The damage to my body wasn’t as bad as I’d feared—bruised ribs explained the pain when I breathed, almost my entire thigh had turned purple but no bones were broken, my left wrist was severely sprained, I had a loose tooth, and my lip required stitches. Compared to the condition some people left the Meat Matches in, I was in perfect health.
The pain in my bank account to pay for the hospital’s attention would be another matter entirely, as would the mental and emotional pain that fueled me getting home.
I slept away most of the day Saturday, finally getting up around the time my roommates were heading out. Considering they both treated me as though I had the plague, I couldn’t imagine what my life would be like if knowledge I was part satyr got around. Already, I had a feeling I’d be looking for new roommates when the lease was up.
There were two messages from Steph on my answering machine. Five from my mother. Three from my boss at the Tallyho Diner.
Since my cellphone was stuck at Lucen’s, I called Steph back on the apartment phone. “I need a beer. You up for Kilpatrick’s tonight?”
“You don’t waste time, do you?” The proprietor of Wenda’s Wishes took the vial of blood from me.
“This client’s been neglected too long.” And since my extended absences at the Tallyho had gotten me fired, soul swapping was now my only form of income. I’d better treat people right.
On the bright side, I was no longer forced to introduce myself as anyone’s wench. Small consolation for no steady paycheck.
The plastic cast around my left wrist clunked as I rested my arms on Wenda’s counter. The goblin inspected the blood I’d obtained last night, and nodded.
“Acceptable. What was the name again?”
“Josephine Gomes.”
I left the shop five minutes later with J.G.’s name in my pocket and ten dollars less cash in my wallet. Could it really have hurt the goblin to give me a break on the fee after I’d potentially staved off a war? For the love of dragons. Honestly.
I hurried—hurried being relative because I limped more than I walked—across the intersection that led down the road toward the fury bar where I’d found Red-eye three nights ago. It didn’t seem all that long, but this living-nocturnal thing was screwing up my head.
Shadowtown breathed again. The streets were alive with all sorts of preds going about their shopping, or hanging out at café tables in front of coffee shops, restaurants and bars. Bright lights around storefront windows and torches by the dining tables kept the ghouls hidden in shadow. A harpy plucked away at a guitar on the street corner, singing a song about killing a lover who’d spurned him. As I neared the T stop, more and more humans joined the crowd, testing their courage by getting drunk in the bars.
I checked my watch. Two hours yet before I had to worry about catching the last trains home.
Devon sat with a group of satyrs at one of The Lair’s few outdoor tables. He waved as I braced myself for entering.
I hadn’t the faintest idea what to expect. Lucen hadn’t called to check on me, but then why would he? Dezzi had called to inform me that the satyrs’ protection was being formally revoked, but it was nothing personal. That was a call I’d anticipated. She also had the decency to tell me the various councils were meeting to discuss the fury situation. I didn’t mention Red-eye, and neither did she. Victor, I didn’t doubt, would, and if any real justice was going to target Red-eye for his role in the murders, it didn’t take a brain surgeon to guess it would have to originate with the Gryphons.
Meanwhile, Lucen had the knife I’d stolen, a few changes of clothes, my hairbrush, cellphone and a few other personal items I’d been forced to do without since Friday evening. I wanted them back.
I wished that was all I wanted.
The Lair overflowed with clientele. Satyrs and harpies, knowing that much of Dezzi’s council called The Lair their hangout, had come to discuss everything. It probably wouldn’t make up for all of Lucen’s lost business, but it had to help.
Oddly, I felt very little from them—scarcely any stirrings of lust or jealousy. Ever since I’d sucked in so much of Red-eye’s power, my sensitivity to pred magic had dulled. It was almost like he’d burnt me out emotionally. I wasn’t complaining, although I was curious about the effect of one pred’s power in particular.
I caught sight of him easily enough behind the bar. Lucen was chatting with a harpy but ended the conversation when he saw me.
