by Kelly Gay
Underground at night was a hell of a lot different than during the day. Restaurants and nightclubs opened their doors. People spilled into the streets, barhopping or chatting, or just hanging out on the outdoor seating or around open fires burning in city-approved containment barrels. It had become like Bourbon Street in New Orleans. No cars allowed, just locals, tourists, and drunks everywhere. And music. Nearly every place you passed was different. Techno. Country. R&B. Alt-rock. And nestled in between were tourist traps, restaurants, antique stores, and magic shops.
Hank and I walked side by side, scanning the revelers and avoiding the drunks and irritating people who darted in front of us like they had the right-of-way. I hated being around drunks, unless, of course, I was one of them, which happened rarely in my hectic life.
A dark-haired woman in a bridal veil bumped into my left shoulder, spilling her drink over the rim of a red plastic cup. I stepped out of the way before it drenched me. She didn’t even notice, just continued with her friends to other side of the street and another bar.
“You look nice, by the way,” I told Hank as we moved closer to the sidewalk. “Whoever she is, she’ll like it.”
I wasn’t just being polite. Hank looked like a Calvin Klein ad come to life. His blond hair was swept back, but just enough to look naturally windblown. He wore a soft, white linen shirt with the top two buttons undone and khakis. He appeared as though he’d just stepped off some exclusive beach in Tahiti.
“Tonight’s not exactly singles night.” He increased his stride and slipped by a slow couple walking hand in hand. “We’ve got work to do.”
“Don’t sound so disappointed. This is perfect. If she does notice you and you’re forced to ignore her, it’ll just make her want you more.”
He rolled his eyes, a smile tugging the corner of his mouth. “Your logic needs a serious overhaul. You doing okay?”
“Yeah, I’m fine. Why?”
He shrugged, shoving his hands into his pockets. He had such an easy, confident swagger. “Well, seeing as you’ve had the day from hell … You sure you’re up for this? I mean, I don’t want you poofing out on me in the middle of things.”
“It’s pooping.” His eyes went wide. Okay, that didn’t sound right. “The phrase, it’s called pooping out, not—” The corner of his mouth started twitching, and his eyes glistened. I smacked his arm. “Damn it, Hank!” His laugh filled the space around us, rich and warm and slightly contagious. But I refused to even grant him a smile.
“I can’t believe you fell for that one,” he said between bursts of laughter.
“You’re so juvenile.”
“And your point?”
I shook my head. “Exactly.”
He ignored my summation and said in a singsong voice, “I got you to say poo—”
“Hank!” God. What was it with him tonight? “Don’t you have better things to do than to make me say immature words?”
His chin cocked thoughtfully and then, “Not at the moment, no.”
“Well, knock it off. And for the record, I won’t be pooping out on you tonight or any other night for that matter.” Please. I could deal with plenty. If only he knew.
The revelers thinned out as we approached an area where there were more stores than bars. Mostly upscale boutiques, hair salons, and spas. A few spas had eateries with outdoor seating and table umbrellas lined with white Christmas lights. There was still activity here, but it was definitely more subdued.
Potted palms framed the tall, recessed double doors of The Bath House. Dark and polished, the wooden doors’ rectangular panels had been carved to depict sea creatures, both mythological and real, some in extremely suggestive positions. Hank pulled his wallet from his back pocket and then slipped a membership card into the slot built in near the door. Once the machine read his card, the door popped open.
I resisted the urge to comment about his membership card. But only for a second. “So, how often exactly do you frequent the House of Bath?”
Following him into the foyer, I linked my hands behind my back and let out a low whistle. The foyer rose two stories and housed tall palm trees and exotic blooming vines. Small parrots and songbirds flitted about in the green canopy above us. The floor was made of thousands of small mosaic tiles, which glittered in the light. Large candelabras burned four to a side.
“I try to make it at least once a week. And don’t give me that look, Charlie. This reminds us of home. It’s part of our culture. We love the baths. And we’re not ashamed of our bodies either.”
