Inescapable (Eternelles: The Beginning, Book 1) (12 page)

“Sorry, I…I don’t know what came over me.”

“Are you kidding? You must never apologize for wanting me as I want you.”

“I don’t want you,” she lied, turning to belligerence as a source of courage to face him once more. “I’m just human, that’s all. At least, a part of me is,” she added, taunting. No matter that it made her seem like the brat her mother thought she was.

A dark mood ran a heavy brush stroke over his features. Eyes that were hooded with passion now glimmered with anger. She’d hurt his pride.

“You’re lucky I’m not a bastard who will fuck a woman without her consent,” he growled, stressing his raw language and making her blush harder. “Even after she’s had her fun playing with him.”

Sera was duly chastised, like many years ago as a child when her mother would correct her after some mischievous behavior or prank. The awkwardness crept up a notch and the silence stretched between them. She fixed a stare at the carpet, as though its complex design would somehow reveal to her all the secrets of the universe.

“Fine, then,” he finally said. “I repeat, stop being bullheaded. Whatever you do, listen to your mother. Don’t leave
Shadow Bridge until I’ve figured out what they want with you.”

Bullheaded? The cheek! “They who—?”

But quick as a lightning strike, he vanished.

Feeling lost and bereft, she gave her back to the mist. Then, as suddenly as he’d left, she wasn’t standing any more but back in bed, sitting up and sweating like a pig before the slaughter.

She looked down at her trembling hands, still burning from the feel of his hair and body. The faint waves of a spine-tingling orgasm lingered within her. Seriously? She’d acted like a damn wanton—but the effects of that encounter still played havoc with her whole being. There was no way in hell this could have been a dream.

Unless she was completely losing it.

*****

Fiona Borgatti, preppy witch, gifted jewelry designer, and Shadow Bridge’s top Jezebel after the older and more experienced, Molly “Sass” McRay, sashayed into
The Stirring Pot
and scanned the space, hand on hip, looking as though Marilyn Monroe herself had just shown up for the Oscars.

Sera sighed, certain in the knowledge that her friend would never change. Nymphomaniac with a loyal heart and a penchant for heels—made for interesting conversations and a one-of-a-kind friendship.

Tossing her platinum blonde mane of waist-length, poker-straight hair, Fiona’s periwinkle gaze scanned the restaurant and found Sera sitting at her favorite corner table. She walked toward her—no, sauntered, hips swinging, more like—in her five-inch, Barbie-pink stiletto pumps and deposited a tight, trim jean-clad behind on the adjacent chair.

“How do you walk in those things without breaking an ankle in three seconds? Even with Mom and her massive collection of sky-high heels, it never ceases to amaze me.”

“Some of us need the extra height, darling.” She gave Sera a revolted look and waved her off. “You’re sickening. Tall and gorgeous. At five feet even, I hardly have a choice.”

“Mmmm.”

“Your Mom knows what time it is.”

Sera grunted.

A stretchy pink shirt with a rolled collar scooped dangerously low over Fiona’s breasts, giving the taller observer a sneak peak of abundant perky delights. A thin, dark blue jacket hung open to keep the goods on display.

Sera felt cold just looking at her. She peered down at her own get up of a thick turtleneck sweater, jeans, and padded boots. A heavy coat draped on the chair behind her. Even with her not feeling the chill like others did, she still needed the protection.

“And what’s with the skimpy clothes? It’s friggin’ freezing outside.”

Ever since that fateful night of Susan’s murder and Sera’s attempted kidnapping in
New York City, the weather had turned lousy. An unnatural cold for this time of year that should be heralding the spring. A message in the air, perhaps? She’d have to ask Grandpa about that.

“Relax!” Fiona urged. “You sound like my mother. My coat’s next door in my studio and I didn’t feel like putting it on just to take a few steps here. It’s warm inside.”

Fiona leaned over, showing more cleavage, to check out the hardcover placed between them on the table.

“‘How to Create a Mind: The Secret of Human Thought Revealed’.” She rolled her eyes. “Light reading?”

