When Everly broke the kiss with a satisfied smirk, Sarge pushed her off with a grunt, wiping his mouth off with the back of his hand. There wouldn’t be enough alcohol in the house or on the entire island to cleanse that experience from his brain.

“What the hell do you think you're doing?” He ignored the churning in his stomach.

Everly’s eyes darted to her sister. With a smirk, she shrugged. “Finishing something she couldn't even start, I guess. You’re welcome, big boy.” She shot a look at his crotch and licked her lips.

“Give it up. You don’t have a snowball’s chance in Hell with me.” Sarge winced, searching for Tamsin.

She stomped off in the opposite direction, the pain on her face so dark that it pierced his own heart.

Not knowing if Tamsin had heard him turn Everly down or not, he focused his frustration on the appropriate target still standing too close to him. “Next time, ask for permission. Or better yet, keep your lips to yourself.” Sarge was pretty sure that even if Everly had asked before planting her unwanted mouth on his, he would have told her to jump off the nearest cliff.

“Then don't stand under the mistletoe,” Everly countered, slapping his ass and walking away.

Never before had Sarge wanted to hit a girl, but he might have to make an exception. He wasn't even sure if Everly qualified as one in the first place or if she were a summoned demon sent to wrap this Christmas up with a special bow of crap. He needed to find Tamsin and explain that it wasn't his fault.

Samson made a beeline for Sarge and grabbed him by the arm. “Dude, what were you thinking?

Sarge shrugged off his friend’s grip. “I didn't encourage it.”

“I mean, I was all for you kissing Tamsin. But her sister?” Samson screwed his face up. “That's just gross.”

“Tell me about it,” grimaced Sarge.

“I mean, she also kissed Robbie Markinson.”

Sarge groaned, guessing where his friend’s train of thought was headed. “Don't say it,” he begged.

“Therefore,” continued Samson, “it's like you've kissed Rob.” He widened his eyes and covered his mouth with fake shock.

Sarge punched his teammate on the arm with enough force to make Samson flinch. He could never forgive Everly now for stealing that kiss. It didn’t belong to her.

For a fleeting moment, hope had bloomed in his heart when Tamsin’s large eyes had stared up at him under the mistletoe. But he’d recognized the same fear that stopped her as being closely related to the one that took up residence inside of him. Still, he needed to make sure that she understood that had she wanted to kiss him, it would have been her under the mistletoe. Not her evil sister.

Griff’s mother Maya clapped her hands to gain everybody's attention. “I want to thank you all for being here tonight. It’s been a family tradition to celebrate the days before Christmas with the ones we love, and tonight’s no exception. We have one more fun activity planned, so let's move to the dining room and assemble gingerbread houses.”

“Don’t worry, everyone. I’ll help all of you. You should see the gingerbread castle I made for the window display of my bakery,” bragged Everly, setting herself up as the designated expert and focus of the entire party.

Sarge frowned. “I think I'll just head back to my cabin.”

Griff approached the two of them, grabbing Sarge by his shirt. “Don't even think about stepping outside this house, Sergeants. You may be the captain of the team, but in my house, I call the plays. You march your hairy butt right in there and man up. Fix things before they become unfixable.”

“I don't know what you're talking about,” lied Sarge.

“Yes, you do." Griff got behind Sarge and pushed him by the shoulders. “Now get going. And try to decorate a gingerbread house while you’re at it.

Smaller tables replaced the large dining table. Different implements of decorating waited to be used. Colorful candy spilled out of bowls. Tubes of icing lay limp and ready. If Sarge liked desserts, he'd be a kid in, well, a candy store. He was pretty sure most of the sweets at Samson’s table would end up nowhere near a gingerbread house.

Instead of choosing to join Tamsin and Maddox, Sarge wussed out and sat down at the one closest to the door. Everly lorded over the room, standing at an adjoining table. She droned on in a voice much too loud and condescending how to properly decorate a gingerbread house.

“The first thing you have to do to make a proper home is to make sure the foundation is strong.” Everly piped thick white icing along the edges of the gingerbread walls and roof, instructing the unfortunate others at her table where to hold them together.

