by L. A. Boruff
I sigh and lean back in my chair. I should get some coffee. Maybe that will spur my brain into gear and help me connect my non-existent dots.
Getting to my feet, I pad out of the room and down the big staircase. I don't know the history of this house. It was a bargain to rent, but it's huge and has a grand air that I don't live up to. Yet. Maybe I will when I finally find a witch and get my life sorted. Turning into a cat could be fun sometimes, but otherwise, it's annoying and makes it pretty hard to be anything but a mess. At least the house came with the necessary tree near an upstairs window, so she can come and go as she pleases, whether I like it or not.
I switch on the coffee maker, hearing it make the familiar grinding sound I'm used to. I need to get another one, but every time I think about it, I'm busy making coffee and not in a position to do something about it, so I keep forgetting.
The doorbell rings, making me jump and bash my hip against the hard surface of the sink.
"Ow." I throw it a disapproving look. How dare it hurt me that way, I've never done anything to it that deserves such betrayal.
The bell rings again.
"Alright, alright, I'm coming," I mutter to no one in particular.
With a forlorn glance at my coffee maker, I head to the front, rubbing my hip. Depending on who is at the door, it could be anywhere between five minutes and an hour until I can have a cup.
I trundle towards my front door, a little on edge. No one in this town knows me, so no one should be coming to visit. Unless it's the witch who somehow discovered I saw her golem. That could be problematic.
Only one way to find out.
Taking a deep breath, I grip the handle, trying to still the shaking. I don't normally give in to nerves, but something is putting my hackles on edge.
Hmm. Maybe it's my cat-self being so on edge. Perhaps whoever is on the other side of the door is a dog person. That would explain it.
I pull the door open, knowing there's no other way around it.
"Hi, I'm Sugar." The woman I met earlier beams widely at me, not at all fazed by the fact I'm wearing a dressing gown and not much else.
"Hi. How can I help you?" I ask.
And what kind of name is Sugar? That’s not a very nice thought, but I find that I’m still annoyed by our meeting at the fire station. Who exactly was this woman to demand my name and try to keep me from getting myself out of an awkward situation?
"We're with the local fire department and wanted to make sure your alarm is in working order."
We? I hear a door slam, and my pulse speeds up. Their fire truck is parked out in front of the station. The guys I’d planned to avoid for a while are walking up my driveway at this very moment.
"I'm sure my alarm is fine." I stumble over the words, my eyes straying to the three gorgeous men walking into view—one of whom is the owner of the bed I woke up in. "Thanks for checking though."
I start to close the door, but her hand flies out and counters my actions. She's stronger than I expected, and the door ends up wide open.
"I must insist on us coming in. We wouldn't be doing our duty if we didn't check things ourselves." She smiles so sweetly that her name makes sense.
Or it’s ironic, given her pushy nature.
But I stand there, unable to think of a single thing to say.
Chapter Four
Will
When James and Hank said our neighbor was pretty, I wasn’t worried. I’ve met so many good-looking women that they’ve all sort of blended together. I figured the guys were acting like idiots because she’d shown up naked at the firehouse.
Now that I’m staring at her though, I’m not so sure.
This is Callie. Well, there’s something about her. Something that makes my blood heat and my vision swim. It takes everything inside of me not to let my flames out. And that’s kind of ridiculous because I never lose control of my powers.
The thing is, she’s not pretty, she’s drop-dead gorgeous. Her blonde hair is loose around her shoulders, framing a makeup-free face—not that she needs any. Her skin glows, soft and smooth against her pale pink lips. And her body? Hell, she has curves in all the right places. And the fact that she seems to be wearing nothing but a robe that hugs those curves? Well, I can’t seem to think about anything else except seeing what’s under that robe, and what she can do with that mouth of hers.
Instantly, my groin tightens, as if my fucking dick knows exactly what a pretty mouth like hers is capable of. And again, I’m kind of shocked. Yeah, it’s been a while since I was with a woman, but I shouldn’t be turning into a horny teenager.
"Uh, like I said, I don’t need my smoke alarms checked."
Her voice surprises me. I thought such a soft-looking woman would have a quiet little voice. But hers holds attitude, and a little bit of arrogance.
For a woman standing in nothing but a robe, I’ve got to say she has balls to face Sugar and the three of us without blinking an eye. Sugar gets things done because of her pushiness. I have a different tactic.
Moving past the guys, I make my way up the steps leading to her white-washed porch. With each movement, her gaze follows me, which is exactly what I want. I want her to see me. A big man in a tight uniform. A firefighter who can bring her to her knees and fulfill every single one of her fucking fantasies.
"Hi," I say.
She raises a brow. "Hi."
"I’m Will."
"How nice for you."
I stiffen. How nice for me? What the fuck? "Usually women like our house calls."
Immediately I get the sense that I’ve said the wrong thing.
"Listen," she says, drawing out the word. "I’m sure there are a lot of bored housewives in this town who sit at their windows and pray for you guys to come visit them and light up their world, but I’m afraid I’m not one of those women. I’ve got stuff to do, and you guys are nothing more than a distraction."
