by Gaja J. Kos
She pursed her lips, hesitating, then shot me a quick look. I nodded.
“Both were curly like the guy in the polaroid”—she nudged her chin at the photograph—“and, like him, they didn’t glamor their true form. One was slightly more muscular, the other slender. I didn’t exactly stare at them since having Fae in here isn’t an occurrence I’m comfortable with, so one of my zombies was the one doing all the work while I made myself as invisible as I could. They didn’t exactly stay long, but, from what I saw, they did look related.”
My gaze instantly went to Cian, the words he had said to me yesterday washing through my mind.
“The High Lord’s brothers?” I asked, already dreading the answer I knew would come.
He slumped into the seat next to mine, though his palms kept digging into the counter. “Dalaigh and Faolan.”
I bit my lips as an involuntary shiver crawled down my spine. Facing one of the Fire Fae was terrifying enough. But three…
Cian was perfectly still beside me, gaze turned on the many lines of liquor shelved on the wall. The violence rolling off him would have caused an uproar had there been any supernaturals beside us at the bar, but, as it was, only Lana and I had to weather the unpleasant sensation.
Guided by my sister’s magic, the zombie used the short pause to pass us our drinks. I thanked the animated flesh out of habit, knowing I should probably express my gratitude to Lana for breaking up the tension instead, then curled my fingers around the delicate stem of the glass.
The Teran slid down my throat, and I flicked away the stray droplets with the tip of my tongue. “When were they here?”
Keeping one eye on the solemn Fae, Lana inched a little closer and smoothed down her black tee—part of the standard Night Hag uniform. She glanced at the date displayed on the large wall clock in bright blue letters, and said, “Five nights ago.” She hesitated. “And yesterday.”
I shot up, the same impulse tearing Cian’s gaze from the liquor until we were a unified front, built from anticipation and a not-so-small amount of almost desperate urgency.
“Yesterday?” I breathed, my attention darting between Lana and Cian. “What the fuck were they doing in Maribor?”
Lana crossed her arms and arched a shapely eyebrow, letting me know full well she still remembered my aversion to the gray slab of concrete that was this town. But the words that came out of her mouth were something else entirely. “The party.”
“What party?” Cian and I blurted at the same time.
Lana rolled her eyes. “The biggest supernatural event of the spring? Oh, come on, even a hermit like you must’ve heard about it…”
When I didn’t answer, she let out an exasperated sigh, shuffled a few steps to the left, and fished something from beneath the counter. She slid the black envelope over, then propped a hand on her hip, waiting for me to catch up on something I apparently should never have been ignorant of in the first place.
I slid a nail underneath the seam, separated the remnants of glue that still held the envelope together, and eased out the single piece of paper. The invitation was printed on the same, pitch-black shade, the silver letters pressed into it spilling out the time and location. As well as the dress code.
“You’ve got to be kidding me…” I breathed and looked up at Lana, while Cian snatched the paper from my hands, a low “fuck me” tearing itself from his throat.
Lana looked at the Fae, her full lips quirking up in amusement. “That’s the general idea, yes.”
After a short stop at a drive-through McDonalds and a specialty store that was luckily—though it certainly didn’t feel that way at the moment—open on a Sunday, I was back in my bedroom, gawking at my own reflection. Just as I had been for the past five minutes.
Gods. I was never one to mind a good cleavage or miniskirt, far from it, but this—this was excessive.
A pink leather bralette cupped my breasts, thrusting them up in clear invitation, and their already generous curve was seriously emphasized by the straps that formed a pentagram below my neck, directing even more attention to my chest. The flat of my belly remained uncovered all the way down to the lacy garter belt that hung from my hips, encasing the leather hot pants that were so tight not even a thong fit underneath them. I grimaced.
This was so out of my comfort zone it wasn’t even funny.
Shaking my head, I swept my gaze lower to the delicate black stockings that topped the outfit. They covered the entire length of my legs, save for the topmost parts of my thighs where the suspenders lay against my skin, attracting attention to another part of me I had no desire of exposing to a roomful of strangers.
