by T. S. Ryder
He waited, but she couldn't figure out what she wanted to say so, she just shrugged. She rubbed the back of her neck, which prickled uncomfortably.
Wait.
She stiffened suddenly. Jerking away from Baxter she swore fluently and rushed for her coat.
"What is it?"
"The security spells at the gallery were tripped!" She swore again, shoving her feet into her boots. How long had it been going? How could she not notice before?
Because I was so distracted and tired. Or it had just happened.
When she stepped outside she saw a thick layer of frost sticking to the car windows, so she rushed back in, grabbing her dollar store flying broom. It was really too cold out for broomsticks, but this was an emergency.
Baxter opened his mouth to protest, but Piper pushed off, quickly gaining altitude so she flew over the buildings. The wind bit through her coat and her ears soon numbed. With one hand she pulled her blue and purple hair over her freezing cheeks, attempting to stay warm.
She was at the gallery in a matter of seconds and as she landed, her heart sunk. The large front window had been smashed, shards of glass everywhere, the metal grating Baxter had installed blown open. Somebody had used a powerful hex to get inside.
Piper rushed in, digging into her pants pocket for her cell phone.
She'd been so sure that her magical security system would be enough to stop anybody from breaking into the gallery, that she had been reluctant to spend cash she didn't have on a non-magical system. They were so easily disrupted and didn't prevent people from entering. The magical security system was meant to keep out everything and everybody except for her when the gallery was closed. Obviously, it hadn't worked.
Baxter arrived just after Piper phoned the police to report the break-in. He rushed to her side and wrapped his arms around her.
"This always happens," Piper seethed, pushing him away. She was in no mood for physical contact right now. "As soon as I get a break, something terrible happens. I really need to go to a magi and see if I'm hexed. I've been saying it for years but this time, I'm actually going to do it!"
"Go get your inventory list so we can see what's missing," Baxter said calmly.
Piper shook her head–of course. She was so distraught that she didn't even think about checking inventory. It was one of the reasons she loved Baxter. While she was getting emotional and certain that she was hexed, he focused on the more practical side of things. He was always there to keep her grounded.
By the time the police showed up, Piper had gone through the inventory both in the front and back of the shop.
"Nothing's missing," she told the police, leaning against Baxter as relief coursed through her. "It's just the damage to the storefront."
"Probably some out of towners mad that their team lost in the Wolf League," the police officer, Anna Johnson, a bulky, tall Werewolf, said, jotting down something on a notepad.
"As if I have another reason to hate hockey," Piper muttered.
Johnson chuckled. "I wouldn't say that too loudly or else the locals will come after you, too. You're in Canada, after all. Hockey's our biggest religion. If I didn't know you were born and raised here, I'd swear you were a foreigner. But rumor has it that Patrick Giles wants the two of you for a trois amour."
Piper flushed at the expectant look that Johnson gave her, but Baxter nodded proudly.
"Are you planning a wedding, or will you keep it to a private mating ceremony?"
"Aren't you supposed to be policing, not gossiping?" Piper interrupted. "We're not certain we're going to have a trois amour."
Johnson shrugged. "There weren't any usable scents and the magic is your basic garden variety. No special prints on it."
"That seems a little too well planned for a drunk angry person," Piper frowned. "You have to go through like five steps to scrub your prints from magic."
"We'll make sure to put a patrol on every hour after it gets dark to this area, just in case," Johnson said. "In the meantime, I suggest that you get this cleaned up and ready to open for business. The town's rumor mill will be producing a lot of curious folks to come see the witch that Patrick Giles has his eye set on."
"Thank you," Baxter said.
Piper blushed.
***
Baxter ran out for some fixit spray before he had to go to work while Piper swept up the shards of glass. The heating system was working overtime, which was going to end up in a high bill, but at least there hadn't been a wind or anything to knock the pieces around.
I just got ten thousand dollars. I'll have some leftovers, maybe enough to get that rattle in the car fixed.
