Chapter Five
CHAPTER FIVE
Tripp Nightshade.
He’d kissed her again!
Then, Elara had the nerve to call him a liar. Where her gumption came from was anyone’s guess, but she was proud of herself.
“You should’ve seen me, Hex,” she told her cat as she gathered her mail. “I was a badass!”
As they traversed the hallway to her apartment, she explained how she’d given Tripp what-for. Once they were safely ensconced in the living room, Hex hiked a leg and did what he always did when Tripp’s name was mentioned—he licked his balls.
“Rude,” she muttered. “One day, I’m going to remember to get a spray bottle to cure you of that bad habit.”
Hex paused to give his best I-will-fuck-you-up-and-shit-on-everything-you-own look.
“Oh, pearlescent pixy stix, Hex. You know I’ll never spray you with water. I’d be taking my life into my hands.”
Satisfied she’d been duly warned, he returned to his business, and Elara would swear he was more aggressive in his actions.
Ignoring him, she untied the hemp twine securing the package. No return address or other identifying marks indicated where it had originated. This close to Christmas, anyone could expect to receive a gift or two, but Payton was the only one Elara was close to, and it was doubtful she stopped to consider anyone else long enough to send a present. Many years ago, Elara realized that the only person who would treat her to anything was herself.
The surprise came when she lifted the lid.
Her gasp caused Hex to pause his ministrations and shift for a better view.
“Meow?” There was a definite question in the sound.
“I don’t know who sent them. But these boots are gorgeous!”
And they were.
Made of a deep-amethyst dyed leather, they were ankle high and possessed a three-inch heel. What appeared to be genuine quartz was cut to display the gemstone to advantage, and decorated the vamp. Smaller rhinestones, as shiny and clear as any diamonds she’d seen, were arranged in an intricate pattern around the amethyst jewels. Of varying sizes, they wound over the arch and up along the quarter next to a row of eyelets. The laces were made of chenille, and dangling from the ends were more gemstones of varying shapes and sizes.
And they were perfect!
If Elara were a shoe designer, these bad boys would put her on the map to fame and fortune. Only the rich and famous could afford them, for damned sure. But who had sent them to her? Certainly not Tripp. How would he know she was a size six and a half?
When she picked one up, she felt a zing. If asked, she couldn’t say if that was because of the joyful feeling they gave her or the sheer beauty of the boot. Walking to her window, she held it up and marveled at how the sun’s rays caught the facets of the stones, creating a light show inside the room.
“I love them,” she whispered.
The feeling of being watched washed over her, and she glanced downward at the street.
Tripp and Payton had stopped on the sidewalk and stared at her. Her sister with concern, and him with horror.
Firm resolve stiffened her spine.
“Just once, I wish you’d see me as something more than a joke, Tripp Nightshade,” she said with conviction. “See that I can be wicked and worthy of your lofty self! Oh, what I wouldn’t give to make you kneel at my feet and profess your undying love!”
The shoe in her hand heated up, and one by one, the jewels lit, pulsing with a breathtaking green glow.
“Very Close Encounters ,” she murmured, fascinated by the display, disappointed she didn’t hear the orchestral theme of the movie in time to the repeated rhythm of flashing lights.
Footsteps thundered up the stairs, and the banging on her door was obnoxiously loud. Compelled to ignore it, she kicked off her sneakers, straightened her sock, and drew on the first boot. It felt like Heaven in a shoe, and she hopped from one foot to the other, standing taller with each press of her heel. Satisfied with the fit, she drew on the other and sighed.
Perfect!
Tingling started in her lower extremities and traveled upward. She pressed her thighs together as the wave of heat started a fire in her lady cave, similar to the feeling Tripp had created with his kisses. Next, a surge of warmth caused her stomach to tighten, and her breasts became heavy as her nipples contracted into tight buds. She never wanted to have sex more than in that moment, and if Tripp happened to walk through her door, he wouldn’t know what hit him.
“Elara! Open the door!”
Why didn’t he use his power like the last time? She’d have welcomed the magical muscle display.
“Elara!”
The ground rumbled, like when they’d kissed. His desperate voice coursed through her, and she closed her eyes at the thrilling tickle it created. A purr escaped her throat. She wanted him to stroke her all over. Pet her like a cat. Lick her pus?—
The door slammed back on its hinges, and there he was, resembling an enraged bull. Breathing hard, eyes wild, face flushed.
