CHAPTER ONE #2
The dancing and music, even the food we served on the ground floor, were just a facade.
Geoffrey’s way of claiming legitimacy against King Tirian’s puritanical laws, honoring their version of their patron God, Kavrir.
But it was all a farce. Everyone knew the truth, knew why they came here, knew what they truly wanted.
What they actually paid for.
Us.
And yet, for a moment, I’d forgotten what I was, forgotten what I had to do. I’d lost myself in the performance. In the music. I loved dancing. Loved moving my body to express myself. Loved letting the music of Eskalon’s musicians take me away.
But another part of me, the darker part, relished how the stage had become the easiest way for me to find prey.
How it had become a way to feed without contact, without the men ever knowing I’d taken part of their lifeforce, stealing anywhere from a few minutes to several years of their lifespan, drinking it in for myself.
Finlay’s rhythm shifted away from our drum solo, a jaunty smile spreading across his face.
The other musicians on stage with us had set their instruments down, whistling and clapping along with the audience.
But now they were back, playing again in full force.
The music swelled, and the crowd cheered.
My hips shimmied and shook, moving in a frenzy to match the beat of Eskalon’s favorite song.
And through every hip thrust and turn, the men sang, whooping, and cheering to each verse.
Lifting onto my toes, I spun around, the brown curls in my hair whipping across my face, the heavy gold coins on my belt jingling.
My red skirts twirled, and the coins affixed to my bra chimed in concert.
Applause thundered against the stone walls, the men’s raucous claps and laughter mixing with the roar of the tavern’s fires.
With every beat, the song intensified, the music surged in volume, and the tempo increased.
Sweat beaded against my forehead and neck as I danced and spun, dancing until I was desperate to catch my breath.
I was pushing myself harder than usual, desperate to forget what Geoffrey had just done, and what it would mean.
But my actions cost me. I had spent my energy too quickly, and already my body was beginning to tire.
If I wanted to maintain my glamour, I needed to slow down.
Quickly, I caught Finlay’s attention. All I needed was one look and he knew. He was always able to read me. At once, the beat changed, slowing into something more sensual, deeper, and darker.
“You okay?” he mouthed. “Sam?” His brows furrowed with concern.
I nodded, offering him a reassuring smile, and took a long inhale as my hips sinewed into circles, as smooth as a snake.
My knees bent as I brought myself dangerously low to the stage floor before rolling my hips, my body undulating as I lifted up to stand.
The move was a crowd favorite, one I’d perfected over the years.
And exactly as I had intended it to, it reinvigorated their attention, as well as their desire for me.
Once more, my command of the room was complete, and the insatiable thing that lived inside of me was alert.
I held everyone in the audience captive.
Caught in a spell they’d never understand.
They were all fantasizing about me now. Undressing me with their eyes.
Imagining me on my knees. On my back. My skirts lifted.
My body writhing beneath theirs. Their lust was so intense that some of their thoughts became palpable to me.
Something that normally required touch. But it came through with a new burst of energy.
Energy I sucked down hungrily. The predator inside me reveled and feasted, while the human part of me, as always, tried not to think about it.
I sent much-needed energy to my hair, using the magic to maintain its color.
Some energy went to the hue and shape of my eyes, then to the corners of my face to keep my features just slightly different from the ones I’d been born with.
The ones that could be recognized by the wrong people.
By the witches I’d grown up with. The witches who’d always despised me.
Because in their eyes, I was no true witch. I was something else, something feared along with the men of Eskalon. I was a faceless one.
An Azete.
I drew power by tapping into others' emotions, and even more dangerously, from the touch of their bodies. I stole their lifeforce, their energy, their power, and I used it to feed, to shapeshift, and to hunt. All night long, I’d been feeding.
Hunting without lifting a single weapon.
Capturing my prey with a look, a smile, and a shake of my hips.
