Logan tried, but he wasn’t sure he’d be able to pick the guy out of a lineup. “I’ll try my best.”
Silas nodded, folding up the file and putting it away. “Thanks, man. His last known alias was Mark Gray, but his name is as shifty as his appearance. You see anything suspicious, anything at all, call me.”
“Will do.”
“Thanks.”
“Hey, how are things with Soleil? You work up the courage to ask her to marry you yet?”
Silas frowned. “Unfortunately, Soleil didn’t like that plan. She broke up with me.”
“Oh, fuck.” Logan ran both hands through his hair. “I’m sorry if it’s a sore spot. I had no idea.”
Silas lifted a shoulder toward his ear, then let it drop abruptly. “Easy come. Easy go. Cross-species romances never last. Hey, speaking of cross-species romances, whatever happened with that little redheaded witch you were flirting with at Grateful’s wedding?”
Logan leaned back in his chair and folded his arms. “You just said cross-species romances never work. What do you think happened?”
A crooked smile spread across the werewolf’s face. “I thought you two had a spark.”
“Witches don’t like humans, Silas. You should know this. And to be honest, I’ve had enough of witches to last a lifetime.” He didn’t mention the hard-on she’d given him on his balcony or the way her hand had felt under his at his Halloween party. The soft, smooth length of her arm flashed in his mind, the waves of her red hair, her impossibly sapphire eyes. Suddenly, he was thankful to be sitting behind the large mahogany desk.
Silas snorted. “Hmm. I guess I called that one wrong.” He scratched the stubble on his jaw. The guy was always sporting a five o’clock shadow, even at noon. “Have you ever thought about getting a dog?”
Logan laughed. “The last thing I need is a dog.”
“Dogs are family, Logan. You need family. A dog would be there for you. You spend too much time alone.”
Logan rolled his eyes. “I’m not always alone. I have friends and the restaurant. I go on dates.”
“When? When was your last date?”
Logan shrugged. The last he could remember was Tabetha. Not something he wanted to get into.
“Thought so. Just promise me you’ll think about the dog.” Silas scratched behind his ear.
“I promise.” Logan composed himself and stood. “I should get back. I’ll show you out.” He ushered his friend to the front door of the busy restaurant.
“We still on for the mission?” Silas asked.
Logan lowered his voice. “I never miss it.” He hadn’t missed volunteering at the mission on Thanksgiving since the year after his mother died.
The werewolf waved two fingers before climbing into his unmarked. On his way back to the kitchen, Logan slapped the bar to get Dustin’s attention. “Vodka and tonic.”
“You drinking on the job, boss?” Dustin asked, double-handing the bar guns to mix the drink.
“I am tonight.” Logan chugged the drink, the empty hitting the bar harder than necessary. He returned to the kitchen, his mind filled with memories of one little redheaded witch.
Chapter Six
The Date
“Wow, so you own this place, huh?” The woman Logan ushered into his penthouse looked around with wide eyes. She dropped her purse on the sofa and walked to the wall of windows overlooking Carlton City. The view was spectacular this time of year. All Christmas lights and swags of evergreen. A sure bet to put her in the mood. Snow cut through the ambient light from the city beyond, adding to the effect.
His date was named Mindy, or maybe it was Mandy. He remembered an “M” name. The fact that they’d made it back to his place without him knowing for sure was a good indication of how the date was going. Oh, they’d talked, or rather she had, about movies and her nails, and the great state of California where she was originally from. He’d tuned most of it out.
“Yeah. I’ve lived here almost six years now,” Logan said.
“Fuck. Valentine’s must be doing well. This place is the bomb.”
Logan cringed. It was the fourth or fifth time she’d made a comment about his assumed wealth. Did she want a bank statement? “I’ve got no complaints. What do you do?” He didn’t actually care and really hoped she hadn’t already told him.