He was magnificent.
Tripp’s gaze widened as it swept over her hot face and down her body, and he looked decidedly ill at ease the second he noticed her new boots.
“Take those off.” His voice was just above a croak. “Do it, Elara. Do it now.”
Feeling wicked, powerful, and decidedly rebellious, she laughed. The husky voice wasn’t her own. Or it had never been in the past. New Elara appreciated it, though.
“If you want to have sex with me, Tripp, you need only ask.” She winked, giggling as his jaw dropped. Smoothing her hands down her breasts, over her abdomen, and finally, along the curve of her hips, she grinned. “Or maybe not. Maybe I require a man willing to take what he wants.”
An outraged flush began at his neck, riding the skin along his clenched jaw to settle on his high cheekbones.
Oh, those incredible cheekbones!
Third only to those penetrating dark eyes that were second to his glorious, glorious shoulders.
“How about you remove your shirt first,” she suggested, sashaying to him.
He seemed frozen to the spot, incapable of complying. Once she reached him, she pressed her hand over his pounding heart.
Stretching up, she ran her nose the length of his chiseled jawline, inhaling his intoxicating scent. “Why, Tripp Nightshade! If I didn’t know better, I’d say you were in awe of little ol’ me.”
“Elara?” Payton’s voice caused a strange effect, like lightning crackling through Elara’s veins. “Hey, sis.”
A wave of dizziness caused her to sway, sending her stumbling sideways. Tripp caught her in a stunningly quick move that stole what was left of her breath. The muscled arm supporting her waist was pure steel and caused her blood to hum.
“Yes,” she whispered, meeting his burning gaze. “The answer will always be yes.”
“No,” he ground out. “Mine will always be no .”
Instantaneous fury, born from his rejection and her humiliation, exploded in her brain.
How dare he?
Twice he’d kissed her as if she were his everything. And now he treated her like she was beneath him? Like her invitation disgusted him?
“Screw you,” she snapped.
Not expecting to budge him, Elara shoved. She gasped in shock when his arm fell away, and he stumbled back into the wall. A two-foot tall, watercolor hummingbird print crashed to the floor, and Hex hissed his displeasure before bolting into the bedroom.
“What the hell is happening?” Payton cried.
Another wave of irritation crashed over Elara.
“None of your damned business,” she snarled. “Now get the hell out.”
Tripp’s arm shot out, and he gripped Payton’s wrist. “Don’t. Don’t go. I’m going to need you for what’s next.”
“What do you mean? My magic?” Her look said he was fifty cards shy of a full deck. “It’s basic, and if you think I’d do anything to hurt my sister, you’ve lost your entire bag of marbles, buddy!”
Elara smirked, happy her sister had her back. She experienced a moment’s pause but didn’t stop to examine why her emotions were ping-ponging all over the place.
“Get out, Tripp.” She flung her hand toward the door. “Payton can stay.”
“Sorry, flitter-mouse, but I’m not going anywhere,” he said regretfully. “I need those boots.”
“You can fuck all the way off,” she said with faux sweetness. “They were a gift, and I’m keeping them.”
“Elara—”
Concentrating all her energy on giving him a different kind of boot, she clapped.
Tripp climbed from the frozen lake, too burning mad to feel the icy wind against his soaked body.
The ground rumbled in answer to his rage. Inhaling deeply, he expelled a breath to the count of ten. Closing his eyes, he concentrated on warming his body, starting with the nucleus of his cells and working his way out to organs and extremities. When he was done, his clothes were dry and warm again. Thank the Gods! If he’d been mortal, he’d be dead from the hypothermia caused by Elara’s little stunt.
Those fucking boots!
“What the hell were you thinking, Mother?” he muttered aloud.
“Oh, I don’t know. Perhaps you’d do the proper thing for once?” Brelenia answered.
He half spun and spotted her about ten feet away, as pretty as you please, on a blanket behind an enormous picnic basket.
“Come, Enguerrand. I’ve had Eloisa prepare us a lovely meal.”
“I should murder you and be done with it,” he said conversationally as he approached her. “What makes you believe I would break bread with you after this latest stunt?”
Her warm smile drew him in, as it always had. His mother was a master manipulator.
