Chapter 11
11
brAM
“ Y ou can’t kill a hundred-year-old woman. Murder is bad.”
“Excuse me?” A pimple-faced teenager with floppy hair that looks like a poodle, gulps as he looks up at me.
“I was talking to myself,” I grumble, and he visibly shivers. I don’t know why he’s scared of me; we’re on the same team. The same broom hockey team, because Agatha Fitzsimon signed me up to participate and told me she made a donation in my name. If I didn’t play, I’d be denying the needy children of Mystic Hollows hundreds of dollars that could feed them or buy school supplies.
She’s diabolical.
“Let’s get this game started so we can be done with it,” I growl, taking in the mostly teenaged players. There are a few men and women in their twenties, but I think I might be the oldest person out here, which is both insulting and irritating.
“Trying to intimidate your competition because you don’t have the physical prowess to beat them on the field…court…lake. Whatever, that’s just sad, Bram.” Ava slides on the ice, her arms windmilling. Her jab would have been decent if not for her floundering over her words and nearly falling on her ass.
I grab her elbow to steady her, and we both start sliding. Fuck, I’m going to break multiple bones out here, aren’t I?
“I see how it is.” Ava smirks in my face. “Trying to take me down before the game even starts.” She’s wearing one of those hunting caps with the flaps, but they’re tied up instead of hanging down over her ears. Other than that, I can’t tell what she has on. She’s pulling on a yellow jersey over her puffy coat that’s zipped up to her chin and stops mid-thigh and her boots go almost to her knee. There’s a sliver of black legging visible.
I bend down so I can look her in the eye. “I could have you on your back in two seconds if I tried.”
A loud cough interrupts. I pull back to find the game’s organizer holding out two brooms, one for me and one for Ava.
“We’ll see who ends up flat on their back.” Ava swats at my feet, but then loses her balance and practically does the splits before she steadies herself. “Watch your back, Blackthorn. I’m coming for you.”
“Trust me, you absolutely would be coming for me.”
“Whoa. Nice.” The pimply teenager chuckles and punches my arm. Ava’s gaping at me. I’m sweating. It’s eleven degrees out. Why the fuck am I sweating?
A whistle blows.
“Here’re the rules. If you have a jersey, your goal is down there between the two Coke cans. If you don’t have a jersey, your goal is the garbage can and traffic cone. First team to five wins. Don’t kill each other.” The whistle blows again and everyone takes off as if they’ve played professionally for years. Ava blows me a kiss and then runs into the fray.
There’s a puck somewhere in the mix, but all I see are people whacking each other with their brooms. Two kids have turned them into swords and the clack of wood cracking is almost drowned out by the shouting and laughter.
“Big dude,” someone shouts, and the puck flies across the ice toward me. I sweep my broom and fling it toward our goal, then take off running after it. Except it’s more like a gliding shuffle. There’s nothing dignified about this game. The puck ends up sliding back toward me, but before I can hit it, Ava rams into my side. Her body slips in front of me, and when she slaps the puck with her broom, her ass rams into my dick.
“Fuck.” I hook an arm around her waist. “You want to play dirty?” I haul her body tighter to mine. I contemplate dragging her down to the ice, in front of dozens of teenagers and who knows how many others watching the game. A sliver of common sense prevails, and I spin her away from me. She coasts on the ice, but keeps on her feet. With a snarl at me, she turns and chases after the puck.
There’s a pileup of bodies on the ice. I’m not even sure how that happened. The tangle of humanity is full of giggling, squirming teenagers, and no one is trying very hard to untangle. The whistle blows and the game organizer, who is apparently also the referee, shouts at everyone to get up.
“We’ll do another puck drop.”
Somehow, Ava and I find ourselves facing off against each other.
“Your ass is mine,” Ava taunts, low enough that only I can hear.
“I think we both know that if anyone’s getting their ass pounded tonight, it’s not me.”
“Shit, this guy is my hero,” one of the teens whispers.
Well, fuck, I guess we aren’t as quiet as I thought we were.
Ava narrows her eyes. “Try it. See how well that ends for you.”
The whistle blows again, and the puck drops. We both dive for it. Ava’s body launches into mine with so much force I drop my broom. Shit. We’re going down. I wrap my arms around her, palming the back of her head as if she’s the one who’s about to land on the ice. When my head connects with the frozen surface, the crack is so loud there’s a collective gasp from our audience.
