by Lori Devoti
The note was really more of a ticket, a backstage pass of sorts identifying the holder as a VIP to a club called Tunnels. The paper was made to look aged and a red wax seal had kept it closed until Joarr had broken it.
One hand pinching the ends of the towel together, Amma reached to take the paper. Joarr loosened his grip on the invitation and relaxed his posture, leaning one hip against the sink. The bathroom was steamy, and smelled of generic cheap soap and shampoo. But as the steam cleared from the air, Amma’s scent broke through. He inhaled, but kept his face neutral, showing no sign of his appreciation for the female trapped in the tiny room with him.
As she studied the note, a thin line formed between her brows. Joarr was interested in her response, but interested in other things, too. He blew cool air above her head, pushing the steam faster from the space and causing the tiny hairs of Amma’s arms and shoulders to rise.
She glanced at him. He closed his lips, pretended he’d only been standing, waiting.
A shiver shook her body. “The bar… It’s the same as the flyer.”
“Is it?”
She nodded; her towel slipped. She grabbed for it, managing to keep it from falling to the ground—much to his regret. He blew a second breath over her head. Another shiver passed over her and she glanced around as if looking for the source of the breeze.
When she looked up, he held out his hand. “How observant of you.” Her fingers shaking, she extended the note toward him. He let it fall from his fingers and float toward the floor.
“How clumsy of me…” He bent, brushing against her and the towel she was struggling to keep wrapped around her body. He managed to subtly give the thin cloth a tug; it slipped from her grasp and joined the note on the dirty vinyl floor. He scooped it up along with the note.
She didn’t cover her breasts; he appreciated that. She also didn’t look as if she were fooled by his act. She jerked the towel from his hand. “You did that on purpose.” Pushing him to the side, she grabbed her clothes, which were piled in the corner. Then she moved with the clear intention of leaving the room.
He wrapped his fingers around her arm and let his thumb drift over her skin, soft and still a little damp. When she looked up at him, her eyes glittering, he whispered, “Would you rather I didn’t care? That what you hid beneath that scrap of cloth held no interest for me?”
She blinked.
With a low chuckle, he released his hold and she walked on past.
As he watched her hips sway back and forth, watched her walk naked and unintimidated to the other side of the bed, he whispered to himself, “No worries there, my treasure. No worries there.”
* * *
The streets were busy in a scurrying, don’t-make-eye-contact kind of way. As Amma stepped over a drunk passed out on a piece of cardboard, she wondered how much of the human world was like this. She’d only been to a few parts of this world. Before her entrapment, she’d spent most of her time with her sisters, Lusse mainly. But both gravitated to stopping points carved out of in-between places—lands not connected to any of the major worlds. Lusse had preferred a place not all that different from the land the dragons called home—stark but beautiful with mountains and snow. Her oldest sister was drawn to the underground. Lived most of her time like a dwarf in some dark cave…or like a dragon. Amma hadn’t realized until now how both of her sisters had homes similar in some way to the dragons’.
Maybe that was why she was attracted to Joarr.
He stepped over the drunk she’d just passed. Joarr was wearing white again, a new outfit he’d got from somewhere. He’d had clothes delivered for both of them, paid with another bag of his gold dust. She didn’t know why he’d ordered clothes for himself and not just magicked them as he did when he shifted. Perhaps because he realized she needed something other than her filthy skirt and peasant blouse to go to the Collector’s club or perhaps he realized shifting around her gave her access to his magic.
He’d left off a jacket this time, wearing just a close-fitting sweater that showed off his muscled chest, and wool pants. Even his shoes were white, but with a hint of metallic.
On anyone else the outfit would have looked outlandish, but on Joarr…it just emphasized how masculine he was. Honestly, she couldn’t imagine him any other way, except maybe with no clothing at all.
She laughed. No, Joarr’s choice in clothing had nothing to do with her attraction to him. Damn him.
She smoothed the skirt of the dress that he’d chosen for her. It was white, too. Not a choice she would have made for visiting a place that promised danger. Something dark that would blend into the night or club crowd would have been her preference. But she had to appreciate Joarr’s brazen confidence.
She adjusted the bracelet he’d taken from the dark elf at the portal. She’d added it to her outfit. She still wore the manacle, too. Somehow the two seemed appropriate, one reminding her why she was here and the other… She fingered the silver chain. She wasn’t sure why she wore it, didn’t want to analyze her motive too closely; it had just seemed right.
She tightened her grip on the tiny silver purse that Joarr had also supplied. She was on edge and over-thinking things. She didn’t like being hunted, especially by an unseen adversary.
