by Ivy Asher
Two beefy guards tromp out of the lodge and make their way over to us. The one with brown hair and a smattering of freckles on his nose rounds the car toward me. He gives me a Colgate grin as his eyes drop down to my feet and slowly climb back up. “Do you mind if I search you, miss?” he asks politely, and I hold out my arms.
“Go for it,” I tell him nonchalantly, and he bends and starts patting around my ankles.
His hands move up one calf and then the other. They skim my thighs and then dip into the top of my jeans, circling the waistband. He runs the back of his hands over my stomach, flipping them over to guide his wide palms up my back, and I notice he’s pulling in deep breaths of air as he goes. His long fingers find my scalp and part my wildly curly hair in search of anything that could be used against him. His fingers feel good against my scalp, and I have to actively stop myself from closing my eyes and leaning into the touch.
Playing with my hair is my kryptonite.
He gently tugs on the hair at the base of my skull, and it forces me to tilt my head back. I bite back a moan. I meet bright silver eyes and a salacious smile as the guard frisking me runs his hands over the tops of my shoulders and then drops them down my arms.
“All clear,” he states evenly, his intense gaze unmoving from mine. “Welcome to the Bristow Clan, miss.”
“Thank you,” I respond, just a little breathless.
His grin grows infinitesimally wider. “Sorry for the search, but we can never be too careful.”
I shrug and shake my head. “No apology needed, I’m happy to oblige,” I reassure him, a flirty smile now cresting my lips. I check him out as he steps back. He’s lean and fit and, I suspect, filled with all kinds of stamina.
“Are you staying for the festivities tonight?” he asks as he slowly backs away, his eyes suddenly gleaming as though they’re lit from within.
I’m completely captivated by them.
“Um, I don’t know,” I confess as he rounds the car back toward the security lodge.
“Well, I’ll keep an eye out later...just in case,” he tells me, a delicious grit to his voice, and then he disappears back into the house.
I stare after him for a moment, and then Rogan clears his throat loudly, snapping me out of my creeper mode. Heat crawls up my neck, and I pull the passenger door open and climb back into the car. I busy myself with getting buckled in and fluffing my curls, and the next thing I know the iron gate is sliding open and granting us entry.
“Well, that was interesting,” I observe casually as I work to get a hold of my hormones.
“Mmm,” Rogan agrees with an irritated man grunt. “Seems they’re very personable these days,” he adds, his eyes fixed intensely on the road.
The paved path abruptly turns to packed dirt, and we drive for a couple of miles before coming across a large gathering of lycans. We park and climb out of the SUV, and I’m greeted by happy chatter, laughter, and the smell of BBQ.
We park just outside of an enclosure that has little kids running around in it, chasing after random animals. I watch the excitement for a moment, a smile on my face as peals of childish laughter reach me. A little girl catches a snow-white bunny, and in a move so fast I would have missed it if I blinked, she grows fangs and tears into the neck of the trapped animal. My hand shoots up to my mouth, trapping the gasp I just inhaled, and I watch as all the adults around the enclosure cheer and reach for the little girl, lifting her up in celebration.
I turn wide, stunned eyes on Rogan. “Just like us?” I lob at him, with an arched, incredulous eyebrow.
He just shrugs, a cheeky grin taking over one corner of his lush mouth.
Fucker.
I shoo away my shock, not wanting to offend anyone, and a pair of lycans break away from the crowd and move toward us. A brute of a man with a long easy stride closes the distance. His hair is a rich soil-brown, but his long beard is bright ginger. The obsidian-haired woman next to him could give an Amazon a run for her money, and as they get closer, I look around and realize that lycans have dipped many a toe in the hot as fuck gene pool.
Strong, virile, tall bodies are everywhere. Both men and women are a feast for the eyes. I have to stop myself from calling Tad and announcing that I’ve found the promised land. I mean, screw going to the bars when you can just come party in a place like this. Yes, please.
