“I’ll go wake her,” I hear Fiona holler a second before the bedroom door swings wide. “Rise and shine. Your beau’s here.”
Fiona’s shrill timbre stabs my eardrums, angering my throbbing temples. I’m a supernatural being, immune to most forms of death, but clearly, I’m not immune to alcohol. Or stupid decisions made under the influence of alcohol.
I dig my fingertips into the sides of my head and knead.
“Though I’m sure Cillian will find you lovely with crusty spit and hair poofier than mine when I was a wee teen in the seventies”—she throws open the curtains, allowing blinding light to impale my corneas—“might I suggest you go freshen up?”
I squeeze my lids shut. When I crack them back open, I’m assaulted by another violent sight.
This has to be a dream. First, because the real Fiona doesn’t wear leggings, much less hot-pink ones, and second, there’s no version of reality where I would’ve given Cillian Lowry the pet name ofBoogie Boo.
“Callie!” I shrill, my pitch startling Fiona, sending her large diamond pendant clinking against the rest of her necklace charms.
A moment later, the scent of freshly brewed coffee wafts into the bedroom. “You beckoned, Elle?”
“Release me from la-la-land right this second,” I command her.
Calanthe leans against the doorframe, one of her brows hitching in time with a corner of her mouth. “The only person I can drag into my dreamscape is my own”—the other corner of her lips flips up—“boo.”
Apprehension blisters my skin. “Why would you use that word?”
“Fi, can you give Elle and me a minute?”
“Sure, but don’t let her escape.” She sashays across the room, hips swaying under the tight pink spandex. “’Cause we arealldancin’.”
“Over my dead body…” I mutter.
She stops in the doorjamb and narrows her eyes at me. “What was that?”
Calanthe pats Fiona’s shoulder. “I’ll get Elle ready and out there in a jiffy. Keep herbeauentertained, will you? He looked a tad nervous.”
As she adds the last part, she sends me a look that brims with an illegal amount of pleasure.
The instant Fiona shuts the door, I hiss, “Cillian Lowry’s not my beau.”
“Sorry, I meantboo.”
“He’s not my boo either.” I can’t help the wrinkle that seizes my nose. Until a realization hits. “You’rethe one who picked his moniker and put his phone number in my cell.”
“Youentered the phone number, but yes, I’m the mastermind behind the name. Catchy, no?Boogie Boo?”
“It hurts my eyes and brain. It’s horrid.”
Calanthe laughs.
“Remind me why our goddess decided to give you runes and immortality?”
“Because, Electra dearest, had I not been bestowed immortality, our overlord would’ve gone feral and unleashedArmageddon on the world.” She takes a seat on the edge of the queen-sized mattress and hands me the mug of coffee.
“Our overlord?” I snort. “Have you called Tarian that to his face yet?”
“No, but I totally intend to tonight. I bet he’ll love it.”
That man loves anything and everything about Calanthe. He lives and breathes for her. Perhaps there’s hope for me yet. After all, if someone as gruff and tetchy as Tarian Hadez can find love, then don’t I, too, have a chance at relationship bliss?
“It’s cute that you gave him your number, even though a part of me thinks you didn’t exactly do it for the right reasons.”
My swallow of coffee goes down the wrong hole, and I cough.