Sera shrugged. “I needed a break from the usual cryptology and history books. Artificial intelligence is a safe bet.”

“You say?” Fiona said dispassionately, focusing on her perfectly manicured nails. After a last admiring look, she put her elbows on the table and leaned forward. “How about that book I lent you the other day? The one about that sexy sheikh with a six pack kidnapping a British lady and keeping her in his tent for a whole month? Yummy man. Hot, hot sex. Even I learned a thing or two. Mrs. Ferwick suggested it at the castle library, you know.”

“Afraid I haven’t yet,” Sera replied, doing her damnedest not to laugh. “You and Mom would really get along. You seem to have similar reading tastes.”

“Seriously?” Fiona said with a tone of astonished pride. “I swear, that Ferwick woman must have a sixth sense or something. She looked me over and instantly knew what kind of book I’d like. I told her I wanted to start reading more as that hunk Tom down at the plant nursery said he loves a smart chick.”

“The castle library is nothing if not well-stocked,” Sera remarked over a cough.

“Have you eaten yet?”

“No, I just ordered. Here’s the menu today.” Sera slid a paper in her direction. The daily options were as usual printed in fancy font, the edges decorated with flowers and swirly designs.

“Fragrant chicken stew with prunes and spices.” Fiona made a face. “
Prunes?
Ugh.”

“Come on! Forget what your mother makes. She can’t cook to save her life. But
Ada and Lorraine can make dirt taste like the best meal you ever had.”

“Mom’s Irish. She can pick a good beer,” Fiona retorted.

“That’s about the extent of her skills with consumables.” Suddenly, Sera recalled something that made her raise a hand and cry, “Oh, that Guinness roast she made once was really good.”

“Wow, you have some memory! Or you’re food-obsessed. That must have been over ten years ago.”

“Well, some things are worth remembering. Like your dad’s penne with eggplant and cheese and those little Sicilian treats—”

“
Torroncini
.”

“Those.” Sera sighed. “The orange and chocolate ones are to die for.”

“Hmmm. Nonna’s recipes from her early days in Sicily.”

“Lucky you to have an Italian father who can whip up delicious desserts or pasta at a moment’s notice. Stuff that sticks in your brain and sadly, to your ribs.”

“I agree. For instance, Moon’s kisses last night are stuck in my brain. That tongue can fire up a grill with one lick—”

“Stop it, please, or I won’t be able to eat!”

“What’s disgusting about a good old-fashioned sex workout? Speaking of which,” she looked Sera up and down, assessing, “you’re looooong overdue for one. Moon has a friend. If you want, I can hook you up in a jiffy.” With a grin, she snapped her fingers and batted her eyelashes. “Yes?”

If you only knew!
But she wasn’t about to talk about Rafe with anybody. And that meant
anybody,
including her mother and best friend. “No, no thanks. I’m fine as I am, without complications.”

Yeah. You’re just peachy, Sera.

“You’re missing out on all the fun, if you ask me,” Fiona muttered.

Hmmph.

Fiona looked down at the menu. “Think I’ll go for the salmon with herb butter and potato gratin. That sounds more up my alley.”

Just then, restaurant owner Ada Zaret’s younger cousin and business partner, Lorraine Morningstar, burst out of the kitchen, her shoulder-length brown hair gathered up and completely hidden under a mossy green bandana with a black roses and swallows design. A green apron with the restaurant’s logo and the tagline, “Bewitching Food” printed under it, covered her shapely body.

  She zipped to Sera and Fiona’s table and let out a harried breath as she placed a glass of water in front of Fiona.

“Not a good day to run out of wait staff,” she said in a faint drawl that rolled beneath a heavier French-Canadian inflection.
Lorraine was a transplant from Montreal but spoke more fondly of her days in France, where she got her first culinary training. In fact, she once said that a distant part of her family—the French side—still lived somewhere in the rural south of France. “Pam’s about to pop any minute now with her second baby. I doubt she’ll ever come back, and Lorry took his dad to the hospital. Need to hire some help soon.”

