Drinking Demons Read online

  Drinking Demons

  Kat Bostick

  Drinking Demons Copyright © 2020 Kat Bostick

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be reproduced in any manner without written permission, except as permitted by U.S. copyright law.

  For permissions visit: www.katbostick.com

  This book is a work of fiction. The names, characters, and incidents portrayed in it are products of the author’s imagination or have been used fictitiously and are not to be construed as real. Any resemblance to persons, living or dead, actual events, locale or organization is entirely coincidental. The author does not have any control over and does not assume any responsibility for third-party websites or their content.

  ISBN 978-1-7350097-2-8 (eBook Edition)

  Book Cover Design by Tara Spruit

  For everyone who is battling their demons. May you conquer them all.

  Chapter 1

  Mari

  “I’m going to kill him. I’m going to freaking kill him!” Mari clutched the empty cake stand in a white knuckle grip and bellowed, “Cash, get your hairy ass in here! Now!”

  “I’d pay to see that.” Cora drawled from the dining table, not bothering to look up from her home décor magazine.

  “Cash!”

  “What’s all the yelling?” Cash prowled into the kitchen, unhurried, a confident smirk plastered on his face. He stopped on the opposite side of the granite island from Mari. Smart move on his part. Distance might be the only thing to save him from her wrath.

  “You got last words? Speak ‘em. I’m going to kill you.”

  “Many have tried and failed before you, little witch.” He gestured to the jagged white scars that ran across his throat. They were the worst of a collection of scars his skin bore. There was a mirthful glitter in his frosty blue eyes that told Mari he wasn’t the slightest bit bothered by his previous brushes with death. Cash stood more than a foot taller than her five foot seven inches and was probably double her width or more. It wasn’t exactly a fair fight if she tried to add to those marks. “What are you going to do? Make butterflies come out of my mouth?”

  “Or maybe make vines grow out your gut.” Cora suggested flatly, licking a finger and sticking it to the page before flipping it with a loud crinkle.

  “I’m feeling awfully creative this morning. I’m sure I can find more than one way to make you bleed.”

  Despite her aggressive show, Mari was only half angry. After the last two times, she expected Cash to sabotage her again. She’d planned to catch him in the act—preferably before the act—but somehow, he slipped past her defenses. So, the only real solution was to kill him. Or at least, make enough of an effort that he took her threats seriously next time.

  Living in a house with a pack of werewolves had been a terrible influence on her the past few months. Expressing emotions in theatrical and sometimes violent displays was socially acceptable in Charlie Dunne’s family. Not only that, it was expected. Your brother wasn’t going to stop stealing pancakes off your plate—or devouring the beautiful birthday cake you baked—if you didn’t fling yourself across the table and punch his lights out. A meal was uneventful and boring if there wasn’t a plate or a fist thrown.

  Mari hadn’t decided if it was strictly a werewolf thing or if it was the inevitable outcome in a house populated by bachelors with too much time on their hands. Maybe a messy combination of both.

  Cash’s full lips stretched wide, his black beard framing an impish grin that always meant trouble. “Try me, Sabrina.” Damn, she should never have introduced them to television.

  The bluster became battle as Mari chucked the crystal cake stand at him. He leapt out of the way with far too much ease. Werewolf reflexes were above average. Mari knew that, which was why she decided her next projectile was defensible. Cash could dodge it. Probably.

  She threw the kitchen knife with a flick of her wrist, just like Clementine taught her. Since she was born a werewolf and not bitten, Clem had a slight disadvantage. She was much stronger than the average human but couldn’t shapeshift like other werewolves and thus had fewer defenses. That was why, she explained to Mari during her first month with the pack, she’d become an exceptional marksman. Markswoman? And an expert at knife throwing and just about any other pointy projectile that could kill someone.

  Mari was more than a little shocked when Clem invited her out on the property to “blow off steam” and discovered the she-wolf waiting for her with a shotgun in hand. They blew off steam, alright. Lots of glass bottles too. During that afternoon, Clem offered to teach Mari some of her more useful skills. She had an excellent set of throwing knives, custom made, and Mari was thoroughly enjoying the lessons. Like Clem, she had far less physical advantage than a werewolf, so it was good to have a way to defend herself from them.

