Pick Your Poison

by Jeanette Lynn

  Before any of that could happen though, a set of thick, burly arms swooped in and scooped her up, diving in to the rescue.

  Spluttering as she tried to cover her generous yet seriously untanned bum, while spitting gobs of her own hair out of her mouth in the process, she wriggled like a worm in Byron’s hold.

  Byron, trying to carry his tall, long legged burden back to his seat, gave Mary a swift tap on the ass that had her squeaking, and grumbled, “No more moving or Byron might change his mind about soul sucking women. Byron’s wolf half is restless.”

  Like magic, Mary stilled, flopping limply in the wolf-man’s arms. A deep, throaty growl left his throat as he plopped heavily into a leather armchair, tucking her comfortably into his side.

  Yanking her dress back down to cover her bottom, his hand lingered there longer than necessary. Holding her in place, he splayed his thick tree trunk legs to accommodate her.

  “Mary will play,” Byron announced grandly, waving at Callie to continue as Mary’s mouth fell open.

  “I- What?! Who the hell do you think you- Ah!” Mary yelped, jerking up as Byron’s thick fingers gave one of her cheeks a not so gentle pinch. “Ouch! Did you just- Ow! That’s harassment, you overgrown furball!” Slapping at him, the demoness yipped and yelped, legs kicking over the side of the chair as she squealed and wriggled, but she couldn’t escape those thick fingers or his werewolf-strong grip. “Give me one good reason why I shouldn’t cut your dick off, you slimy dog prick!”

  “You want for Byron to make it better, then?”

  “NO!” Mary’s barked out words had the werewolf grinning, but it quickly fell.

  “You cause much headaches, I think, and you will stop, Miss Mary.” His booming voice deepened as he spoke, rumbling on a growl as he scowled, his fingers keeping their place.

  Not to be outdone, Mary reached around and pinched him back, wrenching a hunk of flesh on his meaty thigh and snarling in his face in challenge.

  Byron growled back, fingers tightening on her derriere. Mary gasped and wobbled, wavering as if about to lean into him, her eyes flashing as her breath started to hitch, but she caught herself.

  “Release me, Byron.” Mary spoke quietly, swallowing audibly as she blinked one too many times. Licking her lips, there was no lust in her eyes, only confusion and apprehension. “I can’t say I’m all that fond of your handling of my person.”

  Stunned, I was about to step in on her behalf, nasty wench woman or not. This was screaming all kinds of messed the hell up and it made me squeamish. I wasn’t going to just sit here and watch.

  At that Byron stopped, but his hard look remained, scowling sternly like he meant business. “You play these games, Miss Mary. Byron does not fool easily.”

  Mary’s demure act dissolved instantly under the grumbling wolf’s stony look, melting away as her lips curled up in a sneer, having fooled even me. I grunted, disgusted, ever the gullible fool. This was Mary, after all, master manipulator and sucker of souls—and other various things—I should have known better.

  The demoness rolled her eyes, growling under her breath. Folding her arms over her ample chest, she eyed the wolf-man disdainfully.

  Byron’s gaze remained, unwavering, eyes narrowed, lips thinned and turned down, face set and mulish. She wasn’t getting off easy.

  “Enough,” was all he said.

  “Or you’ll what?” Mary hissed, spitting the words out with as much vitriol as possible. Temper piquing, her short, black horns peeked out on her forehead as her cheekbones sharpened visibly.

  “Or maybe...” Byron murmured low, his thick hand spanning her ass suggestively in front of God and everyone as his nostrils flared and his amber eyes flashed. Gaze narrowing dangerously, his teeth clacked sharply, jaw snapping, and his eyes slowly bled wolf gold. “Maybe Byron will change his mind, convince little demoness to change hers on bedding hairy beasties, eh?”

  “Hah! Bull.” Contrary to her words, Mary’s chest was heaving, her breath coming in sharp little pants as her skin pebbled. “Fat chance, big boy.” Gripping his chin, her long tongue snuck out, black and thick with a small fork at the end, to skim across the stubble on his jaw.

  Byron groaned, his thick lips curling up in a snarl as he immediately released her ass to smash her closer. Mary moved fast, too fast, hauling her fist back to launch it straight into the werewolf’s kisser.

  Before he knew what was happening, Mary was standing up and Byron was snarling viciously, cradling his jaw.

