Hey, Doll

DONNA

Sunday night party...

"P

oor things. They had to move the date. The cathedrals are closing in two days; talk about short notice. Insane how dangerous the streets have become. Anyway..."

What in the flying fuck is she talking about?

Bogress takes a drag from her vape while I've been suffering for the past fifteen minutes, waiting for a way out.

Try as I might, I eye-call Fay, but her attention is nowhere near mine. She's singing a popular pack song with my mutts as if she were a part of it. "And the Howl, the Spirit, the Moon we worship. Oh Luna, hear my call..." Overall, it's pretty freaky if you ask me.

"You better come to her ceremony, Donnatella," intones Bogress. Intones, because how she pronounced my name makes me feel like I fouled up her stomping grounds. I want to say something to her face, like ask her how closely related her parents are to have produced such a dumbass, but I won't. I lean against the window, my eyes slanting to the cars stopped at the traffic lights. I must admit that, for the first time, I wouldn't mind being stuck behind the wheel.

That'd be great.

In my new car.

Alone.

A shiver runs through me. It's not a traffic light... a car is burning. I can see flames shooting up the street from the left side of the window.

"There's a car on fire down there," I mutter, watching a firefighter on his hydragon spewing water over the metal carcass. Hope no one was inside.

"Yeah... don't worry. It's the latest craze these days. Adding to the collection of charred scooters, smoldering garbage cans, and other smoke-filled residential entries."

My eyes widen at her oily cooing laugh, to how she swizzles her glass as if that was the funniest joke of her vacuous existence. But she's right, and bloody bitch, I close my eyes to the smoke she blows in my face. "So, what was I saying...? Ah, yes. You're coming, right?"

"What ceremony?" I ask, dawdling a finger down my wet temple. By the moon goddess, why am I sweating so much? It's like I'm in hea?—

Oh, please! Just what I need.

Bogress is talking like I'm listening. "Ayla's. Tomorrow. Red Luna Cathedral."

It's too hot. I'm all over the place. I can't think straight. It's crazy!

My eyes swivel over the flat, halting on the right. There are a bunch of fairies crowded around Fay's bedroom, looking stern. There's no harm in listening in... just a quick snippet.

"Our whole family is leaving for the south." That's an old-school friend of Fay's, Stelline, a light fairy. She has ribbons of light—actual sun rays—radiating along her wings. Tiny flares are sent out each time they flutter, and I have to cover my eyes. Honestly, I can hardly see these blabbermouths.

"What are you talking about? The south is dangerous," says Lilly, a small fairy. She's actually the smallest fae I've ever met. Green from head to toe, even her clothes are made of leaves. I shake my head, amused. Lilly's one lovely garden nerd. "The riots have gotten bloodier. People are dying." Her discourse has my lips twitching. While I was born and raised on Wolf Island, my family was originally from the south...

"Yes, but we have relatives with strong powers there," adds Stelline.

"And risk getting arrested for using magic? No thanks. The best thing to do is to leave for Coward Island. The islanders have already opened their gates to us, already calling us refugees." Words coming from a fairy I don't recognize resonates negatively within me. Suppose other countries react in anticipation of Faerhan's downfall—which is unlikely to happen—then when do we start to worry? My head stays tilted as she goes on.

"I heard you get a free passport if you renounce your Faerhan citizenship." Ah, I see. I recognize some political moves and won't give them any meaning. Fear is the key to making money out of wealthy fae. It wouldn't surprise me if they dove headfirst into this scheme.

A fourth one steps in, blue frosty hips swaying with authority. It's hard not to obsess over Krusta's long, icy-white hair, but as I observe her wings shedding a pound of snowflakes per minute, my whisper runs off, "My carpet."

Fay and Krusta seem to share the same magic faucet problem, so I thought introducing them would be a great idea. Well, let's say it remained an idea, very much unhatched. The moment I introduced them, I realized Fay was not interested in connecting with others of her own kind. She said "Hi," and then flew off. Now that I think about it, Fay's instincts were right on. Krusta snubbed Tyke last month, same full moon party, but with a completely different energy—less depressed and very much explosive. I thought Fay was about to rip her to shreds if not for a swift glass of feykila smuggled into her grip by none other than the orc himself.

Stelline crosses her arms, frowning. "Our borders are closed, Krusta. How are you going to leave the country? With a smile and a platter of snowballs handed over to frontier guards? Pathetic. We're all in trouble. Rumors say our very own party rebelled against Fidr. Parliament's been dissolved because of that. Vampires seem to be our only reliable ally, and I find that alarming."