  Or murder them when they pissed her off.

  An eight inch chef’s knife was not the same as a throwing knife, unfortunately. It flew across the island at least a foot away from Cash, who didn’t bother moving. Mari huffed when the knife hit the stone floor with a clink.

  Not one to back down from a fight, she slid another knife out of the block and flung it wildly. Cocky and overconfident, he dodged too slow this time. Probably because he hadn’t realized she was genuinely trying to hit him. A surprised yelp and an ooze of red on his bicep told Mari that she hit her target. Well, grazed him.

  Cash cursed, more stunned than hurt. He hadn’t expected Mari to actually hit him, but he wasn’t upset that she did. Everything was a game to him.

  This time she yanked the nearest drawer open and pulled out a butcher’s knife the length of her forearm. It was heavy. Cash narrowed his eyes. A challenge. By now Cora was roaring with laughter, her article on fighting seasonal blues with house plants forgotten. Mari tilted her arm back in preparation for a throw when a hand gripped her wrist. It wasn’t hard enough to break the bone, but it would definitely leave a bruise. Her hand released the knife involuntarily as Charlie pressed his fingertips into the tendons of her wrist.

  “Enough.” His snarl travelled to his brow, furrowing it as his gaze fell on his son. “Cash!”

  “What did I do? She’s throwing knives!”

  “She’s a child.” Charlie answered. “You’re old enough to know better, by a good many decades.”

  Cash dipped his head and avoided his father’s eyes. That did little to quell Mari’s anger. “Three times, Cash? You cannot claim a lack of self-control three Goddamn times!”

  “I was hungry!”

  “You have four fridges full of food!”

  “Yeah but none of them are stocked with cake.” That mischievous grin made a comeback.

  Charlie released Mari, assuming she would actually relent. As if. She wrapped her fingers around the hilt of the butcher’s knife and tossed it before the alpha could stop her. He gripped the back of her neck and pushed her face down toward the counter like a scolded puppy. She didn’t see where the knife landed but Cash let out another yelp and she could only hope it was because she chopped off a few of his toes.

  “I said enough!” Charlie hovered behind Mari in case she decided to go for another projectile. There were a lot of sharp objects in her reach.

  “Sorry.” Mari mumbled even though she wasn’t.

  “Don’t lie to your alpha, she-devil.” Cora chided, raising her magazine once more to cover her smirk.

  He’s not my alpha, Mari refrained from saying. Technically, Charlie was her alpha. By choosing to stay with the pack, she was a member and thus under his rule as much as the rest of them. She still wasn’t sure how to feel about that. Up until now, she hadn’t realized how big she was on democracy. Why did Charlie get to be king?

  “I love my first born and I would appreciate i
t if you didn’t dismember him, witch.” The anger had already disappeared and there was an amused smile warming his face. Sometimes Mari got the impression that Charlie was proud when she acted out. Werewolves were a bunch of twisted, dysfunctional monsters. “Cash, clean up this mess. When you’re done you can buy Mari a new cake.”

  “Buy me a new cake? You can’t buy a cake like that. It was rosewater and vanilla. The rosewater was homemade!” Mari crossed her arms and pouted.

  “Okay—”

  “Want to know what the last one was? Lavender and chamomile, both of which are impossible to find out here. You don’t exactly have a bulk herb section at The Post.”

  The only grocery store Humble Springs had was hardly that. Humble Springs Trading Post, affectionately known as The Post, was little more than a convenience store. They had a bakery and a produce section but compared to an actual grocery store, they were both a joke. Most residents ordered what they couldn’t find at The Post online or bought several months of supplies in Hibbing before winter rolled around, knowing they would be SOL if they wanted anything besides canned beef stew and instant coffee.

