Soren stops, eyes narrowing. "A warlock."
"Harold Black, at your service. Now. For the last time. I suggest you leave, before you get yourself hurt."
Soren doesn't seem afraid. His eyes are smoldering with fury. I know him well enough now that I can see just how on edge he is. How close he is to releasing his bear, to attacking Harold and Gerry right here and now. "What do you want with Anita?"
"Money," blurts Gerry, almost hiding behind his dad. "She owes us money!"
Soren pauses. This he hadn't expected. He processes this, and then raises one eyebrow. "How much?"
Harold narrows his eyes. "One hundred and ten thousand. Ten up front, and the balance to be paid monthly in three-thousand-dollar increments."
Soren doesn't hesitate. "Done. I'll pay that now."
Gerry's eyes go nearly as wide as my own, but Harold only smiles. "That's more than acceptable. I don't accept checks, however."
Soren stares at him with contempt. "Tomorrow I'll draw it in cash from the bank. I'll see you outside Honeycomb Falls Cooperative Bank at nine."
The black lightning fades from Harold's fingers, and he smiles. "Done." He grabs Gerry by the arm. "In which case, we'll be leaving. Good night." Soren steps aside as Harold drags Gerry out the door, and we both watch as they descend the steps and are gone.
I can't breathe. I can't believe what just happened. I turn to Soren. "You –"
"Nita." He steps up and envelops me in his arms. "Why didn't you tell me?"
Tears come hot to my eyes. "I was ashamed." Saying it causes me to cry harder. "I didn't want to ruin our time together."
He strokes my hair, holding me tight. I feel so secure in his arms, pressed against his broad chest. "Shh," he says. "It's OK. It's over now."
"But..." I pull back. "That money. I'll pay you back. I promise I will."
He smiles as if I've said something foolish. "And what do I need money for?"
I blink. "But it's so much. You can't –"
"I can." His smile is rich with amusement. "I have plenty of money. These are the only moments I've found that it's good for."
"Oh." I literally don't know what to say. I stare up into his eyes, overwhelmed.
"And – there you are." His voice changes, going accusatory and exasperated. He's staring at the couch – at Iminyë, I realize, who has shrunk as deep into her nest of cushions as she can. "Stop hiding. I see you."
"Who, me?" Iminyë pokes her head out. "I'm not hiding." She sounds affronted. "I was getting cozy."
"Oh, really. And just what are you doing here eating cake, and watching..." He peers at the TV. "Sleepless in Seattle?"
"I can do what I wish! I am Iminyë, queen of the Elysian honey, matriarch of the peerless fields, the –"
Soren sighs. "Yes, yes. I know. But you can't just disappear without telling me. I sensed you flying into town. You know it isn't safe without me around to protect you."
Iminyë's eyes go wide with outrage, but before she can complain I hear Harold coming back up the steps. Now what?
Except it isn't Harold that comes up the steps. It's Mr. Whitman. Dressed all in black, and holding a nasty-looking gun in one hand and a little stick in the other. My eyes widen. No, not a stick. A wand.
Chapter 13
Soren immediately steps protectively before me. A low, dangerous growl fills the apartment. "Leave Anita alone. I've agreed to pay her debts."
"Debts?" Mr. Whitman blinks in confusion. "I'm afraid you have the wrong person. Though I believe you're just the one I'm looking for." He steps into my apartment. I don't know which to fear more – the gun, or the glowing wand.
Soren's growl deepens. Becomes truly menacing. "Get out of here," he warns. "This is your last chance."
"I don't take kindly to threats," says Mr. Whitman. "And – ah. By all that's delicious. Is that an Elysian fairy?" He's staring right at Iminyë, who's glaring defiantly back at him. "At last." Mr. Whitman almost crows with delight. "Oh, finally. At long, long last. An Elysian fairy of my own."
Soren's growl turns into a roar, and he throws himself forward. In midair he shifts into a massive grizzly bear, an enormous wall of thick fur and talons, an avalanche of muscle and rage that falls upon the slender Mr. Whitman. Who turns and raises his wand, and sends a bolt of lightning from its tip straight into Soren's chest.
