"Did you happen to track her two nights ago?" Morgan slapped her hand on the counter.
Ash and I both stiffened up. I hadn't considered his appearance on the same night the Prince died and Ash more than likely didn't like Morgan's accusatory tone.
Some great Witch Detective I was turning out to be. My inability to follow the logical trails in front of me could get me killed in a heartbeat and my unruly hormones might just do the same.
"No. What happened two nights ago?" Ash demanded. He ran his hand up and down my back as if to reassure himself that I was all right.
I was sitting on his lap. I don't know how he missed it.
I shoved at him again. This was ridiculous.
"Oh, no. You don't get into the party that easy." Morgan snapped her fangs. "I want to know what you want with Kate."
"That's between Kate and me." Sweet Glinda, he grouped us together like we were already a couple. My heart pitter-pattered. At this rate I'd be back to banging my head against walls and in desperate need of some Ibuprofen.
"I'm her best friend; that makes it my business too." Morgan snarled.
Spirits love her, I certainly did. I'd put Morgan through a lot lately with the whole body-dumping-betraying-her-own-kind-murder-investigation thing. I've never had a lot of friends and her defense meant the world to me.
"I think it's my business too." I chimed in.
Neither one of them acknowledged me. Seriously. I was sitting on a demon's lap, wrapped around him in a manner that could in no way be considered appropriate for polite society – although possibly quite correct for The Whipping Post - and the two of them continued to argue right over my head.
Enough already.
I opened my mouth, but Morgan growled first. "Ash, such an unusual name. Even for a demon. It wouldn't happen to be short for something, would it?"
By the abrupt tension in his body, I knew Morgan had made a direct bulls-eye. I just had no idea what target she'd hit or why it mattered.
I did know that I was done. Events had been playing themselves out the last few days that affected my entire life and yet I had little to no say in those same events.
Time to take control.
I moved my upper torso to one side, angled my hips and pushed with them at the same time. My added weight comes in handy at times, this proved to be one of them. Well, that plus the months I'd spent on the Broomstick Gymnastics team at the Wiccan Academy.
I swung my leg with the momentum, knocked the guy off the stool next to me and wound up standing in between Morgan and Ash.
"Sorry." I waved over at the guy on the floor before turning to Morgan. "I'll be right back." I swiveled back to Ash. "Dance with me."
I didn't wait for a response. He'd made his intentions obvious, so I knew he would follow. A heartbeat later, a large hand settled on the small of my back.
The band struck up a slow song just as we hit the dance floor. Sultry and smooth, the music washed over us as Ash pulled me tight against him.
"You want to tell me what that was all about?" I asked. I set my hand on his left shoulder where he had a large sprawling tattoo that encompassed his arm from under the edge of his vest to midway down his forearm.
I didn't recognize the design, but it looked Celtic in origin. Comprised of both bold and delicate lines, it was mostly black with a few reddish flames.
Ash moved my hand so my palm rested over his upper chest, skin to skin.
"I don't think your friend likes me." He deliberately avoided what I wanted to know. Whatever information Morgan had on Ash, I'd have to dig out of her.
"What happened the other night?" He didn't move us around the dance floor, but shifted my body against his in slow rhythm with the music. He knew what he was about, this demon.
I shook my head. "I'll answer yours, if you answer mine."
Ash sighed and lowered his head until his next words brushed my face as he spoke, "I'd rather we went somewhere private."
He tugged my hips tight to his so there would be no misinterpretation of what he wanted. Most of me screamed yes, but a small voice reminded me that there was definitely more to Ash than he let on and that convinced me to stop.
I shoved at his chest. "There is something else going on here, Ash." I stared into the deep amber of his gaze. "I don't know what it is, but you don't want me for me alone."
His eyes narrowed, but he didn't deny it. I straightened my shoulders, refusing to let him see how much that hurt.
"Why don't you look me up when you're ready to play straight." I turned to walk away, Ash's hand on my shoulder kept me spinning right back around.
