Chapter 5
Chapter
Five
“ W ho's in my hall?” a dry, strident voice asked as we approached my apartment. A lightly wrinkled face surrounded by wispy brown-grey curls poked out of a door, its owner’s honey eyes inquisitive.
“It's me, Mrs. Carter.”
“Girl, don't you have work?”
I made a face. The elderly woman knew everyone's business and was as ready to tell everyone hers.
“I just got off.”
Mrs. Carter opened the door fully, wearing neatly pressed sweats and fluffy house shoes. She had yet to tell me how she'd earned her permanent residency. The real reason, because she'd claimed everything from being a High Lord's former concubine to being a secret assassin for House Casakraine. Whatever it was, I’d heard her speak their language as well as a native. Her gaze went immediately to Andrei, who waited silently at my side.
“You bringing a Fae warrior home? Thought you was smarter than that, girl. No offense intended,” she added, eyeing Andrei, an odd weight to the latter term.
“None taken,” he said with a bland, charming smile he aimed at Mrs. Carter. “It's normally wise advice.”
“Normally, you say?”
He shrugged, lowering his gaze before slanting it towards me. “Some of us aren't afforded the opportunity to follow wise advice.”
She gave me a pointed look, thin brows rising, clearly communicating her skepticism of my sanity.
“It's not like that,” I said, wondering if I was lying. It was probably exactly like that. Andrei hadn't followed me all the way from downtown for tea. Not that we would be having anything but tea. “He's a friend. He made Larry leave me alone.”
“Huh. Did he now? That shit eater.”
“Mrs. Carter.”
“What? The Lords don't make humans overseers because the humans are nice. You keep your head screwed on your shoulders, you hear me? Won't be dancing nowhere but on a Fae cock if you get caught up with the likes of them Lords. Present company excluded, of course .”
I smiled weakly. She allowed us to excuse ourselves and I opened my apartment door, gesturing Andrei inside because if I didn't, he would walk in anyway.
Andrei entered, stopped in the middle of the room and turned to me, watching as I closed the door and dropped my duffel bag.
He gave the studio a swift, all encompassing look, doubtless noting the sparse, worn furniture, pale plaster walls and lack of personal mementos other than a few clusters of inexpensive scented candles. I tried to see my temporary home through his eyes. The home of someone poor, but neat—mostly because of the lack of possessions.
He fixed me with one of those intent stares. “I can't have you dancing on the streets anymore, Hasannah. It isn't safe for you.”
“Who are you to give me orders?” I kept my voice quiet so he knew it was a question and not a challenge.
“You know,” he drifted closer, “ what I am, if not who. But if you don't know, I’d be happy to discuss that with you as well.”
“I have to busk,” I said, evading his outstretched hand. “Or I don't eat.”
He lowered it to his side, eyes glinting. “That’s no longer your responsibility.”
“Eating is no longer my responsibility?” I shook my head and recalled my manners, heading towards the kitchenette. We'd also been given a fairly extensive brief on hospitality etiquette as well.
“I wasn't expecting company. But I have—” I opened the half size ice box and peered in, as if its contents had magically sprouted something fit to serve a guest. “. . .hope, and plenty of thoughts and prayers.”
Andrei moved behind me, sliding hands around my hips. I froze as he lowered his head, pressing a kiss on my temple. He touched me as if he owned me and was certain of his claim, but was reluctant to scare me with that possessiveness. As if he forced himself to remember that I met him two hours ago.
“I appreciate the offer of hospitality,” he said, amusement in his tone, “but I'm more concerned with whether or not you've eaten today.”
I opened my mouth to lie, shut it, considering the wisdom of that action.
He sighed. “I see. Doesn't my—doesn't the High Lord provide the company applicants with a stipend?”
Wasn't he sweet? Though what he wanted from me wasn’t so sweet. “It mostly goes towards bribes.”
The tall body at my back stiffened. “What?” Once again his voice flashed from soft to steel.
“We all pay into a pot and Larry uses it to bribe the Coal District warriors to leave us alone. Or else we'd be asked to. . .serve.”
And wouldn’t that be hell in more ways than one.
His fingers tightened as he pulled me more firmly against him, almost curving his body around mine.
“That is not sanctioned.” His voice was the cold snap of breaking bone. “No one gave them authority to extract service from the mortals peripherally under Lord Issahelle's protection.”
I shifted my feet, unconsciously seeking a more comfortable position since being wrapped in the arms of a strange Fae warrior who followed me home wasn't the definition of comfortable.
“It is what it is.”
