I press against the counter like I’m using it to hold myself up. Gunnar didn’t prepare me for this. He had no reason to. If he knew I’d been intimate with Blaze Addington, he’d consider me compromised. What the hell happened six days ago? There is one person here with answers. I need liquid courage before I can face him again.
The bartender leans closer, his hips still swaying behind the counter like his body has no “off” switch. Deep, husky words flow from his lips.
“You look like you need a drink.”
Oh swoon. Sexy Spanish accent alert.
“Yes, please. I might need you to keep them coming.”
“Excelente, cariño. It is my pleasure to serve you whatever you wish.”
A sultry, panty-dropping grin blooms over the bartender’s lips like a red rose between the teeth of a tango dancer. Not that I have any panties left to drop.
Yep, definitely could use a drink. One Witchy Woman isn’t nearly enough to get me through this night.
“Tell me what you want and I, Ransom, will serve you.”
“Apparently, I enjoy bourbon.” Gunnar mentioned it before and now Blaze. I’m thinking this piece of information must be true.
“Jim Beam—black label,” Blaze adds, appearing beside me. His shoulder brushes mine, remaining pressed against me as though I’m his date. My skin warms, and I am acutely aware of the tingles of pleasure that coil through me whenever he’s close.
The bartender’s lips pucker. “I can do better than that. This beautiful woman deserves top-shelf quality.”
“No argument there.” Blaze turns his head to me and lifts a brow. “What do you say, Sabine? Do you want the good stuff?” His question feels like a challenge.
The witch, woman, and agent in me wants to rise to his taunt, spin him off his smug axis. I twist my hips, toss lavender curls over my shoulders with the sultry shake of my head, and lean one arm on the counter as I face him.
“Can’t say no to the good stuff,” I purr.
Blaze’s eyes dilate, swallowing up the glowing green brown of his irises that seem to light up like everything else at this rave. My nipples tighten, and the baggie itches over my breast.
Ransom pulls out a tall clear bottle, half-full of golden amber liquor. He tosses it into the air with his right hand, setting it spinning into the night, then catches the bottle in his left hand.
Even if I had my memories, I’m willing to bet this is the coolest party I’ve ever been to. Thanks, Chilton.
Ransom juggles three drinking glasses, catching one behind his back before setting two aside, then pouring bourbon from up high and catching it into a glass without spilling a drop.
“For the lady,” he says, voice all smooth velvet as he offers the drink to me across the counter.
“Thank you.” I take a sip. My eyes flutter closed as the sweet, creamy, oak flavor coats my tongue and burns down my throat. Yum. That’s the stuff. I have no recollection of cheap bourbon, but I have a feeling that tonight’s taste of top shelf has ruined me for life.
When I reopen my eyes, I find Blaze’s hungry gaze on me. He doesn’t try to hide it, which makes it even more intoxicating. On second thought, maybe I shouldn’t be drinking. That’s supposedly what got me into trouble in the first place. Shame to waste a good glass of whiskey, though. I take another sip before setting the drink down.
“Anything for you, gancho?” Ransom asks Blaze.
“No, gracias,” Blaze answers, firing off another string of Spanish words that roll off his tongue like a fireball, glancing at me for part of it. Ransom follows his gaze to me with a smile of understanding. All I know is that if Blaze doesn’t order a drink before the party ends, I have nothing to slip the tracking powder into. Gunnar should have provided some kind of Plan B. I suppose that’s for me to figure out.
“Bueno,” Ransom says before shaking his hips over to a man with waves of short dark hair that is artfully messy and longer on top.
I can’t help admiring the man’s inked knuckles, thick metal rings wrapped around a couple of his fingers, and metal bracelets circling more tattoos that disappear beneath his sleeves. He’s dressed head to toe in black, from his tailored shirt snug around his muscles to his leather pants and heavy boots. There’s a dark energy about him that whispers up my thighs.
Yeah, I definitely have a thing for inked men sporting manly jewelry . . . and rebel wizards, apparently. He even appears to share my love of bourbon.