"Shh."

There's a hiccup beneath them, and I catch, "Lilly, don't cry. Things shall pass."

I raise my brow, thinking how inane this conversation is. Faefolk are always OTT for absolutely anything.

Except for one: Fay. An atmosphere of oblivion hangs over her when not silently shrinking into her dark corners.

Speaking of which, I turn slightly on my heels and find my roommate and my pack getting more drunk than usual in the kitchen. There's jitteriness, brooding moodiness coming from my pack, infusing this gloom in the air I don't need. What is the point of coming if it is to crash my party as a form of therapy!?

Thank gods, I can always count on Fay to boost it a little... And indeed, Fay being Fay, she's now boasting about with tumblers. "This is how we do it, fellas!" Hovering over the kitchen island, this dork is juggling two shakers with great skill. The tumblers are being tossed from one hand to another, and then she makes them bounce on one wing, then on the other. She grabs them all at once, bends her upper body to one side, lowers one wing, and pours alcohol along its length, swaying its tip over the shot glasses. Great! Pixie dust-laced cocktails...

I cry out, "Fay, no!"

"Leave the lady alone, Nana!" my beta barks. Very well. We will see who has to kick you out because you're barking up a tree, rutting for one-foot-tall poor Glamobi. Gnome. Married to Lyra...

Fingers snaps at my face. "Donna? Hellooo, I'm here."

Taking a deep breath, I reenter this torturous exchange, which sounds like what dust would taste like. "Yes, Bogress."

"So, are you coming?"

"Like all of us," I automate.

"I can't wait. Our Luna's coronation is going to be something, I tell you. Helios is spending big on it. Ayla is so lucky."

I almost spit my drink in her face, suddenly catching on to what she was saying. "Helios!?"

"Alpha Helios and his fated mate. You didn't know? Oops... Sorry." A sly smile cast her slutty words aside, and all I want to do is hop in a taxi to Helios' place and share a piece of my mind. Fucking two-timer! He hid his game well.

After he settled pack affairs, Helios had promised to work things out for us, that he'd wait for me to be ready—mate or not. My guess is that he went ahead with the Ayla mild latte since I wouldn't let him dip his tiny wick. But here's the thing: I'm a dark, rich blend with a bold character. No thanks to his cheap-ass grind!

I'm foaming at the mouth from canines morphing into daggers. I wipe my lips with the back of my hand and shut my eyes against the watery blur filling my vision. My mother was right. Disappointment is a way of life for alphaholes.

"My, Donna..." She chuckles again. "Did you really think you stood a chance?"

I ogle her, my words stranded behind my shifting teeth.

Stop, Donna... Think of the woods, the wind, and the smell of fresh pine. Breathe. She doesn't deserve a beating over her face paint, which, by the way, barely resembles make-up. Keep the claws retracted. In the pocket, that's right.

"Come on, he wasn't meant for you," this one adds. My nerve-wrecked eyes jitter to her hand, rubbing my arm while blood's pumping murder in my chest. "I'm sure you'll find your mate." To her words, her eyes smile like those of a fox as she takes a sip. I'm waiting for the snide remark because this is who she is. "Eventually."

Aha! I knew it was that adverb.

Then again, there's a hint of truth there because it stings.

"Deon, you made it!" booms Fay. My head turns at a thirty-degree angle, no more because no! But well enough for a stretched corner of my eye to catch a?—

He's...

My eyes are drawn to him, my brain dying to investigate for more, but I won't. The neck will not give in! It's this mate bond, and I won't cave.

From what I see, he switched his jeans and hoodie for something I couldn't have predicted. Gold cuffs adorn the birth of his broken ebony horns, giving him thatfallen princelook.

Easy on the prince, Donna!

Ear piercings, rings and studs, dance down the length of his long, pointed ears. His arms are golden-inked with what looks like ruins swirling over his skin, and perhaps under his sleeveless black top. It's buckled at mid-waist, a hint of pectoral showing.

I have to treat myself to a bottle!

Shit.

My body freezes. Deon saw me.

I readjust my eyes on Bogress, wishing she was a portal where I could just jump into her and vanish.

"Are you okay?"

No, I'm not. My face feels like it's melting on the floor!

Sharpening my gaze on hers, I say dryly, "Yeah. I'm just hot, Bogress."

