Page 117 of The Deer and the Dragon
I hurried to the locker and yanked my purse from the hook. I had to have something—anything.
I may not have the knife, but I had a broach. I slipped the silver piece of jewelry into one pocket, then the golden poppet into the other. My hand went to my heart as if to catch a fluttering bird trying to escape its cage. I tried to tell myself that I’d been in these shoes hundreds of times before, stepping out of the shower and preparing to meet someoneunfamiliar.
But it wasn’t the same. Not at all.
I emerged from the locker room, unable to keep the bubbling panic from my face.
“It’s okay to be nervous,” Jessabelle said smoothly. “I promise you’ll only feel hesitancy for a moment longer. Astarte will ensure everything goes smoothly. The men will refer to her as Doctor Ayona, and I recommend you do the same for privacy, just as we will continue referring to you as Merit.” She turned to me and let her olive-green eyes linger until they chilled my spine.
Everyone in the clinic knew my true name. Of course they did.
We stepped into a room so dark that it took my eyes a moment to adjust. My hands jerked toward Jessabelle as if to use her body as a shield, but my fingers froze before they made contact.
Jessabelle was not my friend.
My trembling intensified, though I did my best to conceal it. I straightened my shoulders as I looked at the nine well-dressed men in the room. Three standing tables dotted the room, each man holding what looked like a glass of cucumber water as they chatted with one another. The tables were counter high. They were not quite tall enough for them to rest their elbows, nor were they short enough for anyone to take a seat, had chairs been made available. Instead, many of them rested a hand on the table to support their weight while sipping on their drinks with the other. It looked like I’d interrupted a model casting party in a spa robe.
The walls of the room were black, adding to the sensation of shadows and depth. The lights were dim and buttery. I could see everyone, but I knew the flattering lighting would conceal anything that made us self-conscious. It was the perfect lighting for a 1920s speakeasy or for a Phoenician goddess’s underground sex dungeon.
“Merit.” Astarte breezed over to me from a shadow.
I nearly jumped out of my skin as she practically apparated, sliding a hand against the center of my back. Once again, she wore an expensive dress beneath a white lab coat. Unlike the black dress from the day before, her sparkling, sand-colored cocktail gown draped like glittering gems of the desert. She was ready to step out of her sterile lab coat and onto the stage.
“Please take the time to get to know our prospects,” she practically purred. “Look at their build, listen to their voice, look into their eyes, and see whose genes call to yours. They’ve all been kept on a strict drink and drug-free diet upon entering our contracts, as well as submitted to regular bloodwork and endocrine panels, and they’ve followed my tailored exercise and meal plan. I can assure you, whoever you select will be of prime stock the world has to offer.”
Stock.
I looked at the handsome men displayed like creatures in a terrarium. Presumably, they’d been left to stand so I could see their height, their build, their attributes. They smiled back somewhat apprehensively. I wonder what these men were told about the agreement or what had led them to consent to a doctor’s insane procedure. Would the one I selected get an extra perk for his victory?
A few of my friends in the escort community worked model parties, paid for their ambience and availability. They were compensated for their time whether or not a guest led them away to a room. Most of those friends now owned multi-million-dollar sunset homes overlooking the cliffs of southern California. Perhaps the same was true for the donors.
“Do I just—”
“Talk to them!” Astarte gestured. She pushed a glass of sparkling cucumber water into my hand. She encouraged me with the press of her hand on my lower back.
The musical jingle of a small bell went off. She shot me an apologetic look, failing to conceal her annoyance as she left me to approach the wall.
“Doctor” came Anath’s voice from the small box.“Someone is here to see you.”
“They’ll have to wait,” she replied, voice sharp with irritation.
The black box blinked on in full color as I realized an entire glossy tablet had been embedded into the walls. Anath’s black hair was in a slicked-back ponytail today, but her clothes were as dark and tight as they’d been the day before. “I wouldn’t call unless it were important,” she said. “Look at my eyes and tell me if I’m wasting your time. Don’t send Jessabelle. This needs to be your call.”
It had to be Caliban. I called on my years as Maribelle to keep my shoulders relaxed and summoned a soft smile, despite my urge to stiffen at the news. If their plan was in motion, then the best I could do was play my role and keep Astarte’s guard down.
Astarte made a small, frustrated motion as she hit a button for Anath to disappear.
“Jess, take care of things for me?”
“Of course,” answered the Soul Eater as the doctor disappeared from the room. Jessabelle tugged me gently toward the first table. “What features do you picture on your child? Picture his red curls and bright, emerald eyes with your cute nose,” she said, running a hand over the first tall, muscled man with hair as red as flame. “Or your hazel eyes on his gold-brown skin,” she said as she slipped to the next man. “Mixed babies are all the rage.”
I struggled to swallow my horrified laugh. I nearly drew blood from my struggle to clap back at her, but I was practically naked, defenseless, and in a goddess’s den. Perhaps this was not the moment to point out that comparing children and their genetic qualities to trends was outrageously offensive.
Jessabelle wandered between the men, sliding her hands over their arms, running her fingers through their hair, refilling my drink time after time as my nerves made my mouth feel progressively drier between every man. My heart thundered in my ears. I knew Caliban had asked me to trust him, butwhat did that trust entail? Was I to trust that he’d fund my pregnancy termination when I had a ginger child growing inside me? How far was I expected to go?
“Let me get you another. Stay here,” she said as she plucked the third empty glass of sparkling water from my hand.
I looked up at the tall, Swedish-looking gentleman who offered me an apologetic smile. I thought he smelled like expensive cologne, but there was something indefinably masculine about his scent that I couldn’t quite place. I couldn’t help as I leaned forward, inhaling him with deep breaths.
