Bad Impression : A Sadie Salt Novel (Sadie Salt Series Book 2)

by Ware Wilkins

  The smile I wanted isn’t there, but I get a smirk, and considering how she’s fighting to not dissolve, I count that as a win.

  “Commissioner Biscuit is the baby?”

  “CB for short. Benji, will you hand my darling, lovely, gorgeous, not-just-an-incubator friend the second jar of pickles?”

  Arms fling around me before I know what’s happening. Ingrid’s breath is muffled by my hair, but I hear her just fine. “You love me something fierce, don’t you?”

  “You know it. Now, go lie down and watch some T.V. or take a shower or something.”

  “I’m taking my pickles and maybe reading some smutty romance.”

  “That sounds like a perfect night. I’ll clean up, okay?”

  She doesn’t fight me on that, and I’m glad. Cradling the new jar like it’s as precious as CB, Ingrid starts to head to her room and then stops. Just as I begin to feel some concern, she looks at me over her shoulder. “Expect to hear news soon. And your uncle is back in town.”

  “Um, okay. Oliver should told me. What does the phone call thing mean?”

  She shrugs. “I just saw you receiving an important phone call and your uncle unpacking in his house and looking all surly like he usually does.”

  It takes a small amount of effort not to get sassy. Normally sassy is fine, but Ingrid’s on an emotional rollercoaster I don’t want to mess with. “You just know it’s important. Not who it’s about?”

  She shakes her head and I smile, trying to reassure her. “Thanks, Ingrid.” She disappears into her room, leaving me alone with Benji. There’s no point in worrying about a vision that obscure. Important could be anything from needing to pick up medication to somehow winning the lottery. I file it away in my mind.

  As I stoop to start picking up the glass, Benji’s already there, a bowl and towel at the ready. He’s got most of the shards and pickles in the bowl before I’m even ready to start, so I mop up the brine, its pungent tang overwhelming. “Thanks for getting the cheese, Benji. The meal was delicious and I know it meant a lot to Ingrid.”

  He takes the sopping towel from me and helps me stand. “It wasn’t hard to run to the store.”

  “In the time it took, do you mean literally run, or did you take that sweet ass car of yours?”

  “Car, of course. I’m not a heathen.”

  I’m not sure he’s telling the truth, but it doesn’t matter. “Wanna watch some T.V.?” It occurs to me that the few times I’ve seen him since Ingrid peed on a stick, she’s almost always been with us. Or he and I have been out, scouting the woods for potential hunters. If I’m honest, I think he just brings me for the company. I can’t tell the difference between a leaf smooshed by a foot and a leaf.

  “Sure.”

  We settle in on the couch, a distance between us so respectable a puritan would approve. I flick on the television. It doesn’t take long to feel that weird, tense air that means neither of us is watching. His sitting so far away from me is unusual, too.

  “Why are you sitting all the way over there?”

  He scoots closer. “Honest answer or funny one?”

  “Honest, dude, obviously.” Inside I cringe at the use of “dude.” I may be debating how I feel about Benji, but “dude” is one of those awful words that implies not in this lifetime, buddy.

  “You said that thing about me tasting your blood over dinner and it’s all I’m thinking about.”

  Oh. I’m not even sure why I said it. Benji’s drunk from me before, but just once, and he was dying. It seemed like the only choice. My nonchalant question at dinner… was I offering? It had seemed like just a matter of curiosity, but now I can see how he’d view it as an invitation.

  Do I mind if he drinks from me?

  It manages to seem both more and less intimate than a starlit kiss next to a fast, expensive car. “I didn’t mean to tease.”

  He sighs and his head leans back into the couch. “Yeah, I figured.”

  “Earlier you said you’re having to stray further for food. Are you hungry?”

  When he turns to look at me, he doesn’t have to answer. The green of his iris is receding, the blackness of hunger taking its place. “A bit. I can leave, if it makes you uncomfortable.”

  “Don’t leave.”

  The moment hangs between us and I know, I know he’s wondering a hundred things, and not just about the blood. Am I inviting him to do more than feed?

  I don’t know. My fists clench and I’m pissed at myself for it. “I think I’m okay with you taking a little night cap. It was super nice of you to make Ingrid so happy tonight. You saved the day.”

