Page 24 of Peacock Me Like a Hurricane (Rise of the Resistance #2)

DELILAH

W ithin a blink, I’m there. I look around, sighing in infinite relief. I didn’t splice myself or end up on the peak of some mountain in Tibet.

Staying quiet, I look around. I want to find the droid of honor while avoiding a lot of attention. There are a lot of humans and droids, but I can scent a few clones in the crowd. For most people, it’s an exercise in futility to find a droid or clone in a crowd like this.

However, with my furry super sniffer, I can smell which ones carry my scent. Beyond that, I can also smell which ones have the scent of my blood. It’s still a decent list to narrow down, but it’s better than nothing. Since there are bound to be fewer droids that have bitten me here, I can track Shea by looking for the smell of their fluids as well.

Skulking through the crowd carefully, I keep my head down. I grabbed a scarf to put over my hair that I’ll pull off once I find him. There’s a few redheads in the Rift, but none of them are as crimson as I am. My hair is like a beacon in the fog, and it draws everyone to me.

I sense some of my family here—not Rafe, damn it. I send them mental thanks for standing in for me. I don’t plan to come home once Taurus gets back from his de-brief because we still have serious talking to do. That is, if he ever comes back from the de-brief.

Shit. Stop thinking that way, loser. It’s fine.

I make a mental note not to watch any sports related movies for quite a while. My brain is apparently melded with a coach from the 1990s. Regardless, I can’t imagine myself going home until I resolve all of our issues.

When I finally find the guest of honor, his face lights up when I pull the scarf off. Shea’s not one of my mates—and never would be—but he’s like a giant, fangy puppy dog. I care about him because he’s a lovable, loyal, caring, considerate goof. I may protest about making an appearance, but I am glad to see that he’s having a great time with his guests. He sweeps me up in a bone-crushing hug and I try not to wince.

I bandaged my arm after my shower, and I’m hoping he hasn’t caused it to bleed again. Most people aren’t blood drinkers, so they only know that blood has a metallic tang that smells like copper. To beings like us, every droplet from every person has a distinctive scent and taste that can change based on location or diet or a thousand other things.

Mine smells and tastes spicy, rich, flowery, earthy, and like the fields of Ireland—so I’m told. I’m hyper-aware of how many people in this room know exactly what it smells like. If a droplet forms, my anonymity is dead. I have no intention of holding court tonight. Shea doesn’t notice my discomfort. He beams and sets me down.

“I didn’t think you were going to make it, Peach,” he pouts adorably.

Ah, yes—nicknames again.

I wish Rafe and I hadn’t started that. I have so many you’d think I was listing my titles in a fantasy show on TV. Delilah, Queen of Everything, ruler of the Maison, first of her name, the Darkness, the Night Bloom, Nancy to Sid, Juliet to Romeo, Sir Victor’s Favorite Girl, Minx of the Bird, bringer of bloody deaths to delivery boys and so on.

I feel like an idiot just saying it.

Chuckling, I run a hand over his hair. “I’m only here for a brief appearance. I couldn’t let your birthday go by without bringing you a prezzie.”

His face gets brighter, if possible, and I wonder if he’s going to bounce off the walls. Bringing the package out of my coat, I grin at him. “It is not a new couch.”

The broken couch I mentioned to Taurus so long ago was with Shea. However, circumstances were a contributing factor in its death. It’s a small joke, but one that I know will make him smile.

He takes the small box, tearing off the ribbon and opening the lid. Looking at the fuzzy piece of fruit in puzzlement, I giggle when he picks it up. He looks like he’s not sure what to make of it. The idea took me a while to come up with and I almost deep-sixed it when I remembered seeing something similar in a story. Finally, I whipped it up, deciding it was too cool of an idea to waste.

“It’s magickal. It can’t go bad, so don’t worry about that. When you bite into it, you’ll taste and feel and see your favorite memories of us. It’s full-fledged—high definition surround sound level stuff. It’ll rock your world.”

I grin, proud of the control it took to create. In preparation for Beltane, I’ve been letting my magick off the leash, little by little. Doing projects like this, weaving into healing, and practicing apparition are my way of dusting off the cobwebs.

Shea’s eyes widen and he looks at the peach as if he’s contemplating something.

Holding a finger, I caution him before he takes a chunk out here and now. “Hold the wagon there, little doggy, because that sucker is potent. Don’t eat more than a bite at a time or you’ll fry your circuits. I made it to last for a long time.”

