Sixpence & Whiskey

by Heather R. Blair

  “Too bad I’ve never exactly known my place.”

  With a smile, I drop the bottle of Johnnie Walker. The sound of glass shattering and sharp tang of alcohol fill the air. For a second Owen just stands there, not getting it. Then he looks down to see the circle that cages me dissolving away in a river of whiskey.

  His amber eyes flicker back to me and there’s no mistaking the panic there.

  “Run,” I suggest, raising my hands to the sky.

  With a howl of rage, Owen shifts. Where a blond man once stood is a lithe yellow wolf, taller at the shoulder than I am at the waist. He’s fast, but so am I. Whispering swiftly, I’m nearly ready when he leaps, baring fangs that glisten as they snap at my throat. I hit the ground hard with my ass but manage to throw the spell anyway. Like a fisherman’s net, a lavender web of energy wraps around the wolf, tossing him back. I can see it, but of course Owen can’t.

  He tries to leap clear of the invisible snare, but only manages to tangle his hind legs as well as his front. Soon he is a whining, snapping ball of fur, helpless as a fish out of water.

  I get to my feet slowly, dusting off my aching butt before pulling off one of the iron bracelets from my wrist. Decorative and functional. Owen snarls at me as I bend over. “Bad doggie,” I hiss, smacking his nose before snapping the band around one thick paw.

  Instantly, the man is back, drooling a little as he glares up at me. Iron has that effect on shifters. “You know, your wolf is a lot prettier than you are. Still nasty, of course. But an improvement.”

  A chorus of far-off howls warn me things are about to get interesting. A single werewolf caught with his pants down is one thing, a half dozen will be a whole ’nother story.

  Like Red Riding Hood, sans the huntsman. Facing a lot more teeth. Owen starts to laugh.

  Shit.

  Gravel crunches softly behind me. I whirl, hands up and fingers curled. It’s Jack.

  “What’s going on?” He looks from me to the man on the ground.

  How the hell is he keeping tabs on me? To cover my nerves as the howls ring out again, I shrug. “I netted a wolf.”

  “I can see that.” Jack glares at me, almost as if in censure. “And it sounds that’s going to bring you a whole bunch more.”

  “Well, if you ever wanted to play hero, Jack, now’s your chance.” I laugh nervously. “That’d be a fucking first.” Before he turns away, there’s a glint in his eyes that dries up the laughter in my throat.

  “What happened here?” He ignores me to address Owen. The werewolf smiles slyly.

  “Just trying to make a buck, Frost. You know how it is.”

  I frown at this. What’s the stupid wolf on about? I thought this was personal.

  Jack’s expression flickers, and he looks beyond pissed. But in another blink a cold mask slips over his face. Without warning, he leans down and whips the bracelet off of Owen’s wrist.

  “Hey! Do you know what that fucker was going to do to me?”

  Jack shuts me up with a look, his eyes frosty.

  Then he turns that gaze on Owen. “Listen, wolf, I don’t give a shit what you were told. You and your pack stay away from her. Get out of here.”

  At the command in Jack’s voice, Owen sidles away from me instantly. Just like a wolf obeying his alpha. His mouth falls open in shock before he manages to stand his ground again.

  Covering his confusion at his body’s betrayal, Owen gives a harsh laugh. “What the fuck do you care what we do with her, Frost? From what I hear, you tapped that long ago, when it was nice and fresh…” His manic grin is back. “Oh, I get it. You want another piece before cashing in?”

  Owen flies back over the rocks before I hear the crack of Jack’s fist hitting his face. I think that means Jack moves faster than the speed of sound, but I was never any great shakes at science, so don’t quote me. Owen lands on the rocks below, spread-eagled and shocked. Jack doesn’t let him catch his breath, he just follows him down and hits him again. In seconds, Owen’s a bloody mess.

  I gotta say, I like seeing him that way.

  For a moment, I’m tempted. Really, really tempted to walk away and let Jack keep going. But Owen is Luna’s, as fucked up as their relationship must be. My family can’t be responsible for taking another man out of her life. Owen’s eyes have rolled back, showing the whites, reminding me forcibly of Gil.