  Shaking out her fist as she backed up, her long tail swishing around her ass like a snake out the back of her dress as it lengthened, making an appearance, she smirked. “I’ll give it to you, furball, you’ve got a jaw like granite, but a head full of rocks.”

  Stabbing a finger at the male, her eyes went solid black, eclipsing them in onyx—pupil, iris, and all.

  “No one tells me what to do, no one owns me, no one, ever.” Voice deepening until she sounded positively demonic, she intoned darkly, “You will not have me, beast.”

  “You’re either the dumbest mutt I’ve ever met, or the ballsiest,” Divit said admirably, tipping an imaginary hat at the Alpha.

  “Or the horniest,” Duncan muttered, grimacing.

  Mary snarled, her head whipping around on her neck to face them. Jaw clacking as her teeth snapped, her neck twisting at an impossible, inhuman angle as her body faced Byron, she shot each man an angry look.

  “Oh, ho-ho, over here, peoples! No blood-letting looks tonight, okay? No snarly-snarly, scary demoness neck twists. Alright.” Clapping her hands twice, then once more, Callie whistled out a wolf call, smiling when she eventually had everyone’s attention. “Now, each of us are going to grab a glass.” Wiggling her fingers at everyone encouragingly, she gestured to the goblets of death—as I have so helpfully dubbed them. “Okay, so each of you, there you go. Genie, you grab one, too.”

  Hesitant while everyone else dutifully plucked one up, albeit grudgingly, I was the last holdout.

  “Genie?” Her own glass in hand, Callie smiled knowingly.

  But I don’t want to play. “Why don’t you explain the rules first?”

  Smirking—though when is he not smirking, really—Stefan waggled his glass at me. “What’s the matter, Normal, afraid?”

  “Not as much as you’ll be if you don’t stop calling me that, Steffie-kins.” Fire in my eyes, I snatched the last glass up, smiling nastily as I waved it at the stinking turd blossom in salute. Leaning over the tray, I glanced to my supposed oldie but bestie. “I have no idea why you’re friends with him,” I whispered loudly to Callie.

  “I could say the same of you,” Stefan mock-whispered back.

  “Stefan knows why you’re friends.” Duncan peered into his glass, blinking worriedly into its bubbling depths, speaking aloud absently. “She loves you and everyone knows she can trust you. Turd blossom- Sorry.” Pausing, Duncan chortled, glancing to me and adding, “That was a good one. I mean, Stefan, sometimes wonders why Callendra keeps him around, too.”

  “Stay out of my head!” Stefan snapped, gripping his glass so hard I thought it might crack. Looking to Callie, he hissed angrily, sniping at our hostess, “Must you choose tonight to redo the boundaries on the house? If he gets in my head one more time, Callendra, I swear I’ll brain him.”

  “And you’ll refuse to bring him back?” Divit quipped.

  Expression hardening, Stefan flipped the old vamp the bird. “Get stuffed. Oh, wait, I’m sorry. You can’t even get hard, can you?” Lips curling up nastily, the warlock sniggered.

  Divit’s droll stare didn’t change. “That the best you can do, old man?”

  Not sure whether to cover my eyes or my ears, I grabbed a couch pillow with my free hand and slid it closer, tempted to hide.

  I’m not seeing this, I’m not hearing this. No. No. No. None of my freaking business. La-la-la.

  Catching me about to retreat, Spira snatched my pillow up, tossing it over the back.

  Grasping at it
, I watched as it sailed over my head and off behind me, disappearing behind the sofa, just out of my reach. “Hey!”

  Spira shrugged unapologetically, arching a perfectly shaped brow. “And let you miss the show? You are of most welcome, my friend.”

  Duncan blinked, absorbed in the men’s exchange. “Right, sorry, man. It’s just, you guys...” Face screwing up as he paused, thinking, he shrugged. “You’re, like, right open. I can’t help it.”

  Divit laughed outright at that, a sharp bark of laughter bubbling up his throat, and Stefan slammed his mouth shut, jaw tight.

  Flicking his wrist as he examined Callie’s crown molding, Stefan plucked a bead off a pillow tassel and sent it whipping towards Duncan, his dark eyes never leaving the far wall.

  Duncan jumped, slapping at his neck, mistaking it for a bug or something, and just like that the argument ended.

