by Ivy Asher
Gah, I’m an idiot. How did I not even think about that until now?
A slow smile curls my lips, and confidence fills my gaze. “Fine, you’re on,” I chirp, and Riggs’s amused stare fills with surprise and then bleeds into suspicion. I step over the knee-high stone wall that separates the gathered crowd from the action before Riggs can change his mind about the terms.
“What are you doing?” Rogan growls as he reaches out to try and stop me, but this time I’m wise to his methods, and I scurry away, just getting out of reach before he can snatch one of my arms and stop me.
“Don’t worry, I got this,” I tell him over my shoulder, offering him a smug thumbs up.
“Lennox, you can’t use magic,” he calls after me, and my wide you’ll rue the day smile falters.
I spin so fast to face Rogan it would make a cyclone jealous. “Um, say what now?” I demand sweetly, like the polite tone itself will make him declare something that doesn’t completely fuck me over.
He huffs, annoyed, like he’s the one who just agreed to body tackle The Mountain. “It’s part of the rules. You can’t use magic on the stump itself or the person on it. You also can’t use magic to throw other people at the person on the stump. Oh, and no biting in any form,” he adds as though chomping into Saxon would have been my next plan of action. I look over at the mass of muscle on the stump and cock a brow. In the bedroom maybe…
I swat that thought away and try to figure out what the hell to do now. Riggs is laughing so hard his face now matches the color of his beard. And I’m four paces into having just thrown down my gauntlet. I look around at my feet as though I can physically see a gauntlet just lying about. Maybe if I pick it up and do an Ace Ventura rewind back over the low-set stone wall, no one will think anything of it.
I imagine offering the crowd my best pageant wave as I demurely tell them, my bad, my gauntlet totally just fell, definitely didn’t throw it, nope, that’d be some crazy shit.
I look around at all the judgmental and eager faces surrounding me. Crap, I don’t think there’s any getting out of this. Which means I have to make an ass out of myself by trying to tackle the guy, probably injuring myself in the process when I bounce off the wall of muscle that is Saxon whatever the hell his last name is, and then tuck tail and go back to Riggs and Rogan sans any hope of ever owning a jackalope bone.
I square my shoulders, fully aware that after I break them in this stupid attempt to shove Saxon off his stump, I won’t be moving them for a while. I hesitantly step further into the clearing. The wild grass is clipped short, and the patches of dirt, peeking out here and there, feel like they’re mocking me. Saxon turns at the points and whispers of the surrounding crowd. His golden eyes assess me as I amble closer. It’s as though, despite my size and sex, he’s taking this seriously, looking at me as though I really could be a threat. For some reason, this makes me feel better.
I know I’m not going to be able to move his very large and very attractive ass from where he’s standing, but he’s taking this seriously and...fuck it, so will I. His gilded gaze tracks me as I make a slow circle around him. I stretch out my neck and my arms as I go, which elicits some chuckles from the spectators watching with mirthful anticipation. I look as though I’m trying and failing at intimidating him, but really I’m trying to reduce the odds of pulling a muscle when I finally make a move.
I complete my perusing circle, but I still have nothing, so I start another one. It’s not like the scenery is bad. Saxon isn’t even sweating from his exertions so far, which is a shame because I could really go for watching a bead of perspiration work its way down his chiseled abs right about now. You know, something to take the edge off.
I leisurely stroll around him, unabashedly checking him out...for weaknesses, of course. I tilt my head appreciatively and try to think through what the hell I’m going to do. I’m not allowed to use magic on him or the stump, but that doesn’t mean I can’t use magic at all. Charging him with all my might is pretty laughable given what I’ve seen him toss around already. So what does that leave me?
My eyes trace the curves and dips of his arms, as I complete circle two, and I bite down on my lower lip in thought. Saxon watches me intently, his stare dropping to where I’m gnawing on my mouth, and I watch his chest expand with a deep inhale.
Is he smelling me?
