by I. T. Lucas
Emmett sounded a little anxious, and Eleanor debated whether to share her musings with him. Perhaps later. The topic was not really suitable for pillow-talk. Besides, they both needed a shower.
“If you are anxious about your performance, don’t be. It was perfect.”
He looked at her down his nose. “Anxious? Why would I be anxious? I’m an excellent lover.”
Eleanor stifled a chuckle. The Emmett she knew and loved was back.
Well, love was too strong of a word. She’d been burned one time too many to let herself fall into that trap again. She and Emmett could be friends, lovers, maybe even confidantes, but they weren’t in love, and they weren’t each other’s fated mates.
“Yes, you are.” She kissed the tip of his nose.
“I’m surprised none of your Guardian friends has come in with guns blazing. Did you strike a deal with them?”
She smiled. “What if I did?”
“Nothing. I just wondered how you pulled that off.”
“It wasn’t as difficult as we both imagined.” She pulled out of his arms. “Let’s get in the shower. I can’t put my clothes back on without washing first, and I still have a shift to finish.”
59
Cassandra
“Come on.” Onegus put his arm around Cassandra’s waist, his hand resting on her hip. “My mother has waited patiently for hours. She wants to meet you.”
“Can we do it tomorrow? I can barely walk. Besides, I have a hard time being pleasant when I’m sober. I’m afraid I’ll say something wrong.”
He stopped walking and turned to her. “I find your company very pleasant. I can’t imagine anyone thinking differently.”
The smile that bloomed on her face was way too big for the small compliment, but that was what alcohol did. Her mind was mostly fine, she was still as sharp as always, but maybe not as quick. Her body, on the other hand, was a different story. The movements of her legs and arms were too large and uncoordinated, her smiles were too broad, her frowns too pronounced, and she was probably too loud as well.
“You are so charming, Onegus.” She lifted her hand and cupped his cheek. “I could so easily fall in love with you. Are you going to break my heart?”
“No.” He smiled tightly. “Your heart is safe with me.”
“Promise?”
“I promise.” He resumed walking. “It’s the second table from Amanda’s. The blond with the curly hair is my mother. Her name is Martha.”
Cassandra narrowed her eyes to clear the blur, but it didn’t help. Martha still looked too young. Heck, she looked younger than Onegus. Perhaps it was time to see an optometrist. She’d been getting headaches lately, and it was probably from straining her eyes at work.
When they got closer, the woman rose to her feet and smiled. “Hello, Cassandra. I’m so glad to finally meet you.” She offered her a hand. “I’m Martha. Onegus’s mother.”
Her Scottish lilt was lovely, but there was no way she was his mother. Were they playing a joke on her?
“No, you’re not.” Cassandra shook the woman’s hand.
Martha was tall, and she was in heels, so they were more or less eye to eye, and Cassandra took a good look at the woman’s flawless, pretty face. There was not even one wrinkle, and nothing was sagging. Even if she had him as a teenager, Martha would have to be at least forty-five. Not that forty-five was old, and women that age might not have wrinkles or saggy jowls, but they didn’t look like pretty twenty-five-year-olds either.
“I assure you that I am.” Martha’s smile melted away, and she turned to Onegus. “A little help?”
Help?
With what?
“My mother had me when she was very young, and she takes good care of herself.” He smirked. “Like your mother. That’s yet another thing that we have in common.”
“I doubt that,” Martha said.
Cassandra’s forehead furrowed. “What do you mean?”
Martha shrugged. “I doubt that your mother is anything like me, or I like her.”
At her side, Onegus tensed, and his hand on her hip tightened. Was that a warning?
She brushed his hand off and struck a pose, shifting her body sideways and moving her right leg forward in a well-practiced modeling pose. “How would you know? You’ve just met me, and you don’t know my mother or me.”
Martha smiled tightly. “What I meant was that your mother and I grew up on different continents and in different cultures. It wasn’t a comment meant to reflect my opinion of you or your mother. I’m sure you are both lovely ladies. I just find Americans a little rough around the edges, a little too loud, and too casual in their dress and in their manners, and that includes members of my family who have moved here.”
Talk about a stuck-up Brit.
The sizzling energy crawling under Cassandra’s skin had been numbed by the alcohol, but the verbal sparring with Onegus’s mother had upped the voltage and cleared Cassandra’s head.
If Martha was anyone else, she would have torn into her, but the woman was Onegus’s mother, so she had to smile and act civil toward her.
“Well, I hope my mother and I will change your mind about Americans. Perhaps we could all meet for lunch.”
Geraldine could give any stuck-up Brit a run for her money, but with her memory problems and her made-up stories, Cassandra wasn’t sure that it was such a good idea. But she had to put it out there and hope that Martha would decline politely.
“I would like that very much.” Martha’s smile was genuine.
Onegus let out a breath.
What had he expected? That she would bite his mother’s head off?
“I was looking for you.” Nick swaggered over with a large wine glass in his hand. “There is a punch bowl the size of a witch’s cauldron in the antechamber, and it’s the best I’ve ever had. It’s made with lots of fine whiskeys. You have to try it.” He took a swig from his drink and smacked his lips. “Delicious.”
