Page 3 of Witches and Wine (The Mythical Mates of Arcane Cove #1)

I bumped my shoulder into the wooden swinging door of the Speedy Sandal establishment, the Cove’s only ethereal mailing service.

When I stepped inside, it was unusually quiet, but then again, I didn’t usually stop by after midnight—ever.

Admittedly, it was an excuse to get away from the club and re-gather my thoughts.

There wasn’t much to the place save for a metal front desk and rows upon rows of mail slots.

Within the span of my entering, several of the holes flashed blue or purple, and parcels, scrolls, or letters appeared out of thin air.

“Herm,” I yelled, scanning the five-by-five space and seeing no sign of him. Slamming my palm on the bell chime near the computer, I hit it three more times for good measure and shouted, “Hermes, you here?”

“I’m out back, Dion,” Hermes’ voice responded from outside.

Inviting myself behind the desk, I slid the limp screen door aside and stepped to the vast green meadows situated beyond the post office building.

Faint sounds of an electric razor emanated from one of several wooden stalls.

Hermes sat on a stool, shearing a black sheep in the dark with only a single heat lamp illuminating his work.

“You’re doing that now ?” I asked, leaning on a support beam and crossing my feet at the ankles.

Hermes paused long enough to shake some of the wool free from the sheep and wipe a forearm over his sweaty forehead.

“Been a busy day. Needed to get done, and quite frankly, I find it therapeutic.” He gave a lopsided grin, those glacially blue eyes glinting.

If I had to compare Hermes’ appearance to anyone, I’d most certainly compare him to the likes of a younger, more chiseled version of Clint Eastwood, but I would never in Tartarus tell him that.

As per his norm, he’d stopped shaving, and his chin bore light brown stubble.

“What the hell are you doing here this late, anyhow?” After Hermes raised a brow at me, he finished shearing the sheep.

“Thought I’d check to see if I had any replies from my wanted ad?” I hung my thumbs from my belt loops and waited for Hermes to call my bullshit.

Hermes smirked, patted the now bald sheep on the ass to hurry him along, and stood. “Considering you just sent it out yesterday, bro? No. But Apollo showed interest.”

“Sunny can eat a bag of dicks,” I clipped, shoving off the wooden beam and dragging my hands through my hair in frustration.

“Olympus, Dion,” Hermes huffed, a chuckle following. “I know you aren’t our brother’s biggest fan?—”

“ Half -brother,” I corrected, my words surrounded by a snarl.

Hermes raised his palms. “ Half -brother. But he offered to headline one night with Apollo’s Suns. Could be good PR for the club.”

Two cows and a bull moseyed passed us, munching on hay and mooing.

“Nah, see, because the bands I invite into Bacchus haven’t publicly flaunted their powers and identities in the mortal realm. Musicians that want a place where they can feel unburdened.”

The words flew from my tongue before I had a chance to process them. It sounded uncharacteristically empathetic for me.

Hermes slowly narrowed his eyes. “Spill, Dion. What in the Underworld is going on with you?”

“Nothin’.” I sneered at him and turned away.

Hermes didn’t buy it, kicking up dirt with his boots as he crossed to me. His hand clapped on my shoulder, jostling me. “Come on, Frenzy. Who’s your best bud? Who’s your best pal?” He dragged out the “a” in pal and gave a deranged grin.

“What’s with that face?” I shrugged him off.

“Alright, I’ll guess. You’re grumpy because of—what’s her name? The one with the fiery tendrils and sparkling emerald eyes?” Hermes clasped his hands under his chin and blinked his eyes like a dame from the old mortal cartoons.

Pointing a stern finger in his face, I brought us toe to toe. “I told you that in confidence.”

“You told it to me drunk.”

“Even more confidence.”

Hermes shoved me between the shoulder blades. “Let’s go. I’m buying a round or two.”

“I’d rather be anywhere right now than the club,” I all but whined.

“We’re not going to the club. We’re going to Finneas’, and you, my dear wine god—” Hermes lifted my limp hand and shook it. “—are going to make all our drinks buzz-worthy.”

“Fine,” I grumbled.

Hermes snapped his fingers. “One second. I need to feed the animals real quick.” Using his speed magic, Hermes whisked away, sending my hair skyward before returning within half a second and dusting his hands off. “Shall we?”

Finneas’s pub was something straight out of the mortal Middle Ages with its stone flooring, barreled tables, stools, real candles in the hanging metal chandeliers, and wooden tankards or curved horns instead of glass mugs and pints.

A massive oak tree grew through the middle of the establishment, sprouting from the top, magic surging through it, making its veins glow a bright green.

Varied types of knight and Viking shields adorned the walls, along with more wooden, stone, and metal accents.

We clamored to the circular bar with a raging hearth at its center and occupied two stools. I pressed my forearms to the wood and rubbed my temples. “Do gods get headaches? Is that possible?”

Hermes drummed his fingers on the bar top and flagged the bartender. “Considering we’re not impervious to pain, I’d venture to say, yes?”

Groaning, my face falling into my hands, I didn’t notice the pixie edging closer to me until her hand was trailing down my thigh.

Lazily, I lifted my head and let my gaze fall to my lap.

Her glittered nails sparkled from the overhanging candles, and she ventured further up my leg before I gently took her hand and held it still.

