by Anne Bishop
Then her mood sank. She hadn’t found the man who had called to her when her thoughts had been mired in despair and she’d been yearning for something better. She hadn’t found the man who needed her. Just looking at Sebastian was enough to tell her he wasn’t the kind of man who would need anything from someone like her.
Even worse, she was in the Den of Iniquity. A vile, terrible place. A place decent women shouldn’t even know about, let alone ever see.
Which didn’t make sense, because Mam and her women friends knew about the Den. Even the younger women in the village knew about the Den. It was probably the most famous dark landscape in Ephemera. But, oddly enough, it wasn’t an easy place to find. Some of Ewan’s friends had tried to get to the Den last year. They’d crossed over a bridge and found the bad section of a large town, and one of them had gotten beaten and robbed, but they never found the Den.
So what did that say about her?
I guess Mam was right. I must be a bad person.
Why else would she have ended up in the Den when all she’d wanted was to find a safe place? But she did feel safe. Wasn’t that a strange way to feel in a place like this?
Pushing aside the sheet and light blanket, Lynnea sat up and looked around the masculine room.
She went into the bathroom, took care of necessaries, then experimented with the water taps on the tub until she figured out how to fill it.
Hot water just by turning a tap. How decadent!
Maybe being a bad person wasn’t so bad after all.
She soaked in the bath for a few blissful minutes before remembering the door that connected with another bedroom. Was someone in the other room waiting for her to finish? Using the washcloth and lightly scented soap she’d found along with two clean bath towels, she scrubbed her skin and washed her hair.
After wrapping her hair in one bath towel and drying off with the other, she did her best to clean the tub for the next person’s use before she returned to the bedroom.
There was a storage chest at the foot of the bed. On top of it, neatly folded, were clean clothes. Cotton pettipants that would modestly cover her legs from waist to knee, and a cotton undershirt that—
She picked up the undershirt and tried to figure out what the extra layer of material was for. Then she blushed and dropped the undershirt.
Mam had always said only loose city women wore brassieres in order to push up their tits and entice men to act like fools. Or, worse, act like animals after a bitch in heat.
Did Sebastian think she was a loose woman? Probably. She had offered to have sex with him. Hadn’t she? She’d been so tired when he brought her to the room, she couldn’t remember if she’d said it or only thought it.
Or maybe this was the most modest underwear available in the Den. The rest of the clothes didn’t look much different from the everyday clothes worn by well-to-do farmers’ wives and daughters, even if the material wasn’t ordinary.
The long-sleeved blue top was stretchy enough to pull over her head. The sleeveless, dark blue jumper was cut around the neck and shoulders so that a half finger of the top showed above it. It fell to midcalf and buttoned up one side. The socks came up to her knees, and the shoes were sturdy enough for a long tramp through fields.
Country clothes. She wasn’t sure why she felt disappointed, since the clothes were new and of nice material, but dressed like she was going to a simple harvest dance made her feel less able to cope with whatever was beyond this room.
Returning the towels to the bathroom, she found a comb inside a small cabinet between the sink and the mirror. When she’d done what she could with her hair, she stared at her reflection and winced. The natural wave in her hair—the wave that had made Mam so angry she’d threatened more than once to cut Lynnea’s hair right down to the scalp—seemed to be celebrating its freedom by being wavier than usual. She’d lost all her pins between the bridge and the Den, and nothing short of wetting it down and pulling it back in a tight bun would get rid of the waves—and even that didn’t work most of the time.
Nothing to do about it.
Just as she walked back into the bedroom, someone knocked lightly on the outside door. Then Sebastian walked into the room, still dressed like a bad influence and looking more handsome than she remembered.
And her heart made a funny little bounce.
Now he knew what getting kicked in the gut felt like.
His little rabbit cleaned up too damn well. Wholesome and pretty, sweet and a little shy. And uncertain. Definitely uncertain. As if some part of her that should have bloomed into something glorious had been savagely pruned back over and over again—and had still refused to completely wither and die.
She doesn’t belong here. His heart twisted painfully at the thought. When he’d slipped into the room after she’d fallen asleep and taken her old clothes to Mr. Finch to get replacements, he should have chosen garments from the usual racks instead of asking the little man for a “country costume.” Maybe dressing her like one of the succubi would have dimmed the wholesomeness, would have made it easier to seduce her and feast on the mindless pleasure he could make her feel.
But he’d selected clothes more suited to the kind of landscape he suspected she’d come from, and now…
She scared him. He looked at her and knew that, for all these years, he hadn’t played the lover for those lonely women in the other landscapes out of any sense of pity or kindness or even enjoyment. Yes, he’d needed to feast on the feelings brought out from sexual pleasure, and the money and gifts he’d received for his services allowed him to live quite well by the Den’s standards, but now he wondered if he’d been drawn to that particular kind of woman because he’d been looking for her. Just her.
And now she was here, where she didn’t belong, and he…
A few hours. Just a few hours with her—and, maybe, the pleasure of being her lover. Just once.
Her fingers brushed the skirt of the jumper. “Thank you,” she said softly.
