by Emma Holly
When she did that, he moaned for her.
His touch cruised over her, molded, finding spots to fondle and tug. When he withdrew and returned, the shove was a bit harder.
“Georgie,” he said. “Look at us in the mirror.”
His big hands hid her at breast and pubis, his creamy skin half a shade darker. She loved the corded masculinity of his arms, the grace of his long fingers. Those fingers worked her clit firm and slow. He’d brought her to the edge already, the ache in her sex intense. The bunching of his jaw suggested he too was close.
She caressed the knuckles that curved around her breast.
“We’re beautiful,” she said.
He liked when she gave herself that credit. He smiled, drew back, and began to stroke.
He set a deep, lazy pace, savoring the last, luscious climb to orgasm. Georgie rolled with his agenda. She was completely in his hands, riding but mostly ridden as he drove his cock in and out of her. His heat was incredible, the stretch of that silken rod against her walls. She felt him tremble with the strain of maintaining his control. His face flushed darker, his hold on her tightening.
“Yes,” she groaned as he gave in to his urge for speed.
His eyes screwed shut, lines fanning from their corners as his need for release gained the upper hand. She wouldn’t close her eyes. She wanted to watch him go. The ridges of his stomach slapped her, the motion of his hand on her clit choppy. His fingers still sent her over. Her pussy fisted around his shaft, the satisfaction of holding him like that immeasurable. He gasped in reaction at the pressure, swelling to his limit.
His body tensed.
She thought that was it for him, but “Again,” he said, unexpectedly accelerating inside of her.
The increase in sensation swamped her already primed sexual nerves. As he pumped faster and faster yet, she went again with a choked-back cry. Connor grunted in response, plunging all the way into her.
His pelvis ground against her, but he couldn’t go farther. He’d claimed all the ground there was. As if this excited him on a primal level, his cock went more rigid and spilled hard inside her. Georgie shivered at the delicious flood of heat.
When he’d finished, he rubbed his face across her shoulder.
“That was good,” he said. “I really needed that.”
Something about the way he said this struck her as different. She reached back to stroke his hair where his head was bowed forward. “Are you okay?”
The eyes he opened were startled. “Of course I am. Why are you asking that?”
“You’ve been different lately. When Luna hurt Iksander, you rejoined your more angelic half to heal him. For a while, you were whole again. I know you chose to leave that part of you behind so you could stay with me, but I think splitting off that second time changed you.”
His honey brown lashes blinked slowly. “I’ve taken the dominant role with you before.”
“I know. And I like when you do. It’s something else.” She hesitated. She was operating on intuition instead of logic, but that was no reason to keep her thoughts inside. She and Connor had been together long enough to talk things through. “Maybe Iksander is the reason.”
“Why would he make me different?”
She searched his expression in the mirror. He was the most straightforward person she’d ever met—and the least prone to evasion. Still, she had to ask herself: was he meeting her gaze the same as he always did? He wasn’t just an angel. He was a man as well. “Maybe you think you’re competing with him for my attention.”
He smiled as if her question had relieved him. “No, I don’t think that, Georgie. I think you have enough attention to go around.”
“Well, something’s up. You were extra assertive today. You ignored what Iksander wanted about renting the theater. Usually, you’re happy to please people.”
Connor shrugged. “The sultan has a strong personality. I don’t think we should let him run over us.”
Georgie couldn’t disagree with that. “But you’re glad we came here with him?”
“Very,” he said with a firmness that disconcerted her.
Chapter Four
GEORGIE SHOULD HAVE been chomping at the bit to return to the theater. Old buildings were her passion, and the Variété was cooler and grander than most she got her hands on. Unfortunately, she hadn’t slept very well her second night in the djinn dimension. Unlike the first, when the sultan bunked with her and Connor, last night he’d moved his bed to the men’s bath chamber. Without him at her back, she’d tossed and turned. She hoped her restlessness was simply the effect of the strange surroundings.
