“Wait a minute,” I said suspiciously.
Caroline’s face plant. Her dancing.
I knew what that meant.
She was shit faced.
She’d be climbing on the table before I knew it. Singing would soon follow.
I just now noticed the warm glow at my center.
Was I—yes, I was. I was tipsy. Maybe even a touch drunk.
Caroline bumped into me, nearly knocking me off my chair. “Oops. Sorry, Lena. Didn’t see you there.” She giggled as she draped herself over my shoulder. “The room is spinning. Spinning. Spinning. We have to dance to keep up.”
Deborah pulled the wolf off me. “What’s wrong with her?”
“She’s drunk.”
For that matter, I was too.
I glared at the culprit. “Someone is a dirty, dirty trickster.”
Nathan’s smile was lazy as he propped his cheek on his fist. “Harsh, A. My feelings are hurt.”
Like I believed that.
Nathan lifted his empty margarita container and shook it at me. “You’re forgetting that these weren’t my idea.”
Deborah looked physically ill at his words. “That’s not possible. There’s barely enough alcohol in there to make you feel it.”
“For a human, perhaps,” Anton informed her with a sardonic twist of his lips. “Not for a supernatural. There’s a special ingredient that some spooks are especially sensitive too. It looks like the wolf and Aileen are two of them.”
I unhooked the container from my neck, setting it down on the floor by my seat a little harder than necessary.
There would be no more drinking any of that.
Though the damage was probably already done. It was getting harder and harder to think, my reasons for keeping secrets drifting further and further out of reach.
Why shouldn’t I tell Nathan about Brax and the rest of the pack?
He was my friend. I trusted him.
The more I thought about it. The more I liked the idea.
They had resources I didn’t. An army of enforcers who stood half a chance of surviving a battle with those Fae assholes who’d trespassed on my territory.
In fact, I didn’t know why I hadn’t contacted them in the first place.
“You can’t really be mad we got you drunk. It’s hardly the first time,” Nathan was saying.
I opened my mouth to share everything I’d been keeping bottled up. Only instead of the explanation I planned, something else entirely came out of my mouth.
“Usually you don’t have an agenda,” I heard myself say.
“You’re admitting you have a reason for being here in Vegas.”
This wasn’t right.