"I know what I want and I don't play games."
His mouth came down on mine, hot and hard. His tongue pushed against my lips and I opened for him. Heat. Need. Raw possession.
He demanded everything with that kiss and I gave it to him.
Our tongues dueled, wrapped around each other, tangled, licked, fought. I gasped, pulling back for a moment to breathe. Ash thrust his fingers into my hair and yanked me back into him.
He nipped at my lower lip, sucked on it and then swallowed me up for another all-consuming kiss. I gripped his vest and hung on.
I couldn't get enough of his taste, his touch, his heat.
My stomach clenched and the leather outfit became too confining, too much of a boundary between our bodies. As if he felt the same, Ash cupped my ass with one hand and lifted me, pressing me into his hardness.
Then suddenly it was over.
We stood a foot apart. My heart raced. Ash's chest heaved like he'd just finished a marathon.
"I want you." He cupped my cheek. "I will have you."
Then he walked away.
14. Spike's.
My pulse still pounded through my body like a pinball gone wild. We'd left The Whipping Post an hour ago. I'd have a moment of normality and logical thought then it would disappear beneath an onslaught of molten hormones riding a surfboard through the turbulent rivers of lava that made up my veins.
I ran my hand discreetly over my lips. For about the seventh time. Nope, no drool. I couldn't help but marvel at my world that I now had to actually check for drool due to a certain demon.
I didn't want to marvel.
More than anything, I wanted that damn demon to stand still for about five minutes. That's all I needed. No help on his part.
My heart sped up. Three minutes might just do it.
Sweet Glinda, when had I turned into such an easy witch?
"Checking for drool?"
"Wah?" I glanced quickly at Morgan. It took everything that I had to concentrate on driving. I didn't need a car accident on top of everything else. "No idea what you're talking about. Why would I be checking for drool? That's totally . . . damn, it's that obvious?"
"I figured it out after you checked for the third time." Morgan sighed. "My fangs slipped out a couple times too."
I felt slightly better after her admission that . . . wait a minute. "What do you mean your fangs slipped out?"
"A demon like that doesn't come around very often." Morgan muttered. "And it doesn't hurt to look."
"Well, I think you should just keep your eyes to yourself and . . ." No way. "Did I just try to threaten you?"
"Yep. You did just try."
I ignored her not so subtle emphasis. She was allowed. I was appalled. "I'm jealous." How had this happened? "I'm jealous over a demon I don't know."
"He is one helluva hot demon." Morgan snickered at her own pun.
"I don't want to be jealous." Did I just whine? "I'm off men. OFF. I'm cursed, damn it!"
"Saying "damn it" after cursed is a bit redundant, don't you think?"
"Morgan!" I snapped. This was serious.
Her leathers creaked as she shifted. "What do you want me to say Kate? You are cursed. You're also the prime suspect in the disappearance of the vampire prince, whose body we disposed of. And you have a ruthless vampire assassin just waiting for any excuse to kill you." Morgan slapped the dash with her fi
st. The plastic crumbled under her skin, leaving a major dent in my Mini Cooper. "Sorry." She crossed her arms. "And Ash is still hot."
I clenched my fingers around my steering wheel. We drove in silence for a while.
It wasn't often that Morgan expressed her true feelings. She'd had centuries to build her wall. If Morgan was concerned about me, I should be damn near neurotic.
"Let's stop at Spike's."
"If you want a drink, why don't we go to Got Fangs? ?"
Spike's is a biker bar on the seedier end of our town. I'd been there twice with one of my human friends. They served beer, not blood.
"I don't want a drink. I want to ask a few more questions." Morgan drummed her nails over my ruined dash. She set her fingers under the mangled edge and lifted up. Crack. Now I had a hole instead of a dent.
"Oops."
"Never mind." It could be fixed and I knew Morgan would pay for it. "The Prince went to Spike's?" I wasn't sure whether she meant questions about Ash or Xavier.
