by Amy Sumida
I was right; his arms hung out awkwardly, giving him a rounded look. Ridiculous. He belonged on the Jersey shore.
“Are you fucking kidding me?” Binx roared. “With her?” He waved a horrified hand at me. “The killer with a flock of cocks?”
I snickered.
“You find something funny, bitch?” Binx snapped at me.
Slate went still.
“Yeah; I do. When the Rooster Spell first forced me into taking multiple partners, Cerberus called them my Cock Collective. But I like your term much better. It makes me think of dicks with wings.”
I laughed again; harder.
Binx gaped at me. He did that a lot. At least he had good teeth.
“You've mentioned this spell before, Elaria. How exactly did it force you?” Slate lifted a brow and gave me a pointed look; Did it feel similar to what we just felt?
“It was a symbiotic spell.” I shook my head; answering his unspoken question. If there was one thing I was certain that this was not; it was the Rooster. “It gave us power, but we needed to fuel it. If it wasn't able to take enough energy from the men, it would take it from me; slowly killing us both. Burning me inside out. Originally, it fed on lust, but in me, it changed to—”
“Love,” Slate finished pensively.
“That's right.”
“Oh, boo-fucking-hoo,” Binx growled. “You had to add men to your cock collective and love them. That must have been hard for a cold-hearted bitch like you.”
“Call her a bitch one more time, Binx.” Slate set his deadly stare on his brother.
“Great balls of bedrock! Are you serious?” Binx shouted. “You're taking her fucking side? Listen to yourself, Slate. She got you messed in the head.”
“I'm messed in the head because I don't want you calling my girlfriend a bitch?”
“Sounds perfectly reasonable to me.” A third man entered the room.
He had what I was beginning to call the Devon cheekbones but even without them, I would have seen Slate in his face. He was slimmer than the other two but by no means thin. Not surprising; most gargoyles were muscular. His hair was the darkest of the bunch; a pure, glossy black. He shifted his gaze to mine and gave me a soft smile.
“Hello, Elaria, I'm Slate and Binx's older brother; Aaro.” He walked over to me with his hand extended.
“Nice to meet you, Aaro.” I shook his hand; it was as warm as his smile.
“Oh, lovely.” Binx rolled his eyes. “Would you like to offer the bitch tea too?”
Slate moved faster than I could track. A sound like cracking wood echoed through the room and then Binx fell flat on his back. Out cold.
I gaped at Slate; standing over his brother with one hand clenched into a fist and his chest heaving with fury. He took a deep breath, shook out his hand, and looked up at Aaro.
“Fucking Binx has a jaw like a boulder,” Slate growled.
Aaro chuckled and stepped over Binx's prone body to get to the bar. “Do you have any bar-tending skills, Elaria?”
“What's your poison?” I smirked at him as I went back behind the bar.
“An old fashioned, if you please.” Aaro slid onto a stool. “Sit down, Brother. Let the barbarian sleep it off. He's only worried about you, you know.”
Slate sighed. “I know, but damn him for being an asshole about it.”
“He's an asshole about everything. Why would he be different with this?”
I listened intently as I poured Aaro's drink. I was fascinated; I admit it. Each of the Devon boys was completely different. It made me wonder what their parents had been like. The names alone...
“So, you two are dating?” Aaro lifted a brow and looked back and forth between us. “I see that she's wearing one of your criminal collars. What I don't see is how a relationship could blossom with that between you.”
I looked away.
“Ah.” Aaro chuckled. “This is all a show.”
“Not all,” Slate muttered.
Aaro's brows shot up; along with mine. I knew that Slate was attracted to me; how could I not? But his words had felt like a declaration of more. It had to be the spell.
“What's going on?” Aaro asked; suddenly very serious.
“Elaria and I have been experiencing some strange sensations.”
“If I have to explain those to you, Brother, then I despair for you both,” Aaro teased.
“Funny.” Slate slid onto the stool beside Aaro's as I set Aaro's drink before him. “Would you mind making me a whiskey, sweetheart?”
Our eyes met; both of us surprised by his endearment and tone. There was no one here to perform for.
“Sorry,” Slate muttered. “That just came out.”
“Interesting,” Aaro murmured. “What are these sensations like?”
“Tingling. Although, Slate only experienced that once.” I gave Aaro a look. “And yes; it's nearly sexual. For me, it sort of makes my muscles relax and everything seems...”
“Easy,” Slate finished for me. “No reason to hold back. No reason to deny what I...”
“Feel?” Aaro asked as he speared Slate with a look. “Shit. You really are falling for her.”
“It must be a spell.” Slate took the glass I offered him and stared down into the golden liquid as if it were all the alcohol's fault.
