“Aric has taken a vow of celibacy until we’re married, out of respect for me and our relationship,” she hissed. “Whatever disgusting whores he took before we met don’t matter. I’m his mate.”
I chuckled and scratched my beard. “You don’t get it, do you? Aric won’t touch you because you’re not who he wants. This celibacy bullshit is just an excuse not to be with you until he absolutely has to. As far as Celia’s concerned, she’s not disgusting, she’s not a whore, but she is Aric’s mate.”
This made her laugh pretty damn hard. She threw back her head and tossed back her long blonde hair. “Really? And where did you get that asinine idea, moron?”
“Well . . .”—I reached in my back pocket and pulled out Aric’s note—“it says so right here,” I answered, pointing.
• • •
I jumped in my Mustang and texted Celia, telling her to meet me at her old house in Dollar Point. I couldn’t watch Dan embarrass himself that night on my own. My boy needed an audience—and a witness to prove he couldn’t get laid without me. I then hauled ass out of the Den, having had enough fun for the day. I munched on the food Charlotte brought for Aric on my way. She threw it in my face right before storming off to find him. As far as I was concerned, that was the same thing as telling me it was mine. It was good barbeque. Aric would have liked it.
I chuckled to myself as I remembered her screams and growls blasting down the hall when she found him. The little missus was obviously not pleased.
My Mustang roared into my girl’s small cul-de-sac like a lion on the prowl, kicking up the dry leaves the chilly fall breeze had spilled into the street and making them swirl in my headlights. A silver Lexus LFA hugged the curb. I huffed and rolled my eyes, guessing that must’ve been Celia’s assigned vamp-mobile. The vamps sucked serious ass. I wasn’t cool with how Misha was trying to win her over. At least I knew Celia couldn’t be bought.
Celia hadn’t replied to my text telling her to meet me here. But her presence told me she’d received it. Strange, though, unless she was busy disemboweling some wicked bastard, she usually texted right back.
I jumped out and ambled toward the blue Colonial. Mrs. Mancuso, the girls’ elderly neighbor, was sweeping her front steps by the light of her lawn jockey’s lantern, a freak-ass little statue with bright red pants and a lazy eye. Despite the late hour she brushed her little broom back and forth with quick precise motions, even though any sap could have eaten off of the wooden steps as they were. She was probably bored, and lonely. The Wird sisters seemed to be her only form of entertainment.
She buttoned the top of her coat to protect her frail body against the cold. As a were, I’d keep the majority of my strength and reflexes till my dying day. Little old humans like her didn’t have that luxury. I grinned with my new set of chompers and winked her way. “Hey, sex-uh lady.”
Mrs. Mancuso smiled and tucked her neck skin into her brown wool scarf. “Oh, Brendan, you’re such a good boy to flirt with an old lady.” She furrowed her penciled in brows and glanced over at Celia’s former home sweet home. “Too good a boy in fact to be hanging out with those Wird girls.”
I nodded in agreement. “Don’t worry, Mrs. M, I’m trying to help them see the light. I plan to spend the next few hours reading to them from the Bible. They’ll come around, just leave it to me.”
The front door of the Wird house crashed open. There stood Celia—five-foot-three inches of long lethal muscles in skinny jeans and a tight white long sleeved T-shirt. The breeze picked up, sweeping her long mane of brown curls around her face. She pushed her hair out of the way, exposing her narrowing green eyes. Her supersized hearing had obviously picked up my chat with her not-so-favorite neighbor.
I waved. “Hey, Ceel. What’s wrong? Still mad I made you cancel your p**n subscription?”
It was really hard not to laugh at her reaction. Celia subscribing to p**n was like me joining a Justin Bieber fan club—so not happening. Her eyes shot open only to narrow further at Mrs. Mancuso’s stiff, reprimanding middle finger.
Celia stormed to the edge of her front porch, and while a wide driveway separated both houses, I still caught her golden skin reddening beneath the whitening glare of her porch light. “Mrs. Mancuso, I do not have a p**n —”
“Harlot!” Mrs. Mancuso shot back. She lifted her broom defensively, daring Celia to cross the driveway and step foot on her property. Celia pinched the bridge of her nose. In a Mancuso / Celia Wird smack-down, Mrs. M won every time. Not that Celia couldn’t crush her like a fistful of berries, but because Ceel didn’t pick on those weaker than her, no matter how much they annoyed her.
I placed my hand on Mrs. M’s shoulder. “It’s okay, honey-bunches. I won’t stop until the sin is washed from her wanton soul.”
“Bren, that’s enough out of you.”
Mrs. M patted my arm, ignoring Celia. “You’re a good boy, Brendan,” she said once more.
She flipped Celia off again before shuffling into her house. I chuckled and jogged up Celia’s light blue porch steps. I topped the charts around six-five, so even one step below her I still towered over her petite form. I pinched her cheek. “What’s the matter, baby girl, can’t you take a joke—”
My voice cut off in a gurgled choke. Celia snatched my throat with her hand and dragged my ass into her old pad. She kicked the door shut behind us without losing her stride. Like I said, long lethal muscles. My hulking body slid across the dark wood floors. I grabbed her wrist to break her hold but from one strangled gasp to the next, she flung open the sliding glass door leading out and tossed me over her deck.
I rolled roughly twenty feet across the leaf-strewn back lawn, shocked stupid by her over-reaction. What the hell? This wasn’t the first time I’d busted on her with Mancuso.
Celia scanned the darkness in a glance, searching for a goddamn witness to my execution, I assumed, before she leaped over her porch and landed in a crouch in front of me.