I move closer, leaning my arm on the side of her door. And yeah, she might be acting like I don’t do it for her, but her gaze roams the muscles on my arms before returning to meet my eyes.
"The sooner you let us in, the sooner we’ll be out of your hair."
She nibbles her lip, and again my fire races through my blood. I have the immediate instinct to move away from her like she’s the fucking gasoline to my match, but I grit my teeth, willing myself to stay in control.
No one affects me like this. Not anymore.
At least no one should.
"So I’m supposed to stop everything I’m doing so you can check my alarms?"
Sugar holds up a bag behind me. "And so we can put some alarms on your doors, you know, so you don’t end up naked at the firehouse again."
I’m satisfied when the little minx blushes. "Uh, yeah, that might be useful."
"So can we come in?"
She steps back and opens the door. "I’m only relenting because the alarms on the doors would be helpful."
We all hesitate.
"What are you, vampires who need an invitation to enter? Come in!"
I smirk. Vampires? Yeah, right. Vampires can go anywhere they fucking want, that whole invitation stuff is a load of crap. But I don’t say that to the pretty mortal. Instead, I flash her a smile and walk in.
The inside of the house looks the same as before old Mrs. Winters died. Only, all her simple, flowery furniture has been dusted off. Everything feels neat and cared for, probably for the first time since the old lady passed.
Somewhere in the back of my mind, I sense her ghost drifting around, and I know she’s happy. A kind spirit who stops by every once in a while to check on her new tenant. It says a lot about this woman, that the ghost likes her.
"I don’t know where the smoke alarms are, but you guys are welcome to mess with them," she says.
Then, completely ignoring us, she makes a beeline for the kitchen.
We all exchange a glance.
"I’ll change the batteries in the alarms," Sugar says. "You guys, be friendly." Then sh
e looks at me. "But not too friendly."
"I’ve talked to women before," I tell her, irritated.
"I know. I’ve heard you, that’s why I said it."
A snappy retort catches in my throat as Sugar bounds up the stairs, ready to tackle her new mission and probably snoop a little.
The three of us look at each other awkwardly for a minute, not sure if we should go into the kitchen.
James clears his throat. "I’ll go help Sugar."
Coward, I chide him silently, then watch as he heads up the stairs. But then I get the image of him in her bedroom. That guy’s always a little too smart for his own good.
"Now what?" Hank asks.
I hear Callie moan in the kitchen, and my dick hardens yet again. "You go help them upstairs, I’ll check out the kitchen."
"Are you kidding me?" Hank glares at me as he turns toward the doorway.
But I’m already heading for the kitchen when I call over my shoulder. "Or you can try to compete with me, and I'll be forced to tell her some precious childhood stories of you."
I’m not surprised when he doesn’t follow me into the kitchen.
The moment I enter the room, I catch a whiff of some kind of coffee. Something with hazelnut. Leaning against the counter, eyes closed, hands wrapped around a massive mug, is the woman I’ve been searching for.
I move closer to her, her pull impossible to ignore. How do I feel this connected to a stranger?
Her eyes flash open when I’ve nearly reached her, and the look of complete bliss fades from her face. "Did you need something?"
"I heard you moaning and wanted to see if you needed anything."
She smirks. "Not from you."
I glance down at her coffee. "Do you like everything extra large?"
Her smirk fades, and for a minute she looks a little dumbstruck before she glances away. "Actually, I like my coffee large and my men silent."
I can’t help myself, I laugh. I like this woman, she’s got fire in her.
Maybe she’d like a lot of my fire in her. I shake my head at my lame joke.
"So, Callie, what do you do for work?"
For a second she looks like she might not answer. Eventually, she sniffs and replies, "I’m a writer."
"Yeah? Write a lot of articles about shit no one cares about?"
Her whole spine snaps straight. "I get paid to do articles for various newspapers that are relevant and interesting. And I also have my own blog."
God, this fucking woman is even hotter when she’s mad. "Oh yeah, and what’s your blog about?"
She opens her mouth and snaps it closed as if arguing with herself about whether she should tell me.
I shrug. "It’s okay. You write boring shit. No one cares." Drawing a rise out of her is the best thing I’ve done all week.
"I do not write boring shit," she says, emphasizing each word. "I write about the paranormal world."
This time I'm the one to tense. Did she say the paranormal world?
Damn it, this can’t be good.
"Like sparkly vampires?" I throw her a dimpled smile. No sense in letting her see my unease.
Her eyes flash with a challenge. "No, about the things no one wants us talking about. The things that exist."
"Okay." What am I supposed to say to that? "And you came to this town because?"
"There are a lot of stories online about this area. Stories that lead me to think this is the kind of place that I’ve been looking for." With a challenging look on her face, she leans against the counter.
She has no idea how right she is. If she wants to learn about magical beings, there’s no better place. The only problem? The creatures here like their privacy, and if she starts snooping around, she might end up dead. "I’d be careful about putting your nose where it doesn’t belong."
"Is that a threat?" she asks, amazement on her face as she leans closer.
