Getting Familiar with Your Demon: That Old Black Magic, Book 4 by Jodi Redford Page A

need to turn tail and run his ass as fast as he could out of there, he ventured deeper into the overcrowded space. Enthusiastic dancers jostled him on all sides. He’d never been more aggravated with humans in his life. And considering some of the assholes he’d had to deal with, that was saying a hell of a lot. He maneuvered around a guy dressed like Elvis who was doing some kind of weird flapping chicken dance.
    These people shouldn’t be allowed out in public. Smothering his growl—and the urge to punch Elvis in the side of the head—Sam approached the bar. He drained the remainder of his beer in one long, chugging swallow. At this rate, he’d have to consume an amount that’d put anyone else into a coma just so he’d develop enough of a buzz that’d hopefully keep him from killing someone. Might be kind of hard convincing one of these witches to sleep with him if he was strangling their dance partner.
    A spot opened at the bar, and he took over the space. Plunking the empty bottle down, he held up a finger, giving the bartender the signal for a replacement beer. Drumming his other hand on top of the bar, Sam glanced down. He cocked an eyebrow when he realized he was tapping the lid of a coffin. Despite his foul mood, he grinned. Okay, the music sucked donkey dong, but at least the decorations were cool.
    The bartender deposited a newly opened bottle of Budweiser in front of Sam. Glancing toward the overflowing tip container, Sam grimaced. Shit. He hadn’t brought his wallet. If he didn’t leave a buck or something, he’d look like a damn cheapskate. Digging in his pocket, he grabbed one of the condom packets and flipped it into the jar. The bartender blinked before a come-hither smile curved beneath his mustache.
    Even if the dude was a white witch, there was no fucking way Sam was playing hide the salami with him. He grabbed his beer and quickly pivoted—right into the woman rushing toward the bar. She smacked into him, spilling her drink on his shirt.
    “Oh goddess, I’m so sorry.” She looked up at him and gasped, her big blue eyes widening.
    Even with her glorious blonde hair half hidden beneath an ivy wreath and glitter sprinkling her face, he’d recognize his rescuer anywhere. Their stares remained fused on each other. Although he’d known there was a strong chance she’d be here, he’d held out hope they wouldn’t run into each other. That right there had been his first mistake. It was damn well a universal law that if there was a way for something to fuck up his plans, it was gonna happen. His second mistake had been assuming a clear head would mellow his reaction to her. The exact opposite proved true. He held his breath, trying without success not to drag in her delicious scent.
    A clumsy dancer knocked into them and propelled her against Sam’s chest. Breaking from the spell of stunned silence that’d apparently held her hostage, she blinked at him. “What are you doing here?” she demanded in a fierce whisper, her fingers clutching his waist.
    “Enjoying the party.” Shit, that had to be the biggest lie he’d ever uttered. Although having her wedged against him might prove to be the highlight of his night.
    “Are you insane?” The question must have only been rhetorical because she looked away from him and darted a furtive glance to the sea of bodies moving around them. Panic tightening her features, she jerked her attention to him and let go of his soaked T-shirt. Her empty glass fell from her fingers and slammed against the toe of his boot before rolling to the floor between their feet. She inched backwards. “Y-you can’t be here, Samael.”
    He stared at her. “How the hell do you know who I am?”
    She swallowed, the slender muscles in her throat working. “I—I heard Jasper call your name. So I looked you up in the registry.”
    These damn witches had a registry on him? Then again, should he be surprised? They were aggravating, meddlesome creatures.
    She took another