The result is immediate and terrifying. White lightning swallows the huge bear, shooting over his pelt, encasing him in electricity. Soren roars in fury and pain, but he can't move. I cover my mouth with both hands as he struggles to take a step, then a second, and finally crashes to the floor. The lightning continues to race over his fur, and then with a groan Soren shifts back into his human form, and lies still.
"Stupid bear," says Whitman. "Did he really think I'd come unprepared?"
"Stop it." I want to tear Whitman's head right off his shoulders. "Stop hurting him!"
"Oh, very well. I'm not needlessly cruel." He waggles his wand, and the electric bolts disappear. There's a high-pitched squeal of rage, and Iminyë darts up into the air. My eyes go wide as she raises a hand, and a cloud of golden dust streaks from her palm toward Whitman, who again raises his wand. Glowing white streaks of electricity race out of its tip to form a net, which captures the gold dust and pushes it back. To my horror, the net closes around Iminyë, completely trapping her within its center.
"Ah," says Whitman. "Perfection. Ms. Hall, you have done me the greatest service. I truly cannot thank you enough."
"You bastard," I whisper. "Let her go!"
"Let her go?" He actually sounds shocked. "Why would I do that? I've been hunting for a fairy like her for over thirty years now. Let her go? I'm going to take her back to Boston and force her to enchant my food. Oh, the money I shall make. But forget the money. I'll finally be able to taste those amazing flavors once more." He sounds almost wistful. "Not since Greece have I tasted the like. When I met my first fairy, and tried her wine. Thank you, Ms. Hall, for leading me to her."
Tears run down my cheeks. What can I do? He's got his gun pointed at me. I don't have Soren's strength. I don't have Iminyë's magic. I'm helpless. I have to keep him talking. I can't let him escape. "How?"
"How?" He smiles patronizingly. "Oh, come on, Anita. It's obvious. You set up a business partnership. All I had to do was watch your home and wait for your business partner to show up. Which he did. Along with two other unsavory types. I'm glad they left so quickly. Now. I'll still pay you the agreed-upon sum. You'll find that I'm a fair man. In the meantime, I must return to Boston. If you try to come after me, I won't be so merciful again." He stares me right in the eyes, his expression cold and sociopathic. "I will kill you. And your friend. Understood?"
I nod. Think! Do something! "Is it true? That you haven't tasted Elysian honey in over thirty years?"
He sighs dramatically. "Sad but true. But something I shall soon remedy." He wiggles his wand, and the glowing ball of light begins to float toward him, bringing Iminyë in its center.
"Well, I baked this cake with some," I say, walking over to the Victoria sponge cake. I pick up the cutting board and boldly step up to him, ignoring the gun. "Iminyë and I already had a slice. It's better than the one I served at the Bake Off. It's amazing."
Whitman frowns at me. Glances down at the cake, then at the crumb-strewn plates on the couch. The blackberry filling has oozed out over the sides. It smells divine. "Here," I say, picking up the blunt little cake knife. "Try some."
Whitman licks his dry lower lip. I can see just how badly he wants to. Thirty years he's been craving this taste. For thirty years he's dedicated his life to finding what I'm holding right before him. Fanatical. Insane. He knows he shouldn't. That he should wait just one more day, try some in the safety of his own kitchens back in Boston. But I can see his greed overwhelm his caution. I can see his confidence urge him on.
"Just a little slice for the road, then." He shoves his gun into his belt and picks up the wedge. Steps back, watching me care
fully, and takes a bite.
I time it perfectly. I wait for the Mack truck of flavors to hit him upside the head, the wave of ecstasy to swamp his senses, and just as his eyes go wide and then close halfway, just as he starts to groan and chew, overcome, I step forward and slam the whole cake into his face.
Whitman staggers back, nearly tripping, the cutting board falling to the floor, leaving his face completely smeared and covered up. He opens his mouth to roar in protest, waving his wand in every direction, but before he can recover I step in again and punch him in the face with everything I've got.
Now, I've been wielding rolling pins and kneading dough for most of my life. I'm a big girl. I crack him in the jaw with all my strength, and Whitman goes down like a sack of rocks. Just collapses, and the cage of lightning that's trapping Iminyë flickers out.
