Chapter Sixteen
A few hours later, Ciara was still drowning her sorrows with the help of a second bottle of Scotch. I nursed my own drink and listened to her cry about all the things—and, to my uncomfortable amusement, people—she would never do.
At least it was a welcome distraction from thinking about Channing sitting in a jail cell. A reality I wasn’t quite prepared to face, even if I was the person responsible for putting him there.
She picked up the bottle and tried to pour another drink only to discover it was also empty. She glared at it before tossing it over the bar. We were the only souls in the place. Without the neon and smoke and sin, the club felt smaller and less intimidating than the first time I was here. How had it only been a few days and not a lifetime?
“I mean, I don’t have to be faithful.” She hiccupped as she climbed over the bar and dug around for another bottle. “No one is faithful in the courts. Not anymore.”
I nodded absently, wondering if that was true. I’d seen plenty of that in my world.
“But I’m only two hundred years old. Fiona is way older than me.” She unscrewed the cap while I gawked at her. She bit her lip and grinned sheepishly. “Okay, I’m a little older than that, but not much!”
I just kept staring. Over two hundred years old? And Lachlan was even older than that.
“You didn’t know how old we are, did you?” she asked, peering at me with glassy eyes.
I managed to shake my head.
“Lach’s one of the youngest crown princes.” She tapped the neck of the bottle against her chin. “I think Sirius is younger. He’s the prince of the Astral Court, but he’s not the heir. His sister is. Bain is older. I forget how much. And Oberon is ancient.”
I wondered what counted as ancient to a fae. “Then, you just don’t age?”
“We age like a human until we’re out of puberty and into our twenties, but then pretty much no. Our bodies get to the perfect point and just stop.” She actually looked a little sad about it.
“And you don’t get sick?” I sighed. “Sorry. I guess it’s all the nursing classes. I’m being rude.”
She waved my apology off, sending Scotch flying out of the new bottle she’d grabbed. She giggled at the faux pas and placed it safely on the counter. “It’s rare for a fae to get sick. It’s not unheard of, though. There have been plagues that attacked our kind, but not for a very long time.”
“So, you just never die?”
“We die,” she said sadly, and I wished I could take the thoughtless words back. “The Otherworld is no paradise. There is always a push and pull between light and dark, peace and violence. It’s been like that my whole life, but it feels worse now. More attacks. More death. Just more since…” She glared at my drink. “You’re never going to catch up with me.”
I’d been pacing myself, not wanting to lose an ounce of control in Gage territory. “I’ll die of alcohol poisoning before I catch up with you. Human, remember?”
She waved that annoying detail away and topped off my glass.
“And your parents?” I asked. No one I’d spoken to mentioned them. If Lachlan was a prince, there had to have been a king and queen at some point, but if he was arranging Ciara’s marriage…
“Fae royalty have a slightly shorter life expectancy than non-royals, especially those who wear the crown. My parents were killed.”
“I’m sorry,” I said and meant it. I knew the pain of lost parents, but it had to be different—deeper—to have known them.
“It was a long time ago.” She capped the bottle as if losing interest in it. “But sometimes I wish they were here.”
I reached across the bar and took her hand, squeezing it gently.
She shook her head as if clearing it and smiled through her tears. “I swear I won’t always be this morose. I’m a lousy drunk.” Her eyes widened. “Ohhh, what about clover?”
My grip on her tightened. “Are you sure that’s a good idea?”
“I’ve had my stash for decades. It’s safe,” she reassured me, but I politely declined. Ciara didn’t push me. Instead, she recounted the last two hundred years of her sex life. We’d only reached the 1980s—a decade she referred to as her vampire era—when she fell silent. A moment later, she was slumped against the bar, snoring.
Ciara was petite, but there was no way I was getting her upstairs. I probably couldn’t even get her to the elevator. I closed my eyes, wishing I had any other option, and touched my necklace.
Lachlan appeared next to me instantly.
“You got her to sleep.” He sounded impressed. I tried and failed not to stare at him. It must have been late, because he’d changed out of his suit into a ribbed, cotton T-shirt that stretched taut across his chest and biceps and showed off an impressive amount of tattoos. But it was the pair of silk pajama bottoms that hung low on his narrow hips that nearly undid me. The loose black fabric did little to hide the powerful muscle of his thighs, and it took effort to keep my eyes from moving inward to see what else was on display. His hair was wet, as if he’d just gotten out of the shower, a few strands dripping onto his broad shoulders. I itched to reach out and comb them back with my fingers—
I cleared my throat and focused on his sister. “I can’t take all the credit. The three bottles of Scotch and hundred-year-old clover she just took probably knocked her out.” I studied her peaceful face more closely. “Is she going to be okay?”
