Page 11 of Scrooged for the Holidays
“Elysian Pines.” A chill zips up my back as the name rolls off my tongue. I swallow hard as I begin to feel a little lightheaded. The sensation reminds me of something—or should I say someone.
The man at the restaurant.
His striking eyes, ones that reminded me of evergreen trees, appear behind my eyelids. He was—for lack of a better expression—hot as fuck. From what I could hear when he briefly spoke to Holly, he had a British accent. And when myarm brushed his, I felt a bolt of lightning zap straight to my pussy that made me dizzy.
If I hadn’t been working, I would have given him my card and asked where he was staying. After my stupid ex, I don’t do relationships, but I definitely do one-night stands. Two nights, if they’re lucky.
I clear my throat and shake away the vision, glancing at my GPS as snow crunches under my tires. Where there weren’t any landmarks when I last looked, now there are multiple ones. I see the dot that says “Elysian Pines” and blink. It’s still there when I look again, and there are a few other markers that read “Elysian Pines Inn,” “The Drift Bar & Grill,” “The Sugar Plum Bakehouse,” and even a bookstore called “The Last Page.”
How in the hell did I miss this place before? I didn’t take any turns, at least not that I remember.
My stomach grumbles as I glance out my window. The town looks like one out of a storybook. It’s quaint, the Bavarian-style buildings all older but kept pristine. The massive Christmas tree lies ahead, but that’s not the only thing decorated. All the storefronts have lights and various angel decor. There are even a few people outside walking around, bundled up in coats and scarves.
How in the hell have I never heard of this place, and why does it look like I’ve been thrown into the middle of a Christmas movie? Absolutely gross. The song on the radio flips over to “This Magic Moment” by The Drifters. Is this radio station magic-themed or something?
I quickly flip it off, my car filling with silence as my stomach rumbles again. Loudly. I haven’t eaten anything since lunch, and even that was only a protein bar and some fancy green drink I got at the health food bar near my office. It was nasty, so I only drank half of it.
I look around until I see the sign for The Drift Bar & Grill. I should probably head to the inn and pray they have a room available, but when my stomach flips and growls as if it’s eatingitself, my hunger wins out. I can call the inn from the bar and see if they have space. If not, I guess I’ll be screwed.
I flip on my blinker and pull into the parking lot. The outside of the bar is like many of the other establishments that line the streets. It’s decorated in Christmas lights, but these ones are white instead of multicolored. It helps to offset the sign with the bar’s logo: a giant neon-blue one that says “The Drift” with “Bar and Grill” in cursive under it. I’m normally not one for sports bars or anything like it, but this will have to do. It’s not like I have another choice; I’m sure the bakehouse is closed in the evening.
I kill the engine and grab my coat, noting when I pick up my phone that I have no cell service. Hopefully I can get an internet connection so I can let Avery know I didn’t die, and more importantly, so I can get the information I wanted her to send. It would be great to grab a room and get some work done.
I wrap my scarf around my neck and button up my coat before grabbing my purse. Leaving the warmth of my car is a shock. The air is frigid, and the snow is still coming down heavily. I don’t know how those people were walking so casually through the streets. It’s fucking freezing.
I dip my chin into my scarf and brace against a gust of wind, locking my car and heading into the bar. There aren’t any other cars in the parking lot, but when I enter the bar, there are a few people inside. Did they walk, too? Insanity.
I brush off snow from my hair and coat, eyes wandering around the cozy space. It’s not a large bar, but booths line the perimeter, and on one side, there’s a crackling fireplace with seats around it. In the middle, a few men stand drinking beer and laughing around a couple of high-top tables. On the walls are various records and pictures of bands old and new. Clearly a retro theme.
I unbutton my coat when I hear the song playing over the speakers, the same song that was playing in the car as if it picked up exactly where I turned it off. The Drifters’ smooth vocaltones sing of “This Magic Moment,” and I wonder if whoever owns this place runs the local radio station, too. Clearly, they have a theme.
I take a few more steps inside, and the click of my heels on the hardwood floor has the three men at the high-top looking over at me in friendly curiosity. I don’t smile or acknowledge them, but a blond one that reminds me of a surfer waves at me. I don’t wave back, feeling awkward at his friendliness. I don’t want to make friends; I want food and a place to stay.
My eyes focus on an empty chair four down from a man at the bar. I can’t see his face from this angle, but the back of his hair is short, the sides faded and silver in color, while the locks on the top of his head are longer and dark with some gray throughout. The broadness of his shoulders reminds me of the man at the restaurant who made my downstairs happy, but I know it’s not him. He had dark-blond hair and was dressed in a sweater that looked soft and expensive. This man has a black long-sleeved shirt on, and his body language screams “back the eff off.” Which I can respect.
I remove my coat and drape it over the red cushioned stool, sitting down as the bartender walks in from the back room. He smiles at me while throwing a rag over his shoulder, his teeth perfectly straight and white.
“Hello there,” his velvety voice greets. My skin feels alive at the sound, much like it did when I saw the handsome green-eyed man earlier. He’s broad shouldered as well, and the green Henley he’s wearing highlights the lithe muscles of his body and trim waist. God, he’s tall. Likereallytall. And also hot as fuck with shoulder-length caramel hair, sun-kissed skin, anda well-trimmed beard.
He stops in front of me, large hands on the bar top as his eyes take me in. Unfortunately for me, my stomach chooses the exact moment my eyes connect with his deep-brown ones to growl so loudly he very obviously hears it.
“Well.” He chuckles, the sound curling my toes. “I was going to ask if you wanted a drink, but maybe food is in order?”
Chapter five
Malachi
Greeris…sexy.That’sthebest word I can think of to describe her. Did I mention her eyes are otherworldly? Remi did not tell us that little tidbit. I’ve seen partial heterochromia before, but it’s not often. They’re stunning, just like her banging body that’s voluptuous and bitable.
She’s taller than average for a human woman, with round, ample hips, a belly, and heavy tits I’d love to squeeze in my palms. She has soft-looking fiery red hair that matches what seems to be a fiery personality.
I heard her come in and saw the way she blew off Nick’s wave. He’s a good Nephilim, not even fifty years old yet. I like having him in the bar when our guests come into town so they feel welcome, but Greer couldn’t have cared less.
“Do you have a menu?” she asks.
Her voice is like smokey velvet. It reminds me of the way a woman sounds after she’s been fucked within an inch of her life. Not that I’ve heard that sound in a long time. My sexual escapades have stayed within the bounds of Remi and Sam for a long time. Which makes sense, considering I see them day in and day out and we have a connection that goes beyond our work.
But for this human woman, I could make an exception. Too bad she’s our job and not someone to have a fun night orweekend with. I’d bet she’d sate the endless hunger I’ve been feeling the last twenty-four hours.