Ignoring my open perusal, the man takes his drink from Ransom, tips him, and leans his back against the circular counter.
Handling one Sexy McTats is already becoming an armful. Too bad Blaze’s sizzling ink is hidden beneath his suit jacket. I glance at it and wonder if x-ray vision comes with being a witch. No matter how hard I try to see through the fabric, his body remains covered. I should try snapping the damn thing off the way he snapped off my panties.
Some of the Spanish Blaze spoke was familiar—similar to French—but most wasn’t.
“What did you say to him?” I ask, taking another sip of whiskey.
“I told him I was the designated driver.”
Laughter bursts up my throat. The way it mingles with the bourbon feels spicy.
“Sure, you did. Nice Spanish, by the way. Know any other languages?”
“Several. They come in handy for hiding out in new countries.”
The whiskey shakes in my hand. I set it down carefully and study Blaze’s face. “Why are you telling me this?”
Leaning against the counter in his unbuttoned jacket and loose red tie, he doesn’t appear concerned. “It’s nothing the agency doesn’t already know.”
I take another sip of bourbon then run my finger around the rim of the glass.
“Why did you desert the agency?”
“We’re not rehashing this right now,” Blaze snaps, the first crack of anger entering his voice. He relaxes just as quickly. “Consider this another time out. You enjoyed the last one; there’s no reason not to again.”
Eyes locked on Blaze, I ask, “Will you tell me what happened between us—what really happened?”
“Dance with me first.”
Heat flushes over my body—not the pleasant kind. No, now I’m an active volcano, pulsing with molten lava, and every shade of pissed off. Blaze is no better than Gunnar. He enjoys withholding information, keeping me in the dark. He likes watching me struggle and stumble. Blaze is even worse—he makes me feel exposed and aroused, which should turn the bourbon into bile inside my stomach but warms my belly instead.
I take a sip of whiskey then slam the glass down.
“Stop being a dickweed, and tell me what happened!” I shout.
The teal-and-pink-haired bartender glances over, all sparkling cheeks and smirks. “Someone’s got her panties in a twist.”
That’s part of the problem—I have no panties!
“Come with me,” Blaze says, holding out his arm like the perfect gentleman.
I finish my whiskey and purse my lips. “Give me answers, then maybe I’ll give you a dance. Oh, and give me my damn panties back.”
Blaze continues to offer his arm. “I only have a small piece of the puzzle, but I know someone here who might be able to help.”
I tilt my head, immediately interested.
“Come.” He lifts his brows.
Wanting answers, I slide my hand through his arm, and head down the stairs to the mid-level loft. Blaze’s bicep is the right kind of warm. I try to ignore how he feels more like a friend than foe. There’s a reason the agency sent me after him, and I still need to find a way to complete my mission before the night is out.
The woman in the black feathered gown and dark brown hair teased in a voluminous updo perches on a glowing round chair as though it is her throne. Ethereal golden eyes watch the revelers below and around her. I get the sense that this is her court. We are guests, and we are entertainment, feeding the night’s delights.
Blaze lays his hand on my arm and squeezes, his e
yes on the mysterious woman.
“Wait here a moment while I speak to her.”
“Who is she?”
“I’m pretty sure she’s responsible for this party. If that’s the case, she’s your best shot at shedding light on your lost memories.”
My heart thumps up my chest. “You think she can help me?”
“Worth a shot.” Blaze slips his arm from mine and faces me. “Give me your bracelet.”
I clasp my hand around the bracelet on my wrist.
“Why? Does she require payment?”
“Nah, but I’ve heard rumors that today is her birthday. I’m sure she’ll appreciate the gesture of a gift.”
I hold on to my wrist. It’s only costume jewelry, but I’m quite fond of the piece. On the other hand, you can’t put a price on the past. Knowledge is power. I unclasp the bracelet and give it to Blaze. For some reason, I feel more naked without it than the underwear. I have nothing left to fiddle with.
“Be right back.” Blaze offers me a warm smile.