“She’ll sleep until noon, but she’ll be fine.” He scooped her into those arms, tattoos winding and flashing around them.
I followed him into the elevator, realizing I had no idea where she actually lived. Or, for that matter, where I was expected to stay. Once we were inside, he nodded to the panel. “Top floor.”
That made sense. I punched the button for the thirteenth floor and shifted to the opposite side of the compartment. He tracked the movement but didn’t speak. When we reached the top, he angled his body to keep the doors from closing, cradling his sister carefully. “Welcome home.”
I started to remind him that the Avalon was not my home, but the retort died on my lips when my gaze turned to the stunning foyer. A round mahogany table sat in the middle of the gold-veined marble floor, the extravagant arrangement of white roses, lilies, and peonies at its center filling the air with their perfume. On one side of the foyer were two corridors. I couldn’t see the ends of them. It was as if they stretched infinitely, but that would be…impossible. On the entry’s other side was a single black door.
I took a small step toward the table, not quite trusting whatever magic was clearly at work. Lachlan just strode past me and began down one of the long corridors to the left. I scrambled to keep up with him, nearly tripping as the floor shifted to plush ivory carpeting. Eventually, he stopped and nudged a black-lacquered door open with his bare foot.
Ciara’s bedroom was actually fit for a princess. A tufted bed framed with ornate gold carvings sat in disarray, piled with pillows and blankets in a palette of elegant blush shades. Two arched windows rose above it on either side, their long, gold curtains tied back while still left to pool on the oak floors. Moonlight seeped through the glass and glinted off the dark chandelier that hung in the center of the coffered ceiling. The powdery softness of rose petals filled the air, either from Ciara’s natural scent or the numerous perfume bottles arranged on an antique vanity in the corner. A gilded mirror was propped against the wall, the pink slipper chair by it strewn with lacy bras and several pairs of heels. A few magazines and a half-eaten box of chocolates lay on a cream fur rug that extended past the bed’s tufted footboard.
Lachlan placed her on the bed, removed her shoes, and then pulled a soft sheet over her.
“Maybe I should stay with her?” I brushed her hair back so it was easier to see the steady rhythm of her breathing.
“She’s absolutely fine. The wraiths will watch over her.”
I shivered. “They’re here, too? How?”
“The Avalon exists half inside my world and half inside yours.”
The wraiths were one thing I wished stayed in the Otherworld, especially if they liked to watch people sleep. But I supposed that existing between our worlds might explain the hotel’s strange layout. A yawn overtook me.
“I’ll show you to your room.” He moved to the door and waited as I stood and tucked the blanket around Ciara’s shoulders before joining him.
Lachlan was quiet as we made our way back to the foyer, but before we reached it, he broke the stony silence, his voice low and rumbly. “Is she okay?”
“She’s unhappy.” I wouldn’t lie to him. Not about this. Maybe Ciara understood his reasoning, maybe the alliance with the Infernal Court would get trinity off the streets of the city, maybe I could live with it, but I wouldn’t sugarcoat the truth. “She doesn’t want to get married.”
“If there’s any other way, I can’t see it.”
I stopped a step short of the foyer’s marble floor. “Why are you really doing it?”
“I told you. An alliance with the Infernal—”
“No, that’s not it.” I planted my hands on my hips and studied him. Not his muscular body or his crushing green eyes but him. The way his wary, guarded eyes never seemed to match his smirking, arrogant mouth. The fact that his broad, strong shoulders were defined by the weight he had to carry and never show. The fleeting, changing tattoos that told me he might not be speaking but he was thinking—I had Shaw to thank for that knowledge. “Do you even know why you’re doing it?”
He stared back at me, the look piercing straight through me. What did he see? “If—”
“Ciara finally out?” Shaw strolled into the foyer and stopped to pluck a petal from one of the roses.
Lachlan’s nostrils flared slightly, but he turned to his brother. “We just tucked her in.”
Something twisted inside my chest at the way he said “we”—at the implication that seemed to lace that single word.
I was still trying to decide what the hell that meant when he placed his palm on the small of my back. “I was about to show Cate to her room.”
Shaw frowned as Lachlan led me toward that single black door on the other side. “Shouldn’t she stay in the eastern wing?”