My eyes swirl to the left, to this drop of sweat pearling down my temple. It'sglobal warminghere. It would be great if I could somehow turn off this central heating wherever the switch may be.

"Who's that?" Bogress points one finger as the rest clutch around her glass. I don't follow her index. I can't make eye contact with him.

"You didn't tell me you befriended a gargoyle. You know, I've heard about them..." She comes near my ear, and I thrust my head back because fuck, I hate her. She clamps my nape and holds it in place as she brings her vibrant pink lips to my ear and breathes, "That they fuck divinely..." Bogress then squiggles a duck laugh, and I can't help a weird gasp-laugh fly out of me.

"Anyway, maybe he can satisfy you. If you're reduced to being mate-less—no offense, but it looks like a lasting thing—then maybe he's better to have fun with than a low-rank omega. I mean, who hates weak, right?"

I am an omega...

"Hey, doll."My eyes widen as I feel a hand slide around my waist. They bulge out of their sockets quite frankly when ahardcrotch comes pressing into the small of my back.

Deon, don't hide your boner, whatever you do. Keep it well in evidence. We never know. We could fuck right now, just here, on my parquet!

"Woo, it's already in progress, I see," this skunk says before lifting her hand for a kiss.

I don't want to be here.

I really, reallydon't want to be here.

For a moment, I emulate Fay and look into the distance, trying to haze out, but it doesn't work.

I suck in my cheeks. In lieu of a kiss, Deon cradles his glass in her now forced clasp. "Thanks, love. I need my two hands for this babe."

Feel at home, buddy!Deon pours his basalt jawline down my neck. There's a whisper against it, loud enough for Bogress to hear, "Who's missing a mate, cupcake?" My guess is that his eyes are on her because she's blushing like a middle-grader.

"Eavesdropping, I see," she sneers, too content to sputter what follows. "Donna is. Donna is the forever bachelor of our pack."

A growl rises from my exhale. Yeah, repeat my name twice. Why don't you say it a third time!? Maybe he didn't get your dig!

"What makes you think she needs a mate?" Grated, swirled with harsh smoke, his voice lingers around our ears because Bogress and I stiffen, lips twitching from probably unwelcomed tingles. Mine, in all cases, are rattling.

Deon spins me around, a tail tip curving around my chin, forcing my gaze up.

I gulp.

And forget to breathe.

But I'm also frowning because, what fuckery!

He cocks his head in the same direction his smirk is taking.

It's the direction my eyes are inclined to take because I stupidly mirror his expression. A short, silent simper makes his chest lift so slightly. Soon some teeth show across his jet-black lips. Tsk. What a player. I mean, please.

"Why would Donna need a mate..." his eyes are disgorging their darkness into me, a softness, like a river of black silk, a light in them, far-reaching, "when he's right here." Deon's lips rasp up to my ear, murmuring, "I couldn't help but catch your conversation. Thought I'd pitch in." I can feel his pervy hand dance down my hips, and I mean all the way down! My hand tries to go for a slap or push, though I don't know if it matters because his clasp is so intense that it stays right where it is, low against my thigh. I can't even express my outrage before his tongue slips into my mouth, and I want to bite it. But Deon is stroking my tongue with laps so slow, firm, and tender that a squeeze of my thighs...

Heat spreads up my back, Deon's hand taking a trip up to my nape. It cages it with caring dominance.

I'm molten in his mouth, a scorching tide sweeping through me. His clasp hardens, my neck submitting to whatever turn he desires me to take, my ponytail straining from wolf ears slowly emerging, fur... fucking growing!

Control. Control. Control.

I shut my eyes.

Everything shuts: my eyes, my ears, the world around me...

Deon removes his tongue and whispers once more, "That shut her up." He then takes his glass that is still sitting in Bogress's static hand and walks away as if nothing happened.

A burning sensation jumps to my ass. This demon whipped me?!

Looking back at Bogress, it appears she is in shock, but I swear she can't be more than I am. "He... he's your mate?"

"Fate and love know no boundaries, darling," I purr, trying to play it cool. My heart is making one of those sprints where you need a thirty-minute walk to get it under control.

She huffs and leaves, thank gods.

As I glance discreetly at my hand, I notice the fur is reabsorbing. Here's a hint: we all have secrets; mine is hairy....

I'm still on my feet, and those are glued to the floor. I don't want to swivel them, not even a toe flex. I can feel Deon's stare drilling a hole in my back.

"Hey, you! What's your name?" Hamie...