I should probably be embarrassed by what he might be picking up with that deep pull of air into his lungs. Do dirty thoughts have a smell? I contemplate that as a sensual grin lifts his plump lips, and an idea sparks in my mind. Maybe getting physical is the right way to go after all. I lick my bottom lip, hoping it looks hot like it does when other girls do it and not as though I’m impersonating a toad catching its dinner.
The gathering crowd appears to be getting restless. Their chatter is getting louder and more impatient, but I don’t let it distract me as I pull in my own deep breath.
Here goes nothing.
I push magic out of me in search of bones. Being that they have a warehouse full of them not too far away, my search doesn’t last long. Magically I search through the options until I find exactly what I need. With a small squeak of excitement, I call the bones to me. This will never get old. It takes a handful of seconds for them to travel from where they’re being stored to the clearing I’m standing in, and I silently hope that Riggs won’t be annoyed at me using them. I’m not technically breaking any rules, I’m just trying to make things even, literally.
I lift my hand in a come hither motion, raising the traveling missiles so that no one gets taken out by one. Saxon studies the movement, and the crowd instantly grows quiet. All at once, long bones come flying into the clearing, and I point at where I want them to stack themselves. A few gasps ring out around me, but I tune all of that out and focus on what I need to do.
Slowly, bone after stacked bone, a rudimentary set of stairs start to form. I’m careful not to touch the stump or Saxon with anything, stacking the bones until I think there are enough steps for what I need. I step on the first layer of woven camel leg bones, testing it, and when it feels like the structure will hold my weight, I climb the rest of the short flight.
Saxon’s uncertain stare moves from the bone tower to me as I crest it, our faces now even with each other. I smile brightly, hoping it helps to disarm him a bit, but I can see he’s trying to work out what’s happening and what exactly I’m going to do with this stairway to his face.
“Hi,” I greet with a small wave.
“Hello,” he warily answers back, which makes me smile even wider. He’s smart to be untrusting.
“I’ve obviously bitten off more than I chew here,” I confess as his eyes once again drop to the bones I’m standing on. “I was dumb enough to fall for a dare, and as kind as you are to make me think otherwise, we both know there’s no way in hell I’m knocking you off this log,” I tell him matter-of-factly.
His eyes flick back up to mine, and I see him relax ever so slightly.
“So I thought to myself, self, if I can’t beat him to get what I want, maybe I can get something else just as tempting instead,” I profess, my eyes flitting back and forth between his beautiful golden irises. I wonder if it’s the lycan in him that creates such an unusual eye color or if it’s regular genetics at play.
“And what would that be?” Saxon asks me, a hint of curiosity swimming in the pool of swagger in his tone.
“Can I kiss you?” I ask plainly.
Saxon’s brow furrows slightly with confusion, and his eyes drop to my lips of their own accord before meeting my gaze again. “You want to kiss me?” he clarifies, as though the request makes no sense to him.
“Yes, but only if you’re okay with it,” I add.
He studies me for a beat, like the catch to my request is written somewhere in the depths of my eyes.
“Uh...okay,” he answers hesitantly, clearly not seeing the master plan hiding in my eyes.
Before he can change his mind, I lean in and gently press m
y lips to his. He doesn’t really respond at first, which is a little disappointing, but I suppose I am a stranger and we do have an audience, so maybe he’s shy. Instead of pulling back though, I open my lips slightly and sandwich his top lip between them. I suck on it lightly, inviting this kiss to go from friendly to more if he wants it to.
I stand securely on the top step of my bone tower, but I reach out with my hands and wrap them around the back of his neck, threading my fingers into his hair and letting my nails skim his scalp. At the same time, I move my mouth to his bottom lip, nipping at it gently and encouraging him to join in. To my delight, he responds immediately.
Saxon’s mouth goes from still and uncertain, to dominating and eager in less time than it takes for me to catapult the word shy right out of my brain. His hands wrap around my back, pulling me into him, and an approving little moan sneaks out of me. I flick the tip of my tongue against his, teasing and testing, and his mouth grows even more demanding, the kiss rocketing from flat and unsure to incredibly intense.
