Chapter 42 #3
“Dress.” The word emerged lower than before, frayed at the edges.
Quickly, I pulled on my own shirt, suddenly and painfully aware of the fact that I wasn't wearing a band beneath it. The fabric skimmed every curve of my body, leaving far less to the imagination than I would’ve liked.
“It can take up to a week for magic to return in full force after the salt flats,” he said, his back still turned.
I ran my fingers through my wet, tangled hair, trying unsuccessfully to tame it.
“But with you…” He glanced over his shoulder and stopped suddenly, his gaze travelling down the length of my body to my bare feet.
His throat bobbed before he turned away, his shoulders locking.
“I think… yours would replenish much quicker than that. And I think…” The words trailed off. I'd never seen him at a loss before.
“What?”
He crossed wordlessly back to the dresser, snatched up a pair of thin slippers, and tossed them in my direction without looking. Then he shoved his feet back into his boots, a small wince betraying the discomfort of the still-soaked leather.
“Let's go,” he yanked open the door, holding it for me.
“Go?”
“My contact should be here.”
As I passed through, he caught my arm.
“Don't mention our... discovery,” he warned, his breath warm against my ear. I nodded.
The brothel had somehow grown even busier in the short time we'd spent upstairs.
The pungent herbal smoke still drifted through the air, lending the room a hazy, dreamlike quality.
Empty glasses littered every available surface—ledges, tabletops, even the floor in places—and judging by the writhing bodies and deafening chorus of moans, the substances were having their intended effect.
When we'd first arrived, most of the activity had been confined to the curtained alcoves and shadowed corners. Now there seemed to be no such boundaries.
Bodies crowded together on sofas, sprawled across cushions, pressed against walls and bent over tables. The entire room was a frenzy of wild lust and excess, the sounds and sights magnified to almost obscene proportions.
I didn't know where to look—if there was anywhere safe to look.
Rìan, as usual, appeared entirely unmoved. He pushed through the chaos with lethal focus, stepping around sweat-slick bodies and disentangling himself from grasping hands with single-minded determination.
The place was dark, crowded, and drowning in carnal madness. How did he expect to find his contact amidst all this?
The thought had barely formed before he stopped dead.
“Gods,” I muttered, glaring at his back as I stepped around him. “A little warning—”
The complaint died on my lips at the look on his face. Hard and focused, his attention fixed ahead with an intensity that bordered on frightening.
Following his gaze, I found a female reclined upon an enormous sofa nestled amongst a collection of embroidered cushions.
Cerulean robes flowed around her like spilled water, rich and vibrant even in the dim light.
A gauzy veil concealed her face, leaving only her almond-shaped eyes exposed, the faint curve of a smile just visible beneath the translucent fabric.
She wasn't alone. Several males and females lounged amongst the cushions around her, some robed, some in varying states of undress, all entwined.
She reached for the striking male beside her, jewels glinting at her fingers and wrists, and brushed two fingers against his lower lip before sliding them into his mouth.
She tilted her head back and laughed. Someone immediately pressed a brightly colored cocktail into her hand.
She slipped the straw beneath her veil and drained it in a single pull.
A female, completely bare save for the veil concealing her mouth, knelt at her feet.
Her hands slid slowly up the woman's legs and disappeared beneath the folds of her robes, her gaze fixed on her almost drunkenly.
As the roaming touch found its mark, the woman melted into it, her knees falling apart beneath her dress and her head tipping back.
Her back arched from the cushions, and in the movement, her eyes found Rìan.
Her empty glass slipped from her fingers onto the carpeted floor.
She straightened like she'd been shocked, pushing away the people crowded around her. Disappointed cries followed, but she didn't seem to hear them. Slowly, she rose to her feet, robes cascading around her before settling at her ankles. Then she started toward us.
Her eyes never left Rìan.
There was something dreamlike about the way she moved through the room, gliding between cushions and bodies with liquid grace. One step. Then another. Nearer and nearer until she finally stopped directly in front of him.
Neither spoke. They simply stared at one another as though they were the only two people left in the world.
I fought the sudden urge to step between them.
“You,” she whispered. Her hand drifted up as if to touch him and stopped, as if afraid he wasn’t real.
“Me,” he rumbled.
Her eyes were bright even in the dimness, shining and wet as they landed on me.
Pale, colorless eyes.
I'd seen them before. In a chamber stained with Aedric's blood. In the impossible stillness she'd conjured so I could save him.
There was no mistaking them.
It was Lady Elyndra.