“Rogan!” the male lycan booms, and in one long stride, Rogan is wrapped up in a bear hug of epic proportions. Rogan is huge, but the ginger-bearded man makes him look dainty as he picks up the Blood Witch and spins him like they’re long lost lovers.
The sight makes me so damn happy that I don’t even see the Amazon coming right for me. I squeal in surprise when strong arms pluck me from the ground and wrap me up in the kind of hug I didn’t know I needed until right this minute. I tense for all of half a second, and then I abandon all pretense and melt right into the embrace.
“I’m Viv,” she tells me, her voice resonating from her chest into mine as we hold onto each other.
“Leni,” I exchange, feeling like a little girl again as my feet sway in the air. It’s the best.
After a beat, she puts me down, and just when I feel like I want to pout about that, I’m yanked into another perfect hug, the ginger beard-hair in my face a dead giveaway for who has me now. Just like with Viv, I squeeze him back just as hard as I can.
“I’m Riggs,” he rumbles. “I’m so sorry about your grandmother. When I saw a different Osseous name on the list, I called my necro buddy, and he confirmed her passing. She was a longtime customer and friend, and we’ll really miss her,” he tells me, and I can hear the ache and sincerity in what he’s saying.
“Me too,” I admit, the two simple words summoning so much emotion with them. Riggs just keeps me in his arms as I blink the tears away and get myself back under control. He sets me on my feet as I do and pats my mop of curls, empathy and compassion radiating from his every feature.
“Now,” he announces with a thundering clap. “Let’s talk business, and then we can have some fun. What can I get for you?”
Rogan immediately looks over at me, and I clear my throat. “I’m in need of some bones.”
Riggs chuckles heartily and pulls me in for a side hug. “Of course you are, you wouldn’t be here if you weren’t,” he teases. “What’s your poison?”
“I’m not really sure what you have. Caribou would be ideal, but if you don’t have that, then deer or elk will work too,” I start, thinking through the recipe that I want to make and what bones the grimoire taught me would be compatible.
“We have caribou,” Viv tells me confidently. “Would you prefer male or female bones? And any particular part of the body?” she asks.
I stare at her for a beat, surprised that they’re that thorough. She just smiles warmly at me, like she’s used to the reaction.
“Um, male, please. And any part of the legs would be great, maybe some vertebrae too if you have them?”
She flips open a tablet and ticks away at it. “Small, medium, or large bundle?”
“Let’s do...small to start with,” I reply, completely impressed with their business acumen.
“Got it, anything else for you, Leni?”
“If you have any gray wolf, I’ll take that too. Ribs or pelvis is fine. Preferably a female who’s at least had one litter of pups,” I request, thinking of some protective potions that Rogan and all his never can be too careful talk has me now wanting to have on hand. Nothing better than a protective base of mama wolf when it comes to those kinds of recipes—or so the grimoire tells me.
Viv just nods and jots it down.
“What else do you have?” I ask, suddenly feeling like a kid in a candy store.
“We can get pretty much everything, even human, but that’s a special request and we need at least a month to procure the order. We have a sale running on polar bear bones right now, and I think we have a little bit left of tiger if you’re interested?”
“No, I don’t have
any need for virility potions at the moment, but that’s good to know,” I answer absently as I do a quick rundown of some potions and powders that could come in handy.
Riggs chuckles and gives Rogan an atta boy elbow to the ribs. I ignore the innuendo and think through what I need for some defensive spells and brews.
“If you have any male bison, neck or skull, and any wild boar, any part, I’ll take it. Oh, and one polar bear jaw, too, please.”
“You got it,” Viv chirps. “I’ll head down to the warehouse now. It should be ready in about an hour, is that okay?”
“Perfect. Thank you, I’m super excited.”
She squeezes my arm affectionately and then lopes off without another word. I spin and take in my surroundings, feeling light and happy. I realize in that moment that it’s been a long time since I felt this way. I didn’t realize how much I missed it.
