Her legs scissored around my ankles, and she swept my feet out from under me.
“Ack.” Belying all the claims about cats, I hit the floor on my ass and glared at the woman. “What the fuck?”
“Tit for tat, Simba.”
I didn’t ask how she knew that I was a feline shifter. Witches had an affinity for pussies. So did I, once upon a time. But I’d slowed down my skirt chasing because it got old after a while. Who knew? “Name is Oz.”
“As in the fake wizard of?” She bounced up, petite compared to my six and a half feet.
I rose more slowly. “Some say I’ve got a magical touch.” And, yes, there was a shit ton of arrogance in that claim, which meant I deserved the eye roll.
“If I’d known they were letting people bring their pets, I’d have brought my flea circus. They get hungry when I leave them for too long.”
“Hate to break it to you, Glinda, but in this modern age, we all get the shots to prevent infestations.” Which sure beat those nasty-smelling collars Mom used to put on me when I was young.
“Glinda?” She snorted. “Do I look like a good witch to you?”
“Good enough to eat.” Despite her annoying attitude, I couldn’t help but flirt. Mostly because I knew it would irritate her even more.
“Please don’t tell me that horrible line ever works.”
“More often than you’d think.” And what did it say about me that those who fell for it usually didn’t get called again?
“You should try watching where you’re going.”
“But then how would I meet acerbic-tongued witches?” I had to admit I enjoyed baiting her. The spots of color in her cheeks and her flashing eyes did something to me. Kept me talking rather than running for my room to hide, which was where I’d been heading in such a hurry.
“It’s a good thing your kind is immune to my magic.”
“Threats? Already? And here we’ve only just met. Things are moving so fast. Next thing you know, we’ll be throwing cutting insults. Then maybe snarling toe-to-toe.” Face-to-face. Lip to… My gaze dropped to her mouth.
It moved and mouthed, “You are arrogant.”
“Trait of the species.” I couldn’t help but smile.
“I’m pretty sure you have some wolf in your bloodline given you have the manners of an ill-behaved dog.”
“Glinda, I’m hurt.” I clutched my chest. “As if a canine would have such a luxurious mane.”
“I assumed you were reliving your youth as an eighties rocker.”
“I’m not that old.” But I was getting there. On the latter side of my thirties. Still in my prime, but definitely looking to make some lifestyle changes.
“Are you sure about the age thing? Because you seem to be hard of hearing. Move.” She sidestepped to go around me.
Much too entertained and intrigued, I stayed in her path. “Don’t leave, Glinda. We’re just getting to know each other.”
“I know enough. Leave me alone.”
Apparently, I craved abuse. “Why would I do that when we’re so obviously meant to spend time together? I mean, I’m a cat. You’re a witch. Shouldn’t you be asking to pet my fur instead?”
As expected, she snarled. “I hope you fall in a pool of hair removal cream.” She then stalked past me into the giant ballroom currently offering seventies disco and too many polyester lounge suits.
Being a jeans kind of guy who loved rock and roll, I had made my appearance to please my family members, gritted my teeth and lied about loving it, and now readied to leave. I had no interest in dancing, flirting, or drinking. At least not with strangers. I did have an expensive bottle of tequila in my room, so why the fuck was I heading back into that cesspool of noise?
Curiosity. It’d killed my uncle Bert—because someone did let the dog out. It’d maimed Aunt Gertrude—but spared her last life. As for me, I couldn’t picture the witch as the partying type. So what had brought her here?
A straying boyfriend or husband? I’d not noticed a ring on her hand, but these days, that didn’t mean shit. Glinda sure seemed pissed as she stalked through the swaying bodies, ignoring the woman dancing on a table. Not easy given she’d obviously cut the hem on her shorts herself. One side was at least three jagged inches longer. Wearing a t-shirt that read, Best Imp Evah!, little miss lopsided Daisy dukes swayed to the beat.
The imp flung her hands and beckoned a massive dude, who regarded her with a scowl and grumbled, “Get down from there. We don’t have time for this.”
“There is always time to dance to Staying Alive.” Said with a wink.
Passing the arguing couple, I kept my gaze on the witch. She ignored the trays of booze circling around. Didn’t twitch one hip in response to the gyrating beat. Ignored the interested stares that undressed her and raised the hairs on my body.
As if I cared who ogled Glinda. I should warn them to stay away from the prickly witch. Everyone knew they were bad news, and yet, I still followed. She seemed to have a destination in mind. She marched right into a corner where a drunken pirate, who was channeling his inner Johnny Depp, sat slumped, waving around a pitcher of ale while singing off-key.
“Oye, she had a nice pair of titties, a nice pair of titties indeed. And when I put my face between them,”—the word rose in pitch—“I suffocated nice as you pleeeeeeasee.” The ditty ended with a sip.
The witch stopped in front of the drunken pirate and held out an imperious hand. “Give it back.”
I had to strain to hear.
The pirate leered, a gold tooth gleaming. “I’ll give you wherever you like, me beauty.”
“Must you be so disgusting?”
“You say that now, yet once you get a ride on my peg leg, you’ll be begging for more.” The pirate gyrated on the floor, no doubt thinking he was sexy. He failed.
It made me ashamed for men everywhere.
“Doubtful.” The witch wasn’t seduced either. She waggled her fingers and turned the jug of ale into a celery stick, which caused the pirate to stand and bluster as he waved it in her face and yelled at her.
“Bloody hell, woman. Give me back my grog.”
“Only once you hand it over.”
The pirate thrust his hips. “You want it, grab it.”
She crossed her arms and remained unimpressed. “Don’t test me, pirate.”
“The name is Gaston. You’ve probably heard of me. Scourge of the seas. Marauder extraordinaire.”
“No, you’re not.” Glinda snapped her fingers. Suddenly, the pirate was clean-shaven, hair close-cut, and wearing a suit.
“What did you do?” the pirate screeched, slapping at his body, his expression twisted in horror.
“You don’t deserve the title the scourge of the seas, yuppy.” Uttered with pure disdain.
“You bitch!” The pirate-turned-businessman lunged for the witch, and that’s when my inner kitty nudged and rumbled, Can we play?
Hell yeah, we can.
4
Jane: I will not marry my father.
Irritation threatened to erupt in me. The damned buccaneer wouldn’t hand over my locket. And yet, I knew he had it. I could feel the magic tingling in me. Drawing me to this…this…disgusting excuse of a man.