  He shrugs, and in a heartbeat (mine, at least), he’s back to lovable, affable Benji. “Slip me a wrist then, won’t you?”

  “You really know how to woo the ladies.” Geez, Sadie, shut up! Make up your mind! In my defense, Benji was uber flirty before his proclamation, and I got used to the flirtatious safety of a gay vampire friend.

  “I know how to woo all the genders,” he says with an eyebrow waggle. “I’m the one who put the wild in Oscar Wilde, if you know what I mean.”

  “Gross,” I laugh, and offer my wrist.

  “Betty took a Page or two from my book, if you’re picking up what I’m putting down.”

  “Stop it!” Giggles erupt from me, though, encouraging him further.

  “I taught Herman Bang what his last name really meant.” He grabs my wrist, cool and strong fingers circling it with care, and lifts it to his mouth.

  I tense, but I’m still laughing. “You’re horrible.”

  “And Tallulah Bankhead…”

  “Just drink,” I warn, threatening to tug my wrist away. Benji smirks, the flash of his teeth sending coils of fear and anticipation looping around my stomach. He smells my arm in an overly-creepy manner before bringing his mouth to my elbow.

  “So you can cover the bite with clothing,” he says with a wink, before chomping in. The pain is quick and then it’s over and I remember that it isn’t a particularly pleasant experience, despite how intimate and erotic the exchange is. His venom seeps in, numbing the nerves around his fangs. I can feel the tug of his mouth and the flow of my blood through the puncture wounds, though it doesn’t hurt. It just feels off.

  But some color quickly comes to Benji’s cheeks and I can see him relax. He finishes quickly and I want to encourage him to take more, but he’s more of an expert in blood drinking than I will ever be, so I let it go. To my surprise, I miss the feel of his mouth on my arm. I don’t think it’s about the drinking, but just the touch. I’ve been pining over Abe all this time, and worrying about him, and running around for Ingrid. With Benji, there’s time to breathe and become more aware of just how lonely I’ve been.

  “Thanks.”

  “Did it taste like butter?”

  “No,” he admits with melodramatic sadness. “Just like solitude and horniness. Did I mention my resume? Because I could cure you of both.” Benji is so ridiculous in his joking that I don’t have time to get weird. I just laugh, and he laughs, and we collapse back into the couch and start watching the TV for real. It’s intoxicatingly comfortable, hanging with someone so genuine (and damned good looking) and not feel like I’m supposed to be someone for him, or doing something for him, or like I owe him.

  It’s nice to have something almost stable again, even if I’ll eventually need to make a decision about Benji. I feel weird keeping us in this limbo, but I also don’t know what I want from him. One of the bonuses of having an immortal interested in you, I suppose, is having time to decide. “I’m not getting any younger” is true, but so is “I’m not getting any older.”

  Maybe kiss him again. Just to see how it feels. I’m not going to lie, he might have been joking, but between Ingrid and him pointing out that he’s got experience to spare in the bedroom and my particularly long drought, it’s becoming more and more tempting to let off some steam. In a steamy way, wink wink.

  Just as I turn toward him, preparing myself to lean in,
my phone rings.

  Because of course it does. Ingrid shouldn’t have said anything. I might have been inclined to ignore it but for her vision.

  When I see who it is, I sit up straight. “Alec, what is it?”

  “I need some help controlling your boyfriend,” he spits, his irritation flaring through my phone. “When can you get here?”

  CHAPTER FOUR

  Benji had offered to drive me to the pack’s home, but I was afraid that if Abe was giving Alec enough trouble to call me, having a snarky vampire there would only exacerbate things. Also, if I were being true to the entirety of my feelings, it felt uncomfortable to have Benji with me to see Abe after the moment on the couch.

  The gravel crunches under my car’s wheels and the engine whines. The road is long, winding through trees that are dark and crowding in on the driveway. Limbs occasionally scratch at the sides of my car, the piercing shrill of it making me jump in my seat. Benji would have been cursing if this had been his car. My car’s too far gone to be concerned over a paint job.

