Mystic Jive: Hand of Fate - Book Four

Mystic Jive: Hand of Fate - Book Four by Sharon Joss Read Free Book Online

Book: Mystic Jive: Hand of Fate - Book Four by Sharon Joss Read Free Book Online
Authors: Sharon Joss
triple-stepped, triple-step, rock-stepped around the room, and the muscle memory that Mr. Maestro had been telling us about for the past several weeks kicked in—I didn’t even need to think about what I was doing. I followed Rhys’s every move, and his steps mirrored mine. I loved the sensation of sliding my hands across his rock-hard stomach and cupping his great ass. His hands were bold—stroking my thighs, my hips, and the small of my back. He threw me away and caught me—by my fingers, my waist, and neck. The beat of the drums thrummed in our bones until that was all there was. The rest of the class faded away, and it was just me and Rhys and the beat and the heat and a spark between us that hadn’t been there before.
    When the music stopped, it caught us both by surprise. Even Mr. Maestro joined into the applause, saying, “And that, ladies and gentlemen, is how it’s done.”
     
     

 
     
    CHAPTER 6
     
    THURSDAY NIGHT WAS Henri’s bon voyage party at Growlers Pizza, a werewolf joint out on Five Mile Road in Penfield. Even by werewolf standards, the bar was a dive, but they did allow vampires, and the pizza was supposed to be good.
    The pub was a long, low brick building with a bright green door—utterly lacking any sort of character. The parking lot was already full, so Rhys parked the truck right along Five Mile, right behind Lou’s white Subaru. We dodged heavy highway traffic crossing Five Mile, arriving at the restaurant a little breathless.
    The scent of pizza and beer greeted us at the door, along with the usual din of the jukebox, pinball machines, and the too-loud banter of customers. Henri, Juno Rockover, Ray Mackie, Mike Weyland and the rest of the Rogues and their roadies were already seated at a long table set up against the back wall. Lou was there, and I recognized Herman the German, and Dr. Jensen, the crypto-vet.
    “Mattie, Rhys, over here!” Henri waved us over. He was positively exuberant. Even the vamps seemed in good spirits. The vamps didn’t eat or drink, but that didn’t seem to stop them from enjoying themselves. You haven’t lived until you’ve seen a roomful of vamps wearing silly paper crowns.
    Winters in upstate New York are brutal, and a lot of local vamps spend their winters in Florida. Juno had rented a big house for the band in Clearwater. It was going to be like one big winter-long party, and Henri was looking forward to his first big adventure. Rhys had warned me that all new djenies go through long phases of wanderlust, and that I shouldn’t try to change his mind about leaving. After seeing how happy he was in his relationship with Juno, I didn’t have the heart to do anything but wish him good luck.
    The waitress brought over another large pepperoni, still hot from the oven, and set it down right in front of me. Before Lou could grab it, I snagged the first slice--the gooey cheese strings dragged all the way to my plate. Thin crust, my favorite.
    A sudden hush fell over the bar. The jukebox went silent. Two women stood in the entrance, looking stiff and out of place. Both were dressed in jeans, Buffalo Bills team jackets, and heavy steel-toed boots. The taller of the two wore her long brown hair bound up in a topknot, while the shorter sported a spiky blue Mohawk and a dozen or more silver rings pierced the edge of each ear.
    They stared at our table with open hostility. Belinda the waitress looked terrified. Everyone at the table seemed just as mystified as me.
    A low rumble sounded from the guys shooting pool. One of the pool players began to boo, and the other patrons picked it up, until the sound rose to a howl.
    Kevin, the bartender yelled, “Enough!” The howling stopped immediately and rowdies quieted. He grabbed a baseball bat from behind the bar and stalked toward the women.
    “We don’t serve your kind here,” he said. He wasn’t shouting, but in the dead quiet of the bar, his voice carried.
    “Good, ‘cause we sure as hell didn’t come for

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