Page 9 of Changeling
Ivaz pats my leg and nods his encouragement. “Good. And don’t worry. Two weeks will pass in the blink of an eye, and I’ll be back to continue our journey.”
“Right.” I return his nod.
Ivaz rises, gathers the rest of his things, and plucks a coin purse from among them. This he hands to me. “Enjoy the town while you’re here. Though I can no longer partake, I remember a wide variety of food from market vendors. Find something delicious to fill your belly. That will cheer you up.”
The little velvet satchel is heavy in my palm. More money than I’ve ever had. Overwhelmed, I attempt a gracious smile that doesn’t sit well on my lips. “Thank you.”
He hesitates at the door. “You’ll be fine.”
“Of course.” I put on a mask of confidence. “Good luck with the twins. They sound like a handful.”
“Two handfuls, yes.” Ivaz gives a little shrug. “But I’m used to it. I’ll see you soon. Take care.”
“And you,” I mutter as the door closes behind him.
Looming silence creeps into the room.
I could cry. I’m alone, so no one would know if I gave in to tears. But now that I have the chance, tears refuse to come. Grief is strange that way.
I flop onto my back.
Huh. Even the ceiling is decorated.
A convex disk of silver polished to an absolute sheen reflects my image back to me. I look as lonely as I feel.
Why would anyone want to see themselves in the ceiling? Oh.Oh. Heat sneaks up my neck and sprawls across my cheeks as I realize just what people like to watch in this gleaming piece of metal.
Well, that could be fun.
I imagine a broad back of oiled lavender skin, muscles flexing with each thrust…
Bad idea, Sebastian. Bad.
Stuck in a den of sex demons who feed off pleasure, and I’m all by myself. Because of course I am. Bad luck is my only loyal companion these days.
* * *
The rumblingof my stomach drives me from the solitude of my room. I won’t pretend I’m not fearful of venturing beyond the bedroom door, but if I want to eat tonight, it’s got to be now. Any later and the street vendors Ivaz spoke of will surely be closed.
As I tiptoe across the hall, music thrums from the parlor. Curiosity wars with caution. What kind of clientele frequents an incubus brothel? Other incubi? More vampires? Otherworldly creatures I’ve yet to learn of? My poor mind can only handle so much.
It turns out to be none of these things. I find myself staring at a crowd of other humans, mostly men but a few women. Except, I’m not one of them, am I? When will I get used to not being human? Not tonight.
No one seems to notice me. I’ve stopped in the shadows of the hallway to observe. Incubi are nowhere to be seen. No horns. No sexy tails.
Hmm, that’s odd. I let my gaze drift from one person to the next, trying to figure it out.
The workers are easy to distinguish from the guests. They’re dressed in revealing silk and lace, with eyes lined in kohl. Heavily adorned with jewels, necklaces, rings, anklets, and every variety of shiny clutter I don’t have names for, they sparkle under the soft glow of sweet-smelling oil lamps. Some ooze confidence as they slink and swagger from one lounging patron to the next. Others seem bashful and shy, but I think it’s an act to appeal to a certain type of client.
Many of the golden alcove curtains are drawn closed, and I can imagine what’s happening behind them. The music, though not loud, is constant, perhaps to drown out the delighted gasps and quiet moans from behind the draped fabric.
As I shift my attention from one potential couple to the next, I meet a pair of crystal blue eyes intensely focused on mine. The man stands frozen, drink in hand, staring at me from his place in the center of the room.
My thoughts trip over themselves one after the other. He’s familiar. I know those eyes. That is how Dominus looked at me when I told him my race. But this man is human.
Or is he?
Although no horns stand proudly perched atop his head, no tail swings from his rear, and his skin is the ordinary shade of tan as nearly everyone in this region, I am sure this is Dominus. Huh. Incubi must have two forms.
