Page 18 of Witches and Wine
“Oh, gods. Oh my—” Confusion spiraled through me like a cyclone.
Dion bolted from his seat and sat next to me, his massive arm wrapping my shoulders, hands rubbing up and down my arms. “Breathe, Chels. Breathe.”
My efforts at taking deep breaths turned into my cheeks puffing like a blowfish. Dion used one hand to fan my face. “You’re saying that I’m not human? That I’m somethingelse?”
“Yeah.” Dion’s expression melted into concern.
Breathing came easier, but my heart refused to settle down. “And you don’t know what that something is?”
He cupped my face, his thumb tracing my cheek. “I wish I did, sweetheart.”
And there came the panicked, maniacal breathing again. “I’m going to need something far stronger than a chocolate milkshake to process this, Dion.”
“Right. Let me grab our shit to go, and we’ll motor to wherever you want.” Dion slid from the booth and rested his hands on my shoulders. “Just don’t run away on me or anything, yeah?”
“I’m not going anywhere,” I whispered, offering him a warm smile.
His shoulders slumped like he’d been tensing. After pressing a quick kiss to my forehead, he whisked over to the bar, grabbed our food, the milkshake, and returned to me with an offered arm. “Where would you like to go, Red? You name it.”
The universe only knew what compelled me to give the answer I was about to give. I stood, rubbed the grape cluster charm hanging from the chain around Dion’s neck, and whispered, “Your place.”
I wasn’t sure why I’d expected him to ask me if I was sure, but he didn’t. Heat blazed in his eyes, and he wrapped an arm around me, porting us from the diner in front of everyone. We appeared in his apartment, ivy leaves and burgundy star dust cascading around us before disappearing.
“That felt so liberating,” I said, not tearing my gaze away from him.
Dion’s arm had yet to uncoil from my waist. “Which part?” His voice was gravelly and so incredibly deep.
“That you could openly exhibit your powers without fear of someone seeing. Freedom fromjudgment.” My hand moved of its own accord, traveling up Dion’s stomach until it reached his lips, my fingers exploring the hair surrounding his mouth.
Dion curled back a corner of his upper lip, making his canines grow ever so slightly. I hovered over one, fascinated by it and curious how much larger they got. “What you thinkin’, Red?”
Visions flashed through my mind—Dion crawling over me, caging me in with those safe, muscular arms, the weight of him as he lowered his hips like pure bliss.
“Devilish, filthy thoughts, Dionysus,” I whispered, slipping my finger into his mouth, grinning as he flicked his tongue against it and let one canine graze the skin.
Dion took my hand in his, curling it against his chest. “Even after just learning you’re a fairy tale and not knowing which one?”
The question snapped me from some misty haze I’d unknowingly thrown myself into. “I—I don’t?—”
Grinning, Dion strolled past me, his lips lowering to my ear. “And now you can’t blame my godly essence for your desire to have me between your thighs, Chelsea.”
My stomach tripped over itself, and I inexplicably forgot how to articulate words. “I never—I mean to say?—”
Dion gave a husky chuckle and swatted my ass, making me yelp, heat flooding my neck and face. “How about that drink?”
“Yes, please,” I squeaked. Smacking my hands over my face, I turned on a heel, collapsing over the dark marbled bar Dion whisked behind. The dips and grooves of the stonework suddenly became of keen interest. I traced my fingertips across the smoothness, patches of divots and rougher spots tickling my skin. “This is really nice, Dion.”
He’d already poured one wine glass and turned with the bottle in his hand, filling the other. An amused smile played on his lips. “Thanks. Here you go. This’ll help take the edge off.”
“Appreciate it,” I responded slowly, taking the fancy goblet with both hands. Pewter grape vines circled the stem, and I busied my thumbs over the design as I took a deep gulp—fruity, earthy, and something I couldn’t place. “No offense, but this tastes funny.”
Dion let out one of those gravelly chuckles that made me lean in closer to him to feel the vibrations, and I hummed. “None taken. I laced it halfway with ambrosia wine.”
I’d begun to sip again, and my brows raised over the rim, my nose in the glass. “Ambrosia?”
“Uh-huh.” Dion pressed his forearms to the bar, crossing one over the other. “Not sure you need it yet, given your power hasn’tmanifested, but figured an extrakickwouldn’t hurt given the circumstances.”
Power. Manifestation. Fuckingmagic. It was all enough to make my head spin, or maybe it was the wine.
