by Dannika Dark
“Simon, did you at least put on underwear?” Silver asked, concealing her smile. “Don’t you have any shame? There are important people here.”
He lifted his chin and polished off the bubbly. “I seem to recall a young Mage parading around in a T-shirt that said…Oh, bollocks. What was it again? It appears to have slipped my… Oh, right!” he said with a snap of his fingers. “As I recall, it said FUCKING CLASSY.”
“I was young and stupid,” she said, curling against Logan. “Anyhow, I think you’ve crossed the line with that one.”
Simon pulled at the ends of his shirt, which said GO BALLS DEEP. “What’s wrong with it?” he asked, pointing at the bowling ball.
She laughed with a throaty chuckle. “I’d like to know what bowling alley you go to.”
“You should know, love. Care to stroll down memory lane?”
Logan nailed him to the floor with his volcanic gaze, so Simon held his tongue and looked away. Colossal mistake. He’d just made eye contact with the Ice Queen, and she was heading their way.
He hopped off the table and raked back his tousled hair. “Bloody hell,” he muttered, averting his attention to the front door. “Who invited the cat?”
Levi strode up as if he had a bowling ball of his own between his legs. He was as tall as Logan, only heftier. Levi nudged Logan and nodded toward the lobster table. As they turned, Levi looked over his shoulder and winked at Simon.
Silver folded her arms. “Why do you always act like an ass around Levi? He likes you.”
“Therein lies the problem.”
“That’s not what I meant. And it’s not like he puts his hand on your ass or anything. Well…” She turned her head and laughed quietly.
Simon furrowed his brow. “What’s that supposed to mean?”
She patted his chest and smiled insincerely. “Nothing, Simon. Never mind. Levi’s a nice guy, and you’re always avoiding him. It’s not because he’s gay, is it?”
“Maybe I think his jeans are a fashion faux pas. Sorry, I need to mix and mingle with the crowd, love. Hannah’s been molesting me with her beady eyes, and I’m beginning to feel violated.”
He kissed her on the cheek and then weaved his way through the crowd until he lost sight of Hannah.
“Simon Hunt, you dirty little scallywag.”
Mid-step, Simon pivoted on his heel and delivered a counterfeit smile to a Mage he hadn’t seen in over a century—one whose German accent had thinned out over the years to the point that Simon could barely hear it. “Boris Dmitry. Last time I saw you, I believe you were swinging from the gallows. Bloody shame the guillotine had gone out of fashion.”
Boris wrinkled his sharp nose and turned his mouth to the side. He had an inchworm on his upper lip masquerading as a black mustache. Boris hadn’t changed much in the past century, except maybe his underpants. He looked in his late forties, slicked his hair back with pomade, and Simon was willing to bet he still carried around that tacky cigarette case with the naked woman inside.
“Still the same old prick you always were.”
Simon patted Boris’s cheek. “And you’re still impotent, I’m sure. Don’t look so surprised, mate. Your fiancée told me everything right before I took her for a pony ride in the stables.”
When Boris’s jaw tightened, Simon strode off with a contemptuous swagger, heading directly for the porntastic young ladies who were begging for attention. Unfortunately, they weren’t alone. Three men were circling like lions on a hunt. While the bevy of beautiful women had clearly received instructions to please Simon, one of them had turned her attention toward the men, touching them while engaged in conversation.
Not that Simon cared really. This was all for show. Still, maybe it pricked his pride just a hair not to be the sole recipient of their constant adulation. They were dolled up in magnificent gowns, sexy stockings, and high heels, breasts of all calibers on display, and legs so oiled up that he wanted to lick them.
“Gentleman,” he said with an air of authority.
“Private party,” one replied tersely. “I think these ladies have their hands full, so why don’t you take off?”
These young Learners were too cocky for their own good.
Simon gently took the wrist of the blonde and placed her hand on his crotch. He throbbed inside her warm palm, the friction against his leathers unbearably pleasurable. The woman curled up against him, her lips on his neck.
