by K. F. Breene
Maybe Denny wasn’t so dumb after all.
Daisy was in the clear.
Small miracle number two.
I now had extra money, since I didn’t have to buy Mordecai’s medicine.
Of course, I was minus a job.
That miracle was a wash.
Last miracle: the kids had ganged up on me and forced me out of the house. They were basically sending me out to get roaring drunk so I could forget all my woes for a few hours.
In times like this, they were more like roommates than wards, and I loved them dearly for it, because I could definitely use a reprieve from the constant anxiety of thinking about the future. Of the job I had to get. Of what would happen when that medicine ran out again. Of how I might offload the stolen goods from that vet without getting in trouble with the authorities, or winding up in a drug ring with a bunch of power players who had deadlier weapons than an aluminum bat and a non-working bottle of mace.
Yeah. I needed to forget for a few hours.
Daisy had even forced some of my money on me in case the bar had suddenly decided to stop giving me freebies.
I snorted as I willed myself to pull open the door.
There was no way in cold hell Miles, the bar owner and my ex, would stop giving me free beer. He, a non-Irishman who owned a filthy “Irish” pub, thought only someone sliding along rock bottom would accept such blatant pity. He was fascinated and smug that I clearly had not one ounce of pride left. Boy what a loss, dumping him, he surely thought. And now look at me, needing his condescension to keep on going.
I chuckled.
I had plenty of pride. And plenty of street smarts. My mother’s racket had earned me more than a free phone.
Feel bad for my scrawny arms and skinny frame and want to sneak me in the back of a gym?
Yes, please.
Want to build karma points by letting a street urchin like me hang around for free martial arts lessons?
Cool.
Need to fill a quota of underprivileged kids in your dance studio?
I’m game.
I’d learned more things than a rich kid, all because I looked a mess and didn’t say no when someone offered a freebie. If people wanted to help me out, I would absolutely let them.
I glanced at the cracked sidewalk and scraggly bushes lining the walkway up to the bar. A few cars sat in the parking lot off to the side, and various beat-up automobiles lined the street. A heavyset man slouched as he made his way past on the sidewalk.
This wasn’t a good part of town, even though it was backed up against the wall of the magical zone. Maybe because it was backed up against the wall, though still in the neglected dual-society portion of the city. We could see the lovely weather on the other side of the six-foot-high wall, reminding us that Valens cared about his territory, and blessed them with his magical weather-changing abilities. The clear skies, which sometimes pushed away some of our fog, rubbing our faces in how pristine and well-tended the houses were over there. Those who lived there had money (mostly) and quality food (probably). They had good jobs (I assumed) and access to all the finest things (the bastards).
All we had were surly dispositions and not much of anything.
Then again, we also had loose rules with overworked and underperforming law enforcement. We had the cover of anonymity. We weren’t watched, or forced to keep our stuff in excellent condition. We could live our lives in peace, even if it was with cracked concrete and crappy weather.
Yeah, they could keep their nice houses. Loose rules worked just fine for me, thank you very much.
“Quit stalling, Alexis, and get your drink on,” I muttered to myself.
For a medium-sized miracle, this outing sure seemed like a chore. I was starting to think the kids had forced me out so they could have the house to themselves without my tight-jawed fretting, the little bastards.
I grabbed the handle and yanked the door open before propelling myself into the dimly lit interior. Wood beams lined the ceiling overhead, closing down the space. Picture frames covered the walls, crowded together and often crooked. Empty tables with chairs tucked beneath them were backed up to the far wall, leaving ample space for me to walk through to the back room. On one side, a few guys loitered around a threadbare pool table, and a dance floor pushed up against the electronic jukebox with outrageous prices; on the other, the bar curved in a slight semicircle lined with high-backed chairs, mostly filled.
At six in the evening, these were likely all regulars, watching the TV or staring at nothing, content to keep their own company. It was still too early for the party crowd that would eventually wander in, consisting of magical and non-magical kinds alike, all looking for a last drink in their neighborhood bar before heading home.
