Page 3 of Petty AF (At First #1)

three

~ River ~

F rom the lavish setting to the overly adorned guests, the Legacy Gala turned out to be nothing like I expected. Clashing colors, dramatic statement pieces, poorly tailored suits, and bold makeup—every guest stood out, and not necessarily in a good way.

Before arriving, I had been worried that I didn’t belong, that I wouldn’t fit into this upper echelon of shadeling society. Now, I knew I didn’t. The difference being that I no longer considered that to be a bad thing.

While I took no issue with artistic expression or audacious fashion choices, a lot of people in attendance seemed to make it their entire personality. Which I still preferred to those who strutted through the ballroom as if their very presence equated to a divine blessing.

“Smile,” Deaton said as he passed me my third glass of champagne.

I took the flute by its stem with an arched eyebrow. “Excuse me?”

“The volume might be turned down, but your face is still airing subtitles.”

Yeah, that sounded about right. Downing the contents of my glass in two swallows, I turned to my date with a bright, plastic smile.

“Better?”

The wolf shrugged. “Sure, if you’re auditioning for Uncanny Valley: The Musical .”

As I snorted out a laugh, I felt my features soften into something less robotic.

“There it is,” he commented, chuckling along with me.

Damn, I really liked him. Maybe I had fallen for a facade, and he just took his job that seriously. I didn’t care. He had calmed my nerves, stopped me from spiraling, and as promised, he hadn’t left my side all night.

Although, most of my panic had been about meeting him , not the party itself. He didn’t need to know that, though. Just like he didn’t need to know that I’d spent the past two days looking forward to his messages, then rereading them about a dozen times while I giggled like a schoolgirl.

Deaton was intelligent, funny, and a genuinely kind person. I found it incredibly easy to talk to him, and I appreciated that he guided without coddling. The fact that he looked like a walking wet dream definitely didn’t hurt either.

It kind of sucked that I’d never see him again after tonight.

Before I could think of something to say to keep the conversation going, the music shifted, the upbeat tempo flowing into a slower, more sultry rhythm. Deaton glanced at the dance floor, then back to me.

“I don’t dance,” I said automatically.

“Maybe you just haven’t met the right partner,” he countered, extending his hand.

I batted it away and rolled my eyes. “That was bad. I’m embarrassed for you.”

He laughed, completely unbothered, and took my hand anyway. “I saw it in a movie.”

“Watch better movies,” I quipped, ignoring the way my skin warmed and tingled from his touch.

His shoulders shook as he chuckled again, a deep baritone that resonated through our little corner and sent a shiver of desire straight to my groin. Then all those happy, sparkling feelings evaporated like the morning fog when he began pulling me toward the dance floor.

“I really can’t dance.”

“Everyone can dance.”

I had a TikTok account, so I could say with confidence that his statement was misleading at best. Could I stand in one spot and sway back and forth? Sure. I wouldn’t call that dancing, though.

Yet I didn’t pull away. Maybe because he could be infuriatingly persuasive. Maybe because the alcohol had dulled any sense of self-preservation and good judgment. Whatever the reason, I didn’t try to stop him as we wove through the throng of partygoers to the middle of the dance floor.

Once he’d found a semi-empty space, he turned to face me, his smile equal parts charm and trouble.

“Just follow me,” he said, his voice low and coaxing as he wrapped a muscled arm around my waist.

I swallowed hard, keenly aware of how little space existed between us.

This hadn’t been part of the plan, and it damn sure didn’t feel like a paid service.

When someone bumped me from behind, he pulled me closer, holding me tightly to his chest so that I felt every hard ridge of him pressed against me.

This close, with his face cast in prisms of light from the chandeliers, I realized his irises weren’t black or even dark brown, but a deep shade of green with flecks of amber near the pupils.

And right then, he had those penetrating eyes locked on me, gleaming in a way that promised all sorts of sinful things.

He began to sway, and with our bodies pressed so closely together, I had no choice but to follow, my heart pounding in time with the music. Fuck, he was so warm, so virile, and the scent wafting off him had me seriously debating why inviting him back to my place would be a bad idea.

I had met a lot of people in both my personal and professional life, and I had felt instant physical attraction on more than one occasion. Never had I experienced such an intense and visceral reaction to someone, though.