“Didn’t my cousin tell you?” Her cousin was Dustin, Logan’s assistant manager and the orchestrator of this date. Dustin had mentioned little about Mandy aside from saying she was new in town and had large breasts. Strange thing to say about a cousin, but Logan had to admit it was her most noteworthy feature. Along with her jet-black hair and gigantic mascaraed brown eyes, it was probably the way he’d describe her to someone who asked.
“He said you were new in town.”
“That’s right. I’ve already got a job though. I’m working at Teasers.”
“The strip club?” Logan tried to sound neutral, but even he could hear the disdain in his voice.
She laughed. “It’s not what you think.” She brushed her hair back from her shoulder. “I’m not a stripper or anything. I’m a bartender.”
Logan nodded. “Must be doing well,” he quipped, echoing her earlier comment.
The smile faded from her face, and her eyes shifted to the side. “Sometimes.” She shrugged one shoulder.
“Would you like a drink?”
“Sure. What do you have?”
Logan walked to the kitchen and opened the wine fridge. “Just about anything. What are you in the mood for?”
“Tequila?”
He closed the fridge, laughing under his breath.
“What’s so funny?” Mandy asked.
“Nothing.” He reached above his head to the cabinet where he kept the hard liquor. “You’re just so human.”
“What else would I be? Is human a bad thing?”
He retrieved two shot glasses and turned to face her. “Nah. It’s a very good thing.”
She batted her eyelashes and leaned across the granite island. “Oh.”
He poured the tequila. “Salt and lime?”
“Don’t bother.” She popped the shot glass off the counter, tossed the contents to the back of her throat, and swallowed. She might as well have been drinking Kool-Aid.
Not just a bartender, a drinker. The thought wasn’t flattering. Logan raised his own shot, gave her a mock salute, and drank it down. By the time he lowered the glass, she’d rounded the island and pressed in close, very close.
“I love tequila,” she said. “You can feel the heat travel straight to your toes… and other places.”
Her nipples were hard and she pressed them into his chest. Her full, red lips hovered next to his. Instead of touching her, he rested his hands on the counter behind him. She had to straddle his legs to move closer. Her hands gripped the sides of his shirt and pulled. Their lips met. His stayed closed. When she pulled back, she seemed confused.
“What’s wrong?” she asked. “You don’t have to worry. I’m on the pill.” She pulled his shirt out of his pants and reached for his belt.
There was a time when younger Logan would have enjoyed a girl like Mandy. She was a walking fuck-me doll, ready and willing. But her hair, nails, the way she dressed… high-maintenance. No long-term potential. At thirty-three years old, he didn’t want an easy fling anymore. He wanted something real. As her hand slipped into his fly, he decided she wasn’t it.
“Mandy,” he said.
She froze, pulled back. “Who’s Mandy?”
Heat crept up Logan’s neck to his ears. “Mindy?” He turned one palm upward.
Slap. Her hand connected with his cheek. “It’s Jade, you asshole!”
He frowned and rubbed his face.
Jade. Huh. Seemed like he’d remember that one. “Um, sorry. I, uh, I’ll walk you out.” He crossed to the sofa and held out her purse to her.
Tipping her head to the side, she pouted. “I can tell it was an honest mistake. We can still have sex if you wan
t.”
He stared at her tight leather skirt, stiletto heels, and scoop-neck shirt. She was ready and willing, and he couldn’t have cared less. “No… thank you?” The words came out like a question, as if he was asking her permission not to have sex with her. The awkwardness twisted his lip up and raised his eyebrow.
“Fucking bastard.” She ripped her purse out of his hands and stormed out the door.
He followed her, feeling oddly as if he should apologize for not using her like she wanted him to be used. He watched through his door as she got onto the elevator. She flipped him the finger.
“Good night, Mandy,” he yelled. The doors closed on her curse.
* * *
Alone in bed, Logan stared at the ceiling and wondered why he couldn’t get Polina out of his head. His latest dating disaster with Dustin’s cousin was just one more example. The last woman he’d been with had been the wicked witch Tabetha. She’d traumatized him seven ways ‘till Sunday, and what did he do? Nurse a crush on another witch. What the hell was he thinking?