Shit. The term sex on legs had never sounded quite so…literal.
I blew out a nervous breath and finger-combed my long blonde hair, effectively loosening the curls and adding some volume to the roots to amp up the bedhead effect I was aiming for. Last but not least, I donned a small tiara on the top of my head, completing the “sex princess” look.
Yes, that was one of the dress code options.
And it certainly beat having to go as a sex slave or sex bunny. That would be a blow my self-esteem wouldn’t have been able to swallow.
Things were bad enough as it was.
A low groan rumbled in my throat, almost turning into a whimper. Why did the party have to be for couples, and couples only? I would have gladly called it a day and sent Cian alone to stalk the party for any sign of the High Lord and his brothers while I crawled under the covers in my pj’s with a glass of wine and a movie to keep me company.
But even as the thought formed, I knew I was lying to myself. Quite badly, at that.
Just imagining him in a room full of half-naked, horny bodies rubbed me the wrong way. And the mere fact that it stirred such a reaction infuriated me even further. Why the fuck should I care?
But I did. And there was nothing I could do about it.
Cursing my own stupidity, I slipped my feet in a pair of girly pink wedges and gathered the courage to leave the damned room.
The sight of Cian’s bare back hit me full force the instant I stepped into the living room, the visual made even worse by the cut-out pants that fit him like second skin—and showed quite a bit of it as well. Involuntarily, my eyes dipped down to the crescent moons of exposed flesh right beneath his butt. I swooned at the unmistakable hint of steel-hard muscle, my knees weak with the thought of how it would be to feel all that power pushing my own legs apart.
Blushing violently, I tried to ignore just how hot, how embarrassingly wet he made me, when the Fae in question turned around and assaulted my eyes with a clear view of his chest. Scars decorated his honed torso, the swirling tattoo snaking up his side as black as the collar he wore around his neck.
Oh, fuck.
His purple gaze swept along my body, slowing down as it reached the tight shorts that revealed almost more than they hid, and painfully reminded me that I wasn’t wearing any gods-damned underwear. Just when I thought I would burst under the heated weight of his attention, Cian’s gaze slid higher, but only to stop at the swell of my breasts.
I could see every fine muscle in his body tense, the air in the room suddenly dripping with caged need. His or mine, I couldn’t tell.
Neither of us moved as our eyes finally met, the distance between us the sole thing preventing us from losing what little control we had left.
“Shit,” I managed to rasp as my whole body quivered, the sentiment echoed on Cian’s lips.
This was going to be a fucking long drive.
Chapter 14
I don’t know how, but we made it to the party in one piece.
The Sunday Seduction was held in an old industrial warehouse on the northern outskirts of Maribor that didn’t exactly fit into the idea of a place individuals of the rich supernatural society would frequent. And given that invitations cost a small fortune unless you were on the default list like Lana was, it was kind of hard to imagine what the fuss was about.
But a
s we stepped through the heavy sliding doors, all my questions were answered.
The space thoroughly redecorated, erasing any traces of the industrial bleakness until every inch of the warehouse screamed BROTHEL! with its lush couches, velvet walls and their attached chains, freely available for the guests’ use. Not to mention the dancing poles and cages that were suspended from the ceiling, occupied by nimble dancers showing off even more flesh than my outfit did.
The invitation wasn’t kidding—this was a sex party through and through.
Unease and just a dash of severely misplaced excitement surged through me as I gave my coat to the long-legged brunette bunny by the entrance and slid my hand around Cian’s arm. He tensed for a second, but before I had the chance to remind him that we needed to give the impression of being a couple, he shimmied out of my grip and yanked me towards him, so closely that I could taste the glamor he wore around himself on my tongue.
His fingers traveled down the curve of my back, playfully crossing the line of my garter belt, and, finally, coming to rest on my ass. I groaned at the touch, at the sheer strength of his fingers as he cupped me, the hard edges of his nails grazing my exposed skin.