I caught a glimpse of my hair over my shoulder as I turned. The deep chestnut brown locks had begun to frizz as sweat dripped down my body on stage. But now the curls bounced back, the strands shining with a fresh luster.
One regular in the crowd, a farmer with a bright red beard and hands that were never quite fully clean, was so engrossed by my movements that he stumbled forward as I fed from him, barely catching himself against a table.
My hair gleamed even brighter, my skin glowing from within as the energy from his lust poured into me.
The more I took, the more beautiful I became.
I did my job here well. Too well. I’d always been a good dancer. Since I was a girl, I had trained with the best, and as often as I could. But the Azete powers I held allowed me to hone in my appearance, to become the object of anyone’s desire.
I could have the farmer on his knees, have him begging as he crawled to me.
I could have anyone I desired do the same.
Anyone at all. But none of that mattered at the moment.
Because despite all of the power I’d taken, all the power I held within, I was still beholden to Geoffrey.
And he’d chosen the man I’d seduce tonight.
The man in the green velvet cloak.
Finlay quickened the beat of his drum, the heels of his hands snapping against the goatskin top, just as Thomas, another good friend of mine and our mandolin player, began to pluck vigorously at his strings.
He grinned wildly, his bright blue eyes sparkling with the pleasure of simply playing music.
The song swelled, the rhythm almost spinning as the verses came faster and faster.
Between Finlay’s frenzied drum strikes and Thomas’s fingers flying against his strings, we were hurtling toward the dizzying crescendo of the finale.
It was then I found the nobleman again in the crowd.
I met his eyes, and I took them in so fully that my breath caught.
Even in the dark, they were a startling green, framed by lush eyebrows.
His hair was a golden brown that seemed to curl in every direction.
And for a moment, I felt something warm and wonderful bloom deep within me, something that seemed to originate from my heart, before it spread out through my arms, and down low to my belly.
It was a feeling of familiarity and comfort.
Like I knew him.
But that was impossible. I didn’t know him.
I’d never seen him before. Yes, he was handsome.
Beautiful even. I would have noted him had we met prior.
I would have remembered him. Not his wealth, nor his clothing, but him.
The color of his eyes, the blush of his cheeks.
The plump shape of his lips, and the way they lifted into a genuine smile as he watched me.
I would have taken in the sharp contours of his chin and darkly stubbled jawline.
The way his face lit up. His curls, and how they shone almost golden in the torchlight …
Golden.
Golden curls glowed in the firelight of my bedroom.
Dark green eyes turned icy and cruel. A belt unbuckled harshly, the metal clanking to the ground.
A sharp slap of his hand stung my cheek.
My eyes watered in pain as I stumbled, losing my balance and falling backward as my knees hit the bed.
My heart was breaking even as he crawled over me, pressing my body into the mattress, his fingers tightening against my throat, squeezing harder and harder.
I pried his fingers back, and screamed.
“Stop fighting,” he growled. “You know you like it.”
“Jaron, please. Please don’t,” I cried. “Don’t do this.”
But his hand swung again.
And then there was blood. So much blood …
The truth came crashing down on me like a wave in a storm. I’d been so focused on the nobleman’s wealth, and on the most superficial aspects of his appearance, I hadn’t allowed myself to truly take in his face. To see him. To see the way his features all came together.
But Gods, I saw it at that moment. The nobleman was familiar to me. He looked just like someone I’d met before. Exactly like someone I’d met before.
He looked like Crown Prince Jaron, Heir to the Throne of Eskalon.
Their hair carried a similar curl pattern, their eyes nearly identical in shape. The green of their irises in the firelight was equally startling. And now that I was paying attention, I knew that the gold thread in his cloak was reserved only for the royal members of House Lafir.
King Tirian’s house. My people’s enemy. My enemy.
This man wasn't Jaron. He wasn’t the prince. But Gods. By the look of him, and his clothing, he was damned-near close. Too fucking close. And Geoffrey had marked him for me tonight.