Page 294 of Sigils & Spells

“No you don’t Pigeon.” Gibbs shuddered. “You haven’t seen…”

She brushed on some powder and swiped on some cranberry red lipstick. “Don’t you dare.”

“I dare a lot of things these days.”

“Well not now.”

“True enough. We have to get you downstairs before that woman comes up here searching for you.”

She turned he gave her the once over.

“You’re good.”

“Okay.” She stepped into her shoes and was out the door, making her way toward the stairs.

Every time she saw him here at Essex House for a meeting or some dealings with her Sire, her body flamed, thinking about how tenderly he touched her.

But how could he possibly feel the same having seen her at her lowest point?

Bah. She was better off focusing her energy on staking the hairy fuckers who caused this in the first place.

She’d heard Roark talking with the Protectorate council. A reckless band of rogue wolves were attacking humans and fellow paranormals and she had to put a stop to it. Nothing else mattered. No one else should have to go through what she did. If it weren’t for Roark and Fenris…

It had to be the same wolves. It just had to.

And she would make it right.

The sting of tears in the corners of her eyes brought Mari up short. She couldn’t afford to be seen with bloody red streaks running down her face. She was the royal heir. No one had ever been turned by her Sire and it had apparently caused quite the stir.

No. No crying. Not now. She had to make an appearance and get out there. With the annual Salem Halloween events happening all around the city, it stood to reason the wolves would find more victims to attack.

Hell, if Roark hadn’t turned her, she’d be either long since buried or sprouting fur once a month herself. With a frown she mentally counted down the endless amount of training sessions she’d undertaken so she was able to handle herself around the wolves if she ever came across them again.

Did they do it just because they were assholes or did they have something else in mind? Not that it mattered. She was going to skin their sorry asses either way.

There was a reason she let herself be stuffed into a dress with enough voluminous folds to hide an arsenal underneath it; because she was. Strapped to one thigh was a silver tipped knife and the other, her favorite spell casting wand. Not that she really needed it anymore but it was nice having it along for the ride.

Crossing over into death had brought out more than just a set of fangs and lust for lycanthrope blood. It had also given the natural witch inside of her room to blossom and change into something none of the House residents would ever suspect. The ability to talk to the dead. She heard them. In the halls. Everywhere and it took a good deal of concentration to shut them out. Especially now they discerned she heard them. Like Gibbs. God the guy never gave her a moment’s peace.

As if on que one of the resident specters drifted by, bobbing her head in greeting. Her skirts trailed behind her along the marble floors and she vanished into a wall.

“Huh.”

A mystery for another time.

Mari stared down at the cleavage billowing over the top of the corset style gown and wanted to crawl back up the stairs and bolt the door. One false move would be all it would take for the little pervert she was supposed to dance with tonight to get an eyeful. She tugged at the top of the dress, gasping as the corset seemed to grow smaller.

Shit. How was that even possible? It was a good thing she didn’t need to breathe.

A couple passed her on the landing and she gave a regal nod.

“Good evening, Mari.”

“Hi. Thank you for coming.” She gave them her brightest smile, a flush creeping up the back of her neck and over her cheeks at being caught wrestling with her dress.

What else could she say?

Excuse me, but my boobs are about to pop out. I’ll be right back.

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