Page 2 of The Rowan
My stomach rumbles with hunger as I pass a couple of restaurants. I breathe in deeply, trying to inhale more of the delicious aroma, but unfortunately, I pick up a few smells belonging to the city itself—mustiness from old buildings, trash on the curbs, and a strong smell emanating from the sewer. With a wrinkle, I hold my breath until I get farther down the block.
Amazingly, humans and supernaturals exist side-by-side in this bustling city, all of them going about their busy lives, paying scant attention to the person or being next to them. It’s remarkable and a testament to the determination of both sides to co-exist. There are only a handful of these cities in the world, the rest dedicated to either supernatural or human, not both. Witches, who are both human and supernatural, reside in cities like this one. In fact, Witchwood, their headquarters, is in this city. It’s one reason I’m here.
Following the directions to the hotel, I engage in a brief game of I Spy.Shifter, incubus, human, chaos demon, witch, unknown supernatural, Fae…
My cell phone rings, startling me because I’m still not used to having one. “Hello?”
“Hello. Lord Theron is available to meet you at three p.m. today at The Abbey,” the woman from earlier states flatly, then hangs up.
Glancing at the phone, I notice it’s about noon. Plenty of time to get lunch and check into my hotel.
* * *
After checking in,I order room service and grab a shower. Exhaustion wears heavily on me, but this meeting is critical to my plans, so I shrug it off. Similar to this morning, I plan my outfit carefully. Too casual is an affront to the aristocratic Fae, which means jeans are out, and too dressy screams desperation. Sorting through the closet, I finally settle on an outfit and dress quickly.
I sweep critical eyes over my reflection in the mirror. The Fae can be excruciatingly particular about appearances and cruel to those unable to meet their impossibly high standards. It’s a balance. I don’t want my appearance to be a distraction, nor do I want to be dismissed, either.
At five foot eleven, I’m pretty tall, but adding my favorite pair of silver high heels brings me up to a noticeable six foot two. My long legs are encased in perfectly creased black dress pants, which I’ve topped with a silky green blouse to bring out the green in my hazel eyes. My makeup is subtle, and my blonde hair, styled in loose waves, frames my face. The overall impression is elegance and sophistication, and I nod in satisfaction.
Now for the hard part. With a deep breath, I slowly spool my magic down deep until its power level registers as moderate. Sweat dots my forehead when I’m finished, but it’s necessary. I don’t know who’s going to be at the club, and my power level needs to remain a secret for now, even from Lord Theron.
I roll my shoulders to ease the tension. Given the tight rein on my power, I’ll need to disperse small quantities of magic frequently to maintain control. Hopefully, the wards around the club could use a boost of magic.
Twenty minutes later, I enter The Abbey and walk towards the bar. Unlike earlier, soft ambient lighting has replaced the darkness, highlighting the woman behind the bar. Tilting my head, I consider the picture in front of me.
Déjà vu? No, just the usual Fae tricks, I muse.
Without the slightest hesitation, I walk up to the bar and study the beautiful Fae standing there. Apparently, he likes to use his mastery of illusion to fool unsuspecting witches, but unfortunately for him, I’ve been living with a powerful Fae for a long time and the illusion is pretty ineffective on me.
I can’t say the same about him, though. Fae are beautiful, elegant beings. I’ve been around them all of my life, and I’d have sworn I had an immunity to them, until him. This man is the perfect embodiment of their best traits and I’m quite sure he knows it, but I can’t help my reaction.
His hand-tailored navy pinstripe suit is impeccable on his tall, muscular body. Golden blond hair lies perfectly on top of his pale symmetrical face, while violet eyes, framed with long dark eyelashes, stare impassively at me. The tilt of his head and the tiniest smirk on his face display a hint of arrogance and superiority, hallmarks of the Fae.
I take a deep breath and inhale the most delicious scent—dark chocolate and…winter, like a cool, crisp peppermint covered in creamy decadence.
His power…I shiver. The power emanating from him calls to me. Power likes power, and mine wants nothing more than to reach out and tangle with his. Tingles race over me, and my body heats in response.
Interesting…I acknowledge as we continue to study each other.
His eyes sweep over me, lingering for a moment on the rune tattooed on my throat, before continuing down to the tips of my toes. A glint appears in his eyes, but it’s gone when I blink. Then again, it could have been a trick of the light.
The Fae are extremely good at politics, due to their inherent ability to bluff. Emotions, too easily displayed by shifters, humans, and other races, are ruthlessly controlled by the Fae, which means you usually can’t tell how a Fae is feeling unless you’re a trusted part of their inner circle or they deign to tell you.
My message must be incredibly important to him. I watch his fingers tap restlessly at his side, betraying his nervousness. Of course, he still thinks I can’t see him.
Stepping close, I bow my head in acknowledgement of his aristocratic status. “Hello, Lord Theron. Thank you for meeting with me.” Laughing silently, I wait for him to drop the illusion.
Startled, he immediately stops tapping and waves a hand to disperse the illusion. “Good evening.” He dips his chin in return. After all, he would never bow to anyone except royalty. “A witch carrying a message from the Princess of the Light Fae? You have my complete and undivided attention. Who are you, and how do you come to possess this message?” His voice is low, perfectly modulated and formal. How the Fae love formality, and given the immaculate vision in front of me, I’m guessing he excels at it.
Such arrogance. I sigh inwardly with exasperation and amusement. Smiling, I hold out my hand and introduce myself. “Arden, House of the Princess of the Light Fae and Vargas Karth.” Waiting for my words to sink in, I watch his eyes widen infinitesimally. “Is there somewhere private we can talk?”
2
ARDEN
He motions to the left, where a bank of elevators sits silently waiting. Using a light touch on my back, he guides me towards them. We enter and, using a voice laced with power, he commands the elevator to take us to his office. Feeling the tingle of magic, I raise my brow in wonder. I hadn’t seen an elevator shaft, and given the shift sideways, I highly doubt we’re moving directly up and down. I marvel at the combination of technology and magic used to operate the elevator.
Pressure builds and surrounds me, pressing into my pores and swirling through the air, searching for the door to my magic and secrets. I strengthen my walls, resisting his invasion, but with my magic repressed, it’s a tough battle. The power he’s throwing towards me is suffocating, and it’s all I can do to control my magic and keep it locked down. It’s easy to see why he’s part of the Imperium Cadre with this amount of magic at his disposal. Sweat dots my forehead, which he notes with satisfaction. I grit my teeth, aggravated I can’t give him a taste of his own medicine, but it’s imperative he believes my power is of little consequence.
