Witched to Death

by Deanna Chase

  I lay submerged up to my neck in the clawfoot tub, bubbles tickling my chin, as I stared up at the oak ceiling. Or tried to. My vision was still slightly clouded from my alcohol binge at the bar. Soft lighting shone from the sconces on the walls, and candles flickered in the now-defunct fireplace. All I needed was a bottle of wine and a manservant to complete my evening.

  Instead I had cheap beer and a scowling wolf.

  “I already told you,” I insisted for the fourth time, “I don’t know who she was. I’ve never seen her before. Besides, my vision was slightly impaired from the whiskey… and beer… and pink-tinis.”

  “Right.” He put down the notebook he’d been scribbling in and leaned against the vanity. “I guess that’s enough.”

  I took a pull of the beer and grimaced. “Do you seriously not have anything else other than this? Cabernet? Whiskey? Vodka? Absinthe?”

  “Absinthe.” He let out a soft chuckle. “I’d forgotten that used to be your drink of choice.”

  “It was the early nineteen hundreds. What else was I going to drink?” I put the beer down and wrinkled my nose. “No one drinks it these days. Now it’s all mojitos and hand grenades and daiquiris. People don’t know how to drink anymore.”

  “What about hurricanes?” he asked, raising one eyebrow.

  “They’re okay I guess. Not very original if you ask me.”

  “But a pink-tini is?” he teased.

  “Back off, buster. That stuff is made by angels.” I glanced at the domestic beer. “Unlike that monstrosity. With all the options out there, this is what you pick?”

  He shook his head. “It was already here. A welcome gift of sorts.”

  “Figures.”

  Silence fell between us. And not the comfortable kind either. Suddenly I was very aware that I was naked in the tub while he stood there, arms crossed over his body, fully clothed…staring at me. And although he couldn’t see anything—the bubbles were way too thick—after my attack, for one of the first times in my life, I started to feel vulnerable.

  Exposed.

  I picked up the beer and chugged the contents.

  “Are you sure you’re not an alcoholic?” Diesel asked.

  “Of course I’m not. I haven’t even been human for twenty-four hours. I’m just… adjusting.”

  “Right.”

  “Let’s see how much control you have after being dead for ninety-some years,” I snapped.

  He held his hands up in a stop motion. “Fair enough. Anything else you’d like to indulge in this evening?”

  “You sure there isn’t any wine in this house?” The idea of sipping a nice red while soaking in the fabulous tub was enough to make me swoon. And I wasn’t much of a swooner. More like a full-steam-ahead, live-life-to-it’s-fullest kind of girl.

  “Have you not had enough?” he asked, not unkindly, as he eyed the beer.

  “Sure I have. But who knows how much time I have here. And I want to live it up while I can. What’s the worst thing that happens? I wake up hungover in your bed? Oops!” I pressed my hand to my mouth, then pulled it away. “Too late!”

  He shook his head, but there was amusement lighting his eyes. He turned to leave the bathroom and glancing back at me, he said, “I’ll check one more time.”

  “You’re the perfect man,” I said, sighing. As the words flew out of my mouth, every nerve ending in my body came to life. I sat up and called, “Wait.”

  Turning around, he paused and cocked his head to the side, eyeing me. “Yes.”

  “I thought of something else I want to indulge in.”

  His lips curved into an amused smile. “And what might that be, Miss Ida May? A brandy? An after dinner Irish coffee? Or the homemade apple pie that’s waiting in the fridge to be heated up?”

  I shook my head, trying to clear the alcohol cobwebs, and pulled myself up out of the bath. Standing there completely naked with the bubbles dripping off me, I said, “All I really want is you.”

  5

  His mouth dropped open at the same time his gaze wandered down my body.

  I stepped out of the tub and moved toward him, and although I stumbled slightly, I was still confident this was exactly what I wanted. I couldn’t remember a time when I hadn’t wanted him. Not even after I’d spotted him with Ophelia and realized he hadn’t left New Orleans all those years ago. That he hadn’t been called back to New York, and that he’d only used that as an excuse to let me down easy.

