Elements of Mischief

by Tate James

  “We were fucking against the wall of ST’s cell,” Reg smirked and I reflexively smacked him in the stomach with the back of my hand. It undoubtedly hurt me more than it did him though, because his abs were tensed and rock-hard.

  “Reg …” George narrowed his eyes at the naked blonde standing next to me on the coffee table and I suddenly remembered I was also naked—and horny as fuck.

  “What?” Reg shrugged one ripped shoulder and stepped down off the table, gallantly holding out an inked hand to help me down also. “I didn't let her finish if that's what you're worried about. You were particularly interested in hearing about Billy's tendency toward rough sex, weren't you, Sugar Tits?”

  The fucking bastard winked at me while I stood there speechless, my jaw flapping like a naked grandma on a bike.

  “I'll get you some wine,” he stage-whispered to me, then sauntered his naked butt into my kitchen, whistling.

  “Is Britt here?” I asked, and George immediately pursed his lips. “I'm taking it that's a no …”

  “She was caught wanderin' around with an unmarked, shimmer, sugar,” Shane said grimly, like I was supposed to understand the implications behind his words.

  News flash: I didn't.

  “And that means what?” I asked, planting a hand on my hip and not giving two fucks that my nipples were hard as rocks and I had elemental cum on my thighs… Note: it was just as gross as the regular stuff. “I don't speak supernatural, remember? So, she was hanging out with me? What does that mean?”

  “Depends on the local pack's alpha,” Billy supplied, standing up in rugged, faded jeans and a white wifebeater that showed off his own headlights, so to speak. Jesus Christ. I snatched one of my Gram's knitted blankets off a faded green chair and threw it around my shoulders.

  God, if she could see me now … she would be pissed.

  Gram was this uptight English lady that'd hopped the pond and left her son (my dad) and husband behind; Dad was only ten at the time. He'd eventually forgiven her, forcing a relationship with my grandma on me that I never really wanted. But at least I'd gotten the house, right?

  One of the tin ceiling tiles disconnected from the roof and promptly smacked me right in the face.

  “Fuck,” I cursed as Billy grabbed my shoulders in his tattooed hands and didn't even bother to hold back a wild grin. “What the hell …” I looked up, but I couldn't for the life of me figure out how the tile had come loose from the ceiling. Simple coincidence? Hmm.

  “You okay?” Billy asked, sliding a pack of smokes from his back pocket. He withdrew a cigarette and in the span of a blink, it was lit. No lighter, no match, nothing. I raised an eyebrow.

  “Yeah, fine,” I said as I kicked the tile away and tried to keep my right breast from popping out of the blanket. “Now, details please. What do you mean 'depends on the alpha'?”

  I got another noncommittal shrug in response.

  “I'm really not in the mood for games …” I began through gritted teeth, but just then, the front door swung open and Britt came walking in like nothing at all had happened.

  “Where the hell is my car?” I asked her, because even though I drove a death cab, I wanted it back.

  “Parked outside,” she said with a slight shrug, her dark hair in perfect glossy waves, her four inch pink stilettos free of dirt and scuffs. Here I was worrying my fucking arse off, and she was completely fine. More than just fine, really. She looked like she was about to hit the red carpet for a smutty reality TV show premiere, and I'd just lost my best 7 For All Mankind jeans that I'd been wearing. Those things cost like two hundred bucks. They were my only nice pair of pants. “Why?”

  “Why?!” I asked and I realized I was starting to get hysterical. When Reg came back with a wine glass in one hand a bottle in the other, I snatched the bottle and stormed up the stairs before anyone could follow me.

  I'd sort of learned my lesson about leaving the house without the guys, but I sure as fuck didn't have to sit there and feel like I was so far out of the loop I was about to hang myself with it.

  Safely tucked away in my bedroom, I slipped into a pair of pajama pants and a white tank top and settled on my bed with my computer in my lap. I strongly considered grabbing my Hitachi Magic Wand from under the bed and, uh, taking care of things down under, but I just … needed a moment to myself.

  I swept my hair back from my face and tried to decide what to start Googling first.

  Werewolves? Elementals? Succubi? Did it matter?