“Shit. No. Bram. Fuck. I’m sorry. So sorry.” Ava’s body is flush on top of mine, but she can’t move because I’ve got her clamped tight in my arms.
“Stop squirming,” I groan.
“Let me go so I can check your head. Or your eyes. We should probably get a doctor. Let me go find someone. You need ice.”
“I’m already on the ice. Just stay still for one minute.” I close my eyes and take stock of my body. My head throbs where I hit the ice, but that’s not the only part of my body aching. Even with layers of clothing between us, I don’t want Ava to move. There’s something about her in my arms, laying on top of me that feels fucking incredible.
Gentle fingers push my stocking cap off my head and thread through my hair. The groan I release is quickly shut down with a hiss when she finds the growing bump on the back of my head.
“You definitely have a knot there. But it’s popping out, so that’s good, right? No blood.” Ava’s back to squirming on top of me, and I shift my hands to her waist to hold her still. If she moves down a few more inches, there's no way she won’t feel how hard I’m getting. I open my eyes and find her amber ones staring back at me. Worry and fear are clear as she gnaws on her lip.
All I need to do is lift my head and I could be tasting that lip. I frown at the thought. I don’t want to kiss Avalon Vandenberg. She’s a pain in the ass and generally looks like she rolled out of bed after a long, exhausting night. But right now, with the setting sun glowing gold behind her, highlighting the copper color of her eyes and the blush on her cheeks, she looks beautiful.
“Get a room.”
Ava jerks back at some idiot kid’s shout, putting her spread thighs in direct contact with my hard dick. Her eyes grow wide, and she falls off of me like I bucked her off. Even though I’ve been laying still this whole time. Ava scrambles to her feet and holds out her hand. She’s missing a glove, and I find it on the ice beside me. I scoop it up and pretend to let her pull me to my feet.
“Time for a substitute,” I call out to the ref, challenging her to talk back.
“Two.” Ava holds on to my arm like I’m a frail old lady who needs help crossing the road. If anything, she’s holding on to me to keep from falling every two seconds until we get off the ice.
“Stay here, I’m going to go get you…” Ava frowns in confusion. “Ice or a potion or something. Josephine!” she gasps. “She can heal you.”
She’s barely left my side before Mortimer Woodroot sidles up beside me. The owner of Woodroot’s Apothecary is the only other witch in town besides Agatha Fitzsimon’s who has never been affiliated with a specific coven. His shop literally sits on a tiny island in the Briar Hollows River, between the two sides of town that were formerly at odds with each other. His store was a neutral space where both Lumen and Tenebris witches could shop.
He’s wearing the fuzziest coat I’ve ever seen. It’s bright blue with a hood that looks like a lion's mane and practically covers his entire clean-shaven face. His boots lace up to his knee and are, in contrast, a bright orange with fur at the top. His pants look like snakeskin, and for all I know, they could be. Morty’s fashion sense is in a realm of its own.
He pulls off a satin glove, one finger at a time. That can’t be keeping his hands warm. It reminds me of something a lady would wear in a period drama. Once his hand is free, he reaches into his neon coat and extracts a tiny bottle.
“For your head, my darling. Although it’s so thick, I don’t know if this will make much of a difference.”
“Hilarious,” I deadpan and snatch the bottle from his fingers. I toss it back without hesitation. Maybe that’s foolish. I suppose Morty could poison me. But I’ve been trusting this man for years to help numb my curse. I can’t imagine he’d suddenly be struck with the impulse to off me.
His gaze drifts over to Ava. She’s back with my brother and the rest of her friends. Ambrose and Odie showed up at some point too. Ava turns to each of them, as if she’s asking for something, then she looks back in my direction.
“You know that girl is already broken.”
I slowly turn to look at Morty, but his eyes are still locked on Ava.
“Aren’t we all a little broken?”
Morty hums thoughtfully. “That woman is a people pleaser. She wants to make people feel better. The kind of person who tells a joke to cut the tension in the room.”
His assessment, like he knows her better than anyone else, pisses me off. “I know who Ava Vandenberg is.”
Morty’s head snaps in my direction, his eyes bright. “Do you?”
I understand what he’s hinting at. “I didn’t mean it like that.”
