6. A Proposal from Prince Hot Pants
Chapter 6
A Proposal from Prince Hot Pants
CINDER
O f course , the prince of persuasion is wearing leather pants. I hate the way they cling to him because it makes my mouth water.
It takes every bit of my control not to gape at Kaison as I take my place behind the bar. In the Common World, Prince Charming shows up as a different persona, and seeing this side of him rocks me to my core.
And my core gives an involuntary clench having suddenly become very hot, wet, and wanty .
Traitorous bitch.
Tonight, spikes dangle from Kaison’s earlobes and a line of metal studs curve along the shell of his ear. Not silver of course—unlike mine. My knees weaken when I drink in the tattoos spreading like a web of temptation across his chest, exposed by the unbuttoned shirt. The intricate feathers of the wings were crafted by a master tattoo artist. They almost look like they are about to flutter and ruffle in the wind.
My temperature shoots up as my heart is strangled by an invisible hand, and desire rushes downward toward my belly.
I fucking hate it.
I especially despise the twinkle in his eye. It’s as if he knows just how devastating his boyish charm mixes with his dangerous, taboo energy. He looks as though he’s stepped straight from the pages of a dark mafia romance novel, complete with the billowing shirt.
Since when am I attracted to men who exude sex and schmooze whether in Hessian boots or leather and piercings?
Now apparently. Right freaking now.
I’ve had my fair share of sexual partners, but not a single one of them affected me to this degree. Not even when they were shoving their dicks between my legs did I feel this level of heat or internal volatility.
It has always been about scratching an itch, experimenting with touch and pleasure, nothing more.
It’s. . . fine.
The thrill I get out of a vibrating needle jetting ink into my flesh or a fresh piercing has always been far more of a high for me.
The last guy I considered getting serious with was based on the fact we were both art majors at Boston University and were in all the same classes. I enjoyed our shared discourse on art, though he got too pretentious for even me at times.
I should have known he was an irredeemable douche when he slighted my favorite artist, Lala Drona. Her blunt yet sharp-edged depiction of women and how we experience our bodies, how we commodify the flesh, is genius, brutal, and beautiful all at once. She boldly showcases the complex and often oppressive relationship between women, their bodies, and even each other.
Growing up in a land where the population must depend on the bodies of humans for sustenance, her messages hit me on so many levels I felt hammers drilling into my chest when confronted with her depictions.
Anyone who doesn’t recognize Lala Drona’s masterful blend of raw truth and bold beauty is an automatic red flag.
Then it turned out the guy was secretly fixated on my best friend, Goldie.
Ugh.
I wasn’t heartbroken even a little bit, just pissed off over the deceit.
Before I knew that, I gave up the cookie.
After that spectacularly mediocre sex, I remember thinking we should stick to discourse on art. My vibrator can do ten times the work he could in a quarter of the time. And I don’t have to fake it at the end with the vibrator.
I prefer the efficiency of a good sex toy to work off any tension I might have, so I can get back to other daily activities I enjoy more. Like painting, bartending, or plotting ways to catch Lucifer so I can fling him into the Atlantic Ocean for that present he left on my pillow this morning.
Yet, I have a strong suspicion it wouldn’t be that way with Prince Kaison Charming.
The sex, not the cat murder.
I would never actually hurt a cat, but I’m damned close to finding a black-market vendor of curses so I can make Lucifer believe he’s always wet even when he isn’t. Or see cucumbers that aren’t there. I heard cats hate cucumbers. Something to annoy the ever-loving shit out of the feline devil, the way he does to me.
The prince’s eyes lock on mine and the world fades into blurry watercolors around me again, like it did that first time. He has the power to make me feel like the only person in the room, the only one who matters in the entire world.
Being that important to someone makes my heart pound double-time and my palms sweat. I’m not sure if it’s because I find the prospect terrifying or thrilling.
At least he seems thrown too. His pupils are blown as he watches me with rapt attention. I pretend being the object of his focus doesn’t send excitement spiraling through me like a firework.
“Hey Isabelle.” I ignore the prince she is currently fanning with a book to top off her favorite Prosecco though the drink is barely down an inch. “How is the bookselling business?”
Belle swivels back to face me on her stool and half her mouth curves up. “Living the dream as always.”
Belle owns the romance bookstore across the street. After she closes her shop, she walks over here for a nightcap and reads a few chapters before she heads home. It’s part of her routine, something she takes very seriously.
The prince sets an arm on the counter, his white shirt buckling to reveal more of his inked pectoral. A hot shiver runs through me.
Seriously, who cranked up the thermostat in here?
“Can I get her next drink?” the prince asks me before he turns to Belle. “You sell books?”
How does the ring curving over his bottom lip make his mouth even more magnetic and inviting?
A fully expressed infectious smile spreads across Belle’s face this time. “I own the romance bookstore across the street. It’s called Chapter Three.”
He lights up with recognition. “Oh, the one with the gorgeous sign of a rose in an open book?”
Worse than being naturally magnetic and handsome, the prince can take an interest in others.
“Why is it called Chapter Three?” Kaison asks Belle, leaning in. The low lighting highlights the contours of his perfect face and dark tousled hair.
Disgusting.
