Pick Your Poison Read online

  Byron’s head jerked up from his phone, his gaze drifting towards me. “Does Norman like it rough?” The big werewolf’s voice had grown low and growly, a husky quality to it that had me gulping hard.

  Tucking my feet up protectively as Spira backed off, I huddled in on myself.

  “I don’t engage in casual sex,” I blurted, my voice thick and rasping.

  Spira held out a new bottle of water to me and I took it, nodding my thanks. Cracking it open to sip it slowly, I burrowed into the couch.

  Byron grunted, his gaze drifting away, and his fat fingers went back to punching buttons on his tiny device as his thick head of short, sandy brown hair dipped again.

  “Pity,” his deep voice rumbled out.

  “From her remembering those screams,” Duncan winced and rubbed his forehead, as if they were echoing in his head, “I’d think they were banging the plaster off the walls with the bed posts, they were so bloody loud.”

  Mary, staring at him as stupidly as Duncan’s earlier look had implied, glanced between us, blinked a few times, and turned to swallow her drink. Muttering something about needing a few more before the night was through, she hopped up and marched straight for the liquor cabinet.

  Hooking a thumb at Mary’s back, Duncan asked loudly, “Who else did she think I meant?”

  “Rough sex, then, if Normal gets to be knowing them, yes?” There was still hope in Byron’s bright gold gaze as our eyes met.

  As his wolf lurked heavily beneath his skin, right there at the surface as if ready to burst out at any moment, his glowing eyes swirled tumultuously, brightening right before me, just shy of neon yellow.

  Swallowing hard, my jaw almost hit my bent knees as it swung open, but I recovered quickly. Don’t let them see weakness, they’ll totally jump on that shit. And who knows what the randy wolf would think if I gave him a gander at an open orifice—any orifice.

  “As vanilla as it can get, and there must be a commitment of some type clearly involved, or no dice,” I lied, pulling my apron over my jean-clad knees and sneakers to tuck it around me protectively.

  Looking to Duncan, my expression perfect and serene, I screamed a few unflattering things at him in my head, thinking quickly and saying aloud, “I was thinking about porn, dude, so please don’t broadcast my shit to everyone.” Shrugging and playing it off, I asked the room at large, “Haven’t you ever gotten bored with Mary-quite-contraries babbling and let your thoughts drift elsewhere?”

  “And you... grew bored and decided you’d star in your own porno?” Stefan asked abruptly, his brows lifting skeptically as he raised a hand to absently rub the back of his head.

  Spira laughed, the sound happy and sort of carefree, a real, genuinely melodious quality to it as she let it go, grinning as she cocked her head to study me. “A half banshee one?” Clacking her talons together, she tapped them over her twitching lips, smothering a laugh.

  “Yes.” Smacking her leg with a pillow, pinching in my smile between pursed lips, I knew she knew I was full of it, confirmed when she sniffed the air and raised a single brow, but I hoped she played along. This was all humiliating enough as it is.

  ‘Not a word!’ I sent to Duncan, shouting my thoughts his way. My eyes narrowed slightly and I mimed my finger slashing across my throat when I thought no one was looking. ‘Not a word or I’ll murder you!’

  Duncan’s mouth had opened as if to speak, his lips parting as he licked his lips, but he abruptly shut it, an apologetic look on his face as guilt flashed across his eyes.

  As if sinking in on himself, he sat back, biting the inside of his cheek as his head dipped low. Deflated, he blew out a long breath, sinking into the couch cushions even more to pull a pillow into his lap.

  “Right, sorry,” he mumbled, a kicked puppy dog look on his sweet but masculine face as he stared down into his upturned palms.

  Chancing a look, he peeked at me every few seconds through his thick fall of dark, unruly hair until our eyes met. At that he offered me a short, sad sort of smile as his blues met my hazels, but just as fast he jerked his gaze away.

  “I do that sometimes, too,” he mumbled dejectedly. Tracing the lines creasing the flat of his hand, he followed along each path, unwilling to look up again.

  “You imagine you’re in a porno?” Mary butt in, leaning over the back of the loveseat Duncan was seated at to run her fingers through his hair.

  It was outrageously forward, and neither had shown any interest in each other, so I wasn’t the only one to blink and frown in confusion.

