I'll Be Damned (Anna Wolfe Series) (40 page)

"Hey guys," I say cheerfully.

Kristy throws me a sneer and Roman's insincere smile never touches his eyes.

"Whoa," I respond jokingly. "What's wrong?"

Roman turns his head, facing the wall, so I look at Kristy expectantly. She sighs before opening her mouth. "Roman just updated me on everything, including the ball," she says, sounding annoyed.

I clear my throat, searching for the correct words to defuse the impending disagreement. "Kristy, I know it sounds crazy..."

"Crazy? No, fighting Micah is crazy... going to a ball with hundreds of magical people or whatever is suicide, Anna!" she screams.

"Kristy, it's our only chance. Janie might be there! I need to go... we need to go... and try to recruit people who are willing to fight alongside us. If we don't, Micah will never stop coming after me. He's probably already planning how to kidnap me as we speak," I answer, shivering at my statement. Kristy rolls her eyes. We both know I'm right, but fearing something bad will happen, she won't admit it. "Kris, I know it may seem bad, but unfortunately, it's a necessary evil. Besides, my progress in training has been exceptional, right, Roman?" I add, burning my eyes into the back of his head. It figures the man who stirs up the trouble would also shy away from it.

"That's what I was trying to explain to her, but she clearly doesn't want to listen to me," he responds arrogantly, never bothering to turn around.

"Kristy, trust me."

"Fine, but I'm going too," she demands. “Roman will keep an eye on me.”

"No way!" She can’t put her life in danger too. Having to get Janie back is bad enough.

Roman spins on his stool, finally facing us. "It's fine, Anna. I can keep an eye on her,” he adds, raising his eyebrow, daring me to challenge him.

I groan. "Fine, but you better watch her, you hear me?" I growl. "If anything happens to her or Janie, I'll kill you, Roman!" I finish, pointing my finger at him.

He responds to my threat with a playful grin. We both know I could never kill him, but at least, he's not being arrogant about it... yet. I find Martello and order a drink. I tell him to give me something strong, and after a few raised eyebrows, pointed fingers, and a lecture, he saunters off to get it. I turn around, leaning my elbows on the bar. Where did Valen vanish to? I survey the crowd nervously. He never disappears without a word. Just when I am ready to plow through everyone to find him, a swarm of people disperse from one another. There he is, talking to a woman - a beautiful woman. Her blond hair glints in every refraction of light as it drapes perfectly over her narrow shoulders. Her chest is nearly popping out of her white, slinky, tank top that ends above her belly button. Her little waist is barely covered by her low-rise skinny jeans. I grumble. Their matching smiles show that they recognize each other. I may be drunk, but I'm not blind. They undeniably share a meaningful history.

She lightly caresses his arm in a loving way. Tears spring in my eyes, and this time, I can't stop them. I stare at Valen, hoping he can feel my gaze slicing into him. The room begins to spin, denying me the simple pleasure of breathing. I clasp my throat, sprinting towards the door. I hear someone calling my name, but I don't care. I've been so naive with everything. I run outside, not sure of where I'm going. My legs carry me with torment as I sprint down River Street in an emotional haze. People turn to watch, debating on whether or not they should offer help, but all of them turn away. Thousands of tears collect in my eyes, blurring my vision as they fall. I rest at the opposite end of River Street, when my legs threaten to collapse. I bend over, gasping for air. I stroll to the only bench in the area and throw myself on it. Darkness blankets the small spot around me, warning me not to stay long. I ignore it, pleading for it to hide me instead. I cross my arms over my chest and pout. Yes, I pout like a child. I'm fully aware I'm throwing an emotional temper tantrum, but I can't help it. Loud footsteps approach as I slink further back into the darkness.

"Anna, you can't hide in the shadows. I can see you," Roman says.

The thought of him being the only person to come after me angers me more. Where is Kristy? She must know I’m upset. He slides next to me, uninvited, leaving ample room between us.

"So I guess you saw Brielle," he states nonchalantly. 

Of course, her name is just as pretty as she is. I snort like a jealous teenager. Yeah, I saw her all right. I'm hoping my silence is a hint.

"Quit acting like a child," he grins.

I snap my neck, glaring at him. I just want a few minutes to soak in my newfound immaturity, not be called out on it. Men really have no idea how women's minds work. "Roman, I don't want to hear it," I retort rudely.

"Anna, you shouldn't let her bother you; they're just friends," he replies innocently.

Yeah, they look friendly all right. Does he think I’m an idiot? That I didn't see the way she looked at him? I have an aversion to her already.

“I’m fine,” I lie. My foot lightly glides on the well-trodden grass below. Looks like I’m not the only one who sat here, deliberately flattening it while feeling distraught. “He can date whomever he wants. It's just a shock, I guess,” I say, clamming up.

Roman tilts himself towards me. “Well, he's not dating her,” he responds. “She's an old girlfriend… centuries old,” he corrects himself. “Definitely someone I’d like to never see again,” he finishes.

The idea of Valen even having a girlfriend annoys me. I’m no different than every other woman in the world who wants to believe she’s a man’s first love. Not that I think Valen ever loved or loves me, but even the slightest indication of a romantic past leaves a rotten taste in my mouth. I sigh inwardly. Now Roman thinks I’m just a groveling puppy dog. “Even still, I have no room to judge,” I say, standing. “He can do whatever he wants, with whomever he wants,” I add dismissively.

