by Jamie Wyman
Without so much as blinking in her direction, Marius pushed past Candy and over to the table where he began pouring himself a vodka and cranberry.
“He’d better get here soon,” the satyr rumbled.
I stared at my can of Red Bull, wondering if I’d accidentally quaffed the booze. Had I slipped myself a roofie? Perhaps suffered a head injury at some point? Because at that exact moment I would’ve sworn that Marius had just ignored a stripper.
“Are you okay?” I asked.
“Why do you ask?”
“I don’t know if you’ve noticed, Marius, but we’re in the Slytherin common room of the Playboy mansion.”
“And?”
“And,” I said, tilting my head toward Candy, “there’s a stripper, like, five feet away from you. A hot one.”
He took a quick gander at our hostess, then returned his eyes to me, nonplussed. “We don’t have time for this. Look, the sooner your boss gets here, the sooner we can be done with this whole hellstorm.” He took his drink across the room and slumped into the empty couch. The satyr’s green eyes searched our surroundings before coming to rest on the door as he waited for Loki to arrive.
“Marius?” Candy repeated. “That’s an unusual name. I don’t hear that one a lot.”
Here it comes. The perfect opening for him to use some clever line about how she’ll get to say his name all night long.
But the quip never came. Marius pressed his lips together in a scowl and watched the ice melt in his cocktail.
“Somebody’s tense,” Candy said, passing me a knowing glance. “I think I know just what he needs.”
She glided in front of Marius—cleverly blocking his view of the door—and began to gyrate with the rhythm of the music pounding up from the club floor. Her hips made tight circles as her hands slid down the taut muscles of her body. She pulled at her shirt teasingly, batting those thick lashes at the brooding satyr. When he refused to look up, she closed the distance between them and struck a solid, wide stance. Bending at the waist, she took his chin between her fingers and angled it up so that her gaze burned into his.
“Mmmmarius,” she crooned. “Come on and give us a smile.”
He bared his teeth in a cynical grimace.
“You’re a hard nut to crack, aren’t you?” she said. “Well, let’s see if we can loosen you up.”
Candy peeled off her mesh top, exposing those huge breasts and that poor gold bra. With a throaty laugh, she tossed her blond mane and straddled Marius. Locking her knees on either side of him, she rocked her hips. His cheek twitched as he ground his teeth together. He turned his eyes up to the ceiling and squirmed in his seat. As Candy gave a particularly deep thrust of her hips, Marius hissed as if in pain. She rolled her head and passed me a wicked, conspiratorial stare.
Her eyes never leaving mine, she pursed her lips and looped her shirt around Marius’s shoulders. Heat crawled up my cheeks, and my stomach twisted as Candy pulled the satyr into her breasts.
“Uh-oh,” she sang, “looks like someone might be getting jealous.”
There was no warning. Marius grabbed both her arms with brutish force and thrust her off him with a leonine growl. The dancer fell to the floor, her…ahem…charms bouncing out of her inadequate bra.
“Enough,” Marius roared. Rage overtook his features as he loomed over her. “Get out!”
Candy made no move to leave. She just lay there on the floor chuckling. Soon, those chuckles turned into hearty laughs that changed her whole face. Her skin began to ripple like water, and then her features flowed into something else entirely. I blinked to see Loki writhing in the throes of a giggle fit.
His boobs jiggled more pleasantly than Santa’s belly. “Your face was perfect!” he gasped. “You should’ve seen it! All serious and then…” Loki mimed pulling Marius’s face into his breasts and exploded in fresh laughter.
While my boss continued to chortle himself purple, Marius seethed. “I did not come here to be mocked!”
“Didn’t you?”
“Wow,” I stammered. “That was…just… I don’t even.”
My flabber was well and truly gasted. I’d seen Loki pull his shapeshifting tricks before, but nothing had left me as dumbstruck as the god’s familiar, angular features atop “Candy’s” lithe body. This was taking drag to a whole new level. Before my eyes, he took both those breasts roughly in his hands.
“I am Loki of Asgard!” he bellowed. “And I am burdened with a glorious rack!”
