Vicious Vixens

Veronica

It’s tough being a fairy fucking princess when you run a fresh MC. Okay, okay, okay… It’s not official yet, but I’m getting the girls.

They’re out there—those voracious vixens, or maybe vicious vixens? Anyways, I’m still workshopping on the name.

These ladies are out there, they gotta be. I know I’m not the only one. Misfit Fae needing a home to call their own. Outcasts from their mother tribe.

Sure, I wasn’t cast out, but I had to leave.

Summer’s Daughter isn’t a Harley ridin’, leather wearin’, ass kickin’ bitch. No, no, no. Spring is a delicately blooming flower, a soft giving breeze. The veritable life of the Fae kingdom.

But that’s not me anymore. I’m not sure it ever was.

The Seelie Court can take their politics and posturing, their bent truths and conniving ways and rot in the Summerland for all I care.

I might be young in Fae years, but that court will make a girl go gray.

Plus, the human world these days…

I just don’t have words.

Two centuries ago, I couldn’t straddle a horse without villagers giving me the stink-eye. But now, now I can hop on my bike wearing leathers practically painted to my skin and straddle that vibrating mean machine like we’re about to Netflix and Chill.

And the shows! I mean, tits and cock whenever you like. Food delivered to your door with all the flavors of different continents! I remember the first time I stayed with the humans… trying their food had been depressing and tasteless. I’d been so excited to venture out and taste and smell and fuck everything the humans liked. The 1700’s had not been the time for an adventure. Not like now.

No way was Mother going to plop her heavy crown of flowers onto my head, thank you very much. She’s a few more good centuries up her sleeve.

I’m just getting started.

So now, I’m cruising down the main road looking for the telltale sign of lone female bikers.

I have three girls already, but we need more.

There’s Kitty, Merlin, and Sage. They might not be Fae, but they’re supes and they like the open road and smell of hot asphalt.

Aha! Vespa.

Okay, so a hot pink vespa parked in front of a used bookstore doesn’t necessarily scream badass biker bitch or supe. But we just might have a convert. We could use a few open-minded humans in our club. Gotta keep up appearances, you know?

I turn into the empty spot next to the Vespa and grin at the black skull stickers slapped on its frame.

My Harley rumbles to a soft growl and I flip out the kickstand. I saunter inside the bookstore, wondering why the hell anyone would read when you can pop open your phone for porn.

Don’t get me wrong, I’m a reader. Or I was, but you spend a few centuries with just books as your besties and you might need a break too.

My leathers slick together as I approach the tiny lady manning the front counter. She’s Korean, with hot pink hair, and a button that says Not All Asians Look Alike, Karen!

I’m immediately besotted. Not just with her cheeky button, or her pink hair, but maybe a bit with her cherry red lipstick and giant hipster glasses. She’s sexy and she’s trying to hide it under a well-loved Nerdcore band shirt. MC Lars.

I’ll take any MC.

She pops her gum and looks at me with an eyebrow raised. I realize I’ve been staring at her tits. It’s the shirt, honest.

“Can I help you?” She has an accent and a lot more snark.

I lean on the counter. “That your Vespa?”

“Sure is.” Pop. I jerk back to avoid the bubble.

“You ever want to ride a big girl bike?” As I say it, I realize it sounds way dirtier than I intended. Okay, maybe it’s on purpose.

She peaks outside and sees my Harley dwarfing her vespa and I can tell she likes what she sees.

“What’s your name?” I ask.

“Karen.”

I laugh and flick her button. “Cute.”

“Flick my button again and it’ll be the last button you flick,” Karen deadpans.

I’m in love. Crushing hard.

I hand her a flyer. “I’ll sponsor your motorcycle endorsement if you come to my meet and greet.” I don’t tell her the cost of an endorsement is dirt cheap.

It’s at my bar, which will become our clubhouse. I just need the girls.

I turn to leave and as the bell above the door rings as I open it, Karen calls out. “Your head so full of hot air, Fae nose can’t smell so good, huh?”

I am so out of touch. Her glamour is good. Too good. But let’s be honest, I wasn’t sniffing (staring, maybe?) “No shit.”

