Chapter 7 Lucus
LUCUS
What the hell was I thinking? Standing in the elevator, I replayed the entire experience in my head.
The only reason I even came to this establishment was because my friend wouldn’t stop raving about the woman who ran it.
He swore up and down that her shows were unforgettable, said she had the power to make you feel the deepest, most hidden parts of your desire.
Claimed it was intoxicating, all-consuming, a high he hadn’t touched in over a hundred years of living.
For a vampire, feeling anything new after a century was a gift, so I filled out all the ridiculous paperwork, booked the appointment during a layover in New York between meetings, and thought nothing of it.
Sex was just sex. Desire was just a chemical reaction.
What could possibly be new and exciting about that?
Then the cranky front desk troll told me I didn’t have an appointment, and that threw everything off.
My mind was already focused on my next meeting, my next million-dollar deal, and now I had to deal with this incompetence?
The doubts I’d been carrying surfaced like sharks circling blood. This had all been a waste of time.
Some bumbling girl came out to calm me down, all nervous smiles and excuses, but I wasn’t in the mood. She asked me to sit, promised to get the owner, and said she was sure it was just a mix-up. I didn’t believe her.
Sitting in that velvet chair, I stewed. Furious, dismissive, ready to tear into her and this whole farce of a place. I didn’t care who she was or what powers she had. I was going to resist her magic and prove that desire wasn’t some all-powerful force she could wield like a whip.
I was so sure of myself, so certain… until she stepped out of the wall beside me.
She looked like she was made of honey, sin, and sorcery. If anyone could craft lust into a fatal weapon, it was this woman.
It was like she had been torn from the deepest corners of my subconscious, a desire I didn’t even know I had. I instantly wanted her with a level of desperation I usually reserved for power... and profit.
Swallowing the instinct down, I reminded myself of my purpose. I was here to see, not to fall, but then she looked at me, eyes a fiery rosy sunset tempered by a slice of patience, and I lost my words.
I didn’t want to admit I was wrong, wanting with every fiber of my being to keep that high horse I was standing on, but when my assistant confirmed the scheduling error was on my end, I could do nothing but follow her lead.
Everything was meticulously crafted. The masks added an edge of anonymity and mystery while also serving as a visual cue for your preferences. The magic on the first floor? Sensory overload in the best way, every scent calibrated to trigger arousal for every individual.
The beings inside looked genuinely blissed out, enjoying themselves to the fullest. And her themed nights? Clever. Dynamic. The Winged Palace wasn’t just about selling sex; it was a business model with brains and vision. Something even I could see myself investing in.
I’ve seen all kinds of kinks, having lived long enough to witness and study the depths of human and non-human pleasure.
But I’d never had the urge to explore more.
.. extreme scenes. I liked knowing exactly how my partner reacted, that every gasp and moan was from pleasure, not pain.
Hurting someone to get off never made sense to me and most definitely didn’t get me excited.
She tried to explain it, appealing to my vampiric nature, but, even then, when my teeth sank into flesh, I craved thriving ecstasy, not trembling fear.
And yet, the longer we talked, the more my control started to slip. Something inside me pounded harder, louder, every second I was near her. I tried to stay detached, analytical, but the pull was relentless.
That was the only reason I hesitated instead of jumping into the elevator with her. Some instinct warned that once I went up, there’d be no turning back. She’d break me open. Ruin me. I wasn’t sure I was ready for that, but pride and curiosity were a dangerous mix, so I followed.
I told myself I was still in control. That I could touch her, take her, and still walk away like I always did.
Order and control ran the world, and as long as I kept order and control at the forefront, I could hold these unexplainable feelings at bay.
Then she kissed me.
A rhythmic need beat beneath my skin, growing to a steady pace as it pulsed in my ear like a war drum, drowning out everything but her.
When she pulled away, I was left hard and breathless, aching like some inexperienced boy in his youth. The promises she made I wanted to throw back at her as the door shut, leaving me alone. Then the window cleared, and I saw her. My heart began beating faster again until I saw another man.