The eastern wing? How could he tell which way was east with the floor’s nonsensical architecture?
Lachlan’s hand slipped lower, to grip the curve of my hip. “She will stay with me.”
My eyes flashed to his, a rebuke poised on the tip of my tongue. Like hell I was going to share a room with him.
Shaw seemed to notice my discomfort. “There are plenty of empty bedrooms for her to use.”
“Your concern is noted.”
I sucked in a deep breath, twisted the pendant in my fingers, and let him have it. But if Lachlan heard the string of curses I was shouting at him through our magical connection, he didn’t so much as blink.
So I added a few more.
“Maybe you should…” Shaw trailed away as Lachlan left my side and strode toward him, grabbed his elbow, and hauled him across the foyer.
Gran used to tell me to count out my frustration when she sensed the anger I bottled up was about to shatter free. I started counting as Shaw and Lachlan whispered heatedly, the former’s eyes straying to mine every few seconds. By the time he threw his hands in the air, shot me an apologetic look, and nipped out of sight, I was at 111 in my count.
Lachlan muttered something uncharitable before flourishing a hand toward the black door that apparently led to his private wing.
“I meant what I said before. You should be nicer to your family.”
“And why is that?” He rubbed his temple.
“Because you’re lucky to have them.” My voice shook slightly. “Not everyone gets a family.”
The lines of his face softened along with his tone. “I know that.” He nodded toward the door. “Let me show you where you’re staying.”
I braced myself for another fight as he opened the door.
A bedroom didn’t wait on the other side. Instead, I stepped into a massive living room that oozed pure masculinity reminiscent of the male who called it home. Black-paneled walls were broken on one side by a large picture window that looked over the lights of New Orleans. The faint thrum of the traffic was punctuated by the pop of logs in the marble hearth. On either side, bookshelves were built into the walls; firelight danced on the paperbacks that were crammed onto the shelves. A long, leather couch and two club chairs occupied the space, a brass coffee table situated on the thin, woven rug beneath them.
He strode across the living room, straight to an antique bar cart brimming with various bottles of liquor. He frowned when he reached it and waved a hand, and a bucket of ice appeared, mist curling over its frosted edge. Now that was useful magic. He tossed a few cubes into two glasses and poured amber liquid from a crystal decanter before stretching one out to me.
I hesitated. If he expected me to share his quarters, and it was obvious that he did, maybe we needed to establish a few ground rules before we added alcohol to the mix.
“It’s not poisoned.”
I accepted it with a sigh but didn’t take a sip. Not until I knew why he’d insisted on me staying with him. I clutched the drink, my thumb tracing a pattern in the condensation sweating through the glass. “I’m sure I’ll be fine in the eastern wing.”
Better, even. Something kept that thought locked in my mouth. Maybe I was developing a sense of self-preservation.
“That’s debatable.” He took a languid drink that drew my attention to his mouth. “Don’t worry, princess. You have your own bedroom.”
I dared a glance down the hall, relieved to see several doors. At least he didn’t expect us to share a bed. “Do you all have your own wing?”
“Shaw and Roark share. I personally prefer to be at least a mile away from my siblings at all times.” He took another swig of his whiskey, and I wondered if it burned down his throat the way his touch seared across my skin. “As for why you’ll want to be in my wing, these events have a tendency to get a little debauched.”
It was my turn to raise my eyebrow. “Debauched? Do I want to know what that means?”
“I told you there would be lots of ritual fuckery,” he reminded me. “Believe me, you don’t want to be sharing a wall with Roark if he brings guests home.”
“Guests? As in plural?”
Lachlan’s answering smile was wolfish. “Fae appetites are insatiable—all of our appetites.”
Oh, holy shit. I was suddenly glad I had a drink in my hands. I hoped he didn’t notice the way my fingers trembled as I raised it to my lips. The whiskey scorched a line of fire through me, giving me the courage to ask what I really wanted to know. “And will you be taking part in this debauchery? Because if so, I think I should stay on another floor.”
If he was planning on bringing people home, I wanted my own zip code.
“Would it bother you if I did?”
Something twisted in my gut at the idea of Lachlan in these great, big rooms, surrounded by beautiful fae intent on serving the prince in whatever fashion he desired.
“No.” I schooled my face into indifference. “Do whoever you want.”
His smile told me he knew I was lying. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
“And I’ll do the same.” I knew I was creeping too close to the line we’d drawn before, wondering if he would reinforce it or erase it entirely.