“This is how you keep a lady’s hands full, boys. Perhaps later I’ll explain how I keep my mouth full.” He trailed his fingers down the curve of her spine until he found her bum.
Simon was an audacious flirt, but he would never cross a line of sexual misconduct. That was one line he respected. But over the years, he’d become a master at reading a woman well enough to know her limits. This sassy vixen had been stroking her inner thigh while watching him in the foyer not five minutes earlier.
“Why don’t you go wait for me over there,” he whispered in her ear.
When he let go of her hand, she gave him a friendly pat and lured her friends over to nosh on some berries at a nearby table.
Simon eased toward the window and glanced outside. His breath caught when he noticed Hannah’s Learner sitting alone at a table, her pale ginger hair pulled into a French braid. Not especially long hair, but he guessed it went past her shoulders. Her gaze drifted around while she nibbled on a morsel of food, averting her eyes whenever someone walked by.
She wouldn’t be a good candidate for rehabilitation and weapons training if she couldn’t even smile at a stranger. But damn, he’d never seen skin so fair—like fine porcelain. Something about her made it impossible to look away.
“Pretty, isn’t she?” one of the jerk-offs said.
Simon gave him a peevish glance. “And you are?”
“James Dmitry, progeny of—”
“Boris Dmitry. That name doesn’t impress me in the least.”
“Yeah? And who is your Creator?”
Simon ignored him, still gazing out the window.
“She wouldn’t have anything to do with a loser like you,” James continued, giving Simon’s attire a scathing glance. “She’s upper-class high society. She’s bred for someone with wealth and status.”
“Is that so?” Simon sensed a challenge coming on.
James folded his arms and followed the direction of his gaze. A few scattered guests mingled near the musicians, their animated discussions making the quiet girl at the table even more noticeable. “You don’t have what it takes to charm a girl like Mouse. I’d put money on it.”
“How much?”
James clicked his teeth together. “Two hundred.”
“Make it three. And what is a mouse?”
“Mouse is her name.”
Well, that was unattractive. What kind of Creator names her progeny Mouse? Then again, Simon had once known a man named Rodent. Hannah was a bit deranged, so it hardly came as a surprise.
James snagged his collar as he moved toward the door. “Don’t say her name.”
“Why’s that?” Simon asked.
“Familiarity gives you an unfair advantage. Let’s keep this an honest wager.”
Simon shrugged and opened the door, slowing his step to a casual swagger as soon as he hit the patio. The stringed quartet played a familiar tune as he slowly moved about the tables, collecting three grapes from an abandoned plate and rolling them between his fingers. He watched her from the corner of his eye and saw her gaze following him. Simon glanced up at the trellis beside him, which someone had adorned with lights, and pretended not to notice her. He tossed the grape in his right hand into the air and proceeded to juggle. When one of them went high enough, he missed and let it bounce off his forehead.
Her hand flew up to cover her smile.
Simon grinned impishly and shook his head, dropping the remaining grapes onto an empty plate. He strolled toward her with his head down, the same way one might approach a timid animal.
And what a peti
te thing she was—slim and much shorter than Simon. His sinewy build stretched just over six feet of deliciousness.
“Hello,” he said, nodding.
When he gestured toward a chair to her right, a pink blush tinted her cheeks. Her reaction took him off guard because the fierce strength behind her eyes told him she was no timid creature. The duality with this woman piqued his curiosity. When her eyes roamed to his lips, he wondered if she could lip-read.
Simon made a concerted effort to choose words that would be short and easy to understand. “May I?”
She shrugged with her eyebrows and looked away. He took a seat and put his elbow on the table, mashing his fist against his cheek as he watched her. Up close, she had extraordinary features that seemed otherworldly. Her blue eyes were rimmed in black and sparkled like aquamarine against the candlelight. The color was striking against her pale locks of red hair and fair skin.
He could sense she didn’t like people staring at her, so to break the ice, he removed the fingerless glove from his right hand and gestured for a handshake. Confused, she flicked her eyes up at him. Breed didn’t shake hands, but young Learners often clung to human traditions out of habit.
