Moira Rogers: Two Weddings (and One Near Funeral)

Mackenzie slammed the front door hard enough to rattle every picture in the apartment. Then, just in case Jackson hadn’t gotten the hint, she opened the door and slammed it again.

He came to the kitchen doorway, a dish towel in his hands. “Am I going to need bail money?”

“Try a shovel.” But just the sight of him took the edge off her temper. She dumped her keys in the bowl next to the door and tossed her bag to the ground. “Alec’s father is a sleaze. If I catch him eyeballing Sera’s chest again, I’m going to break his nose.”

Jackson arched an eyebrow. “Do I need to do it?”

“No.” Sighing, she slipped into his arms and dropped her head to his shoulder. “Sera emasculated him pretty well on her own. Which I’m sure was nice for her independence and all, but I really want to hit someone.”

“Mmm, I know.” He kissed the top of her head. “But won’t it be something if we both make it through this next week without beating the crap out of anyone?”

His familiar touch soothed her longing, but not the irritation prickling just beneath her skin. It had been building for months, but Carmen’s suffering had kindled that itch into a nagging discomfort. “Do all shapeshifters get pissy as they get older, or am I going through some weird cat thing? Because I want to sharpen my claws on both of Alec’s parents, and that’s a little unreasonable.”

“I don’t think anyone finds it unreasonable, Kenzie.” He made a soft noise as he stroked her hair. “They sure are doing their level best to drive our friends nuts.”

“They are.” She drew in a deep breath, and smiled when the scent from the kitchen finally registered. Tomato, herbs, a hint of wine... “I get Italian food?”

Jackson grinned down at her. “I figure you deserve it after the last few days of not punching anyone.”

“Damn right I do.” She rocked up on her toes and brushed her lips over his. “I think I deserve a backrub too. And possibly some sex. The kind that requires wards to keep in the noise.”

He tossed the towel over his shoulder. “You’re going to make me burn dinner.”

Dinner was nice. So was the delicious heat licking over her skin. No magic, no instinct...just old-fashioned lust-coated love. She twisted her fingers and got a good grip on his shirt, then used all of the lovely shapeshifter strength she’d finally mastered to rip open the fabric.

“Dirty,” he murmured approvingly, then dropped his mouth to hers.

“No strippers, I promise.”

Julio groaned a little. “No strippers? Come on.”

“Beer,” Jackson told them resolutely. “Beer and dead cow. That’s what Alec wants.”

Miguel laughed. “That’s way kinkier than chicks in g-strings.”

Derek shot him a look—a pissy, I-know-you’re-sleeping-with-my-baby-cousin look that promised imminent violence almost as effectively as the words that followed. “You are far too invested in strippers. Do I need to beat some sense into you?”

Pointing out that Julio had been the most vocal proponent of burlesque entertainment would do no good. Jackson sighed and tried to pull their attention back to the subject at hand. “John said we could rent out his place for the night, and he’ll even man the grill himself.”

At least Derek was easily distracted. “John Gravois? Is he still running that bar down near the French Market?”

“He is. And since the ladies have Mahalia’s for the night, I think it’s our best bet.”

Julio grabbed another slice of pizza. “If it’s what Alec wants. But I bet Nick and Mackenzie are getting Carmen a stripper.”

“Doubt it,” Derek countered at once. “I know my wife, thanks. If there are strippers, there’ll be two. Minimum.”

“See?” Miguel pointed at Derek with his beer bottle. “Carmen’s going to be knee-deep in man titty, and Alec’ll just have to squint and drink until one of us starts to look good.”

“I’m nominating you,” Julio managed through a laugh.

“Seconded,” Derek agreed. “Man up and take one for the team, Miguel.”

“Hey, if anyone’s taking anything here—”

“So,” Jackson interjected. “With that taken care of—” His phone vibrated, and he checked the display to find a text message from Kat. Is Derek giving Miguel a hard time? Punch him. “Damn it.”

Guilt flashed across Derek’s face, like he knew who the message was from. “Trouble?”

“Sort of.” With an apologetic look, he punched Derek on the shoulder. “Your cousin’s orders.”

Grumbling, Derek pulled his phone out of his pocket and flipped it open. “He started it.”

“I fear for your future children.”

Julio crowed with triumphant laughter and waved his own phone in the air. “Carmen says she’s okay with Alec having strippers.”

“Oh my God.” Jackson dragged a hand through his hair. “Will you shut up about the fucking strippers?”

“Have pity on my boyfriend, Nick.” Mackenzie rescued the phone from Nicole’s grasp and settled it on the bar. “Pretend it’s going to be the most boring bachelorette party in the history of weddings, because the seventeen thousand groomsmen are grumbling that Alec just wants steak and beer.”

“Of course he does. If he wanted to stare at anyone but Carmen naked, he wouldn’t be getting hitched. The strippers are for the groomsmen.”

According to Jackson, the strippers were for Julio. And maybe Miguel, and wouldn’t that be fun, when Andrew decided that Miguel ogling half-naked women was a betrayal of Kat. For a man who claimed he’d walked away, Andrew had a hard time not punching people over Kat’s happiness. “This is going to be a nightmare, isn’t it?”

Nick played with the straw sticking out of her soda. “As far as Conclave social events go? It’s going to be cake.”

If this was cake for the wolves, Mackenzie was glad to be a cougar and free of their mess. “For us, or for Alec and Carmen?”

“For us, definitely. But for them too, comparatively speaking.” She shrugged. “Why do you think Derek and I ran away to Barbados?”

Mackenzie hopped the bar and pulled open the fridge to retrieve a beer. “Honestly? I thought you wanted to avoid your sister having to deal with a lot of people.”

“There was that,” she admitted. “But Derek knew I wanted to avoid this stuff just as much. It’s a freak show, and I’ve never been any good at dealing with it.”

“At least Sera and Kat humiliated Alec’s dad into hiding. Did you hear what Sera said to him?”

“She called him Grandpa Jacobson,” Carmen supplied as she slid onto the bar stool on the other side of Nick. “It was sheer perfection. The man is such a creeper.”

“Hey!” Nick patted her hand. “Did you get your—whoa.”

Carmen’s face had collided with a cosmetics counter—and her wry smile showed she knew it. “Geraldine says they have to lay on the makeup for the pictures. I’ll need a hammer and chisel to get it off my face.”

At least the makeup looked expensive, if too liberally applied. Mackenzie pulled out another beer. “Need a drink? Or something stronger?”

“Thanks, but I’m good.” She looked almost mellow.

Nick stared at her. “You didn’t self-medicate, did you, Carmen?”

She laughed. “No, I’m fine. And sober.”

Mackenzie gripped her beer and studied Carmen. “She doesn’t look like she had a psychotic break. Does she?”

Carmen traced her fingertip over the bar in an absent circle. “I had...a realization. I’ve been getting through all of this by telling myself it’ll be over soon...”

“But it won’t,” Nick finished quietly.