I’m transfixed by her deep blue eyes, lost in their depths. "No, sweetheart, it’s a warning. From a concerned citizen."
The fight seems to drain from her face. "Have you seen anything strange around here? Is that why you’re warning me?" She’s wary now instead of angry.
She doesn’t have a damn clue. To say this place is dangerous would be the understatement of the year. Of the century.
I choose my words carefully. "No, I’ve never seen sparkly vampires or leprechauns riding unicorns. All I'm saying is that the powerful people in this town have come here for a reason. To be left alone. So you might want to do that."
The fight returns to her gaze. "I’ve come here for a reason, and I’m not leaving until I find it."
"To write articles for your blog?"
I immediately know that isn’t why.
"Yes," she says, but she won’t meet my gaze.
"Or is it something a little more personal than that?"
The space between us closes, and the world rushes away. When I look into her eyes, I realize the truth. She is here about something personal. Something that’s hurt her.
Everything inside of me tenses and my chest aches. I know what it’s like to want justice, to want revenge. But those things only bring heartache and pain. If I can do anything to spare this mortal woman, this fragile creature, what I’ve gone through, I will.
"Callie, listen—"
"Is he bothering you?"
I almost curse as Hank comes strutting into the room.
She smiles. "We’re about done."
He returns her smile. "You’re smart; most women say that the day after."
I hate it when she laughs again. "And what do women say about you?" Her body language has turned from defensive to flirtatious.
Hank leans in closer. "They say they wished they’d met me first." He winks to drive his point home.
She laughs again, and I find myself irrationally angry. Hank is good at everything, but I’m good with women. So what? Now, he’s good at that too? He can’t have it all.
"Do you know how long Hank slept in his parent’s bed?" I ask, staring him down.
Hank shoots me a dirty look.
"How long?" Callie asks, but I can’t read her expression.
"Until he was ten years old."
I expect her to give me that pretty little laugh. Instead, she turns to Hank. "I think that’s sweet! You loved your parents, and they must have loved you a lot too."
He’s practically bursting with her praise. "Yeah, we’re a close family."
"Do they live around here?"
He nods toward me. "Both of our parents live in a neighborhood on the other side of town. But only a couple of my sisters still live in town."
"A couple? How many sisters do you have?"
Hank hesitates. "Four."
"Four!" She laughs. "No wonder you’re so good with women!"
His cheeks turn bright red.
James pops his head into the room. "Hank, Sugar needs your help upstairs."
Hank’s happiness fades. "Excuse me."
"No problem," Callie says.
James comes into the room looking nervous. "Uh, we met before."
She nods. "At the firehouse."
He clears his throat and looks at the floor. "When you were sleepwalking."
She has the good grace to blush. "Yeah, sorry about that."
"Do you sleepwalk a lot?" he asks, meeting her eyes.
She shrugs. "Yeah, I guess."
"Well." He sounds a little more confident. "It’s a good thing we showed up. I’d hate to think what could’ve happened if you’d woken up somewhere else."
Again, she blushes. "I guess that was lucky."
I don’t know why, but my irritation is growing. It’s like I’m on the outside looking in. Why does this woman only have jabs for me and laughter and blushes for the other guys?
"I’m going to go help Sugar," I say.
I must sound pretty pissed because they both look startled as I turn and head up the stairs.
When I reach the top, Sugar’s on a little step stool,
and Hank stands near her, watching. "I’ve gotten all the ones except the one in her bedroom," she says.
I don’t bother to answer her, I just grab a new battery from the bag and take off to her room.
The second I step inside, I freeze. This is the first space that looks modern, and I know it’s all Callie’s decorations. The room’s walls are lined with weird little items, and her bedding displays the moon in different stages.
Everything about it feels like an outsider who’s pieced together little items from our world. Like tourists visiting the Roswell crash site and picking up a dozen comically wrong items, and one or two that are scarily right. I move through her room, careful not to disturb anything, then use her computer chair to climb up and change the battery in her alarm.
When I step down, I glance at her desk and freeze. Next to her laptop is a crude drawing of a golem. And hell, it doesn’t look like the shit thing that most mortals imagine. It looks real.
I’d hate to think this woman might be stupid enough, or lucky enough, to stumble upon paranormal creatures, but I’m beginning to think it’s either one or the other. And that doesn’t bode well for her survival in this town.
The only people who might use a golem are the witches. And those crazy bitches are also the last creatures she’d want to get mixed up with.
Glancing toward the door, I look to make sure no one is coming up. Then, moving to her computer, I move the mouse to turn it on.
The face of Richard Cockburn pops up. He won the lottery a few years ago and got mixed up with some powerful magic.
Shit. Shit. Shit.
I’m one hundred percent certain that this Callie is nothing more than a human. But unfortunately for her, I was also pretty sure she was currently on the path to some very bad stuff.
We need to stop her before she dies for her ridiculously dumb blog or whatever personal revenge she thinks she might satisfy.
How the hell are we supposed to do that? I have a feeling this woman is as stubborn as she is beautiful. Even though that personality type might be a personal weakness for me, it could also be a deadly weakness for her.