I’d endure the discomfort because that's what dancers did. Sacrifice. Endure. Shrug off any pain that didn't rip you away from the dance floor.
But he'd protected me from Larry, even if that would only worsen the situation, and so far he hadn't done more than hold me and criticize my eating habits—behavior I'd seen from my father and married brothers.
And now he was angry on my behalf. No one had been angry for or protective of me since I'd left home.
“Have you ever seen any of the District warriors harass the mortals in this building?” he asked.
I thought about his question, blinking. I hadn't. “No.”
Andrei turned me to face him, staring down at me with a lifted brow. “Then how do you know it's the truth? That this Larry isn't extracting money from you all for his own purposes?”
I opened my mouth, shut it, feeling fresh off a farm. “I don't know. I guess I took his word for it. And everyone else said. . .”
Andrei closed his eyes for a second, then muttered something in the Cassanian language. He opened those Swan Lake eyes and rolled them. “You’re too naive to be let outside of a House.”
“I'm not really that naive, or I wouldn't have made it this far.”
The bristling aggression softened, and he drew me back into the circle of his arms.
“That's true, little mortal. You've done well, I won't deny you that. But let me take over from here.”
“Why?”
“Because I want to? And nothing I want is denied me.”
“Well, that’s not spoiled or anything.” I chewed on my bottom lip, shifting in his arms. “Who are you? You're a House Casakraine warrior?” If his former companion's green armor didn't give it away, his demeanor did.
“Hmm. Yes, I belong to Casakraine.”
“I see.”
That was too bad. I couldn't get involved with a warrior. He was handsome, and kind enough so far. Maybe if he'd been an ordinary Low Fae. . .I pulled away from him. Even if he had been ordinary, it still wouldn’t have been worth all the other problems.
His jaw ticced, but after a moment he sighed, releasing me. “You need food, and I need something strong and sweet to drink.”
That struck me as funny. Or maybe it was the sour note in his tone.
I laughed. “I don't drink. Sorry.”
“Of course you don't. Is there a market that serves House warriors in the vicinity?”
“There's a market-ish.” Didn't he realize what section of the city we were in?
Andrei pulled a face. “Yes, stupid question. I forget what District this is. Another matter I'll have to see to.”
“Andrei, you aren't my boyfriend. Where I shop or how I eat isn't any of your?—”
The ambient glow behind his irises brightened, flashing. “We will procure food, then we will eat,” he said with slow, deliberate calm. “And I'll address the omissions in your orientation that weren't applicable until now.”
A long beat of silence passed between us. “You're not a low rank House warrior, are you?”
He said nothing, inclining his head as if inviting me to come to my own conclusions.
I looked down at the worn wooden floor. “I don't want to know. I. . .I need to focus on the showcase.” Maybe if he became bored, he’d go away.
A hand cupped my cheek, tilting my head back up as his fingertips caressed the line of my jaw as he held my gaze. The touch might be objectively innocent—but there was nothing innocent about the look in his eyes or the slow stroke of heat the caress aroused.
“I understand. And because your art requires your full attention, you'll allow me to take care of these mundane matters, hmm?”
Another long, slow caress, indulgent because there could be no doubt of his strength, of his absolute certainty I was his. He could afford indulgence. He didn’t need to prove with force what we both knew.
I gave up. He was a gentle, but inexorable steamroll. I heard no wiggle room in his voice. I nodded, a little grim. It was easier.
He’d have to learn the hard way the payout I could give wasn’t worth his effort.
“Good girl. Now, we’ll go get food.”
I changed into a burgundy calf-length tunic, slit up the sides, and narrow dark gray pants. It was a comfortable outfit made of the wrinkle resistant linen like fabric of this realm, and reminded me almost of the ao dai that could be found at home.
Andrei called a coach. I stopped in front of it, nearly unaware of his hand resting at the small of my back, my heels digging in.
“Hasannah?” A question in the deep tenor of his voice.
I shook myself and stepped up into the coach, pulling aside the curtains and scooting as close to the window as possible.
“Is it coaches you don’t like,” he drawled, lounging on the bench opposite me, “or small spaces?”
“Neither bother me. I don’t like cages.”
“Hmm.” His voice warmed with amusement. “Not a docile bird to eat from her master’s hand then?”
I turned to look at him. “No. I’m the bird that will peck out her jailer’s eyes.”
He arched an emerald-black brow, lips quirking, but his eyes sharpened. “I’ll remember the warning, cygnet.”
The coach took us to the nearest market he found acceptable, the Fae Harry Potter gaslamp version of Whole Foods. My heart sank the moment we pulled into the parking lot.
