The Case of the Lost Opera Singer

by Shai August

  The fates had blessed him beyond measure with the gift of Theresa Freeman, he would not let them down by losing her to the Hotel or the drow or anything. Rehearsal over, they retreated to their suite. At the door, he gathered her in his arms and carried her to bed.

  “You need to sleep, my spitfire.”

  She blushed, whether at his nickname for her or for something else. “I don’t need sleep.” She rubbed her bottom against him suggestively. His manhood needed no reason to get hard for her, she could just breath and he was ready to go, but he ignored the invitation.

  “Lies, woman. You had less sleep than I did last night, and you worked magic even if you claimed it was low level. Then you sang for seven or eight hours today. Plus, you haven’t had a full meal.”

  “The nutrients.”

  Tucking his arm, under her head, he pulled her closer. His dick just needed to feel the curves that was all, they could nap. Just nap, he told the throbbing snake in his pants.

  She began to argue, but he cut her off. “Nutrients. Schmutrients. No matter what HQ says, they don’t replace a regular meal. You will rest.”

  She closed her eyes defiantly like a toddler but drifted off in less than a minute, proving his point of her being exhausted to the point of collapse.

  They slept through dinner and woke up over an hour and a half late for the night’s operatic performance. When she emerged from the bathroom, dressed in a floor length blood orange dress with slits up to her waist on both sides, he almost wept for the want of her. If he had to die, he wanted it to be between her thick thighs.

  “You’re lucky we are already late.”

  “No, you’re lucky we’re already late,” she told him, as her heated gaze dragged over him in his tuxedo. Her desire for him naked in her eyes and coming through the mating bond with the force of a runaway train.

  Arm in arm, they left for the auditorium to discover Delilah Dennis surrounded by a bright white spotlight performing alone on stage. Her voice was the opposite of Reese’s, high and breathy, but it was clear, and chime like to his ears.

  “The Magic Flute,” Reese answered before he asked, he felt her trying to communicate volumes to him through the mating bond, but he didn’t understand. There was no polite way of leaving without pulling a bun in the oven, and there wasn’t anything solid in Reese’s stomach to vomit he was sure. His last solid meal had been three All-Star Specials from Waffle House at three a.m. Tuesday morning before he reported to HQ to begin this assignment. His good luck meal that he had before every assignment.

  Finally, she pointed, and he realized that the drow was sitting in the audience. Well in an elevated mezzanine box to the immediate right of the stage. The drow’s expressionless face said nothing, but his posture spoke louder than Delilah’s. He was perched on the edge of his chair, leaning so far forward that he could topple out of the box onto an audience member below. He was enraptured.

  He stood, ready to shift and charge the drow. They had to catch him while out. Like the worst case of Murphy’s law, Delilah’s performance ended at the same moment. Bodies stood clapping in applause, ruining his plans to use the seatbacks to launch himself at the drow. He stepped into the aisle, his eyes never leaving his prey, but more bodies blocked his way as they rushed the stage.

  The drow was on his feet, clapping thunderously eyes glowing a bright silver even in the dimmed light. Reese could handle Delilah Dennis, the drow was his. He felt the beast rumbling to the surface, fighting through the walls they’d built to keep him contained.

  Only Reese’s pull on the mating bond stopped him from shifting into the beast and attacking the drow in front of five hundred witnesses. She was right, they couldn’t reveal themselves in front of all these people, but he couldn’t help feeling like they were missing their only opportunity to take them both and complete the mission.

  Chapter Seven – Escape

  Thursday, October 31st

  Reese

  They’d spent the night side by side on the sofa, drinking the scotch just for the sake of drinking scotch, no extra nutrients added. Colt couldn’t stop vacillating between regretting not understanding her sooner and not getting to the drow faster. With his shifter metabolism, the scotch barely made a dent while she was working on raising her third sheet to the wind. The mating bond pulsed with his emotions that were starting to overwhelm her the more she drank. Tomorrow, she would have to concentrate on finding a magical hangover cure and without any of her spellbooks. She was dreading the full-dress rehearsal run through in the morning.

