Wanton witchmas, p.2
Wanton Witchmas, page 2
He could stake out Elara’s old apartment on the off chance Payton hadn’t returned to the engagement party. Or perhaps he’d wake her at the ass-crack of dawn when she was suffering the hangover from hell.
He refused to question why he didn’t simply confront Elara instead of Payton. Maybe because his ex-fiancée’s betrayal was much more personal, considering everything they’d shared.
By the Gods, he’d loved her. Obsessively, to his mother’s way of thinking and probably Payton’s, too. Had he unintentionally smothered her in his need to keep her close? If he were being honest with himself, he’d have to admit it was probable. His childhood had been void of baser emotions, mainly because Mother found outbursts and spontaneity distasteful. No child of hers would become a needy hooligan ruled by their feelings—her words, not his. Mayor Mary-Alice Cobb had an image to uphold, and she’d never let her children forget it.
Perhaps his sister, Sloane, had the right idea when she escaped. Although the way she’d done it wasn’t the wisest. Marrying Bradford, the “Bougie Biscuit” as she called him, had been an epic mistake on her part. It seemed neither Dailey nor his sister possessed the best taste when selecting life partners. In Sloane’s case, their mother adored Bradford and despised her daughter. In Dailey’s, she loathed Payton and doted on him, much to his embarrassment and detriment. Their brother, Harrison, had mostly flown under the radar and seemed to be the only well-adjusted of the three. But then again, he’d chosen psychology as a major. Maybe he’d gained insight into how to survive their domineering parent.
“Goddamn it,” he muttered.
Another tingle coursed through him, and he frowned. Either he was experiencing a magical disruption, or his nerve endings were on the fritz.
His radio crackled.
“Chief?”
Dailey sighed. Why the hell did he feel older than his forty-two years? It didn’t bode well for him that warlocks lived longer than the average bear.
“Yeah, Junior, what is it?” he asked tiredly.
“Chief, we have a problem.”
When no further explanation followed, he counted to ten. “It would be helpful if you spit it out, kid.”
“Oh, yeah, right.”
Dailey pressed his thumb between his brows and exhaled heavily.
Junior Jenkins was twenty-one and still green. The guy believed everything was an emergency when it wasn’t, could barely reason his way out of a paper bag, and didn’t understand nuances like sarcasm. If Dailey hadn’t promised the kid’s mom he’d look after him, he’d have cut him loose five minutes after Junior started his internship.
“Are you going to tell me anytime tonight, Junior, or am I supposed to guess?”
“Sorry, sir. But Payton—”
“I’ll be right there.” Dailey did a sharp U-turn in the center of town and headed for the station. Once there, he took the steps two at a time and jerked the door open, stopping short when he saw Tripp Nightshade.
He was leaning back in Dailey’s chair with his feet on the desk. Dressed in all his finery with black, shoulder-length hair and a chiseled jawline that the faces of Mount Rushmore would envy, the demigod appeared out of place but commanding despite the fact.
Fuck.
Tripp’s black brow lifted in amusement. “Expecting someone else?”
“What do you want, Nightshade?” Dailey asked evenly, keeping it together and refusing to rise to the bait.
“Payton’s keys, for a start.”
“Sorry, but she’ll have to pick those up herself.” He crossed his arms, making it clear he wasn’t budging.
“Junior, find something else to do,” Tripp said, with a casual flick of his hand in the young man’s direction.
With eyes glazed over, Junior obediently walked away like a spell-snatched sheep.
“I’d appreciate it if you and your new fiancée would stop throwing out the mind-altering incantations. They’re not beads at a Mardi Gras parade.” Dailey dropped his arms and stalked forward. “Your lack of consequence is a real issue, Nightshade.”
“Elara didn’t understand the power those boots contained, Cobb. Hermes has indicated your curse will wear off when the timing is right.”
Dailey shoved Tripp’s designer-clad feet off his desk. “What the hell is that supposed to mean, ‘when the timing is right?’ I want it gone now.”
