She and Dusk had met with the Madame and Rikyava, and though Etienne Voulouer had fretted immensely at Layla going off to Manarola alone, and Rikyava had hated the idea, all had finally agreed it was their best shot at getting Adrian returned without arousing suspicion. The plan was for Layla to go for five days, long enough to dig into conversation with the Phoenix King Falliro Arini, but not long enough that she would miss the Owner’s Ball at the end of the week. Layla would travel by human means, starting with a taxi outside the Hotel’s gates in the human world, then flying standby on a commercial jet to Rome from the Paris Charles de Gaulle Airport. Everything was to be scheduled on-the-go, to not give either the Intercessoria or Hunter any lead time as to where Layla was headed.
And hope that she’d make it there untraced.
Sliding her special smartphone from Dusk into her red leather purse, Layla was dressed in skinny jeans and tall fawn boots, plus a high-collared grey wrap sweater cinched at her waist. With a royal blue peacoat for nice winter days and a cream knit hat with matching gloves, she looked like any traveler going for a winter vacation through Europe. It felt strange to leave Mimi’s jewelry behind, Layla wearing only a plain set of gold hoop earrings. Everything precious she kept on her, like her Hotel-issued black credit card, her US passport, and King Falliro Arini’s cobalt feather – all tucked into a hidden silk pouch snapped to her bra beneath her shirt.
Closing her apartment doors, Layla walked down the hall, rolling her bag behind her. It was the first time she’d been dressed this casually in the Paris Hotel, and it felt strange as she passed other employees up on the third floor. But everyone just gave her knowing smiles – it was common for employees to take vacations in the human world. Layla looked like that was her intention now, like she was just using her vacation time to go off for a jaunt.
Rolling her bag to an ornate elevator used by Guard transporting luggage and by the Catering staff, Layla entered the crimson and gold décor of the lift and shut the ornate wrought-iron grate. Hitting the button for the fourth floor, she went up first to do one last errand. Stepping out, she had to pass Dusk and Adrian’s doors to get to her destination, and noticed that Adrian’s rooms were finally shut, no golden perimeter around the guardian Dragons anymore. It felt strange moving past, knowing Dusk was downstairs at the Concierge desk playing like everything was normal and Adrian was in prison somewhere. Stepping past, Layla moved to Reginald’s doors at the far end of the hall and knocked.
“Enter.”
A sensation of chill fog surrounded Layla as she pushed into Reginald’s apartment. Stepping into his opulent living area of sky-blue drapes and nautical detail, a fire roared in a hearth of white stone. Done in 1700’s Parisian style, every gilded table and niche was painted with ships; ships beneath storms, ships under blue skies, ships being devoured by leviathans. Coiling sea creatures rose from every baroque picture-frame; mermaids and giant octopi decorated the rugs – even a stunning rendition of H.P. Lovecraft’s Cthulhu hung over the gargantuan fireplace.
Stepping in, Layla saw Reginald sat at his eight-seat formal dining table, staring out the windows even though it was late afternoon. Sitting before empty gilded china plates and untouched trays of lunch foods, he wore his quilted pearl-grey silk dressing robe and matching sleep trousers, his hair pulled half-back and showing his cutting jaw though a few golden strands escaped around his face.
He ate nothing; touched nothing on the table. As Layla entered, he looked around and pain flashed through his red-rimmed eyes, before he looked back out the windows. Layla hesitated at the door, her hand on the gilded door-handle. She almost backed out, but something about the stiff set of Reginald’s shoulders drew her in, shutting the door quietly behind her. Something about the way he stared at the clouds moving over the darkening afternoon made Layla’s heart hurt. Moving forward, a sense of rightness filled her that she had come. Leaving her bag by the door, mercy swept her forward until her hands slipped over Reginald’s shoulders – smoothing down his soft silk lapels and slipping over his bare chest.
“You are a mess, Courtesan, and you smell like sex.” He spoke coldly. A sensation of chill water sluiced around him, though Layla recognized it for what it was – pain.
“I’ve come to say goodbye. For now, at least.” Layla spoke by his ear, her hands still touching his lean-muscled chest. He was warm beneath her hands; warm yet chill, as if he was drowning his body heat in icy water.
“I’ve heard the plan from the Madame.” He grated in a voice that sounded like he’d been crying. “Just go. Go save your beloved.”
“Reginald.” Layla pressed her cheek against his, her nose brushing all that incredibly soft, silken hair. Something about his posture, his distant elegance drew her like a mariner to the sea today. They’d spent nearly a month together, sleeping in separate beds, separate rooms. Picking at each other and fighting as he’d sluiced her with never-ending disdain. But something about the past forty-eight hours had shown Layla Reginald’s humanity. There was a person beneath all that arcane silk and cold distance.