That’s what it was. The trauma. People often displaced strong emotions. His revulsion of Tabetha was turning into attraction to Polina. Nothing a therapist or some self-help books couldn’t cure. He’d had unresolved crushes before. This was no different. He closed his eyes, determined to fall asleep, and forced his brain to go blank. Eventually, it worked; sleep swept over him.
“Are you looking for me?” Polina’s face appeared above his, her red waves cascading over her shoulder and tickling his cheek. The sun shone behind her head like a halo.
He’d been transported to the rocky shores of an Oregon beach. Crap. He was dreaming about her again. His gaze drifted down her body. Coconut bra and a mermaid tail. Definitely dreaming.
“The Little Mermaid again?” He propped himself on his elbows.
She wiggled the emerald-green flukes that jutted out where her feet should be. “Don’t ask me, sicko. This is your party. I am literally a figment of your imagination.”
He grunted. “I’m not a sicko. Obviously this is my subconscious’s way of working out my ridiculous attraction to you. You are wearing the last outfit I saw you in, at my Halloween party, and this is the beach where I washed up after the water witch tried to kill me. We were underwater, in her lair. You defended me against her, and when she flooded the cavern we were in, you wrapped your body around me to protect me. Your magic brought us to the surface and you revived me, right here on this beach.”
“No way was I letting that bitch keep you as her human pet.”
“Why would you save me? You’ve said time and again that humans are the inferior species. Why not just let me die?”
Polina’s long, tapered fingers traced his collarbone. “We’ve been over this. I can’t tell you why. You don’t know why, and I am the creation of your brain—Dream Polina. I can remind you, though, that you’ve come up with three possibilities for my actions. First, I might have saved you to spite Kendra, the water witch. Second, my purpose might have been to preserve your powers as a medium to help my friend Grateful, and third, I might be attracted to you.”
Logan met her sapphire blue eyes, took pleasure in the bright contrast to her deep red hair. “I want to believe number three,” he whispered. His hand moved to the back of her neck, pulling her head down to meet his lips.
Soft, warm, she accepted his kiss eagerly, thrusting her tongue into his mouth. He realized this was just a dream. A very good dream. But he didn’t want to wake up. Polina’s kiss trailed to his ear, down his throat, across his naked chest, over his belly button.
“Why am I naked?” he asked.
She tipped her face up from the place she was kissing and licked her lips. “It’s your party, remember?”
He rested his head in his meshed fingers and closed his eyes, enjoying the feel of her mouth on his skin. She was still moving south, coming close to the physical evidence of his desire for her. Dream or no dream, he was going to enjoy this.
“If I had a chance with a woman like you, I’d change your mind about humans. I’d be the best you ever had,” he said.
“What happened to not trusting witches?” Silas said.
Logan blinked rapidly, finding Dream Silas standing on the beach wearing swim trunks. Logan flinched to cover himself only to find he was fully dressed and Dream Polina was gone. “You, my friend, are a cockblocker.”
Silas grinned. “I’m in your head. There must be a reason. Part of you must want me here.”
“Whatever part wants you here needs to shut the fuck up and bring Polina back.” He watched the ocean waves roll in, purple caps hugging a tangerine sky.
“You respect her too much to use her, even in your dreams.”
He sat up on the rocks and buried his face in his hands. “Fuck, how sad is that? Why do I respect her? She doesn’t respect me.”
“Because she’s smart and strong—strong enough to save your ass. And she’s ridiculously beautiful,” Dream Silas said.
“There’s more to it than that. I just met her. Sure, we spent some time together helping Grateful out, but not enough to explain this. Why her? Why now? And why the hell can’t I force myself to let go of this fantasy?” Logan groaned.
Dream Silas raised his bushy eyebrows. “Maybe because this time it matters.”
Frustrated, Logan stood, shaking his head. “I barely know her. This can’t matter.”
“If you say so.” Dream Silas melted into the sand leaving Logan on an empty beach.
“It matters because you almost died, twice.” Logan spun on his heel to find a lanky woman with a brunette bob standing near the woods next to his beach.
