by H. A. Wills
“Most of the town is,” he explains, retrieving his fake fangs and snapping them back on. “And it’s not really in my family’s best interest to snub the coven leader and her family.”
“I’d say I’m surprised she has the gall to come, but this is Gina we’re talking about,” I grumble, then straighten my spine and announce, “Alright, I’m in. What are we going to do?”
“Dance.” He grins suggestively, then flips me up over his shoulder, and I giggle all the way down the stairs.
Chapter 17
Callie
“Sorry, need to borrow him for a bit,” Nolan declares, using his free hand to grab Donovan and drag him away from some girl dressed as a cheerleader… or maybe she’s a real one? Said girl does not look pleased over the interruption.
Donovan takes one look at me draped over Nolan’s left shoulder, giggling and waving, and shrugs at the girl, following wherever Nolan is leading us.
“What exactly am I helping with?” he shouts, attempting to be heard over the growing volume of the music.
Nolan yells back over his free shoulder, “Our Callie is going to feel really friendly for the next couple of hours, and I need help distracting her.”
“I see that,” he replies, watching me run my fingers along the base of Nolan’s spine extremely close to the waistband of his leather pants.
Now that I’m not wracked with guilt like last time or so angry I could murder Gina with my bare hands, I feel giddy and warm. With permission, I’m enjoying touching and being touched so much that I’m not even bothered that my butt is definitely on full view while Nolan threads us through a growing crowd.
Hoisting myself up, I brace one hand on Donovan’s shoulder and stage whisper, “I volunteered as a blood donor.”
“Loose lips while under the influence, I see,” Nolan teases, smacking the backs of my thighs.
“Whoops. Was he not supposed to know?” I exclaim, but then start giggling again.
Donovan smirks, but there’s a calculating look in his eye. “How long ago did you donate?”
“About ten minutes ago, and before your suspicious ass asks, I haven’t repaid the favor,” Nolan answers for me. “Which is why I need you.”
He nods, his penetrating gaze assessing my uncharacteristic state-- and probably looking for the nonexistent hickey, then observes, “You’re doing pretty fucking good if that’s the case.”
“That’s what Nolan said,” I reply, but looking into his aqua eyes I let some of the need swimming inside me leak out.
“It’s alright, Angel,” Donovan promises, tapping my chin with his knuckle. “We’ll take care of you.”
I issue him a pouty crinkle of my nose and comment, “You think angels are assholes. That’s not how pet names work.”
A rueful smile tugs at his full lips, as he murmurs, “You may not be an asshole, but you’re about to be fucking torture real soon.”
“Don’t dance with me then if you’ll hate it so much,” I huff, pulling my hand away from his shoulder and letting it hang limp down Nolan’s back. “Go back to your ditzy cheerleader.”
Nolan laughs darkly and shouts, “Different kind of torture, Callie love. And D’s practically a sadomasochist. He likes this kind of torture.”
Donovan opens his mouth to reply, but instead, he licks his lips, grins suggestively, and shakes his head.
I don’t know exactly what to do with that, so I decide to try to take in the room Nolan has lead us into. I’ve known him for nearly a month and I’m still discovering new places in the estate.
It looks like the Campbells have converted their indoor/outdoor swimming pool into a dance floor. The water is covered in plexiglass with weighted balls of light resting on the pool floor. Fake fog rolls down along the waterfall that feeds the pool, rippling over the dance floor and out onto the open patio. A DJ with a massive stage is set up to one side, giant speakers acting like watchtowers on either side of him. Multi-colored lights hang from the ceiling, flashing and bouncing along the rustic rock walls. With the decorations, the room looks equal parts haunting grotto found deep in an abandoned castle and an elitist nightclub.
Nolan slips through the crowd straight for the center of the dance floor, leaving so many that call his name wanting, while Donovan ensures that no one succeeds in trying to join us.
The music playing is a gritty rock song with heavy guitar riffs and the vocalist singing how he fantasizes about a girl and if she’d give him a chance, they’d “Fire Up the Night.” Lost in the crowd of other partygoers, there’s an almost fevered dream quality to this moment that whispers permission for every dark desire.