I buried my face into one of the sofa pillows and giggled. Apparently, Marius didn’t appreciate the reference, because when I looked up, he was on his feet, fists at his sides.
“Are you quite finished having a laugh?” he boomed.
“Sorry,” I lied.
“Jesus Christ.” Loki pushed up from the floor, the jiggle of his tits quite distracting. Without bothering to cover himself or shapeshift the rest of his body, the self-proclaimed Bane of the Aesir sat beside me on the sofa. “Is he always this way or has he just spent too much time around Bitchcakes?”
“Eris does have a knack for sucking the life out of people,” I admitted. I reached out a wary hand and poked one of the massive mammaries on Loki’s chest. “Wow, they feel real,” I whispered. I groped him, enjoying a heaping handful of the god’s boob. “Do you moisturize?”
“Fantastic, aren’t they?”
“Seriously, they’re petal-soft! How do you do that?”
“Excuse me!” Marius interrupted.
I jerked my hand back and folded it with the other in my lap. Loki stared at Marius with equal parts intrigue and mischief. “Well, well, well. If a satyr has stopped being able to enjoy an amazing set of breasts, then I suppose it’s good for Marius that he’s finally rid of Discord.”
Marius paced like a panther, stalking from one side of the room to the other. “Catherine told you, I take it.”
“Hell no.” Loki snorted. “I’ve my own sources, and they tell me your name is being passed from countless lips to many a god’s ear. You have gotten yourself into a mountain of trouble, Marius. So tell me… Was it worth it?”
“Was what worth it?”
“Come on, old friend. No one stays with Eris for as long as you did out of the goodness of his heart.” As Loki spoke, his form shifted. Limb by limb, cell by cell, “Candy’s” body was replaced with the form I’d come to see most often. Loki sat with one long leg folded over the other in jeans, a T-shirt, and flip-flops. As if transformation were nothing more complex than breathing, Loki continued, “Unless you’ve become a masochist of epic proportions, you had another game going. Something you wanted from her. Did you get it?”
Marius’s face fell. His eyes sparkled, and for a moment, I thought he might shed a tear. When he spoke, his voice was raw. “No.”
For a long moment, the god’s ice pick stare pierced the satyr. The chill of silence seemed to cover even the strains of music thumping the club floor. My throat went dry and my palms grew damp as I waited for someone to say something. Hell, I was tempted to jump up and start dancing myself just to break the tension. Should I make a case for Marius? Should I ask Loki to take him on?
No. This was between the two of them. I was just Marius’s ride, his employee referral. From here on, I had to stay out of it.
“I’m going to go downstairs,” I said.
Loki produced a crisp bill from the pocket of his jeans, and passed it to me. “Get yourself a drink on me.”
Considering I could’ve ordered drinks for half the club with that one bill, I stashed it and promised myself some top-shelf whiskey. “As you wish, Boss.”
I gave Marius a parting glance of encouragement. As I shut the door behind me, I saw the satyr sitting on the sofa with his head in his hands.
I had two thoughts as I walked down the hall: how much had changed, and how far had he fallen to be so vulnerable before one so powerful as Loki?
I took to the floor during an intermission. There were no dancers on the stage, but every plush, blue s
eat in the house was packed. A bachelor party toasted itself loudly as I drifted past. There was a queue at the bar about three deep, but being small—and female—I managed to slip up to a stool with little problem. The bartender nodded to acknowledge my presence, said he’d be back in a minute, then fluttered off to make drinks. I made myself comfortable on a stool and admired the shrine to whiskey.
Beside me, a coarse man pissedly held court over the Vegas nightlife. “—drink and food,” he said, his accent from somewhere in the United Kingdom. “And the women! Christ, a man could get distracted by the local flavor.”
I chuckled, shook my head, and went back to waiting.
He sniffed at the air, then turned his attention to me. The man’s stare was a weight of appraisal, a caress on the cheek, and a smack on the ass. “Speakin’ of local flavors,” he drawled in that accent, “you look positively delicious, love. Skin as milky as ice cream and a cherry on top.” He ran a hand over my hair. “I could devour you for days and never get tired.”
I shifted uneasily, pulling away from his touch. Otherwise, I ignored him. The bartender arrived, and I picked my poison. “Rusty nail,” I said. “And make it with Johnnie Walker Blue, if you please.”