“Shit.” Karen smirks.

It’s impolite to ask a glamoured creature what their base form is, but you don’t forsake your crown out of politeness. “What’s your poison?”

“Dokkaebi.”

Well. “I think I just found my enforcer.”

Dokkaebi are notorious for their wrestling skills, and she’d bring the clubhouse good luck as well. I can already tell she’s mischievous, so I know she isn’t an evil goblin. Not that I’d care. I bet her unglamoured form is cute as hell too.

Karen winks at me as I step out, breathing in the summer air and delightful stink of my small town. The smell of donuts and coffee drift out of the nearby coffee shop. I decide to treat myself.

I pick up a dozen donuts for the ladies at the bar and pop the box in one of my saddle bags.

The ride to the bar is short and Kitty, Merlin, and Sage are already seated at the bar.

Merlin usually manages behind the bar, but she’s helped herself to a top-shelf whiskey and is in the middle of pouring me a glass as I slip onto a stool.

Merlin grunts and slides it over. She isn’t a talker, that one. I found Merlin three years ago in a ravine. She’d been naked and bleeding and near delirious. She told me her name was Merlin and over the last three years, Kitty and Sage have managed to pull some of her background out of the taciturn woman.

The name is true and Nimuë didn’t imprison her into a tree or behind a tower. She cursed the man to wear the form of a woman for all time. Merlin hadn’t been willing to share the secrets behind her powers, and Nimuë told her she would learn the curse of powerlessness. Thus, the tits. Yikes, am I right? Good thing we’re in this century.

Merlin looks like a Nordic goddess or a Viking warrior. She’s gorgeous and uses her tits to her advantage. The men love her and from what I can tell, she loves the men and her tits.

I bet the Lady of the Lake never realized the curse was a blessing. As Merlin once said to us; tits, clit, and immortality…joke’s on the bitch.

Kitty, our resident Succubus, leans over and gives me a long sniff. “Haven’t had a Dokkaebi before.”

I’m embarrassed that she can sniff out Karen’s nature afterwards, and I hadn’t been able to guess standing in front of her. I can usually see a glamour from a mile away but I wasn’t looking at a glamour.

I raise an eyebrow and sip my whiskey. “Not guaranteed yet, but I think she’ll turn.”

Kitty taps her long, stiletto nails on the counter. Blood red to match her lipstick and tight corset, her large tits nearly bursting out. Her braided black hair is pulled into a tight bun and her brown eyes lined in black eyeliner give her a feline look. She’s downright sinful looking. When I met her in the 1920s, she’d been a burlesque dancer, her black skin and tattoos were exotic then, especially in the more rural Midwest. The men and women she played with were willing to submit to the sexual pain she fed from. They loved her then, and they love her still.

Kitty will be the VP and Merlin our Chaplain. Willowy Sage our Treasurer.

Sage is a witch, the kind that was burned at the stake in Salem. In fact, she had been burned at the stake. Or they attempted it, but no witch worth her salt would stay burnt and stay dead. She’s the opposite of Kitty, not only in demeanor, but in looks too; straight honey-blonde hair, pale skin, and a friendly fuck-off vibe where Kitty has more of a fuck me one. Most of her body is covered in drapey, bohemian clothes to hide the scars. Just because she managed to escape the fire alive didn’t mean she came out unharmed.

“She’ll come,” Sage says with a partial smile, her eyes glazed. She’s a seer, and an absolute avid gambler. She’ll read you your tarot in one hand and deal you in for poker with the other. It’s because of her we afforded this joint and the apartments upstairs. We co-own the building.

I smile into my drink. Sage is the one who had found me, not the other way around. She states it was because she saw a vision of a Fae who would lead the lost and desperate female supes into a haven of safety and power. That Fae is me—if you couldn’t guess it, or so she says. I’m not totally sold on this haven, we can find it anywhere if we look hard enough, but every time I deny it, she gives me this look that says time will tell. Which gives me the absolute willies.

I spin on the stool and let out a deep breath. “After the meet and greet, and some more ladies enlisted, we’ll be that much closer.”

