Chapter 2 #2
Dame cringes, drawing a sip of brew from his cup.
“In that case, I apologize in advance. This year’s lot isn’t the brightest.”
“Yeah,” I say. “I’ve noticed.”
I gesture toward the far end of the kitchen, where two first-years are struggling with a barrel of brew.
They’re having a hard time finding the spout, and it takes them a while to realize the barrel is upside down.
Then, as if sent by fate to prove Dame’s point, a group of Crescent wolves waltzes by, howling and carrying a squirming boy on their shoulders.
Dame’s ears droop, utterly defeated, as he shouts, “Put the dwarf down!”
When they don’t immediately comply, he dismisses himself, handing Kitty his drink and stalking off behind them.
Kitty frowns, downing the fiery brew and muttering under her breath, “Buzzkill.”
I only laugh.
I like Damien. He’s one of the few guys who doesn’t drool when he looks at me. I’m not sure whether it’s the alpha in him or the fact that I’m his sister’s best friend, but he never looks at me with anything more than curiosity, as if he’s just waiting to see what I’ll do next.
If only I could say the same about his second-in-command.
“Elsie.” Elliot greets her politely and retrieves her cup of brew.
She takes it, lips pinched in a slight grimace, but doesn’t say thank you.
He’s on her shit list this week after making a joke about her poor taste in men last Sunday. It wasn’t that harsh, milder than what he usually serves up, but it didn’t help that the rest of us laughed.
Elliot doesn’t mind the cold shoulder, though. The seemingly permanent smirk remains firmly fixed on his face as he passes me a cup of my own.
“Princess,” he says, dipping his head in my direction.
He plants a kiss on my cheek before flashing his silver-plated smile, and I roll my eyes.
“Demon.”
“You miss me?”
“No,” I say curtly.
“That’s weird,” he says, leaning in to sniff me. “You definitely smell like you miss me.”
I sigh.
“Cross, it is way too early in the night for your bullshit.”
His smile widens, and his brows lift.
“I see we’re still hangry.”
“I’m not hangry,” I snap, a little louder than necessary.
Elliot blinks, still grinning, but says nothing.
Okay, maybe I am hangry. Just a little.
But how could I not be when every man I meet turns out to be utterly useless?
“Iris!” Kitty calls, drawing my attention.
She and Elsie are now standing in the doorway, waving at me impatiently.
I toss back the rest of my drink and hand the empty cup to Elliot.
“Find me later,” I demand, before squeezing back through the crowd and out onto the dance floor.
It takes Kitty all of thirty seconds to find herself a partner. A lean selkie boy who has no qualms about being her scratching post for the night. He does his best to keep up, but mostly she dances circles around him while he stands there, too stunned to touch her.
Elsie keeps her promise, and after the sirens finish their set, Owen snatches her up.
She shrugs apologetically when he finally lures her off the dance floor, but I wave back, dismissing her concern.
She’s been irritable all week; maybe some dick will straighten her out. Besides, I’m more than capable of keeping myself occupied.
In fact, if the only faces I ever saw again were Kitty, Elsie, and Isaac, I’d be okay with that. But of course, that also means I’d starve to death, which, in my opinion, is the most brutal way to go.
The sunken eyes and hollowed stomach. Ribs nothing but a cage for your last breath?
No, thank you.
I would much rather have something swift. Maybe even peaceful, if the fates will allow it.
“Hey, Ashbourne.”
My morbid musings are interrupted as I turn to find Alias Woods standing behind me, holding out a fresh cup of brew.
His ears must have been burning.
“Hey, Woods.” I accept his offering, as is customary among the night-folk, and make one of my own by pressing a quick kiss to his cheek.
He smiles sheepishly, brown eyes softening as he comes to stand next to me.
“Should I be worried?” I ask.
He shrugs his narrow shoulders.
“Probably.”
I sigh.
Figures.
“It’s been a minute,” I tell him. “I don’t think I’ve seen you since…”
“Yeah.”
We stand there for a moment, listening to the heavy bass rattle in our ears.
“Well, good luck,” I say when neither of us speaks for a while.
He lifts his cup and bows his head.
“You too.”
Shit. That’s not good.
I turn, prepared to ask him who he’s here for, but he’s already gone, replaced by a burly wolf shouldering his way through the crowd.
From the look on the boy’s face, he’s had too much brew. Which he confirms the moment he crashes into me, and my drink sloshes over my fingers.
“Hells!” I shout, shoving him back a step.
His body jerks and he whirls, face twisted in a grimace.
“What the fu—”
He groans, surprised to find someone behind him. Or maybe just surprised that other people exist. I can’t tell which. But the anger in his face washes away as he focuses on me.