He’s good, not the best kiss I’ve ever had, but enjoyable nonetheless. He’s a little too loopty loo with the tongue at first, but the more I show him how I like to nip, suck, tease, and swirl, the more he’s catching on and doing it back. I tug at his hair lightly as our mouths begin to move in smooth harmony, and he growls into my mouth. We meet in a crescendo of hungry lips and taunting tongues, our bodies pressing even harder against one another, our hands itching to explore and turn up the heat.
Arousal starts to pool low in my belly, and my thoughts morph from my master plan to wondering exactly where Saxon and I might go with this. I thought this would be my best tactical advantage, my best way to catch him off guard, but I could easily get lost in this for a night. Lord knows I could use some serious stress relief. Saxon’s hands caress lower on my back, and it helps me rein in my wandering thoughts. As intrigued as I am by our obvious physical compatibility, I really do want that jackalope bone. The question right now is, which do I want more?
Saxon cups my ass with his large hands, squeezing my cheeks suggestively and encouraging me to wrap my legs around his waist. Maybe he’ll step off the log on his own to pursue the fire now burning between us, but if he doesn’t…
I chase away my reservations, making up my mind once and for all. A night of potential molten sex could be epic, but jackalope bones trump that at the moment. Pretty sure my ancestors have ruined me. If anyone would have told me a week ago I’d pick a bone over a potential hot as fuck bone, I would have laughed my ass off as I hurriedly peeled off my clothes and prepared for that dick.
I lean back a little, my body telling Saxon that things are coming to an end, but I’m sure to mix the signals by kissing him even more feverishly. Saxon presses forward, determined not to let me go, and it’s all I can do not to smile at his reaction. I suck his bottom lip into my mouth with a salacious moan, pressing my breasts even harder against him.
I’m on the cusp of making my move. I can see it so clearly in my mind. I’ll pull my magic away from the bones under my feet. They’ll crumble, and with the help of gravity, I’ll start to fall. He’ll feel me begin to slip away, and I’ll do my best impression of a sandbag and let my weight drop. Saxon, being the teachable good kisser and the gentleman that I hope he is, will do his best to rescue me from the sudden precarious fall. I, of course, will have to sell it and make it seem like I’m about to plummet off a cliff instead of the four feet I would actually drop. But if I can execute this just right, Saxon will abandon his position on the stump to ensure I meet the ground safe and sound.
I tilt back a little more, making sure I set Saxon up to be as off-kilter as possible when I withdraw my magic in three...two…
Out of nowhere, I’m yanked away. My lips are abruptly stolen from Saxon’s searing attentions, my hold torn from around his neck. My body is separated from his so fast and so forcefully it takes me a moment to realize what’s happening.
What the hell?
A growl sounds off behind me, and it’s matched by an even more menacing snarl coming from Saxon as he fixes his golden gaze on whoever just fucked everything up for me.
“Interference on the play,” I shout out in objection as I try to wiggle free from whoever has a hold of me.
I can practically see the coveted jackalope antler slipping from my grasp, and I’m about to lay a serious lycan beatdown on whoever just got in my way. I expect to find a raging, jealous girl or even guy, frothing at the mouth, pissed maybe that I crossed a line. But what I’m not prepared for, when I finally wiggle enough to see who has a vise-like grip on my waist and a possessive snarl in their throat, is...Rogan.
I’m so floored to see him that my brain temporarily freezes, like the scene just doesn’t compute and therefore will not be processed by my gray matter. In my shock, I release my hold on the bone stairs, and they tumble down, but the commotion is completely ignored.
“What are you doing?” Saxon barks, stepping down from the stump and menacingly stalking forward as Rogan continues to pull me away.
“Does that count?” I shout out a little too frantically as I point toward the now vacant stump.
No one answers me.
“Witch emergency,” Rogan announces, turning and carrying me toward the stone border that surrounds the festivities.
Concern rips through my resentment, and I try to push out of Rogan’s hold and enlist the power of my own two feet, but he doesn’t let me go.
“Rogan, what the fuck?” I snap at him, my emotions buzzing inside of me like wild angry bees unsure of where to land.