“Hard at work already?”
“I have no job, but bills to pay and presents to buy.” Assuming I’d still be welcome at my stepbrothers’ birthday party. I hadn’t the courage to find out yet.
No more barstools were available, so I squeezed into a spot by the far end of the bar.
“Water as usual?”
“Sam. Stout.”
Wordlessly, Lucen plunked the bottle on the bar and flipped the cap.
“I need to get my things.”
“Yeah, I know. I was going to call you and see how you were doing, but I have your phone.”
I rolled the beer around on my tongue. “Dezzi figured out I have a landline.”
“Yeah, well.” He gave me a sheepish smile. “I thought you might want to turn that knife of yours on me after what I did at the Matches.”
My answer to that wouldn’t come easily. Lucen wandered away rather than wait out my silence. After a few minutes of checking in on customers, he returned and lowered his voice so the nearby humans wouldn’t overhear. “I’m sorry, little siren. I promised I’d never hurt you, and that’s exactly what I tried to do.”
“Given that Victor was beating the crap out of me, I’ll forgive you.” It had taken twelve hours of sleep for me to understand that’s why he’d done it. Another painful day of contemplation to come to terms with this nonsensical relationship of ours and to sort through my feelings. My conclusions didn’t make me happy, which in its own deranged way was satisfying.
I cringed. “It was actually pretty clever getting me worked up like that.”
“If it’s any consolation, she wasn’t my addict. I borrowed her.”
Beer sprayed from my lips. “Borrowed? She’s a human being, not a piece of property.”
“You laughed.”
“I laugh at all sorts of inappropriate things. It keeps me sane.” I shoved the beer aside and grabbed his hand. The effect on me was immediate. Despite the pain, lust urged me to jump across the bar and tackle him. Every nerve awakened in a glorious rush of desire. My mouth watered for the taste of his. My body cried out for the touch of his skin. Hardest to ignore was my mind, which latched on to those memories of his hard, naked body. I froze, waiting for this first and strongest wave of craziness to pass.
Was my reaction because I was touching his power? Or was it simply him?
I let out a breath, relieved. How screwed up was it that I’d worried he wouldn’t have that effect on me anymore?
“Jess, don’t do that unless you intend to follow through. After ten years of being denied, my willpower is really wearing thin. I’m not used to being told no.”
“I’m not telling you no.” I also wasn’t telling him about me being part satyr, or what had happened between me and Red-eye at the Matches. But that was because I wasn’t entirely ready to deal with it myself.
I was making progress though. However unpleasant the truth was, understanding where my freakishness originated from gave me some sort of closure. I’d been explained. Knowing what it gave me the power to do—or not do—helped, as well.
I had a power that could be used for evil, but I didn’t use it that way. Victor had. Lucen had a gift like that, as well, and although he walked a shadier line, he’d never given me reason to distrust him.
Amazing how getting the crap kicked out of you could lead to clarity of mind. “I trust you.”
He stared at me. “Really? Say it again.”
“Do you have to rub it in my face?”
“Not at all. I just want to hear you say it.”
; “Oh fine. I trust you.”
Lucen inhaled deeply, and I knew he was attempting to hoard as much of my lust as he could. “That might be the most erotic thing any human’s ever said to me. Hang around until closing and we’ll gather your things.”
“I’ll miss the train.”
“They’ll be running again by the time you leave.”
I held up my wrist. “I’m broken. I trust you won’t hurt me mentally. But physically, not hurting me might be impossible.” To be fair, that was mostly because I wasn’t sure I could control myself around him.
Lucen seemed to grasp my thoughts. “Not to worry. I’ll tie you down if I have to. I’m very good at what I do.” He winked and sauntered away.
Right. Fucking satyrs.
