"Noted," she managed to squeak past the lump growing in her throat. Run. Now.
Victory. Jewels. Bakery.
She remained in place. A stroke of power against the back of her neck had her spinning--and facing Adrian's chest. She gulped, waiting for the end to come. When he didn't lash out at her for daring to touch a patron without permission, she turned back to the Fae and breathed a sigh of relief.
They were staring at Adrian with terror in their crystalline eyes.
"So, um, yeah. What can I get you to drink?" she asked.
The guy closest to her seemed to blink a thousand times before saying, "Ambrosia-laced whiskey."
She lifted her hand to write it down, only to recall pen and paper weren't allowed. They were "too human." She was to memorize every order and refill accordingly without being asked. "And you?"
"Ambrosia-laced vodka."
She remembered the stern warning Bellorie had given her only this morning. Don't sample the ambrosia. It's immortal brew and you'll die. "You?"
"Surprise me. And it had better be a good surprise."
Wonderful. "Of course. I wouldn't know how to do a bad surprise." She stepped back, expecting to bump into Adrian--except he was no longer behind her. Frowning, she returned to the bar. Bummer. Bellorie had wandered off.
She told the bartender what she needed. "Whatever you make for the third drink, put a rainbow-colored umbrella in it." That was a "good" surprise, right?
The tattooed hottie with pink hair glowered at her before filling three glasses. He did not add an umbrella.
O-kay. Note to self: bartender is not one for idle chitchat...or suggestions.
Chanel had mentioned his name was "effing McCadden," and he was a fallen Sent-One-slash-cold-blooded-murderer. Oh, and that he had a serious case of love ebola for the minor goddess of Death, whoever that was. He was also Xerxes's prisoner--and strangely enough, his friend--and he was not to be messed with.
She loaded up her tray. "How am I supposed to know which glass has which liquid?" Everything was black.
McCadden strode to the end of the bar, snubbing her.
Wonderful. Just great! She turned, her gaze automatically dusting over the stage. A crowd had arrived, seemingly between one blink and another. Women now crowded the edge of the stage, throwing their panties at the band and begging for one night in "Merrick's" arms.
"The singer is Merrick, I take it," she said as Bellorie came up beside her to fill an order.
"Yes, indeed. He collects female hearts just so he can break them."
"That's sad."
"That's life."
"Well, it doesn't have to be my life." Elin carefully returned to the Fae, threading her way through the crowd without spilling a drop. Murmurs rose and blended, adding to the already chaotic kaleidoscope of noise.
"What took so long?" Whiskey demanded. Guess he'd gotten over his fear of Adrian.
A few minutes was "so long"? "The goodest surprises--" No way. No way she'd just said that. "I mean, the best surprises take time." She once again donned her biggest and brightest smile as she set the glasses in the center of the table. Let the males pick their own. "Is there anything else I can get you? A bowl of nuts?" Your own knocked into your throats?
Violence without bloodshed. She could deal.
Her wrist was grabbed, and thrust under the nose of Vodka. "You smell especially sweet. What race are you?"
Shut your big, fat mouth hole! she almost screamed as she searched for Adrian. Had he overheard? When she saw that he was across the room, oblivious, she yanked free of the Fae's hold. He was stronger than her, obviously, and could have held on, and she wouldn't have been able to do a thing about it, but he let her go.
"I'm, like, totally human." Just drop it. Please, just drop it.
Laugher met the pronouncement, and she nearly had a heart attack. These Grade A jerkwads could ruin her.
"Thane would never force his valued clientele to slum it with a lowly human," Whiskey said.
Going for calm and confident rather than scared and sickly, she arched a brow. "You know him so well, then? You chat with him regularly?"
He flinched, clearly embarrassed to be called out in front of his friends. Douchey Fae: 0. Elin: 1. And now, Subject Death Trap was closed.
Yeah, but the jewels...the bakery.
She'd lost the bet, no question, but she wasn't sorry. A dead girl couldn't live her dreams. "So...no nuts?" she asked, flashing another grin.
