Page 18 of Waltzing With Witches

I slap her on the back of the head. “Yeah, but remember that he has the personality of a dead fish, so we are not enjoying looking at his great ass, okay?”

“Vampire hearing is excellent,” his voice echoes from somewhere ahead of us. “As in, I can hear everything that happens in the castle.” He pops around the corner, peering out at us with a frown. “Just so you’re aware.”

When he disappears, Lou groans but seems unable to help herself. “You could have let us know earlier!” she shouts back.

He doesn’t respond.

Note to self: don’t say anything I wouldn’t say directly to his face. I file the info away for future use.

Lou and I walk up the hall until it opens into the big dark kitchen, then we seat ourselves at the now sparkling marble bar. The Keeper is at the far end, opening tall cabinets to reveal a built-in bar.

He glances over his shoulder. “Beer is on the way. I’m expecting a grocery delivery from the General Store, but I’ve got red and white wine, as well as bourbon.”

“Two bourbons, good sir,” Lou commands.

I glance down at her. I’m tall enough to examine the top of her head. “Bourbon for lunch, Lou?”

She scoffs up at me. “You don’t have shit to do, Morgan. Might as well get drunk off the Keeper’s fine bourbon and gossip a little.”

He joins us, sliding three glasses across the bar. With a swift, practiced move he opens the bourbon and pours two fingers in each glass. I grab one and lift it, scenting the smooth caramel flavor.

He leans over the bar, propping himself up on his forearms, his eyes locked to mine. “What do you think?”

It’s on the tip of my tongue to ask if he even cares. But he did come get me this morning, and the castle has been so incredibly nice. I lift the bourbon to my lips and sip. Fire dances over my lips and tongue, trailing down my throat as I swallow.

“Jesus,” I cough out. “I can barely taste it, it’s so strong.”

“Straight from the barrel,” he says in a matter-of-fact tone.

“Most excellent,” Lou snarks with a glint in her eye.

Twenty minutes later, she and the Keeper are bickering heatedly about corn versus high-rye bourbon and which is superior. I sip lazily at mine while watching them. The Keeper’s argument is sound, but Lou’s halfway hammered and getting louder by the second.

Case in point—he casts a condescending look down at Lou’s glass. “You’re imparting a decidedly humanistic point of view on this topic, Louanna. Broaden your perspective. Monsters have been making rye bourbon since humans were Neanderthals. Corn bourbon didn’t exist until much later.”

She opens her mouth to say something, but footsteps reach us from somewhere toward the front of the castle.

“We’re not done talking about this,” she snaps at the Keeper, who rolls his eyes but refills her glass.

“Don’t egg her on.” I point to the glass as she takes it. “She’s hell on wheels if she gets full-on drunk.”

“Am not,” Lou barks.

“Who’s hell on wheels?” Richard asks as he appears in the kitchen doorway with a box in his hands. “Ah, Lou. I guess we’re talking about you?”

Lou gives him a haughty look. “Don’t know what makes you assume that, Richard.”

His lips purse into a barely concealed smirk. “Just a guess.” A second male follows Richard. He’s just as big, just as stacked. But where Richard’s tall, dark, and handsome, this male could be the ginger version of that. His skin is pale and freckled, green eyes sparkling in the low light. Red waves fan back from his face, curling around his ears and along the back of his neck. The green of his eyes is shocking, like Wren’s color but supernatural and vivid. The green of this male’s eyes is like someone shining a light through an emerald. He’s almost lit from within.

They move to me now, crinkling in the corners. “Hello, Morgan.” His voice is deep, sultry, like someone dragged glowing embers through it.

Damn, I’m getting poetic.

I blame the bourbon.

And the Keeper.

“Hi, Connall.” I smile and gesture to Lou, who’s still as the dead on her seat next to me. “This is my aunt, Lou. I don’t know if you’ve met yet.”

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