As if on cue, Hermes strolled through the double doors. “It’s not within his ability, Constable Curseday. It was the result of Titan magic mixed with Trickster magic. Unbreakable until it plays out.”
Hermes bore a striking resemblance to his cousin, Tripp, but where Nightshade’s eyes were obsidian and cool, the Trickster’s were a bold emerald and contained a perpetual devilish twinkle, indicating he was rarely serious.
“Bullshit.” Dailey didn’t believe for one second that the god couldn’t reverse the curse. The asshole simply didn’t want to.
Hermes grinned, and he never wanted to taser a person more.
“I’m going to bring Payton in, and when I do, the three of you will work out how to remove whatever fuckery has numbed my emotions. Got it?”
With narrowed eyes, the Trickster studied him. “I’m not certain what difference it makes whether your feelings were numbed or not. You’ve clearly been emotionally stunted since birth.”
Because it was too close to the truth, Dailey didn’t respond. Only with Payton had he felt alive, and there were days he missed the sensation. Missed the laughter. What he didn’t miss was the pain of their arguments or the disappointment he experienced whenever she was unhappy. And he certainly didn’t want to relive the soul-crushing agony of her running away on their wedding day.
“Clear out. I have work to do.” And a brother to call. Perhaps Harrison, with all his therapeutic wisdom, could coach him on how to cope. Dailey’s liver wasn’t happy with his drinking himself into a whiskey-induced coma every night.
Tripp climbed to his feet, pausing beside him on his way to the exit. “Consider this, Cobb. Payton had nothing to do with your curse. She didn’t know Elara’s amped-up spell took hold until tonight.” He gave Dailey’s shoulder a quick squeeze. “The woman I’ve come to know would never do anything to hurt you.”
The tingling started again, and with its return, Dailey’s chest ached.
“That’s rich, and a damned lie,” he snapped. “She ripped my fucking heart out when she turned tail and ran, not caring about the destruction she left in her wake. If you believe she wouldn’t do it again, you’re a fool.”
Although he frowned, Tripp didn’t reply right away. Eventually, he said, “I’m sorry you suffered, Dailey. But it was years ago.”
“Time may weather the stone, but the carvings remain, Nightshade. Remember that.” He turned away, desperate to escape their oppressive power lingering in the air.
And maybe a small part of him understood how overwhelming it had been for Payton to deal with two powerful beings in one room when she didn’t have magic of her own.
It was worth considering.
“Get Junior back on duty.”
Chapter Three
Payton nearly jumped out of her skin when the door slammed shut, but she’d be damned if she would check to see who’d just stormed into the apartment. Cowardly, yes, but with her luck, Dailey had found her and was ready to drag her butt to the pokey. She’d barely managed to escape without him catching her the first time.
“You here?” Rowan called.
Dropping her shoulders and shrugging off her disappointment at her visitor not being the man she loved, Payton stormed out of the bedroom and into the living room.
“Some friend you are!” she yelled. “You left me at the first sign of trouble.”
“I can’t help it. It’s my wolfy fight-or-flight instincts.”
“That’s pretty much what I said to Lee,” Payton said with a sour look.
“Yeah, and being burned—”
She held up a hand. “I told him that, too.”
Rowan’s brows shot up. “What did he say?”
“That I have terrible taste in friends.”
She laughed. Therein lay Rowan’s true beauty. Not only was she the perfect package on the outside, but when her amusement took hold, she was breathtaking. It still astonished Payton whenever she thought about how Harrison Cobb was completely oblivious to her friend’s charms.
Payton rolled her eyes as she pushed past her to lock the door. Not that it mattered. If Dailey decided to storm the castle, so to speak, he’d simply flick a finger and unlock the deadbolt.
Right as she was about to give her bestie a firm dressing down, a knock sounded, causing them to freeze. Rowan’s green eyes flew wide, and it wasn’t hard to guess her F&F instincts were warring again.
“Stay calm,” Payton hissed. She peered through the peephole and, seeing no one but a deliveryman, exhaled her relief. “It’s just a package.”
