by Emma Holly
Connor delivered a seeming coup de grâce by flinging Iksander down, leaping up, and landing on him with both his legs.
Iksander sprawled limp and panted as if this had been a deathblow.
“Surrender,” Connor demanded.
“Never!” Iksander vowed.
In what Georgie suspected was an actual, traditional wrestling move, Iksander’s legs and arms snaked around Connor’s limbs and flipped him. Jacob was on top then, at least temporarily. Back and forth the men grappled, muscles straining, sweat gleaming, as they fought for the upper hand. Though it wasn’t as flashy as their earlier flips and kicks, Georgie couldn’t help biting her thumbnail.
Connor momentarily stunned the sultan by double-slapping him with his wings.
“You’re doomed,” the angel prophesied, rolling him to the mat again. “Your brother will reject you. You’re going to lose everything.”
His forearm pressed Jacob’s throat, seeming to cut off his air.
“Not if you bless me,” the djinni said through strangled vocal chords.
Connor laughed like a movie villain. “Who’s going to make me do that?”
Jacob reached up, grabbed two handfuls of feathers, and yanked them out. His opponent bellowed in convincing pain and rage. The audience approved of that.
“You show the traitor!” more than one person cried.
Jacob’s assault on Connor’s wings caused the angel to back off. Both men stumbled up, circled, and attacked again. Jacob was limping. At some point, Connor had injured his left hip. Georgie couldn’t tell if the weakness was real or not. Certainly, the audience seemed to have forgotten the fight was staged. Their emotions were whipped to a level that struck her as dangerous.
Please don’t let anyone lose control, she prayed.
She didn’t know if the director sensed the risk, but someone sent the lighting booth a signal to shift the fake sky above the men toward dawn.
“Release me,” the angel ordered, on top for the moment but trapped by Jacob’s grip.
“Bless me,” his opponent retorted.
The angel struggled but was unable to free himself. “It’s nearly morning. I must return to my Father.”
“Why is that?” Jacob taunted. “Do you need to sneak back before Daddy sees you’ve gone? Are you perhaps tormenting me without permission?”
Jacob must have struck a nerve. The angel tightened his eyes, anger lending their normally dreamy blue a glow like acid.
“You really want me to bless you?” he challenged. “You might not like the way I do it.”
Surprise touched Iksander’s features, as if this dialogue was improvised. He recovered with a headshake.
“You’re wasting time,” he said. “Bless me or be damned to you.”
He gripped the angel above his elbows, the tightness of the hold digging fingers into hard flesh. The men’s correspondingly handsome profiles weren’t even a foot apart. Georgie could hardly breathe watching them.
“Very well,” the angel said. “Hold still and don’t resist.”
Georgie’s breath caught in a new way. As Connor’s head descended toward Iksander’s, she jumped to an odd conclusion about what he intended.
He wouldn’t, she thought, simultaneously intrigued and shocked. Not in front of everyone. Not without warning Iksander first.
He would, though. The smooth warm lips she knew so well touched Iksander’s, not hesitating even when he gasped. Seeing her lover’s sexual assurance from the outside was a revelation. Though he was gentle, he wasn’t tentative. Her nipples tightened, nerves within her core firing. Connor melded his mouth to Jacob, who lay frozen in surprise. The sultan seemed uncertain how to react. Connor’s head rocked in a small coaxing gesture. Something told Georgie his tongue was nudging for entry.
This drew a reaction from Iksander. His fingers flexed on Connor’s arms, the small of his back arching slightly off the earth brown mat. Georgie’s response was more intense. Her pussy flooded, its tender walls fluttering. Muscles moved in Iksander’s jaw. He was kissing Connor back. At least he was for a few seconds.
As he stopped, Connor pulled back to look at his partner.
Both men were flushed but only Jacob’s mouth hung open.
Connor—or perhaps his character—smiled roguishly. “There. Now I’ve blessed your endeavor. You shall have what you wish: your family safe and forgiveness from your brother.”
Jacob closed his mouth and swallowed. “Forgiveness.”
