Beaming him with a two by four would have a less devastating effect than her request. He dropped her hand. “Are you out of your fucking mind? How could you even think…?” Jesus. He lurched to his feet, the blood pounding in his eardrums.
“I’d rather die than be responsible for a zombie apocalypse.”
He whirled on her. “Well neither are gonna happen. Got it?”
“Griff, please listen—”
He shoved his shaking index finger in her face. “There is no goddamn way I’m going along with your ridiculous proposition, understand? No. God. Damn. Way.”
“You’re being unreasonable.”
“Fuck yeah I am. Know why? Because your idea is asinine.” He knew he was bellowing, but nothing short of a spontaneous case of laryngitis would convince him to rein in his vehement outrage.
She tossed up her arms. “Maybe, but it’s the only one I have. So deal with it.” Shooting him a mulish look, she stalked to the bathroom and slammed the door on him.
Fury and frustration duking it out inside him, he glared at the offensive door. He was half tempted to kick it in. And what, continue this pointless argument? Growling, he stomped from the room.
Downstairs, he grabbed a beer from the fridge. Nearly snapping the bottle’s neck, he wrenched off the cap. He managed to slam three quarters of the beverage before Clarissa strode into the kitchen thirty seconds later. After draining the remainder of the bottle he reached for another.
Clarissa cocked one tawny eyebrow. “Impressive for someone who doesn’t even like beer.”
“Mood I’m in, I could guzzle monkey piss and not give a rat’s ass.” Actually, the swill in his mouth wasn’t that far off the mark. Grimacing, he lowered the bottle and inspected the label. “Why do people drink this shit?”
“Hmm, perhaps to dull whatever crappiness has thrown them in a foul mood?”
Catching the prodding speculation in her eyes, he thunked the bottle on the center island. “Probably. Too bad it doesn’t work.”
Clarissa tucked her hands in the front pockets of her jeans. “So what’s going on?”
He debated not telling her, but what was the point? She’d ferret the information out anyway if she decided to poke around in his brain with a truth-gathering spell. “Jemma wants me to kill her if she goes down the dark side.”
Her chest expanded with a deep sigh. “I was afraid this might happen.”
“Well it’s not going to happen.” Baring his teeth, he pushed away from the counter. “I don’t care what it takes—there is no way in hell Jemma is sacrificing herself.”
Logan tromped into the kitchen, his mug devoid of its usual obnoxious grin. Apparently he was still mourning the demise of his motorcycle. Without granting Clarissa or Griffin even a cursory glance, he grabbed a beer and slugged it down, the sound of his chugging swallows breaking the silence.
A fine prickling on the nape of his neck apprised Griffin of Clarissa’s insistent gaze. He swiveled. Her pointed scrutiny shifted between him and Logan, her expression a dead giveaway to the course of her thoughts.
Ah hell, he had said he didn’t care what it took. Should have known that would come back and bite him in the ass.
Logan lowered his beer and granted them both a wary glance. “What the fuck did I do now?”
Her attention returning to Griffin, Clarissa nodded twice in Logan’s direction. “Ask him.”
Griffin glowered. “Why? You already demanded it of us.”
Her lips thinned, sure sign that she wasn’t exactly pleased with how he’d phrased his words. “Consider it a symbolic gesture of goodwill.”
“Are you out of your fu—?” He nipped off the remainder of the oath when she waggled her finger in warning of an oncoming whammy. Gritting his teeth, he pivoted toward Logan. “Will you help me seduce Jemma?”
Logan stared at him for a long moment before a flicker of devilment danced in his eyes. “Shit, Catman. You lost that feline charm already?”
Somehow he found the willpower to resist rearranging Logan’s face. Christ, this was a damn disaster in the making. “I was referring to me and you together.” Catching the beginning stages of the werewolf’s trademark smirk, Griffin practically growled his clarification. “Me, Jemma and you.” If there was any justice in the world, he’d be stricken with amnesia in the next two seconds. Otherwise going through the rest of life with the horrific mental image of him and Logan…
Shaking off a massive shudder, Griffin paced in front of the center island. “Look, I know we have our issues, but I’m willing to put them aside for Jemma’s sake.”
Logan settled his bottle on the counter and scrubbed a hand over his goatee. “Funny, I said the same thing to Jemma.”
The admission managed to ease some of the tension in Griffin’s shoulders. “Good. I’m glad we at least see eye to eye on this.” Strangely enough, the prospect of sharing Jemma with Logan didn’t immediately foster ideas of trashing the kitchen with the werewolf’s lifeless body.
But the night was still young.
Chapter Fifteen
Why couldn’t Griff understand where she was coming from? He’d damn well ask the same thing from her if he were in her position.
Muttering beneath her breath, Jemma scruffed a towel through the damp ends of her hair with stiff, jerky motions. Suddenly conscious of the torture she was inflicting on her scalp, she sighed and draped the towel on the hook near the shower. After changing into a cheery pink sundress that did nothing to brighten her mood, she slumped into the small rattan chair situated in front of the vanity. She couldn’t find the energy or the desire to rifle through the array of cosmetics neatly stacked on the etched glass tray. And really, why bother with makeup? It’s not like the zombies no doubt lurking in the woods cared if she had bags under her eyes.
She listlessly reached for a rhinestone-studded clip in the shape of a large butterfly and used it to anchor her hair in a loose chignon. Recalling the anger and hint of betrayal in Griff’s expression when he’d laid into her, she flinched. “Damn it, he has no right to make me feel like I’m giving up.”
So why do I feel like I am? She bit the inside of her cheek, refusing to give the annoying inner voice further attention. Besides, any rational person would devise a backup plan. It didn’t mean she was ready to chuck it all and drink poisoned Kool-Aid or something. If Griff didn’t see the logic in that, well, he truly was a bonehead.
After slipping on a pair of sandals, she trudged downstairs. The house seemed unusually quiet. Curious where everyone could be, she headed down the hallway. She spotted Logan parked outside the library, his shirtless bod blocking the closed door. He grinned, his gaze journeying over her in a lazy crawl. “I have this sudden hankerin’ for cotton candy.”
She grimaced. “This is why I seldom wear pink. I look ridiculous, don’t I?”
“No, sugar, you look good enough to eat.” He followed up his provocative statement by licking his lips with a tad too much gusto.
She shivered, suddenly feeling an uncomfortable kinship with Little Red Riding Hood. All the better to eat you with. Good Lord, she’d never look at that fairy tale the same way again. Clearing her throat, she indicated the door. “So what’s going on in there?”
Logan propped his elbow against the frame, giving her a close-up view of his barbed-wire tat. Now that she thought about it, the symbolism seemed appropriate. Tangling with the lusty werewolf was bound to leave a few scratches. “Just Clarissa taking care of some coven business. Nothing for you to worry your pretty little head over, darlin’.”