by Amy Sumida
“Thanks.” I pretended to sip the drink, keeping my mouth shut firmly. Magic trembled against my lips. I put the glass down and wiped the magic away with a cocktail napkin. “Lovely.”
“So, anything tickle your fancy?” Alex asked.
“I was interested in a glamour,” I said. “Something to make me look completely different; more beautiful.”
“Not possible.” He smirked. “The beauty part, at least. We can definitely make you look different, though.”
“And that's $1,500?”
“We accept credit cards,” he assured me.
“Wonderful,” I said with excitement. “Sign me up.”
“I'll take you to one of our enhancements experts,” Alex said as he stood. “Right this way.” He extended his arm to me. “And don't forget your drink.”
“Oh, thank you.” I took the drink and then his arm.
Alex led me toward one of the curtain covered walls. He pushed aside the curtain to reveal a heavy, wooden door. I glanced around and wondered how many doors were in this Wonderland room. And did humans have to drink something before they were allowed through them? Perhaps we'd have to eat cake before we could leave. Alex opened the door and revealed a man standing on the other side, obviously waiting for us.
This new guy was stunning, much more handsome than the gancanagh. His skin was fair but not precisely pale, stretching over a body of sleek muscles and dramatic bone structure. His hair was dark and cut short, but as he stepped forward, it caught the light and revealed its true color: deep indigo. The blue tones matched the tattoos covering his forearms, revealed by the rolled-up cuffs of his black, dress shirt. The crisp, open collar gave a glimpse of even more ink, all in that same woad blue. Celtic swirls and tribal art emphasized the thick muscles of his chest. His eyes were yet another shade of blue; a vivid, glittering sapphire. I was caught in that jewel stare, held in place like a snake by a charmer.
“I'll take it from here, Alex,” the man said with a voice like soft thunder; the kind of sound you feel as well as hear.
Alex bowed deeply and hurried away without another word.
“Give that swill to me,” he said as he took my glass. “You didn't actually drink it, did you?”
“No,” I whispered, still enthralled by the planes of his cheekbones and the glow of his eyes.
“Good.” He placed it on the tray of a passing apsara. “Come with me.”
He took my hand as if we were friends or possibly more. Our fingers wound together so tightly that I could feel his heartbeat melding with mine between our palms. I breathed in sharply, the woodsy scent of oud seeming to sink through my whole body. He didn't speak any further, just led me through a maze of corridors and then into an empty room. He locked the door behind us and motioned to a sitting area. Overstuffed Victorian sofas, upholstered in green velvet, waited for me to take my pick. I chose an end, immediately leaning onto the armrest for support, and the tattooed stranger chose the sofa set at an angle with mine so that we were placed close together.
“My name is Daxon, but you may call me Dax.” He reached forward and claimed a lock of my hair to rub pensively between his fingers. “It's an honor to welcome you to my club, Queen Seren Firethorn.”
“Son of a bitch!” I snapped. “How do you know who I am?”
Daxon chuckled, pulling his hand away to rub the residue of makeup between his fingertips.
“As if makeup could hide that streak of magic in your hair,” he chided me. “And contacts? It's a crime to cover up those amazing eyes.”
“Oh, my eyes are amazing?” I huffed, nodding to his hypnotizing stare.
Daxon laughed and lowered his gaze. “Ironically, humans think I'm wearing contacts, but I was born this way. You, however, were altered; correct?”
“When I stepped into Fairy for the first time.” I nodded. There was no sense in pretending now; the gig was up.
“So, was this your original appearance?”
“Close enough,” I admitted. “But how did you know it was me? That gancanagh didn't. And, by the way, was it your idea to have gancanaghs and apsaras working in your club?”
“Yes, they were my idea.” Daxon nodded. “And as far as how I knew it was you; anyone in a position of power would know the Twilight Star. You've been photographed often enough. Although, I admit the pictures don't do you justice.”
“There are pictures of me making the rounds?” I huffed. “Well, fuck; that's just great.”
Daxon burst into laughter.
“You're not what I expected,” he said.
“Really?” I asked. “Because you're pretty close to what I was expecting, Darren Devereaux.”
“Ah, you've done your research. I could have hardly have used my real name.” He made a considering sound. “But what exactly did you come here expecting to find, Queen Seren?”
“Magic.” I decided to go with the truth. “For sale to humans. And, lo' and behold, here it is.”
“That's not a crime, Ambassador,” he deliberately switched my titles. “Not when the humans ask to be enchanted.”
“As long as you don't harm them, it isn't,” I agreed. “Though, I'm not sure how the Human Council will feel about this.”
“I'm just a businessman.” He shrugged. “I'm not trying to hurt anyone. It wouldn't be lucrative to kill my clients.”
“What do you know about fairy-rings, Daxon?” I watched his face carefully and was rewarded with the barest flicker of unease.
“The same as you, I imagine,” he said. “They are patches of Fairy bleeding through into Anu's world.”