  Overhead, the moonlight spears the road, offering small breaks in the shadows. Finally, after a painful crawl up the mountain, I can see the lights of the large building Alec uses to house his pack. It used to be a mental institution, but after it was abandoned, Alec purchased the property. It had been an easy, cheap sale; most of it was falling apart due to disuse, the kudzu and the ferns reclaiming the block-like brick building.

  With his pack, they’d rebuilt it themselves. Now the grounds weren’t clear, per se, as there were hedge mazes started on the large sides and back, as well as numerous trees and outdoor gyms. But it looks put together, each spot with its own purpose. All of the windows are lit despite the hour. I should be asleep by now. The sun will be coming up uncomfortably soon. For a moment, a knife of panic slashes through me. Did Alec invite me out before a full moon?

  A quick glance at the sky steadies me-- the moon is bright but only at half. When Abe and I are able to see each other, I’m going to have to pay closer attention to the moon. I used to make sure I was keeping the lunar calendar in mind, but that had lapsed along with my dentist practice after I’d paid off Tee.

  Alec had refused to tell me what was wrong, but he sounded pissed. I’ve never gotten nice vibes from Alec, but I think that, for the most part at least, he’s a good guy. He definitely puts his pack first.

  A flash of gold in the woods beside me startles me and I quickly have to re-correct the wheel, which I’d jerked as I stared. Another pair of yellow eyes peers, unblinking. The wolves are here. They follow me as I drive the last bit, only coming out from behind me when I’m free of the wooded driveway and parking in front of the large home.

  When I get out of my car, I hesitate. In a tense situation, should one bring a weapon? I decide to grab my bat, Respect. Its magic connects to me as soon as I grip the smooth, wooden handle. This was the best gift my uncle ever gave me. It had taken both of our magic and his generous donation of his tooth to make it react to me and me alone. Its heft feels reassuring. Alec might respect me a smidge more if I look like I can fight back.

  I just hope I don’t actually need it.

  This isn’t the first time I’ve seen shifted wolves, but it’s impressive and scary each time. Not the jittery kind of scare from when you shake a towel and a cockroach or spider scurries out. This is the deep, welling fear of seeing something close by that could kill you-- end you in a second, without pause, and there’s nothing you can do about it. A current of terror ripples through me and I tighten my grip on the bat.

  In the dark, their coats all look similar, the moonlight casting silver in their fur. Their sizes vary from big to holy-shit-enormous. “Is, um, is Alec here?”

  A snout nods toward the front door. It’s hard, so hard to turn my back to the wolves to walk up the steps. The last time I entered a house this large and terrifying, it had been Queen Jeremy’s, and I’d at least had protection.

  There’s a knocker on the front door, heavy and stately. It’s in the shape of a snarling wolf. Real cute, Alec. Somehow the menacing hunk of metal makes me more at ease. Maybe I just can’t stand ridiculous, ostentatious people. Though, I’ll admit, it’s hard to picture Alec with any sense of humor. He probably means for the knocker to be taken seriously.

  The knocker thuds loudly and I hear its echo behind the large, wood door. There’s an itch in my fingers as I drop them to my side. It’s the craving again, my body’s stupid addiction screaming at me to get some bone and teeth ready, just in case. My mind flashes to the enchanted box my uncle made for me. It holds my entire, meager stash of teeth. Too bad the enchantment is to keep me out of it. So now I’m up crap creek with no teeth. This is a dangerous situation and while Respect is loaning me some courage, I’m not foolish enough to believe it’s enough.

  It takes an enormous swell of willpower not to jump when the door swings open. Henry’s there, his brown hair tousled and his eyes weary. He’s wearing jeans that are slung low and I can see shreds in the fabric at the thighs and knees, as well as the brown of what is probably old, dried blood. Or mud… it could be mud. Yeah, right. The tight grin he gives me does nothing to put me at ease.

  “Sadie, I’m glad you could come.”

  “Yes, it’s been so long,” I say wryly. “Alec doesn’t so much ask as command, you know?”

  The tight grin expands into a knowing smile. “I do indeed.”

  He steps to the side and gestures for me to come in. The Southern Gentleman in him shuts the door behind me and politely leads me through the house, pointing out the restroom and offering me a drink.

  “I’ll be honest, Henry--”

  “I know you will be.”