“I wish you to find a mate and be happy, darling boy. Running from your fate is useless.”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Tripp sprawled on his side and took the proffered bunch of grapes. “I’ve managed it most of my life and am perfectly content.”
“Content. Not happy.”
He paused with a grape halfway to his mouth.
She was right, damn her!
“You’re growing up,” she observed. “There was a time when your denial would’ve been immediate. At least now, you’ve stopped to think about what I’ve said.”
Rarely would he ask her for anything, but the idea of a magical object changing Elara into a spiteful, wicked woman hurt his heart. “Please, Mother. Take the boots back and be done with this latest game.”
Brelenia cocked her head and studied him for a long moment before pouring him a glass of wine.
“Is that a no?” he asked softly, taking a sip and savoring the flavor of the rich, red beverage.
“It’s a no.” She held up a hand when he would’ve argued for her to do the proper thing. “Not because I don’t want to, darling. But they’re charmed, and you must see their latest mischief through to the end.”
“What will it take to avert disaster?”
“Why do you believe they’ll bring disaster?”
“Oh, I don’t know.” Sitting up, he tossed the wine onto the grass and dropped the glass into the basket. The waste of a good vino would piss her off, and Tripp wasn’t above being petty in the face of her manipulation. “Perhaps the countless calamities of the past. The Great London Fire in 1666. The French Revolution and Napoleon’s rise.”
“That was on you, darling. You fell for that peasant girl and fed into the uprising.”
“Yeah, well, you didn’t have to give her those blasted boots!” he retorted.
“I’ll admit it wasn’t well done of me. Who knew she was connected with that upstart Napoleon? He was the gift that kept giving, wasn’t he?” Brelenia waved a hand in dismissal. “But the past is the past, Enguerrand.”
“That’s the point, Mother.” He scrubbed his face with his hands and expelled a heavy breath. “As if the Great London Fire wasn’t enough, we had to repeat that little event with the Great Chicago Fire.”
“I truly believed that silly twit was more clever than I gave her credit for,” she protested. “Really, darling, you need to be more selective.”
Tripp threw up his hands. “Stop with this madness. I’m begging you. You can’t keep playing with people’s lives.” He pressed his thumb to his right eye socket. “I swear to Zeus, I develop an eye twitch every time those damned things appear. They’re a harbinger of doom, and poor Elara is the biggest disaster in town.”
“That’s not nice to say about your beloved,” Brelenia reprimanded.
“She’s not my beloved!”
“Oh.” Mother tapped her teeth with a fingernail. “That might be part of the problem.”
“Why?”
“The shoes or, in Elara’s case, boots should only be worn by the person you love. They are meant to grant the wearer’s fondest wish. If she desires you, but you don’t care about her in return, she’ll go mad.” She shot him a side glance. “Clearly, that’s what happened all those past times. I mean, take Petunia. That woman wasn’t in her right mind?—”
“Drop it,” he barked. “How do we clean up your current mess?”
“ My current mess?” She laughed and began packing the basket. “Oh, no, dear boy. It’s your problem now.”
“Mother, please .”
She smiled when she patted his cheek like she had when he was a small boy. “Perhaps settle down with this one. When she’s happy, those boots will move on. After all, they’re made for witching.”
With a dark frown, Tripp looked at the half-frozen lake.
“Why were you swimming on such a blustery day, darling? And fully clothed?”
He sent her a sharp glance, searching for the underlying guile. If one looked closely, they’d see it in her twinkling burnt-amber eyes.
“As if you don’t already know,” he said in disgust.
“She has more power than she realizes if she can toss you across town.” Brelenia rose and smoothed her white gown down her legs. “Whose child is she?”
“She had hippies for parents,” he said, hoping to hide what little he knew of Elara’s origins. No need to feed his mother’s obsession with the knowledge of a perfect match. If Brelenia of Messia discovered Elara Hawthorne’s true heritage, she’d become even more relentless.
“Hippies? I’m not familiar with the term.”
Pressing her lips together in thought caused her dimples to appear, which then reminded Tripp of Elara’s question. Odd how they never appeared until either he or Mother were amused.
“No need to worry about the term or what’s happening here. But I want your promise; this is the last time,” he said.
“Oh, I suspect it will definitely be the last time.”