  “Listen, Mr. Perfect, we’ll get another chance. This isn’t over, please stop beating yourself up. It isn’t attractive,” she told him for what felt like the third time.

  “You don’t find me attractive?” he reacted, rearing back as if he’d been slapped across the face with a rotting fish.

  “Not this bitter morose version of you. In fact, I’m going to rescind my open invitation to between my thighs until you snap out of it,” she promised.

  His whole body stiffened, she braced herself for him to get pissy when his eyes widened. “He introduced the opera!”

  “What?” Her liquor dampened brain was not following his revelation.

  “The drow! He introduced the opera the night before and probably last night, but we missed it. Tonight, when you perform, you’ll be backstage while he will be introducing you.”

  Her mind jogged to catch up to his words. She would be backstage while the drow was onstage. “Jumping Jasmine!” she gasped, as the full impact of his words cleared her brain. “I could pull a full diva and demand you be allowed backstage to hold my hand.”

  Grabbing his hands, she leaned over and planted a large kiss on him.

  He leaned back. “Am I attractive to you again?” he asked seriously, the bond had doubled in size and was taut with his questioning.

  “You’ll never not be attractive to me,” she admitted, interlacing their fingers and laying her head on his shoulder. “But watching you wallow in failure won’t be easy. You’re the golden boy of the Agency, and you can’t take mistakes personally. And earlier wasn’t a mistake, it was the wrong time.”

  She felt the slack coming back into the mating bond as he lay back across the sofa and pulled her flush to him. Every place on her body popped out into gooseflesh at the feel of him underneath her. “This whole assignment has been tough; I almost turned the car around and went back to HQ on the drive here.”

  “Why?” She tried to sit up to see the expression on face and the emotion in his eyes, but he only held her tighter not letting her off his broad chest. His muscular arms were quickly becoming one of her favorite places in the world to be, especially as his hands rubbed the knot of tension at the back of her neck that no amount of scotch would loosen. Like the wicked witch, she was melting under his clever hands, no bucket of water necessary.

  “The nine-hour drive here with your scent filling the air and distracting me the entire way, I should have realized then what was happening. It’s how my kind mate, male griffins take on the scent of their mate for several months. When I couldn’t stop myself from blocking your scent out of my nose and my head, my heart couldn’t have been too far behind.”

  She held still at his confession, waiting to see if there was more, but he’d answered more of her questions than she’d asked. How could she tell him that she appreciated his openness and honesty? She spent a lifetime in relationships with guys, be they human, shifter or other, with men only telling her part of the truth. The parts she’d wanted to hear and hiding the rest of the truth like trash being swept under the rug. Never realizing that she’d eventually lift the rug to sweep underneath and find the rest of the full truth hidden there. She needed to show her gratitude by making a sacrifice to the Fates for bringing her a man who would always be truthful.

  “You my graceful soprano need to rest, tomorrow you have the performance of your career.” Just like earlier, he held her until she drifted off to the sound of his heartbeat like
a metronome. She awoke naturally in bed with one of his arms draped across her soft belly. He’d undressed them both and she took her time letting her eyes wander all over him. He was truly perfect, no scars or tattoos or even a blemish, just six foot three inches of carved muscles and butterscotch skin.

  Her hands reached for the one thing on him that was already awake and anxious for her attention. Wrapping her fingers around him hitched the breath in her chest, his silky skin was hot, and she could feel the blood pumping through the shaft as she splayed her fingers all over him.

  “Oh, no ma’am,” he told her as he pulled his dick away and her hope for a little sunrise love. “Not here and not now.”

  “But I, we haven’t.”

  “But nothing, I want to do things proper. I need to resign my appointment. Propose to you properly, with a ring I bought then take you home to Louisiana to meet my folks. Meet your family in Alabama. Get married with a license, then you and me will.”