“Mom?” Ever since Grateful had used her witchy powers to put his soul back into his body, he’d had the power to channel his mother, even when he was awake. Being a medium had come in handy a time or two. Was this particular visit part of his dream or an actual journey into the beyond?
“Follow me, my son, and I’ll show you why it matters.” Turning, his mother blended into the woods.
Puzzled, he followed her into the dense forest. Brunette hair and pale skin flashed between the trunks of the trees. He broke into a run. “Mom?” She didn’t slow her pace. A fast left and a sprint through a kaleidoscope of evergreen and light, and the forest opened.
Logan spilled out of the woods onto the shoulder of a highway. Mom was gone, but something about this spot was familiar. A deep dread bloomed behind his breastbone. When was he here before?
The low rumble of a motorcycle approached from a distance. The rider topped the hill to his left, a silhouette against the bright blue September sky. As the motorcycle approached, Logan got a good look. His stomach sank. The custom paint on the Harley-Davidson softail was his doing and that matching helmet was his too, complete with the Valentine’s logo on the side.
“No… No!” He waved his hands and stepped out into the road. He had to warn himself. He had to stop the dream, to change history. But it was no use. The semi truck came out of nowhere, concealed by the line of trees along the access road. The driver never even looked in his direction. Logan reacted, braking hard. No longer was he a bystander observing from the side of the road. He’d flashed into the body of his former self, just in time to slam on the brakes. The seat rose underneath him, and the bike slid sideways, laying down patches of rubber on the pavement as roughly seven hundred pounds of chrome and steel tipped over, sweeping him toward the blacktop.
The bike rotated, sliding off the road, and pounding his helmet into the asphalt. His leather pants and jacket shredded with the skid. Bones snapped. Blood sprayed. Pain rendered him unable to breathe or think. A tree arose, both a blessing and a curse. It stopped his momentum but only after one hell of an impact. He landed under the bike, the back of his head hitting the grass.
Head, not helmet. The protective gear had cracked off during impact. As he sipped the air through tiny gasps of breath, he thought it was strange that his hip jutted straight up even though he thought he w
as lying flat. Something silver and sharp protruded from his abdomen. There was blood. So much blood.
The blue sky above called to him. He stopped sipping air. No one survived this. No one.
As his lungs ached for oxygen, the heavens opened up and an angel appeared, her hooded sapphire cloak billowing behind her. On slippered feet, she approached and paused by his side, a snowy white owl landing on her shoulder.
“This won’t do, Hildegard. As soon as the sun sets, the scent of blood will attract mountain trolls.”
The bird hooted and chirped near her ear.
“Absolutely not. He’s too young. I can’t bear it. Listen, even now his heart battles death. This one wants to live.”
The owl flapped her wings and chattered indignantly.
“Don’t tell me you’ve become so callous over the years that life means nothing to you, even a human’s? Fine. Go home. I’ll take care of this.”
The owl took flight out of Logan’s field of vision. Willowy hands reached up to lower the hood. Deep red hair. Piercing sapphire eyes. Polina.
The witch reached into the neck of her cloak and retrieved a wand from above her left breast. If he hadn’t been dying, the sight of creamy flesh as she moved the cloth aside would have driven him to distraction, but as it was, black dots circled in his vision ruining the effect.
“Uh-oh.” She squatted by his side. “Stay with me. I’ll try to help you.”
With a wave of her wand, the silver protrusion melted from his abdomen and he rolled onto his back, grunting from the pain. Blood gushed and a wave of feverish heat made him break a sweat. She pressed the crystal of her wand against his wound and muttered, “Reinchide velecluse moribidatae vialanium.” The bleeding slowed.
“I’ve never been good at healing spells,” she said, a sad smile gracing her rose-colored lips. “Water witches are better at this. The human body is mostly water, after all. I think I can close you up, but I can’t give you more blood.” She lifted his head onto her lap and caressed his face with her hand. “Breathe. You can do it.”
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