Glory arched a brow, her mind caught on the first part of Evie’s speech. “No, I can’t let this go.” The bastard deserved to die. Slowly. Painfully. Eternally. “You reneging on me?”
Hot color bloomed in her sister’s cheeks. “No. Of course not.”
“Evie,” Hunter said.
“I promised her, baby.”
Glory anchored her hands on her hips. “If it makes you feel any better, Hunter, know that Falon brought this on himself. He hurt me.”
Hunter’s green gaze sharpened. “Hurt you? How?”
Once again, she raised her chin and pressed her lips together. She hadn’t planned on admitting even that much.
Realizing she’d say no more, he scrubbed a hand down the harsh, rugged plains of his face. “You know I’ll warn Falon, right? I’ll tell him what’s going on.”
“Like that scares me.” Glory wanted Falon know she was gunning for him. She wanted him to be scared, to tremble and jump at every snapping twig in the night. Hell, maybe she was a wicked witch, because she chuckled every time she thought of him dropping to the ground in a fetal ball and crying for his mother.
Sure, he was six feet four of solid—delicious—muscle. Sure, he’d kicked more ass in the few years he’d lived in Mysteria than the town’s citizens were currently nailing. And sure, he probably made the creatures of the underworld pee their pants in fear of him. A girl could dream, though.
“Now.” She rubbed her hands together. “Evie, my revenge, if you please. I’ve tried to bring it up several times, and you ignored me, ran from me, or let your boy toy sweep you off your feet. Literally. I’m not waiting anymore!”
“Whatever he did, I’ll talk to him,” Hunter said. “He’ll apologize.”
Glory shook her head, long hair slapping her across the face. It was too late for that. “I’ll talk to him. Evie . . .”
“Fine.” Frowning, Evie uncurled from her lover’s body and rose from the bed, taking the sheet with her.
Cheeks heating, Glory quickly turned and faced the hallway. She so had not needed to see Hunter’s crowning grandeur. Did she appreciate it? Yeah. Boy was blessed! Still. Her sister’s boyfriend was not meant to be eye candy for her, and besides, she didn’t need to add fuel to the fire of her constantly unsatisfied desires.
Behind her, she heard cloth rustling, the slide of a drawer, then things bumping together.
“Ah, here it is!” her sister said.
Footsteps sounded, then a delicate finger was tapping Glory on the shoulder. Heart pounding excitedly, she turned. Of course, her gaze flew to Hunter of its own accord hoping for another peek. He’d already tugged on a pair of jeans—jeans with a missing top button. Evie had probably bitten it off.
Glory’s chest started hurting again.
Evie waved a black pen in front of her face. “Hello. You paying attention to me?”
Her gaze latched onto the pen, following its movements. Her frown returned. “You’re giving me a pen? A pen to finally claim revenge against the man who savagely wronged me?”
“Yes. How did he wrong you?”
She ignored the question. “What, I’m supposed to draw a mustache on his picture? News flash. That’s not going to leave him crying in his cornflakes.”
“Why do you want him crying in his cornflakes?”
Grrr! “No matter how many times you ask, no matter how many ways, I’m not telling.”
“Well, don’t make him cry too hard. He’s a good man and has always been nice to us.”
Nice? Nice! Evie had no idea the cruelty that man was capable of. But revealing what he’d done to her would be more mortifying than, say, finding one of her sisters naked and in bed with a vampire, screaming his name as she climaxed.
“Pay attention, sister dear.” Evie released the pen; it didn’t fall. It hovered in the air between them, swirling, glitter falling like raindrops around it. “This little pen is magical.”
“Rock on! What will it do?”
“Anything you write with it will come true.”
Glory’s eyes widened, the words sinking in. “Anything I write will come true?”
“Yes. Well, anything physical, nothing emotional. Just be careful. The more you write, the more ink you’ll use, and there’s no way to refill it. Also, the effects don’t last forever, only for a few hours. For proper revenge, it’s best to write about clothes disappearing right off a body in the middle of a crowd and—”
“Don’t help her,” Hunter growled.
“Yes, but anything I write comes true?” Glory asked again, just to be sure.
Evie rolled her eyes. “Physically, yes. I said so, didn’t I?”
A laugh escaped her, her first true laugh in months. “Oh, this is classic. Truly perfect.”
“I knew you’d appreciate the irony.”
“What irony?” Hunter sat up and propped himself against the headboard.
“Can I tell him?” Evie asked her.
Why not? “Sure. He’s almost family, and I’ve seen his goods.”
“She’s a novelist,” Evie threw over her shoulder, “best known for bringing her heroes to their knees. Not always because they fall in love, but mostly because the villains always jack them up with a hammer to the tibia.”
“Dear God,” Hunter mumbled. “This is bad. Real bad.”
Glory rubbed her hands together. Yes, it was. Falon the bastard was about to fall. Hard-core!
Two
Anticipation hummed through Glory for the rest of the night and the following day, possibilities rolling continually through her mind. She’d hoped Hunter would tell Falon what was going on, Falon would rush to her and beg her to forgive him, and she would get to slam a door in his face, causing him to toss and turn for hours in fear.
But he never showed up.
So when the sun finally descended on the second day, she padded to her bedroom, wading through clothes, shoes, and donut wrappers, grabbed a notebook, and climbed onto the bed.
It was time to test the pen’s powers.
Ever since Falon had—Do not think about that right now! You know better. Already, with that tiny half thought, her pulse had kicked into overdrive, and her stomach had clenched, sickness churning inside of it.
Think about your revenge. For this to work, she needed to be strong, unemotional. Otherwise, she’d do something mean, Falon would look at her with those otherworldly violet eyes of his, and she’d cave. Maybe even apologize. He deserves to suffer.
How best to torture him?
She thought about what she knew about him. She’d never slept with him, but she knew what he looked like when he experienced ultimate pleasure. She knew how he tensed, knew his voice dripped harsh and raspy. Knew he roared with the last spasm, pounding his big, hard body into his lover’s.
Uh, not helping. Breath burned in her lungs, and fire rushed through her veins, but she couldn’t stop her mind from traveling that road. One night she’d stumbled upon Falon in the woods, making love to one of his many women. Or, as Glory liked to call them, one of his many hookers. Anyhoodles, she’d been unable to walk away. He’d been unnaturally beautiful and darkly seductive, whispering the most erotic nothings in the hooker’s ear.
Glory had suddenly understood why Falon could fight vampires and demons for hours and hours without breaking a sweat. He was total strength, inexorable stamina. Nothing tired him.
That night, she’d developed a tiny—enormous—crush on him. Even though he was way out of her league. Glory was a wee bit on the pudgy side, while Falon personified perfection. She exercised by riding her bike into town to buy a bag of Doritos; he worked out slaying his enemies without thought or hesitation. Men ignored her; women flocked to him. She spent hours in front of a computer, living life in her mind; he actually lived. Inside other people’s pants, but whatever.