This sounded like Iksander and not his role. Connor’s expression softened with compassion. “You’ve won it, fair and square. My gifts don’t come with strings, but if you’d like to please the gentleman upstairs, do return the favor. You might discover a touch of humility turns your brother into a friend.”
Jacob didn’t frown at the lecture but only blinked. He’d released his grip on the angel’s arms. Free to rise without restraint, Connor rolled back onto his feet and stood. He spread his great wings and beat them downward. When he rose into the rafters, their strength truly seemed to be lifting him.
The ooh the audience let out wasn’t surprising, but Iksander-Jacob looked like he wanted to say it too. As the curtain dropped for the final scene change, his face remained turned upward in amazement.
When the velvet swags finished falling, he sat up but didn’t stand. His knees were raised, his forearms braced across them. Crewmembers rushed around him, ignoring him in their scramble to drag off boulders and trees and roll in the palace set. Iksander scrubbed his scalp, apparently still gobsmacked.
Georgie could tell he didn’t know she was watching.
He’s aroused, she realized with a powerful inner shiver. Connor’s kiss gave him a hard-on. Not a small one, either. Between his legs, his linen breeches were tented to the point of straining out their creases.
Possibly this should have bothered her. She couldn’t doubt Connor enjoyed kissing Iksander, and Connor was her lover. She’d been attracted to the sultan and had fought to resist it. Still was fighting, to be honest. Did Connor suspect? Had he done this because of her?
She looked up but didn’t see him on the catwalk. Lost in thought, she rubbed her lip seam with one finger.
Connor did like to please her, but he had preferences of his own—things he liked and was interested in that she wasn’t the reason for. Was Iksander one of those things? Maybe more relevantly, could she blame Connor if he were?
SOMEHOW, IKSANDER GOT through the final scene without fluffing all his lines. His delivery he couldn’t vouch for. He knew his face was stony. The memory of Connor’s lips on his echoed in his mind. Had he been kissed like that before? He’d kissed many, of course, but few had taken a kiss from him. Certainly no man had. But should he say “certainly?” Connor’s kiss hadn’t disgusted him. Far from it, to judge by his response. This made twice the angel had aroused him powerfully. Now he’d done it in front of an audience. In the Glorious City, male on male attraction—or female on female—was accepted as something that happened. Either might be viewed as salacious, but it wasn’t forbidden.
Iksander simply hadn’t expected such flexibility to apply to him.
The curtain calls went by in a blur. He had a sneaking suspicion he bungled the protocol. Unable to care, he left the stage and went to catch Connor.
That his body still wasn’t back to normal he pushed aside.
He found the angel, sans wings, about to enter the dressing room.
“Come with me,” Iksander said, low and firm.
Connor didn’t resist the grasp on his upper arm. He seemed to expect that Iksander would want to confront him. He pointed to a door up the corridor. “The janitor’s supply should be empty now.”
Iksander grimaced and opened the closet. Between the shelves and the rundown vacuums there wasn’t much room to stand. The space was private at least. Iksander preferred not to delay this discussion.
More self-possessed than Iksander, Connor spelled on the light. A faint horizontal furrow marked his n
ormally tranquil brow.
“Are you angry with me?” he asked.
Iksander’s breath sighed out. He doubted Connor had much experience with anyone being annoyed with him. Though he should have warned Iksander, the possibility existed he was aware of the sultan’s attraction. In light of this, Iksander revised what he’d been about to say. “I want to be clear on why you kissed me. I don’t think you took me by surprise just to stir up the audience, but did you do it for my sake? Because you thought it would please me?”
“I hoped it would,” Connor said. “But mostly I did it for me.”
The admission sent a thrill rippling to his groin. As simple as that, he grew hard again. Well, he thought, at a loss for more useful words.
“Did it please you?” Connor asked.
Iksander cleared gravel from his throat. “You can’t have missed what happened to my body.”
“Yes, but even I know there’s more to these matters than that.”
“Even you.”
“Before you, Georgie was the only person I’d kissed passionately.”