“Come on, you two, we’ll watch the brawls while we’re waiting,” Riggs announces, gesturing for us to follow him.
“Do you deliver out of state?” I ask Riggs as we start to weave our way in and out of people to get to wherever the brawls are.
“We do. Internationally too if you need. We do standard shipping on everything, which is included in the cost of whatever you order. We also have ley line delivery options, but those are an additional ten percent of your order cost.”
“How’d you get into this business?” I ask, unable to bite back my curiosity. It seems like such an unconventional thing, but they’re so good at it, there has to be passion for it somewhere in the foundation of it all.
Riggs tosses me a wide toothy smile over his shoulder. “The business has been passed down from father to son for many generations. It started as a way to build better ties in the community, to be seen less as outcasts and more as valued members of the magical community,” he tells me, a kind smile on his face, but I can tell from his words that this lycan clan hasn’t always been as carefree and appreciated as it seems to be now.
There’s a lot of history I can sense in the tone of his simple explanation, and if it’s anything like human history, it was filled with bloodshed and battles.
“It all started with us collecting what we could hunt and grow, but we quickly discovered that there was serious demand for the things we could procure. Next thing you know, we were connecting with other lycan clans all over the world and creating a solid source network that changed witch and lycan relationships forever,” he goes on with pride radiating out of his features.
“And it’s not just the witches who benefit,” he adds. “As a clan, we put fun hunting parties together for the animals that are harder to procure. It keeps our palates refined, our instincts honed, and the clan financially cared for and protected by the community that we serve.”
“That’s incredible,” I tell him, respect and admiration spilling out of my tone. “And you can really get anything?” I question, not even bothered by the fact that I sound like a total fan-girl.
“With enough time, we can get anything. Leprechauns have been on backorder for years now, but they’re incredibly hard to catch,” he tells me.
My mouth drops open with shock. “Really?” I ask, completely gobsmacked.
Riggs cracks up. “No. Leprechauns aren’t real, but I just love seeing a new Osteomancer’s face for the second that they think they are.
I let out an indignant huff, but it quickly morphs into laughter. He could have had me believing they were real for years. Hell, I probably would have gone on a waitlist for one.
“You’re all so gullible,” he chortles, and I can’t even try to deny it.
Rogan’s deep chuckle sounds just behind me, and a blush crawls into my cheeks. Riggs leads us to a packed crowd gathered around a grassy clearing, and the lycans all part to allow him access to a front row vantage point. Bodies are tightly pressed in against each other as everyone pushes in to see what’s happening inside of the verdant arena. Stones are stacked a little higher than my knee and set as a divider between spectator and participant. The field is colorfully lush in patches, but trodden and well-used. It makes me think of this place back home where they hold Highland Games every year.
My thoughts of big Scottish giants throwing logs around are chased away when, in the center of the field, standing on top of a tree stump, is a huge, sweaty, shirtless man. He has feral long auburn hair, matching stubble on his jaw, and predatory, gleaming golden eyes. Another equally massive and shirtless man charges him with a bellow, and just when it looks like Brock O’Hurn’s beefier twin is about to be shoved off the stump, he nimbly dodges the attack and sends the other man rolling past him to crash into the dirt.
The crowd erupts with noise. Cheers and boos explode all around me. “What’s going on?” I ask Riggs, but it’s Rogan’s voice in my ear that answers.
I realize with a start that he’s the body pressed in behind me. And it sends a keen awareness through every inch of me.
“The goal is to push the big guy off the stump. Each competitor gets one try. If they succeed, they take over the position on the stump. The last man standing on it wins some sort of prize; sometimes it’s money, other times it’s something else,” he explains, bending down so that his lips are close to my ear.
I stifle a shiver that wants to strike through me, worried that he might feel it and get the wrong idea. I’m responding to the intimacy of someone being close to me, not to Rogan specifically, I tell myself, and I don’t want to give him reason to ever doubt that either.
