“Names?” he asks.
Bowie, as always, is unbothered. “Beauregard of Varad, and his guest, Andras. I believe Haci Ivazzade Pasha made the arrangements.”
It still feels novel to be introduced as Andras and not Mongrel.
“Yes. They’re expecting you.”
“Are there any messages for me?” asks Bowie. “From Janos, perhaps?”
“Not that I’m aware.” He gestures to the wine bottles, and I notice his hands have claws instead of nails. I shiver. “You may enter.”
I have only a moment to be confused—because he seems to be suggesting we walk through a wall—before the entire shelf of bottles opens out. A hidden door. The bottles rattle and jangle. A pungent scent of coupling wafts from inside, leaving me scrunching my nose. I can’t imagine many wolves frequent this den. It’s overpowering. Not that I’m prudish, but by the moon, that’s a strong aroma.
We enter, and the giant door of wine closes entirely on its own.Magic?I’ll have to ask when we’re alone, though perhaps we are because I see no others. At this hour, I’m not surprised.
A lobby of sorts, half parlor and half bar, spreads before us. A large arched entrance leads to The Twig and Berries, and opposite, its twin opens to The Peach and Pearl as noted by ornately painted oval signs.
Following Bowie, I whisper, “Does every city have an underground labyrinth for vampires?”
His grin shows off his fangs. “Well, I certainly haven’t been toeverycity, but it would appear so, wouldn’t it?”
We pass beneath the elaborately carved arch into a cozier salon decorated in shades of emerald and gold. Plush lounging furniture is tucked into every nook and cranny. The uneven lines of the walls create semiprivate alcoves, each with an accompanying curtain, all of them drawn to the side as none are in use. A lush, thick carpet cushions our feet and brings warmth to this glorified basement.
Soft footsteps sound from an adjoining hallway.
Bowie and I turn as one to watch whoever approaches. Bowie steps closer and touches a hand to my lower back in a gesture I’d like to think meansmine.
The creature that joins us stuns me with his beauty, his presence, and the massive serpentine horns sprouting from a mane of silver braids. His skin is a mottled lavender, oiled to a glistening luster.
My jaw drops stupidly. I can’t help but stare.
To think, I worry about hiding my comparably tiny ears when this being—this incubus, I presume—possesses tusks upon his head the size of two dueling broadswords, if broadswords were curled like springs and made into a hat.
My gaze drifts downward. The horns aren’t his only massive feature.
He’s clad in nothing more than a sheer flowing skirt of shimmering blue fabric that does little to hide the impressive erection dangling between bulging thighs. Well then.
He must be at least seven feet tall from his toes to the tip of his horns and near as wide as Bowie and me combined. His naked chest is on display—his nipples pierced, the jewelry decorating them connected by a delicate golden chain that somehow complements his enormous muscles. A matching blue stone sparkles from his belly button. The whole of him presents an alluring combination of male and female the likes of which I’ve never beheld.
My cock twitches. I want to fuck him. No, I want him to fuck me. No, even better, I want him to fuck Bowie while I watch. Or—
Bowie nudges my side, snapping me out of my fantasies before my mind can gift me with even more creative options for the three of us. The wave of lust recedes. I give myself an extra shake to be thorough. I don’t actually want this stranger at all, but for a moment, the idea possessed me like a…demon.
Oh right. Because he is one. I remember now.
Somehow Bowie’s warning did little to prepare me for the reality of this creature.
“Hello, Dominus,” says Bowie. His hand shifts from my back to my waist and tugs me closer against his side. “Sorry to keep you waiting.”
“Don’t be,” Dominus purrs as he looks me over. “Not when you’ve brought such a fine specimen. A wolf? We don’t get many of those.”
How does he know?
“You don’t have one now.” Bowie clutches me tightly. “He’s mine.”
Just what I wanted to hear. I like the idea even more when Bowie says the words out loud. I lean into him.
Dominus just lifts a shoulder, shrugging off the rejection with elegance. “It’s not like you to be so possessive.” He’s talking to Bowie, but he’s still eyeing me, giving me the urge to squirm. When he circles us at a slow saunter, I shuffle even closer to Bowie.
