Payback's a Witch (The Witches of Thistle Grove #1)(25)

I stared at him, my blood boiling as it always did at being exhorted to just chill, even more so at the fact that he was somehow managing to perceive himself as any kind of victim here.

“Oh, is my being back—and back with some clout—really just the worst for you? Are you even aware of how extensively you fucked me up back in the day?” It went against my dignity, and all my rules of self-preservation, to admit this to him, but I was now aflame with righteous fury. There was no turning back. “How worthless you made me feel? This is what they mean about actions having consequences, Gareth. What you did, it wasn’t the type of shit that conveniently fades away.”

“Listen, I know I handled it badly back then.” He huffed a surprisingly wry laugh, shaking his head. “Handling shit badly tends to be my thing, okay? But fuck, it’s been ten years. We were kids. What else do you even want me to say?”

“It’s been less than nine years, actually. During which time you managed to screw—and screw over—my best friend,” I fired back. “Not to mention Talia Avramov. Bold move on that one, by the way. I sure as hell wouldn’t have crossed an Avramov. Hope you have a spare vambrace for your balls.”

Gareth paled at that, then closed his eyes and sucked in a breath. Talia was right; watching him squirm really was profoundly gratifying.

“You know about all that? I thought for sure Lin wouldn’t have . . .”

I held up a hand. “Don’t you dare say her name to me.”

He opened his mouth, working his jaw from side to side. “Shit. Wow, fuck. Okay, first, it’s not how it sounds. I know that’s the standard line, but in this case it happens to be true. Lin and I . . . I really didn’t mean to hurt her, Emmy. The thing with Talia—”

Talia appeared beside me, like some gorgeous demon summoned up by name alone. She smiled at me, setting a gloved hand on my shoulder; I could feel the smolder of her palm even through the lace. Then she shifted her attention to Gareth, her smile growing wider and more lupine until it was closer to a baring of the teeth.

“Blackmoore,” she said, in a deceptively pleasant purr. “Don’t you and those overgrown cock rings around your arms have somewhere else to be?”

I couldn’t help it. I burst out laughing, even more delighted when Gareth’s appalled gaze ricocheted between me, Talia’s face, and Talia’s hand on my shoulder with mounting horror.

“Are you . . .” he began, mouth opening and closing like a landed fish. “Are you two . . . ?”

His obvious terror at the prospect of me and Talia as an item gave me a sly twist of an idea. I turned to Talia and smiled into her face, then slid my hand over hers where it still rested on my shoulder.

“About to share a dance?” I finished for him innocently, threading my fingers through Talia’s and lifting our joined hands above my head to give myself a little twirl. “Why, yes, we are. So if you’ll excuse us . . .”

Talia caught on quick, mischief lighting in her eyes. Snaring her lower lip through her teeth, she gave me one of her obliterating smiles, then tugged me against her until her free arm slid around my waist. Her perfume drifted over me like a delicious mist, and from this close, she seemed even taller. If I leaned forward just a little, my mouth would press right up against the tantalizing spot where her neck and shoulder met.

I was a little shocked by how badly I wanted to taste her skin.

“But you can’t do that!” Gareth protested, his cheeks mottling as his gaze pinballed wildly between the two of us. “You’re a combatant, Talia! And she’s, she’s the Arbiter!”

“The Arbiter whose mantle enforces impartiality,” I reminded him. “And I don’t remember any prohibitions on . . . dancing with a Gauntlet combatant. So what’s your issue?”

“But, but, still,” he sputtered. “What if it, I don’t know, affects the magic somehow? Skews your calls? That’s just—”

“Unethical?” I suggested, voice rimed with frost. “Unfair? Just plain wrong? Wouldn’t those be more your areas of expertise?”

He wilted under the ice in my gaze, still fumbling for a response. Without sparing another glance for him, I turned on my heel and struck off toward the dance floor with Talia in tow.





9





The Color of Impure Thoughts


This early in the evening—though by non-witch time, it was already well after eleven—Talia and I had the dance floor nearly to ourselves. Haunting minor-key sonatas wafted around us as I let her draw me close, and spin us into a lazy, swaying dance. She was one of those aggravating (yet irresistible) people who looked even better up close; skin seemingly poreless, eyeliner perfectly winged, deep plum gloss lending her lips an edible sheen.

Or maybe it was just a gloss like any other, and me who wanted to bite her.

“Well, that was delightful,” she crowed, her wolf’s eyes sparkling. “I feel almost faint with glee.”

I felt myself flush hot, elated by her admiration. “I just thought making him sweat a little could come in handy for you and Rowan on Saturday. Throw Gareth off his game for once.”

She let out a low whistle, lifting an approving eyebrow. “Downright diabolical. I really didn’t think you had it in you, Harlow. Would have figured classic psychological warfare to be out-of-bounds for such a good girl.”