  “Enough, Jack.” Goose bumps prickle my arms and I turn my head. What I see makes me suck in a breath. Hell’s bells. “And anyway, the rest of his buddies have arrived.”

  Jack lifts his head, crouched over Owen, his eyes on a level with my hip. I shift so he has a clear view of the three huge bodies slinking toward us, hackles raised.

  “You want him?” he asks the approaching wolves quietly.

  If I had hackles of my own they would bristle at the menace in that voice. The air around Jack is charged, wavering in weird blues and greens, his own personal aurora borealis. Jack’s element showing itself. One of the wolves whines and drops his head, but the other two growl and show their teeth.

  Jack smiles back and I can’t help but shiver. “Fine. Take him.”

  Jack pivots so fast I let out a small shriek. Owen’s blood leaves dark splotches against the ice-rimmed stones as he flies through the air and lands in a heap at the wolves’ paws. Taking my hand, Jack straightens as the wolves snap and prance, sniffing Owen. I take a small step back. One of the few things I know better than Jack is wolves.

  “If we back off, they’ll take him and go. I don’t think they’ll attack.”

  “No, they won’t attack.” His words are low, but they carry. “Together, we’re too strong for them.”

  It’s nice of him to say so, but I sincerely doubt they’d take on Jack with or without me. Not that I would mind a fight right now. Free of that crushing circle, my fingers are itching to cast—that little spell I used on Owen only whetted my appetite. I restrain myself, watching Owen throw a shaky arm over one of those huge hairy bodies. Retaliation isn’t wise. Not against this many. We watch the wolves move off, two of them supporting Owen between them, walking slowly.

  It’s then that I see the other wolves at the edge of the forest, a whole line of them. Well, their eyes, anyway. There are way more than five. Twice that. Three times. Over half the pack is here. Holy balls. Just what was Owen planning? My stomach goes cold and clammy. I feel Jack’s hand tightening on mine, the firm pressure keeping me from freaking out as I stare.

  All those shining eyes. Amber and green and red. A demented string of Christmas lights, Tim Burton style. I swallow a shaky laugh.

  As the wolves escorting Owen cross the road and fade into the trees, the lights wink out one by one, the eyes vanishing. The piercing chorus of howls that follow raises the hairs on my arms. When the howls fade, my relief is so great I want to melt into the rocks. Or pee my pants. Fortunately, I’m all too aware of who’s standing beside me to do either.

  “Well. Good thing that’s sorted.” Letting go of his hand, I flash Jack a bright, brittle smile. Pulling out my keys, I take a step toward the Fiat. Only to find my way blocked by close to two hundred pounds of rather unhappy male.

  Jack doesn’t look relieved that we avoided a fight with the wolves. Flecks of blood dot his skin and clothes. The shadowy light emphasizes the corded strength in that body he’s holding so tightly in check and deepens the hollows in his face. He looks otherworldly, sexy…and scary as fuck.

  Suddenly, I’m not so sure the worst part of my night is over. His next words do nothing to allay that impression.

  “You’re in big trouble, princess.”

  14

  “What the fuck is wrong with you, Seph? Out here. All alone. Why?”

  “Someone told me the wolves were hunting too close to town. I was just checking it out, setting up some alarms.”

  “Really? Who gave you this stellar intel?”

  I blink, not answering immediately. Merry wouldn’t do that to me. Would he?

  Never trust a gn
ome.

  “A friend,” I mumble. Then, at the ground. “It was Merry.”

  I can hear Jack’s snort. “Checking out wolves on the word of a gnome. By yourself. Drunk.” Oh, he’s mad, all right. Fucking furious. Barely able to string two words together.

  “I am not drunk. I only had a few swallows to relax. I’m fine now.” Not entirely fine. The receding adrenaline mixed with fear I just ingested, on top of those shots of whiskey on a half-empty stomach, have me feeling slightly blurry. Especially as I look at Jack. Edges and lines going soft.

  Like my memories lately. Hiding the bad and the sad, teasing me with the good stuff. He helped me tonight. I don’t know why, but he did.

  “Don’t even try to bullshit me. You reek of whiskey.”

  “I reek because I smashed my bottle to clear his circle!”

  He rolls his eyes. “After downing half of it, I’m sure.”