I let out a whimper as pain flares in my hand, and shove it into my armpit. Good god, that hurt!
Iminyë zips over to Soren and sprinkles gold dust on him. He groans, then sits up, rubbing at his head. Blinks, and looks around at me. "Anita?"
"Ow," I say, shaking my hand gently. "That hurt!"
He climbs to his feet and takes me in his arms, looking down at the cake-smeared Whitman. "What happened?"
Iminyë flies a loop-de-loop in the air. "She knocked him out! Cracka-punch! Anita is the best!"
"You did?" Soren looks at me wide-eyed.
And I feel a rush of warmth, of delight and pride, of happiness and satisfaction. I can't help but grin. "Maybe just a little."
Soren laughs and hugs me tight. Iminyë is flying in loops all over my apartment. He tilts my head up and grins. "You are the most amazing, wonderful, resourceful, delicious, beautiful, gorgeous woman I've ever met."
"Well," I say, blushing and feeling devilish all at the same time. "I'm glad you finally realized it."
Iminyë lets out a whoop and flies out one window and back in the other, just as Soren leans down and gives me the most amazing kiss of my life.
Chapter 14
The first person on the scene is volunteer patrolman Joanna Kilmarten. Flustered, her ginger hair escaping its braid, she stares down at the still unconscious Mr. Whitman and then up at Soren and me with huge eyes.
"You knocked him out with cake?"
I'm feeling saucy, Soren's arm slung over my shoulders like it belongs there, so all I do is give her a wink.
Joanna's clearly impressed. "You should open a bakery, Anita."
"I intend to." I feel a little thrill. Perfect lines like that almost never happen to me. "I've already got a spot picked out. Right next to Mindy's General Store."
"Brilliant." Joanna was raised in the UK, and occasionally her Britishisms still come through. "All right, then. Time to get serious. Wow. OK. My first arrest. I'm supposed to read him his Miranda rights."
Soren gives a dry chuckle. "That can probably wait till he wakes up."
"Right. Right. OK, then." Joanna clearly isn't sure what to do next, but she's saved by the appearance of Officer Bardwell and Chief LaBonte himself. In short order Soren and I are invited down to the cute little police station just off Bridge Road, and Whitman is carried away as he comes to, his eyes opening groggily in their cake-filled sockets.
Soren and I give depositions, and Rachel shows up with Blake and his whole pack in tow, looking ready to tear apart anybody who gives me any grief. Chief LaBonte gets extra nice once there's a whole pack of werewolves in the lobby, and only after Rachel checks with me six times that I'm fine does she reluctantly agree to check in with me tomorrow morning and lets me out of her sight. About an hour later we're released, free to walk home through the cool autumn night. Only then, walking down Bridge Road to my apartment, gazing at our soft reflections in the dark windowfront displays, do I start to really understand what's happened.
"I have to call my father!" I dig out my phone, not caring about the hour, and dial his number. It rings twice, and then his familiar, worn voice answers.
"Hello?"
"Dad! It's Nita! I have the most amazing news!" I tell him in a rush, all the details pouring out at once, about how the debt is paid, Harold is off our backs forever, about my bakery, each and every detail, till finally I end, almost out of breath, beaming up at Soren, who is grinning right back at me.
There's a silence. A long silence. I've started to get worried when Dad finally speaks, and the emotion in his voice brings tears to my eyes. "Oh, Nita," he says. "You're the most amazing, wonderful girl a father could ever wish for."
The tears spill over my cheeks. I want to hug him so bad. "Oh, Dad. You saved my life. I owe everything to you."
"Nonsense." His voice becomes brisk as he tries to rein in his own tears. "You're your own woman now. You owe me nothing but the occasional weekend visit."
"Ha!" Wild inspiration hits me. "You're not getting off so easy."
"I'm not?" Delight and confusion all at once.
"Not at all. I'm going to need help running my bakery. Do you really expect me to manage the ovens, prepare the dough, arrange the displays, clean the shop, man the register and do everything else all by myself? Dad, that's cruel!"
"Well, if anybody could, it's you my, darling."
"Maybe." I'm willing to concede that in this moment of joy. "But I want you to come work at my bakery with me. You can handle the register. We're going to have customers lining up around the block."