  “It’s a phrase. Just prefacing the rest of my comment.”

  We round a corner. “I know. I’m old but not stupid. But, if you were interested, wolves can generally smell if you’re lying.”

  That… is interesting. And good to know. Especially since I’ve lied to them before. Not a major lie, of course, but when Alec and Henry had first come to collect the dead body of one of their pack from my office, I’d lied about what I was.

  Bone witch.

  They know now, of course. Still, I file it away in my mind under “could be useful.”

  “Huh. I’m hoping you did find a diplomatic way of telling Alec to eat a dick, because if I’m about to be mauled, I’d like to know.”

  Henry laughs, but it lacks enthusiasm. “You’re getting your wish, little witch.”

  My heart skips a beat. “I’m just… now that I’m here…” All of the desires and questions are rushing in. It’s hard to stay patient. It’s impossible to imagine seeing Abe. My legs are tense, already prepared to launch myself at the sheriff and plant a big, sloppy kiss on his mouth. Maybe not sloppy, since I hope there’s a lot of kissing in my future, but still. Big.

  These joking thoughts are, of course, a screen to cover the deeper emotional wounds and conflicts being here is opening. All those years spent lusting after him and now, in the den of the wolf, I’m about to see him again. Without an evil hunter threatening to kill us.

  We come to a stop in front of a door. “Let me give you a warning.” My blood freezes and all the crazy in my head jerks to a standstill. “Don’t go in with any expectations. You’ll be disappointed. And knock first.”

  What the hell does that mean? No expectations? My mind turns this over and over, trying to decipher the hidden message Henry is attempting to give me. Does he mean toward Alec? Or, I worry, does he mean Abe?

  But Henry is walking away before I can ask him more. Not that I know which questions to ask, and it’s certainly not like I expect him to actually answer. If he’s under orders, he physically can’t answer them if Alec told him not to.

  My knuckles stop two inches from the door, hesitating. I’ve been worried about Abe all of this time. My thoughts constantly drift back to worrying about how he’s healing. Why it’s taken so long. If… if he’s fine and just didn’t want to call
me. This is the one I hate the most. It would make sense, though. After all, Abe was normal. Not just normal in the I’m-just-a-human way, but normal in this classic, almost pulp-fiction way. Football hero, blond haired, nice, great teeth… really great teeth. I notice things like that, you know.

  Now he’s a werewolf, and it is entirely my fault. I managed to rope him into my world, drag him into its underbelly. Because of me, Abraham Murray was shot and then promptly mauled by a werewolf in an attempt to save his life. If I were him… maybe I wouldn’t be as eager to call me, either.

  I don’t have a chance to get over myself before Alec’s sharp bark comes through the door. “Just fucking come in already, Sadie.”

  The flames of irritation help center me. I might be worried and anxious about Abe, but being pissed off was easier to navigate. Turning the knob, I throw open the door. “No offense, jerk, but it’s way too late to be asking me to come over just to cuss at--”

  The remaining words lodge in my throat, a tickle that refuses to come out. My eyes are wide, I know, but I can’t help gaping. Alec’s waiting for me in this posh, over-the-top library. He’s seated in a dark leather chair, complete with roaring fire in a fireplace at his back. He’s not alone.

  In another seat is a figure that manages to make my blood heat and freeze at the same time. His brow is the same, lifted in surprise. Strong jaw and impossibly large and defined shoulders. His mouth twists into a dry, bitter smile when he meets my gaze.

  It’s Abe, and his face is covered by jagged, pink scars.

  * * * * *

  “Hey, Salty.” Abe’s voice is rougher, too. Gravel that’s been put through a grinder. When I step closer, I can see the places where Henry had savaged his throat.

  “Hey, Abe.” There are tears in my voice and I hate myself for it, but my hands form fists because I will not fall over, heaping in hysterics.

  Alec sighs and beckons to a third chair. “Won’t you have a seat?”

  “Well aren’t you all formal, Mister Fancy-Pants Alpha,” I grumble. It’s impossible to miss the mild amusement dances in Abe’s blue eyes. Impossible because I can’t stop staring at him. As I sink into the tobacco-smelling leather, its cushions plusher than I expect, I don’t stop looking at him.