“Close the—woman, what did you think was going to happen?”
“Making-out at the minimum, and maximum, banging in the parking lot. Maybe over there”—she pointed—“where it’s all dark and romantic.”
Wyatt looked up at the dark sky like he was praying for patience, but she could still see it there—that little smile. “First off, the parking lot of Drat’s isn’t romantic in any way, and you should really lift those standards, Harper. Second, you’re wasted—”
“Tipsy—”
“And when I do make a move on you, I want you to remember it. As it stands now, I don’t think you’ll remember this conversation tomorrow, much less a quickie fuck in the parking lot, and where are your shoes?”
Harper looked down at her bare feet. Damn, her pedicure still looked foxy. But really, where were her flip flops? She looked around, trying to desperately remember where, and why, she took them off.
“Okay, don’t worry,” Wyatt said in that manly sexy voice of his. “They’re probably still inside. I’ll grab them and some water for you. I’ll round up the boys while I’m at it.”
As he disappeared inside, Harper murmured, “But I’m not thirsty.” For water. She was definitely thirsty for Wyatt’s lips. She’d been thinking about them non-stop since he pecked her on the head earlier. And now she was completely inebriated on the sexy smiles he’d been casting her way all night. Those and tequila.
The wind kicked up, and goosebumps rose in waves across her arms despite the warm sweater she wore. Dragon shifters ran hot, hence the comfort with flip-flops on this chilly autumn night. The world was fuzzy as she scanned the parking lot and narrowed her eyes at the trees that lined the street beyond. The leaves and limbs were perfectly still, but it was so windy near her that dust from the parking lot lifted in little cyclones.
And then she heard it. The squeak, squeak of bats.
With a gasp, she bolted for the door, and just as her fingertips brushed the handle, she was blasted backward. She was thrown into a tornado of chaos as she spun and fought. Harper hit the side of a truck with a deafening crash and then was pinned there against the mangled metal. Dragon! Where the fuck was she? Slashing pain stung her arms as she blocked punches too fast to be human. A long hiss filled her head as something cold wrapped around her neck.
Change, Change, Change!
Harper gasped for breath as the smoke solidified into Arabella, surrounded by her guards, her hand wrapped unwaveringly around Harper’s throat. Too drunk. Harper was too drunk to summon the dragon. But she could still blow fire if she could suck in enough air to set off her fire-starter.
“You took my toy from me,” Arabella rasped out in an icy voice that bounced around inside of Harper’s head, each word echoing and overlapping. The side of Arabella’s face was melted like metal warped in a fire from where Harper had burned her last night. Her gray eyes turned cold and dead in the moment before she opened her mouth, exposing razor sharp fangs, and sank her teeth into Harper’s neck.
Harper clawed at the vampire’s wrists to try and loosen her grip and thrashed as the outer edges of her vision collapsed inward. She scrabbled and kicked against the truck behind her, and then in desperation, she socked Arabella with a balled fist over and over. It was like punching a stony cliff face. The crack of Harper’s bones was loud as pain seared up her arm.
There was chaos behind Arabella now. Fighting. Bats. Thick purple smoke. Ryder. Weston. Aaron was Changed into his grizzly bear and laying waste to everyone in his way. Not fast enough. Help me!
“Harper!” Weston screamed, his veins bulging in his neck as he fought the smoke and tried to reach her.
It wasn’t enough. Not enough time. Not fair. Frost crept through her veins as Arabella drained her. Please Dragon. Where are you?
Like an apparition, Wyatt appeared through the smoke, his eyes white as snow and promising death, his teeth bared.
Beside him, the bats solidified into a vampire, but Wyatt grabbed him by the throat before he was solid and threw him with mesmerizing force.
“Wyatt!” someone yelled. Kane?
Like a spear, a pool stick came straight for Harper’s face, but Wyatt caught it without looking, and in one smooth, blurred motion, he cracked it across his knee and rammed one jagged end into Arabella’s back.
Arabella jerked backward, and her grip around Harper’s throat loosened. Her crimson lips formed a silent screech of pain and shock as fire blazed up her body. And in an explosion of sparks, the Queen of the Asheville Coven collapsed in a pile of pungent ashes.
Harper fell forward, but Wyatt was there, holding her, telling her, “Breathe, baby. Just breathe.”
Harper dragged air into her crushed windpipe. The adrenaline in her system had burned off most of the alcohol, and she could see everything so clearly now. The splintered, scorched pool stick in the middle of the ashes. The bats and smoke fleeing the parking lot and blending in with the darkness beyond. Aaron’s blond grizzly pacing between a row of cars, his eyes wild and his neck torn open. Weston and Ryder, chests heaving, staring at her like she was already dead.
Kane was standing near the bar in the thinning smoke, but as she tried to thank him for helping her, he spat on the gravel and disappeared inside. A sob escaped her as she clutched to Wyatt’s sweater and sucked sweet air.
Her dragon was here now, too big, violent, wanting more death because she was scared. Because she hadn’t been able to wake up in time. Stupid tequila. Stupid. “I didn’t know,” Harper chanted over and over just for something to say. Just to hear her own voice and convince herself she was still alive.