  “Don’t even get me started on the first cake. That one was a masterpiece. I cried over that stupid cake! It had plum blossoms and I made this incredible white chocolate ganache filling...” Cash was nodding eagerly as Mari described each cake. She flipped him a middle finger and yelled, “I can’t redo that cake! There are no more flowers on the plum trees!”

  Cash wiped blood from his bicep. “Can’t you just magic more flowers onto one?”

  “God, you’d think someone as old and crotchety as you would have learned not to be an idiot by now.”

  “Crotchety?” Charlie raised his eyebrows.

  “Sorry.” Mari mumbled again. She sort of meant it this time.

  “Cash—” Charlie tried to begin another sentence.

  “I know, I know. I’m old enough to know better.”

  “And here I thought I was alpha of a ferocious pack of werewolves, not counselor at a center for juvenile delinquents.” Charlie shook his head and padded over to the table to take a seat next to Cora.

  Cora dropped her magazine and leaned over to kiss his cheek. “One in the same, sugar.”

  “Mari?” The backdoor flew open and Jasper charged in, barefoot and naked but for a pair of sagging cargo shorts that looked like they’d been sitting in the snow for much longer than a day. His chest and face were glistening with sweat and his already pale complexion was almost translucent.

  Father Above, this just kept getting messier. Mari should have known better than to start shouting and throwing things while Jasper was out of the house. At the first hint of her raised voice he was bound to come running back to needlessly defend her. To say he’d been clingy lately would be an understatement. Well, not clingy so much as…hovering? Yup, that was it. Jasper helicoptered around her constantly.

  The only exception was when he went outside to change. That was another thing he was doing a hell of a lot of lately. Paradise was experiencing some turbulence, to say the least.

  “Hold on, Jas.” Mari put up a hand but it was too late. His feet crunched over the explosion of shattered crystal, making her wince. “Please tell me you didn’t rush your change because you heard me yelling.”

  “Yes, please tell us that’s not what you did.” Charlie echoed.

  “I didn’t.” Jasper lied, his awkward shrug giving him away.

  “Jasper, you can’t do that.” He came around the kitchen island, bumping his shoulder against Cash in a way that was more aggressive than brotherly. Mari’s admonishment went unheard as Jasper embraced her with feverishly warm arms. This was the third time this week he’d come barreling through the snow, ready to rip someone apart for her. It might be romantic if it wasn’t patronizing. And if the people he was intent on ripping apart weren’t his own family.

  “I can.” The “duh” was unspoken.

  “She’s right. You need to stop rushing your change. It leaves you weak.” Charlie tapped a page in Cora’s magazine and asked, “How much is the charcoal? It would go nicely with that red chaise, don’t you think?”

  Unbidden, Mari thought, It wouldn’t leave him weak if I were casting on him. Rude. It was very rude of her brain to go there. If Jasper wanted to change every day, that was his call. She wasn’t obligated to use witchcraft to aid him in his self-destructive behavior. Even if it would probably keep him from doing it as often and be good practice for her. Two birds. Two stupid birds that she was going to let live another day.

  Her practice was only theoretical now. Clem was helping her translate the grimoires and legacies that Lyse left behind, but Mari wasn’t planning to utilize any of the spells they discovered. There had been no casting for her since the hunter’s moon. She couldn’t risk it.

  Jasper pressed his nose into Mari’s scalp and inhaled before answering, “I have to help Mari kill Cash. That is urgent, is it not?”

  “Like either of you could take me.” Cash swept a spray of crystal into his pile with a violent swing.

  “There will be no killing of anyone under my roof.” Charlie sighed.

  “Anyone?” Cora put her magazine down again and cocked her head. Mari wondered if there was a story that she should ask about. There was a lot she still didn’t know about her new roommates.

  “Anyone in this pack.” He corrected. “We don’t kill our pack mates. We don’t throw knives at them.”

  “Obviously that’s not true.” Mari said out of the corner of her mouth.

  An icy gaze pinned her, carrying with it the weight of Charlie’s judgement and ire. “What was that, Mari?”