“And she knows how to hold her drink! A glorious body, a taste for whiskey, and a gorgeous face,” the drunk said, somehow managing to add an extra syllable to the last word.
I gave him a glare guaranteed to shrivel the sac of mortal men.
The DJ announced the next dancer, and as the music flared, the crowd let out a collective whoop. The drunk beside me added his voice to the chorus, and I stole a moment to take him in.
Tall and broad, wearing an offensively purple button-down top, he looked familiar. His dark-brown hair fell past his shoulders in tight, frizzy curls. Blue eyes glittered beneath thick brows. Pale face, with booze-blushed cheeks, a narrow nose, and full lips.
The bartender returned with my drink. Before I could pay, the loudmouth slammed his pint on the bar. “Her drink’s on me. And when you’re done with that,” he added, “I’ll show you a real good time.”
“No, thanks,” I said sternly.
“You don’t really feel that way, do you now?” he asked, his voice taking on the texture of dark chocolate. Leaning forward, he closed the space between us to an intimate distance. His hair fell from behind his ear, casting a dangerous shadow full of neon-red promises.
The man’s eyes filled with a deep, glowing indigo. His unspoken proposition burrowed into my mind, filling it with sordid whispers, crimson images of sweat and steam…
Bare, slippery flesh against flesh. Limbs twined in tight knots with mine. Swollen lips over my belly and smooth hands up my thighs…
I gasped as desire flopped just below my stomach and spilled warm tingles through my whole being. “It’s you,” I whispered groggily. “You’re doing this…” My voice trailed off.
As the air around us began to bend and shimmer, his lips spread into a familiar leer. “Come on, love,” he said. “Let’s you and me pop out of here for a nice, long taste of fun.”
Taste of fun.
Those words echoed in my mind, and the world vanished.
My mouth opens to his, and I fall into the bliss of his embrace. Oh, those lips—so full and plump. I take his lower lip between my teeth, and he growls his approval. Another kiss, another taste. He is whiskey and song, chocolate and spice.
My senses returned, but still, I heard his voice like a low, constant drone. Without a thought for my drink or anything but the explicit images writhing in my mind, I slid off the barstool and inched closer to the stranger. That abyssal gaze traced up my throat, a touch hot as a brand and moist as breath. His scent—fresh grass clippings and spicy cologne—enveloped me, and I shuddered. Soft, dark curls tickled my cheeks as he bent over me. His tongue flicked over my earlobe, sending shocks of current along every nerve. I drew in a sharp breath as his teeth nibbled gently.
“I can’t wait to worship you,” he purred, “like the goddess you are.”
Though distantly I knew I should probably say no, that I was supposed to be doing something, my whole body went rigid with anticipation. I wished my clothes would melt off, that he would throw me up onto the bar and have his way with me.
His mouth curled. “Come on, love,” he said. “Let’s you and me find a shady spot.”
I slipped my hand into his.
Chapter Seven
“Blue Powder”
With a low whistle, a translucent shape cut through the air and smacked the stranger in the head with a resonant thwack. His eyes rolled out of focus, and the world rippled like shadows on a pond. I could still hear him whispering naughty invitations in my mind.
A hand gripped me, and it felt as if flames scalded my wrist, burning away the image of the stranger sliding over me, hands and lips exploring every inch of my body with gusto. The sudden touch doused my desire, leaving me cold and my head full of steam.
“Catherine,” Marius barked.
As if waking up, I blinked him into focus. His stare blazed like angry, emerald fire as he held my wrist in an iron grasp.
“Jesus Christ!” the stranger yelled. He rose from the bar holding his head, red staining his fingers. “You son of a piss-swilling whore!”
I was dimly aware of a scuffle. The chains at Marius’s hips jingled over the low sounds of grunting. With an arctic blast, awareness flooded me, and I lurched forward and yanked Marius off the other man. As they came apart, both tossed their dark manes and snorted as if ready to lock horns. Literally. The nubs of Marius’s horns poked out of his glamour on either side of his forehead. A matching set appeared on the bleeding head of the stranger.