I saw her nod out of the corner of my eye. "He'd been on some sort of tour the last few months." The family home for the United States royal vampires is in northern California. I hadn't asked enough questions when the prince made his appointment, I'd been too stupidly thrilled.
"He hit all the bars when he first arrived in this area. The Whipping Post was his favorite, but he visited Spike's several times." Morgan hit the button and rolled down her window. Cool summer air filled the car. She tossed the hunk of plastic out the window.
"I think we should try to find out some more answers tonight." She rolled up the window. "You need to find the killer soon."
Chills that had absolutely nothing to do with the evening air and everything to do with her words, raced up and down my spine.
"Okay then." My smile only quivered a tiny bit. Honest. "Spike's it is."
We drove several more miles, before Morgan said, "I can't believe I littered." She hit the electric window button. When the glass slid flush into the door, Morgan flew out.
I gripped the wheel until my knuckles turned white. On the plus side I was no longer thinking of my doomed relationship with the demon. On the negative I had to find a killer before I wound up all too dead myself.
****
I parked my car in between two bikes. Morgan had disposed of the piece of plastic in an appropriate container somewhere and returned to my car. We'd continued our trip in silence. I'd been wrapped up in thoughts of death and mayhem. I don't know what thoughts consumed Morgan.
We both got out. Morgan in one of those boneless moves of hers and I more or less rolled onto the pavement and dragged myself up by my car door. Hot or not, I'd just about had enough of this outfit.
I casually scoped out the parking lot. No assassins waiting to jump out and behead me. Bright lights illuminated most of the area quite clearly, as if the bikes were all center stage at a Broadway production.
I'd dated a biker once. It didn't surprise me. A serious biker coddles his bike like . . . well, let's just say that we went on two dates. And I left in the middle of the second one as he was polishing his front tire at a gas station.
My yellow Mini Cooper resembled a single sunflower on a tiny island in the middle of a swamp surrounded by hungry alligators.
I beeped the lock on my key.
Willie Nelson's "On the Road Again" greeted us as we entered the bar. If they were going to replay oldies, I personally would have thought some AC/DC would be more along the lines of this crowd. Then again, I'm just a witch.
We found a small bit of standing room towards the end of the bar, near the jukebox. A stage on the other side of the bar held various instruments, but no band. Probably on break.
Our leather outfits fit in as perfectly here as they had earlier. I glanced around a bit more. Actually, I think we were slightly underdressed. We needed some spikes.
Huh. Must be a theme. Spikes for Spike's.
Everyone sitting at the tables in the middle of the room had on lots of leather and lots of spiked collars, wristbands, belts and gloves. I wondered if this bar might be more like The Whipping Post than Morgan knew.
On the couple of occasions I had been here, it had been much earlier in the evening. I recalled blue jeans and a few leather jackets, but no spikes. I'm pretty sure I would have remembered too. It sort of stayed with a witch.
I turned towards the bar. Aha. Behind the bar, in the middle of the wall, center of all the bottles of alcohol, was a retail display, selling – you guessed it – spiked accessories.
Two handles rested on the outer edges of what I assumed to be cabinet panels concealed in between the alcohol bottles and the display. They must slide the doors back after a certain time frame. So smart. A regular bar before ten or eleven in the evening and then a place for the rowdier group afterwards.
As a small business owner myself, I applauded the sheer genius of it all. In this economy it takes all you've got and then some to make a business survive, much less grow.
I wondered if I should order T-Shirts with Love Required spelled out in glittering crystals? With a catchy slogan underneath or on the back . . .
"Good evening ladies. What can I get you?" The gravelly voice came from somewhere above my head. I glanced up. And up. Until I met his sea-blue eyes.
Wowza. He was nearly as tall as Ash. Tousled dirty blond hair, firm lips. A tight, black, short-sleeved shirt clung lovingly to his chest. As a wonderful visual bonus, it also showed off his very large biceps.
