Misfortune Teller

by Dima Zales

  I turn back to face the guy, and to my relief, he doesn’t shudder in horror.

  “You should’ve started with Alien Blood,” he says to me with a smirk. “Or Drano Armageddon.”

  “I think I’m done with drinks at this place.” I take in a deep breath and instantly realize my mistake. I just inhaled a much bigger dose of his wonderful scent, and my head is spinning—though I guess the spinning could be the combined effects of the two drinks I just had. Who knows what kind of chemistry lab is coursing through my system now?

  “No drinks might be a good idea for you for a while.” The guy blinks at me through unfairly long eyelashes.

  “I’m Sasha,” I say, extending my hand as professionally as I can, and it takes all my willpower not to brush my fingers over his sharp cheekbones—which is what my stupid hand is dying to do all of a sudden.

  “Harper.” He extends his hand, and when his palm touches mine, a bolt of electricity spreads from my palm throughout my body.

  Time seems to slow as he looks at me with those big eyes, and I feel like I’m a blink away from ending up like those hundred-million-year-old insects stuck in amber.

  I somehow manage to pull my hand back and croak out, “Nice to meet you.”

  “The pleasure is all mine,” Harper says, seeming to project a cloud of yummy pheromones at me.

  My breath ragged, I look at him like a peahen in heat staring at bright peacock plumage.

  “Do you want to dance?” Harper murmurs into my ear, his soft lips brushing against my earlobe.

  Instead of an answer, I jump to my feet.

  With a cocky grin, he stands up and grabs my hand.

  The electricity of his touch is of higher voltage this time.

  In a haze, I let Harper lead me onto the dance floor, and we begin to move—him to the rhythm, and me like a marionette with him holding the strings.

  The music blasts heavy metal riffs, but with electronic violins instead of guitars.

  Dancing with him is like riding a rollercoaster, only instead of feeling that swoosh in my stomach, I feel it absolutely everywhere. He’s not that tall—only a couple of inches taller than I—but that only makes it harder for me to escape his intense gaze. I can’t help inhaling him again, and my head whirls like a reed in a tornado.

  What’s happening?

  Is it the drinks?

  I’ve never experienced anything like this. I want to get closer to him, to drink him in like hot chocolate on a cold day.

  My lips feel all puffy—and I want him to do something about that. But, maddeningly, he just keeps looking at me, keeps dancing—which just makes me want that kiss all the more.

  If he doesn’t kiss me soon, I might jump him.

  A part of me knows that grabbing his lush, shiny locks and yanking his head to me might be inappropriate, but another part of me wants to tell that first part of me to shut the hell up.

  “Let’s take this to the next level?” he murmurs during a pause between songs.

  My skin turns tingly all over. “Yes,” I gasp out. “Let’s.”

  He leans in, and I close my eyes. My heartbeat skyrockets.

  He’s finally going to kiss me.

  I can practically taste him already, but instead of kissing me, he merely grabs my hand. As the electricity of the touch assaults my already-hyperaware senses, it takes all my willpower not to shove his hand somewhere that might be too private for the dance floor.

  He pulls on my hand, leading me somewhere.

  As we walk, I spot Kit in her real shape in the crowd and exhale a sigh of relief. Subconsciously, I must’ve worried I was in the middle of another one of her strange games.

  Soon, we reach elevator doors.

  Before I can ask, Harper’s sinewy finger caresses the elevator button—a gesture that makes me very jealous of an inanimate object.

  He leads me inside the car and hits the button for the ninth level.

  The elevator doors are made of glass, so everyone can see in, but I still want him to press me against those doors and—

  The elevator dings, and the doors open.

  Did I blank out, or is this elevator even faster than the one at the skyscraper?

  Harper grabs me by the hand again, dispelling all errant thoughts except how sensitive my skin is, how tingly—

  I’m distracted from the hormonal haze by our surroundings.

  It appears that the ninth floor isn’t actually meant for dancing.

  In my foggy state of mind, I find it difficult to figure out what the purpose of this place actually is, but it looks like a cross between a BDSM dungeon and a lounge.