Getting attached to him for other reasons seemed like a bad idea.
Good idea or bad, her head was muzzy the next morning. She was glad Iksander handled the bargaining—and that he arranged for some local children to help de-dust the dirty space. The promise of being paid, coupled with the realization that she and Connor would charge the equipment, inspired the kids to attack the chore with relatively good discipline.
Between breaks for broomstick swordfights along the stairs, the youngsters cleaned up the whole lobby.
She told herself not to mind that Iksander wasn’t getting his hands dirty. She and Connor needed practice drawing up power in this dimension. Neither of them knew how to pick the shop owner’s brains, which was what Iksander spent the morning doing. He couldn’t use his real name, of course. The shop owner was calling him—if her mental translator could be trusted—Citizen Andrei. “Citizen Andrei” desired to know which entertainments brought in the best return. Georgie eavesdropped from her charging station on the bottom tread of the stairs. From the looks of it, Iksander wasn’t happy to discover Timur had sold the theater’s inventory of human shows to another view café.
“It’s no loss,” the enterprising young man assured. “We exhausted their earning power already. You’ll steal even better than what we had. Those high city djinn aren’t too sophisticated. They like melodrama and pie-in-the-face action—anything to make them guffaw or gasp. Sexy shows are popular but nothing paranormal.” The shopkeeper shook his head. “It’s annoying when humans get that wrong.”
Iksander glanced at Georgie. She could think of a couple shows that might work but not how to pirate them from her world without the internet. Iksander rubbed his temple. Though his wavy chin-length hair suited his alias, the creasing of his brow indicated he had concerns.
Was bootlegging human entertainment not a talent rulers had?
“I wouldn’t try King Kong again,” Timur continued. “That shows everywhere these days. No one would make a trip out here for that.”
Before Iksander could respond, Connor distracted everyone by whizzing down the opposite bannister. He landed with a whoop that made Georgie’s mouth curve up.
“It’s fun,” he coaxed the girl who stood at the top. She looked about twelve years old and had long dark hair braided down her back. Like the boys, she wore a Colonial-era soldier jacket over baggy trousers and knee-high boots. In Georgie’s world, the outfits would have been expensive to produce. Here, the lines of buttons being brass and not gold probably qualified them as clothes for poor people.
Seeming unaware of her adorableness, the girl bit her thumbnail uncertainly. “What if I lose my balance? I don’t have enough power to smoke.”
“I’ll catch you,” Connor promised. “Not letting people fall is my specialty.”
He was right about that.
“You can trust Connor,” Georgie said. “He’s an excellent catcher.”
He didn’t get a chance to prove it. A warning klaxon went off in the street outside. Georgie froze. Was there an emergency? A fire? Had they been discovered? She looked toward Iksander, but he didn’t seem to know any better than she did how to react appropriately.
“Crap,” Timur said in aggravation. “It’s a damn royal summoning.”
“There’s a regent’s parade today,” one of the boys explained. “They must not have a good turnout.”<
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“Fecking egomaniacs,” Timur muttered. “You’d think they’d leave honest people in peace to do their work.” He waved for Georgie and Connor to come with him. “May as well get this over with. Or don’t the provinces have compulsory crowd service?”
Iksander made a noise that could have signified anything.
Georgie grabbed her coat, crossed mental fingers, and filed outside.
Evidently, people didn’t drag their feet over royal summonses. Quite a lot of djinn had gathered in the snowy central strip of the market, with more joining by the minute. Some like the coffee vendor looked excited. Others like Timur seemed resigned. Without exception, the crowd’s attention was directed toward the sky. There, against the extravagant field of stars, a plate-sized silvery drone hovered—like a UFO for dolls. The prickling of Georgie’s scalp suggested magic was powering it.
Connor was next to her when she stopped. Though she wanted to ask what was going on, the general silence inhibited her. When Connor took her hand, she squeezed his gratefully.
“Loyal citizens,” declared a voice from the silver disk. “Prepare yourselves to adore your regents.”