Iksander wanted to laugh. Did the angel realize how extraordinary his statement was? He was unprepared for how genuinely honored he felt to be his second ever choice of lust object.
“You are quiet,” Connor said. “Do I need to apologize?”
Iksander scratched his cheek. “No. Not to me, anyway.”
“I will speak to Georgie,” Connor volunteered hastily.
He hadn’t discussed this with her either? He’d decided on his own? That struck Iksander as especially non-angelic. “Don’t wait to do it,” he advised. “You’re her long-time partner. I expect she has questions.”
Too unsettled right then for further answers, he reached for the doorknob.
“Wait,” Connor said before he could turn it.
When Iksander looked at him, he nearly drowned in the deep-sea dreaminess of his eyes.
“Tomorrow,” Connor said, color rushing visibly to his brow and cheeks. “For the performance. Would it be all right if I kissed you again?”
Iksander’s fingertips pressed his palms. He wanted to touch the other man, but feared this would start something he wasn’t ready for. “Speak to Georgie before you ask me that.”
“I will, but—” Connor hesitated. “Georgie has not said so, but I believe she doesn’t mind the thought of you and I together. I believe she finds it exciting.”
In two seconds flat, the sultan’s erection went from simply hard to painful. He’d been so caught up in weighing what his attraction to Connor meant he hadn’t remembered it could involve the three of them. Sensations exploded along his nerves as his brain attempted to paint a thousand erotic possibilities at once. If he’d thought he had an inconvenient amount of kinks before, Connor’s words doubled them. His skin tingled so strongly the hairs on his arms stood up.
Had the oxygen in the closet been removed? That would explain why he suddenly had trouble getting air.
Connor must have noticed the reaction, because his handsome face broke into a smile.
“Maybe,” he said shyly, “we can settle this tonight.”
Iksander actually shuddered with desire.
The knock that sounded on the door stiffened them. They looked at each other with rounded eyes. Who knew they were in here?
“Come on, you two,” Maryam urged. “Timur wants to talk to everyone on stage.”
“I have to grab a shirt.” Iksander’s cheeks flashed hot the moment the words were out. He didn’t want to think what conclusions Maryam would leap to.
“THERE’S THE REST OF our star power,” Timur said as Connor and Iksander arrived on stage.
Georgie still felt strange about her reaction to watching the two men kiss, but when Connor swiveled his head to search for her, she waved him over anyway. He and Iksander both came to her. Connor put his hand on her back and bent to kiss her cheek. His eyes shone with what she thought was excitement. He chafed her between the shoulder blades, probably guessing she had questions.
“When we get home,” he murmured, “we’ll talk this through.”
She couldn’t help wondering how that would work out.
An interested tingle slid down her spine, but she pushed it aside for now. She was aware of the sultan, standing tall and silent beside her other arm. The heat of his body was intense enough to reach her.
“So,” Timur said. “I figure you want to know how we did tonight.”
The shopkeeper had a knack for tech. He’d monitored the performance from the projection booth, cueing lighting and overseeing storage for the emotion skimmers beneath the seats.
“We do want to know,” someone prompted. “Go ahead and tell us.”
“Well,” Timur said, clearly enjoying the spotlight. “The Solomon drama did very well. The voltmeter ticked up for all the laughs and registered a decent draw overall.”
“And the wrestling match?” Yarik called.
Timur’s narrow face split into a grin. “That was better than decent. The needle stayed in the red zone for the whole fight, then shot past what the dial could measure for Connor’s . . . improvised blessing. If you kiss Andrei every night, you’ll multiply your investment in no time.”
Georgie snuck a glance at Iksander. His expression wasn’t informative, aside from looking wry.
“With Andrei’s permission,” Timur continued, “I’m prepared to disburse our magic take. There’s enough to make divvying it up worthwhile.”
Iksander had no objection, so Timur began calling names. Everyone who’d worked on the play received a small, stoppered brass container shaped like a test tube. Maryam checked off that they’d received it on her clipboard.
“Bring those back after you’ve decanted them,” Timur reminded. “We don’t have an endless supply.”