Most considered Simon uncouth because he liked to push buttons. But he knew when to back off, when to seduce, when to mouth off, and when to be gentle. The light that coursed within him was like that of every other Mage except for one thing: Simon had an extraordinary ability to read energy. Every Mage upon their creation acquires a unique light that flows within their body—a combination of their own core light and a smatter of their Creator’s. The smart ones kept their rare gifts concealed. It was the ace up his sleeve and one reason why he went out of his way to act indifferent, as if he had no idea his behavior was insulting or hurtful. That was the strategic part of him learning to hide his gift.
Simon hadn’t been aware of his talents in the early years because all he ever sensed were painful currents of energy that spiked against his body. No one had ever explained Mage gifts to him, and it was only later that he realized that no one else could feel energy the way he could. He had the uncanny ability to read a Mage’s energy and tell when it spiked due to rage, fear, or lust. Simon’s gift made it easy to best a man in a competition, sensing his next move based on his emotional flares. Aside from that, most people didn’t pay attention to things such as the direction of one’s gaze or the lilt of a voice, which made it easy to read people.
As he held out his palm, she finally took it. Simon slowly retracted his arm until they locked fingers, exposing their thumbs on top.
“Thumb war,” he mouthed, tapping his thumb to the left and right.
Her smile was subtle—masked behind a solemn face. Once the game was initiated, he weaved and tapped the tip of her thumb to provoke her to move. His fingers were longer and he had the clear advantage. As soon as she moved around his knuckle, he pinned her thumb. She struggled, and her slender finger slipped free. Simon flinched when she used her short nails as weapons to bite into his skin, including her other four fingers that were digging into his palm. With patient moves, she continued to bait him. It was exactly what he would have done if he were in her situation. She’d never win by going for the base of the thumb, and he held it too high for her to risk it. Each time he slammed his thumb down, she moved out of the way and tried for another pin.
“My, don’t we have nimble fingers,” he said with a fiendish smirk. Simon finally pinned her thumb and she gave up, leaning back in her chair and shaking her hand. “You’re very good,” he mouthed, taking his time to pronounce the words. Simon sure as hell couldn’t lip-read, but she seemed perceptive. It didn’t take a brainiac to understand certain words combined with facial expressions.
She continued to rub at her hand, which now had red marks from their rough play. No time better than the present for introductions.
“Hello, Mouse.”
She blinked, staring at his mouth.
This time, he moved his lips slower. “Very nice to meet you, Mouse.”
Slap.
His cheek stung like fire as she catapulted out of her chair, lips pressed tightly, a mottled scarlet tinting her face.
Startled by her unprovoked reaction, he stood up and kicked his chair away. For pity’s sake. He never understood why women had to be so bloody temperamental. He yanked his glove back on and stalked inside, drawn to chaotic laughter to his left.
James clapped him on the shoulder, a tear wetting the skin beneath his eye. “I didn’t think you’d do it. Such a gullible ass. Who said age brings wisdom?”
Simon snatched James by the arm and twisted it behind his back. “Touch me again and I’ll snap your radius in two. What are you blabbering on about?”
One of James’s friends chugged down a longneck and walked outside with his buddy. Simon spun the Learner around and seized his throat, pushing him against the wall. “I have a dagger tucked neatly in my boot, and you don’t want to know where I’ll put it if you don’t tell me what that was all about.”
“Her name isn’t Mouse, you moron.”
When a few people turned to look at them, Simon released his hold. James rubbed the red mark on his neck and lost all humor. “I didn’t have any trouble getting her naked, but something’s wrong with that bitch. She threw me down like some kind of take-charge whore, but she didn’t make a sound while I was banging her. Just squeaked like a mouse.” James chuckled and rubbed his jaw, pleasantly lost in his perverted thoughts. “Funniest damn thing I ever heard.”