I watch him roll it around in his fingers nervously. Shea is never silent like this and his reticence is making me think that he doesn’t like it. That’s what I get for sharing something deeply personal like my magick—rejection.

It never fails.

“I hope you like it. It wasn’t easy to make because I’ve never done anything like it before. The ingredients were difficult to find. Hopefully, it makes up for not being able to be here for long. I have town issues that I need to take care of.” He plays with the soft, ripe fruit and my fingers fiddle with the hem of my duster, waiting for some kind of reaction.

He gives me a tiny smile and tucks it back in the box, sitting it on a table nearby. “I love it, Peach. You did a right nice thing for me.”

Frowning, I tilt my head. I was not expecting this kind of reaction from Shea. Usually he’s bouncing around like a puppy on crack when he gets a gift. What did I do wrong? “I’m glad you like it. Is your party going well?”

He nods, then looks over at the kitchen. “It is, pet. I think I’m wanted in the kitchen, though, so I’ll see you around later?”

I blink. Well, okay then. “Um, yeah, that’s fine. I’ll see you later.”

Leaning up, he pecks my cheek, picking up the box. He gives me another tiny smile and walks towards the kitchen.

What the actual fuck?

I sigh, pinching the bridge of my nose as I feel the start of a migraine. I am not in the mood for more drama. Why is everyone acting like every damned thing I do is wrong?

Feeling forlorn, I close my eyes. The whoosh of air hits me and I cross my fingers that I’ll get myself back in one piece. I can’t stand to be here for another second.

When I apparate in our bedroom, I sigh in relief. Success number two feels like a bigger victory than the first, and despite my headache, I pump my fist with pride.

Deli for the win, fuck yeah.

Walking to the closet, I peel off the clothes, making certain to hang the duster carefully. I can’t treat a five-figure gift like a thrift store tank top. Grabbing one of Taurus’ shirts, I head for the bar. I snag a highball of scotch and some fruit from the fridge before heading for the bed. I suppose Taurus has Theodora stocking this stuff. Maybe I’ll suggest that Hex and Leo wouldn’t mind sharing those duties, so I won’t feel like a sponge. They wouldn’t mind and hell, Leo would kill to get his hands on that kitchen.

I sit on the bed, pulling my Book of Shadows and the Beltane binder out of the night table. Opening my spell book to the page with the peach spell, I draw a frowny face at the top. I don’t cross it out because it worked, but since it didn’t make the recipient happy I won’t use it again. With the binder perched on my lap, I nibble the berries and prop my bad arm on a pillow. The basic frame of my Beltane ritual is ready, so I have to get the specific wording right. Phrasing is important if you don’t want to piss off a Goddess or accidentally summon the wrong thing.

Opening the gates inside of me hasn’t given me a huge influx of power, but maybe that’s because I’m afraid to use it in public. Doing so would add another dimension to what people expect from me. Between a new mate, the heat, and the Beast, a slow trickle is probably the best idea.

I know there’s more in my well because I felt it grow inside since I moved to the Rift. Being ready for that stored power to hit me that night is paramount. I manage to get a few more minutes of actual work done when I feel a disruption in the aura around me. Glancing at the doorway, I see him leaning against the frame.

“Are you speaking to me, pet?”

“Hi, baby.” The exhaustion from yesterday, the hurt from the rejection at the party, and the dull ache in my arm are making me drag. There’s no way he hasn’t noticed it.

His expression is relieved when I answer. I think he truly believed that I wouldn’t speak to him. Crossing the room, he sits on the bed carefully. “Hello, my heart.”

“How was your day?” I ask, needing to hear what happened with the Company before I can relax. I reach over and run my fingers through his hair with my good arm, favoring the achy one.

“Total shit without you. Is that blunt enough?” He looks at me and frowns. “What’s wrong?”

“I’m tired. Someone irritated me and I had to deal with community stuff—both interpersonal and town based.” I didn’t need to tell him about the emails from concerned members pointing out yet another nasty blog post from that damned bar. I just want to firebomb it into the ground and be rid of the fucking place.

“That’s annoying right enough, but I mean what’s wrong with your arm?”

“It’s taking its sweet time healing. I’m sure it’s because we drank so much last night. It’ll be fine.”

“I hurt you?” he whispers, looking worried.