I laughed at my own pathetic humor. Good thing I amused myself because soon no one else was going to get near enough to be assaulted by my wit. But I’d worry about that tomorrow. Like I’d worry about Lucen’s addicts, and finding a job, and explaining away the blood in my fridge, and breaking the news about my gift to my mother, and discovering what secrets were buried in those files Steph had found and whether they had anything to do with what happened to me. Not to mention the million other things I hadn’t considered yet, but which would undoubtedly make me miserable.
But for tonight, for once, I was going to be happy.
Even if it killed me.
About the Author
Earning a doctorate in psychology convinced Tracey Martin that imaginary people were way more fun than real ones. Plus, they make better minions. From this revelation an obsession was born, and she’s been writing stories of kick-ass girls and women (and the men who deserve them) ever since.
She loves the paranormal, likes her music epic and prefers her movies to contain explosions. A city girl at heart, she doesn’t understand how she and her husband ended up living in New Hampshire, but she’s vowed to escape one day. Until then, writing keeps her off her the mean, small-town streets. To learn more, you can visit her website at www.tracey-martin.com, or say hi on twitter to @TA_Martin.
Looks like someone’s knees are going to get a workout.
Lover Enraptured
© 2013 Jodi Redford
Thieves of Aurion, Book 2
Avily Donahoe has dated way too many losers trying to get over Jerrick Hunter, the man who taught her everything about the life of crime she left behind. Now he has the balls to show up and ask her to pose as his sub, complete with skimpy leather outfit, to get inside a no-faes-allowed sex club?
Oh, hell no. If anyone’s going to be wearing next to nothing, it’s going to be Jerrick…as her bitch.
Five years ago, Jerrick realized the lonely kid he’d taken under his wing had grown into a tempting, desirable woman—and he’d cut her loose. If gaining her help now means hitting his knees with a leash and a collar, so be it.
But soon their front escalates into an all-too-real erotic game where the prize is the one thing that tantalizes him beyond reason. Their hearts aren’t the only thing they’ll lose if they fail. It could mean the end of everything—and everyone—they know and love.
Warning: This book contains male groveling, the occasional blindfold and feather tickler, wicked sex magic, and a fae thief who isn’t afraid to wear ass-less chaps when the job calls for it.
Enjoy the following excerpt for Lover Enraptured:
He was starting to come to the conclusion that the smaller the package, the more potential for testing his patience. Despite being half his size, Avi possessed the ability to drive him to the limits of his sanity.
After their showdown in the bathroom, she’d calmly ordered him into the kitchen—where he was currently making her a salad while she kicked back on the sofa. She was taking this whole getting-into-character to an exasperating extreme. He knew she was doing it to prove a point, and he even understood why.
What she didn’t understand was the dangerous fire she was meddling with.
There was a reason he desperately needed to be the one holding the reins in this charade, and it had nothing to do with some farfetched notion of refusing to kowtow to a woman’s demands. As long as he remained in control of himself, everything would be okay. He could treat this job like any other and stay cool and professional in the process. But with Avi pushing him and stripping his defenses, what hope did he hold of resisting the potent pull of her?
He had to. Giving in was not an option. Popping a cheese cube into his mouth, he squinted at her profile. “It’s bloody cold in here. Can I put my damn shirt back on?”
“The lower temp is good for your metabolism. We wouldn’t want you developing a spare tire around your gut.”
“I appreciate your concern for my health.” Somehow or other, he’d find a way to get her back for this. “What else do you want in your salad?”
“Maybe a few slices of the Nahimi melon.”
He opened her cooler and inspected the contents of the crisper bin. “Looks like you already polished it off.”
“Well shoot.”
He waited for her to demand he drag his ass down to the grocer. Or perhaps produce some magical seeds and till her a garden so she could have her blasted fruit.
“Guess you’ll have to skip adding it. Chop up the rest of the cooked hen on the second shelf and toss it in instead. I need my protein, you know.”
Undoubtedly so she could keep her lungs nice and strong for bossing him around.
A minute later, meal completed to her exacting standards, he carried it to the sofa. She patted the cushion next to her. Before he even sat down he knew what her next request would be.
