by Abigail Owen
He stared at the swinging kitchen door where she’d disappeared, then shook his head as he opened another jug of some kind of white concoction.
“I have no idea.” He pulled a silver ice bucket from a bottom cabinet. “But I’d stay away from her tonight if I were you.”
“Not a problem.” Though cordial, Jules and I still weren’t exactly friendly.
“Here.” He scooped some ice into a tumbler than dipped the punch ladle into the bowl. “Try this.”
“What is it?” I reached for the glass. “White Russian?”
He grinned, his white teeth bright against his dark beard. He crossed his arms over a muscular chest, his biceps stretching his maroon T-shirt. “My special eggnog.”
“Oh, hell,” came a man’s voice to our right. “No damn way, Jeremy. That shit should be illegal.”
JJ rolled his eyes at his best friend Charlie who strolled in from the back entrance dressed to the nines in gray corduroy pants, a starched white shirt and a festive red vest with silver bells stitched in shiny satin. I’d originally thought Charlie was JJ’s boyfriend, but Evie swears they’re just friends. Still, there’s something there.
Definitely something there.
“Don’t drink it,” warned Charlie, pulling up a stool next to me.
JJ shrugged, still grinning. I took a swig. Cinnamon, spices. Bourbon. Not bad. Too sweet for my taste—holy fuck, what was that? Burning flames licked down my throat, singeing my nostrils on the way down.
“Whoa.” My voice was rusty from one scorching sip. “That’s potent.”
It’ll put some lead in your pencil, for damn sure. Not that we need help with that.
Charlie crossed his legs and propped an elbow on the bartop, his hands clasped. “The danger is when you finish your first drink. You stop feeling the burn. Then you’re in a world of trouble.”
I set the glass back on the bar with an apologetic smile for JJ. “Sorry, man. Gotta keep my wits about me tonight.”
“Any special reason?”
Then a whiff of something utterly delicious wafted into the room. It set my body on full alert, rolling over my skin with a tantalizing brush. Jasmine shampoo, cocoa butter lotion, and clean woman.
Evie.
Angling toward the back hallway, I watched her walk toward me with the devil in her eyes, wearing a denim mini-skirt with a black sweater, accentuating her pretty figure, her hair down in auburn waves around her shoulders. I shook my head, and she grinned wider, knowing exactly what she was doing to me.
We leave this party in one hour.
Two tops.
One.
I wasn’t going to argue with him. One sounded fucking fantastic to me.
5
~EVIE~
The buffet dinner of gourmet appetizers was delicious, the cake amazing, and the drinks ever-flowing. The party had adjourned to the stage in the corner of the pub where Livvy managed the Karaoke music, getting things loud and rowdy. Everyone laughed, sang, heckled the singers, and seemed to be having a fabulous time.
Except my werewolf. His hooded gaze hadn’t left me one second all night. Except for a brief few minutes he talked to his cousin, Nico, who dropped by the party. And yeah, I’d noticed that Nico’s attention was rapt on my sister Violet. The second birthday girl actually still wore her tiara, which Clara made with bright stones “to match her hair,” she said. And her sash, Queen for a Day, was a little tattered from the night’s events.
“Why does she get ‘queen’ and you get ‘princess’?” Mateo asked.
He leaned across my lap so Clara could hear him over Isadora and Belinda, one of our servers and longtime friends, singing rather badly Beyonce’s “Single Ladies.” Mateo’s palm wrapped around my bare knee, sending my euphoric tingle and promise of what’s to come. I wiggled, but he clamped his fingers harder, daring me to shake him off with a flicker of gold in his eyes. I pretended complete and total interest in what Clara was saying when Mateo damn well knew his possessive touches were making me crazy. But who could I blame? I’d worn this outfit on purpose, to drive him a little crazy. It was all on me. Now, if he knew what I wore underneath this skirt—nothing—he’d have tossed me caveman-style over his shoulder and taken me back to his place. The only reason we were still here and not ripping each other’s clothes off and tumbling naked around his apartment was because I was still waiting on Tia and Marcus Romano to show up.