“Places where fairies can work magic on any human ignorant enough to enter the ring,” I added.
“Yes.”
“Have you heard anything about a fairy collecting human slaves by using fairy-rings?” I lifted a brow.
“No.” He swallowed convulsively.
“The law governing fairies here in HR is complicated,” I said casually, “but once you break it, you're fair game for extinguishers.”
“I haven't broken any laws,” he assured me.
“If you're involved with selling fairy-struck humans, you have,” I went on. “Anything done to a human within a fairy-ring is legal, but once you bring them out into HR, you cannot alter the spell. If you hand over command of a human to anyone, even another human here on Anu's soil, you are participating in a crime. Am I clear?”
“Crystal.”
“Good. Now, let's take this further,” I said sweetly. “Let's say that some fairy found a way to make magical weapons that humans could use.”
Daxon went still.
“Say this fairy cast a spell in HR, but he put that spell inside an object.”
“Like a charm?” He asked innocently.
“No, like a bomb,” I said crisply.
Daxon narrowed his eyes at me. “Then that fairy has broken no laws I'm familiar with.”
“Not until the bomb is detonated.”
I knew I was reaching for straws, interpreting the law in ways that may not hold up in court, but I was going with it. This was becoming an interrogation, and interrogators sometimes stretched the truth to get a confession.
“Are you saying that the caster would be held accountable for a spell that has left his or her control?” He asked. “I don't think so, Ambassador.”
“I do, Daxon,” I growled. “Create a spell, and you are accountable; whether it's cast immediately or later. Whatever damage it causes is your fault.”
“That's a load of crap,” he huffed.
“What's your mór, Daxon?” I asked him.
“Would you like a tour of my club, Your Majesty?” Daxon stood abruptly. He held his hand out to me. “I think you need to see exactly what we have to offer here... and what we don't.”
I took his hand warily, and he helped me to my feet.
“Don't look so worried,” he purred. “I would never hurt my queen. I'm not a traitor.”
“You're unseelie,” I whispered.
“That's right.” He wrapped my arm around his and escorted me from the room. “The Dark Court. We like our pleasures a little more violent than the Light. How do you take them?”
“What pleasures are we talking about?” I asked.
“Feasting, fighting, fucking.” He shrugged. “All the great F-words.”
“You forgot fashion,” I said smoothly.
Daxon chuckled. “I suppose fashion can be violent as well. You look rather deadly tonight.”
“Thank you.”
“I'm shocked that King Raza would allow you to come here unaccompanied and looking as you do.”
“I don't need King Raza's approval,” I snarled. “Not for the way I dress or how I handle investigations. I make my own decisions.”
“Of course.” He smiled indulgently. “Perhaps that's his problem.”
“Excuse me?”
“Strong women like yourself need a firm hand in the bedroom,” he noted. “You simply won't respect a man who can't take control.”
“Raza takes control where and when he needs to,” I huffed.
“Does he?” Daxon turned me suddenly and slammed me against the wall. He pinned my wrists above my head and pressed the length of his body to mine. “Does he take you in the hallway like this? Or in the kitchens, on a chopping block?” He whispered into my ear and then licked my earlobe. “Does he bend you over the ramparts and fuck you hard enough to make your screams echo across Unseelie?”
“Craos-Teine has no ramparts,” I said without emotion. “And we've had sex in the throne room, but not the kitchens. That's a little unhygienic, don't you think?”
Daxon chuckled and pressed his erection between my thighs.
“I wouldn't let you go until I'd tamed you to my hand and had you crawling across the floor to me.” He rubbed his cheek against mine and pressed harder into me, shoving my thighs apart and pushing up my dress. “Damn the gods, but you're beautiful,” he growled. “I want to see you spread naked across my bed; that tight ass red from the flat of my hand.”
“You're a freak, Daxon,” I whispered and rubbed my cheek against his. “It's kinda hot, but you're not going to get anywhere with me. I have three amazing lovers. I don't need another. Especially not one who wants to spank me. I have enough daddy issues as it is.”
“Need?” Daxon scoffed as he ran his hands down my arms. My arms lowered as he released them, ending up around his shoulders. “When is pleasure about need?”
“Always,” I purred and nipped his lips. “If it isn't, it isn't worth pursuing.”
Daxon shuddered.
“Tell me your mór Daxon,” I rubbed my lips across his. Hey, if one type of lie didn't work, I'd try another. I'm flexible like that.
The tip of Daxon's tongue shot out and traced the seam of my mouth. I flicked my tongue out against his; just the barest of touches, but he jerked against me and moaned.
“The minute I saw you walk in, I knew I was doomed,” he murmured. “You want my mór, Your Majesty? So be it; I'll give you what you want on one condition.”
“What's that?”
“You return here tomorrow night after you've had a chance to think and dream.” Daxon slipped his arms around my back and pulled me tight to his muscled chest. His heart was pounding rapidly against mine. “You come back to me alone; leave your lover behind, and agree to spend two hours with me.”
“Two hours doing what?”