“So what’s the rarest bone you’ve ever seen here?” I ask Riggs, desperately needing some kind of distraction as Rogan puts his hands on my hips to steady himself when someone jostles him from behind. His muscles tease my back, his warmth soaking into me. Crap, what was I asking? Bones? Right. Bones.
“We’ve had a fair bit of priceless and precious bones and herbs come through here, but my personal favorite are what’s left of the jackalope bits.”
I start to laugh, picturing the fabled animal that looks like a jackrabbit with antlers. “You got me with the leprechauns,” I confess. “I’m not falling for the jackalope,” I warn him, laughter bubbling out of me freely.
His grin grows even wider, and just when I think he’s about to concede you got me, he pulls at a chain around his neck. A rabbit’s foot and a small antler slip out from underneath his shirt. They dangle from the chain like manifestations of the impossible becoming possible.
“No. Way,” I argue, veneration spilling out of every syllable.
Riggs holds them out, like he’s daring me to test their authenticity. So of course I extend my hand and grip the small antler between my pointer finger and thumb. I’m hit by the smell of wildflowers, the taste of clover, and the sound of a haunting cackle as the rush of running from a predator fills my veins. My bewildered gaze rises to meet Riggs’s, a knowing smirk lighting up his whole face, and I’m at a complete loss for words.
It’s real.
“How?” I ask with a reverent whisper.
“They’re extinct now, the last one we know about was caught when I was knee-high to a grasshopper. My mother gave these to me to remind me of what happens when we don’t treasure and protect the things around us.”
“Aw, man, now I can’t ask for them, knowing that they have such sentimental value,” I whine, and Riggs guffaws.
“The antler is a bit stabby, I could be talked into maybe parting with it,” he jokes, and my overzealous ass jumps all over that.
“Really? What would it take to talk you into it?” I blurt, like I’m nothing more than a Gollum staring at the one true ring.
Riggs studies me for a moment as though he’s actually considering parting with something so precious. I should probably feel bad, but I want the bone something fierce. I have no idea where this intense need is coming from; it’s not rational, but I need a jackalope antler in my life. I just had no idea that I did until now.
“Okay, Osteomancer, you can have my jackalope antler,” he declares with a
mischievous glint in his bright amber eyes.
“What’s the catch?” I ask suspiciously even though my insides are celebrating gleefully.
He laughs again and gestures toward the arena. “If you can get Saxon off the stump.”
I turn just in time to see a lycan leap at the man standing on the hewn tree trunk—Saxon, I’m assuming—and the auburn-haired behemoth flips the advancing lycan over his head like the guy weighs nothing. From the loud thump that fills the enclosed area, and the vibration that moves through the ground when the lycan’s body hits, I can attest that the man weighs a whole hell of a lot.
Well, crap, there goes my precious.
16
Dust plumes around the man who was just thrown to the ground. The fine mist of dirt starts to slowly settle around the field as murmurs fill the air like bird song. I watch the plume disappear, and it takes with it my overeager hopes to become the proud new owner of a jackalope antler in the very near future. Riggs’s smile is cocky and pleased; he knows exactly what he’s just done. I want to sulk that’s not fair, as I’ve clearly been duped, but that kind of shit isn’t cute at any age, so I tamp it down.
His eyes twinkle mischievously, and I find that I really want to shove his underestimation down his throat. I want to make him eat his words. But as I stare out at the tree-sized man on the stump in the middle of the clearing, I’m at a loss for how to make that happen. Riggs chuckles deeply and pats me hard on the back, making me jerk forward and struggle to keep from tilting over from the contact.
“Come now, Leni, I didn’t think an Osteomancer accepted defeat so easily, especially not one from the Osseous line,” he teases, and titters sound off from the people around us.
My deep exhale is unamused, but as his words sink in, it dawns on me. I’m a witch. I have magic. I don’t have to muscle Goliath off the stump, I just need to flick my wrist and send his big ass bones flying.
