by Jacey Ward
“Killed anyone yet?” She glanced over her bare, olive shoulder to where a fellow model leaned, her back arched against the bar as she scoped out the crowd.
The stunning blonde chuckled and shook her head. “Not for lack of candidates who need killing, that’s for sure.”
“The night is still painfully young,” Circe replied. “But I might be saving my one murder for Analeigh. Where is that rotten bitch?”
“I saw her sneak out for a smoke a few minutes ago,” Cassandra replied, shaking her shimmering platinum waves about, as if to rid herself of the scene before. “Wanna bail?”
“More than anything in the fucking world,” Circe replied. “Why do we let her do this to us?”
Cassie laughed and shrugged.
“Because it keeps us in the lifestyle in which we’re accustomed?”
“I’m starting to miss growing up in South Park,” Circe replied flatly. “I’m not doing this again. I feel like we’re escorts, not models.”
“I forget there’s a difference,” Cassie chuckled dryly, but Circe knew she hated it as much as she did. The mortal was just better at hiding it.
“Girls, what are you doing here? You should be mingling!” Analeigh hissed, stalking toward them. Circe could still smell the aftermath of her menthol cigarette but she made no comment.
“We’re done,” Circe told their agent without emotion. “And we’re sick of this shit, Analeigh. You’re pimping us out here.”
“Keep your voice down!”
Because of the excessive cosmetic surgery Analeigh Bowman had undergone, understanding her facial expressions was nearly impossible. Her eyebrows did not move, her mouth barely stretched one way or another and her brow never creased.
If she wasn’t such a greedy bitch, I would almost wonder if she was immortal – or at least some kind of hybrid, but there is nothing mystical about her except for her insatiable greed.
“Circe, I know how you feel about these events,” Analeigh sighed. “But they are necessary for your exposure.”
“Well, we have been exposed enough. We’re out of here.” Circe spun to walk away, gesturing for Cassie to follow, but the blonde stood frozen in place. Circe could see the desire in her eyes but she dared not anger their agent.
Fucking weak. All of the humans, Circe thought furiously but she knew she was just as bad. Those damned parties were frequent and always filled with the same lame crowd. Circe always swore she was not partaking in the next one and yet there she was; selling herself out again.
“If you go, I’m not promising you that shoot with Elle.”
The words stopped Circe in her tracks.
We have finally come to this, have we?
Analeigh terrorized all her clients, using a carrot and stick approach, withholding good gigs from the models she deemed insolent and promoting less than experienced ones. Her method was archaic and the weakest girls cracked under her rule but the ones who stuck it out would be guaranteed a life of luxury, modeling for the crème de la crème of the fashion world.
But for some strange reason, Analeigh had never given Circe a problem. The Valkyrie got all the best jobs, despite her stubborn steak and propensity for arguing. It was as if Analeigh inherently understood that Circe did not fall into the same category as the others in her portfolio.
For five years, Circe had had her pick of jobs. Of course, it didn’t hurt that she was stunningly beautiful – but so were other girls, and if Analeigh didn’t like them, they were out on their pretty asses.
But Circe did look incredible in anything, her amber eyes enhancing the blandest outfits.
Yes, Circe had earned her stripes without kissing anyone’s ass and until that moment, Analeigh had left her alone.
“I’m sorry,” Circe said, spinning back to stare at the agent among the throes of overdressed wealthy, spilling through the lobby of the theater. “I thought you just said something utterly fucking ridiculous to me.”
Her bright yellow eyes clashed with Analeigh and Circe smirked when she read the fear in her eyes.
“Circe,” the older woman faltered. “Be reasonable. The second half of the play is about to start – “
“How many times do I need to see Elsa freeze shit?” Circe demanded. “I’m out of here.”
She spun again, knowing that Analeigh would never make good on her threat and stormed toward the door, her stilettos clicking determinedly against the marble floors of the lobby.
Heads turned as they often did when she moved, one after the other, eyes followed her svelte form toward the revolving doors and a swell of appreciation murmured through the crowd.
As she stepped into the humid night air, Circe felt as if a weight had been lifted off her shoulders and she allowed herself to exhale in relief. She had wanted to walk out of one of those events for as long as she could remember.
The truth was, she was glad none of the Deviants could see her in those moments. The shame for selling out to the industry was gut-wrenching and Circe wondered why she did it to herself.
You’re a fucking Valkyrie, for Christ’s sake. You’re better than this.
She paused on the steps, glancing down Seventh Avenue as if searching for a plan to help her escape. She was feeling strangely vulnerable in the wake of what happened inside.
The intercom chimed to indicate intermission was over and Circe stepped aside to allow for the men and women outside to make their way back in through the doors.
She resisted the urge to tell them how the play ended, having seen it four times since opening night.
If I had known that half of my career would be spent “networking” would I have still pursued modeling?
It was hard to say, the memory of her old life, living in filth still fresh in her mind. There were not a lot of options for the immortals who were not born in the higher ranks, after all. Where the Lycans and vampires easily assimilated into society, their powers enabling them to overtake the mortals with little issue, she was not a part of the supernatural elite.
