Chapter Three
ChapteR
thRee
THORE'S NEXT MESSAGE arrived before I could decide whether to call him or the police.
Do not go to that address.
Why?
Because it is not meant for you.
The envelope had my full name on it, spelled correctly. It was doing a convincing impression of meant for me.
I sent him a picture of the invitation.
His reply took long enough to be insulting.
Burn it.
That was the last thing he sent for twenty-nine hours.
I used those hours responsibly. I searched the address, the club name, Guardian Risk, Thore Akyd, and several variations on Viking stalker.
The address belonged to a private estate held by a corporation, which was held by another corporation.
Satellite images showed a roof, trees, and enough property taxes to fund my childhood neighborhood.
Nocturne Arcana had no website, reviews, tagged photos, licensing records, or disgruntled former employee on Reddit.
At seven fifteen the next evening, I put on black pants, ankle boots, and a dark red blouse that would survive either a cocktail or a fistfight.
Danny thought I was home icing my hand. The police thought the soundstage incident involved a homemade effect.
Thore thought I listened when strange men gave orders by text.
Everybody was having an optimistic week.
The estate appeared at the end of a private road exactly where the invitation promised. Lanterns lined the driveway. The manor beyond them rose three stories in dark stone and warm windows, elegant enough to be a wedding venue and isolated enough to host one hell of a murder mystery.
I parked between a silver coupe and a motorcycle that cost more than my car.
Nobody checked my name outside. Nobody searched my bag. Tucked beneath the stone lip over the entrance, the only camera I found turned away when I looked directly at it.
"Cute," I muttered.
The wooden double doors opened before I touched them.
A violin played somewhere inside. Dark patterned walls framed clusters of red velvet chairs.
Gold light pooled beneath chandeliers, but the corners stayed shadowed.
Three couples talked near an archway without looking at me.
One man had silver hair down to his waist and eyes that reflected green when he turned his head.
"Ms. Steele."
The man behind the mahogany counter was tall and slim; his charcoal suit tailored within an inch of its life. "I'm Julian. Welcome to Nocturne Arcana."
"You say that like you were expecting me."
"We invited you."
"Your marketing department needs boundaries."
"That's what the paperwork is for." His smile was professional and sympathetic, and undermined when he winked.
I laid the invitation on the counter. "A man told me to burn this."
Julian glanced at the handwriting on the back. "Did he?"
"Tall, blond, built like chairs should be concerned."
"That narrows the membership less than you might hope."
I laughed before I could stop myself.
Julian turned the invitation over. His thumb covered the handwritten warning. "You are free to leave now or at any point tonight. No fee. No argument. If you stay, nothing occurs without the boundaries you set."
"And if I want an explanation?"
"You may ask for one."
"Didn't I just ask?"
"No." He came around the counter. "Shall I show you the room before you decide?"
Curiosity overrode common sense and I followed.
The hallways twisted through the manor in an impossible way, given the exterior dimensions.
We passed closed doors, a conservatory glowing blue beneath its glass roof, and a staircase that ended at a wall.
Julian didn't pause. I counted turns until the layout stopped adding up.
He opened a door at the end of a quiet corridor. The private suite held a low black sofa, a wardrobe, and a writing desk. Leather-bound books filled one wall. Windows filled another, overlooking a hedge maze outlined by moonlight.
On the desk lay a pen and a stack of forms.
"NDA?" I asked.
"Among other things."
I glanced through the paperwork as he asked if I'd like a drink. I wasn't touching alcohol given the circumstances, so I asked for water. When I looked up, he was gone. I turned back to the stack of paperwork.
The first page prohibited recording devices and identifying other guests.
The second listed consent rules in language clear enough to make several film studios look criminal.
The third asked about injuries, medications, hard limits, soft limits, preferred words, hated words, and whether I wanted restraints available.
Then the questions got nosy.
What do you want that you have not asked for?
I tapped the pen against the page.
Someone strong enough that I don't have to worry about hurting him.
What makes you feel safe?
Being listened to the first time.
Describe a fantasy you have not acted on.
I thought of Thore on his knees. Then I wrote, I want a man used to giving orders to take mine.