When Wragge stepped onto the street from his stupid convertible corvette, Piper groaned. He looked at the damage to her gallery with an expression that was far too innocent.
Piper frowned as he came closer. Could he have something to do with what had happened here last night? He wasn't the best of neighbors, but would he really stoop so low?
"Miss Diamond," he greeted, deliberately walking through the pile of debris she had swept up. "It looks like you had some trouble last night."
"Nothing I can't handle," she replied through gritted teeth. "We're not open, so could you—"
"I hope nothing of value was taken?"
Piper sighed and shook her head. "Just some vandalism."
"Oh, good. I am glad to hear that," Wragge smiled, his gaze sweeping from one end of the shop to the other. "What luck that they'd only take that hideous amateur piece that you insisted on keeping behind the register."
Piper's face drained of color. She whirled around and found he was right. The wall behind the register was empty. Piper's heart leaped to her throat and she ran across the gallery. Maybe it had just fallen, or…
There was no sight of it. Her eyes filled with tears. How could she have been so worried about everything, and not even notice that it was missing?
It was a painting of the view looking down at an apple tree from a window. Her mother had painted it, showing the view she saw every day from her hospital bed as cancer slowly drained her life away.
"I never understood why you kept it around," Wragge continued. "It was a worthless, amateurish—"
Piper whirled on her heel throwing out both her hands towards Wragge. "Purpura informos!"
She grinned as large purple pustules broke out over Wragge's skin. He yelped, waving his hands around and trying various anti-hex wards. Piper laughed.
"It's a hex of my own design," she told him. "I'll take it off if you tell me what you've done with my mother's painting!"
***
"Mr. Wragge agreed not to press charges, given the circumstances," Officer Johnson said as she let Piper out of the community jail cell. "But you can't go around hexing people for being rude to you."
"He's the one who broke into my gallery," Piper insisted, as she had for the last several hours.
"He was at home celebrating the Wolf League's run of luck. We have dozens of witnesses backing him up."
Piper scowled as she collected her belongings. If Wragge didn't do it himself, he had hired somebody else to do it. She didn't speak as she was lead out of the station. Baxter waited for her and gave her a relieved hug.
"I've fixed the damage at the gallery," he told her as they headed for the car. "And I went out and bought a new security system. You're a good witch, but this one is magic and non-magic. It will protect the store better."
"Thank you," Piper whispered, slumping into the passenger seat. She didn't want to talk right now.
"I'm going to find your mother's painting. I'm going to get it back for you."
Piper nodded, not saying what was on her mind. Thor Wragge had stolen it. He was a powerful warlock and crafty enough to know that the more valuable pieces had stronger security around them. She'd never thought somebody would want to steal her mother's painting. In all likelihood, Wragge would have destroyed it by now.
I'm going to prove he did it. Somehow. And then he'll be sorr
y.
Chapter Four
Piper crushed nutmeg and foxtail in a mortar, using the rhythmic pounding of the pestle to calm the anger that still burned inside her.
She was above the gallery in her studio while Baxter watched the downstairs. It was his day off at his own job, but he insisted that he wanted to give her time to paint today and took a shift at the gallery.
Piper loved to mix paints with her special blend of herbs that magically enhanced the vividness of the painting and protected them from everything, from bugs to water. To her, this was always soothing. The sweet, tangy scent of her mixture was already helping her shoulders relax. Given how grouchy she had been the last couple days, no wonder Baxter wanted her to paint.
She added the nutmeg and foxtail to her other ingredients: sage, witch hazel, mussel shell, and fairy wings–fair trade, of course. She only bought wings that had been naturally discarded and sold by the fairies. Fairies shed wings the way humans clipped their fingernails, but there were still some ruthless people out there that cut off fairy wings for a quicker profit.
Wragge probably buys bulk like that, she thought, the calming atmosphere of mixing paints evaporating in a second. She blew out an annoyed breath and dumped all the ingredients into a blender, liquefying them.
