A Werewolf, A Vampire, and A Fae Walk Into A Bar (Book 1 of The Last Witch Series) novel Chapter 32

She turns to me quickly, the distant look gone from her face and replaced by a sweet smile.

“I… I think I’m fine.”

She sounds earnest, but it’s still a little hard to believe. How could either of us be fine right now? She sees my doubt and works to convince me.

“I’m almost ashamed about it, but I’ve only felt relief since John… you know. And I might go home and look at a picture or find an old birthday card and get hit with some grief, but right now I’m only worried about you. It sounds a little messed up, but the last two days are the best I’ve had in a long, long time.”

“That does sound messed up, A,” I agree. “I wish we could have turned this page a long time ago.”

She smiles again and puts a reassuring hand on my shoulder, turning the tables on who’s doing the comforting.

“No use thinking about what could have been. I’m a godmother to an angel and a freaking nymph now. Let’s open this damn bar!”

A few hours later, Morgan’s is in full swing. And by full swing, I mean nine people are quietly drinking beers. We get a little rowdy on St. Patrick’s Day, but otherwise we’re just a place for locals to escape into a pint and bide their time before they have to go back to lives they’ve mostly grown tired of.

AJ’s pouring drinks and I’m letting Joe tickle Rain’s toes while she’s wrapped in her little holster. As much as I’d love to let him hold her, I’m still too afraid. Joe’s as trustworthy as they come, but no one in my life is what they seem anymore. I remind myself of that everytime I look at Karl’s normal spot in the back.

Finally, the three Sexies arrive. Each looks a little off. Darius lacks his normal aggressive intensity, Rune has slight bags under his eyes, and Zev, in wolf form, is panting a bit. I guess the hangover from a pledge potion is legit.

The fae and the vampire sit at the bar next to a younger guy named Max who’s been coming to Morgan’s since his 21st birthday. He’s a couple years older than me and pops in a few times a week then goes home and lies to his wife about how much he drank. Max looks at Darius questioningly.

“You’re not from around here, are you?”

“No,” Darius mutters back.

“Where you from?” Max says, unaware of how poorly this small talk will go.

“Elsewhere.”

Max looks at me, eyebrows raised. “Got a real chatterbox over here, Bern.”

“I know, Max. He’s an old… family friend,” I say, my inflection dripping with distaste. “Can’t get rid of him, despite how much we want to.”