  “That’s not true.”

  Though it would’ve been, a few years ago. I spent a good deal of my early twenties hammered. Of course, Jack shouldn’t know about those years, should he? My gaze narrows. He seems to realize he’s headed into dangerous territory and switches direction.

  “Whatever. You have problems, Seph, real fucking problems. You can’t afford to be shit-faced.”

  I shake my head, deliberately stumbling a little, steadying myself with both hands on his chest. It’s a long shot, but maybe I can get him to slip up. “Why do you care what I am?”

  Jack’s jaw tightens, his lips pressing together. He doesn’t say a word. His jacket is open and despite the cold, his shirt feels warm under my hands. My fingers tighten in the thick, soft cotton covering hard muscle.

  “Why?” I ask again, raising one hand to his throat, my thumb tracing the roughness along his jawline.

  He goes rigid as stone, his voice dropping a whole octave, from deep to dangerous. “Don’t go there, Seph. You won’t like the answer.”

  I study his lips forming my name, ignoring the rest. Trying to play him is definitely backfiring. Oh, Jack’s mouth.

  It’s one of my favorite parts of him, though I have…had a lot of favorites. His lips are chiseled perfection: firm and masculine, but flirting with lush. I raise my hand and run the tip of my finger over that delicious lower curve. He sucks in a breath but still refuses to move. I can’t read his eyes in the dark. Not that reading him is any easier in broad daylight.

  Good thing I’m not really interested in what he’s thinking at the moment. I wanted to push his buttons, now I want more.

  “You can’t possibly taste as good as I remember,” I whisper, half to myself, but loud enough I know he hears. Under my palm his heartbeat kicks up a notch.

  “Seph, don’t do this.” The words sound strangled, almost as if he’s in pain.

  Interesting, I think. That’s real interesting. I let my fingers walk up his chest, curious if he’ll stop me.

  “You took advantage of me once upon a time,” I murmur. “Turnabout’s fair play, right?”

  “You can’t want this.”

  “Don’t tell me what I want,” I snap. “It’s one kiss. What does it matter? What happened between us was a long time ago, right?”

  He raises his eyebrows at me. “Is that why you drink so damn much?”

  Ouch. Score one for Jack.

  “You’re not the only reason I drank, asshole.”

  “Well, that’s a relief.”

  Whether he realizes it or not, I’m totally sober—or as near as I can be around Jack—when I go to my toes, bringing my lips so close to his I can feel the heat of his breath.

  “I’m not scared of a little more pain, Jack. How about you?”

  And I kiss him.

  It’s soft at first, like a memory. My lips on his. Pleasant and almost sweet. The last time we did this was nearly four years ago. It feels like yesterday and forever. The contact so light, skin on skin.

  Such a simple thing, a kiss. Just atoms brushing other atoms. Until it rearranges everything.

  The wind off the lake picks up, curling around us, sending sparkling remnants of snow into the night air.

  Jack deepens the pressure unexpectedly. Opening his mouth with a low curse I feel down to my toes. His fingers wrap tighter around my arms, lifting me up so he can get a better angle. When his tongue flicks over mine, I realize I was wrong. His taste is much more potent than I remember.

  And hot enough to burn.

  I’m no longer in control, but I don’t think Jack is either. Fire licks over my skin, turning the old memories to ash as it spreads. This is different. This is new. Wave after wave of heat leaves me gasping. His scent makes me dizzy, that heady mixture of pine and smoke and spice. My hands are fisted in his hair, the thick and silky strands tangled between my fingers. Jack is crushing me to his chest, murmuring words against my lips I can’t understand. I don’t want to understand. I don’t want to think.

  And I certainly don’t want to stop.

  Desire is a beast that devours us whole. I can feel every solid contour of his body against mine; he’s taut and hard and it’s all good. So fucking good. I whimper, my nails digging into the nape of his neck, thinking of us skin on skin, the heat of him on me, in me…

  The ghost of a memory tickles the back of my neck. The sound of a door closing. The feel of tears on my cheeks…

  What. Is. Wrong. With. Me?

