Priestess Dreaming (An Otherworld Novel) (39 page)

Menolly was beaming. Another round of drinks later, and the party was growing louder.

Wild Cherry came over the speakers, singing “Play That Funky Music.” Nerissa grabbed Menolly’s hand and dragged her up to dance. Nerissa towered over Menolly in her tawny, werepuma glory, but the two could boogie it up good. In a skintight hot pink minidress, with golden hair and gold sparkling heels that sent her over six feet tall, Nerissa was a striking sight.

Camille and Trillian followed, spinning onto the dance floor in all their fetish goth-glory. Dark and vampy, they made one hell of a pair. I blinked. Trillian cut a damn fine figure, now that I looked at him through my Kahlúa colored eyes. The song shifted and it was retro city all over again, with “Electric Avenue,” followed by “She Blinded Me with Science,” then “Whip It,” and of course “Safety Dance.”

I polished off my drink and grabbed Shade’s hand. “Dance with me.”

He blinked. I danced, but it wasn’t a common request, considering I preferred curling up on the sofa with television and junk food.

“Are you sure, babe? You look a little flushed.” His voice sounded huskier than usual, and I wanted nothing more than to press up against him.

I glanced down at the glasses on the table. Apparently, I’d had seven rounds, not four like I thought. But though my mind was a little fuzzy, more than anything, I wanted to dance with my lover.

“Dance.
Now!
”

We whirled out on the dance floor, but I whirled a little too enthusiastically and would have gone toppling to the floor, except that Shade had a tight grip on my hand.

He pulled me back into his arms and we began shaking it up to “Elevator Man” by Oingo Boingo.

But as Shade spun me around, I began to realize that maybe I was a tad drunk. Booze hit my system overly fast and I hadn’t planned on having seven drinks, that was for sure. Not entirely certain what I was doing, I just attempted to stay on my feet. I probably should have asked Shade to take me back to the table, but I was so light-headed I couldn’t seem to form the words.

The next minute, none of that mattered.

The door burst open and Daniel, our Earthside, FBH cousin, darted inside, followed by what looked like a very angry Viking. The muscle-bound man wearing the leather breeches and tunic grabbed Daniel by the collar and lifted him over his head.

Shade let go of my hand and I was so startled that I tripped back into the crowd, taking down a couple of vampires who were dancing. We hit the floor as Daniel sailed across the room; the Viking tossed him like a Scotsman tossing a log in the Highland Games.

As Daniel landed in a shuddering heap by my side, Camille darted toward the northern intruder, but the man took one look at her, then at the rest of the bar, and vanished from sight, as if he’d never existed.

New York Times
bestselling author
Yasmine Galenorn
writes urban fantasy, mystery, and metaphysical nonfiction. A graduate of Evergreen State College, she majored in theater and creative writing. Yasmine has been in the Craft for more than thirty-four years and is a shamanic witch. She describes her life as a blend of teacups and tattoos, and lives in the Seattle area with her husband, Samwise, and their cats. Yasmine can be reached at her website at galenorn.com, and via Twitter at twitter.com/yasminegalenorn, and via her publisher. If you send her snail mail, please enclose a self-addressed stamped envelope if you want a reply.