Chapter 2
Chapter
Two
Ifrowned. What did they want? It was obviously the models from before; my afterthought apartment wasn’t as carefully insulated as the others.
I could hear them as clearly as if there was no door between us, arguing amongst themselves about whether or not this was necessary.
One of the men spoke in a low, gruff tone—a too-sexy voice that sent shivers down my spine.
“Waste your time if you wish, Cress. You have my permission.”
Ah. The girl was coming to have it out with me for interrupting their shoot, and the men were still in character. Well, I was in the mood for a fight. Taking the three steps from my kitchenette towards the front door, I yanked it open.
All four of them stood in the hallway, taking up every inch of space, and my breath hitched in my throat.
Maybe I was conditioned to appreciate beauty more than the average person, but these four were jaw-droppingly stunning.
Their warrior-elf cosplay only made them seem more beautiful, more otherworldly.
Or maybe it was their eyes, which were obviously some sort of new contact lenses that made their eyes glow.
The young woman stood in front; her eyes were the biggest and flashed light green.
Good grief, she was beautiful, with smooth, dark tan skin, so bouncy and firm I itched to suck every little bit of collagen out of her like some sort of deranged vampire with a plastic surgery addiction.
She had high cheekbones and a pointed chin, along with silky raven-colored hair framing her features perfectly.
Long arms, even longer legs, both wrapped in what looked like alligator leather.
I eyed it carefully. It must be faux, although the variation in texture was impressive. I met her eye, resisting the urge to look at the men behind her. “Can I help you?” I asked sweetly.
The girl lifted her chin, meeting my gaze fearlessly. “Susan Moore?”
Oh, shit. They’d gotten into my mailbox. The last thing I needed was to get hit by a lawsuit for interrupting an expensive photo shoot. My income was already being severely depleted by alimony and restitution payments. I shook my head and grinned at her. “Nope.”
She frowned. “You are not Susan Moore?”
“No. Sorry.”
She glanced into my tiny apartment, looking behind me. “Molinere is not with you?”
“I’m sorry?”
The girl met my eye again. “The instructor. Molinere.”
Who the hell was Molinere? At least this time, I didn’t have to lie. “I don’t know anyone by that name.”
“You are sure?” She leaned a little closer, lowering her voice. “You are not the chosen one?”
“What?” I reared back, confused. Then, finally, realization dawned.
They were still cosplaying. This was probably some sort of YouTube prank, one of those ones where the prankster approached people in the street, pretending to be on a quest, giving strange instructions, and waiting to see what the confused victim said or did.
I cleared my throat. “Oh, no, indeed not, my lady, I fear I am not the chosen one.” I tossed my hair back dramatically for the benefit of the hidden cameras.
“Nay, but if the chosen one you shall seek, you shall find her in her abode, yonder, directly across here.” I pointed in the direction of my bathroom.
“You must traverse down, step foot on the hallowed ground, and enter the domicile next door. Rise near to the sky, to, er, apartment forty-two, and seek the one which you call the ‘chosen’—the Songbird of Nob Hill, the Fair Lady Audrina.”
Audrina would get a kick out of this. She loved all those angsty teenage fantasy novels.
I often saw her out on her balcony, reading something with a bare-chested pointy-eared man on the cover.
And, if these beautiful idiots were cosplaying hard enough to follow my instructions and find Audrina’s apartment, it would cheer her up a bit.
Nobody deserved a pick-me-up more than my teenage neighbor.
The beautiful girl in front of me frowned with her whole face. “You are sure? It is not you, Susan, the chosen one?”
“Nay.” I frowned just as deeply, shaking my head forlornly. “Go henceforth, young company, and find she who you seek.”
“Cress,” the tall man at the back growled. “I warned you this is a waste of time. Come.” He strode off down the hallway, out of sight.
My eyes mourned the loss of him.
Then, immediately, I told my eyes to go fuck themselves. We did not spend time mooning over gorgeous men, no matter how good they looked in black battle leathers.
What the hell was wrong with me? Oh, yeah, that’s right. Menopause-induced paranoid schizophrenia, intermittent explosive disorder, oppositional defiant disorder, acute psychosis, and rage.
The other three models followed him immediately, without another word.