I smiled to myself. I'd done a lot in my lifetime, but this was the first time I'd been in a sex club that wasn't manufactured and had eleven cameras trained on it. Julian had said I could leave, but where was the adventure in that?
Julian returned with my water as I signed the last page. "Is this where you bring in an actor who skimmed my answers in the hall?"
"No actors."
"That sounds ominous."
"Only to actors." He collected the papers. "The wardrobe contains several options. Keep your own clothes if you prefer. Someone will join you shortly."
"Who?"
Julian opened the door. "Someone strong enough."
I checked the room for cameras. Then I checked the windows, the second door inside the room, and the bookshelves. The books were real. The door led to a bathroom, not an escape tunnel. My phone had no signal.
One dress hung inside the wardrobe. Black, sleeveless, soft as water, with slits up both thighs and enough engineering in the bodice that I could move without flashing the hedges. It was the kind of thing they'd have me wear if I were doubling the latest action star in a movie with zombies.
The dress fit perfectly, which moved the evening one full step closer to serial-killer territory.
The door opened and Thore walked in wearing black from throat to boots. He shut the door behind him and stared at me.
I leaned against the desk. "I burned it."
"You didn't."
"Good. We've established your lie detector works."
His gaze went to the gold line across my palm. It had returned halfway up the drive, bright enough that I'd covered it with concealer. The makeup was gone.
"You shouldn't be here."
"You keep saying that without telling me why."
Thore crossed the room and stopped an arm's length away. He didn't touch me. "Has the mark hurt?"
"Does embarrassment count?"
His nostrils flared.
"Oh, no," I pointed at him. "You don't get to smell an answer out of me."
"I didn't intend to."
"Your face disagrees."
"My face has no discipline around you."
I folded my arms. "Did you arrange this?"
"No."
"Do you work here?"
"No."
"Then why are you in my room?"
"Because you asked for me."
I looked toward the door where Julian had disappeared.
Thore's expression hardened. "He didn't show me your answers. The room did."
"The room."
"You can leave." He stepped aside, clearing the path to the door. "I'll take you home and answer what I can."
"What happens if I stay?"
His eyes flashed red. This time, the light wasn't dim.
"Whatever you ask for."
I walked to him and stopped close enough to feel the heat pouring off his body. "Kneel."
Thore lowered to his knees. He didn't hesitate or joke. The movement put his face level with my breasts and his hands beside his thighs. He looked up, waiting.
I slid my fingers into his hair. "You're not going to tell me this is dangerous?"
"It is."
"You're not going to tell me to leave?"
"I already did."
"And now?"
His hands curled against his legs. "Now I'm listening."
I pulled him forward and kissed him.
His mouth opened under mine. The heat of him flooded my lips and tongue, sharp enough to sting and good enough that I did it again. Thore stayed on his knees while I took the kiss deeper. He didn't move until I tugged his hair.
Then his hands closed around the backs of my thighs.
"May I?" he asked against my mouth.
"You may use your mouth."
His eyes burned brighter.
Thore pushed the dress up my legs. His mouth found the inside of my knee, then climbed slowly while his hands held me steady. Each kiss landed hot. When he reached the top of my thigh, he looked up again.
I spread my legs.
He hooked his fingers into my panties and dragged them down. His breath struck my wet skin.
"Ariana."
"If that's another warning, I'm going to be annoyed."
His tongue pressed flat against my clit.
My hips jerked. Thore caught them and held me against the edge of the desk while he licked me again, slower this time. I gripped his hair. He made a rough sound that vibrated through me and did exactly what I'd imagined in bed.
I widened my stance and gave him room. His tongue circled my clit, then slid lower. Two fingers pushed inside me, thick and hot, curling until my knees shook.
"There," I breathed.
He stayed there.
The desk dug into the backs of my thighs. The smooth surface pressed beneath my hands. Thore worked me with patient, vicious accuracy while I pulled his hair and tried not to climb onto his face.
My orgasm built in a hard rush. I tightened around his fingers, and he sucked my clit into his mouth.
I came shouting his name.
Thore held me through it, still kneeling, his hands the only reason I remained upright.
When I could breathe again, he pressed one last kiss above my knee.
"Now," he said, looking up at me, "tell me what you want next."