Deeper than just surface-level temptation, I felt a magnetic connection to this man, a pull that had taken hold and wouldn’t let go. Nothing about it felt safe or familiar, but that didn’t seem to matter. In fact, it only made me want him more.

“What are we doing?” I asked. The answer scared me, but I had to know if this only went one way.

“We’re dancing.” Calm. Steady. Maddeningly unhelpful. Then his hand slid up my back and beneath my hair to settle on my nape. “For now.”

I exhaled sharply, my head spinning with relief and confusion. “So, it’s not just me?”

“No, River.” My name on his lips wrapped around me like a caress, hitting harder than it had any right to. “It’s not just you.”

“Deaton Horne,” came a deep, unpleasant voice from behind me. “Didn’t think I’d see you here.”

I stiffened, and a shiver rippled through me at the vocal equivalent of being doused in cold water. At the same time, I felt a twinge of irritation, not just at the rudeness of the interruption, but at the condescension dripping from the asshole’s tone.

Deaton, however, didn’t flinch. Maintaining a passive expression, he repositioned me so that I stood next to him, but he kept me pressed to his side with an arm around my waist.

“River, this is Joss Weller, the Warlock Regent of Circle City.”

He said that last part as if it should mean something to me. It didn’t. While it sounded impressive, I didn’t know what a Warlock Regent actually did, if anything.

And as far as first impressions went, he made a fairly underwhelming one.

Standing a couple of inches shorter than Deaton with a lean build and honey-blond hair that brushed the tops of his shoulders, I would consider the intruder conventionally attractive. Beyond that, I didn’t have anything else positive to say about him.

The stark white suit did nothing for his pale complexion, and the floral kimono draped over it was just confusing. Both of which could have been forgiven if not for the disdainful smirk on his lips.

I hadn’t come to make waves, though, and more importantly, I didn’t want to put Deaton in an awkward position since he clearly knew the guy. So, I rearranged my expression into something I hoped appeared pleasant and offered my hand.

“River Brighton. It’s nice to meet you.”

A voice in the back of my head that sounded suspiciously like my mother scolded me for lying. Then again, she would also be the one to remind me that two wrongs didn’t make a right. And maybe something about birds in a bush. Or in her hand? Whatever. Birds had definitely been involved.

Joss glanced down at my hand, but he didn’t take it, making the situation uncomfortable for everyone. Score one for him.

Curling my fingers against my palm, I dropped my arm back to my side and braced myself for whatever verbal diarrhea spewed from his mouth next.

I had been unfortunate enough to meet too many people like him in my life—bullies who had decided to make their insecurities everyone else’s problem—to think it would end there.

“A human, Deaton? Really?”

He said it with a strange mixture of indulgence and disdain, like I was a cute puppy but definitely not allowed on the furniture. I also couldn’t tell if he had been aiming to offend me or my date, but as far as insults went, it felt kind of weak.

“I see you came alone,” Deaton responded, his tone conversational, all things considered.

“And I assure you, the company is immeasurably better.”

I rolled my eyes. “If you’re going to talk about me like I’m not here, you could at least be original.”

His gray eyes narrowed, and I could tell I’d struck a nerve.

“Tell me.” He reached out to run his fingertips along the backside of my lapel. “What gives you the right to speak to me?”

“I mean, just off the top of my head? The fact that I’m not wearing my grandmother’s curtains seems like a good one.”

Deaton’s arm tightened around my waist, and I immediately pressed my lips together. While I had meant every word, I hadn’t meant to say them out loud.

Damn, maybe I shouldn’t have had that third glass of champagne.

Joss stepped away, one side of his mouth curved into a crooked grin and his eyes sparkling with delighted menace. “So crass. You can’t even control yourself.”

“Ouch,” I quipped back. “That hurt. I mean, I think I pulled something trying to give a fuck.”

My eyes widened, and I slapped a hand over my mouth. What the hell? Okay, yes, I had been thinking it, but I had meant to keep it in the vault. Why was the vault open without my permission?

I lowered my hand, intending to offer an apology. Maybe blame the alcohol on my unhinged behavior. Instead, my mouth decided to double down and make everything worse.