“Brother, I'm sorry to say this but no spell can make you love someone.” Aaro set his hand on Slate's shoulder. “There are love spells but their results are closer to obsession than affection; they're not like this. And they're not subtle either.” He waved a hand at Slate. “You wouldn't have the power to deny her anything. You'd be at her feet right now; begging for the smallest scrap of affection. And you can be damn sure that she wouldn't be wearing that collar.”
Slate shot a furious look at Aaro.
“I'm saying that's what one of those spells would do.” Aaro handled his brother expertly. It was obvious who the scholar in the family was. “I'm not sure what this is. A tingling? Sounds similar to the effects of alcohol; a mild relaxant to lower inhibitions. Honestly, I don't understand why anyone beyond the two of you would cast such a spell. There are no benefits to it unless you call a burgeoning love affair a benefit.”
“I don't,” Slate snapped.
“Easy, Brother.” Aaro still had his hand on Slate's back. “She's in this with you, remember? There's no need to be cruel.”
Slate shifted a suspicious stare up at me.
“Hey!” I snapped. “Don't fucking look at me like that. I'm wearing your gods-damned collar, remember, dickhead? I can't enchant anything with this on. I should be looking at you like that.”
Slate's lips pressed together, and then both he and Aaro started laughing.
“I like her,” Aaro said to Slate. “She's funny. And she speaks plainly.”
“You have no idea.” Slate gave his brother a look.
“Perhaps this isn't a bad thing,” Aaro suggested gently. “No one's will is being twisted and if anyone could use a little lightening up, it's you, Slate.”
No one's will was being twisted? No; that couldn't be right.
“My will is being messed with.” I laid my hand flat to the bar to keep it from shaking. “It has to be. I'd never betray my lovers, and I've done things with Slate that I shouldn't have.”
“You haven't done anything wrong,” Slate scoffed. “A kiss, a dance, a little grinding of hips. That's not a betrayal.”
Aaro shook his head. “I don't think you'd see it that way from their side of things.”
“Thank you.” I lifted my hand toward Aaro in a finally gesture. “And you know that's not all, Devon.”
Slate grinned. Then he saw my expression. “Don't do that.” He snatched my hand. “You were out of your mind that day; it was the only reason I did”—he glanced at Aaro—“what I did. You needed something to bring you down. If they love you, they won't hold that against you.”
“What is happening right now?” I gaped at him. “Who are you?”
Slate le
t out a huffing sigh. “Fuck if I know.” Then he straightened. “Tell me more about that spell inside you that forced you into taking multiple lovers.”
“The Rooster.”
“Is that what this is?” Slate stood up and leaned across the bar to me. “I'm not going to be a part of your fucking cock collective, sweetheart.” This time, the sweetheart came out sounding more like his brother's bitch.
“Darcraxis killed the spell when we were reunited,” I said evenly. “It's not here, and even if it was, Devon, it can't make men fall in love with me. If it could, I wouldn't have had a problem with Gage; it would have just taken him to replace... you know what? Never mind that; it's none of your business. The spell doesn't force people to fall in love, it just feeds on the love once it's there, and it makes—made—the men feel good about sharing me.”
“Fascinating,” Aaro whispered. “But it's gone now?”
“Yes.” I kept my steady gaze on Slate's burning silver one.
Slate slid back onto his seat. “Then what is this?”
Aaro burst out laughing, and both of us shifted our furious stares to him.
“Look at you two.” Aaro shook his head. “You're both so eager to blame this on magic. The only thing magic can do is make it easier for you to admit what you feel. These”—he waved his hands between us—“feelings burning both of you alive, are real. You need to accept that and deal with it; that's the solution.” He pointed at me. “You have five men who you love and yet, for some reason, you think that's your limit. That you can't love any more.” He shifted his finger to Slate. “And you have blocked yourself off from feeling anything but lust for women for so long that you couldn't recognize something real if it bit you on the ass. What a tragic love story.”
“It's not a love story,” Slate and I said together.
Then we grimaced at each other while Aaro laughed.
“Sure; whatever you say.” Aaro sipped his drink. “But you may want to consider that these 'tingles' you feel aren't magic at all; at least not the sort that you two believe them to be.” He set his glass down, walked over the comatose Binx, and out of the lounge.
I poured myself another shot. Slate shoved his glass toward me, and I poured one for him as well.
Chapter Thirty
A soft knock woke me.
“Huh?” I scowled at the door. “What do you want?”
“Join me for breakfast,” Slate's deep voice said; it wasn't a request.
“All right,” I huffed as I climbed out of bed. “Give me a minute.”
I heard Slate chuckle as he walked away. What was happening between us? Why was I using the word “us?” There was no us. Slate was a despotic zone lord, and I was his unwilling arena champion/club singer.
I stomped through my morning routine and ended it with a splash of cold water on my face.