A broken-down, leaning wooden chair sat in place of my usual sturdy, magically protected seat. I paused, glancing next to it at Mick, the biggest asshole in the bar, who sat next to the wall so as to cut down on the number of people who tried to talk to him. He was partly the reason why my seat was always vacant, and the vacancy was why it had become my seat in the first place.
“What happened here?” I asked in a collection of grunts. It was the language Mick responded to best.
He glanced at the chair with absolutely gorgeous pale blue eyes. It was his best and only noteworthy feature. His ruddy, sun-damaged face stayed perfectly flat. “Some fat coont took yer chair,” he said in a thick Irish brogue.
“Aww. You called it mine. You must be used to me now.”
I laughed and glanced down the bar. I’d gotten awfully used to the C-word from hanging around him. I also knew that he never used that word to describe women unless he was falling-down drunk and spoiling for a fight. A fight that the women at this bar would happily give him. Typically, though, he reserved the term for men and non-living objects. Which meant a large, heavyset, or stocky man had my chair.
Familiar faces lined the bar—some of the regulars seemingly never left this place. It wasn’t until my gaze neared the other end that fireworks blasted through my middle and my stomach flipped over and threatened to come up through my mouth.
Stormy blue eyes surveyed me quietly from within a shockingly handsome face that seemed much too familiar, given that I’d only seen it briefly the day before. The man’s muscular arms rested on the edge of the bar, stretching his button-up shirt across the expanse of his broad shoulders. A large hand curved around a half-finished pint of Guinness, the perfect rings of creamy foam lining the sides of the glass.
“Crap,” I said softly, my feet rooted to the floor and my whole body tightening up to flee. Daisy had been right. He’d found me again.
The two chairs flanking the stranger were pushed away to give him ample space. Though they were filled, he was clearly there by himself.
“Is that the guy you were talking about?” I asked Mick softly, unable to tear my eyes away from that steady gaze.
Mick grunted, which meant yes.
“That guy is anything but fat, Mick. You’d make a terrible eyewitness. Has he been here for a while?”
“Fer feck’s sake. What am I, his fecking nursemaid?” Mick growled. “I don’t feckin’ know.”
“It’s been a pleasure speaking with you, Mick, as always.”
Mick grunted and took a swig of his beer.
I let out a slow, trembling breath as Liam, the ancient, non-magical bartender who had been there forever, slowly made his way down the bar.
“Guinness?” he asked when he reached me.
I shook my head quickly, but then stopped myself. Why would I pretend not to drink Guinness just because the stranger liked it?
And why would I run? This wasn’t a normal day for me to be here, and he couldn’t have possibly known I’d show up. I hadn’t even known until a couple of hours ago. I usually popped into the bar on Friday or Saturday evenings when it was busy and I knew Miles would make an appearance. I liked to give him the opportunity to not-so-subtly congratulate himself on doing better than me. It
was the least I could do in exchange for the freebies.
Anyway, running would only make me seem guilty of something, and this time I didn’t even have anything to apologize for. This guy was on my turf, in my chosen place of degradation, and I had every right to dig in my heels and stand my ground. If anything, this was my territory.
Besides, I had a blanket to return.
“I should act normally, shouldn’t I?” I asked Mick, still working up the courage to approach the guy. I had every right to be here, but that commanding, authoritative gaze gave a girl pause. “I’ve been coming here long enough to have earned a spot. He can’t do anything to me.”
“What da feck?” Mick leaned away as though I’d slapped him. “What are you on about? I’m here to enjoy a few quiet fecking pints.”
Usually I liked that Mick kept to himself and didn’t want to chat idly. Small talk was draining. But now, when I needed a sounding board, it was damn unfortunate.
“Alexis?” Liam said, waiting for my order.
“Yes. Please. A Guinness. Hey, Liam, how long has that guy been here?” The stranger’s eyes were burning into mine, sending tingles through my body. If he was shocked or delighted that I’d happened into the bar, he didn’t show it.
Liam glanced behind him and back again. “That’s his second pint.” Without another word, he moved off toward the glasses.
It was an entire bar of unsociable people. Which, again, was usually a good thing.