“I’m not drunk. I just don’t like you.” I recoiled at my own outburst with a quiet gasp, suddenly and painfully aware that something had gone terribly wrong. “Why did I say that? Why do I keep saying the quiet parts out loud?”

Joss flicked his stupid kimono out behind him like some cartoon villain. “You wanted to be seen and heard, right?”

“Wait, you did this to me?” I waved my hand toward him, vague yet somehow encompassing. “With your warlocky woo-woo?”

His face split into a broad, smug grin. “I believe it’s customary to express gratitude when receiving a gift.”

The asshole had hexed me, and he wanted me to thank him for it?

“What gift would that be?” Deaton asked, a touch of a growl in his voice.

“Pure, unfiltered authenticity.”

“You wouldn’t know authenticity if it crawled inside the tacky suit with you,” I shot back.

And immediately wanted to die.

What the actual fuck? Not only did I suddenly lack a filter, but there didn’t seem to be an off switch either. As soon as an uncharitable thought entered my head, it exited through my mouth, whether I wanted it to or not.

“What do you want?” Deaton asked.

There appeared to be an entire conversation going on between them that I didn’t know about, but since I couldn’t be trusted with words, I kept quiet and let Deaton handle it.

“An apology.” Joss folded his hands together at his waist and tilted his head. “And he has to mean it.”

The breath I’d been holding rushed out, and I sagged like a deflated balloon.

I mean, I didn’t love the idea, especially since I hadn’t done anything wrong.

My little dig about him being more original with his insults had been pretty tame, and I’d simply been defending myself against his disrespect.

Right then, right and wrong didn’t matter, though. Forget bodying my career. I had much bigger problems if I couldn’t regain some semblance of control. Two words. I just had to say two words, and everything would go back to normal.

I took a deep breath and gave him my most charming smile. “I would literally rather throw myself into oncoming traffic.”

The instant the words left my mouth, I closed my eyes, my smile vanishing with a pained groan.

No. I could do this. I just had to trick my brain into believing I meant it.

“Wait. Let me try again.” Okay, so I had the capacity for normal speech. Good to know. I stood straight and fisted my hands at my sides. “I’m sorry.” Yes! “That you are an asshole who dishes out criticism but can’t take it.”

Damn it!

Deaton tightened his arm around me again. “Maybe you should stop now.”

“I’m trying!” I hissed back.

“Try harder.”

“Easy for you to say. You’re not the one who got cursed.”

“River.”

I heard the warning in his voice, but I truly couldn’t help myself. “What? So, this is my fault now?”

“Please stop talking.”

“I’m trying!” I repeated, my voice quiet and desperate. “It just keeps happening!” Did he really think I wanted this? “Do something!”

“What do you want me to do?”

“I don’t know. Bite him.” What? No. Fucking hell. Yeah, it would be satisfying, but we didn’t need an assault charge on top of everything else. “Never mind. Don’t do that. He probably tastes bad anyway. Like turnips and regret.”

Did turnips taste bad? I’d never actually eaten one. The more I panicked, however, the pettier my thoughts became, and the faster they spilled from my lips.

Joss arched an eyebrow at me. “Did you just call me a turnip?”

“No, I said you probably taste like one. Gross,” I added, just in case that hadn’t been clear. “You know, you’re kind of pretty, which sucks since you’re such a dick.” Oh, my god. What the hell was wrong with me? “I hate you.”

Wonderful. Super mature. Loved that for me.

“We need to leave now.”

I jerked around to gape at my date. “What? No. I can’t leave like this. He has to fix me!”

“I’d listen to him,” Joss interjected, and he sounded almost bored, as if he had lost interest in the game.

Only, to me, this wasn’t a game. “You listen, you arrogant, entitled, st—”

Deaton grabbed me by the back of the neck and spun me around, slanting his mouth over mine to end my tirade. The sudden press of his lips sent a jolt through my entire body, silencing the destructive chaos inside my head.

My anger, the warlock, the fact that hundreds of people stood watching, it all vanished from my mind as I leaned into him, giving myself over to the moment. I had already broken all the rules anyway.

One more couldn’t hurt, especially when it felt so damn right.