Chapter Ten
CHAPTER TEN
Tripp Nightshade.
That arrogant bastard!
Two days had passed since he stormed out of Elara’s apartment with his stupid dictate to get rid of her precious boots. Everywhere she looked, he was lurking around corners, ducking away if she made eye contact, and running for the closest exit.
Much the way she had reacted to him until recently.
The irony wasn’t lost on her.
It would be funny if it weren’t pathetic. The man believed he was the son of a deity. Initially, his claim felt, well, right somehow. It justified those otherworldly looks and his undeniable magnetism for anyone from birth to death. It also explained why every time they kissed, the heavens rumbled, the ground shook beneath their feet, and the eternal call of love echoed within their souls, urging them on.
Or maybe those things only happened to her.
Maybe he hadn’t felt anything at all.
And wasn’t that depressing?
Elara released the dumpster’s lid and jumped when it clanked. The stupid sound was a death knell for her love life.
Again, depressing.
Cigarette smoke drifted to her as a perfectly rounded O, and she shifted to face the Never Too Many bookstore owner. Florence watched her through narrowed eyes as if trying to determine what was different about her lately.
Elara wanted to give her a fist bump and shout, “I kissed Tripp Nightshade,” but it was doubtful Old Flo would approve.
Usually, she’d ask, “Shouldn’t you give those things up, Flo?” But today, she didn’t have the heart. Instead, she stole the home-rolled cigarette from the older woman, placed it between her lips, and inhaled like a pro. The coughing fit caused her employer to cackle, but Elara got the last laugh by snuffing it out under her booted foot.
“Cancer sticks,” she snapped.
“Not for witches, gel,” Florence replied with a smile resembling fondness. Her shrewd eyes missed nothing as they passed over Elara’s face. “Want to talk about it?”
“It?” she asked, stalling for time.
“Yes. It . Your misery over that ridiculous demigod.”
“You know!” Why she was surprised, Elara couldn’t say. Flo’s network was vast, and she ferreted out everything before long. She was Witchmere’s version of the CIA, MI6, and Interpol combined.
“Pfft! The entire town is watching the two of you dance around your attraction. What’s not to know?”
Elara groaned in dismay. The desire to hide inside her apartment for the next thirty years was intense. “I need to move somewhere no one knows me. Like Siberia.”
“You speak Russian?”
“No, but I can learn.”
Florence produced another misshapen cigarette, noted Elara’s squint-eyed stare, and shrugged. “You think I don’t know it’s a nasty habit, gel? They calm my nerves.”
“You never seem to be upset,” Elara replied.
“Because I smoke.” After lighting her second cigarette, Florence inhaled deeply and closed her eyes. “You should protect yourself. Sleep with Enguerrand if you must, but don’t lose your heart to him.”
“Who is Enguerrand?”
With a laugh, her boss stubbed out the tip of the just-lit cigarette, shoved it into her cardigan, and turned to leave.
“Flo!”
She paused and glanced over her shoulder.
Elara held up her hands. “Who is Enguerrand? You’ve mentioned him twice.”
“It’s your man’s real name, gel. Enguerrand the Third of Messia.” She narrowed her eyes and tipped her head. “Perhaps you should learn more about a fella before you jump into bed with him, yeah?”
Having delivered those wise words, Florence abandoned Elara to her self-doubts and recriminations.
“Enguerrand the Third of Messia,” she murmured. “ Tripp . Of course.”
“I’ve always hated the name Enguerrand,” he said softly.
Elara spun with a gasp, then immediately scowled. “Didn’t anyone ever teach you not to sneak up on unsuspecting females in dark alleys?” she snapped.
Deep grooves appeared on his cheeks as he grinned. “It’s actually in the demigod handbook. Dark alleys are the absolute best place to find unsuspecting females.”
“Whatever.” Remembering she was irritated at his evasiveness, she waved him off and headed for the bookstore. Right before she reached the knob, he wedged his way between her and the door.