The infernal man hums again. “What do you mean, then?”
“Her best friend is dating my brother. She’s from one of the founding families. Fundamentally, I understand who she is. What I don’t know is why you’re telling me this.”
Morty sucks in a deep breath. “Ava comes into my shop once a week. I don’t think she’s missed a week since she turned sixteen.”
He’s implying something, but I don’t know what. It’s no news to me that sixteen is when our curses tend to take hold. What does that have to do with her seeing Morty once a week?
“Sometimes, she buys a book. Sometimes, she doesn’t buy anything, and she brings in cookies for me. When she was younger, she used to collect herbs for me to use in potions. She has a soft heart and a fragile shell around it.”
“Why does she come in to see you once a week?” For now, I overlook the implication that Ava is too softhearted for someone like me. Hell, I'm not trying to date the girl. I don’t even know where Morty is getting that idea. She’s just my brother's girlfriend’s friend who has become part of our social circle through circumstances. So what if we’ve been thrown together, time after time, in the last few months. There’s nothing out of the ordinary going on between us.
“I see you haven’t talked about your curses yet.”
Does he know what Ava’s curse is? We don’t freely offer the details of our curses to people in this town outside of family. Morty knows what my curse is because I’ve had to go to him for the elixir for so many years. I suspect he also knows a lot about the people in this town, because he’s a nosy son of a bitch. Still, there’s a tingling of jealousy scratching the back of my skull that he knows what Ava’s curse is and I don’t.
“Here she comes. You might not want to tell her that I gave you the potion. She does love to take care of people.” He zips his lips and slips back into the crowd. He’s suggesting that Ava won’t fuss over me if she knows Morty has given me a healing potion. It would be dishonest not to tell her.
“Piper had some ibuprofen.” Ava holds out her hand, showing me four pills. Her other hand extends with a bottle of water. “I have no idea where Josephine went. Did you ask Morty if he had a healing potion? Something that could help.” She points through the crowd where Morty has disappeared. “Never mind, I guess this will have to do for now.”
The potion is already starting to work. Technically, I don’t need ibuprofen, and yet, I find myself picking the pills up from her hand and tossing them back.
“Here, let me look at it again.” Ava steps up on a bale of hay and grabs my shoulders to turn me around. My hat is still somewhere on the ice. So she has unobstructed access to my head. She’s slightly taller than me on top of the bale of hay. When her fingers comb through my hair, my head falls back.
No one in my life has ever taken the time to take care of me, not really. Not since my mother died. Roman is there for me, no matter what, but he’s not exactly the kind to reassure with touch. Not with his brother, at least. My stepmother Diana has hated me since the moment she found out I existed. My father is a cold-hearted bastard. There were very few hugs outside of the ones our housekeeper Giana gave me growing up.
I have people who care for me in my life, but Ava’s touch is different. Honestly, she’s different from any other woman in my life and I don’t know why. I’ve had a few casual relationships in my past, but nothing that lasted very long. When a dark, raging beast lives inside you, threatening to take over everything that was once pure and good about you, it’s really difficult to care for someone else.
Ava gets under my skin in a way that irritates the living hell out of me. It also makes the magic hum in my chest.
Her fingers are gentle as she inspects my head. I can’t help but lean back into her. My shoulders against her chest. She could easily slide her arms around my shoulders and embrace me.
“I think it’ll be okay. Try not to hit it again. I can never remember, are you supposed to keep people awake if they have a concussion, or are they supposed to sleep?”
Ava pulls out her phone, like she’s about to do a deep dive and research the question. I, on the other hand, would be happy to stay put, her fingers in my hair, my head on her chest. I shake my head as I pull away and immediately regret it. Morty’s potion worked fast, but not that quickly.
“It’s fine. It doesn’t even hurt anymore.”
I turn and look at her, her brown hair peeking out of her awful hat. Her cheeks are flushed and her eyes bright. With her lips slightly parted, it would be so easy to kiss her. Her hand is resting on my shoulder. One small movement and my hands could be wrapped around her waist. Her body could be pressed tight to mine.
“Long time no see, Ava.” Jamie, Ava’s snot nose, punk-ass ex-boyfriend saunters up like he’s the Maiden’s gift to women.
The beast inside me who feasts on rage and bitterness rears up.