by Jodi Redford
Clarissa cleared her throat, breaking him from his private turmoil. “What if there’s a way to send Bloody Nettie and her zombies to a permanent afterlife?”
Jemma straightened in her seat. “Is there?”
“Possibly.”
Griffin frowned. “You’ve never mentioned this before.”
“Because I don’t have anything concrete. This is merely a suspicion I’ve been mulling over.” Clarissa eyed Jemma. “I don’t want to raise your hopes without proof to back me up.”
“I don’t care. Hope is better than spending the rest of my days in hiding.”
Clarissa nodded before waving her hands in animated exuberance. “The key has always been in your blood. If you possess the power to break Rose’s spell, you have the power to annihilate Nettie.”
Jemma gulped loud enough for the entire table to hear it. “But I don’t know the first thing about magic. Crap, I didn’t even know I was a witch ten hours ago.”
“We’ll strengthen your magic,” Clarissa said, her eyes sparkling with unrestrained excitement.
“How?”
Clarissa leaned back, her smile smug. “Sex.”
“What?” Jemma’s eyes practically grew larger than her dinner plate.
“It’s your trigger. Sex. With a familiar. That’s what will power up your magic, I know it.”
Jemma gave her head a fierce shake. “Let me get this straight. Thirty minutes ago you were throwing a hissy about Griff and I sleeping together. Now you’re encouraging it?”
“The circumstances are unique, but…yes.” Clarissa’s tone held a hesitancy that prompted the fine hairs on the back of Griffin’s neck to stand on end. He was well acquainted with the sensation. Usually it proceeded the exact moment when the shit hit the fan.
“Along with Logan.”
Chapter Six
Griff paced in front of the bookcases lining the nearest wall of the mansion’s library, his furious strides practically burning a path in the Oriental rug. Wishing he’d park himself in one spot, Jemma massaged her aching neck muscles.
As if reading her thoughts, Griff halted in front of Clarissa, his big body primed for confrontation. “I’m not sharing Jemma with that damn wolf,” he said between his clenched teeth for the thousandth time.
Clarissa arched her eyebrows, apparently unfazed by Griff’s uncharacteristic display of temper. “It’s not your decision to make.”
Griff spun to face Jemma. “Do you want to do this?” Despite the ferocity of his scowl, she detected a hint of worry lurking in his eyes. That tiny spark of uncertainty threatened to do her in. If they didn’t have a captive audience, she’d take him into her arms and show him firsthand that he was the only lover she desired. Instead, she’d have to settle for reassuring him with her words.
“Of course not. I’ve never made a habit of sleeping with total strangers. I’m sure not starting now.” She rubbed her forehead wearily before glancing at Clarissa. “I don’t understand why we have to involve Logan in this anyway. Griff managed to fry the locks off my magical energy the first time. Surely he’s all I need to get the job done.”
“Possibly, if given enough time. But we don’t have that luxury. Logan’s added energy is precisely the catalyst you need.” Clarissa brushed by Griff and gently squeezed Jemma’s arm. “Believe me, I wish I didn’t have to ask this of you.” She ducked her head closer, a devilish twinkle in her irises. “But in the scheme of things, is having a pair of sexy men dedicated to bringing you to the heights of pleasure really such a hardship?”
A low, smoky laugh floated from the vicinity of the hall. Jemma pivoted to discover Logan leaning in an indolent slouch against the doorframe. His mouth curled in a grin that was…well…wolfish. “Damn, shug, didn’t know you swung that way.”
Clarissa tensed, her hand falling away. “I thought I told you to wait outside.”
“What, and miss all these interestin’ revelations?” Logan strode into the room, the loose, easy roll of his hips conveying a lazy, predatory grace. “Besides, I’d like the opportunity to talk to Jemma alone.”
Griffin growled. “Over my dead body.”
“Can’t say I don’t relish the sound of that.” Logan ran his tongue over the wickedly sharp points of his incisors.
“Would you two stop it?” Impatience whipped through Clarissa’s demand. She glanced at Jemma. “Are you okay with Logan’s request?”
Griff bristled. “No, she’s—” He froze in place when Clarissa snapped her fingers.
Clarissa returned her attention to Jemma. “Are you?”