“Oh, shit,” he mutters, straightening himself. “My bad, sweetheart.”
“You can’t say excuse me?” I snap.
Beside him, a young, willowy wolf with bright white fur fists his jacket.
“D, don’t—” the white wolf warns.
But it seems D isn’t the brightest wolf in the pack.
“I’m Deacon,” he says, jutting out his hand and knocking into my cup again.
“Gods damnit!” I snap.
The white wolf steps in.
“We’re sorry. He’s sorry. Please forgive him.”
I take one long look at him, at his strangely muscular physique and sweaty outstretched palm, and leave his hand hanging dead in the air as I turn to make my way through the crowd. But Deacon is either the bravest man in this house or the dumbest. My bet’s on the latter.
He snatches me by the wrist, yanking me back a step as he bemoans.
“Ohhh, come on,” he slurs, pulling me closer and resting a hand on my hip. “Don’t be like that. It was an accident.”
“An accident?” I echo.
He nods, still grinning, and I almost gag as his lust perfumes the air.
It tastes stale, like sweat and nickel, exactly what you’d expect from a boy who looks like he practices picking up women in the mirror.
I rip his hands from my body before he gets too comfortable.
“If you touch me again, I will rip your tongue out with my teeth,” I hiss. “How’s that for an accident?”
“Is that a threat?” Deacon asks, posturing.
His large arms flex on command, detailing every muscle group, and I shake my head at his well-practiced display.
“No,” I say, voice even. “It’s a promise.”
“Dude.” The white wolf tugs at him. “Leave it alone. Come on.”
His friend attempts to drag him from the dance floor, but Deacon resists, swiping at his hands.
“It’s fine,” Deacon says. “She’s just a succubus. What’s she gonna do?”
My power sparks, anger coursing through me. But I don’t get the chance to expel it before a deep voice interrupts our little conversation.
“Do either of you have a death wish?” Elliot asks.
The white wolf shakes his head, his face now slack.
“N-no, sir…” he stammers.
“Then fuck off before I muzzle you both.”
Deacon, possessing less sense than even I’d given him credit for, opens his mouth to argue. But his friend, less reckless with his life, steps in. He clamps a hand over Deacon’s mouth, muttering, “Y-yes, sir. It won’t happen again, sir.”
The white wolf bows low, holding his glasses to his face as he backs away.
Deacon’s pea-sized brain finally catches up when he sees the tension in Elliot’s jaw, and he too lowers his eyes in compliance, retreating without another word.
When they’re at a safe enough distance not to insult their beta, they turn their backs and melt into the crowd.
Elliot faces me, arms crossed, shaking his head.
“I leave you alone for thirty minutes, and you’re already picking fights?” he asks.
I think he means to sound disappointed, or even angry, but the smile on his face tells me all I need to know.
I shrug.
“Maybe you should train your wolves better.”
He laughs, nodding.
“It’s these fucking first-years,” he concedes. “They’re like animals.”
He cringes as he drags a hand over his face, and for a moment, I pity him. I’ve known Elliot long enough to know that this is his version of an apology, and while it isn’t necessary, I accept it anyway.
“You didn’t have to do that,” I say. “I could’ve handled it.”
“And let you tear him to pieces in the living room?” He scoffs. “Dame would kill us both.”
My anger simmers as we both laugh in earnest. He’s not wrong about that. As Kitty likes to say, Dame is a buzzkill.
With a tilt of his head, Elliot beckons me forward. I go willingly, downing the contents of my cup and setting it on the mantle before leaning into him.
“That guy deserves a kick in the teeth,” I mutter, snaking my arms around his neck.
“I’d pay to see that,” he says, resting his hands on my hips as we settle into our familiar rhythm.
“I didn’t know you were into that sort of thing. I could start charging you if you want to watch.”
As we move to the beat, Elliot’s grip slips lower, and he rolls his eyes as he squeezes my ass.
“Please, Ashbourne. I couldn’t afford you.”
“Oh, come on, Cross. High-born brat like you? I’m sure you can come up with something.”
His smile broadens, and his soft green eyes light up as he barely contains his laughter.
“Oh, now I’m the brat?”
He spins me around, pressing my ass into his jeans, and I don’t argue when his fingers spread across my stomach.
Elliot and I have been doing this for a while now, almost since the day we met. And I’d be lying if I said I hadn’t developed a taste for him over the years. While he may be lewd at times, he isn’t overbearing. He never takes without asking, and when he does ask, he only asks once.
And despite his teasing, no matter how far we go, he never mistakes this for anything more than what it is.
“You hungry?” he asks, grazing my ear with the metal stud in his lip.
He has me trapped against his chest, grinding my ass into his growing erection, and I nod as my hunger claws at my insides.
“Always,” I whisper.