About Face (Wolf Within) by Burgess Amy Lee

Author:Burgess, Amy Lee [Burgess, Amy Lee]
Language: eng
Format: azw
Published: 2017-08-16T04:00:00+00:00

Chapter 11

“Classical music’s for practicing your technique, woman, not for a night in an Irish pub.” Declan Byrne managed to roar his criticism so loud everyone in the pub broke off what they were doing—and many of them had been listening to me play Mozart on the harp—to stare.

From his perch on a bar stool, Paddy made a rude gesture behind Declan’s back, but I didn’t grin as he’d no doubt intended. The Mozart had been an attempt to cheer myself after a brooding day in Murphy’s apartment watching movies with Paddy and Fee.

We’d fled to An Puca in search of food, and the lure of the harp had proved too much for me again. Maybe I could play out my melancholy and confusion, but no, Declan Byrne had showed up and decided to be an asshole. Or perhaps, as I was beginning to suspect, that was his default setting.

“I exhausted my repertoire of sprightly Irish pub tunes the first night I played. Not much call for them at WASP-y New England weddings and upscale business receptions. Go figure. You’re so bored, Declan, you take over.” I smothered my regret with irritation and stepped off the platform onto the sticky pub floor. If I ran this place, somebody’d be out with a mop more than once a week or whatever Paddy’s cleaning system might have been. The way he kept his desk organized, I wondered if the pub even owned a mop.

“Boo, Declan, you bastard. Some of us were enjoying the Mozart,” yelled a pretty brunette with warm, sherry-colored eyes. “Hey, Stanzie, you ever hear the one where Mozart was Pack?”

I grinned, cheered despite my irritation with Declan and my humiliation at Murphy’s hands.

“If all the ones I’ve heard about famous people being Pack were true, there’d be no Others left.”

“Just the stupid ones. No, wait, that’s all of them,” deadpanned the brunette’s companion, a gorgeous young man in a dark shirt that molded to his muscular arms and chest. God, why did Irish men have to be so sexy?

A raucous roar of laughter went up around the pub, and I tried not to let it bother me as I picked my sticky way to the empty stool beside Paddy at the end of the bar.

“You’re frowning.” He slid his Guinness in my direction. I tried to catch Alannah’s eye to get my own, but she developed an urgent need to wipe the other end of the bar clean with her dirty bar rag.

“This whole pack makes fun of Others?” I gave in with a sigh and took a sip of Paddy’s Guinness. Of course, the minute I did, Alannah flew down to our end and drew Paddy a new one. Me, she ignored. Probably a good thing because who knew what she might have accidentally deposited in my glass. Flinging myself on her bond mate’s back like a silent assassin had probably not been the best method of kick-starting a friendship with her.

Paddy chuckled as he took a healthy swig.

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