“You can feed it to me.”
Biting back a growl, he speared a serving of the greens and crispy poultry with the fork and held it to her mouth. Her lips closed around the metal tines with an mmm of pleasure that wrapped around his cock and refused to let go. Yes, she definitely drove him insane. In more ways than one. He battled the potent desire to suck the remaining few speckles of dressing from her berry-vinaigrette-glossed lips.
“Does it meet your approval, my precious?” His voice sounded strained and gruff to his own ears.
Her smile was as sweetly delivered as his endearment. “Color me impressed. Didn’t know you had it in you to cook. You’ve always avoided any domestic activity like it’s a fate worse than death.”
Damn sassy woman. Even if she was right. “It’s a salad. Not much cooking involved.”
She surprised him by snatching the fork from his grip. At bloody last, she was putting this ridiculous dominatrix stuff to bed for the night.
Truthfully, her roleplaying wasn’t the only thing wreaking havoc on his tightly strung patience. Sitting next to her and not running his hands all over her silky skin was killing him. Their brief contact in the bathroom only added kindling to the fire crackling between them. If he wasn’t careful, he stood a good chance of getting burned.
He needed to remove himself from temptation. Now. Desperately clutching the frayed strands of his willpower, he started to shove up from the cushion.
Avi stalled him with her hand on his thigh. His entire world narrowed to the distracting pressure of her splayed fingers. He didn’t immediately notice the fork waving inches from his face. “Wha—?”
She shoved the greens into his mouth, effectively shutting him up. He chewed the offering, his wary focus never leaving her face. She scooted closer and tucked her legs over his lap. A rush of familiarity swept over him. How many times had she curled into him like this? Too many to count. And just like those other occasions when he’d sweated through her need to cuddle, he questioned his ability to keep his hands safely out of the danger zone.
Popping another savory morsel of poultry into his mouth, she looked him square in the eye, her own twinkling with a devilment that put him on high alert. “Put your hand on my leg.”
He returned her stare for a long moment, attempting to decipher if this was part of her cover or something else. Something that’d ultimately prove a far
tougher test to his control.
“Don’t make me punish you for your disobedience, Jer.”
The mock sternness in her tone did funny things to his gut. Or maybe the sudden stiffening of his cock had something to do with the lazy swirl of her fingertip along his abdomen. Hard to tell.
Extra emphasis on hard.
If he was smart, he would have called an end to their training right there and packed it in for the night, but apparently his intelligence had migrated south for the winter. “What punishment are you intending to dish out?”
“Well…” She set aside the forgotten plate of salad and straddled his lap. Her fingers drifted along the delicate swells of her hips, the soft scritch of her nails raking the supple leather providing an erotic soundtrack. “If you won’t touch me, maybe I should make you watch me do it.”
Surely she didn’t mean that the way it sounded. “Avi—”
She pressed a fingertip to his mouth. “No, you had your chance. Now you’re going to pay the price.”
Oh, he held no doubt of that. Particularly when her hands ghosted upward, tracing her rib cage and higher still to the fullness of her breasts. She rolled the pads of her fingers over her nipples, mimicking the motions he’d used earlier in the bathroom. His lungs suddenly felt equally as constricted as his damn briefs.
She licked her lips, the sultry haze of desire in her eyes nearly doing him in. “Did you like touching me? Do you wish you could do it right now? Would you caress my breasts, or maybe slide your hand up under my skirt and find out how wet I am?”
Sweet goddess. He hissed a breath between his teeth. “Don’t play this dangerous game with me.”
“Why? Worried I’ll crack through that legendary control of yours?” One palm swept lower and hovered temptingly near her mound.
Sweat broke out on his forehead. He’d never been more grateful for the hindrance of a skirt. Ironic, considering he usually cursed them to hell and back for slowing his seduction progress.
Wicked Misery (Miss Misery) Page 30
