Page 13 of Witches and Wine (The Mythical Mates of Arcane Cove #1)
I’d stood outside the club pacing a square on the sidewalk with my clutch tucked under my arm for the better part of ten minutes after they officially opened.
Was I absurd for pursuing this? Granted, I’d already dug myself pretty damn deep by jumping Dion’s bones this morning.
What was to say it wouldn’t be more than a fling?
Would that be a bad thing? Did he want more? Did I want more?
My power sizzled in my palm and zapped my middle finger.
Yelping, I shook my hand and stared at my skin.
Was that some form of magical defense mechanism when I got in my own head?
Growling in frustration, I marched to the line now wrapped around the building and waited.
Dion said Bacchus attracted all walks of ethereal life, but no one seemed out of the ordinary at first glance.
That was, of course, if you ignored the variety of insect-like, feathered, and taloned wings sprouting from guests in the queue.
When I reached the bouncer, I fumbled with my clutch, ready to produce my ID, but he waved me in, grumbling and motioning for those behind me to move forward.
One step over the threshold from outside the blazing, booming atmosphere of the club had my arm hairs standing on end.
I was no stranger to the club scene, but it had been years since I set foot in one and never a place like this.
Bacchus was like stepping into something from a storybook, with rows of marble columns lining both floors and sputters of glowing, glittering magic from dancing patrons at every corner.
Scanning the main floor, I saw no signs of Dion and felt compelled to pull the hem of the sultry dress I’d brazenly chosen.
It didn’t budge more than half an inch, but the chilled breeze wafting against my exposed chest and back from overhead industrial-sized vents made me acutely aware of how scandalous my attire was.
I’d be lying to myself if I said I decided on it because I wanted people to stare because I wanted his eyes on me—I wanted to have him spellbound.
A hulking form passing jolted me from my daydream.
He was easily several feet taller than me, with veined bat-like wings the height of his body.
His haunches were clawed, hooved, and massive, matching his equally large hands with three wide fingers, talons curling from each.
He’d paused to look down at me, dipping his squared chin, the corners coming to jagged points, and when he offered a half-smile, similar sharpened canines to Dion’s glinted from the strobe lights.
“Beg your pardon,” he said, his voice deeper than the Titans trapped underground, and I fought the urge to stare at the massive, curved, swirling horns protruding from his forehead. He wore a leather kilt and a simple vest over his bulbous arms and chest.
“Um, hello?” A male voice said from the opposite side of the room, the tone lighter than the average.
“I thought gargoyles were supposed to be protective? Care to do your job, you big oaf?” The man, dressed in stark white pants, loafers, and a bright red shirt exposing his chest and golden chains, nudged several of the people surrounding him, who were all cackling.
Grumbling, the gargoyle moved past me and to the awaiting male, his forked tail swaying behind him. “I’ve got to find new clients.”
When the gargoyle was no longer blocking my view, I zeroed in on Dion’s piercing gaze instantaneously despite the dozens of bodies between us.
Something happened in that moment I couldn’t explain, but my magic sputtered at my fingertips, a tingle trickling down my spine until it landed in my tailbone, intensifying there.
I’d suddenly developed the overwhelming urge to get to him, and, keeping my eyes locked with his, I pushed through the horde, irritation bubbling with each passing second that I wasn’t with him.
The one instant I blinked, I’d lost sight of him, and the pulsating music fell from my ears, my quickened breaths replacing it. I spun circles, confused and erratic, the rotating lights and shoulders bumping into me from every angle, doing nothing to soothe me.
“Hey, Red,” Dion’s voice, like liquid chocolate, rumbled in my ear from behind me. His arm snaked around my waist, his palm resting on my stomach, and I melted against him.
Threading my fingers with his, I finally found the will to open my eyes after letting his scent tantalize my senses. “This place is amazing.”
A brief chuckle thundered from his chest, his lips feathering my ear lobe before he playfully nipped at it. “The night hasn’t even started, Stewart.”
Dion had many nicknames for me, but I’d come to learn whenever he referred to me with my last name, he intended to challenge me.
Challenge accepted, frenzy god.
Turning, I held the metallic gold clutch in one hand and hung my fingers from his belt loop with the other. “I’m all yours. What do you want to do with me?”
Dion’s gaze shot downward to my hand hovering near his crotch, and he frustratedly dragged a hand over his beard. “Gods and martyrs, Chels. What am I going to do with you?”
