A Werewolf, A Vampire, and A Fae Walk Into A Bar (Book 1 of The Last Witch Series)

I take a moment to look at this rock. It's metallic gray with copper veins running through it. Veins that seem to glow, though I'm sure that's just a trick of the light. I shrug off my jacket and tuck the rock away on a shelf behind the bar. "What you got there?" Joe asks, his voice slightly slurred because even I've lost track of how many Smithwick's he's had.

I look at it and shrug. "A rock, I guess. A bit unusual looking. You guys ever seen the wind throw stones before?"

I look around at Frank, Joe and Phil, the only patrons of our fine establishment tonight. Well, except Karl, but he's passed out in the back booth as always. There are stories that he has never moved, and he's actually a well-preserved corpse. I can neither confirm nor deny this. But his tab gets paid and he doesn't smell any worse than these other bastards. So we're good.

"It's bad out there, guys. One last round? Then I'm closing shop before you're stuck here all week."

There's a collective groan at being kicked out before nine (on a Tuesday, God forbid), but I shrug and top off drinks. They'll thank me in the morning when they wake up in their own beds rather than the floor of my bar. I'm just serving the last beer when the bell over the door dings, and I look up in surprise as a flurry of snow chases three men into my bar.

And by three men, I mean three absolute specimens. These are, hands down, the sexiest guys I've ever seen. It takes me all of two seconds to make that assessment.

I place a hand over my baby bump to remind myself what happens when I let a pretty face and a hot body talk me into bad decisions--and these guys look like a lot of bad decisions wrapped in a delicious bow.

Settle yourself, woman. You don't need more complications with a baby on the way.

"Close the door," Frank shouts. "You're letting in the storm and Bernie ain't mopping that shit in her condition."

A smile tugs at the corner of my lips. This town takes care of its own, that's for sure. And by the looks of these newcomers, they're definitely not from around here.

Though they came in together, I get the distinct impression they're not exactly friends as they glare at each other suspiciously.

What they're doing in my pub on a weeknight during a blizzard is beyond me.

They each choose separate tables near the back, though they don't take their eyes off each other. Strange. As I walk over to take their order, I also study them.

I may have sworn off men for the foreseeable future... like, until my kid is in college... but that doesn't mean I can't enjoy some eye candy when it walks into my bar.

"Hey guys, we just called last round, so I can get you something, but then we're closing up early on account of the storm."

"A whiskey on the rocks," Mr. Sexy #1 says, in an accent that sounds vaguely British. He is a tall drink of water and I am thirsty for it. I haven't had sex since the night this baby happened, but again, that's beside the point His skin is pale, like moonlight, and his hair is as dark midnight and matches the deep, dark depths of his eyes. He has a face chiseled from marble and full lips that are currently pinched in annoyance. He's dressed

as

unusually--in fact, all three of them are. Like they've just come from a cosplay convention, though no cosplay convention would ever come to Rowley. This guy has a long black cloak and wears fitted leather pants and a black silk shirt

underneath.

It takes all my will power to pry my eyes off of him and train them on Mr. Sexy #2. This boy is all wild energy--like an untamed forest, with eyes the color of deep green leaves, coppery brown hair that's tussled in thatjust-had-sex way, and a av matching stubble that accentuates his rugged good looks. He's dressed in neutral colors and natural fabrics, and looks ready to lead a hike

through the woods at night.

"What'll it be?" I ask, trying to sound like the hardened bar owner I should be and not the swoony undersexed pregnant lady I currently am. "And are these on the same tab?" "An ale," he says, his voice deep and resonant, with a sexy lilt that's almost Irish. "And no."

"Alright, what about you?" I ask Mr. I Sexy #3, whose eyes are the lightest blue I've ever seen. He has long, pale blond hair that only adds to his sex appeal, and wears a rich, velvet cloak pinned with a silver broach.

He looks unsure about his choices, so I size him up and suggest a Vesper Martini, even though it means more work for me.

"Very well," he says, and I can't place his accent, but it's definitely not American.

"What brings you boys to town?" I ask, keenly aware that everyone is watching this interaction.

The three Sexies silently glare at each other for a long moment before Sexy #2 finally answers. "A family errand," he says vaguely.

"Huh. Well, I hope you didn't drive. It's going to be a rough night on those roads."

When none of them reply, I turn and head back to the bar to get their drinks.

Joe wags his eyebrows as I work. "What's their deal?"

"I don't know. Never seen them before."

"You gonna bag one of 'em?" he asks with a dumb grin.

I roll my eyes. "You know I'm not interested in guys right now," I say, trying to hide the fact that I'm extremely interested in all three.