Page 43 of Curses & Keys
She snorts. “I’m not in London often, so I doubt they’ll detect a pattern. Besides, it’s the safest place in the city.” When I give her a skeptical glance, she continues. “This is a special wing with private entrances, advanced tech, and a myriad of protection spells. Nasty ones. Trust me.” At the sight of my raised eyebrow or maybe it’s the expression on my face, her lips compress. “Fine. Don’t trust me. Your choice. Quite frankly, I’m tired. I need a shower, and this is where I’m staying.”
I get into the elevator. “You’d better be right.”
24
PHAEDRA
This is killing him. Face set, arms crossed, he stands stiffly just inside the door as if death is waiting to greet him instead of a luxurious suite in the poshest of hotels. I stifle the laugh in my throat. Honestly, he’s done better than I expected. From what I gather, he takes his security role very seriously, and giving up control to a…suspicious… Ahem… unknown supernatural who hasn’t proven her loyalty is pure torture.
The doors open to reveal an elegant foyer and sitting room. In creams and deep browns, the room exudes a quiet luxury that makes me want to sink into the plump sofa with a sigh. Every piece of furniture is designed with a sophisticated eye. There’s nothing traditional or stuffy about this hotel. The bank of windows, flanked by thick curtains, allows copious amounts of sunlight into the room. Sumptuous fabrics and wood floors give hints of warmth and coziness.
I take a step forward, but his arm stops me.
“Let me at least make sure it’s secure,” he growls, drawing the weapon I gave him earlier.
I motion for him to proceed and lean against the elevator door to keep it open. Roughly thirty seconds later, he returns and gives me a curt nod.
“All clear,” he informs me, watching as I walk into the room, letting the elevator doors close behind me.
“Thanks for checking,” I tell him, meaning it. He’s right. I should always check. The tension eases a bit from his shoulders.
On the small table in the sitting room are a bottle of wine, some chocolates, and a familiar cream and gold envelope. I pull out the card. “Our concierge’s name is Sheraton. The room is soundproof. Make any calls you want but use the burner. The hotel phone is only for the concierge. I’m going to grab a shower.”
His golden eyes flick to me, and he mumbles something about taking the first watch.
Leaving him to explore the security of the suite by himself, I head into the bathroom and shut the door. My eyes close, and I slump against the door. I hate taking portals. If it had just been me, I would have found a disguise that worked and slipped through the labyrinth of London’s city streets until I made it to one of Mercer’s safe houses and disappeared, but that wasn’t possible when toting around a beast of a man with flowing white-blond locks. A flat cap can’t conceal that gorgeous hair.
Pushing away from the door, I strip down and step into the white marble tiled shower. Water set to nuclear, I lavish the most extravagant body wash across my body and let the heat and water work their magic. Soon, steam rises along with notes of bluebell and wild strawberry. I close my eyes, inhaling and exhaling until the tension in my shoulders eases. Then I wash and condition my hair until it’s as soft and sweet smelling as the rest of me.
Once out, I slip into the monogrammed robe and comb out my hair, then smooth on the body lotion. Now that I’m relaxed, all I can think about is getting something to eat. I walk into the living room.
He swivels around the second I enter the room. For a big guy, he moves quickly.
“I’m going to order some food. Do you want anything?” I ask him, picking up the hotel phone.
His eyes scan me from head to toe. “Steak—rare, potatoes. Please,” he gruffly replies.
I push the single button on the phone.
“Concierge, how may I be of assistance?” asks the smooth voice on the other end.
“Hello, Sheraton, I’d like to order the steak, rare, with potatoes, a BLT on toasted sourdough, and several bottles of water,” I tell him. He confirms the order, then I add on one last request. “Can you also send up a selection of menswear, including shoes? Larger sizes, please. And clothes for myself too. My sizes are on file. Thank you.” I hang up.
He grimaces. “What? You don’t like my style? The double-decker buses are all the rage.”
My lips twitch. “Could be worse. You could have been traversing London naked.” The image of his buff golden body, stalking through the streets, slips into my mind. “Although I’m not sure anyone but you would have minded.”
He smirks. “Wouldn’t bother me.” Then he lifts a shoulder. “Although I wish I’d strapped on some more weapons before I left.”
“Mmm, I do feel naked when I’m not carrying,” I admit with a smirk. His golden eyes flare the tiniest bit. “Quite frankly, you barely flinched when I dragged you into an unknown portal.”
The corners of his eyes tighten. “Next time, warn me.” He crosses his arms. “What was that place? How did I not know about it? I’ve lived in London for centuries.”
“I’m not surprised. They don’t cater to the council or its representatives. Harlequin’s part of the underground,” I inform him. “They offer a myriad of services to supes in need… Provided they can pay the price, of course. Mercer, a friend of sorts, runs one of their divisions.”
Harlequin vets potential clients for years before they give them access to their headquarters to make sure they aren’t associated with the council. Very few clients have seen the location we stopped at today. I’ve only been there a handful of times. Mercer was not happy I’d brought Gatlin there, but I didn’t really have a choice. The elevator chimes, and I move toward it.
Gatlin tosses me a vicious scowl.
