Chapter Thirty-Seven
Despite being swallowed by the earth, the elevator opened into a room so bright it could have been filled with natural light. I stepped out of the elevator, and my lips parted in surprise. I didn’t try to hide my confusion from Jessabelle.
“Beautiful, isn’t it?”
It was.
I felt like I’d stepped into a luxury Mediterranean spa. A shallow pool ran the length of the room, elaborate mosaic tiles reflecting along its bottom in the blossoming patterns that reminded me of art from ancient Mesopotamia. White columns lined the pool and the wall. Each porcelain pillar had a lantern mounted to its center, all emitting the gentle glow of a tiny star. Lanterns dropped down from the ceiling above the center of the pool, continuing the evenly spaced pattern of starlight. Juliet roses, greenery, and aquamarine lounging settees, perfectly matching the blue of the pool, dotted the space between the columns.
“We’ll have you relax here after the procedure,” she said lightly.
I suppressed a gag, faking a smile through the repulsive thought of relaxing on a chair by the pool with a stranger’s semen dripping down my leg. My hand flew to my mouth to conceal the nausea. She didn’t seem to notice as she led the way. Moments later she helped me hang my things in what I wanted to call a locker room, but between the burning incense, the heated floors, the low lighting, and the luxurious wood, calling it a locker room felt like an insult.
She procured a fluffy white robe. “Please rinse off in preparation for the procedure. Do not redress, save for the robe. I’ll wait for you outside. Take all the time you need.”
A tremble overcame me the moment she left.
It was a perversion of my former profession. This was a day that belonged to Astarte. Our bodies were not ours.
I stood under the hot water for far too long. I wondered if Jessabelle would come and check on me if I didn’t hurry up, but I couldn’t force myself from the water. I had no plan. I was simply to move forward with the procedure, as she’d insisted on calling it. I wouldn’t be lying on the crinkly paper of a hospital bed while fluorescent lights burned my retinas and cold speculums were inserted. This was gentle, plucking harps of spa music, hazy smoke, and the thrum of ancient magic.
I stepped from the shower and toweled off, trembling as if I stood in the Arctic rather than the balmy temperature fit for a cedar sauna. I stepped into the soft, fluffy robe and looked at myself in the mirror.
It had pockets.
I ran my fingers along the material and heard Jessabelle’s voice from the far side of the door. “Are you almost ready, Merit?”
“Yes.” I choked a quiet response. “Just one moment.”
I hurried to the locker and yanked my purse from the hook. I had to have something—anything.
I may not have the knife, but I had a broach. I slipped the silver piece of jewelry into one pocket, then the golden poppet into the other. My hand went to my heart as if to catch a fluttering bird trying to escape its cage. I tried to tell myself that I’d been in these shoes hundreds of times before, stepping out of the shower and preparing to meet someone unfamiliar.
But it wasn’t the same. Not at all.
I emerged from the locker room, unable to keep the bubbling panic from my face.
“It’s okay to be nervous,” Jessabelle said smoothly. “I promise you’ll only feel hesitancy for a moment longer. Astarte will ensure everything goes smoothly. The men will refer to her as Doctor Ayona, and I recommend you do the same for privacy, just as we will continue referring to you as Merit.” She turned to me and let her olive-green eyes linger until they chilled my spine.
Everyone in the clinic knew my true name. Of course they did.
We stepped into a room so dark that it took my eyes a moment to adjust. My hands jerked toward Jessabelle as if to use her body as a shield, but my fingers froze before they made contact.
Jessabelle was not my friend.
My trembling intensified, though I did my best to conceal it. I straightened my shoulders as I looked at the nine well-dressed men in the room. Three standing tables dotted the room, each man holding what looked like a glass of cucumber water as they chatted with one another. The tables were counter high. They were not quite tall enough for them to rest their elbows, nor were they short enough for anyone to take a seat, had chairs been made available. Instead, many of them rested a hand on the table to support their weight while sipping on their drinks with the other. It looked like I’d interrupted a model casting party in a spa robe.
The walls of the room were black, adding to the sensation of shadows and depth. The lights were dim and buttery. I could see everyone, but I knew the flattering lighting would conceal anything that made us self-conscious. It was the perfect lighting for a 1920s speakeasy or for a Phoenician goddess’s underground sex dungeon.
“Merit.” Astarte breezed over to me from a shadow.
