Page 10

I weaved my way through the sea of writhing bodies, making my way to the… kitchen, I guess. I guessed I would need something to drink while I was here. Some of my classmates and Carter’s friends greeted me as I moved, and I finally reached the kitchen. Bottles littered the once pristine white countertop. A group of werewolves gathered around a keg in the corner, holding one of the frat boy's feet in the air while he drank directly from it.

I found a pack of plastic shot glasses, and a sleeve of red plastic cups that looked like it hadn’t been touched. I filled the bigger cup from a bottle of Franken-Lime soda, then scanned the alcohol selection. Vampire Vodka sounded the least offensive, but the thick, syrupy, deep red liquid was incredibly off-putting.

Hopefully that didn’t offend anyone.

Instead, I reached for the Tentacle Tequila, which was an inviting sea-foam green. I took down the shot like I’d seen my older brothers do…

And choked. The sharp, bitter liquid burned its way down my throat and triggered my gag reflex. In an attempt not to vomit all over the table, I chugged at the Franken-Lime, letting it sweep away the bite from the alcohol.

A laugh sounded from beside me, and then Lacey appeared—the Harpy from the first day. “Pour yourself another one,” she instructed.

“No thanks.” I was still gagging from the first.

“Trust me,” she said, taking my soda and setting it down in front of me. I—reluctantly—poured another shot, and Lacey yanked my hand up to her mouth. “Don’t get any ideas, hot shot. This is for demonstration purposes only.”

Then she sucked a kiss to the back of my hand, lapping at the skin with her tongue. Before I could even register the act, she popped off and poured some salt onto the wet patch. She set down the saltshaker, and traded it for a wedge of lime. She gestured to my hand, the shot, then held up the wedge. “Lick it, slam it, suck it. Go.”

What the hell did I have to lose?

I licked the salt off the back of my hand, tossed back the second shot—perhaps against my better judgement—and happily accepted the lime wedge from Lacey when she shoved it into my mouth.

The booze was still monster-god-awful, but the salt and the lime helped cut through the sharpness of the tequila.

I sucked at the fruit until my face twisted from the juice, then blinked away the water in my eyes.

“Better?” Lacey asked, mixing a drink of her own.

“I don’t know if I would say ‘better,’ but it’s definitely less offensive.”

Lacey laughed and patted me on the chest. “Go have fun, Tate, but remember that you don’t need alcohol to do it.”

I agreed with her. Just those two shots had my head spinning. Suddenly, the music wasn’t so loud and the crowd of people didn’t bother me as much. I continued through the house, finding Carter talking with a friend on the couch. After giving him a quick signal that I was okay, he returned to his conversation.

I spun to find something else to do, and wound up crashing face first into the brick wall of someone’s chest. “Fuck, I’m sorry.”

“Don’t be sorry.”

Oh, shit… That smooth, familiar voice sent a tingle through my body and all the way to my toes.

Or maybe that was the booze.

Bleary eyes raked over Luc’s body. Damn, were all his clothes custom made? Even a plain long-sleeved Henley molded to his body, leaving little to the imagination. My hands flexed against the hard muscles of his pecs, and that was my realization that I’d grabbed onto him for support.

I jerked backward, stumbling, and Luc steadied me with his hands on my waist. He laughed, and the warmth from his palms sent a jolt through my body. “Too much to drink already?”

Possibly.

“Maybe not enough,” I responded instead, entirely entranced by the way he watched me, the way he handled himself with such care, even with the massive set of wings behind him. Something caught my arm, and I glanced down to see his tail wrapping around my wrist. Trailing back up to his eyes, he rolled his bottom lip between his teeth and tipped his head toward the kitchen.

I shouldn’t. I thought. I really shouldn’t.

But I found myself nodding anyway and watching with rapt attention as Luc mixed a drink right in front of me. He took the Tentacle Tequila and the Franken-Lime soda and made something that tasted much better than the shots alone. I could hardly taste the booze, and that became dangerous.

Not because of anything sinister—Luc was actually incredibly mindful, taking every step to ensure that I could watch what he was doing. He angled himself in a way that his wings wouldn’t obstruct my view, and he waited for me to ask before making another… which may have been the dangerous part. Apparently, Tipsy Tate was quite demanding.

And chatty. Very fucking chatty.

And Luc only sat by and let me talk his ear off about anything and everything.