He walks up to the proprietor in her glowing chair. I only see Blaze’s back. I move a little so I can watch the dark beauty whose attention is momentarily distracted by Blaze. Her wine-red lips purse as Blaze addresses her. He hands her the bracelet. She doesn’t take it. Instead, she smirks before holding up her slender arm for him to slide the jewelry over her hand and fasten around her wrist.
I try to be indifferent as I watch the romantic-looking gesture of my bracelet being slipped onto another woman by my date. No, not my date. My mark.
Get your head on straight, Sabine.
It hasn’t been straight for six days. Hopefully, Miss Party Queen can change that.
After Blaze speaks with her, the woman rises regally from the glowing chair and begins walking along the loft’s edge. Blaze motions me over. I join him, and we follow the proprietor.
“Can she help?” I have to lean close to Blaze every time I talk to be heard over the pounding music.
“Yes and no,” he says. My groan is too low to be heard. “Only the witch or wizard who cast the original spell can reverse it, but the powerful magic surrounding this All Hallows Eve ball is enough for The Proprietor to break through and return your memories for the duration of the party.”
“So, I’ll lose them again after I return home?” My heart sinks inside my chest.
“Only the ones that were taken. If you learn anything you want to hold on to, you can share those with me. After tonight, you won’t remember, but by speaking your memories aloud, you will remember what you told me after tonight is over.”
I press my hand on his arm. His gaze flicks over my eyes.
“Why are you helping me?” I ask.
I’m not here to help him. Why would he bother with me?
A smile lifts to Blaze’s eyes and the hungry burn flashing there.
“Maybe it’s because I enjoyed doing the wheelbarrow with you so much.” My eyes widen and cheeks flush. Before I can hiss at him, Blaze chuckles, his breath tingling down my neck. “Have to tease you one last time before you learn the truth.”
The Proprietor stands beside a frosted cube, arms crossed like she’s guarding it for us. She puts her hand up before Blaze can enter. “You wait out here,” she tells him.
He nods at her then whispers in my ear. “I’ll find you later. Good luck.”
It’s hard to step away from him. I feel like I only came into existence five days ago, and he’s all that I have. I’m supposed to be on the same side as Gunnar, but he makes me feel like a runaway train rather than a member of the crew.
“Let’s go, party crasher,” The Proprietor says with a smirk.
I walk into the cube and perch on the end of a soft-but-firm bedlike cushion. It’s king-sized and fills the cube from wall to wall. The proprietor follows, sitting next to me. Once we’re closed in, the cube glows a soft, dim green. It would be a lot more romantic in here if I was with Blaze though there wouldn’t be room for wheelbarrowing. Maybe a handstand? Yikes, his humor is rubbing off on me—and I’m really nervous. The woman’s power radiates extra strong in the confines of the cube.
I settle with my back against one side of the cube. The Proprietor stands on her knees in the middle.
“Happy birthday,” I offer cheerfully, attempting to break the ice.
“Don’t be a keener, Sabine.” She grins with amusement.
I stare at her hard. Keener is a Canadian term for “kiss ass.”
“Are you from Canada?” I ask.
Her grin widens. “I’m from everywhere, and I know a little something about everyone here tonight, including people who weren’t technically invited.” My heart races. Oh shit. But the next smile the woman offers doesn’t appear quite as lethal. “It doesn’t matter how you got here. It’s about what you do with your time now that you’re at The Monster Ball. Do you understand what I’m saying?”
Not really, but I nod my head anyway.
“Do you know why I hold this ball year after year?”
Another hard question. I stare at her, hoping she’ll continue so I won’t have to mutter uncertainties. Lady, I didn’t even know my own name six days ago!
“I love supernaturals in all flavors, and I know a little something about being labeled a Monster for nothing more than being born. I don’t think circumstance of birth should mean you don’t have a chance,” she purrs. “I like to give them a place to enjoy themselves without restraint one night a year, and maybe—just maybe—find true love.”
I feel my cheeks radiate, thinking of Blaze.