I held up my hands. “What? I didn’t say anything.”
“You don’t have to,” he grumbled. “If you went to my world, you’d understand.”
“Yeah, but hardly anyone is permitted. Seems grossly unfair, don’t you think?”
This was an old argument between us. And millions of other people. Seemed it was all fine and dandy for the beings of Elysia and Charbydon to make our world home, but when the tables were turned, the Elysian government permitted only a small number of humans to visit their world each year. No permanent citizenship, no work visas. Just visit. They lived in a pristine environment and didn’t want it contaminated with tourists and disease. Total insult if you ask me.
And no one, unless they were seriously screwed in the head, wanted to go to Charbydon. But Earth, America in particular, had once again become the land of opportunity.
“Welcome to The Bath House,” a female nymph said as we approached a white marble countertop. “I see you’ve brought a guest this evening, Mister Williams.” She placed two towels and two white gowns on the counter. “Enjoy your visit.”
Upon becoming a legal citizen, Hank had adopted his first and last name after the country singer. Apparently, he had a serious soft spot for the musician.
I followed his lead, taking the gown and towel. He leaned close to me as we walked past the counter. “You can put the gown on in the locker room.”
“Whoa.” I stopped and waited for him to turn around. “You didn’t say anything about wearing something this flimsy.”
A few Elysians padded past us, barefoot and naked, or dressed in white gowns and sarongs. Hank edged closer to a grouping of potted plants, his voice tight. “It’s either that or nothing at all. Your choice.”
I lifted an eyebrow, standing toe-to-toe with all six foot four inches of him. “Forget it. I’m not changing.”
My pulse raced. I was way too hard up to be in a place like this with naked bodies and perfect males everywhere I turned. If Will, damn him, hadn’t pushed me away, I wouldn’t be having such a hormonal time. “And another thing, where the hell am I supposed to put my weapons?”
An annoyed huff escaped Hank’s lips, and he pulled me into the shadows of a palm tree. “Look, no one’s gonna talk to you if you’re dressed like that. You’ll stick out like a sore finger.”
“Thumb.”
“What?”
“Thumb. You’ll stick out like a sore thumb.”
He rolled his eyes, clearly at the end of his rope. “Whatever. Just go in and change. Nothing’s going to go wrong in here.”
I gave him my “yeah, right” look. I mean, this was Hank and Charlie, known to get into trouble in the weirdest places. But he did have a point. I would look completely out of place. We had nothing to go on but a pack of matches, and we’d have to blend in and strike up conversations where we could.
“Fine,” I ground out, leaving Hank where he stood and heading to the female locker room.
A nymph attendant stood inside next to a long countertop complete with just about anything one would need to “spruce up.” Just like ghouls were cousins of goblins, and imps were cousins of the fae, nymphs were close cousins of sirens. But their skin was naturally tanner than sirens’, their hair usually darker. They were the only race able to shape-shift without the aid of a spell or charm, and they had an intimate, sometimes fanatical, relationship with nature.
The attendant wore her black hair in a bun with ringlets around
her face and a gold headband atop her head. A gown of linen draped over her shoulders, similar to the gowns depicted on statues of ancient Greek goddesses. All of the attendants I’d glimpsed so far wore the same headband, hairstyle, and gown.
I gave her a tight smile and headed for a stall. Once the curtain was jerked shut, I shook out the gown, immediately struck by another surge of denial. In the water, the soft white linen would be see-through. The straps were gathered at the top, there was a high waist, and then the soft material fell to mid-thigh. I guessed you were supposed to go commando underneath, but hell if I’d go there.
I left on my bra and panties (thank God they were white), pulled the gown over my head, and then carried all my clothes, firearms tucked under my jacket, to the attendant to ask for a locker and a key.
There was no key. Instead, she wrote down my name, assigned me a locker number, and would unlock it when I returned. Apparently, there was no place to put a key. Figured.