"Deon. What's yours, pretty one?"

"Ham—"

Right! That's it. I'm leaving. I know it's my party—my flat, my friends—but I'mup the creek without a fucking paddle! I need air!

Gathering some dignity, I revolve and head for the door. Like a horse with blinders, I concentrate on the door's handle and the handle alone.

In an instant, my feet halt. Some gigantic batwing unfolds wide open in front of the door. That's one hell of a roadblock.

I turn and find Deon sexing me with his obsidian eyes. "I don't think so," he rasps, a corner of his mouth maddening me.

"I'm hot," I blabber. "I need some fresh air."

"Come on. Stay and tell me what I can fix you."

That tall radiator has taken ground near the bar. He grabs a bottle and unscrews the cap. While Deon pours some fine grain into a glass, awkward words drift near my ears. "Some like it short, others long... Mine is long."

I'm grating my teeth, and I'm sure I just chipped one.

"How do you want it?"

"How do I want what?" I'm staggering over my words like a babe in the woods.

"You want it hard or soft?"

"Hard...?" I miserably think out loud.

He smirks. "Expected no less."

What is happening?

A glass of jinn soon swirls in his hand, ice cubes tinkling. It's just a drink.

I exhale like a deflating, soundless balloon.

Focus on the ground. Do not look up. Just don't.

Deon's pants, tight at the ankles, loosen up to float large around his thighs, a gun and its holster belted around hisrippedwaist, casually leaning on the right. Deon looks like an assassin lost his way at fashion week and got caught up in a gang midway.

He brought his gun?

"Danger in thehoods, Derek?" I can't believe I managed to say that.High five, Donna. Still, I succeeded in placing the 'Derek'. No way am I showing any interest in him, whatsoever.

"Can never be too safe." I know he's watching me, his deathly glare readying a pouncing strike. He cannot be my mate. He cannot...

"Are you going to take it?" he asks, and I raise my eyes a little. I forgot about the glass. He must think I'm missing a brain cell or two.

"Thank you." I feel goosebumps wash over my body, my fingers the epicenter of this massive catastrophe. My pulse is spiked, my breath rushed. Nails—Oh no!—turning into claws.

His clawed fingers overlap mine, the poor glass being hugged fiercely. There's tension tasing me between my thighs. I need to lean my face over an ice-cold water-filled bucket!

"Hold it tight."

Tight.

"Tighter..." he gently rasps, firming his fingers around mine, the glass well-hinged in our clasp. "Yeah... like that."

"Jinn can be a messy thing when served iced. Don't want to let it slip out of your hands," he adds.

"Yeah..."

"I'm Deon, by the way. Derek is the guy over there, I think..."

"Do we know each other?"

"Not yet."

Again, this voice.

And again, intense heat erupts from my skin like a sauna. And again, my sweating returns. And again, the fur and again... everything!

Glancing to my right, I blow, feeling uncentered.

He sees it because he's trying to catch my gaze, twisting his neck as if to suck it in his. I play the game and align my eyes to meet his.

"So you walk in conversations, kiss anyone at grabs, and then leave. Is that like a signature thing of yours?"

His upturned nose crinkles so slightly, and I pinch my lips because 'Cute' just flashed across my stupid brain.

"We did meet before. At your doormat."

"I don't call thatmeeting someone."

"Are you not happy to see me, love?"

Love? What the fuck?

"Well, it depends. I mean, what's your name already?!" I grind, wanting to mess with him, hoping to show him that I'm unaffected by our conversation. Memorizing names is something at which I usually excel. But tonight, between feeling so hot and flustered and wanting nothing more than to escape my own party, I'm swimming in much-wanted amnesia, yeeting at him hints that I don't want a Deon in my life!

He leans forth, his cocky head snarking at me, "Well, if you insist. Nice to meet you. My name is Deon." His wink hits me so hard that I take a step back.

Clank!

Donna, this is why you're single.

In a hunch, Deon reaches for the broken glass.

Guess we're in this together... Embracing the crouching as well, I help collect the shards and cringe at the fur covering my hands.

Deon grabs one of my roving piteous fluffy hands. "Don't."

Lad, you're pressing all my wrong buttons.

"Don't what?"

I try to yank it away, but all I manage to do from his damn firm grip is tip forth.

My remaining hand lands on the glass, and I wince.

"Donna." He reaches for my trickling hand. My heart, skipping a thousand beats and two infarcts, now blowing up into micro pieces. Why?! I have no fucking clue!