“That’s easy,” said Clara, forking a bite of her third piece of cake. “Queens are assertive, demanding, and rather unbending. That’s pretty much Violet.”
“True.” Throwing an arm around Clara’s shoulder, I asked, “And what about princesses?”
“We’re supportive, cheery, and only sometimes rebellious.”
Mateo leaned into me, sliding his hand along the opposite thigh and up to grip the knee farthest from him. “And are you sometimes rebellious, Clara?”
She scraped the last of a dollop of purple icing into her mouth, gave us innocent doe eyes, shrugged and popped up to carry her empty plate to the back. Mateo followed her for a second then leaned in to whisper, “I think your sweet and innocent sister has some secrets.”
I watched her go, wondering if that were even possible. Jules had been texting furiously in the back of the line of seats facing the stage since the party began, but now she was knocking back eggnog after eggnog. JJ was eyeing her with concern, and now so was I. What bug had gotten up her butt?
Then my eyes caught on a surprising someone leaning against one of the beams in the middle of the pub, watching the stage. Well, maybe watching. I couldn’t see where his eyes were aimed from here. They were dark and hooded in the shadow of his black hair that hung across his forehead.
“How’d he get in?”
Mateo glanced behind us. “Huh.”
“You don’t seem surprised that a grim is crashing our party.”
“I invited him earlier. Saw him when I picked up the cake.”
“Your friends with him?” My eyes widened, my voice rising with excitement. “How come I didn’t know this!”
“Not exactly friends.” He pulled my legs up and over until they were crossing his lap.
“But you invited him here?” It’s not that I didn’t like the guy, I just didn’t know him. He was kind of a fixture on Magazine Street, but no one seemed to even now his name.
Mateo shrugged one shoulder. “He’s helped me out before.”
“What’s his name?”
He laughed. “No idea.”
I was going to interrogate him further, but then Tia and Marcus waltzed in from the back entrance where I’d told them to enter.
“Yes! They’re here.”
Popping up, I waved them over. To my utter delight and embarrassment, Mateo’s fingers slid along the skin of the back of my thigh, edging along the hem of my mini-skirt. Tossing him a heated look over my shoulder, his gaze was transfixed on his own fingers. When he looked up, I decided to kick this up to the next level and tell him I was going commando.
“What?”
I opened my mouth, but then Livvy stood in front of the microphone to the hoots and hollers of our friends, then said, “Thank you, everyone, for joining us tonight to celebrate the birthdays of my beloved sisters.” Another round of cheers. “Now is the time Clara and Violet come up on stage and sing their birthday duet song, which I’ve picked out myself.” That’s when Livvy smiled, bending her slender bare leg in her red velvet corset dress and angled her shoulder down, making her look like a femme fatale of the worst kind. Loud cat calls hooted from Finny, our dishwasher, and his buddies he’d brought tonight. “Come on up, ladies,” said Livvy in her husky voice, giving Finny a playful wink. Poor guy wouldn’t know what to do if she was actually serious. She was too much for him.
Clara literally dragged a belligerent Violet up to the stage. Violet was still rolling her eyes when the first few notes of “Perfect” by Ed Sheeran echoed in the bar. Of course, Clara picked an Ed Sheeran song, her favorit
e artist. Clara started off the first verse, the audience clapping and offering encouragement. I was thankful our friends were tolerant, because she sounded just awful. No other way to say it.
“That’s what I’ll sound like,” muttered Marcus, finally standing next to me.
“Probably,” agreed Tia.
He exhaled a loud breath. “Whatever. Just let’s get this over with.”
I pointed at the stage. “Go on up and tell Livvy you’re here. She knows you’re coming and is ready for you.”
As they sauntered off, Mateo wrapped an arm around my waist and pulled me back onto his lap. He angled me sideways, banding an arm around my hip and spreading one hot, callused hand on my thigh. It was hard to think with his hands on me.
He nuzzled my hair aside, brushing his lips across my neck, then whispered, “Almost ready to go?”
“Mmhmm,” was all I could manage.