Roman stands with me and we begin walking back to Wet Willies. I attempt to squash my rotten mood by focusing on the town’s beauty. At night, Savannah becomes itself again. Live oaks hover over their tall shadows as their branches gracefully tickle the ground below them. Looming Victorian homes litter the squares that history so frequently visits. Dim streetlights cast a dull glow on the world below them, illuminating the enduring beauty. Reflections of buildings sparkle on the burly river, mirroring the charming town that has flourished since the cotton industry, and managed to remain stuck in time. I’ve always wanted to live during the Victorian era with all the glamorous clothing, manners and homes. I think that is what pulls me so strongly towards this city. I didn't realize how well this period camouflaged the depression and struggles of its time. Cholera, typhoid, dysentery, overcrowding and bad hygiene were the benchmarks of everyday life then. I cringe, thinking of the horrid conditions. Like most aspects in my life, I have a bad habit of romanticizing piles of shit. I don’t do this on purpose, but my over-the-top optimism often victimizes me. I laugh at the level of my stupidity. Lost in thought, I don’t notice Roman halting in front of the Shrimp Factory restaurant.

“What are you doing?” I ask, pointing to the red-and-white-striped banners hanging over the windows. “Not really hungry,” I joke.

“Good, because neither am I,” he replies, holding the door open for me.

I walk inside, stopping in front of the podium where a cute, perky, blond waitress is sitting. Why are blonds always cute and perky? I scowl, recognizing I’m still acting like a brat. I feel a strong hand on my elbow, gently guiding me away from her and towards the bar. I wonder if he's aware of my irrational prickliness.

“Two Artillery Punches please,” Roman requests, slowly sitting on a wooden bar stool.

“Artillery Punch?” I look at him, confused. I have no idea what he ordered, but it doesn't stop me from occupying the stool next to him.

“You never had one of these?” he inquires.

“No,” I utter, unexpectedly embarrassed.

“How can you call yourself a native of this town if you’ve never had one?” he questions, pointing to the red pint glass now sitting in front of him.

Beads of condensation form a nice ring on the bar as he lifts the glass to his full lips, taking a long swig. He turns to me, wearing a sneaky smile. “Your turn,” he challenges.

Without hesitation, I raise my glass and take a sip. It's deliciously dangerous, a full-bodied beverage, a little on the manly side, with a fruity ending. Take that however you want to.  

“This is indeed delicious.” I can’t believe I never tried one of these. I remember passing this place a dozen times, and just glancing at the wooden chalkboard out front. I assumed it was another gross concoction created to satisfy the nostalgia of the tourists, but boy, am I wrong. In less than five minutes, I’m ordering another one.

“Now, you want to be careful with these,” Roman states, his voice filled with caution.

“Great… first Valen, now you,” I say pointing my finger at him. “What is it with you two? Both of you are hell-bent on dispensing unneeded parental guidance in the stupidest situations,” I say without an explanation. How could I explain an impolite remark that makes so little sense? I shrug, aware that the liquor is trying to take over my conversation.

Roman smiles, shaking his head. “Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

And warn me he did. Minutes later, I smash into a fat wall of drunkenness; the kind that sprouts up from out of nowhere. One minute I'm laughing, and the next, I'm trying to stop the walls from caving in on me. Dizziness makes it hard for me to see straight.

“Looks like it’s time to go,” Roman says, firmly lifting me off my stool.

My body sways into him like Jell-O. I don’t think I’ve been this hammered since I was twenty-one. I laugh at how long ago that was. Walking proves to be a challenge again, navigating through the never ending obstacles of customers and tables. More than once, I come close to doing a face-plant. Roman flings the door open, allowing a burst of humid air to whack me to attention. I gasp, taking its thickness into my lungs. Roman clutches my arm, gently guiding it around his back as he slips his hand around my waist. I place my head on his beefy shoulder, concentrating on the daunting task of placing one foot in front of the other. We journey back towards Wet Willies and I can’t help noticing how oddly deserted River Street is at this time at night. The circular Wet Willies sign comes into view just in time for a giant knot to tie itself inside my stomach. The thought of seeing Valen and her is enough to make me throw up. What if she’s still there? Or worse, what if they left together? Unintentionally, my pace slows down, and Roman looks at me, bemused.

“Are you okay?” he questions, tightening his grip around me.

I look at him. Poor Roman is concerned I might throw up all over myself, but it’s my insane thoughts that are making me sick. I nod my head yes, and pick my pace back up. On the surface, I may be a coward, but there’s a driving force inside me that’s a fighter. We walk inside the empty place, noticing four people sitting at the bar. Kristy, Valen, Martello and Brielle are all laughing. If the expression on my face is as mean as it feels, I’m glad their backs are to us. Roman tries to decipher my intentions. I smile at him, hoping it is good enough. We saunter to the bar, just as Valen turns around.

“Nice of you guys to show up,” he says with irritation.

“Hey girl!” Kristy exclaims as she wraps me in an enormous bear hug. I reciprocate because I’m drunk too.

“Well, well, well… so nice of Miss Thang to come back. Girl, you is three sheets to the wind, ain’t you?” Martello says, pointing his finger at me with a cocked eyebrow.

I give him a crooked smirk in return. I ignore the beautiful blondes brown eyes resting on me. I don’t have any interest in her, and judging by the vibe of her gaze, she reciprocates. Martello places his hands on his hips, directing his attention to Roman.

“Where did you take her?” he demands. 

“Oh, nowhere," Roman says, waving his hand frivolously. "We stopped off at the Shrimp Factory,” he finishes with a grin.

Why is he always grinning? Nothing interesting happened.