Merlin is about to say something when the bell over the door chimes and the door swings open with a thud.

A whirlwind of a girl comes bounding in. She sees the box of donuts, eyes lighting up, and immediately starts to hop over.

Before her grubby fingers touch the chocolate glaze, my chocolate glaze, I snap the lid shut.

“Paying customers only,” I say with a saccharine smile.

She came inside so quickly; I barely had the time to take her in.

The girl, or woman rather, is in her mid-to-late twenties, but is dressed like a tween. She’s a combination of color and unfortunate Instagram fashion trends. Her white-blonde hair is a frizzy mess pulled into two puffballs on the top of her head. Straight bangs run to her ears that are covered in hoops from lobe to tragus. She’s wearing round transparent sunglasses that don’t do jack-all for blocking out sunshine, and boots that remind me of a Go-Go dancer. (There isn’t a Fae out there that could resist that decade). Her tits are so perky and pushed up to her collarbones, they might just be the expensive kind.

She’s unsettlingly pretty and annoyingly cute and buzzing with enough energy to grate on my nerves. Bottle up some adderall and juicy fruit gum, and you get this girl.

“Of course!” she gasps, pulling out her wallet. “Can I get the chocolate glaze and…” she looks down at my drink, “whatever you’re having.”

Merlin gives the girl a long look, then pours her a drink. Not what I’m having. The girl gets a lite beer. She hands over a twenty and sips the beer after nearly cramming the entire donut in her mouth. “So hungry,” she says around her half-chewed donut, then she bounces into the stool next to mine and spins to face us as if she just made new friends. Just because I run a bar doesn’t mean I want to become buddy-buddy with all my customers.

I’m about to spin around and block her out when Kitty raises an eyebrow and sniffs the air, her lips curling into a subtle sneer. “Shifter.”

The girl turns beet-red. “H-how?”

“Take a sniff, girly.” Merlin murmurs. The shifter does so, her perky little nose scrunching up. The shifter pulls off her sunglasses as her eyes go wide. She had been so focused on the donuts, she walked right into a powerhouse of supes without realizing it. Okay, I might be biased, but we are badass.

I let out a chuckle and lean against the bar. Merlin walks behind the bar and takes the whiskey with her. She goes to grab various liquors and starts to mix. She likes to experiment with different cocktails, and I’ve never had the heart to tell her she isn’t as good as Sage. When it comes to regular drinks, Merlin makes them to perfection. Her experiments… let’s just say I lost my tastebuds for two days after one of them. Sage, on the other hand, mixes up drinks like they’re potions. And they just might be. They’ve had me in tears, in chuckles, and in heat.

Kitty, Sage, and I take our drinks. Merlin passes one over to the girl as well. She sniffs it but knocks it back, and does an excellent job hiding her shudder.

“It’s great,” she rasps, giving Merlin a grin. I almost see the enchanter smile. “I’m Emma,” Emma says, extending her hand out to Merlin. Merlin shakes it. Merlin never shakes someone’s hand. My original estimation of Emma went up a few notches.

Emma looks at Kitty, “So what are you?” Umm, rude much? Those notches drop back down.

Kitty reaches out her hand and when Emma gives it, the succubus clasps it in both hands. She raises her to her mouth and kisses it. Emma’s blush deepens.

“The name’s Kitty,” she says in her wonderfully throaty voice. “Succubus.”

“Sage,” the witch says, and none of us are surprised to see her get up and give Emma a hug. Patchouli oil tickles my nose and I sneeze, glaring at Sage while I do so. She knows I think it smells like mold. “Witch.”

Emma’s big blue eyes widen at the hug, and she continues to stare at Kitty in wonder. Her eyes flicker toward me.

“This is my bar. It’s called Refuge for a reason. Most call me Veronica, but if I like you, you can call me Vee.”

“She’ll like you, eventually,” says Sage, smirking at my eye roll. “Supernaturals who need a safe haven are drawn here. What are you running from?”

Sage can be a bit much at times, but sometimes, she’s just what a girl needs.

