Shit.
What just happened with Ellery is all the proof needed to know I can’t be pulling that crap with anyone else. Not unless I’m ready to hike that mountain, and I’m not. I don’t have the gear, the experience, or the training… Crap, am I really thinking in hiking terms? Ew.
Why the hell isn’t Gannon the asshole on babysitting duty today? I definitely wouldn’t have this issue with him.
“Hey, ladies, where you headed?” Perth asks, loping up to walk a pace or two behind us down the sidewalk.
Karen gives a long-suffering sigh, pursing her green lips for a moment before she says, “You can only come if you promise to sit and stay like good boys.”
“Karen,” Ruger gently rebukes her.
“Nope. Those are my terms. Take ’em or leave ’em,” she states, walking ahead of the guys and pulling me with her like I’m a pet on a leash.
Scurrying to keep up with the witch, I notice the guys fall into line behind us. I also don’t miss the way Karen smirks at that fact.
Oh, it’s like that, is it? Well, two can play this game.
“So,” I start, my tone goading. “Bucky knows what kind of breakfast muffins you like?”
She stops mid-stride and turns to me, her free hand slowly lifting her sunglasses so she can stare directly into my eyes. “You really want to go there, Poodle?”
Nope.
Not anymore.
Not with that deranged look in her eyes. I most certainly do not.
“I do,” Perth volunteers from behind me. “What’s wrong, Karen? Got fucker’s remorse?”
Oh, shit. She’s going to consume him piece by piece and pick her teeth with his bones.
Karen glowers over her shoulder at Perth, but he’s all happy grins and smiles at having rendered her speechless.
“You are lucky we’re here and that your mate is so desperately in need of my help. I don’t have the bandwidth for you right now, but watch your back, mutt.” She lifts two fingers up to her eyes and then points them back at Perth. “Watch your back.”
Perth playfully snaps his teeth at the gesture, earning him a glare so icy it could correct global warming.
Turning to the building, I stare up at a hand-painted purple sign that says Witch Stitch in a curlicue script. I have no idea how a store that has new age crystals and antiques displayed in the window is going to be the answer to my apparel problems.
I need panties not palm-reading predictions.
Karen stands at the door and taps her foot. Perth chuckles and jogs forward to open it.
“After you,” he declares, all gentlemanly. His smile is more naughty than chivalrous though, and he looks at me like we’re sharing a secret.
Only—I’m not aware of any secret.
A little thrill runs down my spine at the gleam in his golden gaze. Karen darts into the shop ahead of me, but I pause as I walk past Perth. My body hums with some unspoken energy, and I move closer to him like I’m a satellite caught in his gravitational pull. Face to face, we watch each other—studying. Tabulating. What, exactly?
No idea.
He’s taller than me, lean defined muscle adding to his bulk and making him thicker than me too. Freckles dapple his face, and there’s a playful challenge bristling between us that makes my heart pump faster. I breathe him in, sipping on his clean cotton scent that’s mixed with a rich musk and a hint of smoke that’s kissed by something deep and slightly floral.
Damn, did I really just get all that from one quick sniff?
I feel a ridiculous amount of triumph when he looks away first, waving me into the shop like he’s an overly polite doorman. His smile grows wider like he’s pleased as punch about whatever just happened.
He likes that I smelled him?
I finally snap out of this weird trance he’s pulled me into and step inside.
Stunned, I find it’s three times the size it appears from outside. The wood planks of the floor are painted jet black. A chandelier hangs in the center of the high ceilings, filled with so many shimmering crystals that the walls are painted with rainbows from the reflections. A large antique mirror with a gold frame leans against a long wall, but the one thing I don’t see anywhere is clothing.
Um, hello, Karen. What the fuck is this?
Expectantly, I look over at Perth, hoping he’ll clue me in on the inside joke that’s clearly taking place. Maybe we stopped by this store for something else? But Perth just grins at me and wags his eyebrows annoyingly. Before I can turn to Ruger in hopes that he’ll take pity on my ignorance, the draped beads that cover a back doorway clack and part, revealing the two women I saw in the coffee shop.
“Welcome!” the older woman coos in greeting. “I’m Astrid, and this is Trista, my daughter.”
I offer them both a pleasant smile. Trista is wearing an outfit that Wednesday Addams would wear if she were the boss bitch of a major corporation. She has a sleek, pulled-back bun, a crisp white button-down shirt, onyx wide-leg trousers, and a bolo tie. It’s the epitome of sophisticated goth vibes.
Astrid’s look is on the hippie, flowy, opposite side of the spectrum. Layered necklaces, a long rust-colored skirt and cream top. Her weathered hands are covered in rings, and I spot rows of piercings that decorate the outer edges of both her ears, along with a dainty, barely-there septum ring in her nose.
They’re both cooler looking on their worst day than I could ever be on my best.
“It’s a pleasure to meet you,” Trista offers as she snatches up my hand just as soon as her mother releases it. “It’s about time we got some epic new blood in Howling Rapids. Goddess knows we need it,” she assures me, her dark brown eyes twinkling with amusement even though her lips don’t curve up in even a hint of a smile.
“What are we looking for today?” Astrid asks me sweetly. “Something flashy to celebrate your mating? Or maybe a few gifts? Set the tone for the well-deserved spoiling your future holds?”
“Noah is a naif,” Karen offers. “She’s just learning about eeries. And her guys, bless their dumb little hearts, didn’t think to get her squared away with real clothes. They got her fast-fashion crap, not the good stuff she deserves.”
Both Astrid and Trista gasp as though Karen just announced war crimes have been committed instead of shopping at a big-box, everything-in-one-place kind of store.
“Well, boil me in a cauldron,” Astrid whispers, pressing a hand to the multitude of necklaces on her chest as she once again looks me over. I wait to see a sliver of judgment or pity enter her surveying stare, but all I find is a glint of support and determination. “You must be losing your shit right now,” she declares evenly. “About the clothes, sure. But just about…you know, everything.”
I bark out a laugh and then cover my mouth when it echoes loudly through the mostly empty room. “Understatement of the century.”