Page 31 of Witches and Wine (The Mythical Mates of Arcane Cove #1)
Arcane Cove was welcoming. The Cove didn’t turn any magical or mythical being away.
It had never been an issue when heroes and villains could coexist without dipping into each other’s affairs in neutral territory—until now.
Someone had to stir the pot after all this time.
Someone felt compelled to start a ripple that wouldn’t be easy to bounce back from.
And I’d bet my right horn that someone was a shadow god with an affection for black.
Tambie had reported Erebus practically making camp inside my club in the same booth.
At first, I’d thought nothing of it, especially given how much scratch he paid for the accommodations.
The thought of him conducting business inside my establishment and all of it possibly connected to the death of a mythie, however? That I couldn’t ignore.
It took all of my inner strength not to throw the table, drinks still perched on it, when I’d ported into the lounge area. I puffed my chest and held my claws poised at my sides, ready to slash and gash if necessary.
Erebus sat in the center surrounded by his usual goons, puffing on a cigar with his elbow propped and that same satisfied, smug-ass grin. His onyx eyes darted to my displayed horns, and he smirked. “Something on your mind, Dion?”
“You’ve got a lot of balls, primordial.” The words came out gritty and clipped because I couldn’t manage to unclench my jaw from spiraling fury.
Erebus sighed and flicked cigar ash into a glass tray. “Care to give a little more context, or would you rather me go into tales of precisely how big my balls are?”
Pulling on my mating bond with Chelsea, I let her calmer nature soothe me, hoping my rage wasn’t affecting her with a potential coven. “I warned you that if you went too far with your mafia bullshit, I’d see your ass out of the Cove.” I pointed a claw in his face.
Erebus glared at me and gave one head flick to send his posse packing. With a tense jaw, he put out the cigar and adjusted his black suit jacket, his inky shadows already framing him. “All I’ve done since setting up shop here, Dionysus, is starting a ring for pixie sticks.”
Pixie sticks—not the mortal childhood favorite candy of sugary, fruity powder you poured on your tongue.
In the Cove, beings quickly realized that the magical dust pixies exuded, if prepared correctly, worked like a hallucinogen.
Pixies themselves even started selling their dust when they wanted to make a quick buck, and some of them ran their own businesses with it.
“Imagine that. This proposed deed involves a pixie,” I spat, ignoring the patron attention we’d managed to grab as well as Tambie, who stood idly by but poised to take action if necessary.
The shadows grew denser around Erebus’ shoulders and head, his eyes filling with liquid darkness until the whites disappeared. “If you’re going to accuse me of something, wine god, why don’t you fucking say it?”
My beast remained on edge, and despite my claws making my hands ache in anticipation, I held back.
Instead, I produced my thyrsus and pointed the threatening end at the primordial’s face.
“A pixie was found murdered last night. And what is the easiest way to secure dust when one isn’t a willing participant?
” My gaze grew into a deep amber, fierce and glowing with ferocity.
Erebus pressed his palms against the table. With deliberate slowness, he rose, his form floating from the shadows’ assistance. “I do not need to steal the dust, Dionysus. What I offer the pixies in exchange can’t be matched. They’ve practically lined up at my door.”
My grip tightened on the staff, my skin squeaking against the Olympus forged metal. “You didn’t deny it.”
“Um, boss?” Tambie’s sweet, mouse-like voice chimed in. “Do you need me to ask you two to step outside, or did you intend to do that yourself?”
My gaze never faltered from Erebus as we stared each other down. Erebus’s darkness curled over him like inky wings, slithering toward me. Conjuring my magic, I countered it with tendrils of maroon mist, forming an invisible shield.
“Pixies aren’t a threat to me. Despite what you might think, I don’t kill for sport,” Erebus spat, his nails digging into the table as he combated my magic with his.
Unfortunately, he wasn’t entirely lying. Had he killed and maimed in battle? In the very early ages, more times than I could count. Had he cheated, stolen, and deceived? Also, more times than I could count, but none of that pointed to murder.
Snarling, I lowered my staff. “I really fucking hate you, you know that?”
A satisfied smirk slid over Erebus’s lips, a fake pout following. “Aw, did I spoil your triumphant moment of grandeur, Dion? Storming in here to solve the case and save the day before anyone else?” Erebus pushed past my magic enough to make his shadows tug my beard before recoiling.
I lifted my hand in a choking gesture only to have Tambie swoop in front of me, batting my arm away. She stood between me and Erebus, turning toward him first. “You—behave. And you—” She turned back to me, poking me in the chest. “Boss, I need help lifting some kegs behind the bar.”
“Get Daevas to do it. He’s working tonight,” I countered, spinning the staff in my grip and glaring daggers at Erebus.
“No, he switched nights with Lillith to have a beach date with that sea nymph. Did you forget? You even signed off on it.” Tambie waved her hands in front of my face, gaining my attention.
“Right. Yeah. I’ve had a lot going on,” I grumbled, pointing my thyrsus at the primordial as we moved toward the bar. “I’m watching you.”
Erebus’s crew rejoined him in the booth, and he lit another cigar. “I’ll be sure to be entertaining.”
“A lot going on, such as a mating bond with a gorgeous red-haired lady witch?” Tambie grinned and hopped on her heels, moving behind the bar.
Squinting at her and her profound damnable intuition, I grabbed a keg with one hand and placed it in the kegerator with ease. “How the Tartarus did you know we accepted it?”
Tambie clapped her hands and squealed—a high-pitched bout of shrieking to rival a siren or fuck, to rival a banshee . “I just assumed, but I know now.”
“Fuck,” I grumbled, grabbing the other keg and hoisting it in. “We accepted it, yeah, but?—”
Tambie gasped and felt around my body, pulling my shirt up and exposing my back. “You haven’t claimed .”
Snarling, I batted her hands away and yanked my shirt down. “No, I haven’t, and I can’t be sure she even wants that, but why are you checking me for a mark?”
“Isn’t that how it works? She’d bite you, too?” Tambie fiddled with one of her antlers, tilting her head to the side.
Shaking my head, I connected the tubing for the carbon oxide tank. “She’s a witch. She doesn’t bite me . Shit, I don’t even know if witches can claim in the same way.” I was stammering, and I knew it, feeling like a tool.
“I don’t know, that sounds positively delicious to me,” a female voice said, her tone all too alluring for my comfort.
Vila, the succubus. Fuck me sideways.
“This conversation doesn’t concern you, Vila,” I clipped, throwing the door to the kegerator down and locking it.
Vila frowned and leaned her forearms on the bar top, purposely squishing her tits together beneath her low-cut, skintight black dress. “It’s such a pity Chelsea would want nothing to do with it. Why would she have ever accepted a mating bond with a beast in the first place?”
Turning toward her, ignoring Tambie’s pleas of protest, I caged Vila in with my arms, glowering down at her and huffing out of my nose. “What did I just say?”
Disregarding any imposing nature, Vila reached for my horn and stroked it just as I felt a familiar presence from—my mate .