Then my sister Violet started to sing, and a hush fell over the bar. She sang the verse about dancing in the dark, her melodious voice hitting every note with clarity and heated emotion. It was beautiful and intense and it pissed me off how utterly amazing Violet’s voice was, yet she always refused to sing. She said it wasn’t a gift she could use to do something good in the world. But holy hell, to hear her voice, it was hypnotic, haunting. It was like magic traveling in soundwaves, trembling on the air, and singing to my soul. Even Mateo had stilled his hands, though he pulled me close against him.
“Damn,” he muttered.
“I know,” I whispered back.
I glanced at Nico, who sat forward, staring, his elbows on his knees, hands casually clasped. It would’ve been convincing if it weren’t for his knuckled going white with the tension of squeezing his fingers together so tight. Interesting.
The song came to a close, but before Tia and Marcus could even stand and approach Livvy, Jules stumbled up the two steps and grabbed the microphone from Clara. She muffled it in her hand and said something back to Livvy who gave her a careful once-over, then flipped back to her laptop with the digital music she’d hooked up to the speakers and Karoake machine.
“What is going on?” asked Mateo.
Completely transfixed, I couldn’t answer. You have to understand. Jules was always in control. Always. No exceptions. Calm. Cool. And I had never seen her drunk. Ever. She allowed herself a glass of merlot at the end of the day. Maybe two. But that’s it. What I was seeing right now was an anomaly, like Deadpool walking onscreen in Lord of the Rings. It just shouldn’t be happening. But it totally was. This swaying mess up on stage was the sad result of JJ’s lethal eggnog and whatever fury had worked her into drinking that much in the first place.
Jules cleared her throat. “Gotta song I wanna ded-cate.”
Nico turned around from the row in front of us. “Did she say something about a dead cat?”
“Lis’n up!”
Finny and his crew laughed. “Whatcha got for us, Jules?”
She held a finger up for us to hold on a minute. Pinning the mic between her jean-clad legs, she unbuttoned and whipped off her chef’s coat that she hadn’t bothered to take off yet. When she tossed it offstage like it was a rag, I knew she was completely wasted. No way would she do that anywhere close to sober. Then she smoothed down her white T-shirt, pulled the mic from between her legs and propped a hand on her hip, standing ramrod straight. She was the most petite of all of us, so that small gesture did nothing to make her look bigger. Jules could usually make a six-foot-tall man wither with one glowering stare of her steel-gray eyes. Right now, she could barely focus, so her mean-girl pose was having zero effect.
She pointed to Finny, her pointer finger then zipping from one man in the audience to another. “This goes out to alllll the assholes of the world!”
A collective hoot of laughter and cheers erupted when the music started, and though my oldest sister, the most powerful witch in New Orleans, was drunk off her ass, she started singing the hell out of Alanis Morisette’s “You Oughta Know.” With her fist in the air, her short, straight hair swinging in her eyes, and her voice claiming how it just wasn’t fair and the cross she had to bear and he just oughta know, I burst into laughter. She had everyone rising out of their seats, clapping and singing along with her, escalating this madness that Jules was creating to a new level.
Not just madness. Magic. I could feel it eking off of her, and that had the laughter dying in my throat, replaced immediately by fear. Isadora glanced at me two seconds before she sprinted up onto the stage and grabbed Jules around the waist, ripping the mic from her hand. Jules was using magic and she hadn’t even known it. With her level of power, she could’ve punched a hole in the room and knocked some people out, or worse, on accident. This is why Jules had to keep herself under control.
“That’s enough,” Isadora was mumbling, grappling with Jules who grabbed the mic again.
“Thank you, everybody! Come again next week!” She cackled. Yes, cackled, like an actual witch.
But our crowd of friends laughed and cheered more. Isadora wrestled with her down the steps and toward the back hallway. Before I could go help, JJ was there, probably asking what I was thinking. Isadora shook her head and walked off with Jules alone.
“Why don’t we switch gears and change to something totally different?” Livvy called from the stage before handing the mic over to Tia.