Two silver spiked, black leather cuffs encircled each thick wrist. I would have had to lean quite a ways over the counter to check out his pants and that seemed a little too nosy to me. As well as crass. And perhaps a bit slutty too.
I had enough trouble with my hormones and one demon.
"I'll have a beer." I eyed his muscled bicep. "A light beer." Between my detective work and Ash, I'd had about six sips of my first beer. I could probably have a regular beer and not a single calorie would find its way to my hips, but with the luscious display in front of me, I felt a diet coming on.
Or at least a temporary need to suck in my stomach really hard.
"A gin and tonic please." That still weirded me out. To top it off, Morgan had actually consumed her gin and tonic earlier. All of it. She hadn't even winced. Or gagged.
He moved toward the middle of the well station, about five feet away. I didn't even have to pretend to drop something on the other side of the bar.
He had on a pair of jeans that had been washed enough times they were no longer blue, but that pale shade that fell in between blue and white, with certain patches more white than blue. He had some very nice certain patches.
And a dog-eared copy of "The Grapes of Wrath" tucked away into his back pocket. Not that I was examining him that closely or anything. His backside just so happened to be in my line of vision.
Drat. My hormones and I needed a serious heart-to-heart.
Although my three minutes with Ash would work just as well. Probably better.
The bartender set our drinks in front of us. "Would you ladies like to start a tab?" Tempting, very tempting.
"No, thank you." Morgan has been around a heck of a lot longer than I have. She has this whole been-there-done-him attitude towards hunks. I have this unfortunate tendency to . . . drool.
We paid for our drinks. He started to turn away and Morgan said, "We would like to ask you a few questions if you don't mind."
I didn't blame him for the wary look. I couldn't imagine too many of his clientele would appreciate questions being asked about them. Or background checks being run for that matter.
"I can't guarantee that I'll answer, but feel free to ask." Honest and polite. He just got better and better.
"We're in town for a few days and we're looking for a friend of ours. He's mentioned this bar before. We've tried calling, but I think something is wrong with his phone." Morgan pulled a photo out of her pocket. "His name's Xavier."
I choked on my sip of light beer.
I may have mentioned my issue with lying a time or two. Morgan's lie fell so smoothly from her lips any bounty hunter would have been fooled. And I know they have reason to be suspicious of people.
The bartender took the photo. He studied it for a minute. I tried not to spew beer through my nose.
"I've seen him." He handed the photo back to Morgan. I choked some more. My eyes watered. "He's friends with Snake and Terry." He glanced at me. "You okay?"
I grimaced, pointed at my beer and then my throat and tapped my fist against my chest. Smooth, sophisticated Witch Detective. That's me.
This had better not become a habit. My esophagus couldn't take it.
He pointed at a table near the hall to the restrooms. "That's Snake and Terry. The bald guy and the one with the devil on the back of his jacket." The bartender locked eyes with Morgan. I finally swallowed my beer and promptly gasped for some much needed air. "He's packin' and he doesn't have a problem using it either. If you're official, I'd appreciate it if you asked your questions outside."
I've watched enough crime shows to nod knowingly.
"We're just friends." Morgan smiled. "We won't cause any trouble."
I almost choked again at that one.
We grabbed our drinks and wandered over to meet Snake and Terry.
"Mind if we join you?" I don't think there is a male – straight, gay, dead or all three – that would say no to Morgan.
She sat. I calculated the distance to the seat, the bendability of my outfit – which I knew to be zilch – and the current strength of my zipper.
"I'm going to stand for a while." I leaned casually against the wall. "A long day on the bike." I had no problems with them thinking my ass might be a bit sore. I did with the distinct possibility that my outfit had reached its limit.
"That can be a real bitch." Snake and Terry toasted bottles, a clink to past long days themselves. "I've never seen you lovely ladies here before."
Introductions commenced. Snake turned out to be the bald guy, Terry the one with the concealed weapon.
"We're looking for a friend of ours." Morgan went into her schpiel again. I tried on a concerned frown.
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