  On my right, a muscular female orc is stretched out on a large table, her naked body covered with hors d’oeuvres that little bearded dudes are attacking with an overabundance of enthusiasm.

  To my left, a naked elfin man with an ecstatic expression on his face is tied up on a crisscrossed wooden frame. A woman with blue scales gleaming on her exposed shoulders is flogging him. When the flogger momentarily stops, a horde of vampires fight over who gets to be the first to lick off the rivulets of blood on the elfin guy’s back.

  The blissful smile on the face of one blood-imbibing vampire rings a distant alarm bell in my head. I wonder if Ariel and Gaius are also somewhere on this floor, doing who knows—

  “We can find a private room in the back,” Harper whispers huskily, wrenching my attention back to him.

  “Okay,” I manage to rasp out. “Take me… there, I mean.”

  He leads me past a guy doing something bizarre to a dolphin’s blowhole in a glass tank, and somewhere deep in my head, I realize a couple of things.

  First, I’m the horniest I’ve ever been in my life.

  Second, I’m agreeing to be alone in a room with a guy whose last name I don’t know.

  Didn’t I have a rule about knowing people’s last names before getting into this sort of situation?

  Right now, I find it hard to care about his last name, or anything else, for that matter.

  Did my years of abstinence damage some part of my brain, or was there something in those drinks? Could Harper have slipped something into that shot he got me?

  The last idea seems unlikely, but if true, it would be ironic. If Harper were that good at sleight of hand, he wouldn’t have to drug me. He could’ve just showcased his skills to me, and I’d probably want to jump him as much as I do now.

  “How about here?” Harper murmurs, and a fresh cloud of yummy scent clears all stray thoughts from my mind.

  I lumber into the cozy little alcove, take a seat on the leather couch, lean back, and try to steady my frantic breathing.

  Without even closing the door, Harper sinks onto the couch next to me and looks intently into my eyes.

  I stare back, my lungs turning into bellows.

  He leans toward me.

  His gaze, or maybe his scent, or maybe the knowledge that we’re about to kiss, triggers what I can best describe as an army of pink butterflies fluttering their wings madly inside my stomach and chest (at least I think it’s butterflies and not heartburn from that uber-spicy drink). One of the butterflies is clearly an overachiever type, the kind that can cause a hurricane, because a whirlwind of warmth, tingles, and throbbing spreads through my body, leaving me gasping for air.

  Harper is now an inch away.

  My eyes close without me willing them to do so.

  Our lips meet.

  The world around me seems to get sharper, as though someone upgraded it to ultra-high definition.

  It’s official.

  This is the most delicious kiss of my life.

  As Harper’s lithe fingers stroke my face, spreading little jolts of electricity, a nagging doubt appears somewhere in my brain.

  As our tongues start dancing, the doubt grows, and I can finally pinpoint the issue.

  Something about this is vaguely familiar.

  My earlier arousal seems so timid in comparison to what I feel now. This to regular horn
iness is like Mozart’s concerto is to the ice-cream truck jingle.

  His palms are now on my back, causing it to arch in a yoga-like pose as the warm energy spreads along my spine.

  What’s happening to me? Why does this seem so familiar?

  Suppressing a moan, I forget all doubts as blood pounds in my eardrums, and my face, neck, and chest burn with all the millions of blood vessels dilating.

  There’s a physical and mental tension growing in me, and I’m on the verge of begging him for something—though I’m too hazy to know what that something is.

  “Are you okay with this?” Harper murmurs.

  With a sense of déjà vu, all the arousals of my life combine into one burst.

  “Yes,” I whimper.

  His fingers unbutton the top of my shirt, and this too is familiar, as is my desire for him to rip off the rest of it.

  Then he kisses my neck, and the sensation tears through me in an explosive wave. All the muscles in my body spasm as one, then quiver violently as he moves his kisses to my shoulder.

  The earlier sense of familiarity is the only thing that allows me to swim up toward some semblance of common sense in this ocean of endorphins.