“I’m glad the clothes please you.” He crossed the room and lifted a hand to brush his fingertips over her hair. “How did you do that?”
“Oh.” She raised her hand to touch the other side of her head. “It just does that. I don’t have any hairpins.”
“That’s good. It’s lovely the way it is.”
She looked at him as if he’d just threatened her instead of giving her a compliment.
What had her life been like that a compliment made her afraid?
“You’ve been asleep for a few hours. You must be ready for another meal.” He trailed his fingers down her arm until he reached her hand. Linking his fingers with hers, he led her from the room.
The trembling started as soon as they reached the street and she took a good look around. The main street didn’t look quite as seedy as it had a few hours ago, but this was the Den, and a place that never saw the sun developed a different kind of character from the bad places in other landscapes where the night and its predators ruled for only a piece of each day.
Dressed in those clothes, which made her stand out rather than blend in, his little rabbit practically screamed “prey,” and even with Teaser sending out advance warning, the other incubi couldn’t resist drifting into the street to study her. But none of them would approach. Not when he’d so clearly claimed her for himself.
As he led Lynnea to a courtyard table at Philo’s, he automatically scanned the other customers, noting the faces that belonged to visitors. When he was younger, he used to take note of the strangers to see which ones would be the most likely to enjoy his kind of fun, and he still did. But over the past few years he took notice because the Den was his home, and there were some kinds of trouble he didn’t want here. And, somehow, when someone made him edgy, that person never found a way back to the Den.
“Welcome, welcome,” Philo said, bustling up to the table with a full tray. His glance at Lynnea still held wariness, but he relaxed a little after a quick appraisal of her new clothes. He set two cup
s on the table, along with a small pitcher of cream and a bowl of sugar. “Food, yes?”
He was gone before there was time to say anything.
“He didn’t ask what we wanted,” Lynnea said, looking timid and uneasy as she studied the courtyard.
“Half the time he doesn’t,” Sebastian replied. He tipped his head to indicate the cup in front of her. “Philo makes it strong, so you might want to add some cream and sugar.”
She picked up her cup and took a sip. Her eyes widened. “Oh, gracious. What is this?”
Sebastian grinned. “Koffee.”
After taking another sip, she added a sugar cube and a little cream, then sipped again. “Oh, my.” She sounded like a woman who had been stroked in just the right way.
Watching her, Sebastian raised his cup to hide a smile. Even the erotic statues in the courtyard couldn’t compete for his rabbit’s attention when there was koffee.
By the time they’d finished the first cups, Philo returned and set two plates on the table. Slices of steak, buttered toast, and an omelet filled with potatoes, onions, peppers, and sausage. He refilled their cups and went to check on his other customers.
Sebastian picked at his food, just to have something to do. He needed to find some way to set his plan in motion, but Lynnea dug into her meal with such enthusiasm, he didn’t want to spoil her appetite by talking about anything that might upset her. So he ate while he watched the incubi and succubi trolling for prey, watched the visitors wandering down the main street looking for a brothel or a gambling house or a tavern where they could drink themselves blind. The Den was a place where the vices frowned upon in the daylight landscapes were openly celebrated. If a man wanted to lose a month’s pay drinking, gambling, and whoring, the residents of the Den were more than willing to help him. If a bored, rich wife wanted to buy an incubus’s time and particular talents, that was her choice—and if there were repercussions in her own landscape, that was her problem.
Of course, the residents always found it entertaining when a bored, rich wife and her equally bored, rich husband ran into each other in a brothel corridor. And those confrontations confirmed what the Den’s residents had known all along: In its own way, the Den was more honest than the daylight landscapes, because the few rules that existed applied to everyone, regardless of gender or species.
When Lynnea finally leaned back and let out a sigh of contentment, Sebastian pushed aside his plate and took her hand. The touch made her tremble, and the little rabbit stared at the wolf who was trying not to drool over the coming feast.
“Tell me what you want, Lynnea,” he said. “If you could have anything you wanted for a few hours, what would it be?”
She licked her lips. His pulse spiked, but he didn’t allow himself to pull her into his lap and kiss her until they were both too mindless to know or care where they were. He just held her hand and waited.
“I’d like…” She closed her eyes. “I’d like to be strong and brave. I’d like to stop being afraid all the time. I don’t remember what it feels like not to be afraid.”
“Done,” Sebastian said softly.
She opened her eyes and looked at him, her expression baffled.
“Did I mention I’m a wizard as well as an incubus?”
The words had barely left his mouth when he felt something snap open inside him, as if a part of him had been waiting to be acknowledged. The truth of it slid through him, filled him.
Guardians and Guides! He was a wizard.
Couldn’t be. Wasn’t possible.
Why not?
Because…Wouldn’t he have known? Wouldn’t Koltak have known?
Or was that the reason Koltak had brought the son he hated back to Wizard City over and over again? What would Koltak have done with a son born of a succubus if that child had shown any sign of having the wizards’ kind of magic?
He didn’t want to think about it. He’d said it only to give Lynnea a reason to shake off the chains of her past. Instead it had opened a new, and frightening, future for himself.