If Georgie had been required to accomplish this on her own, she wouldn’t have known how. Instead, the drone did it for her by radiating a heightened wave of power. The market square disappeared—or seemed to anyway. Suddenly she stood on the edge of a considerably more grandiose avenue. Connor was still on her right and Iksander on her left, but a new sea of djinn stretched around them endlessly. Not thousands but hundreds of thousands lined the broad boulevard. The throng was bigger than any she’d been part of—though she supposed many were holographic projections.
“Wow,” she murmured. “I feel like I’m really here.”
“Shh,” the sultan hushed quietly. He laid his hand on her back, as if to let her know he wasn’t trying to be harsh. She looked at him, but couldn’t tell if he’d seen this sort of spell before. Either way, he was cautiously watchful.
When everyone’s heads turned in one direction, she turned hers too. A large glittering vehicle was approaching—floating actually, like Cleopatra’s barge sailing down a frozen nocturnal Nile. The gold and gems that encrusted it flashed with fire. Black-garbed, well-armed guards packed the vessel, but the passengers who stood out were a butter blond man and woman seated poker-straight on a throne platform.
Garbed skimpily in Roman togas, Luna’s regents seemed not to feel the cold. Both were doing the turn-at-the-wrist wave British royals went in for. Somehow, their version of the gesture looked dignified. As they came closer, Georgie’s breath stuck oddly in her throat. The pair was so stunning she had trouble believing they were real. Broad of shoulder but slender, their skin resembled marble, their features delicate and serene. Their mouths were rosy bows any person, no matter their sexual preference, would think about kissing. Their perfect chins bore a single dimple, and their lustrous eyes were navy.
The strong enchantment they emanated made their luxuriant yellow hair dance in identical patterns.
They must be twins, Georgie thought. Regular siblings didn’t look that alike.
“Long live our regents!” someone called. “God grant you the best fortunes!”
Others took up the cry. Clearly hearing it, the regents smiled and bowed graciously. Their gazes swept the spot Georgie and her companions filled. Belatedly, Georgie remembered their situation was dangerous. Iksander’s city was this one’s rival, besides which a human and an angel were unlikely to be welcomed.
Thankfully, the co-regents’ gaze slid right over them. Georgie and the men were undistinguished from the rest. The golden barge continued without a pause, the royal wave now honoring new people.
Too tense to sigh aloud, Georgie released her breath slowly. A couple heartbeats later, her view of the regents’ progress melted away again.
“That’s that then,” the shopkeeper Timur said. He shook his single arm as if something unpleasant had stuck to it. “God bless Lord and Lady Villeneuve.”
Others in earshot echoed him, some more zealously than others. Noting Georgie’s silence, Timur glanced at her with raised eyebrows.
“Oh yes,” she said, realizing she’d committed a social gaffe. “God grant the regents every blessing they deserve.”
She wasn’t certain this was the right response. Timur and one of the coffee ladies, whose name she thought was Paulette, snorted with amusement.
IKSANDER AND HIS COMPANIONS returned to the power plant for a quiet dinner, after which he excused himself. He had plenty to think about and no desire to overhear even one more sigh from Georgie and the angel’s nightly bath. With luck, a long tramp around the halls would jostle inspiration loose.
Somewhere during his third circuit, the master control room caught his eye.
Jiggering the lock occupied him for a bit. Sadly, getting inside proved a moot victory. None of the needles on the meters contradicted his assumption about the power stores. The ley line beneath them provided just enough juice to keep the basics going. Beyond that, only dregs remained.
He stayed where he was anyway. The room was dusty and isolated, which suited his broody mood. The former administrator had an excellent command chair, smack in the center of the equipment banks. Iksander claimed it, reclined the seat all the way, and stared at the black ceiling.
He didn’t know how long he lay there musing before the others tracked him down.
He sat up as the door opened.
“Hey,” Connor said. “There you are.”