But I didn’t usually need answers!
If he was on his second pint, he’d shown up here before I’d even left the house. Whatever had happened yesterday, he definitely wasn’t stalking me today.
The muscles in my shoulders minutely relaxed. That was good news.
“Well, this chair will never do.” I patted the misshapen back of it. “And I need to talk to him so I can return a blanket.”
Mick ignored me. The tanned guy on the other side of the broken chair glanced over, but his gaze didn’t stick.
“Right.” I nodded in determination and forced my feet to move. I needed to nip this situation in the bud.
Ignoring the butterflies in my belly, I moved behind the row of patrons at the bar. The stranger’s eyes tracked me, the intensity of his focus acting like a solid weight coating my body. I breathed through the strange reaction, not sure if it was the effect of his magical power or his stellar looks.
The stranger leaned back, dropping a hand down to his thigh as I made my approach.
“Hey,” I said, coming to a stop behind a grizzled old man with a hunched back and the rosy cheeks of a habitual drinker.
The stranger stared at me without comment or a glimmer of recognition.
Suddenly unsure, I lightly touched my fingertips to my chest. “Remember me? From yesterday? I’m the chick that you tried to mow down with your fancy Ferrari?”
The smile accompanying my jest wasn’t returned.
“Yes,” he said, and that rough, gravelly, though strangely entrancing voice washed over me.
I blew out a breath, then tensed as a thread of heat wormed through my middle.
This wasn’t normal. He might’ve been hot enough to scorch the eyes, but I was a girl who liked to look. I usually didn’t have a desire to sample the goods.
But as I stood there, the kindling heat inside me turned into fire, setting my core to aching. That aching turned into pounding, and something yanked at my gut, urging me to step forward and touch the origin of this delicious feeling.
It had to be his magic. Within this guy’s bag of tricks, he must possess the ability to force desire or lust. I could usually withstand that little scam (which had annoyed Miles to no end), but I’d never felt someone put this much power behind it. It threatened to sweep me away.
“Great, I can see you’re not going to make this easy.” I blew out a breath and forcefully ignored the dull pounding sensation. “So, listen, that blanket that you dropped off…” A glimmer of recognition finally lit his eyes. It had definitely been him. “Thanks for that. It was really nice of you. But I’m afraid I—we—can’t accept it. It’s just too much. If you’re going to be here for a while, I can run and get it. Or…do you live around here? I can drop it off…”
“You keep the blanket,” he said. Heat sparked in his eyes. “I’d rather get you into mine.”
His voice dripped with sex. Images of glistening muscles and twisted sheets invaded my thoughts and stole my breath. Furious shivers warred with the blazing fire inside me, and the butterflies from earlier turned into a swarm. His delving stare tickled areas deep and wet, which suddenly demanded satisfaction.
God, I hoped I didn’t give in to the craving for satisfaction.
13
Alexis
A look of confusion flashed across the guy’s expression—almost like he couldn’t believe he’d just said something so forward. But I couldn’t summon the focus to interpret that look, not through the delicious desire swimming through me.
Oh yes, this man had the ability to inspire lust, all right. Lust, passion, intense yearning… I loved the feeling of it, pushing and pulling and pounding and aching. It was like sex without the contact.
But there was a serious downside to this type of magic. The men who possessed it relied on their magic rather than prowess. A lot of flashy bells and whistles without anything solid and real to back them up. The end result was always a letdown. It was one of life’s real cruelties, I was certain. At twenty-five, I’d learned my lesson.
Dream small.
I opened my eyes, smiling. “Thanks for the offer, but I’ll pass. Anyway, as I was saying, I need to know where to drop off that blanket. I’d offer to mail it back, but shipping prices would be outrageous. Also, I don’t want to.”
His eyebrows pinched together, and this time, I had no trouble reading his expression. Surprised. Confused. “Women don’t say no to me, Alexis,” he said, his tone smooth and decadent, like rich chocolate. “They say please.”
My breath hitched, and not from hearing my name in that luscious voice. From him knowing my name at all.
