "You have got to get this under control. I don't know what the fuck you're doing, Atticus, but clean it up. Got me?"
"I get it." The sullenness faded to fatigue, and for a moment Benedict saw his brother exhausted, beaten. Broken. Atticus gingerly put his head in his hands. "I don't know if I can stop."
"We'll figure it out." Benedict didn't fully understand what the problem was, just that his brother needed help. Something was seriously wrong, and if —
He turned as slow-moving chaos burst into the reception area, two patrol cops wrestling with a kid and getting a little too rough. Benedict frowned, gesturing at his brother to get up and handing him the keys. "Let's get you some food and —"
"I'm innocent," the kid yowled, and the hair stood up on Benedict's arms. His vision narrowed, focused on the kid, and he saw her face. Not a kid, a young woman. Being manhandled far too roughly, unprofessionally, by two cops who enjoyed it a bit too much. She looked ill, weak, and kept her eyes screwed shut as she struggled. "Let me go, you're not supposed to —"
"Shut the fuck up," one of the cops said, grabbing a fistful of her hair and knocking the girl over one of those damn plastic chairs.
Atticus bristled, growled a little, and Benedict shoved him at the door. "I'll handle it, you don't need to get arrested again. Go."
And Benedict strode forward. "Hey! Get your hands off my client before I file excessive force and brutality complaints."
The cops scowled but eased up; one held the girl's upper arm as the other handed the arrest paperwork to booking. One muttered, "Your client? She must account for half your salary."
"Unhand my client." Fear rolled off the girl in waves and riled up his lion, along with the cruelty emanating from the cops. Benedict had a healthy respect for the police but wouldn't tolerate the occasional bad seeds that turned up in their line of work. He looked past the cops at the booking agent and tilted his head at a few chairs in a more private corner. "Do you mind if I speak with my client briefly? We'll be filing the bail agreement shortly."
The clerk smiled, clicking away at the computer. "Of course, Benedict. We'll have her processed lickety-split."
"Good." He caught the girl's elbow and pulled her away from the handsy cop, scowling at the dick as they moved away. In the corner, Benedict put the girl in one of the chairs and placed himself between her and the cops, so they couldn't see her and she couldn't see them. He kept his voice low enough they wouldn't overhear. "What's your name?"
"Eloise."
Her voice was low and throaty, and she kept her eyes on the floor. A frisson of interest, of curiosity, ran through him. The tone in her voice, the smell of her skin, and the crackle in the air around her meant non-human. Definitely something supernatural, but she didn't smell like a lion or a wolf or any shifter he knew. He took a deep breath near her and the girl went still, sliding a glance at him. Ice blue eyes, almost silver, slid across his face and then back to the floor. They hit him like a punch in the gut, and he forgot, for a moment, where he was.
He shook himself back to reality. Time was limited and he had to get her away from the jail before she ended up booked all weekend. "I'm Benedict. I'll be your lawyer for the time being, at least until we can get you out of here."
"Great." She picked at a loose thread on her jeans, hands nervous despite the handcuffs restraining her.
"What did they pick you up for?"
She made an odd noise in her throat, almost a laugh, but shrugged instead. "They didn't really say."
Irritated, Benedict spun on his heel and confronted the cops. "What are the charges against my client?"
The taller cop, unimpressed, raised his eyebrows and handed over a copy of the arrest sheet. "Oh, you know. Small potatoes. Illegal betting, book making, money laundering, fraudulent wire transfers, and some racketeering."
"Racketeering?" Benedict took the paper but didn't look away from the cop. "Are you fucking kidding me? Does she look capable of racketeering?" And he flung his arm back at the girl, who blinked and looked around as if confused why she was even at the jail.
The short cop
snorted, an ugly sound. "Look, friend, you don't know your client very well. We've arrested her at least ten times this year alone. Theft, transporting stolen goods, forgery, obstructing an official investigation, breaking and entering... You're not getting out of this shit," and he pointed at Eloise behind Benedict. "These are federal charges, sweetheart, so you best pay your lawyer however you can."
And the sneer on his face left little doubt how he thought Eloise paid him. Benedict's blood ran cold with rage and his lion roared in the back of his head, ready to pounce. But he kept his face expressionless as he looked at the patrol cops. "If you have any issues, address them to me. My client will not be speaking with you further."
He looked at the girl and the curtain of dark hair hiding her expression. He dropped his voice again as the cops headed for the door. "Forgery? Really?"
A hint of a smile, quickly hidden. "No idea what they're talking about."
Benedict snorted, about to go back to the clerk to resolve the bail, then leaned down to try to see her face. "Who are your people?"
She went very still. Her gaze slowly lifted to his face and Benedict rocked back on his heels; definitely supernatural. Had to be. Her eyes were gray-silver with hints of blue, flecks of lightning through the irises. Enthralling. Devastating.
She cleared her throat. "I'm Eloise. That's it."
A mystery. His lion perked up. He grinned, patted her shoulder. "What are you doing for lunch?"
* * *
Untitled
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Layla
Also by Layla Nash
Thrill of the Chase
Chasing Trouble
Storm Chaser
Cut to the Chase (Coming October 2015!)