They were only a few yards from the address now. All around them were three-story buildings, old warehouses. There was no sign advertising which building might be the bar, but the line snaking from a basement entrance left no doubt where they should go.
Joarr pulled the invitation from his pocket and checked the address, anyway. “Looks like this is it.” He glanced around, obviously looking for the sign Amma had already noted was missing.
A group of female humans dressed in thigh-high boots and skirts that barely covered their asses sashayed past them. One turned and raised an eyebrow at Joarr. Amma slipped her arm through his and raised an eyebrow back.
The human tossed her head and laughed—as if she were a match for Amma.
Amma opened her fingers, instinctively reaching for power, only to once again realize she had none.
“Interesting clientele.” Joarr’s gaze wandered from the female who was now traipsing down the stairs to the club’s door and over a mixed group of dwarves and Svartalfars, dark elves.
It was obvious to Amma, and she was sure to Joarr, too, that the dwarves and Svartalfars were fully armed. The wooden handle of an ax poked out from under one dwarf’s jacket and the dark elves’ pockets were bursting. Dark elves were known for strange and destructive weaponry.
She placed a hand on Joarr’s sleeve. “Do you think this is smart?”
He glanced at her, surprised. “This is where the chalice is—or where the person who sent the invitation has directed us.”
As he said the words, she realized her instincts were right. “Where the person who sent the invitation wants us to be.”
Joarr smiled. “Yes. Good point.”
They stood for a second, both staring at the crowd milling toward the bar.
One of the Svartalfars brushed up against the female human who had eyed Joarr. She shot him a contemptuous stare. Amma paused, hoping for some reaction that would induce the dark elf to produce whatever toy he had hidden in his pocket. Unfortunately, he only leaned closer to the woman and whispered something in her ear.
The woman grabbed her friend’s arm and stomped away—obviously outraged—but her response was nowhere near what Amma had hoped for. Disappointed, she turned back to the job at hand.
If they wanted to get in the bar unseen, they needed a diversion or a disguise, probably both.
“We need to change.” She tapped her purse against her thigh. “If the Collector is behind all this, he’ll recognize me, and you…” She turned her gaze onto Joarr, steady and direct. Then shook her head. “You just stand out.”
He tilted his head, his brows lifting in surprise. “Dragons like to stand out. It’s kind of a goal of ours.”
She huffed out a breath. “One that will get you kill
ed or at the very least cost you the chalice—and me my pick of your treasure.”
“You’re very take-charge all of a sudden.” He leaned down and breathed against her lips. The night was chilly and he’d selected no coats for either of them. But the air he blew on her was warm and sparkled with magic. It made her want to open her lips and suck it in. She found herself leaning toward him, her breasts resting on his forearm. “I like it,” he finished. Then smiled, his lips almost touching hers.
For a second she stood there, unable to react. Then she jerked back and stared at the building in front of her. Her voice cool, completely hiding the emotions swirling inside her, she said, “You can do your thing and change, but—” she pulled at her skirt with two fingers “—I’m a different story.”
He pulled her hand, which she had dropped to her side, back through his arm. “I am a dragon. We don’t hide well. We don’t hide at all. Our power is in others knowing what we are, fearing us, not acting like we are something else.”
His answer was cocky, frustrating and likely to get him the same fate that had befallen two, perhaps three, dragons before. She opened her mouth to tell him so, then snapped her lips shut. Some things just called for action.
He patted her hand, the one looped through his arm. “Your concern is touching. You keep up with it and I might just start to believe you care.”
When she didn’t reply, he continued, “Just do as you promised—help me retrieve the chalice. For now that means coming with me and not worrying about what my plan is.” He led her into the crowd, then down the first step that led to the bar’s door. Not prepared for the move, Amma wobbled. She grabbed hold of the iron banister that was mounted on the concrete wall beside her to keep from falling. Joarr stopped, too, just as suddenly, and reached out to grab her. She held on to the railing, determined not to have him touch her again, no more than she had to. Every touch and she got a little more confused, forgot she had an ulterior motive for her part in this fool’s errand.
“Hey, you’re blocking the road,” someone called from behind. A hand shoved her squarely in the back. Even with both hands on the banister, she fell…or almost did. Joarr thrust out his arm, catching her. Then twirled her toward him, as if they were performing some fancy dance move, and just as quickly, he pivoted on his foot to stare down the human couple who stood behind them.
