Bride of the Sea Monster - Eve Langlais Page 0,9

turned around when I caught a whiff of the incense, sweet and smoky, immediately relaxing my muscles. Sasha tugged me to a far corner where we found an empty club chair, big enough for two.

She sat in my lap, and we talked. Kissed.

And then the next thing I knew, I woke with my head pounding, my mouth dry. Too dry. All of me was parched. The beast within pulsed, demanding. Shoving to free itself.

I was surprised I’d lasted this long. I rolled out of bed and thumped onto the floor on my knees. My hands hit the carpet to brace me, and my body convulsed. But the violent tremors were nothing to the confusion as I stared at my finger.

At the ring on it.

A quick glance at the bed showed a woman sleeping.

Sasha. The one I’d met last night. And on her left hand, a matching ring.

Had we seriously gotten hitched?

Agony ripped through me as the beast sought to escape. It was past time I gave it what it wanted.

I barely made it to an outside deck before my clothes tore and my body exploded.

A moment later, I hit the waves.

4

Sasha: I am never drinking again.

The Future: Liar.

I woke up in my room on the ship. Head pounding. Mouth sour and pasty. Hungover and groaning.

The good news? I still wore the clothes I’d partied in. My jeans, molded to my lower body, were tight enough to require the jaws of life—or at the very least the Reaper’s scissors of death—to remove. My shirt had all the buttons in the right holes, and my bra chafed something fierce.

Only my shoes were missing I noticed as I wiggled my toes.

Rolling over on the bed, I realized that I lay atop the comforter, a soft coral pink with a wet spot from me drooling. Sexy.

How had I gotten here?

My power had nothing to say. It did the future, not the past. I had to rely on my own memory, which proved unreliable at the moment.

The last thing I remembered was dancing. And drinking. Lots of drinking. My brow knit as the image of a guy managed to surface in my mind. A cute guy with blond hair and a nice smile, just as drunk as I was.

A man I’d proposed to.

“Oh, fuck,” I groaned. At least he’d had the common sense to say no. I did recall that at least. And the necking. He was good at kissing. But then after that, things got really hazy.

A glance around showed me alone. At least I wouldn’t be doing the good morning of shame. Nothing worse than waking up beside a guy, not remembering his name, and looking for a nice way to get him out before you had to freak on him for expecting you to make breakfast. Cooking was something I did for money, not free.

I rubbed my face and grumbled as something scraped my skin. I held out my hand and noticed a ring.

On my left ring finger.

“Oh, no. What did I do?” It was then that I had a brief recollection—just a flash really—of me swaying on my feet, unable to focus on the guy in front of me, but clearly saying, “I do.”

Instant hyperventilation.

“Oh, dear dark lord. I think I got married.” Impossible. There were laws against marrying drunk folk.

If you were mundane.

I groaned. As a citizen of Hell, no one cared. Fuck, a groom could kidnap his bride and have her mouth duct taped with a document or recording offering fake consent, and not a single person would stop it.

But who had I married? I only vaguely recalled the guy’s first name. Ian.

And that he was dying.

The recollection saddened me until common sense kicked in.

“Troll humping asshole.” It was probably a story. One meant to sucker me into feeling sorry for him enough to drop my panties and give him a wild fuck goodbye.

I’d been thoroughly played—I glanced down at my body—or not.

Ravishment would have left a sign. Full lips from kissing. Sticky spots in my panties. Something.

A quick bathroom visit showed no evidence that we’d gone farther than necking. Which meant I should be able to annul the marriage. If it even happened.

No, you won’t.

My powers appeared smug on that point.

I frowned. Show me what happened last night.

Speaking to my powers…I did it more often than I should, to the annoyance of my grandfather. He never saw his gift as something separate from him. Must be nice.

My ability to see the future came with an attitude. It was