A woman wearing forbidding black eyeshadow with a styled rainbow-streaked, banana-blonde mohawk walks up to the bar. My boss and the bar owner, Rapunzel aka Rap, answers for Belle. “Because her favorite chapter of her favorite romance book is chapter three where the female protagonist realizes the man she's lusting after is actually a prince.”
Belle blushes, her cheeks turning a deep crimson. “You know me so well, Rap.”
Rap gives her shy friend a tight smile. It exudes more friendliness and encouragement than I’ve ever seen her share. “That’s why we’re friends. Both business owners and badasses.”
“A prince you say.” Charming perks up. “Why what a coincidence because?—”
“He’s always hoped to find his own prince charming,” I cut in.
Kaison shoots me a knowing smirk. “You know me so well,” he purrs, echoing the exchange between Belle and Rap.
Every inch of Kaison oozes blatant sexuality that promises twisted pleasures beyond imagination. Depravity and fun, likely to leave the participant dazed, shamed, and rocked by the aftermath of Kaison’s havoc.
The hooded eyes tracking him from around the bar only prove that he commands the room. I don’t doubt he could draw in a line of people ready to fall on his bed and suck and lick anything he asks of them with a mere look.
The thing is, the tingling in my Iron Maiden lets me know part of me is very willing to do the same. So I keep my face an implacable mask because I refuse to give him the satisfaction of thinking he has any effect on me.
Oh yeah, I’ve decided to call my neither region “Iron Maiden” because it’s metal as fuck, and I'm sure it will remind me that I’m foreboding and untouchable.
The glare I shoot him could make daisies curl up and die.
While Kaison remains unfazed by my murderous cutting gaze, I focus on cleaning glasses behind the bar.
But then he pulls out something from his back pocket and dangles it in front of me on one finger.
“I thought you might like this back,” he says coyly, his deep brown eyes sparkling.
Fae fucks. The shoe I tripped out of. My irritation turns into full-blown frustration as I reach for it, only for him to pull it out of reach.
I hadn’t told the Fairy Godmother I lost one of her magical shoes and I’d been dreading it. But now it’s here and a knot in my belly loosens. I reach again, but he dodges my grasp a second time.
The look in his eyes lets me know what the price will be.
We need to talk.
Ugggghhhhhh. I don’t wanna.
“Hey Rap, do you think I could take my break right now?” I ask through gritted teeth, glaring at the playboy prince I am seriously considering stabbing once I get a hold of that shoe with the very pointy heel.
Rap glances over the activity of the bar to assess if Goldie and Snow can handle it. I wouldn’t ask if I didn’t think they could.
Or maybe I would.
Because right now, I need to get Prince Charming’s ass the hell out of here.
Rap nods, signaling I’m good to go and I don't waste any time dragging Prince High-and-Mighty to the back. The loud, lively atmosphere of the Poison Apple fades as we hit the corridor, our steps quick and my heart doing that annoying race thing it does whenever he's near.
I shove the door open to the breakroom, not bothering to hold it for him. The room lined in hot pink lockers—Goldie spray painted herself—suddenly feels claustrophobic. Giving him as wide a berth as I can, I decide I need even more space. Or at least, an exit at the ready.
I slink around the prince before propping the door to keep it ajar.
“Scared to be alone with me?” Kaison grins.
I shift nervously. His smile falters.
“I’m not going to bite you,” he says with all seriousness.
I fiddle with the buckles on my corset. “I know.”
I don’t know.
At least I know if he comes at me, he won’t enjoy the contact. The silver piercings adorning me wouldn’t really be enough to stop him, but they’d certainly hurt. They’d leave nasty burn marks behind. Of course he’d only need to drink some blood, and he’d be healed in seconds.
His mouth parts like he’s going to say something else, but I cut him off.
“What are you doing here?”
Whatever he’d been about to say is chased away by my question, and he rolls back his shoulders as if he’s going to make an important announcement.
He has ten seconds before I squeal on his non-human ass and get him kicked out of the bar by security. Not that we are truly humans-only. Not with Goldie living with a bear shifter, and her having magic powers now qualifying as a level five mage.
Thanks to some magic cookies I ate, I could be popping powers any day now too.
Again, did someone crank up the heat? I’m sweating.
The need to step in closer to the room temperature being next to me is suddenly more appealing than it should be.
Kaison steeples his fingers. “I have a proposal for you.”
“What kind of proposal?” I say, urging him to get on with it.
He’s giving me big earnest goo-goo eyes and I melt under his boyish charm. But I don’t let it show.
I refuse to let myself fall for his magnetism or good looks. Not when he's holding something over my head, not when he doesn’t take a single thing seriously.
He’s not a person.
He’s a bloodsucker who enjoys being everyone’s favorite clickbait. When he lived in the Common World there was always some new story breaking out about a party, an orgy, or that legendary time when he peddled on a miniature bike down a main street in the nude because someone dared him to.
I’m not falling into his trap of attractive allure because it could only lead to feeling like a used tissue and a couple of STDs, at best.
Okay, so Midnight fairies can’t get STDs, but I bet he would if he could.
No one grows up with those kinds of looks and powers without becoming an utter narcissist and sociopath. It’s not a judgment, it’s just science. Or is it statistics? I was always shit at math.
“The literal kind.” He beams. As proud as a cat who’s brought home a dead rat for their owner. “A marriage proposal.”
I wait for the punch line.
His silence stretches out with expectation.
Har fucking har.