Page 3 of Wicked Bite
I chuckled and shook my head. “Not very subtle, mate.”
Her head whipped around, and she smiled at me for the briefest of moments. “I’ve got this.”
I held my hands up in surrender. “Yes, and I’m finding it quite entertaining.”
“Happy to entertain . . . mate.” She rolled her eyes and turned back to her friend.
The friend, whose name tag read Dice, served a drink to the girl in front of her then moved to Piper’s side. “So, where should I send the flowers?”
Piper threw her head back and laughed, sending those wild waves flying around her face. “Send them to the graveyard in my heart for the men I’ve killed there before.”
“Roses or black dahlias?” Dice poured another drink and handed it to the customer in front of her.
“It’s not a funeral if there’s nothing black.” Piper winked at her before turning toward me. “Now, my sexy Brit. What can I get for you?”
“Sexy Brit?” Laughter burst from my lips. “That’s a first, I can assure you.”
“Oh, happy to be your first.” Her eyes flashed and she grabbed a glass off the rack and filled it with ice. “Let me guess, Jack and Coke.”
I frowned. “How disappointing, and here I thought you were a professional.”
She tapped her lip with her finger. “Hmm, not a Coke kind of guy?”
“I’m more of a purist.”
“No Coke then.” She flashed me a smirk and turned for the bottles. I let my eyes roam over the curves of her body. She was beautiful, and not in the modern chic sense of the word. There was a wild, untamed air about her that I couldn’t put my finger on.
I leaned back, watching her every move when, from the corner of my eye, I saw the door to the men’s room open, and a familiar sense of foreboding settled over me. Always with the distractions. “Excuse me for a moment.”
“Don’t go too far. You wouldn’t want the ice to melt.”
I smirked. “Don’t ruin a good bourbon with ice, love.”
She leaned on the bar. “You like things neat?”
I mirrored her pose and leaned in closer to her. “A mess every now and then never hurt anyone.”
Piper looked like the kind of mess that could ruin a lesser man. The kind of mess that would be perfection for a guy like me. I turned away from her and headed right toward the men’s room. Shoddy stalls lined one wall, and a single mirror stood across from them. I waited a moment for one last patron to leave then I flipped the lock on the door. When I turned back toward the mirror, it had already begun to undulate.
“All right, out with you.” I leaned against the wall and waited.
The mirror rippled and stretched outward to a needle point. Then it slid back, and a raven soared from within. It circled around my head, dropping thick dark feathers that fell in slow circles. I didn’t move. Then a hand came through and the mirror peeled back from it. Then a leg and the rest of the body followed. He stepped onto the sink and stood tall, staring down at me. To many people, that raven was a harbinger of death and the man that followed was the executioner. To me, he was a lifelong friend.
He was slightly taller than me at a towering six foot four inches with a muscular frame. His hair was down to his shoulders and ghostly white, with dark black strands that ran back from his temples. A loose-fitting black linen shirt hung off his frame and was wide open at the collar down to the middle of his chest. Dark leather pants and thick shitkicker boots rounded out the outfit. When he met my eye, a wide grin spread across his face. He jumped down from the sink and landed in front of me.
I gave him a single nod by way of greeting. “Atlas Savage.”
“Grayson Shade. The House of Shade beckons.”
I rolled my eyes. “As if I don’t already know. Uncle Titus has a far reach. Every bloody acquaintance he’s gained over the years has offered me a lift home.”
“That he does. But a greater man does not exist.”
“You’ll get no argument from me on that front.” He wasn’t lying. My uncle was a great man: annoying but great, overbearing but great, a pain in my ass but great.
“It’s good to see you.” He offered me his hand and I took it. “Done playing with the witches?”
I shrugged. “For now.”