Marcus stood at the second mic, looking so out of place and completely miserable, as sleighbells started jingling.
Tia began singing “Let It Snow.” Marcus found me in the audience and glowered. I arched a brow at him, then he joined in. The great thing about our friends is that they were just as easily entertained by the change in tunes, merrily singing along. Clara jumped up onstage, wrapping an arm around Tia and giving her a side-hug. By the end of the song, Tia was beaming, Marcus was smirking and looked almost happy, and the place was full of Christmas cheer. That’s when Mateo stood and swooped me up into his arms in a bridal carry.
I yelped. “What are you doing?”
“Taking you home.”
“Home?”
His heated look was all I got in response. Then he headed out the back door and down Magazine Street and took me home.
6
~EVIE~
How could I possibly be nervous after all the times we’d had sex since we’d gone from friends to lovers? I don’t know, but I was. Maybe nervous wasn’t exactly the right word. If you could mash-up anticipation, hunger, and desperation into one feeling, that would be it.
He set me on my feet at the bottom of the stairs of his apartment that sat above his workshop and studio. Rushing up the stairs before him, I remembered the first time we’d had sex. That in itself had my blood pumping harder. Once I made the landing, I walked over to the living room and shrugged out of my jacket.
I don’t know why, but I had a wild streak tonight. Maybe it was that one glass of JJ’s eggnog. Maybe it was Jules’s wild performance. But something made me want to poke the bear. The wolf, actually. When I turned, my breath caught in my throat, because my wolf was staring right back at me. Mateo’s eyes had gone fiery gold. Alpha was in the room with us.
I stepped backward around the coffee table and picked up the remote. “You want to watch a movie?”
He shucked off his boots with a steady shaking of his head, his hot gaze never leaving me.
I set down the remote and toed off my flats. “How about a game of Scrabble or something?”
He didn’t bother to respond that time, just reached back with both hands and pulled his shirt over his shoulders and his head, tossing it aside.
Now I couldn’t breathe at all. Not when punched in the face with the glorious, bronzed, and chiseled torso of Mateo Cruz. He started coming for me, corralling me around the coffee table. I kept moving, circling away.
“Hmm, what could we do?” One side of his mouth ticked up. Rather than put me at ease, it held a world of dark promise that sent a tantalizing shiver down my spine, where it sta
lled between my legs. “How about we read some comic books together? There’s a new issue where Wolverine—”
I shrieked and leaped. All it took was one mention of Wolverine, which for some reason really got Alpha’s panties in a bunch. He had me on my back on the sofa, his fingers tickling up my ribs. Laughing so hard and loud, I squirmed and arched, trying my damnedest to get away. To no avail. His hard body caged me in, his heavy thighs pinning mine down.
“Stop!” I laugh-yelled.
He eased up, bracing one forearm by my head to hold his weight, the other hand splaying across my ribcage just under my breasts.
“You know what you’ve been doing to me in this outfit all night?”
I stared, soaking in the possessive, hot look he was giving me. I arched my neck, wanting his mouth there. He knew, leaning forward and scraping his teeth along the sensitive column.
“I know,” I finally said. “We would’ve been here a lot earlier if I’d told you my secret.”
“What secret?” His voice was all gruff and wolfy as he lifted up to hold my gaze.
I combed my fingers into his hair, grazing the nape of his neck the way he liked. “Why don’t you take a look under my skirt and you’ll find out.” I bent my leg closest to the sofa back.
He’d gone predatory still. It always amazed me how he could do that. Go so still, it was like he wasn’t even breathing. I’d seen vampires do it, too. Right when they’d marked their blood host for the night.
His large hands with slender fingers, callused from working with the metal and the forge in his workshop, skimmed along the inside of my knee and up my thigh until it disappeared under my skirt. When those lovely, rough fingers found bare skin all the way up, his fire-gold eyes slipped closed and his chest rumbled with a dragon-deep growl. He licked his lips before he separated my folds with his middle finger, sliding down to my entrance then back up to my swollen nub where he circled lazily. I tightened my fingers in his hair and on his neck, breath coming quick.