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She moves so fast that a whip unfurls in her hand before I see her reach for a weapon. Shit. I go for my gun, and the roar of a bear has me flinching enough to fumble on the draw.
On the mid-tier level where I came inside, an honest-to-gods grizzly bear stands on his rear paws, roaring as if he’ll rip my throat out. How the hell did a Kodiak make it this far south? An impulse from my inner beast has me wanting to shove Sadie behind me, but she doesn’t seem surprised by a bear being inside a skating rink. Or that two women drop from the air to the staircase behind her with full wings extended. Both wear black.
The shorter-haired brunette flips a hatchet in her hand. The other with massive butterfly wings holds fiery…what are those?
I stare and ask, “You going for a Grim Reaper look? Should I have come in costume?”
The hatchet wielder grins a smile so fierce that I would expect to see fangs if she was a shifter. “Let’s see if you’re still funny when we hack you to itty bitty wolfie pieces.”
More Furies ready to kill me—just what I need.
4
SADIE
My emotions pinball from angry to sad and back again. Nolan stole my family’s grimoire three long years ago, and now he wants to bribe me with it to help his family?
“Your family destroyed mine,” I remind him. “Seems fitting that my new sisters watch me destroy you.”
Kiva flips her hatchet. “Sounds like we made it just in time for the party.” She calls over her shoulder to her bear mate, “We’ve got it from here, honey.”
My other sister, Dottie, lowers her flaming sickles and leans closer to me. “Did you get a telepathic kill signal from the immortal Furies?” she whispers. “Because you don’t look all wrath-of-the-gods mad other than your weapon to call.”
“What’s a weapon to call?” Nolan asks as if I hadn’t threatened him with death. “The fiery Grim Reaper things?” He raises his chin toward Dottie’s weapons.
“No,” I answer her question, ignoring his ass for a second the way he ignored me for years. While Dottie and Kiva have both been granted permission by the immortals to avenge their families, that won’t be happening for me since there’s no one left alive to blame. “And they’re sickles,” I say to Nolan because I would rather talk about petty trivialities than think about my traitorous body.
My heart’s pounding, and I’m tingling in places that should not be lighting up like Syn City during the derby cup challenge week for this dog. When did he go from boyishly handsome to ruggedly hot? He means less than nothing to me so he shouldn’t be able to hurt me with sniping comments or incite more desire than I’ve felt since…. since I crushed on him last time. No, I won’t admit to anyone that I’m still a virgin. Least of all Nolan Bankston.
“What are sickles?” he asks.
And now I’ve lost my train of thought by staring at him instead of staying on topic. Why does he still have to be so good looking with broad shoulders that fill out his button-down shirt, a lean waist and muscles that make those worn jeans cling to him, and battered boots that look as though he could transition from a suspect interrogation to a ranch hand in a blink? Why couldn’t he get old and ugly?
He props his hands on the belt where his holstered gun and a star-shaped badge hang as if gunslinger cool might be his usual stance. Dark red hair, whiskey-colored eyes, and a long, lanky frame complete the “hot cop” package. The jackass even smells good. I scowl because he distracted me with his stone-cold fox—er, I mean wolf—studly self.
“They’re sickles. My weapon to call,” Dottie explains. “The reaper carries a scythe.”
“Missing the pole thing.” Kiva wags her hatchet as if punctuating the point. “You should take your hand off the gun. Not so smart bringing a firearm to a Fury fight, marshal. Shooting a deity daughter would bring down a curse on you and your entire family. It’s the reason our weapons to call come from the ancient armories—my hatchet, Dottie’s sickles, and Sadie’s whip.”
He flicks his gaze to mine and shoots me a sly smile that makes me want to punch him in his perfect teeth. “Good to know. I hadn’t planned on shooting anyone.”
“Should’ve left the gun at home,” I say. “Like you should’ve stayed at home. Now, give me back what you stole from my family.”
“First, tell me what you know.” He doesn’t seem to realize the danger of having three armed Furies in front of him whether or not we feel authorized to kill him by the immortals. We’re trained in dealing out pain other than the deadly kind.
“About the local shifter murders? Zero.” I flick my fingers in a gimme move. “The grimoire.”
“Wait.” Dottie touches my arm. “As in your family’s grimoire? The one you were going for when…” She gestures toward my wings instead of finishing her question.
“When this asshole’s brother murdered me?” I don’t sugarcoat the truth. Why should I? To spare Nolan’s feelings? He never showed mine any mercy. “The one I was scrambling to make it to when I died? Yep, that’s the one he claims to have.” I failed to reach the altar, to find the right protection spell, to save my family.
“We could toss him in the swamp,” Kiva offers. “Let the sea hags have him.”
Tempting, but I shake my head. “The water moccasins would scare him more, but dumping him in the swamp won’t get back my grimoire.”
“What will?” Dottie, ever the peacemaker, asks in her country twang.
“He wants help clearing his brother’s name.”