  Fascinated at the odd and sudden exchange, I found it all very strange. Duncan and Mary getting funky? Yeesh... This is worse than a soap opera.

  Duncan jerked at the demoness’ touch, his gaze snapping to meet Mary’s, swatting her hands away as if she were nothing more than a pesky fly. Grimacing, he shuddered and shifted, leaning away, too polite to tell her to go fuck off or get lost.

  “Not with Norma Gene, I mean, but sure, why not?” he muttered, eyeing the demoness warily as he resisted the urge to shudder again and brush the cooties away.

  Sending me a sly glance through the corner of her eye that said she thought otherwise, Mary bent over, ass high in the air and pointing right at Divit as she let out a low, sultry laugh. Licking her lips, she giggled girlishly, fingers diving in for the poor man’s hair again. Forked tongue slithering out, she whispered something in Duncan’s ear that had him jolting out of his seat as if he’d been zapped.

  “Gah. Would you quit it.” Duncan shoved his finger in his ear and wiggled it around as if she’d just stuck a bug in it, shaking his body out like a wet dog, shuddering hard.

  Still rubbing at his ear, as if her talking into it had infected it or something, Dunc gave her a long look, his thick lips forming a hard, thin line.

  Stiffening, his soft blue eyes frosted over slightly. “Look, if none of us have said yes yet, it’s not going to happen now.” Careful to keep his voice low and calm, as if he cared what the succubus thought, he took a deep breath and sat down, scooting almost all the way to the edge of his seat before he turned to face her. “I’m sorry, Marguerite, but I can see you, you know? See you.” He stressed his point, emphasizing it heavily as he held his hands out in front of him, palms up.

  Mary jerked back as if stung. A tremulous look on her face, her hands shook as she thrust them out, her perfectly manicured nails shining like bright, flashy beacons. Lips pursing, she flung her fingers about, as if to flick away his comment.

  Straightening up and smoothing her hands down her rumpled dress, she adjusted her well-endowed bosom, aware of her audience. Brushing a stray curl off her forehead, she took a deep breath, responding churlishly, “Well, not everyone has said no.”

  As curious gazes darted around, eyebrows arching questioningly like a game of Guess Who?, Stefan barked out a laugh. “Don’t look at me.” Lower lip dragging down at the corner, he gave us a not-even-in-a-million-years kind of sneer. “I’ve never played with the Devil’s concubine.”

  Well, shit, she had to be lying, then.

  Divit, watching everything with mild interest, was next to speak, busting that theory.

  “Ah, yes, but I was just a young man then—a boy, really—and you a lying tart scouring for her next victim. However, that was ages ago, and we’ve long settled any grievances since then, hmm?” A predatory, challenging look entered Divit’s dark brown eyes, daring the woman—what was woman of her, at any rate—to argue.

  Mary gulped, suddenly looking nervous for once, licking her lips as her eyes darted about. “Yes, well...” Swallowing hard, she fiddled with the end of one of her fluffed up curls. “I guess we did, didn’t we.” I could have sworn I caught a glimpse of sadness in her crooked, halfhearted devil-may-care smile, but not Mary. What did she have to be sad for?

  Divit nodded, his tanned hands resting loosely in his lap, shiny black shoes propped up on the chaise lounge. “Best leave the past where it lies, Marguerite, like your blackened heart and my lost soul
, and, mmm... other things. Don’t you think?”

  Mary stiffened, silent for the longest time, then jerked as if to knock herself out of it. While it looked as if it pained her to do so, she nodded woodenly.

  “How very interesting,” Stefan, ever the instigator, mused.

  The puss pocket always felt the need to put his two cents in. I wished there was a course of antibiotics to take to rid us all of the festering butt boil, but alas...

  Still sneaking peeks at me, Duncan was mouthing ‘sorry’ over and over, then fighting off a smile all of a sudden, probably reading my thoughts again.

  Fighting a hard won battle not to roll my eyes or chuck something at his head while alternately waving him off in the desperate hopes he’d stop, I nudged at Spira repeatedly, praying to any and all, despite my lack of religious affiliation in general, she’d quit laughing.

  “Does anyone like rough sex? Any womens?” Byron felt the need to set his phone aside—thank you any and all—and toss this little gem out there as everyone began talking at once. Lucky us.