My heart pulses with the beat as I slide slowly down Nolan’s body to my feet. Donovan presses close behind me, his large hands seeking my hips, and the intensity of their nearness already has me breathless.
Nolan leads one of my arms around Donovan’s neck, our fingers woven together as he holds my hand there, murmuring hotly in my ear, “You’re safe here. Don’t fight it. Let go.”
My whole body throbs with those dangerous words, the need inside me bursting, and before I can think too much my free hand traces up his chest, resting over his heart. His beats at the same tempo as mine, and for the first time, I wonder if biting me does more than quench his hunger.
“I, um, don’t really know how to dance past swaying in a circle,” I admit, swallowing heavily.
Guiding my hips to roll with his, Donovan reassures, “Don’t worry. We’ll do all the work.”
“Do what feels right,” Nolan adds, his right knee snaking between my legs while his free hand slides down my side to the hollow of my hip.
Right. Considering the song just suggested ripping off all our clothes that might not be the best suggestion.
Nolan forgot his coat and wig upstairs, so now they truly look like a set, one dark-haired, one light, both in nothing but leather pants and sweat. The heat of their bodies ignites an intoxicating mixture of masculine scents, Donovan’s musk and leather blending with Nolan’s cologne and engine grease, and it leaves my head spinning.
My breathing grows heavy, and my costume once again feels too tight. Heat ripples across my skin feeling Donovan pressed tight against my back, my ass cradled against his groin. Unconsciously, I rock against Nolan’s thigh between my legs, a growing ache blooming inside me.
There’s open envy cut across many faces watching us dance. Hard gazes taking in every place they touch me and I touch them, how their hips are synced to thrust against me with every lust filled beat. Without really trying and not wholly sure how I got here, it’s obvious that I’m living many of their deep seated fantasies.
Taking in the crowd, I quickly spot Gina in a small circle surrounded by her Barbie collection of followers. She’s dressed as none other than a sexy witch—her waist length black hair streaked with purple to match the colors in her small witch hat, mini skirt, and corseted top that’s cinched to flatter her already tiny waist. Her makeup is flawless with a heavy smoky look around her obnoxiously large brown eyes and black lipstick on her full lips. Add in her insanely tall black high heels, and every facet of her speaks of runway model potential.
However, the look is humorously ruined by the ugly scowl that mares her face when she witnesses me sandwiched between Nolan and Donovan. She’s so furious that she stops dancing just to glare at me, her dance partner shrugging her off to go find someone else. I smirk and wink, my hand moving from Nolan’s chest to his neck and pulling his face closer to mine. Her eyes bulge at my boldness, and there’s a clear rage at the idea the rumors might be true.
Donovan laughs darkly, apparently seeing Gina too, because, with perverse pleasure, he says, “Witch Bitch looks angry. We should step it up.”
Nolan follows my line of sight, and a taunting smile curls his lips.
“Let us know if it becomes too much,” he warns me, his lips so close I can feel them against my ear.
Nolan drops low, his hands following the lines of my body while my free
hand grasps his shoulder, the other still wrapped around Donovan’s neck. His head rests against my stomach with his face upturned toward mine. His arctic blue eyes burn with a promise that makes everything inside me tighten, and I bite my lip to keep from making inappropriate noises. With our eyes lock, he smirks and slowly rises, following the seductive roll of the music. I burn with the sensation of every inch of his body gliding up mine.
He traces one hand up my arm, covering my hand around Donovan’s neck. His other hand slides down my naked thigh, his gaze following where he touches me, then hooks my knee around his hip. Donovan quickly drops his hands lower, one near my ass to support my raised leg and the other slipping underneath the leather strips of my skirt to explore my exposed skin. Both of them have managed a bent knee between my legs now, and the three of us are pressed so close, that I’m more sitting on them than standing, keeping me from having to balance on one foot.
Before the song can fully end, the DJ blends it into a new melody that’s more techno based but similar in idea to the first. This one skips from fantasy to reality, informing the girl in question that he’s more than interested in anything she’d like to do.