I gasp. I look up. I pop inside.

It's like I'm bathing in his face.

Eagle wing-shaped brows, a span long and thick. A nose ridge, a proper long skiing slope, a slight rise in the middle before curving for the jump of my eyes' life. They land on his parted lips, a glint of snow shining under—enamel a dentist would applaud.

Lips blacker than poison keel toward my hand. These contrast against crimson skin, the hue lethal. I'm gone twice.

This tongue again, he's... "What are you doing!?"

"Wait..." He's kissing my palm, nibbling on my skin as his lapper, as shy as one of a kitten, strokes my cuts.

He's.

Okay.

I guess.

"Here you go."

I look at my wet hand, and my cuts and fur are gone?! I look behind my shoulder out of reflex, out of being seen, out of fear.

Magic!

"Angel's breath." He smiles softly.

He could be arrested for this...

My gaze relaxes on his horns, thick at their birth. One is missing, nothing more than a bulge crowned with gold jewelry. The other is longer and broken in the middle, a fracture indenting its length. I follow the line down. I can't go further as long, dark ebony hair, disheveled with preening effort, overlays on his head.

Once more, he asks, "How do you want that one?"

My drink? "Hard."

He bites his lip and smiles, one eye crinkling, the other closing, and when I see his tongue sliding over his upper teeth, I snuff out. A silver stud is sitting in the middle of it. And here I go, slowly dying thrice.

"Donna, hard and... what else?"

"Ice cubes?"

"You want them missionary style, your legs over my shoulders? Or from behind, choking against my hand?" His black almond eyes thin. The sass matches his face, his voice, and his gaze. And how he whips his eyelashes, my mind is leaning on the gutter side of things, and I can't seem to straighten it.

"Hand...?"

He arches one brow. As if he wasn't expecting me to...

Wait... What did he say?

Oh, for fuck's sake, what did I say?!

"Vym!" Fayra's voice breaks our oh so fucked up conversation, both our heads turning to the entryway as we raise ourselves. "I'm dying for you to meet someone!" She flashes across the room, nearly slams into Bogress, and lands in front of a man.

Confident in his gait, he walks in, sucking in all the air with his presence. Some heads turn to this heavy vibe creeping inside my flat.

Deon grabs my wrist. There's something bothersome about his grasp, a tension I've been unaccustomed to find in him until now.

I stagger in his pull, an odd gasp sneaking out of me as he shoves me behind his back. I don't understand why he behaves this way. So rude. I try to walk back because, who does he think he is? Deon stiffens his arm, turns three-quarters of his five o'clock shadow to me, and grates, "The wolf stays put."

Stays put!? I'm dragged right back behind him, this time a grip cuffing my wrist tight.

Fine!

I still take a peek. Some leather shoes, perfectly polished, stop mere feet from us.Creepy guystiffens, not at me, but at my shielding monster. With a scoffing manner, he brings a curtain of his long dark hair behind his shoulders, silver metallic hair pins plaiting them at a certain height, gifting him a trendy half-crown some punk rockstar could wear. I narrow my eyes, some odd energy crawling up my spine. His eyes are ruby with a crystal shine, sending something visceral twinging inside me. He brushes away the other wild side of threads from his face and smiles a sharpness out of this world.

The vampire.

A piece of glass breaks. I look down and find Deon crushing my late glass's shards in his grasp. Blood the color of dark coffee starts to drip, veining all over his clenched fist. I'm unsure if this is a good thing right now.

A flash of light appears in the vampire's eyes as he turns toward us. The swirls of my head from Deon to Vym make me feel dizzy. Fayra strangles this silence by chirping, "What's your poison gonna be?"

Vym flicks his head toward Deon. "I'll take what he has."

Deon shrugs so slightly, a wave of shoulders flowing down the back I am currently pressed against. "With or without the shards?" he asks coyly, an ironic tune stretching. Above my skin, body heat is increasing at an alarming rate. Deon is not hot stuff; he's literally burning up. My lips part, their dryness reminding me of the temperature rising between us. Something tells me they're not friends.

"Do you know each other?" It's brutal how na?ve Fay is.

Deon's back rumbles against my chest. "Seems so."

"Indeed." As this word slithers out of him, Vym finally unlocks his gaze from us, and thank fuck. Leaning forth, he hooks a lost thread behind Fay's ear, causing my hair to stand on end. "I have a surprise for you, Ms. Jinksovan."