Chapter Four
Autumn winced as the heavily tattooed hottie she had been watching fell to his knees while cupping his balls. His opponent raised his arms in victory and strutted around the prone man’s body while everyone cheered him on.
Autumn wanted to kick the victor in the nuts and see how he liked it. She knew shifters were stronger and could handle more than witches or humans, but it was still a low blow to kick her fighter in the gonads.
Wait. Her fighter? She might have been rooting for Mr. Tattoos, but that didn’t make him hers.
Shaking her head at the irrational idea, she turned and headed up the stairs to the main floor where the bar was located. Time for another drink.
While the basement level of the club was made up of brick walls and cement floors—probably so they could easily wash away the blood—the main floor was cozier and more vibrant. Dark hardwood covered the main floor of the club and matched the beautiful wood bar where she had gotten her drink. The walls were a sensual red, and the lighting and music were low to accommodate a shifter’s sensitive eyesight and hearing. It would make it difficult for Autumn to make out details with her normal vision, but she was there to get drunk, not take in the things going on around her. And based on the moans she could hear as she walked through the crowd, she was sort of glad she couldn’t see everything.
Autumn couldn’t be sure, but she thought there very well might be couples having sex in the darkened corners. The scent of sex was heavy in the air, even to her normal senses, which meant hanky-panky had to be going on all around her. Gag.
She stopped sporadically to watch the dancers’ swaying bodies, a kernel of jealousy unfurling inside her.
She wasn’t as carefree as most of the people in Hot Fur. She wanted to cut loose and be wild for a night, but that would require more than the drink she held.
Sure, her kind was invited, but Hot Fur was more for the occasionally furry variety. Autumn had never been to Hot Fur in the past, but she knew this was the last place her mother would look for her. Witches could be a bit elitist at times and didn’t often mingle with other paranormal species. She bet most here were shifters since this was a well-known shifter club.
Autumn knew enough about shifters to get herself out of a bind, but she definitely wasn’t an expert. Something she thought was a bit silly if she was going to be head witch of the Gray Coven. Shouldn’t the head witch know all about other species in case they were suddenly enemies?
That was a thought for another time. Tonight was all about cutting loose and being free.
Making her way through the packed bodies, she finally found herself at the bar once again.
As soon as she set her empty glass on the bar top, it wasn’t long before the giant, burly bartender swooped in to serve her.
“Want another Long Island Iced Tea?” he asked.
She nodded, not in the mood to yell over the music.
The bartender slapped his hand down on the bar top, giving her a stern look. “All right, but I can smell from here that you’re not a shifter, so anymore after this and I’m taking your car keys so you don’t try to drive home.”
She nodded again in understanding then watched as the bartender took in her agreement before turning away to make her drink.
Autumn wasn’t even mad at the man for his bold statement. First, he was doing his job by trying to keep people safe. Secondly, he was obviously another shifter if he could smell that she wasn’t one. Therefore, he knew she didn’t have the metabolism of a shifter to burn off the alcohol and still safely drive.
Looking down to her curvy body, Autumn silently wished she had a shifter’s metabolism for reasons other than drinking booze. Shifter females tended to have lean bodies, packed with feminine muscle. Autumn simply had curves, curves, and more curves. With her large double-D breasts, a size fourteen waist, and hips and ass galore, her shape—more than her scent—made her species apparent. What she wouldn’t give to have some wolf bitch’s metabolism. Then she could eat or drink whatever the hell she wanted and still have a trim figure.
Her musings were cut short when another full glass appeared in front of her. She thanked the bartender then sat on one of the free stools to drink it at the bar. Behind her, everyone else was dancing or mingling, but she didn’t have it in her to socialize. All she could think about was her impending nuptials of doom.
She took a big swallow of her Long Island Iced Tea, relishing the way the cool liquid went down her throat.
Maybe it was silly of her to want that fairy tale happily ever after, but dammit, she did. She wanted love and a family, not some “wham, bam, here’s your man” marriage of convenience. But, what was she going to do? Her coven depended on her to arrange a marriage with a powerful warlock and take her place as head witch. No one else knew everything about the coven—from its businesses and how it thrived to all the nitty-gritty details about its members. There wasn’t another person who had the knowledge like Autumn. Well, except for the current head witch in charge, Fiona, but she was on her deathbed.
It was the main reason it was so imperative Autumn take over soon. Otherwise, the Gray Coven would fall into disarray.
It was written in the coven’s bylaws that the head witch had to marry a warlock who would strengthen the coven, because power was everything in the witch world and the coven wanted more.
What was worse was that the coven was so power hungry that, should the head witch in charge pass away before the ordained next head witch had married, then the coven would pick a husband for her.
That thought made her shudder.
Autumn didn’t feel as though the Gray Coven needed any more power. They were already one of the largest covens in the United States. Their members were a healthy mix of wealthy to middle-class, and not a single one wanted for anything.
So, why did she have to marry for a power play? Why couldn’t the coven change the bylaws so she could marry for love?
She grunted and mentally sneered. Because they want more power; that’s why. Her future was depressing, and it sure as shit wasn’t fair to her, but she didn’t have another choice.
Not liking the outlook of her ill-fated love life, she took another gulp of her drink. Or tried to, but it was gone. As in, the glass was empty.
Damn, she had drunk that faster than she had realized.
Suddenly not giving a fuck if she left here wasted or not, she held up her empty glass and signaled to the bartender that she wanted another. He gave her a surprised look, probably because of her quickness. She just shrugged in response.
He didn’t hand her a filled glass, though. No, he stood on the other side of the bar top and held out his giant hand, waiting for something. It didn’t take a rocket scientist to figure out what the man wanted. She was anatomically a human woman sucking down shifter-strong drinks.
Rolling her eyes, Autumn fished her keys out of her pocket and handed them over to the burly bartender. Once they were safely tucked away in his pocket, he handed her the third—or was it fourth?—Long Island Iced Tea.
As she brought the tall glass of delicious alcoholic ambrosia closer to her, she silently thought “fuck it.” She couldn’t have the man of her dreams sweep her off her feet, but she could get drunk as hell and forget about why she couldn’t have said man.
That sounded like a damn good plan.