Page 31 of Phantom’s Mate

The transportation plan worked surprisingly smoothly. Holding Nick’s hand, Brittany stepped through DB’s doorway into a dry, dusty desert under a purplish sky. Before she could ask where they were, DB had made another doorway that brought them to a huge plain of waving grass under a whitish featureless sky, which Nick said was the spirit world’s default setting.

Then he opened what looked like a window into the human world, except he could scroll through it like a computer screen with waves of his hand. When it showed the Wild Blood compound, they stepped through.

Britt held her breath, waiting for the flash of light that would pull her back to her purgatory. Nothing happened.

“Well?” Nick said.

“I actually feel okay,” she said in surprise. “But… stay close, please? The thought of you going away makes me feel… anxious.”

DB muttered, “Totally boinked. Boinkety…”

Nick elbowed him in the ribs. Britt bit her lips, trying not to laugh.

Nick said, “Why don’t you go find Titan? He said he’d get some more Twinkies for you. From me.”

DB swaggered off up the hill, smirking. Britt called after him, “Thank you!” He waved a hand without turning around.

She looked around. Everything seemed quiet. “So where is everyone?” she asked.

“No idea.”

They headed into the house, floating straight through the porch door into an enormous great room: killer kitchen, dining room with a huge built-in buffet on one wall, and a living room…

…in which six huge, drop-your-panties-gorgeous men were lined up in front of the Christmas tree, wearing nothing but Santa hats and guy-thongs, the junk pouches of which were all different animal heads. Which were also wearing tiny Santa hats.

Brittany dissolved into giggles.

Along the other side of the room were five women, one taking photos with her camera while the others sipped on a variety of fruity drinks in different colors. Judging by the way they were whoopin’ and hollerin’ and talking dirty as the guys posed, they’d had more than one round.

The guys had probably been drinking too, because they were unabashedly showing off their muscles and their butts and clowning for the camera.

“One more!” the woman holding the camera called out. “You need to be doing a toast!” The other girls hurried to pass out drinks to the guys.

She could recognize them all from Nick’s descriptions, and also the guys’ thongs matched their shifter animals. Kitty was the one holding the camera, and the dark-haired guy in the middle rolling his eyes and pretending not to be having fun was obviously her mate Brandon.

The identical blond guys mugging for the camera were Colt and Remy, and then there was Damien and giant Titan—the one who had said he’d help her. The lone wolf had to be Brock, who helped people remember things—chestnut hair, and a smile that never quite took the sadness from his hazel eyes.

Britt elbowed Nick. “You should get in the picture.”

“I’m a ghost.”

“You’d look hot in one of those thongs.”

“I would look like an idiot. And I wouldn’t even show up.”

“I bet you would. People photograph ghosts all the time. I’ll stand behind you and give you ghost energy. Please, pleeeeeease photobomb? For me?”

Nick rolled his eyes, but he was smiling. He was so intense, and so filled with troubled emotions—she loved when she could make him smile. Plus, she knew he felt left out of the crew stuff, and even if he really didn’t show up on camera, he would have been part of the moment, and everyone would remember.

The two of them floated over as the guys posed for another picture. Nick’s clothes melted away until he was wearing nothing but a thong with a pouch in the shape of a black panther, topped with the regulation Santa hat.

Whoaaa.

He drifted to the end of the line, barely there, and Brittany followed him, enjoying watching his perfect butt. Until she realized that from her position there was a complete lineup of perfect butts, and then she didn’t know where to look.

She put her hand on Nick’s butt—so she could give him energy, of course. Like he had for her when he helped her re-make the cabin. He snorted at her choice of handhold, but didn’t object.

“Okay, guys,” Kitty called. “Hold up your drinks! No, not in front of your face, Colt, you butthead. Titan, stop looking like someone put your dick in a vise.”