  Would there even be any actual information available on the internet?

  Probably not.

  Wikipedia couldn't even get the story of George Washington right. No chance I was getting dirt on the elementals.

  Instead, I Skype-called my mom. She was currently living on the Gold Coast in Australia with some hot young boy toy she'd picked up on her travels. The last time I'd visited her, she'd been living in a pink house on Tamborine Mountain with way too many wind chimes.

  At that moment in time, I missed her fucking terribly. After a nice, long Skype call though, that feeling usually went away. I didn't like using anti-woman insults like bitch, but let's be honest—Mom was a bitch. Britt was a floozy. And I was … totally out of my element.

  But even puns couldn't help my mood in that moment (although the wine sure helped!).

  “Oh, you're drinking again?” was how my mom—Katelyn Fischer—answered my call. Fortunately by that point, I was half-cut and didn't give a shit.

  “I love you, too, Mum,” I said, not even bothering to hide the bottle tucked in my lap. Why should I? I was approaching thirty; I could make my own damn decisions. “What are you up to?”

  “Well you're the one that called,” she said with a slight scoff. I recognized the hideous orange paint of her living room wall behind her head. “You look awful,” she continued in that special way of hers. “You've got a black eye, you know.”

  I pursed my lips.

  I'd almost forgotten about being punched in the face by Nigel, too wrapped up was I in Reg's big, sturdy pipe. He really knew how to get a girl's faucet running …

  “Yeah, thanks, I'm fine. I appreciate the concern.” I swigged another drink of adult grape juice. “I'm finally moved into Gram's by the way, in case you actually cared what your only child was up to.”

  “That old shack?” she asked with a raised brow and a shiver, like being forced to live here was akin to being cast into the furthest depths of hell. “Why not just sell it and move in with me?”

  Speaking of the depths of hell …

  “Because, mother, you live in a one bedroom house which permanently reeks of weed.” I rolled my eyes at my computer screen and took a healthy swig of my wine while my mum spluttered her denial at me.

  “It wasn't a judgement, Mum, you know I'm not against the stuff; your house just smells really strong.” Also, wasn't about to say this out loud, but uh, hearing your mom's sex noises echo down the hallway really traumatized a person—even at age thirty.

  She huffed at me but then proceeded to blather on some inane story about her neighbor which I didn't hear a single word of while I steadily sipped my way through a good two thirds of the bottle Reg had given me. One thing Gram's had going for her: she had great taste in wine, and her cellar was stocked.

  “Are you listening to me, Arizona Morgan Smoke?” My mother's sharp tone snapped me out of my slightly buzzed musings about Gram's wine cellar and dragged me back to the Skype screen in front of me.

  “No …” I admitted, squinting at her grainy image, “but I have no doubt you'll repeat yourself …”

  “I asked,” she snapped, “if you've found yourself a boyfriend yet? You're not exactly in your prime anymore, darling, so maybe it's time to be a bit less choosey? Next thing you know you’ll be shopping for adult diapers all alone.”

  “Nope,” I flat-out lied to the woman who raised me. “No boyfriend here.” Punctuating this with another swig of wine seemed to be appropriate.

  “Well, I
can't say I'm surprised,” my darling mother continued in a patronizing tone, “you drink far too much for a girl your age. I hope you've been exercising. The last thing you need is to be a drunk and have a fat ass, dear.”

  Resisting the urge to slap my laptop closed on her condescending ass, I forced a pained smile onto my face. Why the fuck did I call my mum again?

  “Arizona!” Billy shouted, bursting through my bedroom door and standing at the foot of my bed wearing a seriously sexy scowl on his face. “You need to come back downstairs and talk about this shit. Dealing with COCS is no laughing matter, and you sulking up here like a kid with a drinking problem isn't fucking helping.”

  My eyes bugged out and I tried to slam my hand over the little microphone on my computer, but let's be honest, does anyone actually know where that fucking thing is? It was too late anyway as my mother's voice cracked out of the tinny speakers.

  “Arizona? Who was that? It sounded like a man talking about his cock …”

  Growling under my breath, I gave Billy a rude hand gesture that said both get the fuck out and fuck you all at the same time.