“Andrei, this place is too. . .” I trailed off, stumped if pleading poverty would go against the rules of hospitality. Well, maybe he didn't expect me to feed him a full meal? Wine and cheese and a little fruit?
. . .cheap wine and string cheese. I wasn't certain what the poor girl's version of fruit was in the Fae realm other than no fruit at all. Though meat here was more expensive than produce. Maybe he was a vegetarian. . .with fangs.
He stopped walking and turned to me, his regard steady. “We had a bargain, Hasannah.”
Oh, no he didn't. “We didn't make a bargain.”
“We did. You’ll focus on your dance, and I’ll focus on provision. Everyone has a role suited to their abilities.”
I crossed my arms, frowning at him. Never in a million years had I thought to meet a Fae male who sounded like my dad.
“That makes absolutely no sense. What do you get out of me so-called focusing on my dance?”
The smile he offered was tinged with something slightly wicked, and wholly masculine.
“You'll find out, darling. But regardless, that is also one of the matters we’ll discuss. After dinner.”
He wasn’t going to like how that conversation would go. Of course, he’d start out understanding and eager to prove he was different, as if my body cared. Then. . .things would devolve from there. Maybe I could hurry the Phases along this time. Phase One was always; He Shows Sympathy and Understanding.
Except I didn’t want to see that false earnestness on this man’s face. Not yet.
“Aren't I the one who's supposed to be providing the hospitality?” I asked. “That means we have to do this on my budget.”
Andrei's expression darkened. “I will allow a poor, half starving human girl to buy my food when my body is fit for nothing except feeding my mother's swans.”
We stared at each other. “But I spent an entire four hours on the hospitality module.”
His eyes widened with unsubtle mockery. “An entire four hours? My.” He lifted a hand. “Forgive me. I don't mean to disparage your hospitality. If you like, you can place yourself in my debt.”
I tip toed back a step. Those last few words were said in a silky, dangerous croon, saved only because his lips curled in a half smile and his eyes warmed with mirth—at my expense.
“You know what?” I abandoned my quiet stubbornness, lowering back down to my heels. “You're an adult, and an expert in your own culture, I assume. I don't think I should tell you what to do.”
He nodded, solemn. “Very wise. Shall we go in, or do you have any further objections? I don’t mind. It’s rather adorable.”
In response, I walked past him, my steps a little heavier than normal. “I should spend all of your money,” I muttered.
“There’s plenty of it to spend, darling.”
I almost tripped. What billionaire romance had I fallen into?
Oh, right. Not the kind where the heroine can actually have sex.
I followed Andrei, who took the lead into the market, pausing as he snagged a large woven basket. I trailed him as he made his way around the store, silently tallying the cost of the groceries as he blithely tossed expensive meats, cheeses, produce and pastries into the basket without glancing at anything more than hand written labels.
I cleared my throat, once, and he slanted me a cool look that dared me to protest. After that, I wandered behind him eating the samples.
“You shop like a drunk housewife who won the lottery and couldn’t afford a full grocery budget before,” I observed.
He looked down his nose at me. “I have no idea what you’re blathering about, Anah.”
Bet he didn’t. “Uh-huh.”
I'd never purchased this amount of food in one trip before. My mouth watered at the thought of eating something other than noodles and preserved chopped mystery meat that the Coal District butcher was vague on identifying whenever I asked.
I'd ask, she'd avoid my eyes and insist it was fit for consumption, then offer me a discount. We'd part, both vaguely satisfied by the transaction. Her, because I didn’t insist on pesky answers, me, because I saved a few bucks.
I was still alive, so it couldn't be that bad. Besides, it mostly tasted like Spam and I was fine with that.
“Do you prefer white or red? Dry or sweet?” he asked, soliciting my opinion for the first time.
“Oh, I get to have a preference?”
He paused, his long fingers caressing a dark bottle. “Of course. Wine is an intensely personal experience. What are we having for dinner tonight?”
It was such a mundane, married person question that I answered automatically. “How about the steak and root veggies? And some of that grain boiled in the duck fat.”
He pursed his lips. “A red, perhaps.”
“Andrei, I don’t drink.”
“May I ask why?”
I frowned. “I don’t want to damage my body.”
“Ah. I understand, though a single glass will do no damage. It’s your choice. Dessert?”
Wine, dessert. I eyed his lean physique. Did he eat like this every day? “I’m not trying to carb load right now.”
Andrei lifted his gaze from the wine rack and raked my body with a professional gaze. “Hasannah. You need to eat. Dessert won't impact your training.”