“I’m sorry, Elara,” he said solemnly.
“For?” she asked, dragging it out, not necessarily ready to forgive without him being properly repentant.
“For my abhorrent behavior the other day and for avoiding you ever since.” He tucked a lock of her windblown hair behind her ear. The warmth of his touch chased the winter chill from her skin. “You should wear a hat on cold nights like tonight.”
“I’m fine.” And she was. Mainly because he was showering her with the attention she’d always craved. Warmth swelled in her chest. “And I forgive you for your abhorrent behavior.”
“But not for avoiding you?” he teased.
Scrunching her nose, she shook her head. “No need for you to apologize in that regard. I avoid you all the time.”
He shifted closer and touched his nose to hers, and her breath caught in her throat.
“For which you should apologize to me , flitter-mouse.”
A wave of amorous energy swept up from the boots, crashing over her. Elara wrapped her arms around his neck and used one hand to drag his face down, close to her lips.
“Mm. No. I don’t think I will.”
Then, she initiated their kiss. And miracle of miracles, he responded by encircling her waist with one of those steel bands he called arms and weaving his fingers into her hair to tilt her head back. Their kiss was beyond steamy, and she leaped upward, hugging his hips with her thighs. He shifted to support her weight, not breaking contact with her mouth, and Elara moaned her pleasure as she pressed into him.
As she broke to drag air into her lungs, she spotted Bohdan Sanderson’s grinning face a few feet away.
“I know you’re there, Sanderson,” Tripp said. “But you’re getting better.”
“You only know because she saw me,” Bodhan retorted. “Sloppy, man. Real sloppy.”
“Remind me to have you tied and your furry ass waxed during the next full moon for interrupting an intimate moment,” Tripp said with an evil grin.
The wolf shifter paled. “I only came to tell you that the countdown has started. You don’t have to be a dick about it.”
“You know what to do.” Tripp stared down at her, and Elara initially believed he was speaking to her until he called over his shoulder, “We’ll be there in an hour.”
“I’ll tell the others.” Wraith-like, Bohdan disappeared into the shadows.
“I don’t know what that was all about, but your threat was genius,” Elara said, nodding her approval. “Pure genius.”
“I’ve been around a good while and had plenty of time to devise clever punishments for the wicked.”
All her girl parts tingled, and she clamped her lips together to keep from panting. Why did his comment sound sexual? Was that her overheated mind and under-pleasured body?
Florence’s words returned to her. “Perhaps you should learn more about a fella before you jump into bed with him, yeah?”
With an abundance of regret, Elara unlocked her legs and slid down his body. Watching for any signs of falsehood, she asked, “Is your mother truly a goddess?”
Other than a grimace of distaste, he appeared truthful when he said, “Yes.”
“Why does it bother you?”
Instead of answering, he clasped her hand. “I’ll tell you another time. First, I must finish explaining the problem with those boots, Elara.”
“Why can’t you give it a rest, Tripp? Nothing dire has happened in the last four days.”
“Did you not hear Bohdan say the countdown had begun?”
She had, but the blood pounding in her ears from their mini-makeout had quieted any questions she may have had, and her brain cells weren’t working in unison quite yet.
After giving herself a mental scolding, she said, “Explain, please.”
“I will.” Raising her hand, he kissed the inside of her wrist. “Let’s get a bite to eat, and I’ll tell you what I know.”
“Let me tell Flo I’m leaving.”
Tripp was delaying the inevitable. It might’ve been the fact Elara had felt too good in his arms or that avoiding her had seemed like torture. Perhaps not as agonizing as when he’d waited on news of Elaina’s fate after the fire or as difficult as the times he’d had to avert disaster in his past, but the last few days ranked up there.
His mother had conveniently disappeared, and no amount of scrying produced her whereabouts. Once again, she’d left him to clean up her mess. And things in Witchmere were about to get messy. The mountain had begun rumbling the day Elara tried on the boots, and the quakes had progressed up the Richter scale. The heightened seismic activity could only mean Rainier would blow her top, and soon, if he didn’t find a way to prevent it. Instead of snow this holiday season, fire and ash would rain down on everyone.