Ignoring the question, Jemma frowned at Griff, who remained locked in suspended animation. “Um, is he all right?”
“Don’t worry, I’ll release Griffin in a minute. I just didn’t want him influencing your decision.”
Sliding her bemused stare from Griff, Jemma peered at Logan. Though he offered her a reassuring smile, she couldn’t help feeling like an unwary lamb who’d wandered into the wolf’s den. She sucked in a deep breath and pushed aside her fanciful misgivings. “I’ll speak to Logan, but it doesn’t mean I’ve changed my mind about having sex with him.”
Clarissa inclined her head. “Why don’t you both go into the parlor? I’ll make sure no one bothers you.”
She couldn’t help wondering if Clarissa intended to guarantee that by performing her wham-bam-frozen-man routine on everyone. Hugging her chest, she shuffled from the room. Feeling slightly guilty that she might have insulted Logan with her adamancy about not sleeping with him, she cleared her throat. “I didn’t mean anything personal by what I said earlier.”
A boyish grin flashed across Logan’s face, drawing attention to his dark good looks. “Don’t worry on it, darlin’. Though I have to say, convincing a woman to share her bed with me isn’t usually such a problem.”
She wasn’t surprised. There was no denying that Logan Scott was sex personified. Just looking at him made her think of sweaty bodies tangled on top of satin sheets. Resisting the urge to scrub her palms across her suddenly flushed face, she led the way into the parlor.
Struggling against a wave of self-consciousness, she settled on one of the wingchairs. “If you’re hoping to talk me into agreeing to Clarissa’s plan, you’re wasting your time. I’m just not wired for threesomes.” God, she couldn’t even say the word without her cheeks blazing. How in the world could anyone think she’d actually be able to engage in one?
No sooner did she have that thought and an intriguing visual popped into her mind. Her, sandwiched between Griff and Logan, their strong hands caressing her everywhere and their cocks buried in her pussy and ass as they drove her insane with pleasure.
A breathless moan escaped her. Worried that Logan might have heard the sound, she jerked her gaze in his direction. His face remained in profile and he appeared oblivious of her silent mortification. Grateful for dodging that bullet, she exhaled in relief and fidgeted with one of the decorative grommets on the wingchair’s arm.
Logan settled on the couch across from her and stretched out his long legs, stacking the heel of one motorcycle boot atop the scuffed toe of the other. “So I take it you’ve never been with more than one man at a time.” He stroked his goatee. “How about another woman?”
“What fantasy land are you living in?”
His eyes twinkled. “Just checkin’.”
She relaxed her shoulders and tried for an air of sophistication. “Have you ever participated in a ménage a trois?”
“Yep. Once with another guy and twice with two women.”
Her expression must have betrayed her because Logan laughed. She bit her lip before caving to a self-deprecating chuckle. “Okay, you’re clearly the more adventurous of the two of us.”
“Is that what’s concerning you? Trying something new?”
She gaped at him. “Uh, taking up knitting is trying something new.”
“You know what I mean. Some folks get a little skittish when it comes to stepping out of their comfort zon
e.”
“That’s an interesting way to put it, but I suppose you’re right.” She’d never considered herself the type of person who preferred to play things safe. But now that she thought about it, the riskiest thing she’d ever tried was seducing Griff. And considering the zombie uprising that’d been triggered as a result, maybe she’d be wise to stop while she was ahead.
“Sugar, you’re thinkin’ too much.”
Snapping from her musings, she blinked at Logan. He pushed from the couch and strode toward her, his boot heels thudding on the hardwood floor. “The way I see it, there’s only one way we’re gonna ease past your comfort zone.”
He stopped directly in front of her. Trying her damnedest not to ogle the prominent bulge behind the fly of his jeans, she lifted her focus upward and locked gazes with Logan. “And that would be?”
Dropping to a crouch, he tucked a lock of her hair away from her eye and leaned forward until his breath feathered her mouth. “Me kissin’ you.”
“I don’t think—”
Logan’s lips brushed hers in a teasing caress, stalling her protest. His hand cupped her cheek before gliding to the nape of her neck. She shivered at the rough scrape of his calloused palm along her skin. He pulled back just enough to reveal the desire swirling amongst the gold flecks in his irises. “Don’t think. Just feel.”