  “I like rough sex.” Drink in hand, Mary smiled around the rim of the frosted glass, fighting a devilish grin.

  Byron’s gaze met hers and he grunted, chuffing. Thick upper lip curling up to pull over his gums as he made a noise in his throat, he harrumphed and scowled. “Anyone but you, demon woman.” Thick fingers jerking up, eyes narrowed so low his bushy brows almost masked his golden orbs for eyes completely, he waggled a hairy digit at her like she was a naughty child. “Byron likes his soul. Right... here.” Unbuttoning his shirt to expose a massively hairy chest, he drummed his fist over an impressive pec.

  Mary blinked, smile faltering. “Yep. Nope.” Leaning back, her thick hair bounced about her, slapping at her cheeks as she shook her head. “Maybe I don’t like rough sex.” The demoness’ laugh was high and fake as she let one loose, her drink glass clanking heavily as she went to set it down and it thudded onto the corner table clumsily.

  As if to shield herself somehow from the sight, body twisting to the side, she turned her head away. You couldn’t, not from that, but she got an A for effort. My, oh my, was he a hairy beast.

  Mumbling something about the weather, the soul sucking man-eater feigned interest in the ceiling, anywhere but the wolf-man’s impressive monkey chest.

  Spira pinched the fat on my upper arm none-too-gently, grinning evilly when I yelped, enjoying Mary’s discomfort more than one should as she gestured to the woman with her crazy dragon eyes.

  Alright, so we all kind of did. Who wouldn’t enjoy the mean girl’s discomfort? Maybe we’re mean too, whatever, but it was about time she had something coming.

  “What’s the matter, Mary? Lookin’ a little harried?” I couldn’t help but tease.

  Mary’s face pinkened and she cleared her throat. Tugging a pillow up off the couch to fiddle with the ends of it, she held it to her stomach protectively. “Don’t be stupid, pizza girl, there’s nothing wrong with a hairy chest.”

  Biting her lip, her fingers tightened on the pillow she had in a death grip. Expression pulling tight, a strained, almost constipated look on her face, Mary’s lips pursed primly as her eyes grew all squinty and her glowing skin paled slightly. Glancing away shortly, the demoness tried to hold back a grimace and swallowed, as if repulsed, her long nails clenching that pillow so tight stuffing popped up in her hands.

  “Looks harried to me.” Spira smirked, chortling, having way too much fun at everyone else’s expense tonight. It was a dragon thing. Morbid creatures, though fascinating.

  “You’re horrible,” I told her.

  “I know,” she agreed readily, unbothered by the fact. “Probably why I’ll die alone.”

  Duncan frowned, staring hard at Spira. “I can’t read you at all, ever. Why?”

  Spira’s eyes flashed and she bared her teeth. “Because, tellie-path? Because I am not to be letting you.”

  “Oh...” Properly cowed under her unblinking gaze, that was all the man could scrounge up the courage to say.

  “Would you like to see inside my head, tellie-path?” Spira asked after a long moment, a funny look flashing across her face, watching Duncan study her curiously.

  Duncan fidgeted hard, running a jerky hand through his hair. The hair stuck up and out, the slight sheen of sweat on his brow plastering it straight up as his fingers fell away.

  “Uh... well, yeah?” Wide eyebrows puckering as his forehead creased, thick lips pulling down, slightly crooked nose crinkling up comically, he gave one the perfect impression of a befuddled little boy.

  Staring a hole right through the man, Spira finally blinked. “Was that a question?” Swirling gaze curious, she studied his profile, head tilted ever so slightly as she finished her perusal and settled on his face.

  Long talons clacking as she tap-tapped them heavily on her jean clad leg, she waited.

  Duncan blinked twice to her one, glancing around helplessly. “Uh... no?”

  Spira’s jaw worked and she made a sucking noise with her tongue and her teeth, shaking her head.

  “Forget it.” Waving a hand dismissively, she let out a disgusted sigh. “You confuse me. And your scent, you’re too afraid of me to try this properly.”

  “Try what properly?” Duncan looked so perplexed at this point, lips flapping as he stammered, just shy of a thick stutter, I felt sorry for him.

  “If I have to be explaining it, tellie-path, I am not going to be to... uh... to be doing it.” Snorting, Spira let out a long, exasperated sigh that had Duncan spluttering.