Simon felt the blood rush to his head, spiked with adrenaline. His energy pulsed like a heartbeat, and James stepped back.
A guy yelled out, “Come on, James. Waste of time.”
James moved past Simon and lingered by the open door. “She’s a good lay, but totally frigid when it came to binding… no matter how hard I tried to get her on board with the plan.”
Simon looked on at the three men and decided it had been a long time since he had taught a Learner a hard lesson about respect.
And it didn’t get any harder than his fist.
Chapter 4
Simon wiped the blood from his nose and staggered toward the front door of Hannah’s mansion. The party was in full swing—alcohol erasing inhibitions, lights sparkling like jewels, music and laughter filling every empty space. He waved at Silver, ignoring all the elitist snobs who were gawking at him.
Silver’s green eyes widened in horror. She abandoned her friends and hurried toward him. “What the hell happened to you?”
He shrugged. “The usual. Sometimes the ladies love me a little too hard. Once the stampede started, it was hard to control the orgy that ensued.”
Someone walked briskly past them, and the breeze ruffled the ends of Silver’s black dress. She glanced down at his shoeless foot, then up to the bright streak of blood on his arm where he’d wiped his bloody nose. It felt broken, but that hardly mattered since he planned on putting a bag of ice on it until he could heal at dawn. After three hundred years of fighting, a man learned to heal his battle wounds if he didn’t want to wind up looking like a creature feature.
Simon glanced at his reflection in a mirror—a bruised eye, rumpled hair, and a split lip. Bugger.
“Where’s your shoe?” Silver branded him with a judgmental stare.
“Getting shined.”
“It looks more like you got your ass kicked.”
Simon spat out blood, and it marred the pristine floor. “You should see the other guys.”
“Guys. As in plural?”
She had to be kidding. Simon could fight an experienced Mage in the dark with his hands cuffed. A few Learners were nothing but a warm-up. And those blighters deserved everything they had coming. Especially the cad named James Dmitry who proudly admitted he’d tried to force a woman to bind with him, and not just any woman, but Hannah’s progeny.
“Mr. Hunt, tell me who did this to you, and I’ll castrate them,” Hannah said, her voice sharp.
He cringed and tu
rned to his left, sensing a bright flare of fear radiating from Hannah—curiously stronger than the underlying energy of disgust. He guessed she was thinking their deal might be off.
Silver stepped away to give them privacy when Hannah regarded her with a frosty gaze.
Simon plucked a calla lily from a nearby vase and twirled it between his fingers. “Was it your idea to decorate the party with flowers that look like vaginas? Nice touch. You really set the mood.”
A line formed on her brow. “Are we ready to talk business?”
Simon lowered his voice. “What’s her name?”
“Are you accepting my offer?” Hannah folded her arms and drew her thick eyebrows together. They were the one feature about her that stood out above all others. Most women plucked every little hair until they were left with nothing more than a surprised look on their face. Hannah embraced her follicles to the point where the few sparse hairs in the middle looked like renegade soldiers fleeing the camp.
Simon scratched off a crust of dried blood from his lip and spoke quietly. “We’ll negotiate the price after I get seven days to assess her skills. Call this a trial period.”
“Splendid. I have the utmost confidence in your abilities, Mr. Hunt. I’ll draw up the papers,” she said discreetly.
“Papers?”
“Yes. I document all negotiations in writing.”
Probably written in her own poisonous blood. “Be sure to include a clause that I can back out any time at my own discretion. Don’t you dare try to lock me into one of your complicated contracts. Write it on one sheet of paper in plain English. And I don’t mean Middle English.”
Hannah tugged at one of her diamond earrings. “If that is your wish, I’ll have them drawn up tonight. Stop by tomorrow morning, and we’ll begin immediately. Feel free to clean up in my washroom, and help yourself to the… appetizers.” Hannah waved her hand toward the bountiful offering of women in the room. “They’re only guaranteed for the evening.”
“Keep them. I’m not a charity case.” Simon swaggered toward the door before turning around. “And Hannah?”