Considering her brain pretty much short-circuited the moment their mouths touched, thinking was no longer an option. With a sexy low growl, he nibbled the seam of her bottom lip before licking the sting away. She gasped and he used the opportunity to his full advantage, his tongue thrusting past the barrier of her lips.
He kissed with a self-assured languidness that made her flesh break out in goose bumps. Though he didn’t touch her anywhere but her mouth and neck, his presence infiltrated every cell in her body. A riot of exhilarating and frightening sensations raced through her. Suddenly conscious of how she was betraying Griff, she jerked out of Logan’s embrace. “I’m sorry. I—I can’t do this.”
A shadow of disappointment clouded Logan’s expression before instantly dissipating. “It’s okay, sugar.” He hefted to his feet and extended his hand. “How about we see if Clarissa has released your hissin’ cat?”
She allowed Logan to tug her from the seat. Despite her best intentions, her scrutiny drifted to his straining erection. I must be the world’s biggest idiot for turning that down.
One minute Griffin was laying it into Logan, the next he was staring at empty space. Snarling beneath his breath, he whipped his head around and scowled at Clarissa. “Damn it, I hate it when you do that.”
“If you weren’t such a bullhead, I wouldn’t be forced to.”
Ignoring Clarissa’s calm pronouncement, he stormed toward the doorway. She hurried in front of him, blocking his exit with a sharp jab of her fingernail in the center of his chest. “Do not make me whammy you again.”
“How long has she been alone with Logan?”
An exasperated sigh floated from Clarissa. “Oh for goddess’s sake. They’re just down the hall. What do you think Logan is going to do to her?”
He didn’t even want to consider the possibilities. Fortunately, the sound of approaching voices lowered his spiking blood pressure. As soon as Jemma popped into view, he knocked Clarissa’s hand aside and stalked into the hall.
Jemma stopped talking the second she spotted him. “Griff, you’re unfrozen.”
Before he could respond, she rushed forward and slung her arms around him. Her exuberance caught him off guard, but it was the kiss she planted on him that really knocked him back a step. Literally. Steadying himself—and Jemma—he cupped her hips. Apparently taking that as an invitation to turn up the heat, she glided her tongue over his and crushed her breasts against his chest. There was no mistaking the hard nubs of her nipples poking into him. Aroused as he was, he couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something going on here that he was missing.
Pulling back, he gave Jemma a questioning look. “Are you all right?”
“I’m fine.” Jemma glanced in Logan’s direction and a blush bloomed on her cheeks.
He opened his mouth, fully intending to blast Logan for whatever the hell he’d done to upset Jemma, but shouts and the scurrying click of nails on the foyer’s marble floor captured his attention instead. They all turned as Floyd came galloping down the corridor, Gloria hot on his heels. Ms. Peach trailed behind in a more sedate, shuffling pace.
“Damn it, Peach,” Clarissa bellowed.
“What? I’m not that mutt’s keeper.”
Floyd spotted them and skidded to a stop. Wagging his tail, he lowered his head and dropped something from his mouth. The object rolled several times before coming to a standstill near Clarissa’s foot. As if they’d choreographed the motion, he, Jemma, Clarissa and Logan bent forward to inspect Floyd’s prize.
Jemma was the first to speak. “Uh, call me crazy, but that looks like a toe.”
“No, I’m sure it’s just a rock.” Clarissa scooped up the object for a closer look. It shifted in her palm, displaying a neatly trimmed—if not graying—nail. She shrieked and flung her arm, sending the toe flying. It smacked into Gloria’s forehead.
“What the—?” Gloria peered down. A nanosecond later, her shriek joined Clarissa’s.
“For the love of Elvis. You people act like you’ve never seen a severed toe before.” Grumbling, Ms. Peach stooped and grabbed the appendage from the floor. She placed it on the nearby demilune table like the toe was a macabre knickknack.
Griffin frowned and strode to the table. He eyed the shriveled appendage, apprehension crawling along his spine as he took in the amount of decomposition that’d settled into the rotted flesh. There was only one reasonable explanation for what he was looking at.
Bloody Nettie had dispatched her next errand boy.
