Page 34 of Last Wish
‘You don’t know? The stag is Byron Moncrieffe.’ He said it as if there should be a drum roll.
‘Oh.’ I tried to look impressed and I felt the Illusion ripple to mimic the thought. ‘Okay, then.’
He looked me up and down sleazily. ‘He’s a lucky boy.’
Yeah, yeah. I smiled daintily and dropped a curtsey. ‘Then let’s get this show on the road.’
I followed the man inside, past cardboard boxes filled with pork scratchings and crisps which made my stomach grumble loudly. He turned and frowned at me. I giggled. ‘I’ve not eaten yet,’ I said. ‘I find I’ve got more of an edge on an empty stomach.’
He waggled his eyebrows. ‘Well,’ he said in a voice that was more of a growl than a purr, ‘I can fill you up when you’ve finished with those Sidhe.’
I tried – and probably failed – not to look nauseated.
He gestured at me to wait behind the door. I took off my coat, and he smirked at my police outfit then popped his head out front to check that everything was ready. All of a sudden, I felt the tumble of butterflies in my belly overtaking my pangs of hunger. Bob was right: this was a mistake. All I was doing was torturing myself.
I took a step backwards, ready to run away, but the man wasn’t having any of it. When he saw me hesitate, he shoved me onto the main club floor. Shite. I couldn’t change my mind now.
The music, which had been pumping out a loud staccato beat, abruptly faltered. I strode into the centre of the floor as at least forty pairs of eyes turned in my direction. Licking my dry lips, I lifted my chin – and almost had a mini heart attack when I saw that Aifric was here after all. I reasoned that he’d have no reason to suspect that the Illusion ruse from earlier was being carried on here but all the same, I was suddenly more terrified than before.
Forcing myself to play the game, I completed a slow half turn. Byron was looking distinctly ill at ease in a chair in front of me. I cleared my throat. How was this supposed to go?
‘Er… You’re all making too much noise,’ I said.
A chorus of jeers immediately answered me. I scowled and raised my hand. ‘The borough of Perth takes noise pollution very seriously.’
Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Aifric frown and jerk forward. One of the men from the Cruaich clearing grabbed hold of him and murmured in his ear. He relaxed and settled back, with a leer on his face. Ick.
‘Who is in charge of this gathering?’ I demanded.
Jamie, believing I was the real thing, opened his mouth, his brow knotted with tension but several others smirked and pointed at Byron. Keeping my expression severe, I looked straight at him. He wasn’t as naïve as his Moncrieffe friend and I could already see the angry recognition in his eyes that his buddies had hired a stripper to make the evening more entertaining. His reaction sent him up a notch in my estimation – a tiny notch, anyway.
Bob was right: Byron looked painfully tired. He might be dressed to the nines but the shadows under his eyes were very heavy and there was a pallor to his skin that I’d never seen before. I quashed my worries and glared, still in my role as angry policewoman. ‘You’re going to have to explain yourself,’ I said loudly.
Byron, still looking irritated, got to his feet. ‘I don’t want this.’
‘Oh,’ I answered, injecting the tiniest amount of breathiness into my words, ‘you’re going to have to tryharderthan that.’ I deliberately dropped my gaze to his crotch. ‘The borough of Perth doesn’t enjoy limp responses.’
Laughter rose amongst Byron’s friends. He rolled his eyes. ‘Look,’ he said, in a way that almost made me feel sorry for him, ‘I’ll pay you if you just…’
I walked up to him. ‘Did you just try to bribe a police officer?’ I pulled the handcuffs from by my belt and dangled them in front of him. ‘I think that’s a very serious offence.’
He raised his hands to try to get me to back off and in one swift movement, I snapped the cuffs round his wrists. Now he was even more pissed off. I gave him a tiny shove, forcing back onto his chair, then I lifted my foot, nudged his legs apart and rested my shoe on the edge of the seat, right in front of his groin.
Catcalls rose all around us but this time I barely heard them. Byron wasmine. ‘You’ve been a naughty boy,’ I purred. ‘But I’ve lost my truncheon. I don’t suppose I could borrow yours? It looks … big.’
The shouts got louder. Byron, glancing around at the crowd, realised that he’d get out of this faster if he just played along. He sagged back, irritation still flickering in the emerald green depths of his eyes. I flicked a hand at the DJ and the music started up again. This tune was much slower than before.
I took three steps backwards and the men formed a circle round me. I wouldn’t have been surprised if the lot of them had started drooling and I’d ended up drowned in puddles of spit. Bleurgh. I played along, however, reaching up and loosening my hair from its tight constraints. I shook out the dark waves that were so unlike my own tresses.
I spotted Jamie in the corner, shrugging to himself then turning away to line up shot glasses. As I started unbuttoning my blouse, he poured vodka, moving up the line until every glass except one was full. I threw back my head and laughed while he surreptitiously sneaked a bottle of water from his pocket and used that to fill the final glass. Now that was interesting.
I spun round, wiggling my arse, all the while unfastening buttons until I reached my waist. It appeared that I was wearing a very lacy bra that left little to the imagination. I swayed in time to the music, backing up until I was almost sitting on Byron’s lap. I started rubbing against him, half wishing I could see the expression on his face and half hoping the ground would swallow me whole.
I pulled the blouse off my shoulders, intending to slide it down my back, but it caught on the bra strap. I tried to tug it free while still looking sexy; maybe this was going to be harder than I’d realised. I wiggled this way and that; when that didn’t work, I tried to yank the blouse away even if it meant ripping the fabric. From the expressions on a few of the watching faces, my contortions were more like those of a beached whale than a sexy stripper.
I turned my face to Byron’s. ‘You’ll have to use your teeth,’ I breathed.
‘Good grief,’ he muttered. He sighed and then I felt the fabric free itself. He must have used his Telekinesis Gift instead of his mouth. Oh well.
