Page 10 of Property of Crypt Keeper

Because of that, I winced as I stepped onto the cool marble of the hallway and into the bathroom. After starting the shower, I glanced at my reflection. “Damn.”

The wolf had done a number on me. Two black eyes, scrapes, bite marks, and bruises galore stared back at me in the mirror. Granted, they were quickly fading, but since I hadn’t fucked that dude in the elevator, I was having to heal slower. I was also hungry.

When a demon didn’t keep themselves at one hundred percent, their bodies became more human-like. Healing slower, hunger, needing sleep—all inconveniences of denying my inherent needs.

“Fuck it,” I muttered and turned away from my shocking reflection to climb into the shower. The hot water poured over me and I sighed in relief. Slowly, I could feel my muscles unknotting and relaxing. Cupping my full tits, I pinched my nipples. My head fell back and the water sluiced over my face and down my body.

Need washed over me as if it followed the trails of the shower. Sliding one hand down my stomach and between my legs, I hummed. Two fingers dipped into my slit and I moaned. As I continued to finger myself, I circled the heel of my hand over my aching clit. My breath came in gasps, and I tried to imagine the man from the elevator.

Instead, a tall, green and gold-eyed man filled my head. I imagined those teeth digging into my skin in ways that weren’t attached to battle. At least not the kind we had last night. In my mind, his rough hands stroked and gripped my bare skin in passion instead of rage.

Clear as day, I saw him bend me over, grab my hair in one meaty fist, and ram his rock-hard cock into my wet pussy. My hand moved faster as I whimpered at the visions playing through my head. The orgasm caught me by surprise in its explosiveness. I cried out as warm liquid poured over my hand that wasn’t water from the shower. My blood pumped faster and my wounds knit, bruising dispersed.

Afterward, I stood there with shaking knees as my back rested against the smooth marble of the shower wall. “What the actual fuck was that?”

I wasn’t supposed to be fucking the wolf; I was supposed to be killing him.

Mind reeling, I shut off the water, dried off, dressed, and went in search of food. As I exited the Ritz-Carlton, I took a right. The Ruby Slipper was straight ahead on the corner of Canal Street and Burgundy Street. Feeling discombobulated, I crossed the street and practically burst through the door.

There were probably two groups of people waiting for seats. “Is it okay if I sit at the bar?” I asked the hostess at the red and black hostess stand. “It’s just me.”

She glanced over her shoulder at the bar, then back to me. “Of course.”

I quickly took the three steps up into the restaurant and took a seat at the right side of the L-shaped bar. I rested my elbows on the thick wood top and grinned at the way the height of the bar made me feel a bit like a small child, even with the bar-height stools. I wasn’t a short woman, either.

Around me was the loud hum of conversation. If I wanted to, I could’ve dropped into any of the fifty conversations going on around me. Instead, I blocked it out and only picked up little hints of each one. Overhead, an old 80s hit played, followed by Miley Cyrus belting out something about being able to love herself better. It was hard to hear all the words over the din of voices, but I knew the song.

The bartender approached with a bright smile. She was tall, pretty in that girl-next-door way, with her dark brown hair in a bun to keep it out of the way. I tried not to grin when I read “MIMOSAS made me do it” on the heather-purple T-shirt she wore under her short black jacket.

“Hello, would you like a menu?” she asked with typical southern friendliness.

“Please.”

“What can I get you to start?” she asked as she set the laminated menu in front of me.

“Peach Bellini,” I replied without hesitation. I’d already seen it on the blackboard drink list above the bar.

“Of course. Do you need a few minutes to look over the menu?” she asked.

I glanced down, flipped it over, and made my selection. I didn’t really care what it was, I simply needed food because I hadn’t fueled my body in my preferred manner.

“I’ll get that put in for you right away.” She left to put in my order and was quickly back. I watched as she made my drink and set it in front of me.

As I waited for the food, I sipped my drink and watched her bustle from customer to customer. For a random Tuesday, it was a hopping place.

The entire time, she efficiently served each person with a smile. She was casually dressed in black leggings and black flats, yet still pulled off an incredibly professional air. Though the poor girl should’ve been wearing tennis shoes to keep up with all the running around she was doing.

For several minutes, I absently watched her flit from person to person wondering if her feet hurt by the end of her shift. Through it all, she found time to check on me innumerable times.

When my food was set before me, I snapped out of it and inhaled the meal as if it was my last. Then, as Paperback Writer played over the speakers, I washed it down with the last of my second peach Bellini that was mmmm…. chef’s kiss.

“Can I get you anything else?” she asked. I glanced at the chalkboard-style sign behind her that boasted “Eye-Opening Cocktails,” considering trying the Irish coffee.

“No, thank you. I just need to close out my tab…” I paused, waiting for her to say her name.

“Amber. My name is Amber,” she filled in with her infectious smile, which I returned.

“Nice to meet you, Amber. Thank you for everything. It was fantastic.”