“She’s not for you, Malcolm,” Marius seethed.
“Oh? Why don’t you ask her who she fancies, eh? She and I were just ’bout to pop out for a lovely bit of scrumpin’ when you had to put your poncy face in where it isn’t wanted.”
“I wasn’t going to go anywhere with you,” I shouted. Marius’s arm fell around me. “You were using your…satyr mojo bullshit.” I flapped my hands uselessly as I groped for words. “And that doesn’t count!”
“No?” The strange satyr—Malcolm, was it?—smirked. “That’s why you’re pleasantly moist and ready to ride me like Godiva, is that it?”
“I’m not!”
Marius leaned over and murmured in my ear. “Darling, I could engrave diamonds with your nipples right now. Unless you’re suddenly quite cold, you might want to shut up before things get worse.”
I looked down, and sure enough, my body betrayed me with twin points of interest. With a self-conscious gasp, I wrapped my arms around my chest.
Malcolm winked at me appreciatively. “You should see what I could do if that shirt weren’t in the way. Pesky clothes always ruinin’ me fun. Not unlike some cheeky bastards I know,” he added with a glare for Marius.
“Not yours,” Marius growled. His hand was a firm, hot presence on my hip as his arm curved around the small of my back.
“Come on, Marius!” Malcolm whined. “I’d be willing to share. We’ve done it before. You take one end, I’ll take the other, and we’ll meet up in the middle. How’s that sound?”
“Marius, who the hell is this?” I asked, pushing away from him.
“No one,” he growled.
Affronted, Malcolm blinked in horrified surprise. “Are you ’shamed of me, Marius? Your own flesh and blood?”
“Yes,” Marius said bluntly. “I thought we’d established that ages ago.”
I gaped, somewhere between confused and offended. “You two are related?”
“I’m ’is brother!” Malcolm’s voice was high with offense.
“What you are,” Marius simmered, “is a blight on the bloodline.”
“Oh aye, that’s rich comin’ from the likes o’ you. Which of us went prancin’ off to play with the boy-lovin’ Greeks? Y’ know, Marius, I think that’s turned your head if you’re not willin’ to go halvsies with me and sha
g this one six ways from a month of Sundays.”
Marius’s fingers curled into my belt loops, and I actually heard him give a guttural, possessive rumble. “She’s not for you, Malcolm, and that is final.”
Marius turned me and nudged me back toward Loki’s private room, but Malcolm followed. I looked over my shoulder at him, and he gave me a knowing glance. He wagged a finger at his sibling. “You’ll no’ice he didn’t say nothin’ ’bout my guess that he’s gay.”
***
Back in the Leprechaun Lounge, I found myself alone in a strip club with a pair of satyrs. Loki had stepped out for a moment, a phone call taking his attention away from Marius’s plight. So there we sat—me on the sofa next to Marius, and Malcolm in a chair opposite us.
Malcolm slid a tumbler of whiskey across the silver coffee table, winking at me with an exaggerated nod. I wrapped my fingers around the glass, but before it could make the trip to my lips, Marius replaced it with a sweating pint of ice water.
“Like you need it with him putting salacious thoughts in your head,” I heard him mutter. Marius tossed back the whiskey, his face twisting as the burn swept down his throat.
I sneered. “What are you? My mother?”
“My brother’s keeper,” he said. Regarding the satyr sitting across from us, his lip curled with derision.
Malcolm took a sip from his own drink. “I need no such thing. And, might I add, you’re a shit host. You’ve not even introduced me to your lovely friend here.”
“Malcolm,” Marius rumbled. It was both warning and statement. “This is Catherine. And as far as you’re concerned, she is off-limits.”
“Nothing is off-limits to me, brother mine.”
The air shifted again, and Malcolm’s face swam in my mind. Though his lips didn’t move, I heard his purring words in my ears. The lurid pictures flooded my imagination again.
Malcolm’s hair falls in curls on either side of eyes that smolder like arctic fire. His face all taut muscle and smooth skin. Those decadent lips meet mine, and his tongue darts into my mouth. Habanero hot and sugar sweet, his kisses are drunken pleasures, luxuriant treats to be sampled and savored.