Demon Accords 10: Rogues by John Conroe Read Free Book Online Page A

thing. 
     
    So cheeky, she thought. 
     
    Plus, they all know me.  They usually come running back to check on me as I blunder about in the woods.  I can see pretty well, though.  New spell I worked out for Wytch War.  Call it Wolf vision.  Infrared. Uses a WW eyelash.
     
    She wanted to ask whose eyelash he was using for the spell.  Instead, she asked another important question. So if you were here, you’d go out with me while I was running?
     
    Yup.  I’d wander about while you ran down moose and small mammoths, he responded.
     
    Ummm.  Mammoth would taste good about now, she wrote.
     
    Read they found a frozen one in Alaska.  Maybe we could snag you a couple of steaks?
     
    Wiseass.
     
    Well, Wade’s talking.  I better go.  CALL or TEXT if you NEED anything.
     
    Yes dad, she wrote, knowing he’d absolutely hate that title.
     
    As long as you admit to who’s your daddy.  Sorry, couldn’t resist.
     
    Just stop.  And you were doing so well.  Alright, pay attention to Wade.  Bye.
     
    Bye, Stacia.

Chapter 5
     
    The dining room smelled delicious.  Beef and gravy scents made her stomach rumble.  She also smelled the potatoes, two kinds of scotch, a craft beer (heavy on the hops), cigar smoke from the guy reentering the building, and man smell.  Lots of man smell.  Her senses were all heightened, even more than usual, the pull of the newly risen moon outside bringing her wolf close to the surface. 
     
    Speaking of which, her inner beast was happy, an emotion that didn’t usually fit on a moon-filled night.  Somehow, conversations with Declan seemed to soothe the savage creature inside her. No one else had that effect. Uncomfortable with that thought, she took in the big room and its inhabitants as she quietly made her way down the stairs.
     
    Shorty and the lady from the kitchen were bringing platters of food over to just one of the big round tables, while the guests wandered over and pulled out chairs.
     
    Each of the big round tables could hold at least eight, but the lodge appeared to hold just the five men she’d noticed on the way in.  The two from the football game were already sitting down, but the three card players were just getting settled when she approached the table. 
     
    “Lisa, count all your fingers and toes before sitting down with this group.  They bark a lot and some even bite,” Shorty growled as he settled a bowl of mashed potatoes next to a platter of medium rare roast beef on a giant lazy Susan turntable.  She pulled her eyes away from the meat and nodded at the men.
     
    There were two open spots left at the table, and she grabbed one.  The man on her left was one of the card sharks and she put him at a lean sixty or so, with a bald head rimmed with short, shorn grey hair.  He put out a hand.  “Hutch Lenzel,” he said.
     
    “Lisa Renault,” she replied.  The man to Hutch’s left leaned around, slightly younger and thirty pounds heavier.  “Carl Rose.”  She shook his hand as well.  Next to Carl was the youngest of the crowd, mid-thirties, lean and muscled like an endurance athlete and even more handsome then her first impression. Dark brown eyes, black hair, white teeth, and a skin tone that spoke of a Latin heritage.  “Kyle Garcia,” he said with a roguish smile.  She pegged him as the group’s Lothario.  In any group of three or more men, there always seemed to be at least one womanizer, if not more.  Kyle’s practiced smile and twinkling eyes advertised more than just a polite welcome.  She was immediately glad he was sitting three seats away.
     
    Next to Kyle and almost directly across from her was one of the football spectators.  Tall and ginger-haired, he waved hello, as the distance across the table was too far for hand shaking.  “Rodney Allen,” he said.  The man on his left was closer and leaned forward to shake hands.  “Dustin Wilcox.”  He was short and round-faced, with thinning brown hair.
     
    Shorty