Chapter 6 #2
I approach with measured steps, the others trailing close behind. When the men look up, their faces harden with hostility, their conversation silenced.
“Piss off,” one of them spits without hesitation.
I remind myself I’m here for information, not a fight, though their arrogance scrapes my patience thin.
“The Red Room,” I say, keeping my voice low and firm. “Where is it?”
The man who spoke first leans off the wall, the others following his lead, closing ranks.
“I said, piss off. You deaf? Or do I need to show you with my fists?”
Reon shifts forward, but I press a firm hand against his chest, holding him back.
“I don’t want trouble,” I say, though the growl in my throat betrays the truth. “Just give me what I need, and no one gets hurt.”
The men laugh. Loud, grating, and obnoxious.
“Or maybe we’ll beat the shit out of you and your boyfriend for the fun of it,” the leader sneers.
Reon snorts. “Boyfriend? He fucking wishes.”
I grit my teeth. “Last chance,” I warn, my voice a low rumble. “This doesn’t need to get…”
The leader’s fist flies at my face, but I catch it midair, my grip locking like steel. He freezes, his bravado cracking as I tighten my hold. Smoke begins to curl from between my fingers, slithering up his arm like a living thing.
He thrashes, trying to pull free, but my grip doesn’t falter. His fear is a tangible thing now, a bitter taste in the air.
I shake my head, disappointed. “…ugly.”
The smoke coils tighter, and a sickening snap echoes as his arm gives way. He drops to his knees with a howl, his body trembling as the smoke climbs to his throat, winding around it like a serpent preparing to strike.
“The arm will heal,” I say coldly, watching his face contort with pain. “But a broken neck? That’s more permanent.”
He gasps, choking on incoherent words as the smoke squeezes.
“What was that?” I lean closer, twisting his mangled hand until the bones in his fingers crack like dry twigs.
The sound of his suffering is music, but one of his companions breaks the symphony, shouting, “That way! Down the street, an alley on the left. There’s a door at the bottom of the stairs. That’s the Red Room!”
I hear him, but I’m in no rush to release the bastard in my grasp.
Reon leans in, his tone dry. “Unless you’re aiming to leave a puddle of human goo behind, maybe ease up? Not exactly low profile.”
He’s right. A crowd is beginning to gather. The last thing I need is the city guard sticking their noses into my business. With a flick of my wrist, I release the man.
The smoke retreats, leaving his arm limp and mangled, fingers little more than splintered bone and shredded flesh. His companions rush to his side, hauling him to his feet and dragging him away as he howls in pain.
The murmurs grow louder, the word Fae spreading like wildfire.
Solena steps closer, her hood casting deep shadows over her face. “We should move. Quickly.”
Reon tilts his head. “What about Zyphoro?”
Before I can answer, a shadow sweeps across the dusty street, and we look up to see Zyphoro gliding above, her black wings blocking out the sun.
Reon clicks his tongue. “You and your sister are absolutely shit at blending in, you know that?”
I glance at the growing crowd and sigh. “Let’s go.”
We follow the man’s directions down the narrow street, then turn left into a cramped alleyway. The space is so tight we’re forced into single file. A creeping suspicion gnaws at me that we’ve walked straight into a trap. But then, my foot catches on something, and I almost stumble.
I glance down to find a small gap in the wall. The stairs that descend into pitch-blackness are barely visible. It’s even less inviting than the claustrophobic alleyway.
A sharp gust of wind blows my hair out of my eyes as Zyphoro lands beside me.
“Decided to join us, then?” I say, my tone laced with sarcasm.
Zyphoro arches an eyebrow, the faintest trace of a smirk on her lips. “Apologies, brother. I sometimes forget your wing situation is… less than desirable.”
Reon snorts, and when I catch Solena and Orios laughing softly, I can’t help but feel the sting of their amusement. I am their prince, yes, but also the only one who can’t fly.
We move down the stairs one after the other, the stone walls scraping against my shoulders, the low ceiling forcing me to duck. The only light comes from the flickering glow of candlelight, which reveals a steel door at the bottom.
I raise my fist and pound against it. The sound echoes in the silence, and almost immediately, a slot slides open with a metallic scrape, revealing only a pair of drooping blue eyes.
“Password,” a gruff male voice demands.
I furrow my brow and turn to Reon. His eyes flicker, but he’s chewing on his lip, clearly uncertain.
“Password?” I repeat to him, my voice edged with frustration. “She gave you one, didn’t she? What did she say?”
Reon looks sheepish. “Apart from my name over and over, not much,” he mutters.