Rage surged inside me, primal and sudden. I wanted to rip her away and demand answers. Their heads were bent close as they whispered, but even with vampire hearing, I couldn’t make out their words.
I paced in front of the mirror, trying to rein it in. None of it made sense. Why the hell did I care this much? She was just doing her job, so why did every cell in my body cry out her name, clamoring to make her mine?
She’d warned me. Told me she wasn’t for sale. Told me she fucked who she wanted, when she wanted. But hearing it was one thing, and watching it unfold was another.
Then she giggled.
The soft, careless sound stopped me in my tracks, and I was undone.
I want to make her laugh like that. For me.
Taking a few deep breaths, I forced myself to see it differently. What if I imagined it was me she was touching like that?
That helped enough to keep me watching.
When she crawled on top of him, facing me, she winked—a message, a promise. This was for me. This little show she was putting on had me in mind. She was thinking about me.
Something inside me cracked wide open. Primitive need—hot, raw, uncontrollable—shoved any and all logical thoughts out of the way, clawing to the surface.
I’d been with skilled, stunning women before. Had the models, the smart businesswomen, the socialites, and the actresses. Dabbled with a few escorts in my youth, but none of them, not one, had ever ignited this in me before.
This... need to have, to dominate. To shape the moment into my image. To own it.
Her thick and breathy moan, like she was about to come, sliced through me, and I snapped.
Next thing I knew, glass was crunching beneath my shoes. Her eyes widened as I stood before her, no hesitation, no retreat, just true surprise.
I gave her orders. Clear. Firm. No room for escape.
She could be clever, slippery, and bratty, but I was more than ready for her. Determined.
She could try to fight me with those defiant eyes, but I was going to show her what it meant to let go. Even with another man beneath her, I would have her.
That was going to be my rule. If she wanted to perform for others, fine, but I was in charge. I would tame that wild, independent streak and show her how good surrender could feel.
The elevator dinged, snapping me from the memory, and I realized something. She never once used her powers on me. I would’ve felt it. Which means…
Leaving this place was easy now that everything had become clear. Now, I had a singular focus: her.
Women reached out, trying to flirt, to tell me all the naughty things they would do to me and let me do to them, but I brushed them off without thought. My mind was consumed by that white-haired, sin-drenched fairy.
I needed to see her again, more than I should, but, at this point, I didn't care anymore.
Grabbing my phone from the locker, I glanced at the screen and saw a few missed calls. Making my way out the room of lockers, ignoring big Randy’s glare as I passed, I called my assistant.
“Sir, your flight’s in thirty minutes.” Kara’s crisp voice carried its usual bite, her polite way of expressing frustration.
“Well, they’ll wait. It’s a private jet. They fly when I say they fly.”
I could practically hear her anxiety spike. She was a sweet and organized little fairy, the polar opposite to my Madame Aniyah, but Kara’s magic was in persuasion, which made her an excellent assistant, even if she grated on my nerves.
“I’ll talk to the pilot, sir, but your meeting is in eight hours. Flight time is six and a half—”
“Tell the pilot I’ll pay double if he gets me there in six.” Just throw money at it, and nine times out of ten, the problem was solved.
I glanced around the busy streets of New York, looking for a street sign. “Also, I want you to purchase me an apartment at… Washington and Thirteenth.”
“In New York, sir?!”
“Yes, Kara,” I huffed. She knew where I was. “In New York. You know my style and preference. Make it happen and make it quick.”
I could hear her scribbling, muttering my name like a curse.
“Anything else?” she snapped, then immediately backtracked. “Oh—sir, I’m sorry. That was unprofessional—”
“Don’t worry about it,” I rushed out to shush her up. I didn’t need her excuses or apologies, just results. “I need you to find everything you can on Aniyah Glovefox.”
There was a beat of silence, then a sharp inhale.
“She... She’s the youngest boss of the Syndicate,” Kara whispered like the name itself was dangerous. “A notorious crime family in America.”
My smile curled wide. Of course, she was.
My wild fae. Gun in hand. Chaos in high-heels.
Now, I wanted her more than ever because it didn’t matter who she was.
She was going to be mine.