A person who had been hurting – for centuries.
Emotions moved deep inside Layla, a feeling like her Dragon was twisting up inside her, keening. She didn’t hate Reginald. He was awful but he was also beautiful, and his quick generosity had saved her in the past days. She found herself stroking her hands over his smooth chest, her energy flaring. As if her Dragon could feel his pain – and wanted to soothe it.
“You should go,” he rasped again, his impeccable icebergs still not breaking to her touch. “There are direct flights from Paris to Genoa in the evenings. You don’t want to miss them.”
“I’ll go when I’m good and ready.” Layla spoke, still touching him.
Something about her defiance affected Reginald, and he stiffened beneath her touch. Turning towards her, the planes of his face were haughty; expressionless.
Only his blisteringly cold eyes told her his fury.
“Don’t pretend to know me, Courtesan. Don’t pretend to know what it is that can soothe me today.” Chill rage spiked deep into Layla’s fingertips as he spoke. Her compassion was wiped away as he turned, a cold-as-ice Royal Siren sitting in the chair now rather than a man in pain. With a slow, dominant rise, he pushed up, facing her. His body was full of grace and power, and just watching that dangerous movement made alarms ring inside Layla’s mind. She shrunk back, her hands slipping from his skin. But Reginald’s slow, elegant rise merely took him to standing before her, his ice-blue eyes narrowing, his lips twisting in a haughty sneer.
“Run to your bound men, Layla,” he spoke, cold as midnight at the north pole. “Run to their arms, to their beds. Run to the ones who love you and hold them close, for you may never get another chance. And if you don’t, you’ll understand how I feel. You’ll understand a Siren who gives you no quarter – because none was ever given to him. You’ll finally understand the curse of magic, and how it destroys us; heart, soul, and humanity. Go. Try to save what you love. But if you can’t, don’t come begging back to me to help you pretend the world is still beautiful. Because it’s not.”
Layla’s mouth opened, wanting to protest. But Reginald saw the defiance in her eyes and stalked closer, staring her down, fury pummeling from him in chill waves that surrounded Layla like Arctic currents – ready to rip her apart if she spoke even a single word.
She didn’t. Layla shut her mouth as the furious Royal Siren advanced. She didn’t know what Reginald would do right now in his grief, and it terrified her. Her heart was pounding, her lungs couldn’t get a breath as she stared at him, her Dragon writhing deep within her with fangs bared now as if it agreed that he was dangerous.
“Go.” He hissed, nodding at the door. “Now.”
She did. Stepping back, Layla moved quickly to the door, her Dragon on high alert and hissing deep inside her veins, even though it was still mild compared to her usual. Reginald didn’t follow, but Layla tightened her shoulders all the same, hating to turn her back on him. If he’d been surging with wrath, if he’d pummeled her with oceanic power, she could have understood. But he was out of control right now in a way Layla had never seen him. And this cold, hateful creature was something dangerous, something Layla instinctually knew she shouldn’t provoke.
Quickly, she stepped to the doors, taking up the handle of her rolling bag. She was about to exit and leave the scathing Reginald Durant behind, when she paused. A chill fury sluiced through the room, as if it pushed her to go. Shivering, she felt Reginald’s dark tides making her Dragon want to curl up and die from that terrible power. As if it swept through her with fear and darkness, she suddenly felt Reginald’s influence upon her emotions. He was encouraging her to go; he was causing her to retreat from him.
He was creating a tide of fear so Layla would run – and leave him, drowning and alone.
But feeling his dark tides, Layla suddenly understood. He was forcing her out because having someone be kind to him right now was too much. It was too frightening to have someone stand here and accept his pain. And though everything inside Layla told her to leave Reginald alone with his woe and darkness, she knew she couldn’t.
Removing her hand from the door, Layla turned. Reginald fixed his gaze upon her and she felt his wrath like a spear of ice in her heart, giving her a horrible shiver though she stood her ground. Layla remembered that Reginald had started a war between two powerful Dragon-clans because he’d drowned a city with his magics. And seeing him standing there so cold and austere, Layla had that vision flash through her mind again. The same vision of that beautiful raven-haired woman with lavender eyes standing on a far-north beach. Laughing, as a far younger and innocent version of Reginald swept her into his arms.
But he wasn’t innocent anymore. Pain bled through Reginald’s haughty gaze as he re-lived the vision while Layla saw it. His breath caught and the vision was sluiced away in a white wave. But not before Layla had seen, and understood. Maybe not the entire story, but the thing he hid – the reason he’d killed an entire Blood Dragon village.