The door was halfway open when Rowan posed a terrifying question. “What company delivers at midnight?”
“Motherfuck—”
The guy pushed into the room, and the glamour fell away, revealing Dailey.
The glass sliding door whooshed open behind her, but Payton didn’t need to look to know Rowan had bailed again.
“That bitch,” she muttered.
Dailey snorted. “It’s not like she could save you, and she knew it.”
“A little moral support would be nice.” Payton plopped down on the chair and reached for the footwear she’d kicked off ten minutes before. “Let me get these on, and I’ll go peacefully this time.”
“Relax. I’m off duty and tired as hell. We’ll take this up again in the morning.” He shut the door on the way to the kitchen. “What do you have to eat?”
After she managed to pull her jaw off the floor, she shook her head. “I’m not sure. Elara stocked the fridge today, but I only just got here before her party. I didn’t have time to explore.” She toed her shoe off, beyond thrilled she didn’t need to wear heels to jail. Her feet were already killing her from all the dancing earlier. Padding to the counter, she climbed onto a stool and tucked her chin in hand.
“Why are you being nice? If you didn’t come to arrest me, what is the point of showing up this late?”
Dailey peered around the refrigerator door, eyebrows almost to his hairline. “You think I’m being nice?”
“For you. Lately.”
“Fair.” He set eggs, cheese, a slew of vegetables, and butter on the counter. “Omelet?”
“No.” Waving him off, she stumbled to the pantry. “I’m good with chips.”
“Your diet is as horrific as your friends, Pay.”
“Not much has changed in the last few years.” She paused, snack halfway to her mouth. “I’m sorry, Lee, I didn’t—”
“Don’t call me that,” he snapped.
“You’re going to insist on Officer Knob—er, Cobb?”
“No. Dailey works well enough,” he said grudgingly as he dumped a teaspoon of butter into a pan.
She couldn’t say she didn’t get it. When he called her “Pay,” her heart had flipped, and that old gooey feeling had filled her chest. Nicknames were off the table if they wanted any semblance of friendship moving forward.
“I’ll ask again. What is the point of showing up here?” she asked softly.
“I had a plan until Tripp and Hermes shot it to hell.”
Payton didn’t love the way his mouth tightened with disappointment. Throughout their entire relationship, Dailey always scheduled out his days, weeks, and hell, even his months. If his newest scheme had gone to ruin, he’d be scrambling to right it or come up with a new one.
Hunger forgotten, she rolled the top of the bag and shoved it back onto the pantry shelf. “Dare I ask what ‘it’ was?”
He glanced up from chopping a pepper. “It?”
“The plan,” she replied.
“No,” he said succinctly.
“Dailey.”
“Drop it. All I want is to eat my omelet in peace.”
Hands on hips and glare in full force, she snapped, “Then maybe you shouldn’t have come here.”
He turned off the burner and shoved the pan toward the back of the stovetop.
“Fine,” he replied. “You want to argue, let’s argue.”
The fine lines around his eyes seemed deeper, and his lips were pinched, as if he was really fighting fatigue. Payton felt like a raging bitch. Her throat grew tight as they stared at one another.
How in the hell would she ever walk away from him a second time? But it wasn’t like she had a choice, right? It wasn’t as if he were there to patch things up by promising the moon and stars, along with kicking his mother to the curb.
“I’m sorry,” she croaked. And she wasn’t sure what she was apologizing for: running away or ruining his meal. Likely both.
Dailey rounded the counter to stand before her, and the force of his presence made the room too small.
“You were the only peace I had in Witchmere. Is it so odd I’d seek your company when I’m feeling unsettled today?” he asked.
“Yes. Not four hours ago, you hated me and wanted to arrest me.”
His disturbing gaze dropped to her lips, and he stared as if he were contemplating kissing her.
“True.” He nodded slowly, as if just remembering the fact. “Though I didn’t hate you. I was angry, which seems to be my default setting these days.” He locked gazes with her. “But I discovered something else in the interim.”
“What’s that?”