  Why. Does. This. Seem. So. Familiar?

  When Harper gently nibbles on my earlobe, I fight the wave of bliss, straining to focus on the familiarity of this experience.

  His lips are about to move toward my clavicle bone, a part of me recalls.

  Harper’s lips move to my clavicle bone.

  Using a monumental effort of will, I disassociate from the powerful explosion of sensation that rockets through my flesh.

  “No,” I shout instead of letting out an orgasmic moan. “Stop!”

  Chapter Thirteen

  Fighting growing weakness, I pry open my heavy eyelids.

  Harper looks different. Fiercer, for lack of a better term. Aside from that, there is an indescribable expression on his face—part surprise and part annoyance.

  “I said stop,” I repeat in a steadier tone.

  “Don’t fight it,” he murmurs, and the yummy scent grows suffocatingly strong. “Just relax.”

  It finally hits me.

  The reason this feels so familiar is that I dreamed this.

  My wet dream was a vision.

  A vision about this.

  Heartbeat speeding up, I use all my willpower to summon my strength and push Harper away from me.

  He looks even more confused for a moment, then reaches for me again, his lithe fingers suddenly reminding me of claws.

  Anger chases the remnants of arousal from my still-foggy brain. “No means no,” I say forcefully, and throw a punch at his too-pretty face.

  I get him in the cheek, and pain explodes up my arm.

  It’s as if I hit a wall.

  “You bitch.” Harper’s voice jumps in pitch. “You’re going to—”

  “Walk out of here unharmed,” says a familiar voice.

  I look up, my breath whooshing out in relief.

  Ariel is standing in front of us, awl gripped tightly in one fist.

  Her black outfit makes her almost invisible against the black walls of the room. She’s inadvertently using a magic technique called the black art principle, though I bet ninjas discovered it long before magicians.

  Harper’s yummy scent grows stronger, and in that same odd falsetto voice, he says, “You should join us.”

  Unbelievably, despite what just transpired, the idea of having Ariel join me and Harper sounds tempting for a second. Shockingly, Ariel also looks as though she’s considering the offer. Then she glances at the door, and her expression changes back to grim determination.

  I follow Ariel’s gaze and see Gaius standing in the doorframe. He looks absolutely terrifying, with his fangs fully showing, eyes turned into mirrors, and face in a ferocious scowl.

  “Turn off the stink,” Gaius orders Harper coldly. “You have a second before I rip off your head.”

  “I’m pumped full of energy from that one.” Harper waves toward me. “Are you sure I’d let you rip my head off?”

  “I’ll help him rip it off,” Ariel says grimly. “After I put some holes in you.”

  “I don’t think I’ll need help.” Gaius clenches his hands into fists.

  Harper demonstratively sighs and stands up, raising his arms above his head, as though cooperating with a police officer.

  Ariel lowers her awl and steps to the side, as if loath to touch him. Harper smirks as he saunters past her. When he’s next to Gaius, he leans close to the vampire. “You bloodsuckers are such hypocrites.”

  The vampire steps in front of him, blocking his path.

  “You dare compare your kind to mine?” Gaius’s icy eyes look ready to dart bolts at Harper. “We take our nourishment consensually.”

  “Sure you do.” Harper gives the much-bigger Gaius a shove with his shoulder.

  To my surprise, the vampire staggers momentarily, giving Harper a chance to slink out of the room.

  Gaius looks as though he’s contemplating pursuit, but he must decide against it, because he stays where he is.

  “Are you okay?” Ariel asks me, mother hen mode fully activated and set to at least eleven out of ten.

  “I think so,” I lie. In reality, I have no idea how I feel, or what just happened.

  “I’m so sorry I left you alone.” Ariel reaches over to clasp my chilled hands. “I will never do that again.”

  “She’s clearly fine,” Gaius says, his eyes turning back to icy blue.

  “What are you talking about?” Ariel retorts. “If we’d come in a minute later, she’d be dead.”

  I gape at her, all blood draining from my flushed face. “I would be?”

