Page 15 of Touch of Evil

This time, it’s not an accident.

This time, we both mean it.

This time, the world vanishes, and Bren and I become one.

Chapter Five

Bren

I wrench myself off Emme. It takes some doing, the cement or whatever invisible glue is pinning me to her making it damn near impossible.

My back smacks against a row of bottles, tipping some over and knocking even more to the floor. My heart is making mincemeat out of my chest. I’m having the big one, I know I am.

What the fuck?

What the actual fuck?

Emme is sweating and panting, her face so red she’s a hard second away from passing out.

“Hey,” I say, like an absolute moron.

She makes a noise. I think. A word mixed with a sound. Aside from that, she keeps quiet, keeps breathing, keeps sweating.

Shit. I think I killed her with my hotness.

Damn my sexiness to hell.

Seriously, why did I do that? Why did I kiss her?

Because you’ve wanted to for a long time now, asshole.

“Yo, dude.” A werewolf in a houndstooth jacket motions me over. Who the hell wears houndstooth to the Hole? He plannin’ on going pheasant hunting up in this bitch?

I point to him but speak to Emme. “I’ll be right back, okay?”

“Unt,” she says. Or something like that.

Aw, hell. I hope she’s still alive when I get back.

My feet feel heavy. I have to practically lift them with my arms. I stop when I see the wolf is accompanied by three moreweres. All newbies, all dressed like they’re on their way to Coachella or whatever the fuck.

“What do you want?” I ask.

“Witch’s Brew,” the wolf who called me over says. He exchanges glances with his pals. “Word on the street says you got some.”

“Word on the street?” I ask, looking at them like they deserve to be looked at. “You mean the mean streets of Tahoe?”

“Ya,” he says.

Whatever. I have to get back to Emme. “Sure. Whatever. It’s a hundred a bottle. How many do you want?”

Again, they look at each other. Forweres, none of these idiots feel dominant. They’re more like betas or omegas, sure to be mowed over by the seasonedweresin Aric’s pack.

“Why so much?” the weremongoose in the orange T-shirt polo asks.

I roll my eyes. “Cause it’s witch’s brew, dumbass. One bottle is all it takes. Do you want to pour human beer down your throat all night and still not get a buzz?”

“Uh, no?”

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