“You made me laugh when I believed I couldn’t.” He frowned. “When I’m around you, I experience a tingling, as if my soul is trying to wake up again,” he confessed.
“I’ve always had that,” she replied softly, cupping his jaw.
For a brief instant, he closed his eyes and allowed the touch, rolling his cheek into her palm. But he quickly woke from whatever enchantment they’d been weaving. Stepping back, he broke the contact.
“Yeah, well…” He cleared his throat.
Because she missed the feel of him, she stepped forward and placed her palm against his chest.
“Why do you stay in Witchmere if it causes you unrest?”
“Where else would I go?” he asked, turning away to finish whipping the eggs.
“Literally anywhere.”
“You mean run away? Like you?” Tone stiff and shoulders rigid, he shot her a scathing glance.
“You’re never going to forgive me, are you?” The ache in her chest was so acute, she couldn’t catch her breath. It couldn’t hurt worse if he plunged a blade into her heart.
Dailey hung his head, and his sigh was soul weary.
“I don’t know, Pay. I honestly don’t know.” When he met her tearful gaze, his expression softened. “Maybe. One day.”
Any forgiveness at all was more than she deserved.
She nodded and hip-checked him to take over his meal.
“Go sit down, Dailey. Rest your feet, and I’ll make this.”
“It’s not going to get you out of trouble. You were drinking and driving.”
“Prove it. Anything I may have consumed—and I’m not admitting to shit without a lawyer present—is out of my system.” Thank you, high metabolism!
His grin flashed, almost taking her out at the knees. “Same ol’ Payton. You’ll fight authority until your dying day.”
“Probably. Now go. I can’t concentrate with you this close.” She could’ve bitten her fucking tongue off when his smile widened.
* * *
Dailey kicked off his work boots and settled on the couch, propping his feet on the coffee table. Grabbing one of the decorative pillows, he tucked it behind his head and closed his eyes. His earlier dreams had all consisted of him coming home to a smiling Payton and a delicious home-cooked or conjured meal. The idea was to rest until he got a second wind, then make love to her all night.
But his vision of the perfect life had been dashed the day she’d bolted.
Recalling better times, he drifted to sleep.
“Dailey.” Her voice floated to him on a wave of perfume—gardenias and something wild, totally Payton.
Wrapped in a haze of desire and longing, he lifted his lids. And there she was, apron around her waist, plate in hand, soft smile on display. His perfect mate.
“You fell asleep,” she said.
She hadn’t left him?
“It was all a nightmare?” he asked, bleary-eyed and feeling half-drugged.
“What?”
Her confusion cleared his cobwebs, and he shook his head, reaching for the dish she offered.
“Yeah, sorry,” he muttered, vastly disappointed this was his reality. Clearly he’d been haunted by the ghost of Christmas past.
“I’ll leave you in peace to eat your omelet.”
“Stay,” he urged, latching on to her wrist.
She appeared shocked that he’d voluntarily touched her. Embarrassment was a new emotion, but it sent heat up his throat and into his cheeks.
“Sorry.”
“No, it’s cool.” She sat beside him, hugging a pillow as she curled her legs beneath her. And damned if she didn’t look like a seductive goddess.
But he supposed she was. Or as close to it as possible. Last Christmas, it came out that she and Elara were of Titan descent. The fact explained so much: her not-so-subtle allure, his undying attraction to her even when he wanted to murder her, and his inability to eradicate her from his mind.
“Have your abilities blossomed since your parents removed their binding spell?” he asked, curious despite himself. He shoveled in a forkful, and when Payton opened her mouth to reply, Dailey cut her off with an appreciative groan. “Mm, this is incredible. When did you learn to cook like this?”
“It’s no different than any omelet I’ve made for you. You’re the one who prepped the ingredients,” she said with a light laugh.
“No, you did something different,” he insisted, inhaling another bite.
“Cross my heart, I didn’t.” She followed her words with action.
He frowned down at his food. “Pay—”
“Your food is untouched by magic, Dailey,” she said tightly. Tossing the pillow down, she rose. “I wouldn’t do that to you.”