Power without training. Was there anything more dangerous in a world that altered itself to match the resonance of people’s hearts? All he knew about the power wizards claimed came from stories, rumors, things he’d heard they’d done to people. He had to talk to someone, but who could he trust? Lee? Glorianna? Maybe. Or would their intense dislike of wizards make them turn away from him if they found out? Aunt Nadia?
His heart rate settled back to something close to normal. He could talk to Nadia. If anyone could help him understand this, she could.
“Sebastian?”
He put aside his own revelation and focused on the one he’d planned for her.
“Yes,” he said. “I’m a wizard as well as an incubus.” He stood up, shifted until he was beside her chair, then placed one hand on her head. “By a wizard’s power and will, I decree that you, Lynnea, are a tigress. You are strong and brave and powerful. You are a woman of beauty and courage. And whatever you want from this night is yours.”
She looked up at him, frightened, confused…and hopeful. “Did you put a spell on me?”
“Something like that.” Daylight! He hoped he hadn’t done anything more than say a few words convincingly enough for her to believe him.
His hand slid down that lovely, wavy brown hair. Then he coaxed her to her feet. Her body brushed against his, and he wanted her with a desperation that bordered on madness. But these hours were hers, and whatever happened between them had to be her choice.
“You need some clothes,” he said, his voice rough.
“But I have clothes,” she protested, brushing a hand over the jumper.
“Different clothes.” Taking her hand, he led her down the street to Mr. Finch’s shop.
They were within a step of the door when she stopped and asked in a timid voice, “What’s a tigress?”
“A big, beautiful, powerful cat that lives in a distant landscape.”
“A cat.” She stared at the colored pole-lights. “She wouldn’t let anyone hurt her kittens?”
“No, she wouldn’t. And she’s strong enough and powerful enough to protect them against any fool who tried.”
He could almost feel something shift inside her, feel some change in the air around her. When she looked at him, the little rabbit was still there, but so was a hint of tigress.
He could handle the rabbit. He wasn’t so sure about dealing with the tigress he was trying to create. And he wished he knew why the mention of kittens produced that response in her.
Mr. Finch greeted them with his usual hums and chirps intermingled with actual words. Every time Sebastian dealt with the small, nervous man, he wondered what was inside Mr. Finch that had brought him to the Den.
“The lady needs strut clothes,” Sebastian said.
“Strut clothes?” Lynnea squeaked.
“Strut clothes,” he replied firmly. “A tigress wouldn’t wear anything else to prowl the Den.”
“Tigress,” Mr. Finch whispered. His nervous hand flutters stilled, and his eyes, usually so vague behind his gold-rimmed glasses, sharpened with professional interest.
“Yes, yes,” Mr. Finch said, his hands fluttering again as he hurried to the door of his work area. “I have just the thing. I call it a catsuit. Designed it last month, just finished hemming this first one. Prim and naughty. Yes, yes.”
Returning from the work area, he handed Lynnea a one-piece garment that was prim because it covered a woman’s body from her ankles to the top of her breasts, and was definitely naughty because it came just short of fitting like a second skin. The material was dark blue shot with gold, silver, emerald, and ruby threads.
A succubus wearing something like that would become drunk on the emotions she could wring from the men around her.
Seeing Lynnea prowling the Den wearing that thing would kill him. He just knew it.
“What…” Lynnea cleared her throat. “What do you wear under it?” She held the material as if it might come
alive at any moment and bite her.
“Skin,” Mr. Finch chirped happily. He didn’t look at Sebastian, but his mouth curved up in a tiny smile. “The incubi like skin.”
“Oh, I couldn’t—”
Sebastian put his mouth against her ear and whispered, “Tigress.”
A succubus came out from behind a rack of clothes, her eyes hot with envy as she looked at the catsuit.
Daylight! Sebastian thought as she approached them. Why did that succubitch have to be here right now?
“Sebastian,” the succubus purred. “Trying to clean up another stray to make it pass as something desirable?”
“I don’t clean up strays,” he snapped.
“Ooohhh? I heard you’re Teaser’s friend, and everyone knows he doesn’t have what it takes to be a real incubus. He would have been chewed up and spit out long ago if it wasn’t for you.” Her eyes slid over Lynnea. “Even if you can squeeze those broodmare hips into that delectable outfit, you’ve still got that face on top of it.”
“Perhaps I can help with the face,” a cold voice said from the doorway.
It had been over a year since he’d seen her, and he’d never heard her voice sound like that, but he knew who stood in the doorway.
So did the succubus, whose face was now twisted into an ugly mask of fear.
Sebastian closed his eyes for a moment to steady himself before he turned to face the door—and Glorianna Belladonna.
Eyes of green ice stared back at him. With her long black hair framing her face, she still looked beautiful, but it was a cold, untouchable beauty—and he wondered if her heart had become just as cold.
This Belladonna was capable of bringing a horror into the Den that killed so viciously.
No. No! He wouldn’t think it, wouldn’t believe it. If she was capable of doing something like that, it would wound something inside him that would never heal.
She walked into the shop and stared at the succubus, who cringed.
“Go,” she said.
The succubus bolted out of the shop.
“We need to talk,” Sebastian said quietly.