It was obvious the female half of the pair had shoved Amma. Her arms were crossed over a strategically torn T-shirt and her overly made-up face was sullen. And Amma couldn’t help but notice they were the same height and weight. It gave her an idea.
She eyed the woman’s companion. He was almost as tall as Joarr, but skinnier. Plus his dark pants didn’t look as if they would stretch, and his shirt barely fit him. In other words—not a match.
But the pair could still be useful.
She pulled on Joarr’s arm until he leaned so she could whisper in his ear. “You asked for my help. Either take it, or I leave, now.”
His eyes grew round. She expected him to argue, or offer some other bit of dragons-the-invincible wisdom, but instead he made a sweeping “go ahead” motion with his hand.
She used the banister to pull herself forward and squeezed her way past Joarr. Standing next to the overconfident human, she raised a brow. “I’m sure that was an accident,” she said.
The woman’s chest threatened to explode from her T-shirt; she puffed it out further. “We’re regulars here. I don’t think you want to make trouble with us.”
Oh, but Amma did. She really, really did. She flexed her fingers.
Joarr slipped his hand around hers; warmth poured into her, but no magic. She growled.
He seemed to sense her meaning; his fingers pressed into her back and this time she felt it, the sweet release of magic, dragon magic. Her face showing nothing of what was going on, she soaked up every bit of power he offered.
“Regulars? What kind of place is this?” Joarr managed to look intimidating and encouraging at the same time.
The woman turned her black-lined eyes away from Amma. When her gaze hit Joarr, her mouth formed a perfect circle and an “ooh” sound escaped her pinup-girl red lips.
The man beside her, however, did not seem similarly impressed. He jerked her by the arm. “Fafnir’s on the door. Be nice this time.” He held up a hand and called to the dwarf who had appeared in the bar’s now-open doorway.
Joarr’s fingers tightened. He, like she, recognized the name. Now crackling with power, Amma grabbed the woman by the forearm. She jerked, but Amma didn’t let go. “Don’t tell me you go in this way? Don’t you know the VIP entrance is on the other side?”
The woman’s eyes narrowed, but her insecurity was easily visible.
Amma motioned with her head. “Come on. We’ll show you.” She turned just as the dwarf glanced in their direction. She pulled on Joarr, warning him to keep his back turned, too.
The woman’s companion waved his hand and jumped, obviously struggling to gain Fafnir’s attention, but the dwarf barely looked their way.
She pulled on Joarr’s sleeve. “Give me the invitation.”
He handed it to her.
She dangled it between two fingers. “Well, if you don’t want to go to the VIP door with us, I guess I understand, but I hate to see you standing out here while others—” she made a sniffing noise as the stocky dwarf gestured the first group of annoying humans they’d encountered into the club “—waltz inside. Here.” She held out the note as if it was a golden ticket—which it was. She was sure it would guarantee admittance. Of course, once Fafnir realized the bearer wasn’t the dragon or the witch he was most certainly expecting, things might go decidedly south. A problem that most definitely wasn’t hers.
The raccoon-eyed wannabe eyed the note with suspicion. Amma started to pull it back. “Of course, if you think—”
“No.” The woman snatched it from her fingers.
The light by the bar entrance didn’t make it to where they were. The woman flipped open her cell phone and used its light to study the piece of paper. “Huh.” She twisted her lips to the side. “Kind of strange.”
“Well, I’m sure—” Amma’s fingers grazed the edge of the note.
The woman jerked it out of her reach. She punched her companion in the arm. “Let’s go. Dolly’s been inside an hour. She’ll never let us hear the end of it.”
The woman shot one last suspicious glance at Amma. Then the couple tromped down the stairs.
“Come on, over here.” Amma pulled on Joarr, until they were both deep enough in the crowd Fafnir wouldn’t spot them.
The couple elbowed their way to the front, the woman waving the note like a flag. “Let us pass. We’re here by special invitation.”
Fafnir looked up. Even from this distance, Amma could see the excitement flash behind his eyes. He rubbed his hands together, and as he spotted the woman’s companion, he licked his lips.
Amma frowned. Fafnir’s reaction was disturbing. Obviously, he’d been expecting someone to arrive with the note, but there was something about the way he looked… She glanced at Joarr, wondering if he had noticed.
Fafnir slammed a board down, cutting off the entrance. Mutters and angry looks traveled through the waiting crowd. He stepped forward, hands on his hips, and motioned to the couple waving the note, pushing other patrons who had been about to enter to the side.
Amma could see his lips move, could see whatever he said to his aspiring customers was far from polite.