I lean back into Donovan, letting him fully support my weight, and drift on the music while every nerve ending in my body tingles. Feeling him mouth the song lyrics against my shoulder, my lips part, and my breathing hitches. He smirks every time the song talks of her touching him and him touching her.
There’s a little voice in the back of my head chanting, Friends. We’re friends, remember? But it’s heavily drowned out by the overwhelming heat and pleasure that I feel. The whole reason we started this is forgotten, and I grind back with each thrust, feeling them grow more turned on the longer we dance.
Nolan’s face is only a few inches away from mine, his mouth parted and breath heavy flurries as my hand drops from his neck down his chest to the sculpted lines of his abs. I slip away from underneath his hand around Donovan’s neck, so I can then lace my fingers with Donovan’s, who is exploring the flesh of my right leg, leading it to wrap low around my waist. The leather of my costume is thin, and I can feel his scorching heat through the material.
Their hands join around my leg that is still hooked over Nolan’s hip, fingers wide and reaching every inch of my bare skin, while Nolan runs his hand from around Donovan’s neck down his shoulder. The multicolor party lights flicker on the beads of sweat that drip down our bodies and the air feels heavy and thick with each panting breath.
While each song bleeds into the next, I welcome the feeling of their hands on my skin and relish the sensation of their hard bodies against mine, drowning in the pleasure of this dream world with sparkling lights and throbbing beats.
As if the little voice in my head grew horrified witnessing our touching grow bolder and stomped over to the DJ to do something about it, the music changes again. The new song is R&B and though it still has a sexy beat, the lyrics are so hilariously Nolan that we can’t help but bust up laughing.
Nolan steps back so he can hold up his hands, owning it, while the vocalist warns listeners that he’ll flirt with every girl around and men should reconsider leaving their girlfriends alone-- because they may go home with him. He particularly hams it up when the vocalist emphasizes that it isn’t his fault that the girls are looking for a “platinum type of guy.”
We keep dancing, but there’s a little more breathing room and a lot more of mocking Nolan. By the time the song ends, we’re laughing, smiling, and I’m feeling less like I’m going to melt into a puddle on the floor.
“I’m going to get some air,” I yell, pointing toward where the room opens up to the outdoors.
Worry furrows Nolan’s brow, and he replies, “Do you want me to come with you?”
I shake my head. “No, I’m okay now. Go play host.” Donovan lifts a brow, but before he can offer, I decide to flatter his ego and add, “You stay and dance. A girl can only handle so much ab exposure without breaks.”
Donovan smiles and shrugs, but seems satisfied, having far more faith in my self-assessment than Nolan, who still looks dubious.
I weave my way through the crowd before either can follow, being sure to give Gina one more smug grin as I go. This time one of the Barbie followers-- a blonde girl with an hour-glass figure and dressed as a sexy dark fairy-- wraps one arm around Gina’s shoulders and adds her glare to Gina’s already flushed scowl. Based off of what the guys have told me, she’s likely the infamous Anastasia that chased Nolan around the school yard when they were kids. Her expression holds more warning than rage, and after whispering something I can’t possibly hear, she snaps her fingers producing a small spark of fire that quickly extinguishes.
And putting down a heavy mark in the column of Gina and her goons as likely suspects in the fire that nearly burnt my house down.
I roll my eyes, refusing to give them any indication that their little stunt bothered me, and walk away. Somehow no one has connected my little episode at the Whittaker’s party as having anything to do with my fear of fire, and it’s going to stay that way. Gina has enough ammunition to torture me; no way am I giving her more.
On my way outside, I notice Kaleb leaning against a wall, his cell phone to his ear, while he chats with Felix, and there’s a feeling of relief he isn’t wrapped around some girl I don’t know. Even though it has nothing to do with Nolan, I’m still going to blame this sensation on the bite, because the alternative is too complicated to consider at the moment.
