Page 15 of Hellfire

“In that case, I’ll crash the party,” I gave it right back to her, and she giggled, the jumble of clues in my mind lightening at the sound.

“You can make it up to me at dinner.” I valued that my princess didn’t hold it against me when I couldn’t make some dates with her. In this line of work, where I might have to drop something at a moment’s notice, I appreciated her support.

“I’ll add in a back massage to get in your good graces,” I added.

“You’re already forgiven,” she purred, the vibration going right to my dick.

“Love you, Princess. See you tonight.”

“Bye, handsome.” The phone went dead, and thank God for that, because my dick begged me to run down to the cafeteria to give her a kiss before she went to her next class.

I tapped my phone in my palm and stared at the hooded figure in the Gildron cloak. Filled with a renewed determination to chase this asshole, I searched my contacts and dialed another number.

“To what do I owe the pleasure, Stoney?” Gable crooned like a damn rockstar seducing my ears, and fuck me, my dick twitched.

We kissed a lot at his party, and my cock wanted him to kiss me there. I hadn’t been with a guy before, but if my princess didn’t mind, I’d be up for exploring some man-on-man action.

“Got some time, Scales?” I used the nickname I came up with at Camus’ castle to even the score. “I want to swing by.”

I never gave anything away on the phone when telecommunications companies could be hacked. We had a private, untraceable system, but the same couldn’t be said on his end. I decided to rectify that and assign him a Guild phone.

I wasn’t too fucking proud to admit I needed his help. Instincts in the back of my head told me the infiltrator had an accomplice. Spreading Fae dust to make the gargoyles fall asleep while simultaneously charming the cameras to go dead was a feat no person achieved alone. I just needed proof that the “oldcoot so full of himself”whom Nelle mentioned was the man on my radar.

“The Guild comes crawling for my help.” Gable just loved to rub it in.

“You’ve helped Luna multiple times,” I reminded him.

“Yeah, but she’s a princess.”

I laughed and smoothed a hand over my face. “I’m not handsome enough for a favor?”

“Handsome in a stoney way.” The guy needed to get over his grudge with the Guild rejecting his offer of assistance.

“Would you like a kiss and hug as thanks?” I threw back.

“Get down here soon, Stoney.” The line went dead, and I chuckled, pocketing my phone.

I changed into casual clothes to prevent anyone identifying me and drove down to Gable’s store, needing to feel the wheel in my palms, the air flushing through the crack in the window, the sound of the pavement under the tires. Long drives helped me think, except this was only a short one at fifteen minutes. Still, it got me out of the Academy for a while, and I sure as hell needed a break. I parked the car and scanned my surroundings before advancing to his door, shunting the door open.

Gable waited for me, leaning on his counter with a cocky grin. “You know, you’re more handsome in the daylight, Stoney.” Fuck. Typical smartass answer from him.

“Wings and horns don’t do it for you, Scales?” I shot back, enjoying our wisecracks.

Loyalty, humor, and his willingness to help out a friend showed me he fit in well with our crew. Blaze took longer to warm him, but mine and Cole’s icy attitude melted when we saw how Gable devoted himself to Luna and our mutual cause.

“Ask me again when I touch your horns and get you off.” The smartass crossed to the door, flicked the closed sign and bolted the deadlock and chain.

“You can touch my horns if I can touch your dick.” I put it out there.

“You’re on, Stoney.” Grinning, he led me out back to his loft, filling up his kettle for one of his infamous teas.

Shaggy rugs hid the concrete floor in his living room. Retro pendant lights dangled from long chains. His guitar rested against an overflowing bookshelf stacked with magick textbooks, Rolling Stone magazines, and his infamous collection of card games. A mish-mash of paintings decorated his brick walls, rock gods like David Bowie in his Ziggy Stardust days and Jim Morrison on the wall closest to his leather couch, and stars and planets on the next wall. A set of three photographs of the town center of Bathurst hung in his loungeroom. A door at the far end of the loft-style layout led out to a small courtyard out the back. The place smelled of the herbs from his wiccan shop out front and whatever stew he had in the slow cooker.

Headphones swallowed most of his sister, Mary’s, head as she reclined on the sofa, listening to something, a blanket wrapped over her.

“Tea or coffee?” He dragged out two mugs and set them on the outdated mica kitchen counter with backsplash tiles colored by years of smoke and kitchen build-up.

“Coffee.” My fingers drummed on the counter.

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