"I can't imagine Thane has plans to bed you." Surprise Me stroked his chin with long, lean fingers. "But that's the only reason someone like you would dare to speak to us in such a fashion."
His condescending tone annoyed her, but she managed to maintain her grin. If there was one lesson that had been hammered home while living with the Phoenix, it was to act as if she was too stupid to realize when she'd been insulted, even while she was dying inside.
"No, really, how well do you know him? Because I've been here less than a week, and I'd love to learn more about him."
Sadly, it was true.
Vodka rolled his eyes. "If you survive the entire week, I'll pledge my life to my new king and queen without a single qualm."
The three returned to their conversation.
Crisis averted.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned away with every intention of finding one of the girls and asking for a different table. Throwing in the towel? Waving the white flag? Pathetic!
All at once, the entire club went quiet, even the music seeming to fade into the background.
The reason why strode through the bar as if he owned it. Because he did.
Thane had arrived.
It was her first sighting since MOP, the Massacre of the Phoenix, and it utterly stole her breath. He wore a long robe made of brilliant white fabric that should have hidden his strength but somehow only accentuated every luscious swell of muscle he possessed. Innocent blond curls framed the wicked beauty of his face, the savage contrast enough to intrigue the deadest of hearts.
I'm not intrigued and I'm not affected. I'm not, dang it.
His electric blues scanned the sea of customers, only to stop abruptly on Elin. As if lit by a match, his expression heated.
For a moment, she wondered if he'd finally learned the truth about her. If he was going to arrest her in front of all these people and escort her to the Courtyard of Horrors. Tremors struck her like bolts of lightning. Then his gaze stroked over her scantily clad curves leisurely, as if he'd found something worth further study, and she shivered.
Um...was that arousal she'd seen?
Just like that, the world around her vanished. There was only Thane and mutual animal attraction. The air seemed to charge with molten electricity, and her neglected body cried out. One touch. Just one.
"Thane," she whispered, and his gaze jerked up to her face. The heat she'd seen before? Nothing compared to this. Fire that scorched, even from this distance.
She licked her suddenly tingling lips. A low growl sprang from him. He took a step toward her. She didn't mean to, but she took a step toward him. One touch. Just one. Then he stilled, not even seeming to breathe. His expression hardened, and his hands fisted at his sides.
He turned away, effectively dismissing her.
A heavy breath deflated her lungs. She was dismissed. And so freaking easily.
The sting of rejection jolted her back to awareness. She was in a club. A club filled with immortals--his club. People were watching her with avid curiosity now. People who had seen him seduce hundreds...perhaps thousands...of other women.
Elin raised her chin. I didn't want him anyway. One touch? Never.
"Gorgeous," a dragon-shifter gasped. He reached out and ghosted his fingertips along the curve of Thane's wing.
No fair, she thought with a longing she couldn't deny, even now.
Thane reacted immediately, snatching the guy's wrist and breaking it with a single squeeze. A pained howl scraped at her ears, making her cr
inge. Adrian appeared at the injured man's side, taking him by the scruff and hauling him out of the club.
The entire scene played out in three seconds, tops.
O-kay, then. Wings: off-limits.
And there was no reason to make a mental note of that, since she'd already decided not to touch Thane, or to let him touch her, ever.
He resumed his walk through the club, stopping to address a table of Harpies. Elin couldn't make out the words that were spoken, but whatever he said after the introductions caused each of the females to gape. Had he issued a death threat? His expression was harsh, determined.
Then he held out his hand to the tallest and strongest at the table. A striking blonde.
Blondie willingly placed her fingers in his, and, ever the gentleman, he helped her stand.
Not a death threat, but a seduction. A lance of something hot branded the center of Elin's chest. Anger? Jealousy? A measure of both? Yeah. Nailed it.
Thane led the woman out of the bar.
To his special room?
That quickly? That easily?
Elin gripped her tray with so much force the board cracked down the center.
Startled, she peered down at the two jagged halves. She was that jealous? No, impossible. She didn't know the man, and certainly didn't want him for her own.