She was immortal, yes, and she possessed certain abilities which made her survival easier, but she was not a demon.
Shit, even Arya has it better than me.
“Excuse me.”
Her gleaming iridescent curls jerked upward to the sound of the man’s mellifluous voice, her heart stopping as she stared into a set of multi-colored eyes.
“Sorry,” Circe mumbled, instantly recognizing the strange irises as belonging to a demon. She moved back, thinking she was blocking his way but he only laughed, tossing his dark hair back.
“You’re not in my way,” he assured her, the accent foreign but familiar. “I have a question for you.”
“Oh,” Circe replied, peeking at him cautiously. “What is it?”
“You’re Circe Lancaster, aren’t you?”
Against her better judgement, Circe stared directly into his eyes, zings of electricity exploding over her skin.
“How did you know that?” she demanded, a dozen worried thoughts sweeping through her mind.
Is he with Uvall? Is he here looking for Dante?
It seemed unlikely that anyone would seek her out for information on the Lord of the Underworld. It wasn’t as if Dante was hiding.
Which means that he’s an agent of Uvall…
“You’re staring at me funny,” the demon sighed. “Do I have horns on my head?”
“No,” Circe answered quickly, regaining her composure. There were far too many people around for him to cause a scene. She decided to find out what the hell he wanted.
“I am Circe Lancaster.”
His face broke into a wide smile.
“Wow,” he muttered, extending a huge hand toward her. Inadvertently, Circe found herself checking it out and wondering about the adage regarding a man’s hand and other parts of his body.
“Kalen Connor.”
She reluctantly accepted his hand, still confused as to what he wanted from her.
“I’m sorry,” she told him sl
owly. “I don’t remember you.”
He chuckled and shook his head, glancing around before leaning in conspiratorially.
“We’ve never met,” he explained. “I’m a big fan of yours. I see your face everywhere in Europe, in magazines, in commercials. But your photos don’t do you justice.”
Relief flooded through her and her shoulders sagged slightly.
“I see,” she replied, her confidence returning. “Well, I’m very flattered, Mr. Connor, but you are going to miss the show.”
She didn’t want to entertain another rich person that night – immortal or otherwise.
Even if he is surreally sexy in that red silk shirt.
“I think the only thing I want to feast my eyes upon is right in front of me,” he replied easily, refusing to release her hand. “Will you have dinner with me?”
Corny, but oh so fucking sexy. She shook her head instinctively, gently trying to release her hand, but his grip increased.
“I’m afraid I have other plans,” she resisted but he leaned in closer, his yellow and emerald eyes searching her face.
“You must know you can’t lie to someone like me,” he whispered huskily and Circe gazed at him.
She knew she should feel apprehensive about his nearness and his unwarranted scrutiny, but she couldn’t deny the fission of awareness coursing through her body as he continued to study her face.
Nothing good can come of this, she warned herself but the alarm she felt was washed away by the increased excitement in her veins.
“Dinner sounds good,” she heard herself say, allowing herself to be led away. She knew that she had not been hypnotized, at least not in the traditional sense of the word. Circe was being guided by a heat growing inside her as she found herself wondering what the foreign demon looked like naked.
“Yelp says there’s a five-star French restaurant just around the corner,” Kalen told her, casting her a sidelong look. “You seem like a woman who can appreciate gourmet cooking.”
“That sounds perfect,” she replied, warmth spreading through her. “But you should know, I’m not in the habit of being whisked off in the night by…strangers.”
Kalen paused and stared at her face.
“We’re not strangers, Circe,” he replied, smiling, a twinkle in his jeweled irises. “I feel like I have been searching for you since the first time I saw your face on the cover of Cosmo.”
Circe chuckled but she didn’t respond as they continued down Seventh Avenue and made their way through the Theater District.
“I’m glad I touched you in such a way,” she replied dryly, suddenly wondering if she hadn’t made a mistake leaving the show with a crazed fan.
This still beats wandering around the lobby with Darnell Jacob Collins the third talking out of his ass about “art.”
It wasn’t like Circe had much of a choice. If Kalen wanted her, he would have no problem taking her, with or without resistance.
We’ll see how this all plays out, she thought, fingering her clutch to make out the shape of her cell phone inside. Worst case scenario, I’ll call on Dante and he’ll put an end to this.
“I’m not here to hurt you,” Kalen said casually and she whipped her head to gape at him, realizing her mistake.
Shit. Of course, he can read my thoughts.
“Sorry,” she replied evenly. “Old habits die hard. I can’t help but be fatalistic.”
“It’s what’s kept you surviving for so long, I imagine,” the demon said, raising his arm to show the front of a quaint restaurant. “It’s not easy for a Valkyrie, and you’ve made it incredibly far in this world.”
A Google search could tell him that I came up from the slums of Seattle but he’s looking at me like he knows more than that about me. And what is it about him which seems so different about the demons I’ve met? I can’t put my finger on it…
She silenced her thoughts, remembering that he could and likely was, reading her mind in that moment.
Forcing a quick smile, she shrugged her shoulders nonchalantly.
“I do all right.”
