Page 9 of Bombshell

A Cthulhu meeting their soulmate should have been a day of celebration—it was so rare for my species to find the person that was meant to spend eternity with them. That was one of the biggest reasons that there were only thirty or so of us left in the world.

My father had been lucky, spying my mother as she cast spells on a cliff overlooking the ocean. He’d known right away, and when he came shoreside, there was enough magic in my mother’s veins that she felt the click.

Effie carried more magic in her body than my mother ever did, so she must have felt it too. But what my mother didn’t struggle with was a beginning that was fraught with abandonment and feeling like an outsider everywhere you went.

My little nymph wore her status as a halfling like physical scars and now as I swigged down another glass of whiskey, finally feeling the alcohol making my mind start to go fuzzy, I realized that I should have pushed her much sooner.

I’d been content for too long with our arrangement, figuring we’d have forever and I could nudge her into accepting what we were to each other eventually.

But lately a sense of panic had been filling me every time I looked at her, like she was going to disappear into a puff of green smoke, never to be seen again.

I was also fairly certain her father reentering her life had something to do with it. I loathed Alexander Finch with every fiber of my being. He had every chance to treat Effie right as her father and he’d failed in nearly every single one.

Santi, oblivious to my inner turmoil, just grinned at me. “You just have to romance her. Sweep her off of her feet—better yet you should bring her dancing until she has no choice but to fall in love.”

The Del Mar stepped back from the table and pretended like he was dancing with an invisible woman, and like most aquatic supernatural creatures, the man had two left feet. It ended up looking more like he was strangling an invisible woman rather than the first parts of a tango.

He must have seen the look on my face because he immediately stopped and his hands dropped to his sides as he shot a furtive glance over his shoulder, his tanned cheeks darkening. “Do you think she saw that?”

I leaned around his body to look at the human who had definitely seen all of it, her brows drawn together with confusion as she stared at Santi’s back.

“Ehh…” I trailed off, trying to figure out whether or notto lie about it. “No?”

Santi whipped around and I could tell that the two made eye contact because Kit immediately started wiping down the already pristine bartop.

“Oh damn, I literally just got her to stop thinking I’m an idiot,” Santi grumbled, turning to me again. “Should I go over there and try to explain what we were talking about?”

That was Santi’s biggest problem. The kid tried to fill any empty space with endless chatter because he had some serious social anxiety.

“My advice?” I began, feeling a little ironic to be the one giving him pointers, “Tell her you got dizzy for a second and that’s why you looked like you were having a stroke. It’ll make her want to take care of you.”

Santi immediately brightened. “Do you think that’ll actually work?”

I did not. The blonde bartender seemed prickly at the best of times, but I also didn’t have the heart to tell him he may be barking up the wrong tree.

Santi shot me a jaunty wave before hurrying back over to the bar, and while I couldn’t hear what he was saying, Icouldhowever see the corner of Kit’s lips turn up into the tiniest of smiles.

Well, damn. Maybe Santi’s chances weren’t so bad after all.

At this point they seemed better than mineat least.

The constant buzz of the needle filled my ears as I put the finishing touches on a sleeve that had been the bane of my existence for the pastfourteensessions.

Its owner, a massive centaur named Ferdinand, hadn’t listened to me after the first session when I told him not to scratch. By the time he came in for his next session his skin had started to scab and scar, making me have to switch up the original plan for the sleeve.

Luckily, the centaur had listened the second time and our sessions over the past six months had been much, much smoother.

Either way, I was glad to almost be done with it, especially because I had a pounding headache that wouldn’t quit and it was all because of the damn excess ink in my glands.

Before Effie started taking my ink all those years ago I only ever needed to express them every three months or so and all that needed was a quick fuck with some random person and then I’d be good.

Now? Now it was near fucking constant and not enough had been taken last night before I’d been unceremoniously booted from Effie’s place.

“You’re starting to make me think you don’t like the tattoo,” Ferdinand, who I hadn’t realized had been staring at me as I glared at his arm in order to finish up, mumbled.

“Not at all, I think it’s a great tattoo,” I hurried to say, worried I was about to make the fickle centaur go and find the nearest witch to remove all of my hard work. “It makes you look powerful.”

Ferdinand puffed his chest out with pride, his jaw clenching as he gave me a fierce toothy grin.

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