But instead of easing up the act at my involuntary reaction as I had expected him to, Cian gave me a light squeeze.
Finding myself in sudden need of support before my legs gave way, I guided my hand around his waist, and, naturally, realized my mistake far, far too late.
Because while the motion did prevent me from stumbling down on the ground as the putty wreck that I was, it also made me feel every fine ripple of his muscles as we moved. The heat rolling off his body assaulted my skin, bathed me in such insatiable lust that my entire being threatened to unravel. Damn it.
I repeated the familiar chant—he was Fae and nothing was ever going to happen between us. But the words felt weak. Forced. And him groping my ass didn’t exactly help, either.
I kept my gaze decisively on the ground before me, fearing that the visual of people in various stages of foreplay and undress would be the final nail in my coffin. But even more so, I feared catching a single glimpse of him.
So, still locked in our unnerving embrace, we made our way towards one of the empty couches, my magic surveilling the surroundings while I was unable to. As much as I kept telling myself that we were here on a job, my body just didn’t seem to listen. Highly professional.
But before I could scold myself further, Cian pushed me down on the soft cushions with a gentle shove, and I was helpless to do anything but play along. His towering frame filled my vision as he lowered himself over me, one arm pressed against the backrest, the other digging into the fabric next to my head. I nestled myself deeper into the embrace of the couch, then hooked a finger into the steel ring dangling from his collar, and brought his lips almost to mine.
“Sense anything yet?” I asked in a low, seductive voice, keeping my eyes on him even as translucent tendrils of energy probed the entire room. But even it seemed rather inclined to just forget about the mission and tangle with the Fae instead. Fantastic.
When Cian didn’t answer, I asked again, “Do you?”
He shook his head, his mouth brushing against mine with the small movement. Flames erupted in my core, my back arching at the innocent, yet so erotic, touch, and Cian’s hand instantly moved from the cushions to trail down my side.
I swallowed. Oh, gods. “Think they want to be fashionably late?”
The words were husky, crashing against the sensual curve of Cian lips, my breath mixing with his. I watched him, my own lips half parted in some primal response to the dominance etched into the chiseled lines of his face—to the way his arms framed me, captured me.
He dropped his gaze from mine, the purple of his irises turning into an almost indigo shade as he read the silent invitation. The steady pressure of his palm on my hip increased, sliding lower and lower until his thumb brushed against the apex of my thighs.
I couldn’t help it. I moaned.
And Cian caught the sound as his mouth found mine.
Pleasure exploded inside me, stronger than anything I’d ever experienced before. The clothes on my skin suddenly seemed too tight, too damn constraining under the wanton pressure of his assault. Our tongues met, and I writhed, the exquisite, male taste of him making me ache for more. I drew his body closer, needing to be crushed by him, needing to merge with him into a flurry of pleasure only he could give.
Even as some part of me stirred in warning at the danger of such a connection, I spread my legs and urged Cian to nestle himself between my thighs.
The Fae ground against me, drinking in each gasp that fluttered from my lips at the sensation of him so hard and ready beneath the smooth fabric of his pants. My hands curved around his neck, then traced the corded muscles of his back as he worked on my mouth, thoroughly and possessively, each flick of his tongue letting me know all too well just what he could do lower down on my body.
As we rolled from one kiss into the next, our respective energies surged into a dance, exploring each other’s flavor. And, for once, both the light and the darkness in me acted as one.
The sensation spread through my entire core and made me feel even more alive, even more susceptible to each touch Cian placed upon my skin. It was as if our very essences called to one another, beckoning to merge into something new. Something whole.
Again, that voice warned, but I was too caught up in Cian to listen. Too lost in him to care.
His teeth grazed my lips, then slipped away, leaving me no choice but to whisper his name as I begged for more—the name that caught in my throat as his tongue found my pulse and caressed it with strong, sensual licks. I writhed beneath him, trapping him even more securely between my thighs until I felt as if I were burning.