“Flora,” I crooned, awkwardly holding her pale hand between us.

Her translucent curved wings flapped excitedly, her wider-than-human dewy blue eyes blinking. Flora perked her pointed ears, cheeks blushing pink before she wound a strand of black ringlet hair around her finger. “Hey, Dion. It’s been a while.”

“That it has, sweetness.” I gave her knuckles a chaste kiss before resting her hand on the bar top near her. “And it’s going to be longer.”

Hermes’s stare burned a hole in the side of my head, but I ignored him.

“What do you mean?” Flora frowned, her wings drooping, and the glitter within her apple cheeks dimmed.

“I—” Pausing, I clenched my teeth.

How the Tartarus did I answer this? It’s not like Chelsea was with me. I wasn’t even sure I had a chance—me—the god of sex not having a chance with a mortal woman. The thought only irritated me more.

“Look, Flora. It’s complicated, but I’m not looking for company tonight, tomorrow, or for the foreseeable future.” Pointing behind her at a very interested troll, I coaxed her attention away from me. “Why don’t you go talk to him?”

Flora’s cheeks reddened when she caught sight of the brooding blue male with arms nearly as thick as his body. “If you’re sure?”

“I’m sure. Run along now before you miss out.” After seeing her frolic to the troll, I cracked my neck from side to side.

Hermes appeared in my line of vision with a shit-eating grin. “This is about the redhead.”

“Yeah, alright.” I smacked my hand on the table, making our tankards bounce. “Maybe it is. I don’t understand how I’m so wrapped up with a singular person, Herm. I’ve never been like this.”

Actual concern flooded Hermes’s face, which made me uneasy, before it melted into a huge smile at the sight of our tankards arriving. He slid them toward me, waiting, and after I touched them, lacing the drinks with ambrosia wine, we raised them for a toast.

“To figuring out what makes this one so special, Dion,” Hermes toasted.

Grumbling, I lifted my mug and thudded it against his. “ Yámas .”

“In all seriousness, bro, there has to be something about her. Maybe she’s an enchantress?” Hermes said this with such confidence it almost made me laugh.

“She’s not. She’s just a mortal woman who is a public relations specialist and has a stick up her ass that I’ve been trying to dislodge to no avail for the past several months.” Smirking, I swigged back half my drink.

Hermes rubbed his hand over the newly grown hair on his chin. “That’s part of it, isn’t it? The challenge? The chase?”

My horns itched beneath my skin at his words.

“You know I love a good chase, and I’m a fucking master at it. She doesn’t want that.” I sliced my hand through the air for extra emphasis, finished my tankard, and punched my fingers against the bar, signaling for another.

“Do you know that for certain? Have you asked?” Hermes gave me his full attention but still couldn’t help smiling and winking at a female deer shifter ogling him from a corner table.

“Yeah, Herm, I flat out asked her if she wanted to be chased like a breeding animal.” I spread my legs wider, snatching the tankard as soon as it hit the bar top, and changed it into ambrosia wine as it guzzled down my throat.

The very idea of letting my inner beast roam free with Chelsea had my cock half-stiffening in my godsdamned jeans.

“I think you’re going about this the wrong way. You’re used to females falling at your feet without the need to charm them beyond a smile and a crook of your finger.” Hermes turned in his stool, facing me now but still giving the femme shifter knowing glances.

“You act as if you have to do much else, asshole,” I scoffed, elbowing him in the chest.

Hermes rubbed his sternum, and after punching me in the shoulder, he answered, “True. But any mortal woman I’ve been with has been purely carnal. If that’s all you wanted with this woman, it would’ve either happened already, or you would’ve moved on.”

I fucking hated him.

Hunching my shoulders, I brooded over the bar top. “What’s your point, Hermes?”

“Dionysus, my godly brother—” Hermes stood and patted my shoulders. “—adapt and overcome. Re-evaluate your strategy and be forthcoming with her. She’d probably appreciate it.”

My face contorted into an expression I could only imagine resembled someone who’d witnessed the birth of a centaur. Before I had the chance to make a wiseass comment, however, Hermes slapped my back, shoved his hands in his pockets, and sauntered to the lady shifter.

Dragging my hand over my face, I spied the ornate clock hanging on the back wall displaying an alarming almost two in the morning. “Fuck. I need to close the club. Hermes, do you?—”

Hermes waved me off, the shifter already perched on his lap. “I’ll handle the tab, Dion.”

First giving me sage advice, now offering to cover the bill? Who was this guy?

Heading outside, I flicked my collar from the brisk wind that’d picked up.

It couldn’t decide on a direction and had my long hair flying in flurries of darkness over my eyes.

I’d walked three of the six blocks it took to reach the club, and a figure emerging from Tobias’s Smoke and Cigar Shop gave me pause.

Frustratingly, I slapped my hair from my gaze, focusing on the body—curvy, pale skin, red hair.

My heart throttled into a gallop before seizing for a beat in my chest.

Absently removing my phone, I typed up a quick message to Tambie.

Me

Close up for me tonight, will you?

Tambie

Seriously, boss? That’d be the fourth time this week.

Me

You can have tomorrow off.

Tambie

DONE.

Gulping, I slipped the phone back into my pocket and stared in front of me.

Chelsea fucking Stewart was in Arcane Cove, and she was mere meters away from me.