The young girl Cassandra had seen on the platform walked up to Nick. “Can I have some?”
“You’re not old enough, sprite.” He patted her arm. “Next year.”
She laughed. “I’m not going to be old enough by then either.” She moved closer to Cassandra. “Hi, I’m Lisa.” She extended her hand.
“Nice to meet you.” Cassandra shook it. “I’m Cassandra.”
“I know.” Lisa smiled, turned to Onegus, and gave him the thumbs up.
Cassandra rolled her eyes. Had the kid just given her the stamp of approval?
Well, at least there was that.
“When does the dancing portion of the evening start?” Martha asked.
“Given the change in music,” Onegus said. “It’s about to begin.”
About a third of the chairs were vacant, but since no one was on the dance floor yet, Cassandra figured they were congregating in the antechamber and drinking punch. Damn Scots and their iron bellies. How could they drink so much and remain standing?
“Let’s go.” Martha threaded her arm through Nick’s. “Lead the way to that punch, young man.”
“I’m Nick,” he said. “Ruth’s mate.”
“I know.” Martha patted his arm. “Rumors about love matches spread fast through the clan, and they even jump over the ocean.”
Love matches? Was there any other kind?
Well, duh. These people were rich. They probably married to make alliances with other rich people, either financial or political.
Cassandra did her best to walk properly, putting one stiletto-clad foot in front of the other. Despite having a somewhat clearer head, her body was still a little wobbly, and what was even worse, the current inside her was crackling like static electricity.
Holding it in would have been difficult under normal circumstances, doing so when her control was tentative required teeth gritting.
The damn static had been building despite her best efforts to tamp it down. Several petty annoyances had combined to create a volatile mixture that needed an ou
tlet. She shouldn’t have allowed it to build up like that, should have released it in small bursts, but it was too late for that.
Cassandra had to find a proper outlet and release it before she hurt someone. The problem was that a glass or a vase wouldn’t be enough this time. She needed something that could absorb much more than her usual small blasts.
Perhaps she could excuse herself and go to the bathroom. Maybe a porcelain commode would do, or a large mirror. She would cause property damage, but at least no one would get hurt.
60
Onegus
That hadn’t gone well.
Onegus should have known that his mother’s strong personality would clash with Cassandra’s.
It was ironic that he’d chosen a woman so similar in character to his mother. They were both alpha females, and therefore bound to lock horns. As a kid, he’d resented Martha’s strictness, her haughty attitude, and her insistence on good manners. It hadn’t been easy growing up as her son, but he had to admit that the things she’d instilled in him had served him well.
If not for his strict upbringing, he wouldn’t have such strong self-control, the discipline that had helped him become Chief Guardian, and the manners that made him such a good stand-in for Kian.
In fact, compared to him, Kian was a brute.
But Kian was like that despite Annani’s upbringing, not because of it. The Clan Mother hadn’t been lenient with her sons or her older daughters. The only one who could get away with murder had been Amanda, who early on had figured out how to manipulate her mother and get anything she wanted.
“That’s indeed a huge punch bowl.” Martha stopped a good distance away from it. “I wonder what’s in it.”
“Lots of whiskey,” Nick said. “But also champagne, orange juice, cranberry juice, some bitters, and cinnamon.” He took another sip. “Maybe rum too.”
“Sounds delicious.” Martha eyed the long line. “Why is everyone here? The bar has plenty of other drinks.”
“I don’t know.” Nick shrugged. “Maybe Gerard put something else in it that makes everyone crave it.”
“Like what?” Cassandra asked.
“Magic.” Nick snorted. “Although knowing that prick, it’s something wicked.” He let go of Martha’s arm. “I need to find Ruth. She gets stressed in large crowds.”
“Isn’t she with Sylvia and Roni?” Cassandra leaned on Onegus’s shoulder.
“Yeah, but it’s not the same.” Nick winked. “I’m her guy.” He sauntered away without refilling his goblet.
“Are you okay?” Onegus asked quietly.
“My head's spinning.” She looked up at him. “Can you point me in the direction of the lady’s room?”
“I’ll escort you.” He was afraid she wouldn’t make it.
“I can find it myself. It’s not like you can go in with me.”
“I can come with you,” Martha offered. “You seem unsteady on your feet. How much have you drunk?”
Cassandra’s energy surged, so much so that Onegus felt it sizzling against his arm.
“I lost count of how many drinks your son and his cousins kept pushing at me, but I assure you that I can get to the bathroom with no assistance from you or Onegus.”
A clueless server stuck a tray with goblets full of punch in front of them. “Enjoy,” he encouraged them to partake.
To Onegus’s surprise, Cassandra took a goblet, and with a challenge in her eyes, brought it to her lips. “Nick said we have to try it.”
“Indeed.” Martha took another one.
“Well, I guess I have to taste it too.” Onegus lifted the third. “Cheers.” He clinked his glass with Cassandra’s and then with his mother’s.
“To many happy occasions,” Martha said before drinking up.
“To the happy couple.” Cassandra brought the glass to her lips.