  “It was no one, Mum. Just the TV.” Stupidly, I took my eyes off the sneaky fire elemental for a second and the next thing I knew he'd landed beside me in my bed, leaning against the headboard with his shoulder pressed to mine.

  “Hi, Mrs. Smoke?” Billy smiled at my Skype screen and I paused for a moment, trying to think if I had actually seen him smile yet. On that stubbled bad boy face of his, it was electric. “I'm one of Ari's new boyfriends, William.”

  “It's Ms. Fischer, dear, and oh really? How very lovely to meet you …” Her silver eyebrows were raised so high they practically disappeared into her hairline. “One of her boyfriends, you say? Just how many does she have?”

  “Mum, the line is breaking up. I can't quite hear you … hello?” I waved my hand back and forth in front of my screen, pretending like the picture had frozen.

  “Yes, Arizona, I can still see you. Can you not see me?” My mum frowned at her computer and I saw her stabbing at some buttons so I took the opportunity while she was distracted to end the call. She'd more than likely think it was just her internet connection, seeing as I do things like that all the time to her. Cruel, perhaps, but necessary.

  “Well that was awfully frigging rude,” Billy drawled, scooting down to get comfortable against my pillows and tucking another magically lit cigarette between his lush lips. “I was only being polite, introducing myself to my new mum-in-law,” he said with what was probably intended to be an Australian accent but came out more … British … sort of. Either way it was kinda hot on him.

  “Do you mind not smoking in my bedroom?” I growled, snatching the cig from his mouth and leaning over him to stab it out in my potted plant beside the bed. Okay fine, it was a cactus. But he had a happy face drawn on his yellow pot and I called him Mr. Plant.

  “Arizona Smoke,” Billy purred my name, running his inked hands up my sides as I leaned across his torso to reach Mr. Plant, “even your name is begging for some fire elemental action … it's a shame you decided to put clothes on. You looked so good in your outfit earlier.”

  “What?” I snorted, in such a ladylike way. “You mean bloody starkers?” Having disposed of his cigarette amongst Mr. Plant's hair, I moved to sit back on my side of the bed but his hands held me firm.

  “Exactly.” My face was scarce inches from his smoldering stare, and I could feel my frustrated and frayed nerve endings igniting.

  Shit! I should have taken care of business before calling Mum.

  “You know, you and I haven't really gotten to know each other yet, Firebug,” he murmured, one of his hands slipping beneath the soft cotton of my tank and trailing across the bare skin of my lower back. Where his fingers touched, little bursts of sparks seemed to crackle across my body while I tried and failed to stifle a groan.

  “Firebug?” I questioned, trying to deflect attention away from the over-sexualized noise that had just slipped out of me. “What's with you dragons and these nicknames?”

  “Just shut up so I can kiss you, infuriating woman.” Billy's hand snaked up to the back of my head and used a firm grip on my hair to drag my face closer to his.

  I started to lean in, my body reacting to him the way it had to Reg and Shane that morning, and then again in the little concrete room. Sure, I was a healthy red-blooded young woman (guess that young part was debatable if you were to ask Kate), and I had a damn strong sex drive, but the way I was reacting to these men … it was weird.

  Putting a hand on Billy’s incredibly firm chest, I pushed him away a few inches.

  “Am I going to be attacked every goddamn time I walk out the front door?” I asked and his mouth twisted into a small frown.

  “Pretty much,” he said, his face crinkled with some sort of emotion I was having trouble deciphering. I’d sort of pegged both Reg and Billy as the sluts in the group, but it was starting to look like Billy might be more ‘tortured bad boy’.

  Uh-oh.

  I’d had more than my fair share of those in the past and while the sex was fucking out of this world, the relationship bits were substantially more tricky. Plus, guys like this … they always had a lot of trouble learning to ‘adult’. And since I, too, sucked at that, the last thing I needed was to get involved with a man who had the emotional maturity of a sixteen year old.

  And yet … he was so damn fine.

  “Then just do it,” I said, because yeah, I’d finished my wine, but also because I just didn’t want to deal with winged people trying to kill me again. “Mark me.”