  The yearning had still been there.

  He was the one person who I’d dated back then who hadn’t expected special favors from me. Who hadn’t assumed that just because I was a working girl that I was giving the milk away for free. He’d understood that I wanted and deserved respect. And he’d never once tried to take advantage of me. Even though he could have.

  Because I’d craved him from the moment I’d met him.

  And I still did.

  Standing in front of him, I lifted my hand and cupped his cheek, loving the gentle brush of his stubble on my palm. “It’s been a very long time, Diesel.”

  He tore his eyes from my breasts, and met my gaze with his heated one.

  “I always thought we’d end up like this eventually. But time ran out. And now that we have a second chance, I—”

  He wrapped his fingers around my wrist and gently lowered my hand. “This isn’t a good idea.”

  “Says who?” I placed my free hand on his chest, and leaned into him, brushing my lips gently over his.

  He pulled back, abruptly putting space between us. “You’ve been drinking.”

  I frowned. “So?”

  “And a little over an hour ago you were attacked by magic. I don’t think now’s the time to…ah, get intimate.”

  I waved an impatient hand and stepped forward again, following him out into the main cabin. “You’re seriously turning me down? Just because I’ve been drinking?”

  “Not just because of that.” He stalked over to a closet, reached in and pulled out a white towel. “Can you please put this on?”

  “No.” I stood there in the living room, livid that he didn’t appear to want me. I was naked for goddess’ sake and he was going on about me being drunk. And yeah, okay, I had imbibed a little more than my fair share, but I was clearly coherent. I was standing wasn’t I? Even if the room was spinning a little bit.

  “Ida May—”

  “Forget I said anything.” I turned and stalked back into the bathroom, pausing only to call out, “Don’t forget the wine. And while you’re at it, bring the pie.”

  Before he could answer, I slammed the door and slipped back into the tub. Screw him. A girl could figure out her own orgasms. But only after more wine and pie.

  I woke the next morning to a splitting headache.

  “Son of a wine whore,” I mumbled and rolled over, finding the bed just as empty as it had been when I’d climbed in well after midnight the night before. “Maybe that last glass of wine had been a little too much.”

  “Perhaps,” Diesel said from across the room.

  I propped open one eye and spotted him in an armchair, one foot resting on the opposite knee. “Where have you been all night?”

  “I slept on the couch.” He rose and brought me a glass of water and a couple of pills. “Take these. They’ll help.”

  Groaning, I rolled over and buried my head in the pillow. “Forget it. I’m just gonna die right here. Undersexed and jonesing for eggs benedict.”

  I heard the thump of the glass on the nightstand. “The eggs benedict I can handle.”

  “What did you just say?” I rolled back over and eyed him with suspicion. “Don’t mess with me, wolf boy.”

  A self-satisfied smile claimed his lips. “I’ll be in the kitchen. If you decide dying isn’t in the cards, join me in about thirty minutes. Your breakfast will be waiting.”

  Damn.

  Now that was sexy. A man who brought pain killers and made you breakfast. Who knew those still existed? Too bad he was such a tease.
Because my girly parts were getting all hot and bothered again just thinking about him.

  I had to snap out of it. He wasn’t the only wolf in the forest. Surely I could find someone else worthy to meet my womanly needs.

  Groaning at the dull ache throbbing at my temple, I gulped down the pain killers and most of the water then headed for the shower.

  And oh goddess, was the shower glorious. It was the kind with five shower heads, three massage settings, and a bench to use while shaving your legs. If there hadn’t been a promise of breakfast and a hot man in the other room, I might’ve stayed there all damned day. Instead, I luxuriated in the fancy smelling soap and shampoo and shaved everything south of my neck. A girl had to be prepared, right?

  Twenty minutes later, smelling of vanilla scented soap and with my headache nearly gone, I stood wrapped in a towel, wondering what I was going to wear. The outfit I’d borrowed from Zelda smelled like the inside of a dumpster. Putting that on was out of the question. My only real options were to hang out in the cotton towel, or snag a few things from Diesel.