They managed the steps, Circe’s black dress embracing her body like shimmering, black paint. She felt Kalen’s eyes on her as he followed behind but suddenly she wondered if their encounter had been as chance as he had made it seem.
I guess I’ll find out.
Kalen joined her at the door where a liveried doorman pulled the thick, antique door open for them to enter.
“Thank you for having dinner with me,” he murmured, his breath hot in her ear. Shivers exploded over her body and Circe found herself unnaturally tongue-tied. She could only nod as they were led to a table, Kalen’s arm around her waist.
They sat, watching one another cautiously and silently and Circe tried to relax under his intense examination, but it was nearly impossible. Before she could start any awkward conversation, he spoke again.
“I’m glad I found you tonight, Circe,” he told her sincerely. “I feel like you’re exactly who I’m looking for.”
All the doubts she was feeling suddenly dissipated into a puddle and evaporated. She raised her freshly filled water glass and grinned shyly at him.
“To whatever may come,” she toasted.
“To what lays ahead,” he agreed, the clink of their glasses unknowingly consummating the chaos of their future.
Chapter 2
A heady feeling had followed Kalen back to the Four Seasons that evening, his belly full of expensive cuisine and fine wine but that was not the reason for his good mood.
Imagine meeting Circe Lancaster, he thought, sticking his hand in his pocket to shift his package, which was swelling at the simple idea of the lithe Valkyrie.
He had his rented limo drop her off at the Mercer where she was staying with some of the other models while they were in New York for the Yves Saint Laurent fashion show.
“You want to come up for a nightcap?” she asked invitingly, her red lips curving into an innocent, yet inviting, smile.
There was nothing Kalen wanted more than to taste the mouth he had grown to crave almost subconsciously throughout the time that Circe Lancaster had become a model. But he knew he couldn’t mix business with pleasure.
Maybe after our business is concluded, he thought, grinning to himself as he let himself into the suite.
He started when a familiar grating voice rang out inquiringly.
“How was the show?” Anderly asked, a streak of drool slipping down the side of his lopsided cheek as his head raised from where he had been laying on the suede sofa.
What the actual fuck?
“Why are you in my suite?” Kalen demanded, his face contorting in anger as he glanced to the side and spied Evander, lounging in an armchair, casually studying his iPhone. “What is this? An intervention?”
“Of course not,” the vampire sighed. “We were just waiting for you to return. We have a list of Valkyries in the New York area. I thought you might want them sooner rather than later.”
Kalen snorted and waved his hand dismissively at the intruders.
All he wanted was to have an hour or so alone to dream about what he was going to do to Circe when their business was concluded – namely, bend her over the closest horizontal surface and fuck her hard from behind.
“I’ve already found one,” he snarled, his cock jumping at just the whisper of the fantasy. “Get out.”
“Who?” Evander demanded, ignoring his request. Kalen felt the dream slipping through his fingers as he faced the fantasy-killer.
“Circe Lancaster.”
“The model?” both Deviants cried, leaning forward to stare at him with awed shock.
“The same,” Kalen replied smartly, dropping his key card and wallet on the entranceway table as he sauntered closer.
“What did you say to her?” Anderly asked, his rheumy eyes widening with interest.
“Does she know anything about Uvall?” Evander questioned simultaneously.
Kalen’s smile faltered slightl
y.
“Didn’t I tell you two to get out?” he sighed. “Go, be gone. You’re pissing me off.”
Evander didn’t move but Anderly jumped to obey, begging Kalen for forgiveness as he shuffled out the door.
When the troll left, Kalen turned to the immortal.
“What?” he demanded as Evander shoved his cellphone at him.
“Circe was a good choice,” he said thoughtfully, his brow furrowed slightly. “She has an indirect connection to Dante.”
Kalen had not known that. In fact, he had not chosen Circe at all. It had been a complete fluke that he had seen her outside the St. James theater, looking rather lost.
Until that moment, Kalen had not realized that the world-renowned model was a Valkyrie at all. What he had told her was true; he had come to recognize the lines of her face through billboards all throughout his travels.
She was every man’s wet dream, mortal or not, and if he had given it any more than a superficial thought, Kalen would have realized that there was something supernatural about her. But until seeing her on the steps that night, it had not occurred to him.
What are the chances that we need a Valkyrie and the sexiest one imaginable, the one I’ve dreamed of licking like an ice cream cone, is dropped in my lap?
He couldn’t have stopped himself from approaching her, if only to see her closer. A part of him had expected her to be less attractive without being airbrushed, but he had been pleasantly surprised to see that she was every bit as breathtaking as her photos in the glossy magazines he had seen.
At first, he had hesitated, something holding him back from approaching her confidently as he normally would have.
But soon, he regained his usual cocksure attitude and made his way toward her, whisking her off to dinner before she could change her mind.
Not that I couldn’t have forced her to join me, but where is the honor in that? Just because you can do something, doesn’t mean you should.
He tried to explain that to the blood still rushing into his crotch.
“I’m seeing her tomorrow,” Kalen told Evander. “We will discuss what needs to be done then.”
Instantly, Evander picked up on what he had said.