  “Listen, Mr. By-the-book, when I shared my magic with you that was enough for me. We’re married in my eyes,” she explained reaching again for his length.

  “I’m sure, Ms. I’m Going to Break All the Rules, but I want everything legal and in order.”

  Her mind screeched to a halt and not just from the sexual frustration she was experiencing. “You can’t resign your appointment.”

  “I mated with a fellow agent while on duty, that’s like seven rules broken off the top of my head. I don’t want you to have to switch careers again,” he said protectively.

  Scoffing, she couldn’t stop the laugh from bubbling up and out. “Zosime will never let you quit.”

  “She doesn’t have a choice. I won’t let her fire you,” he said rising to his feet.

  “I can handle finding a new career and being fired or forced to resign or whatever Zosime throws at me.”

  “Why, when you don’t have too?”

  “Why, when you don’t have too?” she repeated back to him.

  The alarm buzzed stopping their burgeoning argument. “Go get dressed, you have a long day ahead of you, Carmen.”

  He stood walking out of the bedroom, leaving her alone and naked. She rethought the sacrifice she was going to make to the Fates. They didn’t deserve shit for saddling her with Mr. Gods Be Damned, Rule Follower to the End.

  Showering, she threw on something loose. She’d be changing costumes all day and didn’t need to bother with trying to find something pretty. Bracing herself before opening the bedroom door, she was going to walk right past Colt without a word or a backward glance, but to her shock he had already left.

  Dress rehearsal lasted six hours with no lunch or breaks, she stood in place and sang as Linda and other hotel staff were resizing the costumes on her. It was happening around the practice room to Don Jose, Zuniga and the thankfully happily married Escamillo. After a full run through and costume fittings were complete, they broke until it was time for the performance.

  Reluctantly, she returned to their suite to find it empty. All morning long, the mating bond hung limply, no communication from his end, like he’d shut both his mind and his heart to her. She’d tried not to be disheartened, but disappointment crept closer with every hour that passed, and the line just dangled. Emotionally and physically she was exhausted, the freshly made bed beckoned and she couldn’t resist its siren’s call for a nap.

  Her normal performance day jitters never emerged during the morning session so she was sure they would later before the performance. She cursed Colt, not even two full days mated, and she didn’t want to sleep without his arms around her.

  She woke up warm and toasty, on the border of about to sweat her hair out. Discovering her missing mate had made her the little spoon without removing the thick hotel duvet, that plus his innate shifter body heat felt like she was trapped in a sauna. Angrily she poked his shoulder, “Where have you been all day?”

  He brushed her finger poke off like she would half-heartedly swat at a moth. “Bought an engagement ring, went to find a justice of the peace and get a marriage license but the state of Texas won’t issue it without both parties in person there to sign,” he murmured sleepily, pulling her back to him.

  Her heart cracked open like an egg, and all the negative emotions, anger and disappointment ran out. “I thought you were angry at me.”

  “I was a little. Maybe more than a little, but I realized you were trying to protect me in the same way I was trying to protect you. I love this job and have wanted to be a Steward since watching my first episode of Hardcastle and McCormick.”

  “Hardcastle and McCormick? The eighties show about the vigilante Steward Agent and the retired judge tracking down rogue criminal shifters who got off on technicalities?” She’d only heard of it during training, when they’d discussed the image of the Stewards in popular culture.

  He smiled nodding, “They also tracked down evil witches and warlocks too.” He tickled her, seeming to revel in her giggles until she squirmed out of his grasp to the other side of the bed, escaping the tickle fest. “Best television show ever. I have all the DVDs and quite a collection of memorabilia,” he said proudly.

  Colt was grinning like a loon at her and she didn’t know how to react. “Hardcastle and McCormick was terrible,” she finally admitted, they’d watched the first season as a class assignment, but she could see how a young shifter boy could fall in love with the show.

  He gasped. “I’m offended. How could the Fates be so cruel as to give me a mate who hates my favorite television show?”