Finally outside, the cool air feels amazing on my heated skin. I pick my way along the back patio careful not to fall on my face, while delicately lifting the long strands of the wig off my neck. I can only imagine what a mess it must look like now considering the trying not to bleed on it only to get hot and sweaty dancing. And we’re not thinking about what kind of dancing. Talk about being thrown into the deep end. Yeesh.
Why are boys so complicated?
Finding one of the few open bars that doesn’t have a crowd, I order a bottle of water and look for a place to sit down. The residual effects of Nolan’s bite still flow through me, but it’s muted enough that I feel in better control of myself… which unfortunately means my feet hurt again. Down one of the patio tiers, tucked near a bubbling brook, looks to be an empty bench only lit by a single outdoor lamp, and I wobble my way over, seriously considering going barefoot for the rest of the night.
“Holy shit!” I yelp, when I sit down, because further in the darkness is Connor reading the damn book from his English class. “You came out of nowhere!”
His amber eyes glow, catching the soft light from the lamp, and he smirks, pointing to the word ‘Ninja’ that’s taped to his chest.
“You’re hilarious,” I mutter, unzipping my boots, making sure to grab my phone from inside and place it on the bench beside me. A sigh of bliss hums from my lips when my sore feet hit the cold cement. “And how are you reading in the dark?”
“Wolf shifter,” he answers simply but does get up from the giant rock he was sitting on to join me on the bench, laying his book down on the space beside him.
“I should have guessed that,” I laugh and shake my head.
Realizing I’m sitting on my Lasso of Truth, I get up to unbutton it from the belt that’s strapped across my chest, and an idea slowly forms in my mind. There’s so much about him I don’t know, and that’s mostly because I’ve been too scared to ask. But as I’ve handed him my past in little pieces, he’s stayed strong beside me… carried the weight with me. Hopefully, now he’ll let me do the same. This isn’t the best time to ask, but honestly, when is?
Playfully, I drop the loop of my lasso over his head, the circle so wide that it hangs off one of his shoulders. “Now you can only speak the truth.”
Connor looks amused, tugging on the rope and pulling me closer until I’m standing between his knees. Even though he’s dressed in a t-shirt and jeans, body heat pours like waves from his skin.
I bite my lip, pushing down the anxiety
climbing up from my stomach, and start with a softball question, “What’s the deal with Sam? Why does she hate me?”
The humor falls from his face and his gaze shifts away from me. That’s not promising.
“Lasso of Truth,” I remind him, lightly shaking the rope.
He sighs, his big shoulders drooping, as he looks back up at me, assessing how serious I am.
“I’ll only think the worst,” I chide, “and I promise whatever you tell me, I’ll keep to myself.”
Connor swallows heavily and nods then grasps me by the waist, leading me to sit in his lap. My heart flutters with his touch, but I sink contentedly into his arms, something easing inside me being so close. Guess Nolan’s bite is affecting me more than I realized.
I’m starting to think there are magnets in the guys’ fingertips, as Connor idly runs one hand up and down my bare leg while the other holds me securely against him. Mental note: wear skirts sparingly. Suckers are dangerous.
“She…” he trails off, his jaw working as he searches for the right words. “We were… important to each other once.”
“And she’s heard the new rumors?” I supply, cringing. “It doesn’t bother me, but I didn’t think how it would affect you guys. Do you want me to clear it up for her?”
“No,” he answers, an array of expressions running across his features: concern, confusion, humor, exasperation, and a hard edge of protection.
Shouldn’t have mentioned the rumor, I see.
Releasing a careful breath, he utters, “Pack hates witches.”
“Oh,” I murmur, my hands fiddling with the remaining rope in my lap, then I clear my throat. “Can’t say I blame them considering Neva and Gina. You guys weren’t exactly fans until you met me and my aunt.”
Connor’s brows furrow and his lips pinch with a ‘stop defending them’ expression. I reply with one of his patent shrugs, and he rolls his eyes.
“Sam hates me because she’s your ex, and you’re choosing to befriend one of the evil witches,” I summarize, and he bobs his head in the universal sign of ‘more or less what you’re saying is accurate.’
