Page 104 of The Deer and the Dragon
“I love you,” I said quietly.
He pushed his lips to the place where my hair met my forehead as he said, “I’ve always loved you.”
I unbuckled my belt and escaped the car before Caliban could see me cry.
I left the men to discuss war plans and gods and city-size seals while I walked confidently toward the glassy, modern fertility tomb.
I wondered if the Soul Eater had another name and whether or not that name was Jessabelle.
While the receptionist who greeted me had been exceptionally lovely—the sort of beauty that belonged immortalized in marble and preserved behind glass—I hated her from the instant our eyes met. I had a few moments to decide upon a strategy as my heels clicked into the luxurious lobby decorated in whites, pastels, and creams, a gargantuan chandelier overhead making me feel like I was steps away from the Champs-Elysées rather than in a tiny, pagan midwestern town. While reflective vases overflowing with interesting, pale-apricot roses flooded the lobby, I couldn’t take my eyes off the receptionist awaiting me.
I knew she was aware of me the moment I entered, but her gaze remained politely averted until I was close enough to address her. Behind her sleek, modern desk was an antique that belonged in the Louvre, not in a private clinic. To the side, a grand staircase rose and slowly spiraled as it doubled back onto the second floor.
“Merit.” She smiled at me as she stood from her desk. Her skin sparkled with warm Mediterranean shades of bronze and copper, though her eyes were a shocking shade of olive green. I didn’t miss the subtle points on her perfectly white teeth. While I’d spent a few years in the company of the wealthy, even I struggled to calculate the worth of the clothes on her back. I recognized her jewelry from an actress who’d worn something similar at a red-carpet event. If I was right about her snakelike bracelets, each diamond and platinum ouroboros one cost upwards of thirty thousand dollars, and she wore five. “I’m Jessabelle,” she said smoothly. “Doctor Ayona is expecting you. Please, take a seat and fill out the form.”
I accepted the pen, paper, and sleek clipboard. Before I turned away, my gaze went between Jessabelle and the cluster of pale rose-like flowers on her desk. Their scent was closer to aromatic tea and apricots than anything floral. I kept myexpression neutral as I said, “I might be mistaken, but these smell like…”
“Juliet roses?” she completed appreciatively. “You have a good eye, Merit Finnegan. Please just let me know when you’re finished. Can I get you anything? Herbal tea? Sparkling water?”
“Water would be great,” I said quietly. My mouth was so dry I’d need a gallon of the life-saving liquid just to continue functioning. I was sure not to thank her as she passed me the carbonated glass with its delicate mint and cucumber flourishes but dipped my head with appreciation.
I perched on an expensive-looking cream couch but couldn’t examine the loose-leaf forms just yet. I scanned the room again and did my best to conceal my shock. Juliet roses were one of the most expensive flowers in the world. I knew because a particularly boastful client had offered me one at the start of our date and then launched into a seven minute monologue on their rarity and how lucky I was. The clinic was filled with their delicate peach scent, the entire lobby overflowing with the living art. There had to be ten thousand dollars of flowers alone, and given how quickly fresh-cut bundles wilted and needed to be replaced…
It was exorbitant, wasteful, and most notably…no one else was here. Who would witness her ostentatious display of wealth? And of her clients, who would identify the blossoms for what they were? Fear crawled slowly from my toes up my legs, chilling me into a shudder as it reached my spine. I knew in theory that I shouldn’t be shocked at an immortal being’s wealth, but even the King of Hell hadn’t bothered with shocking displays of his excess.
I looked down at the form and frowned.
Name.
In any other office, I’d have filled it out without a second thought. Now, the personal details, the signatures, the dates, the agreements all took on a sinister edge.
The airy trill of a phone call broke the otherwise-gentlemusic that piped through the lobby. Jessabelle accepted the call, and after a few polite agreements, she returned the phone to its resting place and stood. “Merit? The doctor will see you now. You can finish your form after your appointment.”
I gulped down my water before following Jessabelle up the stairs. The second floor did look less like an art gallery, but only slightly. There was no nurse’s station, starchy curtain, or fluorescent overhead lighting. There wasn’t a stitch of carpeting to be found or a single pastel nineties painting I’d come to expect in hospitals. Everything oozed of lavishness. Jessabelle paused at a door and offered me one final smile before gesturing me into the office.
I caught her olive-green eyes in the moments we passed and felt a sickening emptiness consume me. I broke the contact quickly enough to blink away my terror as I thought once more of the Soul Eater. Perhaps it was less of a name and more of a title—apparently the sort that every high-ranking monarch and deity needed to play guard dog for outside of their sanctuaries. Hopefully, it was a category of fae I’d never have to meet again.
Until I entered.
It took me three seconds to decide I preferred Jessabelle over the being before me.
“Merit.” The woman behind the desk smiled.
The room flooded with natural light, bathed from top to bottom with the gray exterior world as windows lined the office. Unlike in Hell’s palatial rooms, I continued to feel like I was wandering through an annex of a Parisian museum with elements of Mediterranean flare. Modernity wove itself like a common thread through every piece, uniting the antiques with angles, glass, steel, and corners. For every historical painting or sculpture was the latest and greatest piece of furniture or technology.
Inarguably, the woman—fae, deity, whatever—had impeccable taste. Despite the room’s intricate grandeur andthe intimidating, femme bodyguard in a cross-armed power stance in the corner, I had eyes only for her.
Goddess, my brain corrected, repeating the word over and over again as if it had been tapped into my brain’s wiring and was looped through my internal sound system.Don’t underestimate her. You’re fucking with a goddess.
While Jessabelle had been beautifully tan, Doctor Ayona was made of true gold. She wore a thick statement necklace and a fitted dress under her white lab coat. Like Jessabelle’s serpent bracelet, the doctor wore the golden ouroboros around her neck. I blinked against the visual in an attempt to see human shades of tawny skin instead of the glistening topaz and sparkling sands of ancient Mesopotamia before me. Her ink-black hair had been slicked into a high ponytail, then twisted into two coils that wrapped in a unique and captivating braid disappearing behind her shoulders. Her eyes—rimmed with coffee brown and dissolving into gold around her too-large pupils—her berry-dark mouth, her hands, her shape…I struggled to articulate my words. I had a feeling that one look at the doctor would cure even the straightest woman of her heterosexuality. I lost focus entirely and partially blamed Caliban for my inability to clear my thoughts by helping me get laid earlier, as all I could think about was her hands…her mouth…her body…
Fuck. Goddess of sex was right.
I needed to say something. I needed to say hello, to greet her, to rub my remaining two brain cells together and spark a thought.
My gaze flitted to the corner of the room where a similarly stunning woman in a well-tailored suit stood with her arms folded across her chest. Unlike Doctor Ayona’s, the stranger’s night-dark hair was unbound, cascading to her hips in luscious, onyx curls. Between her dark eyes, her evaluating stare, her pointed stilettos, and her unmoved expression, it felt like she’d stepped off a set after playing the role of assassin.
My eyes returned to the doctor, and I crossed the room to accept her outstretched hand.