On my way out, I caught a glimpse of myself in the mirror and nearly tripped. I backed up to get a better look. Hank had been right. I sure as hell fit in now. The only difference between me and the attendants was the quality of the gown and my hair, which hung long and loose down my back.
Who knew I could pull off Greek goddess so well?
CHAPTER 5
Hank waited outside the locker room in an above-the-knee white sarong, his arms folded across his bare chest and his toe tapping on the mosaic tile.
Holy Mary, Mother of God. An appreciative breath whistled through my lips.
All two hundred pounds of him glowed with tanned skin pulled taut over fantastic shoulders, cut abs, and gorgeous legs and feet. Yeah, I’d been right for once. Seeing Hank half-naked had been worth the trip.
I was grinning like an idiot and couldn’t hide it. One of Hank’s perfectly arched eyebrows lifted slowly and knowingly at my blatant perusal. Then his lips twitched, and his eyes sparkled as he flipped the tables and ogled my outfit. That made me find my voice. “Is that a loincloth?”
The burgeoning grin on his lips froze. “It’s not a loincloth.”
“It looks exactly like a loincloth.”
His expression turned sour as I cocked my head and gave him a smart look. Satisfied I’d gotten the last word, I strode off toward the main bath.
“You left your underwear on?” His exasperated voice came from behind me.
I stopped, stuck my hip out, and looked over my shoulder, trying to see my rear. “What? You can see them?”
“God, get me through this,” he muttered on a long exhale, grabbing my arm and steering me forward. I was pretty good at leaving him speechless. He didn’t say another word about my undies.
The wide corridor opened into the enormous main bath. Swimming pool, really. Columns held up a mural ceiling and ringed the rectangular room. In places, steam trickled like smoke from the surface of the pool. Beautiful beings swam in the water, lounged on the bath steps, or gathered around low tables, lying on their sides atop pillows and eating finger foods.
“So this is how you guys do it in Elysia.”
Hank shrugged. “For the most part. C’mon, let’s mingle.”
“And get close to Veritas.”
A tall nude male, a very fine tall nude male with an exquisite form and dark skin so wet and gleaming it looked almost black in the soft candlelight, padded by and gave me a quick once-over and then a smile. A light, fluttery sensation bloomed in my belly. I returned his greeting halfheartedly, waiting until he passed to let out a whoosh of air. Dear God. Everything inside of me screamed to turn around and go home. This could not end well.
Suddenly, I noticed every bit of seduction in the room. The nymphs giving massages. The couple in the pool running their hands all over each other’s wet bodies. The blatant nakedness. The open stares of admiration and interest. How could this not turn into one gigantic orgy?
It was too hot in the baths. Too damn hot to even catch my breath and slow my heart rate. A low laugh issued beside me. “Shut up, Hank.”
“Only humans seem to equate nakedness with sex. Like there can be no other outcome,” Hank said. Was I that transparent? “Or is it that you’re such a prude that all this skin is what has you red-faced and panting?” He jumped away before I could swat him.
Maybe I had become a prude. Lack of sex could do that to a girl. Which didn’t explain how one minute, I’m sucking face and begging for it with my ex-husband, and the next I’m so damned flustered and embarrassed at seeing naked bodies at The Bath House. Perhaps I was teetering between eternal prude-dom and desperate sex seeker.
Yeah, and you’re the Queen of Denial, Charlie. There was no doubt in my mind if I wanted to find a partner tonight, I could. But I wouldn’t. Despite its reputation of being addictive, the idea of sex with an off-worlder freaked me out a little. Okay, a lot. And this place was full of them. I was probably the only human here.
Like all Elysians of status, Hank strolled toward the pool as though he owned it while I stood in perfect idiot stance watching him. Splitting up was the best and fastest way to find information, but part of me wished he’d stuck to my side like glue.
Chin up, I encouraged myself, taking a deep breath and stepping into a room designed to be an overdose for the senses.