When Neisha received hers, she hugged it to her heart and bounced.
Georgie, Connor, and Iksander were left till last. Their portion wasn’t a test tube but a fat moonshine jug. “I hope you don’t mind yours being combined together. I didn’t have another large spelled vessel.”
“This is perfect,” Georgie said, accepting it. “Thank you for being so organized.”
“Yes,” Iksander concurred, honoring Timur with one of his neck bows. “Your dedication is appreciated.”
“We appreciate yours. Hopefully this is the beginning of a successful run.”
Iksander didn’t comment further until they were alone in the cloakroom, collecting their coats and carpet for the trip home. He and Connor each took an end of the rolled up rug. As they lifted it to take outside, the sultan tilted his head toward the jug she held. “That’s a better profit than I expected. If this keeps up, we’ll have enough to power a portal in a few weeks.”
“That’s great! Hopefully the door that brought us here stayed sound enough to reprogram. Unless you think it would be safer to try to build one from scratch. Connor has a good memory. He can probably recreate the sigil Ishmael drew.”
The sultan paused at the door to the back alley. “You’ve definitely decided that’s what you want? To throw in your lot with me rather than return to your dimension?”
“Well, yes.” When Georgie glanced at Connor, he nodded in agreement. “I thought that was obvious.”
Iksander shook his head. Some emotion seemed to grip him. He didn’t speak, his lips flattening as he pressed them together. With the end of the flying carpet still in his hold, he shouldered the door open.
Cold blasted in at them and snow flurries along with it.
“Georgie!” Neisha cried. “Come and meet my family.”
The bulk of the cast and crew had hurried home already. Only the girl and her relatives remained. Georgie had met Neisha’s mom before. The older couple and teenage boy were new—grandparents and an older brother was Georgie’s assumption. Before she could stomp through the snow to greet them, another excited voice cut through the gusty wind.
“That’s them,” it declared. “Those three with the c
arpet!”
Georgie’s first thought was they were about to be asked for autographs. That didn’t add up, though, because the person who pointed them out was the coffee vendor. Feodor wouldn’t be a fan of their performance, even if he’d attended. Six tall men in long black coats stood with him. The metal rods they carried and Cossack hats they wore reminded her of ice bus drivers. Sadly, these fellows weren’t harmless civil servants—not sporting those crescent moon epaulets.
No way had anyone but Empress Luna inspired the insignia.
“Shit,” Iksander muttered beneath his breath. “That’s a security detail. I guess the hush money Feodor accepted didn’t take.”
“Put down the carpet,” a djinni ordered from the opposite direction. “Hands behind your heads and drop to your knees. By the authority of our gracious regents, I’m taking you into custody.”
Georgie’s head snapped around. Another half dozen soldiers had come up behind them. They blocked the other end of the alley. The way they pointed their silver poles was unmistakably threatening.
Georgie abruptly regretted not being taught to fight with magic.
“Don’t shoot,” Iksander said. “We’re complying.”
She guessed they were. With only a hint of stiffness, he knelt on the hard-packed snow with his hands laced behind his skull. A second later, Connor mimicked his actions.
“You too,” Iksander said to her. “They’re armed and we’re outnumbered.”
She knew she should listen. He was the expert and, anyway, what did she think she could do? It damn well just bugged her that their good results, which they’d barely had time to celebrate, were being snatched from them. Would being taken into custody wreck their chance of helping Iksander’s people? Maybe they should fight, no matter how bad the odds. Her ignorance of how local justice worked kept her from acting on the impulse. Maybe fighting would get them thrown in jail permanently.
A whip of fire down her spine ended her indecision. One of the guards had discharged his weapon. The pain seared along her nerves, making her muscles jump like she was being electrocuted. The difference was, rather than throw her forward, the charge forced her limbs to do what she’d been ordered. Pain cracked through her knees as she dropped. Her arms flew up and the magic moonshine jug went rolling. Her fingers wove helplessly together behind her head. She’d thought that wasn’t possible, that—as a human—she had an inborn resistance to djinn magic.