  Sniffing his drink as he settled back down, rubbing at the welts blossoming up on his neck absently, the kineta-whatever-he-is-a-path—plus obviously more—eyed the black, bubbling concoction in his glass dubiously.

  “Hey, Callendra?” Holding out Callie’s offering, Duncan tipped his drink for her to see. “This isn’t, uh, gonna kill us all or anything, is it? ‘Cause I don’t really want anyone to die or anything, and while I can’t exactly get a read on you right, since you have some kind of hexy thing going on right now with your aura, blocking me, you seem nervous.”

  Spira’s eyes narrowed and she sniffed her own drink, puffing out a short breath full of grey smoke to grunt noncommittally, as if she’d smelled nothing out of the ordinary, and settled back. “How thoughtful of you, tellie-path, to not wish all of our deaths.”

  Duncan glanced at Spira but couldn’t meet her eyes. “Eh, I like all you guys.” Shrugging, the big man blushed. “You’re kinda like my people, you know?”

  Spira’s head bobbed. “Mmm, yes, I see.” Though the way she said it implied she didn’t. Dragons were pretty solitary creatures, preferring the love me from afar approach.

  Duncan’s slightly pink cheeks flushed red and he stared down at his feet. “Right. Forget I said anything. Never mind.”

  At that, Spira turned to me. “Norma, I am not familiar with this... what do you call it?”

  “Uh... a man pout?” A well-earned one, but still.

  “Mm, yes, I am not familiar with that one. Dragons are much thicker skinned. If offense is taken we’ll make it known. Tell me, have I offended his delicate sensibilities?”

  “If you hadn’t, you certainly have now,” I replied as quietly as possible.

  Poor Duncan looked like he wanted the floor to open up and swallow him whole, glaring down at his big boats for feet.

  Mary and Stefan, soaking up the exchange like the eager leeches they are, were silently sniggering at his expense.

  “Uhm, Spira, I don’t know if I’d call them delicate sensibilities, so much as feelings in general. You’re kinda harsh when it comes to dealing with the menfolk.” The nice ones whose feelings matter, at any rate.

  “Am I? I had not noticed.” Clucking her tongue, expression thoughtful, the dragoness tipped her chin thoughtfully. “Something I shall have to be working on.”

  Well, that was something, I thought, but then Spira opened her mouth again, her strange yet mesmerizing eyeballs sliding away, going from me to meet that of her intended target.

  “I have hurt his feelings, then.” Spira turned to Duncan. “You are angry with me now, tellie-path? Do you wish to take your frustrations out with me?”

  “What? Like what?” Duncan mumbled skeptically.

  “You wish to fight me, to... how do you say... duke it out? Have it out? Go at it? Like dragons would handle such things?” Spira was completely serious. “Do you wish to put your hands to me, tellie-path?”

  “I... but... what?” Duncan’s eyes bugged as his mouth formed a dirty word. “God! No! How could you even- I wouldn’t hurt you!”

  Spira raised a thin, black brow. “Why not? You wouldn’t win.” Lifting the folded cuff of her loose, worn flannel up higher, she flexed, showcasing an impressive amount of slim yet powerful muscle. “You could try, but I am much stronger than you.”

  “B-b-ecause... No!” he spluttered.

  “Yes,” she pressed, “but why?”

  “You’re a woman! And women need protecting.”

  Mary’s hand slapped over her mouth to stifle a raucous giggle and Stefan sat back, rolling his eyes with a, “This ought to be good.”

  “Even Byron is not so stupid, brain boy,” the hairy werewolf muttered under his breath.

  “Do we?” Spira asked quietly, her voice low and soft.

  Duncan sat up straighter in his seat and took a deep breath. “It doesn’t matter if you’re stronger than me, or whatever crap you can hold over my head, I... Jesu- I didn’t mean it like that. You make me freaking nervous and I can’t god-damned speak.” Frustration evident in his voice, plastered across his face from the look he was giving her, he plowed through. “I meant women are special. They should be taken care of, you know? They should feel protected and safe, even if it’s the other way around, too. I just... damn, forget me. Hell, do I ever know what the hell I’m saying?”

  Spira’s lips tipped into a small but pleasant smile. Reaching out to pat him with one of her long, talon covered fingers, I flinched for him as she patted his knee. “I am pleased you are not a dragon, Duncan tellie-path,” she said finally.