The question had my heart racing, core clenching, and my magic humming in my veins.
Dion pulled me to him, my breasts thumping against his ribs and making me gasp. “For starters—” He plucked the clutch from my vice-like grip and held it up between us. “You’re not going to need this.”
That calm demeanor I pretended to exude moments prior? Gone and scorched.
“But my?—”
Dion cut my words short by slipping his hand to my exposed lower back, his forefinger resting on one of two dimples there as if he’d already perfectly mapped my body.
“Tambie, would you be a dear and lock this in the safe?” He said to a female with small antlers extending from her forehead and a pixie haircut carrying a silver tray. Dion dropped my clutch onto it.
“You got it, boss,” Tambie answered, flashing me a sultry grin and unabashedly roaming my body with her gaze.
I turned to follow her, but Dion’s grip tightened on my back. “Dion, my credit cards are in there, my ID, my?—”
“ Mágissa ,” Dion whispered, beckoning me to settle on his gaze. He rested a knuckle under my chin and tilted it upward. “Do you trust me?”
Yes, and no? My gut told me I could trust him, but the rational part of my brain questioned how that was possible given the short time I’d known him.
“Yes?” I’d dragged out the word, squinting one eye.
Grinning, Dion kissed me delicately, slipping my upper lip between his. “By the end of the night, I hope to turn that question into a definitive answer.”
My eyes remained closed as I waited for the kiss to continue, but I blinked when his hand wrapped with mine.
“But first, you need a little encouragement ,” Dion said, lightly tugging me toward the bar.
Letting him pull me, giggling over it, I leaned an elbow on the bar once we’d reached it. “Ambrosia wine? Is that your plan? Get me intoxicated and throw all scruples to the wind?”
Dion became transfixed on the dip at the front of my dress, his finger lazily tracing circles on exposed skin above the fabric.
“Part of it. Encouraging beings to let loose and have fun happens to be my specialty, but you, my dear Chelsea—” The bartender handed him two drinks, and Dion offered me one. “—have been an enigma.”
The idea of my making things difficult for him gave me a perverse thrill.
Taking the drink, I raised it to him. “Here’s to challenges then.”
“To cracking your nut, Stewart,” Dion countered, a delicious twinkle casting in his eyes as he tapped his glass against mine.
A massive golden statue toward the back captured my attention—a man with long, wavy hair and a full beard lounging on a bench in only a toga that exposed his chest, stomach, and legs.
One hand raised a goblet, a pitcher hanging lazily by one finger in the other, and clusters of grapes and pine cones were strewn on his lap and at his feet.
“Dion, is that monstrous statue supposed to be you?” I’d paused mid-drink to gawk at it and still held my glass near my lips.
Dion shifted his glance behind him, barely looking at the statue before turning back to me. “I happen to think it’s one of the best likenesses anyone has sculpted of me.”
Laughing, I pointed at it with my glass. “I’m not denying that, but did it have to be so—” Searching for a word that wouldn’t come out naughty proved impossible. “—egotistically huge?”
“I don’t know,” Dion whispered, leaning in closer. “You’ve experienced it. Do you think the ego is warranted?”
We grinned at each other over the rims of our cups, and I licked my lips of excess sweet yet earthy alcohol. “This tastes different than before.”
“That’s because it is.” Dion curled his fingers over my hips, urging me closer and propping one of his feet on a stool rung, pressing that thigh against me. “Why are you so high-strung, anyway? You’ve got a great career; you’re hot as Olympus forges and have a great family. Why so stressed?”
Taking several more gulps of my drink, I rubbed the pentagram pendant between two fingers. “Wow, going straight for the jugular that fast, huh?”
Chuckling, Dion dragged a knuckle from one corner of my jaw to the other.
“I have to act fast. Get the serious stuff out of the way. Because after two more of those, I’m going to have to fight anyone who tries to touch you when you insist on dancing with the maenads.
” Dion jutted his chin at the group of females dancing between columns with petite antlers like Tambie had.
Cackling, I swatted his shoulder. “Please. That doesn’t sound like me at all.”
“I doubt that. Somewhere in there is a woman who wants nothing more than to drop everything, let her shoulders relax, and do whatever the fuck comes to mind without judgment or consequence.” Dion tilted his head, studying me. “Tell me. What made you this way?”