  I’m shoving him back before I realize what I’m doing. Breaking the kiss, then wiping the back of my hand against my mouth, trying to scrub the sinful taste of him from my lips. Spinning away, gazing blindly at the whispering black lake under a blacker sky. I can feel him watching me and hear his breathing, as hard and fast as mine, but he doesn’t speak.

  Instead, Jack stalks past me to the Fiat, stabbing a finger at the passenger door without looking at me. I let him drive me home. It’s a very silent ride. All I can think the entire way is that Jack’s right.

  I’m in so much fucking trouble.

  15

  When I wake up, there’s a fairy in my face for the second time in as many days.

  “Really, Rochie?” I bat at her, but she only laughs and dodges, bells tinkling merrily.

  “Rise and shine! It’s tattoo day. You just couldn’t help yourself, could you?”

  I sit up so fast my head spins, then lay back down with a groan.

  “Oh. I…well, fuck.”

  She gives me an interested look. “You didn’t go that far …did you?”

  I throw a pillow at her. More bells and laughter. “This isn’t fair, I was inebriated.”

  “I thought you told Jack you were barely tipsy?”

  “Well, actually I—wait a minute. Were you spying on us, you little perv?” I open my mouth, then shut it again. I don’t want to think too much about last night. Anyway, asking Rochie what Jack is up to won’t do any good. I file the question away, feeling uneasy for more than one reason as I sit up.

  Rochie is grinning. “Merely protecting my interests. Now pay up, buttercup. I want you tatted by sundown, got it? And because I’m such a good sport, I’ll even pop by the wolves’ camp for you. And remember, it’s Jo-kul Frosti…”

  “Wait a second.” I’m thrilled she’s still gonna check out the wolves, especially after what went down last night, but what’s this bullshit? “You said Jack’s name?”

  Her tiny eyes narrow. “That is his name, Seph.”

  I stare at her, my unease growing. It is true—that’s the old Norse name for Jack in the fairytales; his true name. But suddenly I can feel the teeth of a trap closing around me.

  As if sensing the direction of my thoughts, Rochie waves a diminutive finger. “You made a bet. Going back on it would’ve serious consequences.”

  It would, too.

  FTCs can’t enter into a bargain without fulfilling said bargain, in one fashion or another. It would bring a crap load of grief down on my head. Karma is painfully real in the FTC world. But getting Jack’s name engraved in my skin? I shiver, barely
resisting the urge to throw the pink-and-white striped duvet back over my head and hide from the world.

  “Going through with it might be worse,” I mumble.

  Her wings give an evil tinkle. “Wanna bet?”

  Jett glares at me as I pull her to the shop entrance. I’m surprised she didn’t just haul off and blast me into itty-bitty pieces when I got her out of bed an hour ago. I think it was only my announcement that I needed her to give me some ink that made her restrain herself.

  When I told her the name I needed to have carved into my body on the way over here, though, she about blew a gasket.

  “You’re fucking insane,” she says now. Again.

  “Everyone keeps saying that lately. It’s kinda hurting my feelings.”

  “I can’t do this, Persephone.” Her voice is uncharacteristically soft. “I won’t.”

  We went over this in the car, too. “If you don’t, I’ll have to go to someone else.” And I don’t think I could handle that. As much as she annoys and scares me, Jett is my sister. If I have to have anyone cutting up my skin, I want it to be her. “Is that what you want?”

  With a vicious curse, she sticks in her key and wrenches open the frosted-glass door. I start to move past her to the bar, but she throws out an arm, catching me in the gut hard. “Where are you going?”

  “To get a drink?”

  “Like hell you are.”

  “You expect me to do this stone-cold sober?” I gape at her, rubbing my sternum.

  She shrugs, the jagged edges of her black hair brushing the spirals of ink that crawl up the back of her neck. “I don’t expect you to do shit, but you want a tatt from me, you’re doing it sans alcohol.”

  “Okie.” I smile weakly and she leads me over to the reclining leather chair.

  I sit, curling my shaking hands over my thighs. Raising those dark winged eyebrows, Jett drops into a stool next to me. “Want me to call Sy?”

  I swallow at this unexpected kindness—Jett is not fond of humans—but shake my head. “She’s working.”

  “Okay, besides fuckhead’s name, do you have an idea what you wanna do here?”