I Just Kidnapped My Twin Alpha Mates

Chapter Three (Part Two): A Friendly Kind-Of Kidnapping

Elliot, like the idiot he was, decided to turn of his phone. I was going to give him hell for it later, but right about then, I was too preoccupied running around and putting out all the teeny tiny fires that had sprung up all over my work place. 

Sometimes being me royally sucks.  

So what do you do when you realized that you've entered a deal with quite possibly the most powerful, magical being you've ever encountered in your life (maybe except the Cocaine Witch, but we don't talk about her)? You steal your landlord's van, go to an ice cream parlor with the intent to dump a vat of mint chocolate chip on your best friend's head, interrupt his date, and drag him back without looking your ex girlfriend in the eye. 

As usual, plans didn't go...as planned. Yes, I did steal the car. Except I wouldn't qualify it as stealing. More like gentle borrowing. You see, if there's one thing I've learned from a decade of trading magical objects, it's that if you intend to give said stolen thing back eventually, a magically binding contract won't label it as stealing, so you won't burn to death. 

And I did mean to give the car back, even if it didn't work out like that. Marcel always kept a spare set of keys under his workroom lamp. If you knew the proper incantation—which I did, even though my troll is about as good as Bel's, and she's a raven—you could pop it right out the bottom. 

Although it took me a few tries, I managed to work the words just right so that the set of generic Chevy van keys plopped right into my palm. From there, I tiptoed around the random priceless treasures Marcel had strewn around his study up the stairs, to where I could unlock both the wards and toe door to the garage, and blaze out to unleash all my fury on the world in a soccer mom car.

To make matters worse, I caught all red lights on the way to the shop. Also, in the middle of a very warm day, it seemed like every single person had crawled out of their basement to go get ice cream, meaning that I had to circle the block to find a parking space that ended up being several blocks away. 

Already tired with sweat blooms the size of Elliot's ego growing steadily by the second on my blouse, I sprinted from stop sign to stop sign, probably knocking over several unfortunate people that I DID NOT have the time to go back and check on. 

Were there going to be lawsuits pending? Yes. Did I give a crappy werewolf mate? Nope. After stopping to ransack a neighbor's lavender bush, I broke through the throngs of people crowded around the ice cream stall. In this neighborhood, the block that I was currently pushing my way through was almost like the mini town center. 

In the winter, I liked to get coffee here. In the summer, it smelled like pool, obnoxiously sweaty people, and trashy cologne. I had no idea why Elliot wanted to take Katrina to a date her, but there they were, sitting at one of those red and white umbrella covered tables, sharing a banana split. 

He leaned over and whispered something in her ear like the dork he was—still is—which Katrina laughed off with a toss of her dreadlocks, which she'd died blue for the occasion. I barreled towards them through the throng of people, managing to say something smooth and intelligent like "Hag. Bad. Burning. We need leave now" before the heel of my wedge sandal managed to catch on an uneven rim of sidewalk, sending me crashing full force into their picnic table. 

With a certain amount of indignity, I peeled my face up from the table with a helping hand from Katrina. I'm at liberty to say her hand was soft. She smelled like lemon. I wanted to die. 

Elliot, who had jumped up when I fell over and started cursing like a sailor, rounded on me. "What the fuck, Cassandra?" 

"She's having work trouble." Katrina answered for me. "Don't be angry with her."