Deep red brocade curtains hung between columns and were held back with gold rope ties. They framed the massive space and separated the lounging areas from the main pool along with the help of strategically placed ferns. Tall urn-style fountains at each corner sent cascades of water into the pool. The rhythmic cadence mixed beautifully with piped-in music, which sounded suspiciously like Enya. Trays of candles and herbs floated on the surface of the water. I couldn’t detect the scent of chlorine at all.
The heavy air made my skin dewy and my movements slow. Hank was already waist deep in the water talking to a group of males, so I headed to a long marble table and sat diagonally from two females and a male. A server immediately brought me wine, water, and a tray of fruits. Grateful, I downed half the water, welcoming the cool relief.
The females were divinities, commonly referred to as Adonai. They liked to think of themselves as gods or, at the very least, angels, but they were simply the ruling elite of Elysia who just happened to have bodies like six-foot-tall Norwegian supermodels, and egos the size of Mount Everest. And these two were no different.
“When did they start allowing humans in here?” one of the females asked the other, but loud enough for me to hear, which was her intent.
I gave her a syrupy smile, when what I really wanted to do was reach over the table and smack the living crap out of her. “Oh, I don’t know,” I answered, letting my aggravation show, “maybe since we live here and this is our planet.” I feigned a lightbulb moment. “Hey, I have an idea. If you don’t like humans, go the hell back home.”
I hated when the high ranks made the choice to move here and then did nothing but complain about Atlanta and humans.
The Adonai sniffed and left the table. Bitches.
“You’re human,” the male said, shifting to face me, one elbow propped on the table.
I turned my attention to him. “You’re a warlock.” Well, nymph by race, but warlock by trade.
Warlocks, the warrior sect of mages, were tougher, harder, and stricter than any other Elysian class. And when they weren’t wearing any clothes, like this one, identifying them was a no-brainer. He had the physique of a fighter and bore the mark of the warlock tattooed around his wrist—a black dragon swallowing its tail.
He lifted his water glass to give me a mock toast, emerald green eyes flashing beneath slashes of black eyebrows. The guy was dangerous looking, with thick bone structure and ebony hair that fell just below his jaw, making me think of green meadows and Celtic barbarians. For a moment, I thought I saw a green light illuminated around him, but that could’ve been the heat getting to me.
The warlock, grinning now, moved around the table and sat down next to me.
I held
my breath. Don’t look down, Madigan. Don’t. Look. Down.
When a hot naked male sits next to you, the law of the universe dictates one’s eyes must turn south. It’s the nature of things. But I held out, easing my death grip from the water glass and focusing solely on his face. He had a very calm, knowing look about him, and his dark hair and the tattoos on his arms made him appear capable of handling any situation. It made me wonder what guise he took when not in his natural nymph form. Something sleek, dark, and predatory, no doubt.
“First time?”
I glanced around the room, wishing my cheeks weren’t burning. “Is it that obvious?”
A low laugh escaped him, and he leaned in with a conspiratorial wink. “The brassiere straps kind of give you away.”
My lips formed a silent O. I shoved the straps back under the gown, feeling like I was in high school all over again, complete with the Barbie twins from hell and the humiliation of making an ass out of myself in front of a gorgeous guy. I finished off the water just for something to do. An awkward silence descended. I gave him a tight smile and then drummed my fingers on the table. He appeared far more comfortable than I did.
“What’s your name?” He picked a grape from the tray and placed it into his mouth.
The tongue curling over the grape and the lips that closed briefly around his finger made me forget the question. “Hmm?”
He laughed. “Your name? I’m assuming you have one.”
“Charlie. It’s Charlie.” I wondered if Hank was having better luck than me.
He held out his hand. “Aaron.”
On impulse, I slipped my hand into his. Immediately, a zing shot up my arm and sent my body humming, as though a switch had been turned on, making me feel more alive, more in tune somehow. A gasp flew through my lips, and I jerked my hand away, rubbing the tingling skin.
Aaron cocked his head, staring at me strangely. “Not a mage,” he said thoughtfully, trying to figure me out.
“No off-world anything,” I corrected, trying to shake off the weird sensation.