I nearly jumped out of my skin as she practically apparated, sliding a hand against the center of my back. Once again, she wore an expensive dress beneath a white lab coat. Unlike the black dress from the day before, her sparkling, sand-colored cocktail gown draped like glittering gems of the desert. She was ready to step out of her sterile lab coat and onto the stage.
“Please take the time to get to know our prospects,” she practically purred. “Look at their build, listen to their voice, look into their eyes, and see whose genes call to yours. They’ve all been kept on a strict drink and drug-free diet upon entering our contracts, as well as submitted to regular bloodwork and endocrine panels, and they’ve followed my tailored exercise and meal plan. I can assure you, whoever you select will be of prime stock the world has to offer.”
Stock.
I looked at the handsome men displayed like creatures in a terrarium. Presumably, they’d been left to stand so I could see their height, their build, their attributes. They smiled back somewhat apprehensively. I wonder what these men were told about the agreement or what had led them to consent to a doctor’s insane procedure. Would the one I selected get an extra perk for his victory?
A few of my friends in the escort community worked model parties, paid for their ambience and availability. They were compensated for their time whether or not a guest led them away to a room. Most of those friends now owned multi-million-dollar sunset homes overlooking the cliffs of southern California. Perhaps the same was true for the donors.
“Do I just—”
“Talk to them!” Astarte gestured. She pushed a glass of sparkling cucumber water into my hand. She encouraged me with the press of her hand on my lower back.
The musical jingle of a small bell went off. She shot me an apologetic look, failing to conceal her annoyance as she left me to approach the wall.
“Doctor” came Anath’s voice from the small box. “Someone is here to see you.”
“They’ll have to wait,” she replied, voice sharp with irritation.
The black box blinked on in full color as I realized an entire glossy tablet had been embedded into the walls. Anath’s black hair was in a slicked-back ponytail today, but her clothes were as dark and tight as they’d been the day before. “I wouldn’t call unless it were important,” she said. “Look at my eyes and tell me if I’m wasting your time. Don’t send Jessabelle. This needs to be your call.”
It had to be Caliban. I called on my years as Maribelle to keep my shoulders relaxed and summoned a soft smile, despite my urge to stiffen at the news. If their plan was in motion, then the best I could do was play my role and keep Astarte’s guard down.
Astarte made a small, frustrated motion as she hit a button for Anath to disappear.
“Jess, take care of things for me?”
“Of course,” answered the Soul Eater as the doctor disappeared from the room. Jessabelle tugged me gently toward the first table. “What features do you picture on your child? Picture his red curls and bright, emerald eyes with your cute nose,” she said, running a hand over the first tall, muscled man with hair as red as flame. “Or your hazel eyes on his gold-brown skin,” she said as she slipped to the next man. “Mixed babies are all the rage.”
I struggled to swallow my horrified laugh. I nearly drew blood from my struggle to clap back at her, but I was practically naked, defenseless, and in a goddess’s den. Perhaps this was not the moment to point out that comparing children and their genetic qualities to trends was outrageously offensive.
Jessabelle wandered between the men, sliding her hands over their arms, running her fingers through their hair, refilling my drink time after time as my nerves made my mouth feel progressively drier between every man. My heart thundered in my ears. I knew Caliban had asked me to trust him, but what did that trust entail? Was I to trust that he’d fund my pregnancy termination when I had a ginger child growing inside me? How far was I expected to go?
“Let me get you another. Stay here,” she said as she plucked the third empty glass of sparkling water from my hand.
I looked up at the tall, Swedish-looking gentleman who offered me an apologetic smile. I thought he smelled like expensive cologne, but there was something indefinably masculine about his scent that I couldn’t quite place. I couldn’t help as I leaned forward, inhaling him with deep breaths.
“Is it a little uncomfortable to be put on the spot?” he asked. From the lilting accent of his voice, I was surprised to hear that he was, in fact, Scandinavian. Given the short notice, I’d expected all the men to be local. His shirt was well tailored, which I imagined was quite the feat to keep his pectorals from ripping a button-up in half.
I realized I’d been smelling a stranger and shook my head clear, embarrassed. I didn’t know what had come over me, but I hoped he hadn’t noticed. I did my best to gather my wits as I nodded. “I had no idea it would work like this. Do you live nearby?”
