Page 35 of Wicked Witchmas: Elara & Tripp

No, the current problem was Enguerrand’s battle-scarred heart. If he didn’t stop causing earthquakes and bookstore fires with his intense emotions, Mt. Rainier would blow, and it wouldn’t be a minor eruption. It would be as epic as Pompeii.

“Nice disguise, Brelenia of Messia,” a deep, amused voice said beside her. She didn’t need to look up to know who was there.

“Hello, Hermes.”

“Does my cousin still believe those boots were created by any old Trickster?” he asked casually.

Brelenia did glance at him then. “I told him they were a gift from a jilted suitor.”

Hermes chuckled and took the seat opposite her.

“What are you doing here?” she asked, curious what he was about all these years later.

Based on his black, close-cropped hair and beard, the modern cold-weather clothing, and superior air, he was attempting to pass as a mortal in the small town of Witchmere.

“Same as you, I imagine.” Unbuttoning his navy pea coat, he crossed his legs and poured himself a spot of tea. Although he sipped from the delicate cup, he didn’t look ridiculous, as one might expect of an uber-masculine male.

“You seem at home among mortals,” she said.

He snorted a laugh, and his emerald eyes twinkled. “And no one would guess you’re not a frail old woman who has ‘no one left to share the holiday with.’”

“Mrs. Everett was a well-respected citizen of this town, I’ll have you know.” Brelenia grinned. “And I appreciate the use of her body now that she’s transitioned to the next world.”

“The meat suit is borrowed?” Hermes’s dark brows shot up. “Considering you’re a goddess, one would assume you’d glamour.”

She shuddered. “Must you be crass? ‘Meat suit’ is such an ugly term. As an advocate of humans, I would think you’d be kinder.”

“Apologies, love.” His grin belied any contrived contriteness. Glancing at the cast of players in Tripp’s drama, his gaze sharpened. “Who’s the blonde?”

“Elara. She’s meant for Enguerrand, so don’t interfere,” she warned.

“No, I’m familiar with her. Who is the other one behind Florence Shaw?”

“Elara’s sister and she’s also off limits to you. Payton is meant for the stubborn warlock in the uniform.”

It was Hermes’s turn to shudder. “A warlock? Seriously? The girl could do better.”

“Like you, for example?”

“For example.”

Brelenia laughed. “They’re going through a rough patch at the moment. I don’t believe they are meant to reconcile for atleastanother year, in case you wish to show her a good time. However, don’t either of you fall in love. That way lies tragedy, dear boy.”

“I don’t fall into feelings, as well you know.”

His words held an edge, and her heart pinged. “You’ll get over your heartache one day, Hermes. I promise you.”

“I’m over it now. As the enchanted shoes attested, you and your mortal were always meant to be. He passed the tests.” His sad eyes locked with hers, and there was longing in their depths. “You were never like the rest of us, Brel. Perhaps that’s what made you more attractive to me than anyone else.”

“But I don’t subscribe to inter-family relationships, as you know. And having seen you in nappies, knowing you’re not well endowed, I’m not interested,” she teased, hoping to lighten the mood.

As the son of her brother Zeus, Hermes would never win her as a lover. Brelenia spoke the truth. All the incestuous relationships between the Gods and royalty made her physically ill.

“Besides, dear boy, our kind is already inbred enough, and half are mad.”

“Yes.” Pasting on a game smile, he stole a cookie from her plate and examined it. “That’s precisely why I intend to take a page from your book and look elsewhere for love, should I ever desire to feel my heart crushed again.”

She laughed as he intended she should. “And in the meantime?”

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