“Whatever we wish,” he murmured against my lips, “and nothing we don't.”
“That's a hefty price for a mór,” I noted calmly.
“It's a valuable mór; a very powerful one.” Daxon eased away from me and smiled wickedly. “Or, I can give you the tour. I can show you my employees casting spells on humans who have paid us to do so—everything completely legal. I can show you the true nightclub, where the music pounds louder than our hearts, and the alcohol is imported from Fairy. I can light a cigarette rolled from the finest fey tobacco and share its smoke with you, then we can dance till our sweat blends together like our breath. I can show you the wet room where mermaids will swim with humans for a price, and the kitchens where buttery sprites make dishes for homesick fairies. We cater to both humans and fairies here, and I'd be happy to have you as a patron. But you can't buy me with money, Your Majesty. You have to offer me something far more valuable... yourself.”
“All right, Daxon,” I gave in. “Tell me your mór; you have your deal.”
He inhaled sharply and smiled. Then he took my arm and turned us about.
“I look forward to seeing you tomorrow night, Queen Seren,” Daxon said crisply. “Come early; eight o'clock sharp, if you please. And don't eat dinner; I want you hungry.”
“Where are you taking me?”
“Back to your lover.” He smirked. “Ambassador Killian is looking anxious.”
Dax tapped the screen on his smartwatch and showed me a camera feed of Killian in our car, watching the club entrance as if he might come barging in at any second.
“You had me pegged before I was through the front door, didn't you?”
“No,” he admitted. “After I figured out your identity, I had the area searched. Honestly, I expected to find a whole team of extinguishers, not just one nathair-sith.”
Damn this guy was informed, but I still wasn't.
“What about your mór?” I asked. “You still haven't told me.”
Daxon smiled smugly and led me to the club entrance. Right before he opened the door, he leaned in and kissed my cheek.
“Tromlaighe,” he whispered in my ear. “But, you already knew that, didn't you, Your Majesty?”
Chapter Thirty-Three
“Drive,” I said as soon as I got in the car.
Killian was a soldier at heart; he followed the order and waited until we were a safe distance away from the club before he dropped his guard enough to ask me questions. But as he opened his mouth to speak, I cut him off.
“I found him,” I whispered. “I found Tromlaighe.”
“Yes! That's my girl!” Killian whooped.
My body was still thrumming with adrenaline, and it wasn't because of the intrigue. Daxon had made me want him in less than ten minutes of being with him. I don't just mean that I was attracted to him; I could feel attraction in seconds, just like everyone else. I mean that I wanted him; desire coursed through my body like magma. This guy brought out a response in me that began on a cellular level and erupted into every erogenous zone I have. His body, his face, even his words were all a bonus to the shivering sensuality that had begun to boil the minute we'd come into proximity with each other. It had just grown hotter from there, and I was terrified to discover what it would become after a couple of hours spent alone with him.
Not exactly love at first sight, but definitely lust.
“Oh, dear goddess,” I whispered as I realized what the attraction was: the Call of Danu.
I'd felt it before, three times before, and was pretty damn familiar with it. I should have recognized it immediately, but this time it seemed so much stronger than the others. Maybe it was simply because it was current, I was experiencing it now, and the present always seemed more intense than a memory. But I would swear that I hadn't been hit as hard before.
“Hell no,” I growled. “Three's already a crowd.”
“What was that, Twilight?”
“Nothing,” I muttered. “The guy's name is Daxon Tromlaighe. He runs a slick operation. The front room is full of gancanagh and apsaras. They show you a menu of services.”
“Services?” Killian lifted his eyebrows.
“Yes, exactly what you're imagining,” I confirmed, and his eyes widened. “I was propositioned by a gancanagh.”
“That motherfucker,” Killian growled as his hands clenched on the steering wheel. “I'm going to kick—”
“It was a job to him, Kill,” I cut him off. “He's not the problem. Think about it: gancanagh in a nightclub. It's the perfect environment for them; they probably work on commission
.”
“The bastards,” Killian hissed.
“We are all slaves to our magic,” I muttered, feeling, for the first time, some sympathy for fairies who abuse humans.
We had this power inside that drove us to do things, sometimes bad things. It was like magical insanity, except it couldn't be treated with drugs, and sometimes using the magic was integral to the fairy's existence. But does that mean you let the magically insane person do whatever they want? No, you don't. I had to try and control this lunacy, though it might actually make me crazy in the process.
“What the hell has gotten into you?” Killian pulled over, shut off the car, and turned to me. “Did they whammy you?”
“No, they didn't whammy me.” I sighed deeply. “I made a deal with the owner.”
“The Tromlaighe?”
“Yeah him,” I said grimly. “I needed his name to confirm my suspicions.”
“You made a bargain with this guy just to get his name?” Killian huffed. “I'm surprised it wasn't Rumpelstiltskin.”
“Shut up.” I rolled my eyes.
“Fuck; you really are shaken,” he whispered. “What happened in there, Seren?”