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“The only tension I’ve noticed is his obvious hatred of me,” I said, shaking my head in firm denial. “Heloathestraining me. He’s made that perfectly clear. In fact, he takes every opportunity he can to remind me how shitty I am with a sword.”
Callister sat back in his chair, still grinning.
“Yeah...he might not enjoy training you, but he still wants to fuck you. Swordplay requires a lot of physical contact...a lot of trust in your partner. He was probably concerned that the scent of your blood would be enough to finally push him over the edge.”
My angry chewing slowed down as I gave some consideration to Callister’s insights. Maybe there was tension between me and Jack. Maybe it wasn’t all in my head...especially if someone as cynical as Callister had noticed it.
Heat flooded my cheeks as I recalled Jack’s abrupt dismissal and the revulsion in his body.
In his eyes.
What if he hadn’t been disgusted by me at all? What if he wanted me so bad that it actually caused him physical pain?
What if it was more than simply struggling against his vampire instincts?
“Hey, Chess, how’s your...um...recoverygoing?” I asked, ready to talk about something else. “Are you back to your old self yet?”
His permagrin faded, and Hatter let out a whoop of laughter.
“Oh, Alice...I think you’ve wrung every last drop of magic from the Cheshire Cat. It’s going to be at least another day until he has the strength to visit you-know-where and look for you-know-what.”
“It’s not that bad,” Chess argued with a surly frown. “I’m almost recovered.”
Hatter leaned forward on his elbow, propping up his chin in his hand, giving me the most seductive smile I’d seen from him yet.
“Personally, I don’t know what you find so alluring about a demon who goes limp for days on end, when you could have a fae who can keep it up as long as you can take it.”
Chess’s arm reached out and swiped across Hatter’s face, knocking his top hat onto the floor. Hatter reached down for his hat, then retaliated by throwing the contents of a giant cup of tea in Chess’s face.
The two of them fell to the floor and started to wrestle, but all Callister did was tap a bit of ash into a silver tray and roll his eyes.
“Care to place a wager on who comes out on top?” Ransom casually asked.
“Why not?” Callister replied confidently, his eyes sparkling with the thrill of the bet. “Five gold coins on Hatter.”
Ransom raised an eyebrow, a playful smirk tugging at his lips. “Make it ten, and you’re on. My money’s on Chess. He’s got that feline agility.”
Callister snickered, shaking his head. “Hatter’s unpredictable madness is his strength. He’s like a storm – you never know where he’s going to strike next.”
“True, but Chess can read his opponents like an open book. He anticipates moves before they’re even made,” countered Ransom, watching the fight with greater interest.
Callister took a long drag of his cigarette, then leaned closer, his voice lowering conspiratorially. “Alright, let’s up the ante. Twenty gold coins, and the winner gets Alice all to themselves tonight. His eyes immediately flicked over to me. “Unless you have other plans.”
“I have zero plans until Jack Ass says otherwise.”
I couldn’t help grinning at him. I’d never had the Caterpillar all to myself, and I couldn’t wonder if inside that hard, tattooed exoskeleton was a gooey, soft center.
“You’ve got yourself a deal,” Ransom agreed, extending his hand to seal their wager. “May the best demon—or shifter—win.”
As they shook hands, their attention returned to the ongoing scuffle, where Chess and Hatter were a blur of motion. Each move was as calculated as it was spontaneous. The air was thick with anticipation, the outcome of the fight anyone’s guess.
Just as the wrestling match really got going, a streak of white shot past the corner of my eye. My heart did a somersault at the thought that it was Jack, coming to break up the playful fight, but it was another white-haired man. The one who’d led me into this strange, wicked Wonderland in the first place.
Winston, the White Rabbit.
His all-white attire was impeccable like I remembered, and his gold pocket watch dangled form his waistcoat. But his white hair was unkempt and his eyes were wild.
“Queen Amari,” he panted, his voice filled with distress. “Have you seen her?”