I recognized the man beside him from the binder as the architect called Ji-Hoon. He was dressed as if he’d stepped out of a magazine. He laughed lightly as he said, “He does. Johan plays in the NHL, so he’s only two states away. For most of us, no, the doctor sends a plane.” His English was as excellent as the Swede’s, but once again it told me that he was far from local. “We have to be ready at a moment’s notice. It’s a ten-hour flight between here and Seoul.”
“You came from Seoul?” I repeated incredulously. “I had no idea…”
The Swedish man shrugged easily. “Things will get easier once the meds kick in.”
“Meds?” I asked as Jessabelle returned with another glass of water.
“I’m glad you’re getting to know the men.” She flashed a glistening smile. “If you’re comfortable, Merit, I’ll leave you to it. I’ll be right here if you need me. Please just…listen to your body. Let it make the choice.”
Jessabelle disappeared into a shadowed corner of the room, but I wasn’t foolish enough to think she didn’t see and hear everything that went on. I knew enough of the world—mortal or fae—to know every wall had ears. I gulped down the water, draining it halfway before she’d even escaped to the far side of the room.
The Swede nodded toward my water. “It helps with inhibitions.”
“I…” I looked at him with confusion. “My water?”
The three men at the table exchanged laughs, but not at me. Almost in answer to my question, I felt a warming sensation course through my blood. I became aware of my heartbeat, but not in my chest. My pulse throbbed somewhere far more…intimate. I lifted my eyes in confusion as I felt the slick rush between my thighs. My sharp, sudden intake of air must have given me away.
“What did I tell you?” he said.
Ji-Hoon tilted his glass. “It’s just as fun for us as it is for you. Everyone has a good time.”
“And”—I swallowed, looking between the men at the table—“I get a baby and you get…”
“You’re beautiful. More than beautiful,” the third said, a man I hadn’t yet spoken to. He spoke with flat, North American English and looked like he was on an Ivy League rowing team. “So, we get laid, which is a perk of its own. Especially with someone like you… But none of us will worry about money for the rest of our lives. Plus, you get a baby, which is what brought you here in the first place, right? The doctor gets to maintain the reputation as the most successful fertility clinic in the world. Everyone wins.”
I took a step away from the table and nearly bumped into the man behind me. He put out a hand to catch my back before it collided against the rim of his table and a pleasurable chill shot through me. I leaned into his touch before even seeing his face. If I’d been wearing panties, they would have been destroyed by a single, charged touch. I turned to look up at a gorgeous man with unnaturally blue eyes contrasting against his brown skin. Without meaning to, I bit my lip. He smiled in return as a current passed through us.
I turned toward him, my hands moving before my conscious mind as I rested both hands on his chest. A distant part of my brain heard him introduce himself as Yasin, from Pakistan. He rattled off the same statistics that I knew were meant to be common knowledge in the binder. His good job, his high IQ, his height, his weight, his family health were all said with performative necessity, but I knew he felt the same electricity I felt.
I swallowed but found my mouth was no longer dry. The throbbing within me grew into a craving. I took a step closer to him, and he slipped another hand around me as he peered down at me.
Jessabelle appeared at my side, but I was hardly conscious of her arrival. “You two get acquainted,” she said, voice a sultry purr. “I’ll dismiss the others.”
Was music still playing? I wasn’t sure. I could only hear the low rumble of his voice and the demanding throb of a heartbeat somewhere I couldn’t control. My bare feet scrunched, toes curling against the heated marble.
Shapes moved as Jessabelle worked with the others. I was loosely aware that she was escorting the men from the room. The music in the room had changed, though I hadn’t been conscious of its transition from the calming music known to bathhouses and spas to something with bass, something more primal, something that matched the pulse aching through me. My back arched as the warmth continued to fill me. Yasin spoke, and I knew I was supposed to be listening, but I couldn’t stop picturing his mouth on me. I tilted my hair back slightly as I breathed in his masculine scent, exposing my neck to him. I pressed myself into him and parted my lips, hoping he’d kiss me. Maybe this was why I was in a robe. If he would just give the white, fluffy belt around my waist a tug…my breasts peaked at the thought as my body rolled again.
He’d left his hand on my arm. I wanted him to move it. To touch me. To stop talking. He was so goddamn pretty. He smelled indescribably good. Maybe if I moved closer…
The bell chimed again from the wall on the far side of the room. Jessabelle had one foot out the door as she ushered the suitors into the hall when she dismissed them to swiftly answer the persistent bell.