But of course he knew my name. He’d looked up my address, hadn’t he? It wasn’t like my car was registered to Jane Doe.
“Are you sure they aren’t really trying to say, ‘Please pass the pepper spray’?” I asked with a flare of annoyance.
The glorious shivers and sparks of passion I’d felt moments before had morphed into warning tremors and unease. The blanket gesture had been a kind one (possibly), but all of his intrusiveness and arrogance set me on edge. He’d ruined my high, and with it, my mood.
I sighed, entirely put out. “You’re in my seat. Get out.”
“Sit.” He gestured at the chair holding the grizzled old man.
“It’s taken.” I pointed at the chair. Surely bluntness would work to get that fine ass off my seat. “Look, the chair you’re sitting on has special value for me. It’s important that you return it to the spot you took it from, next to that extremely grumpy paddy.” His face could give a stone a run for its money in the expressiveness department. “No compute?”
“It has your magic,” he said without inflection.
“Good guess. It does. Which is why I’m partial to it.”
“It wasn’t a guess. I felt it as soon as I walked into the bar. Why do you think I grabbed this chair in particular?”
Goosebumps covered my skin, and I stilled for a moment.
Only supremely powerful magical beings could feel magic left on an item like a barstool. And of those supremely powerful beings, none of them were usually the sexy-times magical type.
What was I dealing with here, and why wasn’t I walking away from this potential car wreck?
“I don’t know why you grabbed it,” I said. “Here’s what else I don’t know. Why are you here? Why’d you follow me around yesterday? Why’d you go to the trouble of looking me up just to give me a blanket, and then not even sign your name? And why did you give me that blanket in the first place?�
� I put up a hand. “Take your time. That was a lot of questions.”
A small smile played across his full lips. “I grabbed it because I like the feel of your magic. I want to feel that magic pulse through you as you wrap your lips around the head of my cock.”
I sucked in a breath. The pounding grew more persistent. His eyes danced with desire.
He was so fucking sexy.
I struggled for control as my grip on reality wobbled.
It’s the magic, Alexis. Your desire is because of the magic.
Or is it?
I clenched my jaw at that last traitorous thought. I was turning on me. I hated when I did that almost as much as when I didn’t listen to myself.
“You win the blunt award,” I struggled out, trying to play it cool. Predators liked a chase. I couldn’t let him know he was getting to me.
Or how hard he was getting to me.
Or how badly I wanted to feel how hard he was.
“Still a firm ‘no,’” I managed, unable to believe I was reacting like this. He’d stalked and threatened me, for criminy’s sake. And now he wanted to get me into bed? Was he Dr. Jekyll and Mr. Hard-On? Because I wasn’t buying it.
Except I clearly was, because my core was throbbing and fire raged through my body.
I opened my mouth to…retaliate, or call him a fooking coont like Mick might’ve, or…something I hadn’t thought of, because my brain was buzzing strangely, when he went on.
“I’m here because I wanted to see the place a creature like you frequents. Before you ask, I stayed because the Guinness is good.”
“Wait…how’d you know I frequent this place—”
“I bought the blanket because you weren’t lying about the sick boy, though he’s less of a boy than I’d originally expected.” He paused, and cold replaced the heat from a moment before. Warning signals pulsed through my body again, but they didn’t eradicate the hot pounding. “I followed you yesterday because your inner fire and the strength of your magic, mixed with your apparent lack of status, intrigued me. I wondered what you were up to. Who you were working for.” He paused again, his eyes narrowing slightly. “But you’re not working for anyone, are you? Not anyone magical, at any rate. You are exactly as you appear on paper…except for everything to do with your magic. Your situation is incredibly perplexing, Alexis.” He shifted, studying me. “You live below the poverty level, doing odd jobs that require little skill. Your decrepit little house was passed down to you by your mother, who bought it shortly after you were born. She could’ve survived if she’d had access to treatment. You happily hole up in the worst part of town. It is as though you want to constantly struggle. You’re a hard and thorough worker—even the Chesters acknowledge that—but you never strive for more. Why is that?”