Once seated in a booth at Serendipity —the quaint soup shop owned and operated by yet another Sanderson—Tripp entwined his fingers with Elara’s atop the table. Although he was never one to care what others thought, he did, however, care about her comfort.
“Is this okay, flitter-mouse?”
“Holding hands like a couple of teenagers?” she asked. Her voice was breathy, and the restaurant’s low light couldn’t hide her charming flush of color.
“Yes.” What would she have been like as a teen? Responsible, he imagined. She’d have felt the need for stability and would’ve smothered her desire to act out or behave as a normal kid might’ve.
Elara nodded, keeping her gaze locked on their joined hands. “It’s okay.”
“You’re sure?” he prodded, giving a gentle shake to gain her attention.
Turning those overbright eyes to him, she nodded. “I’m sure.”
Tripp should’ve been concerned by the blatant adoration or felt uneasy at the very least, but his reaction was the opposite. Maybe the secluded atmosphere lent to the intimacy he was caught up in because he didn’t want to break the enchanting romantic spell surrounding them. Their meal couldn’t be called a date, but it felt like one.
He hated to ruin it.
Elara’s expression turned wary. “What is it, Tripp?”
And wasn’t it odd she could read him better than his own family?
Just like Elaina.
“I find myself drawn to you more than I should be,” he confessed. “It never ends well for the lover of a god or demigod. I don’t want you to be a casualty of the Fates’ whims.”
Her fingers tightened in his. “Are you positive I will be?”
Yes.
But he couldn’t voice it. Couldn’t bring himself to destroy her bubble of security. If he were a weaker man, he’d walk away, but he had boots to destroy and a volcano to tame.
As he opened his mouth, Katie Sanderson approached, giving their clasped hands a curious look and him an open, flirty smile. If she hadn’t been as friendly with Elara, he’d have left and never frequented her shop again.
“Hello, you two! I see the rumors are true.” She winked at Elara. “Well done you!”
“People should mind their own business.” Tripp’s reply was sharp, and his look pointed. “Did anyone ever consider I’m the lucky one who caught her ?”
Both women sucked in a breath and stared at him in shocked wonder. His outburst surprised him, too.
Katie was the first to recover, giving him a broad smile. “Well done you , Tripp Nightshade! And not just for catching Elara, but for recognizing her worth.” Leaning in, she kissed Elara’s cheek. “He’s a keeper, hon.”
“So is she,” he said in a soft voice.
“Oh, I know. It’s the stupid men of this town who can’t see beyond the end of their noses.”
“Or they’ve been warned off,” Archer Roche said as he approached.
The women gaped at him, and heat road Tripp’s cheeks.
“I never did that,” he denied hotly.
“You did. Not with words, but your warning looks promised retribution.”
Archer’s smirk irked, and Tripp longed to wipe it off the man’s face. But Elara’s sigh bubbled with happiness, improving his mood. Not one-hundred percent because they were inundated with townsfolk when he wanted to be alone, but enough that the violent urge to add Archer’s head to Mount Rushmore had lessened.
“Why are you here, Roche?” he asked. “Can I not have five minutes alone with Elara without someone up my ass?”
“Bohdan wanted me to tell you about the latest reading and the frequency of quakes.”
All the ancient curses he’d learned were on the tip of his tongue, but his mother would cut it out if he voiced them in front of the women. With Witchmere magically protected as she was, the town would only feel the worst of the earthquakes, which started with Elara happily parading about in those purple plagues on her feet.
“How long do we have?” he asked.
“Based on his calculations, four days. Five at the most.”
“So, enough time for us to dine before the meeting?” Tripp asked pointedly.
“Yeah. Sorry.”
“No problem, but tell Bohdan that Rowen is heating her wax pot.”