  “Are you fucking serious?” he asked, raising a charcoal brow. His eyes, those orange-brown embers in his face, looked me up and down, like he couldn’t quite believe what he was hearing. “I thought you were throwing a shit fit about this?”

  I clenched my teeth and tried to breathe through my nose.

  “A shit fit? That’s what you call it when your friends accidentally show their supernatural forms to me and then try to force me into some kind of weird … magical marriage thing?”

  I rolled off the opposite side of the bed and nearly knocked Mr. Plant onto the floor. Catching him at the last second, I whirled around and lifted my chin defiantly.

  “Look, just mark me—fuck me and chant and cast spells or whatever it is you need to do. But don’t you dare pretend like this isn’t a big deal. It’s huge, okay? Fucking huge. Bigger than Shane’s cock.”

  “If you want to see bigger than Shane’s cock …” That was Reg, standing in my now open bedroom door. Hadn’t I locked that goddamn thing? How did these two assholes get in in the first place? Probably some more weird elemental magic, like the kind that lets grown ass men travel through leaky pipes.

  “It’s not like you were doing anything with your life anyway,” Billy said, and I swear to fuck, that was the last straw.

  “Screw you!” I shouted, and then the next thing I knew, I was standing in broken glass, Mr. Plant’s pot scattered to pieces at my feet. The shutters on my windows blew open and the panes exploded inward with a violent, swirling gale. In the ceiling, a pipe burst and showered my entire bedroom—computer, TV, and phone included—while I stood completely dry in the center of the chaos.

  The next thing to go was the candle beside my bed, the one I’d lit for ambiance in case I wanted to, you know, rub one out.

  Instead of extinguishing in the wild winds and the deluge of water, it grew bigger, climbing up the wall and melting a few old pictures inside their frames. I was so busy gaping at it that I didn’t notice Mr. Plant growing until his needles stabbed me in the armpit.

  With a yelp, I dropped the cactus—which was now roughly the length of my entire arm—and stepped back, bare heels crunching across broken glass as I stared at the tangled roots, reaching their gnarled fingers across my bedroom floor, curling themselves around the wrought iron posts of my bed.

  For about thirty seconds, nobody moved; we all just stood there and took
in the chaos around us with gaping mouths and wide eyes. It was Billy who got his shit together first, and with a quick wave of his tattooed hand, the flames sputtered and died, and the smoke drifted out the window as if he’d commanded it.

  “The water, Reg,” I heard him say a moment later, and then that, too, stopped. By that point, Mr. Plant had reached the ceiling and was on his way to becoming the world’s largest fucking cactus. I had to back up against the far wall of the room to avoid getting stabbed by his needles (almost made a sex joke there, but then … I was about to die via cactus impale).

  “Christ on a cracker,” I heard Shane breathe in that sultry Southern drawl of his. The winds died down immediately and Mr. Plant stopped growing, but he did not shrink. I carefully put a hand between his spines and pushed him out of the way.

  “What the shit was that?” I asked, my voice high and breathy, my feet dripping blood across the floor from all the broken glass.

  “You’re a spirit elemental, Arizona,” George said, calm as a cucumber like fucking always. Well, if he was so damn good with plants, I wanted the giant spiny cucumber behind me back in his pot and back to normal.

  “Great, fantastic,” I said, sitting down on the edge of my bed as my hands began to shake. Surprisingly, my blankets were already dry. “But I don’t know what that means if you won’t tell me.”

  A few of the guys exchanged glances, but it was George who stepped forward, his shirtless, bronzed godlike body kneeling before me. He put a single hand on my knee and I suddenly wished with violent fervency that I wasn’t wearing fuzzy pj’s with cartoon foxes all over them.

  “A spirit elemental has the ability to access the powers of an entire quad,” he said, looking me straight in the face with eyes the color of wet earth. “Arizona, you can do everything we can do—and more.”

  “Because I had unprotected sex?” I asked, just staring at him like I was waiting for Ashton Kutcher to pop out and yell punk’d! “Why not just offer up elemental powers to anyone that’ll pay?” I snapped, raking my fingers through my long, blonde hair.