  “Yes, sir. Roger that.” She twisted to salute the alpha. Jasper took her shoulders and turned her back to him. Stifling her irritated sigh, she carefully raked her fingers through his hair and tied his dark red locks loosely into a bun with a hairband from her wrist. He was going to need another haircut soon. It was already almost at his shoulders again. Did werewolf hair grow faster than human hair? Another of many questions to ask Clem.

  “Did you at least hit him?” Jasper whispered.

  She wiggled two fingers and mouthed, “Twice.”

  “I don’t see why you care so much about the stupid cake anyway.” Cash said into the now silent room. “He doesn’t even like cake! He barely eats anything that didn’t come off an animal.”

  Mari stuck her tongue out at Jasper’s pack brother. Cash was technically her pack brother now too, but she didn’t feel comfortable thinking of it that way. She wasn’t a fixture in this family yet, hadn’t quite shaken the feeling that she was an outsider looking in. “It’s a birthday tradition. My favorite birthday tradition.” She retracted her tongue and pouted at Jasper. “He ate your birthday cake. Again.”

  “I’ll rip open his belly and retrieve it for you.” Werewolves had a dark sense of humor.

  “No ripping or stabbing! Cora, help Mari bake a new cake. Cash, keep your thieving hands off of it until the party. Sweet mother of Christ.” Charlie rubbed a hand across his face.

  “Oh, I just remembered I have a nail appointment. Sorry sugar, she-devil is on her own.” Cora tossed her magazine on the table in front of Charlie and pushed back her chair.

  Mari was beginning to think of her like a cat. Some days Cora was her friend—especially when offered food—and some days she found Mari boring, irritating, or a combination of the two. At least she wasn’t flat out rude. Usually.

  “It’s going to be a miracle if I can have a cake cooled and frosted before dinner.” Mari eyed the knife block over Jasper’s shoulder.

  Sensing that the tension wasn’t going to let up, Jasper took her by the hand and guided her up to their room. They’d been living in the same room—as opposed to when she was living across the hall—for a little over a month. It still felt strange whenever he called it theirs. She was fully moved in—though, to be fair, Jasper moved her in while she was unconscious after being stabbed by another witch, so she didn�
�t really get a say—but it didn’t feel like it belonged to both of them. It was more like Mari lived in Jasper’s room.

  It would help if she had more than just her clothes to claim space as her own. Even those were mostly new, foreign fabrics and unscathed jeans that added to the out of place feeling that she grappled with daily. She dreamed of putting some of her favorite books on the shelf or hanging that photograph from the day Gran took her and Samuel to pick dandelions when she was seven.

  The problem was, those things were gone. Every material possession that she had, every keepsake, every mismatched sock that she didn’t have the heart to throw away, everything was lost in a cloud of smoke when her house burned down.

  Kind of hard to settle into a new space after that. Somehow it felt temporary. Even her relationship with Jasper—though she wouldn’t admit this to him—felt impermanent, like it was only one metaphorical—or literal—fire away from vanishing into ash. The night she made her choice to join the pack, she felt resolve, so sure of what she wanted and where she belonged.

  That certainty was short-lived. Mari didn’t know why she expected different. After what happened with Lyse she was tainted. A shroud of darkness followed her wherever she went, muting her joy, shadowing any good that she did. Self-loathing was a frequent companion. How could she not hate herself after killing someone, regardless of whether or not that someone meant her harm?

  With Lyse gone, Mari thought they could wrap the entire situation in a neat little package and put it behind them. Dust her hands off and be rid of it. Instead, she was haunted by guilt and nightmares. The questions were ceaseless. What if there was another way? Had she tried hard enough to save Lyse, to help her see the light? Could she have avoided the bloody battle between witch and wolf, the one that left most of Lyses’ coven dead, if she’d refused her heart and left the pack instead of staying?

  That last question, she knew, was more about the uncertainty in her relationship than it was about remorse. She chose Jasper and Jasper chose her, but she couldn’t trust the finality of that. Couldn’t feel deserving of that choice. Didn’t know if she would ever truly fit here or if she would always have one foot in each world.