A Demon's Guide to Wooing a Witch （Glimmer Falls, #2(48)

Avram caught the bottle and crowed in delight. “Kai, we have a new recruit!”

This was what she adored about werewolves and shifters. They were the only other people she’d met who seemed to understand fighting was fun.

A familiar shout caught her attention, and she whipped her head around to see Astaroth take a punch to the cheek from Kai’s massive fist. His head snapped to the side, but he embraced the momentum, completing an elegant spin that culminated in a roundhouse kick to Kai’s ribs.

Ooh, nice move. Maybe Astaroth could run her through it later.

The werewolf wheezed and clutched his ribs. “Damn, demon. Didn’t think you had it in you.”

“You have no idea who you’re dealing with.” Astaroth grabbed a chair and swung at Kai’s torso again. The wood exploded on impact, and one leg flew off and brained Ranulf, who had just been clambering to his feet from under the remnants of a table.

“Two for one!” Calladia hooted.

Astaroth looked at her and shook his head, grinning. “Witch, you’re a menace.”

She’d distracted him though, and Kai was already moving. “Watch out!” Calladia called. The werewolf was airborne and about to full-body tackle her demon.

Astaroth moved with liquid grace, dodging the tackle, and Kai crashed into the wall. Ranulf swung for Astaroth’s head, and Astaroth performed some complicated maneuver that resulted in him suplexing the bear into the ground. As more opponents converged on him, Astaroth snapped a leg off an overturned table and held it in front of him like a sword. “Come and get it,” he taunted. “Humiliation is free.”

Calladia gaped as Astaroth handily defeated wolf after wolf with his fists, feet, and makeshift sword. He was smaller than his opponents, but he made tossing them around look easy.

A pulse started between her thighs.

Then a saltshaker brained her, and she staggered.

“Sorry!” Avram popped up in front of her. “I threw it before realizing you weren’t looking.”

Calladia laughed. “I’m looking now,” she said, grabbing a floral centerpiece and flinging it at him. Avram grinned as he dodged. He reached for a decorative vase.

“Not that one!” A brown hand reached out from the wall. “It’s my favorite.”

Avram immediately set it down. “Sorry, Bronwyn. I’ll put it somewhere safe.”

The dryad’s face emerged from the wooden planks. She looked at the chaos, then sighed. “I should have remembered it was match day and put away the breakables.”

“You know we’re good for it,” Avram said. “Send the invoice to Kai.”

Bronwyn rolled her eyes. “You werewolves will be the death of me.” She winked before receding into the wall. “Give those blue shirts hell.”

“What do you say?” Avram asked, looking at Calladia. “Teaming up could be fun.”

Calladia grinned. “Let’s do it.”

* * *

Ten minutes later, most of the furniture had been turned into matchsticks and over half the fighters were groaning on the floor. Calladia’s cheek throbbed from a stray punch she’d caught, and her arm was lightly bleeding from a fork projectile, but she was giddy with delight. She never felt better than when larger, stronger beings treated her like an equal and, most importantly, a threat. When she spun, broken chair leg in hand, a blue-kitted shifter cringed away from her. “Mercy,” he rasped, so she turned to look for another opponent.

Astaroth stood on the trestle table, which miraculously remained intact. He swung a table leg in vicious arcs, beating away enemies right and left. Apparently the remaining combatants had decided to gang up on him.

Calladia would have been worried, but she’d seen enough of his fighting technique to know he had this on lock. He was precise and deadly, with preternatural reflexes and balance, and if Calladia had been a little turned on earlier, she was fully wet now. Fighting sometimes had that effect, since she had a lady boner for danger, but in this case, she knew exactly what had caused her state of arousal.

That damn demon.

He looked good and fought like hell, and if anything riled Calladia up, it was a display of competence. And oh, how competent he was.

She noticed a figure creeping around the back of the trestle table: Kai, carrying a jagged piece of wood. Astaroth was engaged with the werewolves in front and hadn’t noticed.

Calladia hurried toward him, stepping over downed assailants. “Astaroth, behind you,” she called, but the shouting was too loud, and she was too far away. Kai raised the stick, ready to strike.

Calladia gripped the chair leg like a javelin and launched it full force at the werewolf.

Too late, she realized she’d thrown it pointy end first. She watched in horror as the wood pierced Kai’s shoulder. He toppled back, shattering the window.

The fighting abruptly stopped. Everyone in the room looked at Kai, then Calladia.

“Uh oh,” she said. She’d violated the first rule of friendly brawl club: no maiming. She waved and smiled awkwardly. “Sorry, didn’t mean to impale him.”

Kai sat up from the pile of glass shards and tugged the wood out of his shoulder. It hadn’t penetrated too deeply, thankfully. “Get her!” he called.

Calladia was reckless, but even she could recognize when it was time to cut her losses and retreat. She met Astaroth’s wide eyes and jerked her thumb over her shoulder toward the exit. He nodded, then took a running leap over the heads of the werewolves surrounding the table. He landed with a cat’s grace. “Time to go,” he said, grabbing her hand.