“See, you have to hold them steady to let things cement. Try to decorate the house now, and the whole thing can fall.” She shot a mischievous glare Tamsin’s way. “Of course, if you can't even build a solid foundation, then your house is already broken, isn't it?”

Fresh anger stirred inside Sarge, and he fingered the black gumdrop in his hand, wondering how mad it would make Griff if he threw it at Everly. Screw it. He’d risk angering the Berenger family to ping that annoying girl’s face.

He cocked his hand back to toss the gumdrop, but a marshmallow hit Everly upside the head before he could release it. Unable to stifle his laugh in time, she shot him a look of death.

“Who threw that?” she asked with her hands on her hips, the color in her face darkening.

Sarge held up his hands in innocence. “Not me.” But he'd like to buy the person who had a tall, frosty beer.

Everly pursed her lips and remained silent for a few blessed moments, concentrating on the elaborate design of her gingerbread house. The others at her table left because she wouldn't let them help at all.

Once the color in her face went back to normal, she resumed giving out instructions. “If you use the icing like this, you can see how it adds to the aesthetics of the house. Of course, anyone can settle for plain and simple, but which would look tastier or more pleasing in the long run? Something too basic or something with a little pizzazz?”

Sarge stood up, aware of Everly's tactics, watching for Tamsin’s reaction. Maddox sat next to Everly’s sister with concern. The bright red in Tamsin’s face matched the licorice strip she crushed in her hand.

Aware that she’d hit her intended target where it hurt, Everly continued. “And who could blame the house if someone preferred something fancier to something so plain? Is it the house’s fault or the decorator’s?”

“That’s enough out of you two,” warned a man, his tone giving him away as their father.

Tamsin lobbed a handful of marshmallows at her sister. Everly returned fire with mini candy canes. A barrage of M&M’s bounced off Everly’s head and onto her perfect gingerbread house. She squealed, her hands dipping into another bowl of candy to return fire. Everyone ducked and got out of the way of the food fight.

With a snarl, Tamsin stood up, knocking over her chair, and walked over to her sister's table. She held a tube of white icing in her hand pointed at Everly like a gun. “Exactly what point are you trying to make, Evy?”

“Don’t call me that,” Everly whined. “I’m just talking about gingerbread houses. Why, are things getting a little too close to home?” she pushed, batting her eyelashes.

Instead of squirting the icing all over Everly's face like Sarge wanted her to, Tamsin maintained enough control to squeeze out a glob onto her sister’s perfectly manicured gingerbread house.

“You ruined it,” Everly screeched, sending chills up Sarge’s back.

Tamsin got in her face. “Just like you. I guess that makes us even.”

“You could say that. Or you could say that I’m ahead. Like always.”

Tamsin grabbed a handful of frosting and rubbed it on her sister's face. A large dollop glopped onto her sparkly shirt.

“You bitch,” cried Everly. “This blouse is Prada.” She wiped the frosting off her face and ran her hands down Tamsin’s front.

“Huh. Looks like icing can ruin a designer shirt just as much as a cheap one.” Tamsin licked the deliciously sweet weapon from her fingers.

The energy around them crackled, the environment growing a little too dangerous for a room full of shifters. An older woman rushed to the two girls. “Take this outside. You will not destroy the inside of Griff’s house. Now, stop acting like children and settle this like civilized adults,” demanded their mother.

Everly pointed a finger. “She started it.”

“And I’m willing to finish it as well,” promised Tamsin, stomping towards the back door.

Sarge placed his hands in his pockets, adjusting his distracting erection in his pants. Something about the fire blazing in Tamsin’s eyes revved his engines.

“Oh my God, we might witness an actual girl-on-girl fight.” Samson practically vibrated with too much glee.

“I don’t think it will be much of a contest,” Sarge surmised. By his observations, Tamsin could pound Everly’s prissy pants into the ground without ever shifting. Just picturing that possibility had his cock twitching at attention.

A small part of Sarge couldn’t help feeling like he had caused the fight. Except, he hadn’t been a willing participant in that kiss, so really, whatever Everly got, she deserved, right? But since he had been dragged into whatever drama existed between the two, maybe he should do something about ending it.

When he caught a glimpse of the determination on Tamsin’s face, he knew that no one else could end the feud between the sisters except the two of them. Tonight would end with blood or tears. Or both.