“Get your shit together, idiot,” I snarled at my reflection. “This is not the fucking Hilton, and he's not your boyfriend.”
I got dressed and wandered down the hall with renewed determination. I would not let Slate get under my skin. Or my clothes. I strode across his office and then down the other hallway and into the dining room. Slate was already seated at the head of the table with a plate full of assorted breakfast food and a steaming cup of coffee. He was absently looking at his cell phone as he sipped.
It was oddly normal.
I took the seat beside him; where another plate waited for me.
“Coffee?” Slate asked as he put down his phone and lifted a carafe.
“Sure.”
“Cream and sugar.” He pushed them toward me.
“What the fuck is happening right now?” I blurted out.
Slate's lips twitched. “What do you mean?”
“Is this how it's going to be?” I waved my hand at the food.
“You don't like waffles?” He asked with a straight face.
“No, I fucking love waffles,” I snarled. “I'm just not sure what these particular waffles stand for. Are these truce waffles? Are they let's-ignore-all-this-bullshit waffles? Are they I-own-you-now waffles? Am I surrendering by eating them?”
Slate started laughing; just a violent twitch of lips at first and then a little chuckle that progressed into an all-out guffaw. I realized how ridiculous I sounded and joined him. When our laughter finally died out, we both had tears in our eyes.
“I-own-you-now waffles?” Slate asked with a grin. “I didn't realize ownership had a flavor.”
“It tastes bitter.” All of my amusement disappeared with the words.
He sighed deeply. “I said some... harsh things last night.”
I lifted my brows.
“I've never been good with the softer emotions,” he murmured; his stare skittering away from mine.
“I didn't cast a spell on—”
“Let's not get into that,” he said abruptly. “You need more clothing that you can wear during the day.” He looked pointedly at my slinky, club dress. “I thought you might like to go shopping.”
“Shopping?” I asked in surprise.
Slate put an envelope on the table and slid it over to me. “That's your cut of the arena bets and your payment for singing at the club.”
“I thought I didn't get this until I was free?”
“It's only a portion of your winnings. I'm making an exception in light of my poor behavior.”
I opened the envelope and looked through it. The Zone must be in America because there were a couple thousand American dollars in it. Holy shit; this was an apology.
“Apology accepted,” I said softly.
“I don't make apologies.” Slate said crisply. “Eat your truce waffles.”
I did; every last bite.
Then Slate took me out into the Zone. Not to sing to a monster or to the beneathers in his club. Not to work at all. Just for pure pleasure.
I stared at the glorious collection of beneathers walking down the zone streets. Skin, hair, and eyes in all the colors of the rainbow. Scales, fur, and feathers competed with silk, velvet, and leather. It was like being on another planet. I could see why beneathers liked living there. It felt comfortable. Perhaps the world would be like this if humans weren't so skittish and judgmental; killing or dissecting everything they didn't understand.
Several buildings were made of stone, but a lot of them surprisingly weren't. There were constructions of steel, wood, and glass crowding the narrow roads. I glimpsed posh neighborhoods behind golden gates with homes that looked more like palaces. I wondered at that; the Zone Lord lived in a stone box attached to his killing theater while the zone residents lived in luxury down the street. But Slate Devon wasn't the sort of man to delight in a pretty house in a pretty neighborhood; he wanted a view of his domain and barracks full of men he could trust.
I slid a sideways look at Slate as he drove; one hand casually on the wheel. He had sunglasses on. They should have been unnecessary below ground. But the cavern ceiling was embedded with millions of lights that could be turned to whatever brightness the Zone Lord wished. During daylight hours, it was as if the sun shone down there. No weather to interfere with it; underground lighting was as dependable as the stone it was set in.
Slate pulled to a stop before a building with display windows showcasing the latest women's fashion. He got out and held my door open for me like a gentleman; nodding to passerby as he did. They all peeked in at me; eager to see who the Zone Lord was catering to. I slid out; taking the hand he offered as I steeled myself against him. You're a prisoner. He's not your friend. Truce waffles are not a thing. Stop being an idiot.
Slate kept my hand; twining his fingers with mine as he led me into the store. I clutched my envelope of money awkwardly. My first purchase would be a purse.
The door had a little bell on it that chimed as we walked in. Both customers and salesclerks turned to stare at us; eyes going from curious to shocked. It took all of two seconds before the head sales lady hurried over to us with fluttering hands and parted lips.
“Lord Devon, it's an honor to have you in our shop.” She curtsied to him. Curtsied!
No wonder this guy was so full of himself; he had ass-kissers everywhere. The woman was a nymph; tiny and beautiful with blonde ringlets that fell all the way to her butt. There were real flowers in her hair and her silk dress looked straight out of a Greek myth. A sexy myth.