Soap suds rose from the hot tub in the bar’s front corner, and distracted Shay from the fire water she’d been making. A lick of yellow bit her hand as she bobbled the glass, sending flames dancing across the bar top. Four nymphs sharing a nearby stool took wing to avoid the fiery cascade, a litany of curses filling the air. Shay cursed as well, reaching for a washrag to clean up her spill before it claimed any casualties.
“Dammit Floyd, what the hell are we paying you for?”
Their mile-high waste-of-fur bouncer perched beside the door bristled. “What’s your problem, Blue?”
Her cloth snagged on a crusty spot, and she lifted it to find a chunk of charred wing. Okay, strike that—claim any more casualties. She cast a dark look to the yeti. “You are. Thought you patted the water kelpies down when they were paying their cover?”
“I did.”
She tipped her head toward the growing mound of bubbles and Floyd’s gaze flicked toward the tub. With a muttered expletive, he slid off his personalized tree stump and strode toward the thickening scent of lavender. At ninety-five, the guy believed he was the best thing to come along since the invention of glamouring. Maybe in another hundred years, he’d lose the ego and Shay would be able to tolerate the pompous jerk.
No, probably not even then.
He had just made it to the kelpies when the front door burst open and a body stumbled through. A human body, judging by the way he was gasping for breath. Usually, they hit the wards and made an about-face. So far, this guy wasn’t that smart.
“We’ve got ourselves a crasher,” Milo crooned from a nearby booth, his scaly green lips drawing back to reveal teeth that desperately needed a good brushing. Like, a few decades ago.
The goblin slid his arm free of the drunken fae nestled beside him and started to rise. But a brawl was the last thing they needed tonight, especially with that package due to arrive from Mauri. Shay abandoned her washrag and strode forward, giving him a not-so-subtle shove down along the way.
“Keep your shirt on,” she said.
“But—”
“I said, keep your shirt on.”
She snapped her fingers, freezing the little bastard in place. Goblins—always trying to be the tough guys. Her spell wouldn’t hold him long, but it did allow her enough time to give their newcomer a onceover. He looked to be just over six feet tall, long and lean. Not overly muscular, but not an ounce of fat on the guy, either. Nothing she couldn’t handle if good old Floyd chickened out again. Why he got so nervous around humans was beyond her. This one’s dark hair was short on the sides and a little longer on top, just like all the pretty boys on posters in Time Square. As she stared, a pair of melted chocolate eyes began to scan the room.
Gods, he was repulsive.
“I’m looking for a woman.”
Snickering ensued as Shay continued forward, stopping before she emerged from the shadows. Best not to give him too big a fright, or their crasher would soon be a fainter. Fainters always made the griffins hungry, and she’d be damned if she was gonna jump in the middle of a herd of them to save clueless Joe Blow here.
“I think you’re lost, city boy,” she called. “Best turn around and head back to Upper Manhattan.”
He squinted in her direction and lifted one hand to shield his eyes from the entryway lights, a piece of crumpled paper in its grip. “Violet. I’m looking for Violet. They took her from me.”
His breathing was beginning to smooth; not a good sign. If he acclimated to the wards, he’d soon be able to see them all just as they were—a bar full of creatures he wasn’t supposed to know existed. Shay put a little more venom behind her words.
“Don’t know nothing about none of that. Now leave.”
The human unwadded the note in his hand. “No? Then how about a…Storm? She’s supposed to know where I can find her.”
Shay sucked in a sharp breath. Storm?
Oh, no. No, this guy could not be the package.
A human, Mauri? Are you out of your friggin’ mind?
“Ain’t got one of them neither,” she pushed. “Now scat.”
The newcomer squared his shoulders. “Well if they’re not here,” he said, voice rising above the bar’s standard bedlam, “then somebody better bring me that son of a bitch Mauricio Hunter. Right. Now.”
The entire tavern fell silent as every head turned to see what fool had said aloud the name of Antinomy’s most notorious mob boss. From the Barbie Dream House, cracking knuckles could be heard.
Then all hell broke loose.
Kyra
Jacobs is an extroverted introvert who’s always called
Indiana home, so she’s well-versed in fickle weather, pork
tenderloins that don’t fit on a bun, and sarcasm. Putting her
Indiana University degrees in Public Management to good use by day
means Kyra does the bulk of her writing late into the night. Fueled
by caffeine and funny memes, she weaves tales of love and
relationships, including the humor and/or chaos both can bring.
Kyra’s published novels range from sweet contemporary romance to
romantic suspense and paranormal/fantasy.When
this Hoosier native isn’t at a keyboard, daydreaming through her
fingertips, she's likely outside, elbow-deep in snapdragons or on a
sideline somewhere cheering (loudly) for her sporty sons. Kyra also
loves to bowl, tries to golf, and is an avid college football fan. Be
sure to stop by kyrajacobsbooks.com
to learn more about her novels and ways to connect with Kyra on
social media.
$20
Amazon
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