Wild Wolf (Shifters Unbound, #6)(27)

Xav’s men had not only brought the pizza, but water—glorious water. A case of it, which Misty had drunk almost half of.

Graham had drunk nothing. She knew he was feeling the thirst, because he kept wetting his mouth, or swallowing and turning away as Misty had guzzled water. Why he wouldn’t drink, she had no idea, and he wouldn’t tell her.

Graham helped her carry the accoutrements for the spell outside. Misty had harvested petals from two of the roses she’d brought home from her shop, washing them thoroughly and rolling them dry in a towel.

“You eat flowers?” Graham asked when she told him imbibing the petals would be safe. “Humans are weird.”

“Lots of flowers are edible,” Misty had answered. “Cake bakers paint them with sugar water and use them for edible decoration. Roses, pansies, carnations, squash blossoms. I went to a restaurant where they made sweet corn tamales in squash blossoms. They were awesome. You have to be careful to choose the right kind of flowers, though. Oleanders, for instance will kill you quickly.” She waved her hand at the thick, dark green bushes along her fence.


Misty set everything up at a table on the other side of her yard, which was reached by the little bridge. She spread out a white cloth, scattered the cut rose petals on it, inhaling their fragrance, and consulted the book.

Gather petals of red roses, washed three times. Check. Chopped with a fine-bladed knife. Check.

Immerse in alcohol . . .

That had been an interesting problem. Misty and her friends drank mostly wine and beer, saving hard liquor for martinis on evenings out. Misty wasn’t sure she wanted to gulp down rose petals in beer, or even in the nice white wine a friend had brought her last time she’d come over.

Then Misty had found a bottle in the back of her liquor cabinet. She hadn’t noticed it in a while and hadn’t drunk any for a long time. But it might work.

Now she put the chopped rose petals into two shot glasses, one in front of her and one in front of Graham.

“What is that?” he asked as Misty poured out the liquid. Graham only drank beer too.

“The good stuff.” Misty sat down across from him, lifted her shot glass and waited for him to lift his. “Tequila.”





CHAPTER NINE





Graham shrugged, raised his glass, and clinked it against Misty’s. “Down the hatch.”

“Cheers,” Misty said. They lifted their glasses at the same time and drank in one shot.

The tequila burned Misty’s mouth like liquid fire. The rose petals felt strange against her tongue, but she made herself not spit them out. Some stuck to the bottom of the glass, but that was all right, the spell said. They would bury the spent ones.

Misty swallowed, and the liquor shot down her gullet in a stream of flame. She coughed.

Drink four quantities.

Misty coughed again. One rose petal got caught on her tongue, and she fished it out and dropped it to the table.

Graham wiped his mouth, shaking his head. “What is this—lighter fluid? Humans actually drink this stuff?”

“All the time. Haven’t you ever had a margarita?”

Graham made a face. “You mean that frothy shit in fancy glasses? I don’t drink stuff with slices of fruit stuck in it. Drinks should be in a bottle.”

“You have no soul, Graham.”

“All Shifters have souls.” Graham spoke without humor. “Can you imagine me with my wolves? Hey, thanks for helping me fend off those hunters. How about we kick back, watch the game, and I’ll make some margaritas? Or mimosas. Or wine coolers. Girly drinks. They’d tear me apart and pick a new pack leader real quick.”

“I get it. You’re rugged.” Misty sprinkled more rose petals into the glasses and added another shot of tequila to each. “Four times, the book says.”

Graham studied the rose petals floating in the liquid. “I don’t feel any different.”

“Maybe we have to drink it all first.” Misty lifted her glass, and again they clinked them. Graham’s scarred fingers touched hers.

The second swallow was even more fiery than the first. Misty shuddered as it went down, her body feeling the heat.

“Lemon drop,” Graham said. “Another girly drink.”

“This is straight tequila,” Misty said, licking her tingling lips. “It’s plenty manly.”

“Bellini,” Graham went on as Misty doled out more petals and more alcohol. “I don’t even know what the hell that is.”

“Like a mimosa. Champagne, but with other fruit instead of orange juice—peaches or berries, say.”

“Great. You ever seen me put berries in my beer?”

“Beer can be fruity.” Misty raised the third glass. “Like hefeweizen. Bars serve it with lemon wedges. Or orange.”

“I know. Ruins the head. It’s beer. A hundred years ago, no one put fruit in it. We just drank it. By the barrel.”

“You shouldn’t tell me how old you are,” Misty said, giving him a little smile. “Chin-chin.”

Another clink, another shot dumped into her mouth. This time, Misty’s entire tongue went numb. But the thirst was still there. The dehydrating alcohol was only making it worse.

“Let’s hurry and do the last one.” Misty’s hand fumbled as she poured the last shot. She was almost out of rose petals.