He didn't matter to her.
Honestly, he was nothing more than a means to an end. A scary means to an end, at that. Stupid Thane was welcome to his stupid Harpy and his stupid love life and his stupid room and his stupid pleasure.
She would forget him just as easily as he'd picked up that skanky Harpy.
Name-calling? Who are you? The blonde was probably as sweet as candy, a stay-at-home divorced mom just looking for a night of fun to give her self-esteem the boost it needed after her husband cheated on her with their next-door neighbor.
Buck up, Vale. You have Fae snobs to charm and jewels to win.
Charm. Right. Except, she'd already failed in that endeavor.
So...what else could she try?
What would your mother do?
Easy. Renlay would kill everyone.
Well, that wasn't going to work for Elin. There had to be another way.
As she thought it over, her eyes widened. There was another way. It might land her in serious trouble with Thane, but at the moment, she didn't exactly care.
Victory, here I come.
CHAPTER FIVE
THANE TUGGED ON his robe, his motions steady despite the aggravation attempting to choke him. The Harpy was asleep and unaware of his mood, thank the Most High. She would have panicked--or asked for round two. He wasn't in the mood to deal with either.
What was her name?
Not that he cared. It wasn't as if he would ever speak to her again.
He'd used her. She'd used him. Pleasure was had. The problem was, he wasn't satisfied.
Have you ever been?
He worked his jaw. Yes, of course. At least a little. For years, he'd brought his women here, to the bedroom across from his. It was where he'd kept Kendra.
She was the first, the only, woman ever to move in for longer than a few hours, and he'd allowed it only because she'd experienced no remorse after his depraved desires had been slaked. No matter how badly he'd frightened...and marred...her. No matter what horrible things he'd asked her to do to him.
A perfect union, at least on the surface. And yet, they had never actually fit, or balanced each other.
Same with the Harpy. While she possessed a measure of dark yearning, proved every time she'd run the tip of a blade over his skin, as demanded, and smiled as his blood welled, she hadn't satiated him. Not when he'd chained her, and she had struggled, her wrists and ankles chafing, her eyes tearing up--not just with fear, but with uncertain anticipation. Not when he'd shown her an array of weapons and told her slowly and quietly what he was going to do with them, and the tears had streamed down her cheeks in earnest. Not even when he'd put his words into action, and she had begged for mercy...and for more.
Her whimpers hadn't been sweet, sweet music, as he'd expected. Her fear hadn't fanned the flames of his passion, and her pain hadn't soothed the savage beast inside.
She hadn't given him anything he'd needed.
What did he need?
He thought he'd known.
He could take her again, harder, harsher, and finally, hopefully, exhaust himself, but he refused to bed the same woman twice. Never again would he risk enslavement.
Oh, he knew there were only a handful of females like Kendra, capable of enchaining through sex, and none that were not Phoenix. But what if the Harpy had Phoenix blood in her ancestry? How was a man to know?
Besides, why take the Harpy a second time when his body craved another woman?
The...don't say it...ignore the desire, and it will go away...human.
He had to bite back an aggravated snarl. He couldn't ignore--and he couldn't forget. Somehow, she had branded her image in his mind. Her name, he was suddenly desperate to know. He wished he'd confronted her, today, yesterday, every day, and drank in every word about her.
What was it about this female?
At the camp, she had looked at him with wild panic and even fear, and he'd hated every moment. He should have enjoyed that, as he did with other women, but no. He hadn't. Therefore, he shouldn't desire her. But earlier in the club he'd taken one look at her and hungered as if he had never eaten.
She was prettier than he remembered, and he'd somehow scented her from across the room. He'd had to fight the compulsion to close the distance between them, sweep her into his arms and carry her away to ravage her.
She had been dressed provocatively, yes, but that shouldn't have had any bearing on the situation. Since the opening of the club, his female employees had worn that barely-there uniform. It was like white noise to him--there, but hardly noticeable. And yet, on the human, he'd noticed.