“Don’t worry. It will be fine soon, I promise. It doesn’t hurt.” That’s a lie. It aches when I use it and I’m fairly sure that I may have to do some extra work to fix it. I haven’t had the time or inclination to work on it yet.

“You should have let me go.”

“Never.”

He reaches up and touches his bite mark. “Can I help with the town shit? Maybe alleviate a little of your burden so you can focus on healing?”

“Short of breaking the ‘no ripping the spine out of community members’ rule, I don’t think so,” I grumble petulantly. I wouldn’t mind if he dismembered a few folks at this point, but as he’s said from the beginning, it would cause more problems than it would fix.

Standing, he kicks off his shoes. He climbs onto the bed, sitting next to me and holding out his arms. “Want me to be the handsome support structure you need instead?”

I chuckle. “I’m trying to be a bigger person. That’s very difficult when the issue is with someone you despise.”

~You’re a better person than I am, love. But then, we both know that.~

“Thanks, baby,” I murmur. For a second, I ponder why Shea doesn’t seem to share that opinion, and I can’t work out why. I shake my head to clear it. Shea is an issue for another time; I have bigger fish to fry.

He tugs me into his arms and I sigh, starting to relax a little. “That’s what I'm here for.” His eyes fall on the binder and my book, light dawning. “I can grab a book or go to the gym if you have things you need to work on, pet.”

Moving the Beltane stuff aside, I shake my head. “No way. I’m not looking at that phone or my notes anymore today. I want to spend time with you.”

He exhales in contentment and grins, squeezing me tightly. “Thank fuck, because that was me being all noble. Feel free to praise my selflessness anytime. I am, after all, your ‘hunka burning clone’.”

“You are at that,” I chuckle, leaning into his chest.

“So, you'll say it again for me?” he asks, looking hopeful.

“Nope.”

His face falls and I smile, feeling it radiate from my face to my heart for the first time in hours. “You didn’t think it'd be that easy, did you?”

“No.” He looks away, his expression crestfallen.

I turn his face back to mine, stroking my fingers over his jaw. Don’t ask me why I finally gave it up in the first place; I don’t know. Maybe it was because of the fear of losing him to the Company’s dungeon because of his stupid killing spree. “Come here. I was only kidding. If you want me to call you my ‘hunka burning clone’ again, I will.”

“Yes, please.”

I tap his nose. “You are my hunka burning clone and I love you.” He tackles me and I gasp, my limbs flying akimbo. “ Warning !”

~I'm all the warning you get, heart of mine~

I sigh, unable to do anything else until we discuss the six hundred pound whale in the room. “Tell me what happened at the hearing. I can’t focus on anything else until I know what those asshats decided.”

“I’m not being recalled, if that’s what you’re wondering. The debrief was a fucking disaster. I had to sit there and get my ass roasted for hours. I have to teach the misbehaved rookies—including that fuckwit Cob—knitting in The Inferno for six months.”

My hand flies to cover my mouth. I try not to giggle, but it spills out and I hoot in laughter. “What’s the Inferno?”

Pouting, he rolls his eyes at me. “The Inferno is the punishment/retraining program for naughty agents-in- training. Someone thought they were cheeky when they named it.” He looks offended as I keep giggling. “Oi. It’s better than hiding out in our basement.”

I nod, tears running down my cheeks. “Oh, yes. But knitting? You. Hate. Knitting.”

Looking supremely ruffled, he crosses his arms over his chest. “I bloody do, but it’s punishment, Sandwich. I’m not supposed to like it.”

Wiping my eyes, I feel relief coursing through me along with the amusement. All I can focus on at the moment is the image of him teaching a room full of ‘bad apple’ clones how to knit one and purl two.

It fucking slays me.

“It beats being re-called or sent to Guatemala, woman.” Grumbling, he buries his face in my hair and lets me work the sniggers out of my system.

“It’ll help you prepare for when you’re pining for me,” I offer, still trying to breathe after my fit of giggles.

“You’re one step away, hussy—one step.”

I nip my mark on his neck, drawing blood. “That’s where I like to be.”

“Warning, Minx,” he growls as his arms tighten around me and his chest rumbles.

Chuckling throatily, I suck on the minor wound. “I’m all the warning you get.”

“I knew that was going to bite me on the ass.”

I smile. We’re going to be okay, and I need to find a flowery knitting basket—pronto.