  “But I don’t even know what you’re talking about! What is it? Do what? What do you want to do?! What’s ‘it’?!” he burst out.

  The dragoness shrugged, waving him off. “It matters not. I have decided against it.”

  “Against what?!!” Blue eyes blinking rapidly while he looked around wildly for help, I had a feeling the man relied a little too heavily on his abilities at times.

  “So,” Spira began, ignoring Duncan’s little meltdown to turn to me, “how have you been, my friend?”

  “At first I was thinking, I don’t even know why I come to these things, but then things like this happen.” Raising a hand, I waved it at Duncan, who appeared to be talking to himself, scowling mightily as he gripped at the roots of his hair hard enough to make himself wince; then Spira, who was grinning impishly, doing well ignoring him. “And it makes me want to come back again, just for the hell of it.” Heck, why not?

  Spira nodded. “Mmm, most certainly.” Flicking out her long, forked tongue, she tasted the air, glanced over at Duncan, hissed, startling him out of his stupor, and let out the funkiest hiss-giggle I’d ever heard in my life.

  Yeah, maybe I would come back next time, just for shits and gigs.

  Witch’s brew

  “Well, my pretties, have I got somethin’ fun for you.” Callie gave a little hip wiggle as she grinned, toting a heavy serving tray filled with black, frosted champagne glasses as she made her way back to the living room.

  “Be still, my heart.” Lip curling up into his usual sneer, Stefan’s snarky comments lacked their typical vim and vigor whenever directed at the easily excitable witch.

  If I’d noticed, surely everyone else had?

  Glancing around, I blinked. Huh. Guess not. All eyes were glued on those frosty champagne glasses, varying wary looks of dread and dismay on their faces.

  Damn, what am I missing? Why do I always feel so out of the loop? And I hate party games.

  “A drinking game?” Stefan huffed, standing as if to leave.

  “No, silly,” Callie soothed, “so sit.”

  Byron barked out a short laugh when Stefan immediately parked it, and Spira and I laughed too, a mutinous look on the necromancer’s indignant, pale face as he shot us all nasty looks.

  “Heathen,” Stefan shot back, seething. “Hairy, ill-bred heathen.”

  “Takes one to know one, yes, little, dirty warlock? Byron knows no house without the skeletons in the closet.
‘Specially those that play with dead things.”

  Stefan’s lips drew down, his expression shuttering, and he turned back to Callie and her glasses. “How droll. Really, Callendra, dear? That’s the best you could come up with? Witch’s Brew, or some such variation? A child’s game, at best. No, I don’t think I’ll be playing. Now, if you’ll-”

  “Yes, well, it’s not a drinking game,” Callie jumped in to explain, quick as ever, “and it’s not that either, so shut up, sit down, grab a glass, and drink up.”

  Setting her tray down next to the one already sitting there on the coffee table, she scooted the first one, with a little help from Duncan, aside. Smiling her thanks, she straightened, stepping back to wave her hands with an overdone flourish.

  Pausing for dramatic effect, she announced expansively, “I give to you, my adult game that I just made up the name of like ten minutes ago, minus the booze...” Nose crinkling, she tossed Stefan an exaggerated wink that had even the surly corpse lover’s lips tipping up as he shook his head at her over the top antics. “Pick Your Poison!”

  When nothing happened and no one did anything, just sat there staring at her mutely in a sort of resigned togetherness, she felt the need to add jazz hands and a, “Tah-dah!” which just had me snort-laughing.

  “Callie... hun,” I started, “you named your game Pick Your Poison, and you want us to clap or something? I’m gonna level with ya here, my dear, the title alone has me ready to bolt.”

  “And poo on you with the no booze,” Mary pouted, chucking her drink umbrella at Stefan’s head.

  Stefan caught it single handedly and broke it in half, smiling as Mary glared at him. Once he had it in a million tiny pieces, he whispered something low that had the bits shooting up, blasting towards Mary like a swarm of angry bees.

  With a terrified shriek and a blood curdling scream, Mary launched herself over the loveseat Duncan was sitting on, tripping hooker heels over tits, her pretty slut dress hiking indecently to expose two pales moons and a hot pink thong. Duncan jumped to dodge the umbrella bits bees, bumping right into her, barking out apologies as he sent her tumbling towards the floor and the sharp corner of the coffee table.