Page 2 of Changeling
He nods. “We’ve met. They’re a reasonable bunch. If you’re looking to make friends, ask for Remigius. He’s a chatty sort. Has magic like you.”
I commit the name to memory. It would be nice to have a friend, but more than that, I could use a mentor. “And the other faeries?”
Ivaz chuckles, a low vibrating rumble. “Do I look that old to you?”
“Sorry?” He looks maybe forty, I guess, a tall man and broad, with dark features and a gruff voice. “I don’t know what you mean.”
“Only the ancients need faerie blood,” he explains. “I’m not nearly old enough to require it, and there aren’t many faeborn in this realm. You’re the first one I’ve met.”
“I hardly count.” My fae features were magicked away at birth, or so I’m told, to pass me off as human. No pointy ears, no shimmering skin, and sadly, no wings. What wouldn’t I give to have those back?
Ivaz’s heavy hand lands on my shoulder. “Of course you count.”
It’s hard to believe that, but I appreciate the sentiment.
We walk along cobbled streets lined with cream and red stoned buildings. Wooden signs mark businesses: a butchery, a milliner, a fishmonger. The scent of burnt metal drifts from the forge of a blacksmith, bringing with it a desperate sadness reminding me of home.
Our footsteps echo too loudly in the otherwise silent city. It’s too early for even the calls of roosters.
With a yawn, I shrug my pack higher on my back. Though I’ve never had many worldly possessions, they’re now so few as to be crammed into a satchel no bigger than a boar’s belly with room to spare.
“This way.” Ivaz takes a side street.
I scurry along behind him. I’m tall, but Ivaz is taller, and it takes effort to match his long stride. Another turn down a narrow street, then another into a dark alley. I nearly bump into him as he stops at a rather ordinary-looking wooden dwelling and pulls the door open without knocking.
Though I’m concerned we’re being rude, I follow him down a flight of stairs to a large underground wine cellar. It looks like a dead end, but I’ve learned vampires have sneaky little hideaways in the oddest places.
Oil lamps strung from the rafters flicker a soft golden glow, lighting the many bottles stacked from floor to ceiling. Hints of smokey sandalwood incense waft to my nose.
“Greetings, Ivaz.”
I startle at the voice. A man I hadn’t noticed rises from his seat in a shadowy corner and swaggers toward us, hips loose like a feline.
“Leonas,” says Ivaz with a nod. He gestures to me. “This is Sebastian. Dominus is expecting us.”
“Indeed, he is,” Leonas purrs. He’s a petite fellow with an assessing expression I find unnerving. Brown hair with hints of blond hangs to his shoulders, and dark yellow eyes, the likes of which I’ve never seen before, shine beneath half-closed lids. “You may enter.”
Confusion gives way to awe as there are no doors to be seen, but one of the giant shelves of wine opens entirely on its own to reveal an entrance. Magic stirs in the air. Its tingle caresses my skin.
We leave Leonas behind and pass through into a grand parlor. Much bigger than I would have expected, being underground like this. A bar lines the far wall, couches, chairs, and statuary decorate the center, and twin arched entryways with ornate oval signs advertise The Peach and Pearl to one side and The Twig and Berries to the other. I fail to contain my chuckle at the innuendo.
I’ve never been able to justify the expense of visiting a brothel. A blend of curiosity and excitement turns my stomach into a jittery mess.
Ivaz leads us through the archway to The Twig and Berries, decorated in greens and golds as opposed to its sister den done in peaches and creams. Another parlor spills from the first. Lush emerald rugs cushion our feet, and sunny-yellow curtains adorn separate alcoves carved from the main space. Cozy plush furniture in gleaming bronze brocade sprawls from one side of the room to the other.
Just as I’m thinking we’re alone, a creature strolls into the room so stunning I must blink to be sure he’s real.
Aside from the massive horns and gently swaying tail, he doesn’t look like any demon I’ve ever imagined. He’s gorgeous, with gray-dappled lavender skin, and he’s huge—taller than Ivaz even without considering the coiled horns that add another foot to his already astounding height.
His sapphire blue eyes, sparkling with an interest that rivals my own, catch my gaze. Silver brows—the same color as his long braided hair—arch to elegant crescents high on his forehead.
“Dearest Ivaz, what treasure have you brought to my door this morning?” A sly smile forms across lush pink lips. His skin is simply otherworldly, shining with an aromatic oil spread from neck to toes.
I inhale the fragrance of a bouquet of fresh spring blossoms plucked to gift a lover.
“Dominus, meet Sebastian, who finds himself in need of safe harbor.” Ivaz makes a sweeping gesture from him to me. “Sebastian, meet Dominus, who’s agreed to take you in until I’ve yanked the twins from their latest predicament.”
I let my gaze wander over the length of him. Practically naked, he wears only a sheer shift of shimmering fabric the color of ripe plums. It’s pulled tight over each hardened nipple, crossing just above his pierced belly button, then draping loosely around his lean waist and bulging thighs. Silver strappy sandals adorn his otherwise bare feet, the toenails painted purple to match the shift. Amethysts dangle from each ear.