  I glanced down at my barely covered body.

  Yeah, back in the day on Basin Street the towel would’ve been plenty. Here in Asscrack in the middle of February, not so much.

  I moved to the small closet. Inside I found a couple of jackets and hiking boots. But I had much better luck with the dresser. Before long, I had a clean T-shirt, a zip up sweatshirt, sweatpants, and a pair of socks. Obviously no bra or underwear. But I could work with that. As long as I had something to keep my ass from freezing, I was good.

  But as I was closing the sock drawer, something silver caught my eye. Something I hadn’t seen in a very long time. Smiling, I pulled out the pocket watch and ran my fingers over the engraved fleur-de-lis. It was the one I’d given him as a birthday present so long ago. The one that had belonged to a good friend of mine before he’d died at the tender age of sixteen.

  Happy tears stung my eyes, and I pressed the timepiece to my chest, reveling in memories of sitting down by the river on warm autumn nights, dreaming of our futures. Futures that ended entirely too soon.

  Reining my emotions back in, I opened the metal clasp and let out a small surprised gasp. Inside was an old, yellowing black and white photo. One I hadn’t seen before. But there was no mistaking the identity of the laughing woman with wide almond-shaped eyes and wild curly hair—it was me.

  I hastily pulled on the too-big clothes, and after rolling up the sweatpants, I grabbed the pocket watch and strode into the main cabin. The rich scents of bacon and coffee filled the air.

  “There you are.” Diesel smiled at me as he reached for a couple of mugs. “Good timing. I just set the plates on the table. Did you want coffee or—what’s wrong?”

  “I found this in your sock drawer.” I held the watch up.

  He put the mugs down on the table and moved to stand in front of me. “Okay.”

  “Okay? What does that mean?” I asked, impatience coloring my tone.

  “Nothing. I imagine it’s quite something to find items you used to own in your past life. If I’d thought about it, I’d have offered to give it back—”

  “I don’t want it back!” I cried. “I gave it to you as a present. What I want to know is why you’re still carrying it around.”

  He jerked back, clearly startled by my outburst. “Because it’s a good watch? Because I like being reminded of my time in New Orleans. I’ve just had it so long, it’d feel weird to not carry it. I have a smart phone, like most people. I’m not a total luddite, but—”

  “Why do you have a picture of me in it?” I threw the watch at him, hitting him squarely in the chest, no longer acting as if what he did way back then hadn’t gutted me. That lying to me and leaving me for Ophelia hadn’t left a huge hole in my heart.

  Diesel stood in the middle of the room, unmoving for a moment. Then he slowly bent down and picked the watch up. After inspecting it for any damage, he tucked it into his pocket and moved forward, closing the distance. But he was careful to not touch me. “Because the watch always reminds me of you. Is it wrong to want a memory?”

  Anger boiled over and if there’d been anything heavy nearby, I’d have likely clocked him with it. “It is when you threw me away.”

  “What?” He took a step back as if I had really decked him. “What are you talking about?”

  “Please, Diesel. There’s no need to lie to me. I know what you did. I know why you broke things off with me. No wonder the curse Zelda tried to reverse for you resulted in me being back here. You weren’t honest with me. And you never deserved my heart or my trust. I guess you’re just going to have to remain shiftless until you prove to me you’ve changed. Prove you’re worthy of me or any woman for that matter.”

  If I’d thought he was shocked before, it was nothing compared to what I saw now. Wide eyes, open mouth, complete deer in the headlights, blank expression.

  “Yeah, the secret’s out, buddy. I know all about Ophelia and your engagement. That you didn’t leave me to go back to New York. That you married that woman instead. You didn’t have to lie—”

  “Whoa!” Diesel snapped out of his frozen trance and in two steps, closed the distance between us. “Is that what you’ve been thinking all these years? That I left you for Ophelia?”