The heat that was just building between Saxon and me sizzles and smokes dejectedly like someone just threw a bucket of water on the fire. I’m reeling from the want I was just simmering in, from the excitement and anticipation I was feeling as my plan came together. Disappointment pumps through me as everything takes an unexpected turn, but it’s trumped by the worry I feel over Rogan’s emergency announcement. My varying emotions are seasoned with a dash of pissed off because I’m still being carried away against my will, like some tantruming toddler at the grocery store.
Rogan doesn’t say a word, and his declaration of witch emergency has Saxon backing off as frustration-filled eyes watch our exit. We pass Riggs, who has a wide shit-eating grin on his face.
“He’s off the stump,” I declare pointing behind me, like a pouty child intent on getting someone else in trouble.
“He is, but who can say if you are the cause or if Rogan here is?” Riggs counters with a shrug as he drops the bones back into the neck of his shirt.
I want to scream noooo as I watch the antler being hidden away, but then I really will look like a tantruming toddler, so I bite back my objection. Warm tingles move from my center down my arms as I summon my magic and call on one of the camel leg bones that are now sitting in a pile in front of the stump. I’m about to take a page out of Rogan’s caveman book and club him with it until he puts me down. The bone shoots up over the crowd and streaks toward me. I hold my arm out, ready to wrap my fingers around the calcified shaft, but at the last minute Rogan’s free arm shoots out, and he catches it, keeping the weapon away from me and foiling another of my brilliant plans.
An irritated snarl vibrates up my throat, and more magic pours out of me as I try to rip the bone from his clutches, but oddly, it doesn’t so much as twitch in his palm. Abandoning the leg bone now trapped in Rogan’s crushing grip, I call on another bone from the stump ring. A mental image of Rogan and I sword fighting with camel bones flashes in my mind, and I suspect that the lycan onlookers will be down for the show.
“Stop messing around, Lennox,” Rogan huffs as we weave past the hustle and bustle of the lycan celebrations and move out in the direction of the parked car.
“Then put me down,” I snap at him, renewing my efforts to get out of his hold. “What’s the emergency anyway? Did Marx call? Did he find Nik Smelser?”
The chirp of a car being unlocked is the only answer I get be
fore Rogan opens a door and practically shoves me into the passenger seat. Wind teases the side of my face just as I furiously right myself. Jarringly, the door slams shut, sealing me inside of the car as Rogan stomps around to the driver’s side, climbing in with a slit-eyed glare aimed in my direction. With pursed, irritated lips, he presses the engine start button a little aggressively. His car purrs to life, and we peel away before I can get my tongue wrapped around the demanding questions in my head.
“What the fuck is going on?” I finally manage as we wind away from the festivities like we’re being chased. I look behind us, just to be sure that it’s not actually the case.
Rogan doesn’t answer.
“What about my order?” I object as we speed further and further away.
“It has already been loaded in the back,” he grumbles, and I snap my seat belt on and turn to fix him with a steely glare.
“Oh, so you can talk,” I growl as I do my best to heat the side of his face with the ire in my gaze. “What’s the emergency? Why did you just haul me away? You cost me a seriously precious and coveted bone, Rogan! What the hell are you doing?” I snap at him, once again reminded that those are words that would have never come out of my mouth a week ago.
“I’m doing?” he incredulously snaps back. “What the hell are you doing?”
“I was winning the coolest thing ever to add to the pouch of bones my line uses. I almost literally had it in the bag before you went and fucked it all up.”
“Had it in the bag? Is that what you call what you did back there? Because it looked more like a drunken make out than a winning move,” he states with rumbling disapproval.
I stare at him for a beat, trying to understand what the hell is going on here. He said it was a witch emergency, but every time I ask what the emergency is, he deflects.
“First of all, Rogan Kendrick, every move I make is a winning move. Secondly, tell me what the emergency is, right now, or I will slip ogre bone dust in everything you eat and drink. And before you dismiss that threat, my ancestors have a lovely recipe that will have you smelling to high heaven and parts of you limp as a cheap pickle spear,” I warn.