“Unfortunately, I’m unlikely to enjoy myself at all during the festivities. There are details to be worked out.” He rattled the ice in his glass, the sound of it wearing on my already frayed nerves. “I’m afraid I won’t have as much fun as the others.”
The others would have fun. Not him. Not me. There was no mistaking the implication of that single word. Another test or perhaps bait. I wouldn’t bite. “So, you’re just going to sit in smoke-filled rooms and do what, exactly?”
“I told you there would be pissing contests.” His mouth set in a grim line, and he poured another drink. “And, as for the smoke-filled rooms, we are not actually in hell, contrary to whatever you believe. However, there will probably be cigars.”
“Of course there will be.” I shook my head. “And while you are doing that and the others are doing…each other, what am I supposed to do? Sit around and wait for you?”
“I suppose the idea of you pining for me is out of the question,” he said flatly. Lachlan crossed the room and dropped into a worn leather armchair. He shifted his legs, the rippling silk of his pants catching his groin just enough to make my mouth go dry. “You won’t be alone, but it’s safer if you stick near me at night.”
I studied him for a moment, studied the slight tick of his jaw, how his fingers drummed on his glass. Not as calm and collected as he pretended to be.
“Should I warn you if I…meet someone?”
I was paddling into dangerous water. On the surface, it looked calm, but nothing was ever as it seemed with him. Not with that dark magic that poured off him, magnetic and alluring. His fingers tightened around his glass, but his face betrayed no emotion. “There’s no need.”
This was becoming dangerous, but I pushed forward, testing his boundaries. “Why? Because I’m not allowed to participate in the debauchery? You seemed to imply earlier that I needed to get into trouble.”
“You have to crawl before you can walk, princess.”
“Is that a yes?”
He studied the ice cracking in his glass a little too intently. “Hoping someone will catch your eye?”
“I’m just asking,” I said coolly. “I wouldn’t want to upset you if I invited someone back to your quarters. Or multiple someones.”
“That is entirely up to you. I wouldn’t want you to get…bored.”
I could feel it tugging at my core—the riptide that wanted to drag me under. Even as Lachlan continued to glare at his drink, I felt the current changing around us, shifting. My body responded instantly, heat and danger swirling through my limbs and settling into a low simmer. I shifted, but the sensation only grew.
“Noted,” I said, unsteady. “I will endeavor to entertain myself.”
His dark gaze trailed from my head to my toes, undressing me slowly like he had the night we met. And just like that night, I needed to stay in control. I hated that he had this effect on me. Hated it—and loved it. To have this powerful man focused solely on me was…intoxicating.
His eyes bored into mine, the battle he was waging clear on his face. “Cate.”
My name on his lips undid me completely.
I needed to get out of the room immediately, before I did something I couldn’t take back, like actually remove my clothes and beg him to be the one who entertained me. In any and every way. I cleared my throat. “Good. If that’s settled, I think I’ll find my room.”
“Mine is the first on the left,” he told me. “But if you want to share…”
He’d known exactly what I was thinking, as usual. I couldn’t let him get the upper hand. “Pass.” I pinned a saccharine smile on my face. “I’ll make sure to choose the room that’s farthest away. You know, in case I bring someone back. I wouldn’t want to keep you up.”
I fled before he could respond. I was bluffing—I knew it, and likely so did he—but I still chose the farthest bedroom anyway. That felt…safer.
The room was different than the one I’d been given in the Otherworld but no less luxurious. I barely noticed the thick cream rugs as I paced the polished floors. Barely glanced out the windows that stretched from floor to ceiling, draped with ivory silk curtains. I had a view of the river that bisected the city, which wasn’t possible. Just more proof that while I might be in my world, the Avalon itself was built with fae magic. For all I knew, every room in the Avalon might have been wound up like a ball of string, crisscrossing over one another.
I flopped onto the bed. It was large and carved from oak, its strong pillars stained black. Layers and layers of blankets and linens and pillows in a welcoming palette of ivory and gold were piled on top of it. A fire chattered merrily in a hearth across from it, the mantel carved from one mammoth slab of stone.
I grabbed one of the pillows and buried my face in it. What was I thinking, going toe to toe with a fae prince? Was I trying to get burned?
I pulled my knees to my chest and tried to ignore the feeling that something was missing. The room was too big. The bed too empty. I knew exactly what—or rather, who—I wanted in it with me.
But that was one itch I refused to scratch.