“I'm human. Our metabolisms are different.”
“It isn't that different, little mortal. How many hours a day do you train?”
“I mean. . .eight hours? Five days a week, strength training once a week and then rest any injuries.”
There was a touch of condescension in his gaze. “You can have dessert, darling. House warriors keep a similar schedule and I would hazard our nutritional requirements are similar.”
“You say that, and I understand the point, but I'm not as naturally svelte as even most of the human ballerinas. I have to take care with my macros. Carbs go straight to my boobs and ass and hips. A partner has to be able to lift and fling me around.”
The detached, professional gaze morphed instantly into something far more hot, and far more intimate. “Your body is perfect as it is.”
We'd been talking about training and nutrition almost like two long time company members, so I'd forgotten for a moment what he was and that I didn't actually know him. That look reminded me what was at stake if we became involved. More than my body—my dance career.
I pursed my lips, deciding not to argue when I saw the look on his face. “Well, if you insist. I don't want to be a poor host. The sponge cake?”
“An excellent choice.”
His approval befuddled me. There was no teasing in it, just the fuzzy affection of a man with a woman he adored, but who sometimes drove him crazy.
It made absolutely no sense. We'd literally met two hours ago.
“Andrei?” I asked as we emerged from the market, hesitant to break his relaxed mood. “What are we doing?”
He walked us towards a coach, and the Legolas template from before jumped down from the bench in the front and opened the door, giving Andrei an inscrutable sidelong look as he began loading groceries into the back storage. When Andrei finished, he turned to me.
“I told you we would discuss it after dinner, Hasannah.”
The quiet authority that had been present all evening rose to the surface, demanding I back down. I looked at him, looked at the blond. I wasn't stupid.
“It's just that—” I stopped, regrouped, chose my words carefully in the face of the restrained power lurking beneath that gaze. The warning. “In orientation, they told us not to court the attention of a Lord. I listened. I'd planned to heed the advice.”
The men watched me, the blond with something close to pity, Andrei's expression neutral.
“I said I wouldn't hurt you,” he said.
He would, even if he didn’t intend to.
A bit of the easy camaraderie of before was gone, replaced with implacable hardness. It wasn't an outright admission, but he hadn't denied it either.
I stared up at the evening sky, weighing my options, the possible cost of each course of action. We'd been told, more than once, that there was nothing anyone could do in a situation like this. That it was best to submit, make the most of the. . .opportunity. . .until the Lord either tired of you, or granted you enough status that the status itself was protection.
Fighting him would be like throwing myself repeatedly off the edge of a ten-foot-high stage. I'd survive as long as I didn't break my neck, but I'd eventually break everything else and in the end, the stage would still be there, staring at me. Wondering why I kept jumping off when it had already warned me it wouldn't move.
When I looked back down, I blinked frustrated tears out of my eyes, and took a deep breath, clasping my hands in front of me. So close, I was so close to achieving the start of what I wanted.
Endure the pain that didn't kill or maim you. Sacrifice any considerations that would take you away from the stage.
Andrei wanted me. So far he'd behaved as if he wanted me willing . It gave me room to negotiate. . .a little.
I focused on him. A gentle evening breeze stirred some of his hair into his face, but he didn’t move to brush it aside. The weight of his gaze slid around my body with the same restrained possessiveness as his touch earlier.
My mouth curved in a slightly bitter smile. He didn’t have to speak, to touch, to mark me as his. He could simply stand there and look at me and there was no doubt.
“You'll let me dance? You won't interfere with my training and rehearsal schedule?”
The last thing I wanted was another external barrier. It had been difficult enough talking my Vietnamese mother out of engineering as a career, and my Native Hawaiian father had wanted me to follow in his footsteps and teach grade school—though he'd been fine with dancing, he'd just preferred something less. . .European. Neither had seen ballet as anything but an exercise hobby, like Zumba—my mother's words.
Ballet. Zumba. To her they were the same thing.
That had been an unproductive conversation. I circumvented strong-willed people by utilizing vague, placid agreement, waiting until they waddled off to do their own thing confident we had a deal, then discreetly going about my business.
Andrei’s sharp, nearly hard regard softened again. He approached and slid a hand around the back of my neck, bending his head to kiss my forehead.
“No, I won't interfere. Your life is still your own, darling. It will simply include me from now on.”
“I spend a lot of my time and focus training, Andrei. I won't always have time for you.”
“I am. . .a warrior. I understand what's required of your discipline. You have my word.” He took my hand. “Now come. The sound of your stomach rumbling disturbs me. . . mortals .”