Just as she was adding a teaspoon of the mix into the paint she was going to be using for this picture, Baxter entered. He had been just as stressed and on edge as she had been since the break-in two days ago. Now his shoulders were relaxed and his face wasn't so pinched and worried.
"Patrick's here. He wants to talk to you. Should I send him up?"
Her studio was almost as intimate to her as a bedroom. Scattered around the room were various canvases that were in various states of being finished. She didn't let anybody but Baxter see them. They were too precious to her.
"I'll come down." She capped her paints and potion before she hurried downstairs, Baxter following after her.
Patrick was wearing a leather jacket that emphasized the broadness of his shoulders. Baxter was decently muscled, but he looked like pre-spider-bite Peter Parker next to Patrick's Hulk. The man was pure muscle head to toe. Blue jeans hugged the sculpted curves of his tight ass and there was a sizable bulge at the front that had Piper blushing.
Who wants to cuddle someone as hard as a rock? She tried to convince herself that there wasn't a very large part of herself that wanted to do this whole trois amour thing right now.
But she was not ruled by her hormones, dammit. She wasn't going to commit to something that she'd want out of at some point. It would be cruel to both of the Werewolves if she agreed without being completely certain she would last a lifetime.
"Are you okay?" Patrick asked the instant he saw her.
Piper's brow furrowed and she turned to Baxter. "You told him."
Baxter shrugged, looking slightly abashed.
"If I find the person who did this I'll rip his freaking head off," Patrick snarled.
Piper frowned at him and she folded her arms. "Not that I don't appreciate the sentiment, especially if it's Thor Wragge, but we've got to be really clear about one thing. I can handle my own revenge. If you find the person who did this, you bring him to me so I can rip his freaking head off."
Patrick's eyes widened briefly but he laughed and ran a hand through his brown hair. "You're a feisty one. No wonder the Beta was drawn to you."
"Baxter. His name is Baxter."
Her mate put an arm around her waist. "Pip, I don't mind being called 'the Beta'. I actually kind of like it. Makes me feel like those fighting fish. You know, pretty and deadly."
He waggled his eyebrows and Piper laughed. She turned back to Patrick, who stared at the two of them with a look of frustration and desire. His shoulders had gotten even tighter and he shoved his hands into his jeans pockets and gave them both a sheepish grin.
"God, I want to kiss you so bad right now."
Piper flushed. "I think we need to get to know each other better before that's even a possibility. No sooner than the third date at least."
Baxter sighed in frustration, but luckily he said nothing.
The other Werewolf nodded slowly. "In that case—"
"Actually," Piper interrupted, and her heartbeat started going crazy. Both Werewolves watched her, with hope she thought, but she just couldn't figure out how exactly to say what she was wanting to know. Ah, hell. Might as well just come right out and say it. "So the three of us—"
The tinkling bells of a customer entering the shop interrupted her. Piper ground her teeth in frustration. Officer Johnson's prediction that the gallery would have an increase in customers because of Patrick's attention towards her and Baxter had certainly come true, although there had been only a slight bump in sales. Still, it was better than nothing.
But the man who had just entered wasn't actually a customer. All the bubbling rage that she had been fighting to get rid of, hit her with a vengeance. She tore herself from Baxter's arms, marching towards Thor Wragge.
"What are you doing here?" she seethed.
Wragge rose one of his thick, bushy eyebrows. "Perhaps I am interested in buying something."
Piper laughed.
"All right, if that's the way you want to do this," Wragge sighed dramatically. "I actually came over to clear the air between us. I am sorry your mother's painting got stolen. I had nothing to do with it, but I understand how upset you were the other day and I forgive you for your little hex."
Little hex?
Piper's hands clenched. The only thing more offensive to the witch than insulting her painting was insulting her magic. She had graduated with top marks in magic at school and had even gotten a scholarship to the college up in Calgary. There was nothing “little” about her hexes!