She was still sipping on it when a guy backed into her to let a server through. The punch splashed over her face, not much of it, but enough to drip down her neck and into the neckline of her one-shouldered dress.
“Fruck,” Cassandra cursed.
Thankful that she hadn’t said fuck, Onegus took the goblet from her hand and waved a waiter over. “We need napkins.”
“I’m so sorry,” the offender apologized. He was one of the young Scots, and Onegus couldn’t recall his name.
“I’ll get you some napkins.” He rushed off.
“Here.” His mother pulled a handkerchief out of her small purse and handed it to Cassandra.
The waiter arrived at the same moment and handed her a stack of paper napkins.
“Thanks,” Cassandra said to both and started patting at her neck and face. “The dress is ruined. Those stains are never going to come out.”
“It’s black, dear,” Martha said. “No one is going to see the stains. You just need to fix your face.” She took one of the paper napkins and lifted her hand. “You’re covered with red and purple splotches.”
Cassandra stayed her hand. “A napkin is not going to cut it. I’m sticky. I need to wash it off.” She looked down at her cleavage and the sticky marks left by the punch.
“I’ll take you to the restroom.” Onegus put his hand on the small of her back.
He could take her to his office and let her use his private bathroom. She could take the dress off and shower if she wanted.
As the image of her standing naked in his shower flashed in his mind, he instantly hardened, a most inappropriate response given the situation. Cassandra was upset, his mother was standing right next to him, and people were watching them, curious about the commotion.
61
Cassandra
“I’ll take you to the restroom.” Onegus put his large hand on the small of her back.
Martha sneered. “Should we say our goodbyes now? I doubt the two of you will be back anytime soon.”
From anyone else, Cassandra would have thought nothing of the suggestive remark, but coming from Onegus’s mother, the woman who thought she was so prim and proper, it was annoying as hell.
Just another spark to ignite her barely contained energy.
She wished Onegus would hurry up and guide her to the bathroom, hopefully a private one.
His lips thinned for a brief moment, but then he smiled, and Cassandra realized that his charm was just one more weapon in his arsenal. It wasn’t innate. It was practiced.
“I wish I could call it a night, Mother, but I need to be here to ensure all the guests get back to their respective lodgings safely.”
“Of course.” Martha smiled. “If you don’t mind, I’ll accompany you both to the ladies’ room. I need to powder my nose as well.”
Freaking great. That was the last thing Cassandra needed. How was she going to release the energy with Onegus’s mother there? The one who had fueled it? If Martha was nearby, she would be like a magnet for it, and with how much Cassandra was packing, she would strike the woman dead on the spot.
“I’m going to take Cassandra to my old office. I have a private bathroom in there.”
“Oh, well.” Martha smirked knowingly. “Just be quick about it. I’m going to powder my nose and then join my friends on the dance floor.” She sauntered away on her high heels, her curly, nearly white, blond hair swishing over her bare back, just skimming the top of her tight ass.
The woman was movie-star beautiful, and she was rich. No wonder she had a haughty attitude.
By now, the antechamber had partially emptied, with only a few people standing next to the tall round tables, chatting and sipping on their punch or coffee, some eating desserts on small plates. A server hovered nearby, collecting dirty cups, glasses, plates and used napkins.
“Thank you for the save.” Cassandra smiled tightly.
Onegus arched a brow. “Save from what?”
Was he playing dumb? Or was he that clueless?
“Your mother. She’s a bit much.”
“I don’t know what you’re talking about. Other than that comment about American
s being uncouth, for which she apologized, she’s been perfectly pleasant.” He smiled sheepishly. “Or as pleasant as my mother can manage to be. She was doing her best.”
If not for Cassandra’s already elevated agitation, the tag-on at the end would have redeemed Onegus, but it was too little too late.
She could practically feel the last clamp holding her energy from erupting disintegrate. She was about to explode, and she needed a receptacle for the energy—preferably a sizable container, but there was no potted plant or statue in sight, not even one damn window.
Turning around, she had only enough time to focus her eyes on the punch bowl before the current zapped out of her with a force that had her staggering backward.
The bowl cracked, the thick glass holding up for a split second, and then it burst, big blue glass shards breaking off it and liquid spilling on the floor.
As before, Onegus shoved her behind his back, but this time they weren’t close enough for the glass to hit him, or maybe the heavy weight of the thick glass had prevented it from getting airborne.
The disaster area was contained to the vicinity of the punch bowl, and the only one who got splattered was the poor server.
It didn’t take more than a couple of seconds for a veritable army of broad-backed males to rush into the antechamber, Onegus’s security team no doubt. Apart from their hard faces and muscled bodies, there was nothing to identify them as such. They were all wearing tuxedos and had run out of the ballroom, but the way their eyes quickly assessed the situation betrayed them as trained guards.
“How did that happen, boss?” One of them pushed a larger shard with his shoe toward the epicenter.
In the aftermath of the explosion, Cassandra felt faint, the blast emptying the excess energy together with what she needed to keep going. She held on to Onegus, her hand fisting the back of his tuxedo for support.
“No clue.” Onegus wrapped his arm around her waist, propping her up. “I heard it crack, and then it just burst. I assume there was a flaw in the glass.”