Despite her fragile build, she had lush, ripe breasts made for a man's hands and dangerous curves made to cradle the hardest part of him. Her legs would fit perfectly around his hips, anchoring him as he plunged into her--
No!
Tomorrow, he would force her to wear a robe.
He no longer screwed the staff. He could always find a lover, but he couldn't always find a dedicated, trustworthy worker. And if he took the delicate human the way he liked, the only way he could, he would do more than panic and frighten her. He would harm her irrevocably. In body...and in mind.
He didn't like the thought of her alabaster skin blighted...or fear in her smoked-glass eyes.
How odd.
You could be gentle with her. You could--
No. He couldn't. He had tried that before, but it hadn't worked. He hadn't even been able to finish. Pain, he'd realized, wasn't just a desire; it was a need.
Although, he thought he might actually like seeing the human lost in the throes of passion. She would writhe underneath him, soft and warm and wet. He would spread her legs, and she wouldn't fight him, because she would want him just as desperately as he wanted her. He would relish the sight of her body, pliant and eager. He would kiss each of her freckles, then move over her, push inside her, going slowly at first, savoring every sensation, before increasing his tempo.
His shaft throbbed.
And what happens when your control slips, and you revert to habit?
He pushed the upsetting thought from his mind and focused his attention on the things around him. Though this room was smaller than his, it was far more luxurious. Overhead hung a chandelier boasting a bouquet of rose-shaped diamonds. The walls were sheets of the purest gold, so clear rainbow flecks appeared to be trapped inside. The bed was formed from intricately twisted metals, fit only for a queen...of the night. At both the headboard and footboard were rings for different types of shackles. Whatever he preferred to use during any given encounter.
The Harpy's breathy sigh sent him striding to the door. The chance for a cold, clean getaway grew sl
immer by the moment.
"Don't want to...sleep with me?" she asked, her voice slurred by fatigue.
Too late.
He looked back. She was still naked and bound to the bed.
Thoughts he'd previously ignored rose. Why had she agreed to be here? He hadn't used charm, like he once had. He'd simply said, "For a few hours, I'll do things that will make you cry and demand you do the same to me. Only I won't cry. I'll curse you, and take you harder than you'll think you can bear. Are you in or out?" She'd agreed faster than any other woman ever had. Had needed no other prompting. With only the slightest encouragement, her friends would have agreed, too. They'd moaned, "Lucky," while she'd stood.
Perhaps he shouldn't try to analyze why. The answer would probably sadden him.
"Sleeping together wasn't part of our arrangement." He'd never spent an entire night with a woman, and he never would. Sleep left you vulnerable. And to have someone within striking distance? No. His dreams were far too violent, his reactions far too telling. He could kill his partner without realizing it.
"Mmm-kay. Chains?"
He returned to her and unfastened her ankle cuffs first, then her wrists, careful not to brush against her. She reached for him, her arm shaking. He backed up before contact could be made. How could he offer solace to someone else when he couldn't even offer it to himself?
With a sigh, she sagged on the mattress.
He pulled a diamond choker from the air pocket he always carried with him. A shelf of space that hovered between the spiritual and natural realm, opened and sustained by his energy, invisible to the rest of the world. He placed the bauble on the nightstand. "I thank you for your time."
"Matching earrings?" she asked, before her head lolled to the side and sleep once again claimed her.
He placed a pair of earrings beside the choker and left the room without another word. Bjorn and Xerxes waited for him in the antechamber they shared. The two were on the couch, sipping perfectly aged scotch.
"Thane, my friend, you look far from satisfied," Bjorn said. "In fact, you look like me."
The male only ever tolerated sex, using it to forget the past, but never quite succeeding.
"What he means is, you look like a savage," Xerxes reported.
To Xerxes, sex was a quest for comfort he'd never actually found. He vomited after every encounter, shaking from the effects of the intimacy.
"For once, looks are not deceiving." His head should be clear. His body should be relaxed. A certain dark-haired, gray-eyed barmaid should be exorcised from his mind.