Fuck, I wanted him. I wanted to feel the length of him pushing inside me.
Wanted to drown in all that Cian was.
With a growl, he tugged on the hem of my bralette, his tongue tracing the sensitive skin, before he glanced up. The look he gave me was one of pure male arrogance, the entrancing purple of his eyes filled with the satisfaction of knowing just what he did to me.
And, gods, I wanted him to do so much more.
Painfully slow, he slid his hand up my side, his strong, masculine fingers hooking behind the leather fabric. A low rumble vibrated in his throat as he eased it down to reveal my breast, carnal hunger etched in the striking lines of his face.
I gasped as he dipped his neck, ensnaring my nipple in the hot confines of his mouth. The sharp edges of his teeth met the soft skin, his name becoming a prayer that escaped my lips over and over again as he grew ever harder against me until, suddenly, he jerked back, severing the connection.
Hands balled into fists, he punched the cushion and snarled.
Then he snarled again.
Though the need was still there, pulsing from his body, so thick and potent I bathed in its waves, I saw the rejection in his eyes. I pushed myself up, curled my legs beneath me, and tucked the exposed breast back in the bralette.
“Liva,” Cian started, but I stopped him with a shake of my head.
I didn’t need to hear his excuses.
“Don’t, Cian. I get it, okay? I’m a Nightwraith. You can’t change your past any more than I can change who I am,” I forced myself to say even as my voice threatened to break. Even as the demonic whispers inside me shivered with the same hurt that now clawed at my chest. “We should get to work. We lost enough time as it is.”
Gathering the tattered remnants of my dignity, I left Cian on the couch and went to tour the room. While the event was couples only, it didn’t prohibit mingling. Far from it, actually. Nobody here was off the table as long as they gave consent. Which was why I plastered on my best smile and moved through the sweaty, lustful crowd like one of the many that were strolling around in search of someone who would spark their interest.
There was still no sign of the brothers—not a whiff of foreign Fae magic or gli
mpse of the man on the polaroids, whose image was now permanently etched into my mind. Since they had pranced around Maribor in their true forms, I seriously doubted they would turn to glamor now—especially when there was a whole lot of supernaturals angling for a roll in the sack with a Fae.
I winced, remembering my own close encounter, then pushed the thought firmly away. But as I skirted around one of the suspended cages, another thought fluttered to the surface, and this one I held on to.
The polaroids had been silent. Completely, utterly silent. Sure, they weren’t exactly a personal object per se, but Riordan had handled them at some point.
Despite the heat of the warehouse, I shivered.
To think that Cian’s brother had trailed Gearoid, aware of the danger this man possessed not only to him but to the wider Fae realm, yet hadn’t experienced any emotion intense enough to deposit its residue within the items was almost terrifying. Then again, so was the thought of seeking out the Gamayun.
A deep sense of respect flamed to life within me. Unlike my mother and her power games, Riordan had been a true leader. He hadn’t acted on emotion or impulse—there was absolutely nothing in that house that would suggest otherwise. And the dolmen pin that had merged with me only confirmed that the Fae was a worthy ruler.
Having the blessing of a basically sentient object of power wasn’t exactly a dismissible validation.
And yet, if he had known the Court of Fire had followed him here, why hadn’t he alerted Cian of the bastards’ presence? Surely the two of them working together would have been able to fend off the attack…
The headache I’d forgotten about returned to my temples with a vengeance. I sighed. Just what I needed to make my night even shittier.
The curvy vampire in the cage shook her rounded booty right in front of my nose, and, though I could appreciate the sight, I was in no mood to be reminded of just how good Cian’s fingers had felt on mine.
My gut wrenched at the thought, and I pushed away from the cage to tour the room once more. The crowd had certainly gotten thicker in the—I glanced at the giant clock on the wall—hour I’d spent with Cian, and I was starting to think the Fire brothers wouldn’t show. I sashayed past a massive couch harboring three couples with hungry eyes, politely declined their silent invitation, and perched myself against the bar.