"We are?" I can hear the happiness in his voice. "My, you have become confident."
I think of the Elysian honey that I'll be adding judiciously to my cakes. I think of my grand opening, whose publicity will be doubly enhanced by my winning the Bake Off and being subjected to cake blackmail by the soon-to-be-infamous Mr. Whitman. "Oh, just you wait and see. We're going to have to work hard to keep up with the demand."
He chuckles, "Well, if you can find something for an old man to do, I'd be happy to pitch in."
"Good. We can talk details later. I just want you close."
"There's nowhere else I'd rather be, Nita. I can't tell you how proud I am of you."
I want to squee. Instead I sniff back more tears and smile radiantly. "I love you, Dad."
"Love you, little girl."
I hang up and turn back to Soren, who's stepped back to give me a little privacy. I run right into his arms and hug him tight in an excess of joy. "Oh, Soren. We're free. We're free, and it's all because of you."
He hugs me even tighter, and I love how it feels to be lost in his powerful arms. How warm and powerful he is. He releases me and loops his arm over my shoulders again, nudging me so that we start walking toward the truss bridge. "But you've lost your big investor."
I shrug. "I'll find a way to make it work. We don't need to be all fancy out the door. With ten thousand I can pay the first couple of months' rent, and finance the equipment I need." I take a deep breath of the cool, crisp air. "It will be hard, and there are no guarantees, but I know we'll make it work. In six months, maybe a year, we'll even be able to make a little profit. Hire a little extra help, maybe get some fancier ingredients."
"Hmm," rumbles Soren in that deliciously wonderful way of his. I love snuggling against his side like this. Love his body, the sheer size and solidity of it. How it makes me feel petite, my curves fitting perfectly against him. "Maybe I can help a little."
"No. You've already helped too much."
"Are you sure you can't use another fifty thousand or so? It wouldn't be any trouble to me."
I step away from him, partly in order to control my own surging hope. "No. Thank you. I want this bakery to be mine. Completely mine, from front door to back door. I want to be able to look at it at night when we close and know, know to the bottom of my heart that everything there is mine, there because of my hard work. Your providing me with Elysian honey is all I need to know I'll be a success."
Soren examines me, and then a sinful smile curls across his handsome face. "Do you know how sexy you are when you get all serious like that?"
"Oh, stop it," I say, blushing furiously.
"Oh, no. It's true. You get all stern and serious." He steps close and wraps his arms around me. "I can barely keep my paws off of you."
"Soren!" I know I should be more modern, but we're right on Bridge Street.
He mock-growls into my ear as he leans down. "I could take you right here. Right on the bridge. Can you imagine? Both of us naked as I slide into you from behind?"
Oh boy. My pussy throbs at the idea, partly scandalized, mostly just wickedly aroused. "You're mine for the night," I whisper. "Let's skip the bridge and head right back to my place."
His large hands are exploring my body most boldly. I can barely keep my wits about me. I want his hot skin naked against mine. I want his hard cock between my lips, in my hands, pounding deep into me. My whole body yearns for him, knowing that he'll be gone come morning. Knowing that I have maybe eight hours of wild lovemaking to enjoy before he leaves.
Except we're interrupted. A small form comes flying through the night air, growling with impatience and trailing golden motes of dust. "There you are!"
"Iminyë?" My mind tries to shift gear, banishing images of Soren's growly sexiness, so I can act normal and mature and adult. "Is everything OK?"
"No!" She's furious, landing on top of a dark blue mailbox and stamping her little foot. "The movie ended half an hour ago. The cake was wasted on that man. I've eaten your oatmeal cookies, but I can't open your fridge. I can sense more deliciousness inside it, but the door is too heavy. Hurry back! I want another movie, and more cake."
My eyes go wider with each statement, and the honey fairy's outrage is so comical that I can barely keep my face straight. I know I have to, however. To laugh would be my doom. "I'm sorry. We're coming back now. I've got a bunch of DVDs you can watch. And we can whip up something to eat in a matter of minutes. How do chocolate crepes sound?"
Look Before You Bake: (BBW Paranormal Shape Shifter Romance) (Honeycomb Falls Book 2) Page 10