The proprietor stares at me with her eerie golden flamed eyes. “I don’t know that regaining your memories will help you enjoy yourself tonight, but perhaps they’ll give you clarity.”
Her next words are whispers, too low to make out, and yet they echo and bounce off the square walls. Pressure builds in my head like steam in a teakettle. Instead of going off, it simmers and soothes through my entire body before pulling me into a mist. I slump over as every bone in my body goes slack. My mind leaves me, taking a stroll down memory lane. The pieces of my furthest past flash by the fastest. Family. Friends. Childhood. My years as a student at the School of Night. Training. It’s all on warp speed.
It stutters at one point when she curses and mutters, “Shitballs, Blaze didn’t mention everything had been taken.”
He didn’t know. I want to defend him, but I can’t speak or move. I’m too lost in my thoughts as they emerge into being—appearing through the fog up close. I’ve moved to Vancouver to join the B.C. department of Agents of Night. Gunnar introduces himself as my handler, offering a smoking hot smile.
Later, I am blasted through a glass window during a mission and call him to report what happened. He tells me to come over to his apartment, cleans all the little cuts on my skin, tending to me gently. Pours us wine. Turns on music. Makes his move.
My body reacts to the memory of us making love. I’m wet between my thighs; nipples hard. He makes me feel as though I’m coming apart with every thrust. No wonder he’s so cocky.
The fling with my handler continues, quickly turning into more. Soon, I’m spending the night at his apartment, and we’re eating breakfast together the next morning like an actual couple, sipping coffee, discussing magical miscreants. We watch movies together on his black leather couch. It’s the closest thing to a real relationship I’ve ever had, which is why the next part hurts so hard.
Chapter Six
Purple Passion
Six Days Ago…
My brown hair is brushed into a low ponytail secured into a large clip. I’m dressed in striped ankle pants and a white blouse and blazer that make me look and feel like a young professional.
After an early lunch at my tiny kitchen table, I bid Sunshine “au revoir.” My black Bombay cat opens her eyes briefly from the patch of sun where she’s curled before going back to sleep—or ignoring me; I can’t always tell the difference.
I grab my messenger bag and head over to the EDL
Vancouver, which is less than two kilometers away from my apartment. When I arrive, instructors and staff are standing outside on the sidewalk. I hurry over to my friend Kelly, who teaches French full time.
“What’s going on?” I nod at the door where a couple of men wearing tool belts over dirty jeans push in.
Kelly groans, grasping at the teal tasseled scarf draped over her cream cable sweater. “A water pipe burst. They’re assessing the damage now. You might as well go home. Classes are cancelled the rest of the day—probably the rest of the week. Hopefully not too long. I need the hours.”
I chew on my bottom lip and glance at the building. “You’re sticking around?”
Kelly bobs her head of short red hair. “I’m helping spread the news to students. Madame Bernard sent out an email, but not everyone will see it in time.”
“Is there anything I can do?”
“No. I’m going to take off in another ten minutes or so.”
“Well, shit,” I say.
“Yeah, shit.”
“Hopefully they’ll get it sorted out soon.” I wave to Kelly, going back the way I came. It feels like playing hooky from school. I’m lucky. This job is a part-time front. I certainly don’t mind taking the rest of the afternoon off, especially when the sun has graced the city in a rare burst of October glory.
“Sunshine, I’m back early,” I sing into the apartment when I return. “How about a stinky, fishy treat?”
Once she smells it, I’m sure she’ll find it worth the effort to saunter into the kitchen. It’s gut-wrenching watching her slow down in her old age. My parents insisted I take her with me for company after I moved from our small town in Goderich, Ontario, to the big city in B.C.
The agency isn’t keen on pets, but cats are pretty much self-sufficient. I’m the one who needs her, not the other way around.
The crinkle of the bag isn’t enough to rouse my lethargic four-legged roommate from her sunlit patch of rug. As I approach with the treats, she doesn’t even open her eyes.
A lump grows inside my throat. I stop. Frozen. I don’t want to get any closer. She’s gone. She’s left me. I don’t want to know.
The Monster Ball Year 2 Page 37