The voice behind the slot grunts. “No password. No entry,” before slamming the slot shut with finality.
“Fuck,” I mutter, clenching my fist, smoke beginning to curl from my fingers. The temptation to break through the door is overwhelming, but before I can act, Zyphoro steps forward, placing a hand on my fist to steady me.
“I love bloodshed as much as the next, brother,” she says softly, “but we are here for information, and people talk easier when they’re still breathing.”
She pushes me aside and bangs on the door. Once again, the slot opens with a harsh clang.
“Password,” the voice demands.
Zyphoro pauses for a moment, and I expect the slot to slam shut once more. But instead, the hardness in the doorman’s eyes softens, pupils dilating as they fixate on her. His gaze goes distant, as if he’s caught in a trance.
Zyphoro’s voice drops sweetly, and I can hear the honeyed edge in her words. “Be a dear and open the door, would you?”
“Yes. Of course,” the voice replies, now dripping with eager submission. “Anything you want.”
Several locks click, bolts unlatch, and with a loud groan, the door swings open. Zyphoro steps back, giving me a mock bow as she gestures for me to go ahead.
I frown but step forward, pushing past the door into the dim light. Behind it stands a dwarf, short, stout and shaggy-haired, standing on a box. He looks up as I enter, his breath catching when his eyes meet Zyphoro’s.
“Go straight through,” he mutters, gesturing to a heavy red curtain a few steps away.
Zyphoro, ever playful, reaches over and pinches the hanging skin of his cheek. “Thank you, darling,” she coos with an exaggerated sweetness.
She turns to us, her lips curling into a sly grin. “Glamor. Ever heard of it? You’d think you were the ones trapped in an enchanted prison for centuries.”
With that, she boldly parts the curtains as the dwarf shuts the door behind us, and we’re hit by the seductive murmur of string music, the low hum of laughter, and the occasional sensuous moan that hangs in the air, thick with the sweet scent of smoke.
A dim, sultry light bathes the crimson room, casting its warm glow over the sea of plush, tasseled cushions that carpet the floor in rich shades of scarlet and deep violet.
The space feels alive with movement, every surface seemingly writhed upon by bodies, every hand clutching a goblet, wine spilling carelessly over bare skin as fingers dance along smooth, exposed flesh and feed grapes to gaping mouths.
Sheer silk veils flutter between rooms, their delicate fabric swaying in a breathless, unseen breeze.
But these veils do nothing to conceal the hedonistic scenes unfolding beyond them.
Through the translucent curtains, the silhouettes of entwined bodies twist together in various positions, some that even take me a moment to figure out.
The allure of the room is undeniable, the sounds stirring something deep within me, tugging at my senses.
The sight of bare skin makes me think of Amara.
Her smoothness, the softness of her beneath my fingers, the way she tasted on my tongue.
I clench my fists, fighting the heat rising in me, willing it to stay contained.
A terse voice slices through the air. “What are you doing here? How did you get in?”
I turn to face the human woman, her silk robe barely drawn around her, blonde hair piled high on her head, jewels dripping from her ears and clinging to the delicate curve of her neck.
“We mean you no harm,” I say, my tone steady. “We're looking for someone.”
She narrows her gaze, sizing us up. “As is everyone who visits the Red Room. But we are strictly members only, and I've never seen any of you before.” Her eyes sweep over me, and for a moment, her expression softens. “I would remember.”
I grin in response, and she seems to take it as an invitation. Her hands loosen their grip on the robe, the silk parting over her thigh, revealing just enough, but I am not interested.
“Do you have any Ithranor Fae as members?” I ask, staying on task.
“Ithranor... Fae?” she gasps, eyes widening in surprise.
I lower my hood, revealing the pointed tips of my ears, and the others follow suit. The woman’s gaze flickers between us, a moment of hesitation before she nods, gesturing toward one of the curtained rooms.
I offer a silent smile, dipping my chin in gratitude as I move toward the curtain.
When I slip inside, the Fae male splayed on the edge of the bed doesn’t even notice, far too absorbed in the woman kneeling between his legs, her head bobbing enthusiastically.
Only when I clear my throat do his eyes snap open, and his expression morphs into one of panic as he sees us.
“Fuck,” he curses, shoving the woman away and grabbing for a sheet to cover his lower half.
The woman gasps, scrambling to gather her clothes as she hurries out of the room.
“Who the fuck are you?!” he bellows, his voice filled with indignation.
I step forward, rolling my shoulders. “Oh, I think you know.”