Like someone flicked a switch, Emma begins to sob and falls back into Sage’s hug. Our Lady’s Bits, had I been able to cry on command that quickly, perhaps Mother Dearest would have been more forgiving. Sage gently pats her back. “Hush now, sweetie. We got you now. There’s an Airbnb above the bar for our guests. Stay there as long as you need.”

My bar is downtown in a gorgeous three-story building and two stories of apartments up top. It’s one of those older downtowns with buildings that share walls and are clustered together like little old ladies that gather in their lawn chairs to gossip. It’s old and charming, and the apartments have been a big draw for those staying out of town. We have enough visitors that I was able to justify converting the second-story apartments into bougie Airbnb rooms. The floor-to-ceiling windows let in a ton of natural light and I might have charmed the rooms to respond to the visitors.

Kitty and I live in the largest apartment on the third floor, while Merlin and Sage share one of the lofts. It’s our building and our bar, and it’s home.

I roll my eyes. “However, I don’t run a charity. I’m hiring a server, so if you stay more than three days, you can step in until I find someone.”

“Really?” Emma asks earnestly.

“If you behave.”

Emma flings her arms around me. “Thank you!”

I pull back and boop her nose, like a dog. “Yup.”

The young woman grins and knocks back the rest of her lite beer.

“Anything we need to worry about?” I ask the shifter. Emma sniffs and wipes at her eyes.

“My pack dumped me.”

Uuff. That’s a rough one. Shifters are a tight-knit group and it’s not often they outcast one of their own.

“Poor thing,” Sage murmurs, “tell us what happened.”

Merlin slides another beer toward her. Emma looks up in gratitude, smiling softly at the mage. I frown—Merlin isn’t usually so nice to our patrons. Well, I suppose Emma isn’t a patron anymore. She’ll be one of us if Sage has her way. Which, to be honest, she probably will. She always does.

“We shift when we turn twenty-one. I was a late bloomer and shifted last week, on my twenty-fifth birthday. We’re wolf shifters, or they are. My family, that is.”

Emma let out a giant sigh. “I suppose I should just show you.”

Before her shift is finished, I bust out laughing.

As high as my ankles is the cutest Pomeranian. The Pom’s hair is a white poofball, just like Emma’s white-blonde hair. I pick her up and snuggle her.

What?

Tell me who can resist a Pomeranian’s snuggles and I will tell you they have no soul.

Emma licks my face with her tiny puppy tongue, and before I know it, she shifts back. I’m still holding her when she’s human, my hands on her perky tits. I pat them with a smile and pull away. Definitely expensive.

Merlin, Sage, and Kitty are staring at the shifter.

“Well, that was unexpected,” Kitty says with a chuckle.

Emma shrugs, “My pack didn’t like it.”

I’m not happy on the shifter’s behalf. I thought we were beyond that as a society, but some of the supe societies are still traditional, I guess. “If they kicked you out, you’re not really running then, right?” I ask.

“The alpha wants me back.” I roll my eyes.

“Isn’t it up to the alpha to kick you out?”

“It was a democratic vote,” Emma says. What a contradiction… they used voting to kick her out and the macho alpha of her pack wants her back because… “He thinks we might be mates.” Yup, there it is. “I’m not going back.”

“Why? Don’t like him much?”

“Gross, no. I don’t need that toxic masculinity in my life right now. I’m also so not ready to settle down.”

That I can understand. The Summer Queen never shuts up about grandbabies. In Fae years, I’m equivalent to a human just starting their third decade. Too much livin’ to do. This isn’t medieval times, popping out babies as soon as Auntie Flow visits. Thank the ever living banshees for that.

“Okay, Emma. Here’s the deal. You’re going to join our MC. We’ll hook you up with some cash for the license and teach you how to ride.”

“MC?”

“Motorcycle club. We’re workshopping the name.”

“Vicious Vixens is still my favorite,” Sage pipes in.

“Voracious Vixens,” Kitty growls.

“Oh! I’m a designer! I can work with the name and mockup some sweet graphics for the logo!” Emma squeals.

“Of course, you are,” I murmur, amused.

I wish I knew how much trouble the pooch would bring—but hindsight, am I right?