Hurricane (Last Call #2)
Copyright
Information
Hurricane
Copyright © 2008 Moira Rogers
http://www.moirarogers.com
Smashwords edition.
Originally published by Changeling Press in
2008. Reissued by the author in 2012.
This is a work of fiction. Names, characters,
businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of
the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any
resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is
purely coincidental.
All rights reserved. This book or any portion
thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever
without the express written permission of the publisher except for
the use of brief quotations in a book review.
Table of Contents
HURRICANE
Contents under magical pressure. Experience
required.
Fiona took one last look at the printed menu
in her hand and grimaced at her friend. “I don’t need a
drink. I need help.”
“
Honey, this place is chock
full of hot wizards.” Jenn snatched the menu out of Fiona’s
hands and studied the back of it. “And this menu’s the key.
We just have to decode it. Maybe they have a drink for, ‘My
castrated jackass of an ex cursed me to a life free of orgasms,
contents under pressure.’ Like… oh
shit
, you can get in on a
vampire/werewolf threesome? Hot.”
Leave it to Jenn to focus
on the more salacious aspects of Last Call’s offerings. “I
like my blood where it is, werewolves are notoriously possessive,
and a supernatural hookup is
not
on the agenda. Remember what happened when I
kissed that councilman at your gallery opening last fall?” Fiona
shuddered at the memory. “That poor cater-waiter lost his
eyebrows, and the sprinklers destroyed your
mixed-media.”
“
Yeah, well, that’s why you
need a
supernatural
hookup. Maybe there’s someone in here powerful enough to
survive the curse. Hell, maybe there’s someone who can
break
it.” Jenn
clutched the menu in one hand and grabbed Fiona’s arm in the
other. “Come on, let’s go ask the bartender.”
She knew who could break it. Someone
who could lay wards so powerful they’d keep garden-variety humans
off of a property without any question or concern. Someone who
could maintain peace and order when vampires and witches were
partying with demons and faeries.
She needed the owner of Last Call.
Fiona grabbed the menu from Jenn and scanned
the back, then slammed the paper down on the bar. One way or
another, the curse ended tonight.
The bartender walked over, his movements
easy in spite of the churning energy in the club, one eyebrow
raised and a grin on his dark, handsome face. “Can I help you
ladies?”
Fiona took a deep breath. “I need to
speak to Benito D’Cruze.”
“
No, she doesn’t!”
Jenn reclaimed the menu and held it up. “She needs… a
hurricane.”
“
A hurricane?” The
bartender glanced at Jenn before bringing his gaze back to
Fiona. “Hurricane’s for inexperienced witches and
wizards. People who are liable to blow the place up without
proper handling.” Unspoken was the implication that she
didn’t look particularly inexperienced.
Fiona gritted her teeth. “Can I see
Mr. D’Cruze or not?”
“
Sorry, miss. The
owner’s not available. You could call his office and arrange
an appointment during business hours, though.”
“
Okay.” She drew in
another breath and nodded. “Then I’ll need that hurricane,
please.”
One dark eyebrow curved up into a perfect
arch. “You sure?”
Jenn, who had already indulged in a number
of the bar’s more mundane drinks, leaned forward in a
conspiratorial manner. “She’s got a big bad curse on her.
Things blow up when she gets turned on. She may not be an
inexperienced witch, but she still needs proper handling.”
“
Uh-huh.” Fiona grinned.
She could just make out with the ones who
thought
they could handle the
curse. Sooner or later, doddering old Benny D’Cruze would
make his way down from his lavish office to inspect the damage.
“Hope the property insurance is paid up. Rum makes me
horny.”
Ben knew there was
something wrong in his club long before the bartender called his
office. The spells he’d wrapped around Last Call were some of
the finest magic in New York City -- hell, in the
state
-- and very little
happened in his bar without him finding out about it, sooner or
later.
His wards had alerted him the minute she’d
crossed the threshold, of course. Black magic wasn’t allowed
in the building, but people who were cursed weren’t necessarily
practitioners of the darker magics. So he watched them and
made sure they didn’t cause trouble.
A row of video screens covered a desk on the
side of his office, but Ben wasn’t watching them. The cameras
on the dance floor were static, inefficient at following one
person. Instead he stared down into his scrying bowl and
watched as the pretty little blonde ground against a man on the
dance floor, her ass rubbing his crotch as she moved with the
music. The wizard looked thrilled to death.
Ben didn’t blame him.
Hell,
his
cock was
hard just from watching her move. Of course, it wasn’t just
her body, lush as it was, that fueled his arousal. The scrying
spell painted her aura in bright colors he could almost
taste
, even as the curse
clenched tight around her. Sensuality,
sexuality
… and a deep, deep need that
eclipsed desire and even lust. She needed to be taken,
claimed and fulfilled.
She was hungry. And he saw why as the
wizard’s hand drifted around her body. His fingers brushed
her breast, and the curse flared so brightly that the rest of the
scene in his scrying dish faded. Power tore through the
building, powerful enough that he felt the ripples even in his
office, three floors above her.
A second later the phone
rang. Ben didn’t take his eyes from the scrying dish as he
reached out to pick it up. “What happened?”
Something
had
to
have happened. That much power, released
recklessly…
“
Half the bottles of booze
at my bar just shattered.” It was Bernie’s voice, deep and
slightly annoyed. “I think it’s the lady who just ordered the
hurricane. Every time a guy gets near her, the lights flicker or
the music skips.”
He couldn’t tear his gaze away from those
gyrating hips. “I’m coming down to take care of it.”
“
You better hurry,
boss. She’s starting to look like a challenge, and you know
how that riles up the werewolves and demons.”
“
I said I’d take care of
it.” He slammed down the phone before Bernie could speak
again, and waved his hand over the scrying dish. The image
vanished, leaving a pool of dark water in its place.
He rose to his feet and
glanced down at his worn jeans and battered T-shirt. Most days he
enjoyed his casual clothing. He could walk among his clients and no
one suspected they were in the presence of the mysterious and
powerful Benito D’Cruze. The downside, of course, was that few
people
believed
he
was Benito D’Cruze without the trappings of wealth and money, which
meant it might be wise to change into something a little more
impressive before trying to deal with trouble.