  “You’re lucky you screamed stop,” Gaius says to me, his tone slightly kinder. “Thanks to my sharp hearing, we were able to get here in time.”

  “It wasn’t exactly luck,” I say, buttoning up my shirt. “Can you tell me what the hell Harper is?”

  Gaius looks at Ariel, who shrugs and says, “Have you ever heard human legends about incubi or succubi?”

  Any remnants of butterflies in my stomach revert to their caterpillar form. “As in, demons that seduce people?”

  “Right,” Ariel says. “Harper was going to suck your life as sexual energy, for lack of a better term. The result is usually lethal.”

  “Speaking of that,” Gaius says. “Are you feeling any weakness?”

  I examine myself and nod. “Yeah. It’s like I have very low blood pressure and skipped a meal.”

  “Eat this.” Gaius pulls out a candy bar and hands it to me.

  I want to ask why a vampire would carry around such a snack, but decide I might not want to know. Ripping open the wrapper, I stuff the chocolate in my mouth.

  “Do you think this is why Darian asked to speak with you here?” Ariel says to Gaius as I chew. “You think he knew Sasha might need your help?”

  “If so, I really wish he’d just say, ‘get to the ninth level, go to the third private room on the right at 1:37 a.m., and save Sasha,’” Gaius says, pinching the bridge of his nose. “Seers can be so irritating—no offense, Sasha.”

  “None taken,” I mumble through the chocolate and nougat in my mouth. “I agree with you. If Darian really knew what was about to happen, he should’ve stopped me from dancing with Harper in the first place.”

  Ariel rubs her chin. “I wonder why he didn’t?”

  “Maybe he tried? He did want to tell me something after that Kit incident. Or maybe he knew that I’d already seen a vision about this.” I swallow the remainder of the candy bar. “Perhaps he wanted me to use my seer powers to get myself out of it?”

  “You saw a vision about this?” Ariel looks at me like I’ve sprouted a toe on my forehead. “Why didn’t you avoid it then?”

  “My dream wasn’t that specific.” I greedily lick all errant chocolate from my fingers. “Maybe that’s what happened for Darian, too. Maybe he had a vision as vague as mine and
just knew he had to bring you to this level.”

  “Or there’s more in it for him this way.” Gaius examines his fingernails, and I realize he has black nail polish on. I’m fairly sure he didn’t have that before, so it must be a goth look for this club.

  “How are you feeling?” Ariel looks me over as though I’m a porcelain doll who took a dive onto a concrete floor.

  Her caring expression makes her look extremely sexy for some reason. In fact, that outfit and—

  I shake my head, realizing Harper’s seduction mojo isn’t out of my system yet.

  “I’ll be fine,” I say, trying to even out my breath. “But I’d really like to go home.”

  Ariel and Gaius exchange a quick glance, the meaning of which escapes my weary brain.

  “Take her,” Gaius says, perhaps too imperiously for my taste. “If you can, come back here afterward. I’ll walk you to the top level.”

  Ariel bobs her head and helps me get to my feet.

  Her touch is almost as electric as Harper’s, so I try thinking unsexy thoughts about syphilitic naked mole-rats—and the financial industry.

  When we get outside the room, I find the ninth-floor denizens looking at a large stage in the middle of the floor. A pair of almost naked men are performing Cirque du Soleil-style balancing acrobatics with each other’s bodies. Their movements are smooth and sensual, and I wish I were in the middle—

  I shake my head again and try chasing away my arousal by thinking of tapeworms and foot fungus.

  “I know it’s unlikely,” Ariel whispers into my ear, “but I just want to make sure.” She lowers her voice even more. “You didn’t invite that abomination to our house, did you?”

  “We didn’t have much time to chat,” I whisper back, my cheeks reddening as Gaius shoots us an indecipherable look.

  Ariel doesn’t seem to notice, because she looks relieved as we head for the elevator.

  I can’t help recalling her new boyfriend—or whatever he is—angling for an invitation to our house. Does that mean vampires and incubi are similar in that regard? Though curious, I have enough tact not to ask either one of them right now.