  I squared my shoulders and met his intense gaze head on. “Don’t try to deny it. I saw you with her. You were down by the river. The same spot you and I used to go to. You were holding her hand and your heads were bent together just like you were sweethearts.” I let out a strangled laugh. “But of course you were, weren’t you? It was then I had Josephine’s investigators vet you. And you know what they found out? That you were promised to that high society cow and engaged to be married!”

  Some of the indignation went out of his eyes as he studied me. Then his shoulders relaxed. “So…the investigation came after we weren’t seeing each other, then? I wasn’t just like any other client?”

  Hells bells. I had told him that hadn’t I? Well, it hardly mattered now. “No,” I said quietly. “You weren’t like a client. You weren’t anything like a client at all. Our private lives were our own. I just said that because you hurt me.”

  “Dammit, Ida May,” he said, his tone just as quiet as mine. “I should’ve told you about her and for that I am truly sorry. But it’s not what you think.”

  “How can it not be?” I shot back. “You were engaged to her, weren’t you?”

  His shoulders slumped in defeat. “Yes… and no.”

  “No? What the hell does that mean? Either you were engaged or you weren’t. Please, just be honest with me.”

  He reached out and took one of my hands. “Can we sit and have breakfast? I’ll explain everything.”

  My headache was trying to needle its way back into existence and the nausea was starting to kick in. “Fine.”

  I sat at the small pine table and gingerly took a bite of the eggs benedict. The creamy rich sauce hit my tongue and my eyes closed as the flavors sent me into a state of pure bliss. “Ohmigod. So good.”

  When I opened my eyes again, Diesel was sitting in his chair, elbows on the table just watching me. I swallowed and put my fork down. “Thanks for the food. But I’m still waiting for your explanation.”

  He sat back and blew out a breath. “Ophelia’s parents had a connection to my pack. They were longtime allies, so when I came to New Orleans it was natural for me to spend time with them.”

  I took another bite of my breakfast and nodded. “Sure.”

  “I should probably mention that Ophelia is a witch, so being paranormals meant that whenever there was ever any problem we tried to help each other out when we could. Back then it was sort of an unwritten agreement.”

  I’d learned she’d come from a family of witches after the investigation, and over time had come to understand that paranormals usually stuck together. I nodded again.

  “Well, right before I was called home, there was some sort of scandal with the
man Ophelia was supposed to marry, and apparently both our families decided I was the answer to her problems.”

  “Like an arranged marriage?” I asked, making no effort to hide my skepticism.

  “I guess. Not really. They were just strongly pushing it. Her parents were worried her reputation would be ruined. Mine decided a witch for the pack wasn’t a bad idea.”

  “Seems like a tidy little solution. What happened?” I blew on the piping hot coffee, wondering if he was feeding me a line of complete crap.

  “What happened is, no one bothered to consult me about this little plan. So when I got word that I needed to go back to New York, that’s when you and I said goodbye.”

  I raised my eyebrows, wondering what he expected me to say to any of this. Because so far, I hadn’t heard anything that was making me feel better. He’d still stayed in New Orleans and hadn’t told me.

  “But, a few hours before I was headed out, Ophelia showed up on my doorstep. She claimed wedding preparations were already well underway and that if I left town she’d be ruined. She made it sound like a huge scandal. That our parents had taken matters into their own hands and I ended up staying in town to deal with the situation.”

  “So you’re saying you were engaged, but that you never asked her to marry you?” I put my mug down and leaned in, narrowing my eyes.

  “Exactly. I didn’t tell you because I didn’t want to hurt you or drag you into it. Especially because Ophelia acted like she didn’t want to get married either. So we were trying to figure out the best way to discourage our parents. To make it all go away. It turned out that it was all lies. Ophelia had told her parents we’d made it official and that we wanted a wedding before I left. That’s when they involved my parents. In the end, she was sent off to Savannah to live with her aunt while I went up to New York. And the entire thing was never spoken of again. I never married her. And certainly never wanted to.”