  “Maybe to improve your television watching? I have so much work ahead of me so that you’ll be able to recognize quality television programming,” she complained teasingly, with exaggerated eye rolls.

  Before she knew it, he pulled her back down under his massive chest. “You will not besmirch my show,” he threatened playfully, before leaning down to capture her lips in a soft insistent kiss that curled her toes and heated her to thermonuclear levels as he deepened the kiss alternating sucking on her bottom lip. The hotel duvet would burst into flames at any moment. “Since you never reissued that invitation to between your thighs, I’ll have to stay above the waist.”

  Nestling his hips between her thighs, he trailed his fingers over her hip bones while his mouth worked lower and his teeth grazed the delicate skin of her neck. His hands moved up over her belly to her breasts that were already haphazardly falling out of her sports bra.

  Instead of pulling her tee shirt over her head, he ripped it down the middle, before diving both hands inside her sports bra and freeing her breasts. He lifted them just enough that her nipples were parallel and waiting for his descending mouth. He fit both nipples into his hot mouth at once and suckled until she cried his name. Colt chuckled, then begin swirling his tongue around each nipple in a figure eight motion that made her forget how to bring air in her lungs. She wanted to move, to run from his tongue, but he’d trapped her nicely between his big body and the duvet above her and the soft mattress below.

  There was nowhere for her to escape, every movement of hers gave him greater leverage to feast on her breasts, and all he did was to suck her sensitive nipples deeper into his mouth. He lifted his head, only to grin at her before he lowered it again. She felt the barest graze of teeth, but it was more than enough to push her deep into a spasming orgasm just as her precognition had seen. He held her as her body floated on a cloud of endorphins, tucking her into his side.

  “Amazing,” was all she was able to say before she drifted back to sleep.

  The alarm she’d barely remembered setting jarred her out of her sleep. It was showtime, and she’d rather snuggle back into the arms of her mate than prance across the stage. Never in her life had she wanted to shuck her responsibilities so badly.

  She threw on another shirt and went to the auditorium where the entire cast was gathered. Like any professional production there were people who had already damaged their costumes or stained them with food. The makeup artist had a list of peo
ple she was working her way down, but everyone was trying to jump in line. She dressed in her first costume of the night, before claiming a chair, sitting waiting to pull on the mating bond the signal for her to throw a diva like tantrum for her husband to be allowed backstage.

  At the fifteen-minute mark she began to agitate herself with a sip of potion that gave the drinker a toddler like sugar rush. It wore off just as quickly, thank the gods because if it went longer, she be useless in the fight against the drow. Her left foot started tapping of its own accord while the fingers of her right hand were snapping. Shivers and shakes started to run through her body, “I can’t do this!” she screamed loud enough that it cut through the backstage chaos. “I need Troy!”

  The potion made her dizzy and hyperventilate, tears were coursing down her cheeks. “I need Troy now!” she screamed again. This time the hotel clones jumped into action, scurrying out of the room like the rats they were.

  Linda, and the soprano who played Micaela came forward to soothe her while the rest of the cast resumed getting ready. She was so overwhelmed by the potion that a physical knot formed in her chest, crushing her hopes and dreams that all she could do was cry for her mother or in this case Troy.

  The ten-minute mark was heralded throughout the backstage area, sending everyone into a bigger frenzy.

  She wailed like a banshee, a high keening noise designed to make the ears bleed with repetitive use or sustained exposure. Linda and the other soprano doubled down on their soothing, one of the chorus came over to her corner of the backstage to offer his flask. It smelled decidedly of orange cloves and stale magic; she shook her head vigorously. Colt and she had worked out the timing as close to as possible, they wanted him hitting the backstage at precisely five minutes before. Giving him enough time to “soothe” her before making his way back into the audience and his front row seat. Just as they planned, Troy hit the doorway as the five-minute mark was cried and just as she’d predicted the drow made his appearance backstage as the generous benefactor trailing one Delilah Dennis, trophy human opera singer.