  “Uh, thanks, I think.” Frowning, disconcerted, the poor fella scratched at the back of his head.

  “And why is that, Spie?” Divit asked curiously, swirling his drink ‘round and ‘round in his glass.

  “Mmm? Oh. If he were a dragon, I would have taken it to mean him to be insulting me and killed him before he’d a chance to explain.”

  “Sp-spira,” I sputtered, hoping she was kidding.

  With a wicked sense of humor and a straight face to rival a tournament poker player, a dragon with a penchant for messing with people just for the hell of it could make differentiating between her truths and teases nearly impossible.

  “What?” My dragon friend shrugged, sober as a judge. “I understand the ways and rules of your normal world as much as you understand mine. Do not be judging me, my friend.”

  “Trying really, really hard not to,” I whispered, glancing at Callie helplessly.

  “Oi! We gonna do this shit or what?!” Callie burst out, stomping her bare foot on the plush rug impatiently.

  “What,” everyone muttered back.

  “Hah!” Callie grinned, cackling gleefully. “Too bad. Okay, let’s continue.” After everyone was done groaning and pissing, she explained, “Everyone has to drink their drink and say, ‘I accept’. Now, come on, bitches, let’s get this show on the road.”

  Waiting for everyone to lift their glasses, she started the count down. “And five, four, three, two...”

  “Wait! Finish saying all the rules first!” Call me a nervous nelly, but my heart was starting to pound, and it wasn’t from excitement. My guts were telling me to dump the drink and run, but my feet, akin to lead weights again, kept me held firmly in place.

  “Look,” Callie huffed, “it’s either this or spin the bottle.” Eyes narrowing to tiny little pin pricks, they zeroed in on me as I started to open my big fat yapper, her finger pointing ominously. “And I swear, if you make us play that game, I’ll enchant the blasted thing so you have to kiss everyone.”

  Holding two fingers up high, she shook them menacingly—as menacingly as one might shake a set of lime green well-manicured claws for nails—glancing meaningfully at Mary and then Stefan.

  “Everyone?” Gaping, I cringed inwardly. This was worse than Truth or Dare in the seventh grade at Kimmie Remble’s party. Noooooo.

  Not to be the dramatic one in this sick bunch, but I could swear I heard a tiny squelch, followed by a press on my chest. Was that my soul slowly being crushed by a demanding bitch of a witchling? Yes. Yes, it was.

 
I’m almost thirty years old and I’m a total loser. This... this is my life? Gah. I need new friends.

  As of tonight, it was at the top of my agenda. No more Callie parties for me. From now on it’s knitting groups, strip clubs, book clubs, raves, or trading card conventions, wherever I could find a spot my ass was welcome. Hell, I’d join a stamp collecting group if they didn’t mind the heavy smell of mushrooms, garlic, and pepperoni stinking up the room. I ain’t picky.

  And then I’m fixing some shit and getting my sorry ass a life. Good lord—as I looked down into my drink’s black depths, the bubbling concoction winking at me as it toiled and troubled—I thought to myself, I have seen the light.

  Maybe I could sign up for night school? Vocational training of some sort... I like animals. Vet technicians are cool. Teeth—I like to brush my teeth. I could become a dental assistant or some shit. Hell, I could go to school for something after I get off work.

  It’s like my life is flashing before me and I’m just now having regrets. Shit.

  “Everyone, at least twice.” Callie smiled her evil smile, and I wanted to poke her twinkling eyes out.

  Bbbbbbiiittcccch. I mean, witch.

  As if she could read my mind, her smile widened even more. That’s it, definitely finding a new group to chill with. Definitely getting that life.

  “To you, bitch,” I toasted, leaving everyone staring after me as Callie burst out laughing.

  Lifting my drink, I downed it like a shot, wondering why no one else kicked up a fuss. “I hate you,” I said once everyone followed suit and we’d all uttered our ‘I accept’s. “And I’m not making out with your friends, any of you.” Grimacing, I gave each and every one of them pointed looks. “You’re fucking nuts, Cals, if you think you can make me.”

  “Who? Me? Pfft. Why would I wanna do that?” Callie tapped her long, green nails on her empty glass, smiling sweetly. The picture of innocence—I called bull.