Rather than put the image on the glossy tablet as Astarte had done with Anath, Jessabelle picked up a slick black receiver. My eyes glazed over as I watched her, allowing her to disappear into the shadow like ink blotting over paper. I’d hardly been aware of the way my body continued to arch until my upper back rested on the table. My robe slipped off a single shoulder, exposing it to the world. Operating with a mind of its own, one of my legs wrapped around Yasin’s and slid it gradually upward.
For no reason other than hazy amusement, half of my attention remained on Jessabelle while my body coursed with desire. She was in the room, and I didn’t care. It would have been no more important to me than the episode of a sitcom that had played in the background the first time I’d met a client. Except I wanted this client. I thirsted for him. I needed him.
I caught Jessabelle’s hiss as she repeated the word. “A cambion? That’s not possible—”
Gibberish words. Nonsense. Not quite English. Not quite anything else, either.
Jessabelle paused while the person on the other end continued to speak. The word she’d said into the receiver was one I knew from somewhere. The distant, unimportant memory of a university glass, of mythology, of a historical figure, magic, a something or other…it dissolved into me, wanting to sense lips around my nipple, to feel gentle suction on my breast. I grazed my fingers along my collar and moved my hips again as I felt how soft the fabric was, how the dim lighting was as perfect as an orange-red glow.
“I understand the implications,” she said. “Yes, I fully comprehend the opportunity. I don’t understand how he—”
More silence from Jessabelle as I admired her curves, watching her berry-dark mouth, the curve of her hips, her ass, her breasts. I wondered if she’d join us and extended a hand idly toward her, hoping she’d accept my bid. I wanted to touch her soft skin, to taste her, to feel her. I wanted mouths and hands; I wanted every nerve ending to dance with desire and satisfaction. The need heightened with each new throb of the bass as the music continued to fill the room. It was louder with every passing second until I could barely hear anything else.
Thump, thump, thump.
Jessabelle’s voice was light, barely carrying above the music’s pleasurable, pounding vibrations. She continued to argue into the receiver as she said, “The power is unparalleled, I know that. But what if she doesn’t want—”
I wanted her to get off the phone and join us. It would be incredible, and I would be at the center. I wanted him inside me. I wanted her against me. I wanted the silk and velvet and slick, wet pleasure of cock and cunt side by side as I indulged. My toes curled against my need as the music continued to swell. It was so loud now I couldn’t hear anything. I couldn’t hear Yasin, or Jessabelle, or the world. Even the thoughts in my head were stifled and silenced against the thumping music that resonated through my body, my skin, my heart, my mind. It kept time with the throb between my legs.
It was like MDMA. It was like being a teenager. It was a craving in a world with no shame, no consequences, no judgment.
I closed my eyes as Yasin’s lips pressed against my bare shoulder. They dragged slowly against my collarbone. I reached both hands above my head to tilt my head backward over the standing table. I felt like an erotic ballerina as I spun through the galaxy of want and pleasure and lust.
“Understood,” Jessabelle said quickly. She was at my side in a second. She’d barely peeled Yasin off me and asked him to return to his room before I pressed into her. Her soft body, her curves, her cascading hair, her extravagant scent…one of my hands slipped up the back of her neck into her hair. “Merit.” She said my name as a correction, but I barely heard her.
She didn’t fight me as I used my free hand to pull her against me. I wanted to taste her throat. I wanted her skin beneath my lips, her salt under my tongue, her flavors inside me. Even her light chuckle felt good against my mouth as my tongue worked kiss over kiss, creeping up her neck onto her jaw.
Over my shoulder I heard a male voice. “She’s been drugged?”
“The client’s been thoroughly primed” came Astarte’s reply. I didn’t remember doors opening, had no recollection of others entering the room. I hummed with the need for connection, struggling to discern words above the noise. I could hear it, but I didn’t care enough to make sense of it as she said, “This is what she wants. It’s a gift greater than she could have ever anticipated if you’re the sire. Trust me, it’s a mutually beneficial deal for all parties. She’s ready, if you are.”
A tiny gasp escaped me as a distant part of me tried to pry myself off Jessabelle toward the voice. I felt a cool hand on my bare shoulder and my eyes opened, filling with diamonds and stars and bright, white light. I practically moaned his name, but he put his hand against my face, stopping my lips with his thumb. I popped his thumb into my mouth and sucked on the succulent flavors of fern and gin. I released Jessabelle entirely, her existence dissipating like vapor in the wind as I turned toward Caliban.