Chapter Seven
“Are you freakin’ kidding me?” Her heart pounding out of control, Jemma chased after Griffin as he stalked toward the mansion’s entry. “How did Nettie find me so fast?” She was beginning to feel like a damn walking zombie GPS unit.
Griff pivoted, his expression fierce. “It doesn’t matter. There’s no way in hell that zombie is getting within breathing space of you.”
God, she hoped not. She already knew from personal experience that zombie breath wasn’t exactly minty fresh. “How can you guarantee that? You saw how determined Uncle Harold was to chew my face off—and he used to adore me. I doubt whatever is out there will have the same warm fuzzies where I’m concerned.”
Clarissa hurried toward them, her ponytail bobbing. “I sent Logan out back. Hopefully he can flush the zombie into the open.”
“Good thinking. I’ll take the front section of the property.” Griff started to shoulder past Clarissa, but she grabbed his elbow.
“I need you to stay in the house with Jemma. Logan can manage one zombie on his own.”
Griff ground his teeth. “And if there’s more than one?”
Clarissa’s gaze veered toward Jemma before quickly bouncing away. “Then we’ll really need you here, won’t we?”
That statement seemed to get through to Griff because he slumped against the wall, his fists clenching. A heavy, frustrated exhale gusted from his chest. “Yes. Of course.”
Her expression frazzled, Clarissa swiveled in Ms. Peach’s direction. “Grab Linus’s old Smith and Wesson from the den. Hopefully it’s still loaded. Gloria, you and I will make a run for the toolshed.”
Recalling Uncle Harold’s demise courtesy of the spade, Jemma shuddered. She’d never be able to look at garden tools the same way. Rubbing her arms briskly, she stepped out of Clarissa and Gloria’s path as they rushed toward the front door. Griff’s palm slid around her waist. Small as the gesture was, it still managed to calm her nerves. She leaned into him, drawing comfort from the strength and security that Griff seemed to constantly exude. “I feel like I should be doing something. I’m the reason the damn zombie is out there.”
/> Griff spun her so that she faced him. His hands bracketed her cheekbones, forcing her to look at him. “None of this is your fault.”
“But—”
“Jemma, I mean it. Let the rest of us deal with this.” Closing his eyes, he leaned forward and rested his forehead against hers. “If anything happened to you…”
She traced the shadow of day-old beard gracing his strong jaw. “Fine. I’ll stay here and be a bump on the log then.”
“Thank you.”
They stood there for several minutes just holding each other. A loud ka-boom thundered outside, shattering the moment and making her jerk in surprise. “What the hell was that?”
Another boom rang out, its noisy rebound echoing through the foyer. “Ms. Peach must have found the shotgun. And the zombie.” Galvanized into action, Griffin barreled through the front doorway. Jemma rushed after him and nearly plowed into the back of Griff as he slammed to a stop. Grasping a fistful of his T-shirt, she caught a flash of movement in her peripheral vision and swung her head in time to see Ms. Peach lining up the sight on an ancient-looking shotgun. Following the direction of the muzzle’s end target, she spotted a female zombie shambling through the thick bank of rhododendrons flanking the drive. One of the shrub’s spindly arms snagged the hem of the corpse’s tattered lace dress, halting her advance.
“Got ya now, you ugly bitch.” Cackling, Ms. Peach fired off another round. The bullet winged the dead woman’s bouffant hairdo, parting it down the middle. Releasing a bloodcurdling scream, the corpse ripped at her snared skirt, tearing the mildewed fabric from her waist. Left only in a girdle and support hose, the zombie lurched forward.
Ms. Peach pulled the trigger again and cursed. “I’m out of ammo.”
Tugging from Jemma’s hold, Griff leapt from the porch. Displaying mind-boggling speed, he hurtled over the hedge of boxwoods before charging at the oncoming dead woman and tackling her to the ground. A dark, bulky shape disengaged from one of the overgrown cypresses. Another zombie—this one male and built like a damn sumo wrestler. The corpse pounced on top of Griff. Terror welling in her throat, Jemma scrambled down the stairway the same instant Clarissa and Gloria came running from the opposite end of the drive. Tossing her shovel aside, Clarissa dove for Jemma and yanked her back.