She opened her mouth to speak when a low growl sounded behind her. She felt Baxter and Patrick step up behind her, flanking her. Patrick was the one growling, his voice rumbling like thunder. There was something very, very sexy about the possessive way he put his arm around her waist, letting the vibrations from his chest flow into her and she held her breath, willing herself to stay calm.
"I think you should leave," Patrick rumbled.
Wragge stared at the giant center forward with a flummoxed expression. "Aren't you Patrick Giles, the center forward for the Uphoria Wolf team?"
"I am. And as I said, I think you should leave."
Wragge glanced from him to Piper to Baxter back to Patrick. He seemed unable to take in what was happening and Piper could almost see the thoughts exploding from his head.
Why would Patrick Giles–the man who could have any girl he wanted in this town–have his arm around the waist of short, pudgy Piper Diamond? What was so special about her?
What was so special about her? Piper was distracted from Wragge for a second. Why had Patrick chosen her and Baxter to have his trois amour with? Was it because Baxter was at every game? Was it because he really liked her art? Why?
"I can see my attempts to extend the olive branch were in vain," Wragge said, sniffing. "Good-day."
"Thanks," Piper muttered to Patrick as Baxter slipped an arm around her waist, resting atop of the other Werewolf's. It felt so… right. But also heavy and full of responsibility. She pulled away. "I think we need to just move on from that break-in. As much as I'd like to destroy that… warlock for it, I don't even know if he was the one to do it. He has witnesses that put him at some party."
Baxter snarled. "Doesn't mean he didn't pay some—"
"Speculation," Piper interrupted. "We have a better security system now, the window is fixed, everything is fine. Let's just forget about it. The cops are probably right, it was probably some out of towner mad that their team lost so spectacularly during the Blue Moon."
It took effort, but she wrenched her mind away from what she'd actually like to do to Wragge to get him to confess. Instead, she smiled at Patrick, hoping it was a polite and not a flirty smile. "Was there a reason you stopped by?"
P
atrick still glared at the door, but he nodded and tore his eyes from it. "The final game of the season is in a couple of days and I claimed some tickets for you two. Right against the rink so you can see every bloody detail."
"Oh," Piper's heart sank but she tried to keep her voice upbeat. "Thanks. That would be great."
The last thing she wanted with the break-in and her mother's painting being stolen, was to go watch a bunch of people beat each other up while slapping a disc of rubber around. Maybe she could claim a headache when the time came and send Baxter alone. Her mate chuckled, burrowing his face into her neck.
"I can see exactly what you're thinking," he said, then grinned over at Patrick with an apologetic look. "Piper actually kinda hates hockey."
Piper's face went red. "Baxter!"
"Really?" Patrick's eyes widened.
"I don't hate it. I just don't enjoy it. Or the town when the hockey season is on…" She bit her lip. "Sorry."
Patrick still seemed stunned. He shook his head. "Crazy witch. How can you not love hockey? Never mind, I don't want this to turn into a fight." He pressed a hand to his heart and inhaled deeply. "But if you're not coming to the game, then we're going for a date tomorrow. I'll pick the two of you up at six."
Chapter Five
Piper stared at her hair in the mirror, uncertain what she should do with it. She loved the way the blue and purple streaks looked against her skin, but her normal, everyday style of slicking it back seemed too masculine for this. Its natural curl frizzed around her face, and she grabbed some frizz-be-gone and smoothed it into her locks. The magic substance instantly coiled the flyaway strands into tight corkscrews.
"I love it when you wear your hair like that," Baxter said, stepping into the bathroom behind her.
He was already dressed in a smart suit, and his gaze ran across the matching red bra and thong Piper had elected to wear. Her breasts spilled from the lace cups, ramping up her cleavage, and though she normally hated thongs, she wanted to feel extra sexy tonight.
"Piper!" Baxter whistled. "The fancy underwear tonight, huh? Are you hoping that we get lucky?"