“Hey, I heard that Dr. Jude’s younger sister is looking for a part-time job while she’s studying pre-med over at Faeworld College,” Sera offered.

“If you see her, tell her to come over late afternoon, tomorrow. I’m desperate here.”

Sera nodded.

“And Rob over at the hardware and safety store,” Fiona added with dreamy eyes, after giving Lorraine her food order. “He wants to buy a secondhand Harley and what his dad pays him isn’t enough. I’d love to see Rob on a Harley. Most of his kind have one.” She sighed, a heartfelt sigh, drawing disbelieving stares from both Sera and Lorraine.

Lorraine
’s classically beautiful face twisted in a frown. “No weres, please. They’re clumsy and break too many plates. I hate to dock wages so the cost is mine to bear and Ada gets on my case. Plus they eat more than a starved dinosaur, and we do much better when they’re on the customer end, if you know what I mean.”

“Speaking of weres,” Fiona started, her gaze fixed on the entrance from where Jeff Kochar, brand spanking new Shadow Bridge Police Chief, had just strolled in wearing his uniform. “There’s one with a
big
Harley.”

She stressed the word “big”, clearly implying something else. A glare from
Lorraine put her in place. “Not that I’ve seen it!” she quickly added.

Lorraine
turned around to catch Jeff’s wink and blushed. “Damn wind will blow just anything in,” she grumbled, hastily swiping imaginary dust from her apron and checking that her bandana wasn’t out of place.

Her large, green-grey eyes flashed with awareness under attractively arched brows, but on a nervous bite of her lip, she shifted her gaze to their table.

“Your meals should be ready soon. Ada’s putting some finishing touches and you know her, she has to get it right.” Lorraine smiled and kept standing there, reluctant to move, as if feeling Jeff’s gaze that now bore into her back like a blaster bolt.

“Great,” Sera said, exchanging glances with Fiona.

“Aren’t you going to talk to Jeff, Lorraine? I’m sure he’s here to see you,” Fiona announced, loudly enough to be heard from the castle.

Horrified,
Lorraine looked worse than a deer in headlights, while under the checkered cloth-covered table, Sera stomped Fiona’s expensive footwear with singular relish.

“Aww! What was that for?”

“Won’t you just
shut up
?!” Sera hissed through gritted teeth.

With a pitiful whine and a murderous look at
Fiona, Lorraine scampered from the table, head bent.

“My, my, you look lovely today, sweet cheeks,” Jeff praised when
Lorraine tried to brush past him—he was blocking the only way to get to the kitchen.

Straightening her shoulders,
Lorraine looked him eye to eye. “What did I tell you about calling me sweet cheeks?” she spat.

Sera and Fiona were close enough to hear the exchange. Wearing flats,
Lorraine was almost at a level with Jeff.

“You told me not to feed you any bullshit,” he drawled. “And I’m not. You really do have sweet cheeks. And…everything else, too.” His eyes, full of primal hunger as characteristic of a self-respecting were, took her in slowly, from the top of her head to the tips of her toes. “You must have put a spell on me,” he added. “Say, beautiful, how about you stop playing games and come out on a date with me?”

Sera could fairly see the steam rise out of Lorraine’s ears, although it was impossible for the woman not to be flattered. Everyone knew she secretly yearned for Jeff, including the shrewd Ada, who wouldn’t put a wrench in their getting together, if that was what her baby cousin wanted.

But
Lorraine knew not what Lorraine wanted. “Get out of my way,
wolfie.
”

She’d flung the worst insult she could have given him—something she’d never done before, from the look of things. A sharp jibe at the fact that he was nothing but a low-level pack member, and hadn’t gathered enough experience yet to be an alpha among his people. As Chief of the
Shadow Bridge police force, he had promise, though.

So,
Lorraine’s comeback had definitely hit a nerve. No man—and especially no were with his caveman bent—wanted to be seen as a wimp by a woman, let alone his chosen mate.