Page 20 of Slay Ride

He trots a few steps before flopping onto his side with an annoyed flick of his ebony tail. I set back to work, repairing the errant eyeliner and applying some mascara. Maverick won’t even see my eyes through the goggles, but it gives me confidence.

After brushing the cat hair from my pink snow gear, I dress as quickly as I can. Layers matter in this climate, so I even toss on a hideous pair of long johns underneath everything else. It’s not like anyone will see them, and if I don’t focus on them, Ican almost ignore the way they’re scratching my skin. At least the puff of blonde hair peeking from the bottom of my pink toboggan looks cute.

“Be good,” I say to Shorty as I head for the door, but he only flicks his tail and squints his eyes.

I totter down the stairs, barely able to bend my legs under the weight of all these clothes. How do snow bunnies look so cute for winter sports? I feel like a monster in a black-and-white horror flick as I approach Grim, Ice Pick, and Maverick near the front door.

“Are we the only ones going snowboarding?” I can’t contain my excitement at the prospect of an entire event with Maverick...without Bennett anywhere in sight.

Maverick glances up the stairs. “It appears that way.”

He looks like a snowy dream. Unlike me, he moves so fluidly in his winter gear. I wish I could ridehimto the bottom of the mountain. A snowboard will have to suffice, though.

“Rosie planned to join us,” Grim says. “I will just pop up to her room and check on her. If I have not returned in ten minutes, you can count us out.”

Ice Pick peeks past the curtain covering one of the narrow windows on either side of the door. “The carriage isn’t here yet, so you have time.”

Grim just smiles, nods, and heads-up the stairs. Something tells me they won’t be joining us.

“What about Ezra and Kindra?” I ask. I leave off Bennett’s name for fear of calling forth the demon.

“They’re busy setting up for tonight’s New Year’s bash,” Maverick says. “It was supposed to be a masquerade ball, but the masks never arrived. Kindra’s trying to whip something up with what we have around here.”

A good friend would help her with that. Hell, a good friend would have known she needed help to begin with.

“Guess I should skip the snowboarding, then,” I say as I reach up to pull the toboggan from my head.

Maverick shakes his head and places his hand over mine. “No, I have strict instructions to make sure you go snowboarding and that you get your first kill.”

I don’t have to ask who issued those instructions. Kindra is really winning at this friend thing.

But now my nerves are acting up. This is really happening. With no sign of Bennett, I’m guaranteed to get a kill. My stomach rolls into my chest.

“Maybe I should go help her anyway,” I say. “After all she’s done for me, I kind of owe it to her.”

“Kindra thought you might say that. I’m supposed to respond by saying that if you don’t go snowboarding, you’re welcome to help Bennett with the mask making.”

So that’s how she’s kept him away from me this morning. She went to a lot of trouble, and now I can’t let her down.

“That’s what I thought,” Maverick says with a laugh. “Looks like you’re stuck with us.”

He wraps his arm around my shoulder, and I want to climb inside his coat and feel each rippling muscle. I snuggle a little closer, then look up into his face. But it’s not his face. It’s fucking Ice Pick.

“We’ll take real good care of you, sweetheart,” he says, and I can smell the onions from whatever he had for breakfast.

I take a step away and pat his hand. He’s a harmless flirt, but I’ll puke if another oniony breath blows into my face.

To be honest, I feel kind of bad for the guy. He wants so badly to fit in that he often goes a little too hard. We all treat him kindly enough, but we don’t exactly go above and beyond to include him in things. I wish I could, but I’m afraid he’d take it as flirtation instead of friendship.

“Wait!” a female voice calls from the second floor. “Don’t leave without me!”

A tall figure rushes down the stairs. When she reaches the group, she bends at the waist, puts her hands on her thighs, and struggles to catch her breath.

“My flight was delayed last night, so I didn’t even arrive until dinner was nearly over, and then I overslept this morning,” she says. Thick box braids drape from either side of her head, the ends tapping against her heavy designer coat with each breath she sucks in.

As she stands, I get a better look at her face. Her high cheekbones accentuate her dark eyes, and her umber complexion is flawless. I don’t even think she’s wearing any makeup.

She’s stunning.

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