Iksander must have been getting used to him. Though he thought he’d wanted to escape, Connor’s sunny manner felt welcome.
“You okay with company?” Georgie asked.
He nodded, not sure what his reaction was. His nature wasn’t solitary. Generally speaking, he liked people and friends and warmth. The warmth Georgie and Connor stirred was abruptly more than he expected. His friends from home, who he’d known for years, didn’t brighten him more than this.
Could he have grown as fond of these outsiders?
With every appearance of being comfortable, the pair plunked down on the platform to either side of him. Both leaned into his chair’s arms.
“Lot happened today,” Georgie commented.
“Yes,” he agreed. “I was considering what it meant.”
“We guessed that,” Connor laughed.
They’d claimed they wanted to be consulted in decisions. Chances were, they wished him to share his thoughts. Would talking through matters help? He didn’t know, but he decided. “Luna’s regents used a lot of magic in that parade. More than I’d have spent on one. Possibly more than my treasury could spare.”
Georgie craned her head at him. “The magic wasn’t all theirs. I mean, I sensed they were powerful, but they’re siphoning it from their citizens.”
“They were showing off,” Connor added. “Rubbing peoples’ noses in how much they have to spend.”
“Yes,” Iksander said, somewhat surprised by his judgmental tone. “I also noticed the magic was very pure. That replacement plant in Hodesnk must have superior refining equipment to my city’s.”
Georgie saw this annoyed him, because she patted his forearm.
His exhale came out as a sigh. That wouldn’t do. His thoughts hadn’t all been gloomy. “There may be a bright side to the regents’ narcissism. Now that people believe Luna’s dead, these Villeneuves will want to be officially appointed co-rulers. If they’re relying on treasury stores to aggrandize themselves, they might put off sending expensive expeditions to pillage my city. That gives us more time to get there first.”
“I don’t suppose we could filch what we need from their supply.”
“Not without significant weapons and personnel. Luna didn’t stint on security. Breaking into your Fort Knox would be easier than tapping her reserves.”
“Oh well,” Georgie said. “I guess we’ll have to do this the slow way.”
Because the slow way had its own hurdles, Iksander cleared h
is throat. “I should confess something else. I do not have a knack for stealing human media. It’s a skill more common to lower classes, one I never personally saw practiced. We could hire a local to teach me, but that might raise questions I’d find tricky to answer.”
“Ooh,” Connor said, bouncing excitedly where he sat. “I think I have a solution!”
The angel’s exuberance was impossible not to smile at.
“What might that be?” Iksander asked.
“You know the theater is old, right? As in from before humans had TV. The kids shared a story while we were cleaning up, some history their grandparents like to go on about. Apparently, before it had a screen and a projector, the Variété hosted plays. One double bill drew standing room only crowds. The first play was a retelling of King Solomon and the djinn. The second dramatized the bible tale of Jacob wrestling with the angel. What made them popular was that at the end, the djinn and Jacob came out on top. The angel and Solomon were crushed.”
“That’s interesting,” Iksander said, “and I imagine such accounts would stir djinn emotions. I don’t, however, see how they help us.”
“We could stage them. We have the main performers: human, djinni, and angel. Locals could play extras.”
“Connor,” Iksander tried to say diplomatically. “What you’re suggesting isn’t practical. For one thing, we’re not actors.”
“I don’t think we have to be. From what Timur says, audiences here like broad strokes. More WrestleMania than Shakespeare. Sasha, the boy whose grandfather filled Jacob’s role, claims the old man still has the scripts. Best of all, we three have magic for effects.”
“Hm,” Georgie said as if she were intrigued. “Since I’m human, would I play King Solomon?”
“No one’s playing anything!” Iksander protested.
“It’s a good idea,” Georgie said. “And we could pay extras with a mini slice of the pie. You know, keep your stash of jewels from running out so fast.”
He had been concerned about that . . .
“No,” he said, shaking his head firmly. “This scheme is ridiculous.”