Glancing up at him, Layla found John’s steady presence comforting, even though fury still coursed through her from being prepped for nothing here. But before she could turn away, he lifted a hand and placed it to her cheek, his steady brown eyes devouring hers. “It’s been a pleasure getting to know you, Layla Price.”
Layla was about to respond, when she suddenly watched those soulful brown eyes bleed to a bright aqua – clear as the Mediterranean Sea and flecked with luminous gold. Her breath caught, her world spinning as John’s eyes suddenly turned into Adrian’s – but he was already leaning down, pressing her lips with a kiss.
It wasn’t John’s kiss that met hers, but Adrian’s. Layla’s entire body flared in a wash of heat as she tasted him, as his impossibly soft lips opened hers. Inhaling him, she breathed in Adrian’s cinnamon-jasmine scent that flowed out in a heated rush like a desert wind, as if he’d been holding himself back this entire time. And Layla knew suddenly that John was Adrian – that somehow, John had been Adrian the entire time. She saw a vision in her mind as they kissed; of Adrian shedding his exquisite clothes in the jet, of his body morphing into John, of him dressing in John’s clothes and donning the gun-rig. The sensations from their first encounter at the gallery poured through Layla – along with every kiss from her dreams. With a soft sigh, Adrian’s lips released her at last, his breath coming hard before he opened his amazing oceanic eyes.
Adrian Rhakvir’s eyes – still staring out from John LeVeque’s face.
“How—?” Layla breathed, her heart beating a thousand miles a minute and her skin racing with passionate fire. Her body was flooded from his kiss, undone – feeling the full force of Adrian’s nature still rushing through her.
“You’ll know everything soon,” Adrian breathed, his voice devoid of John’s booming nature now, smooth as a desert wind. “Follow the Madame anddo nottake your talisman off.”
“My what?”
But Adrian was already stepping away, his arresting aqua eyes swirling back to his alter-ego’s placid brown. Holding up his left hand he shook it at her, ostensibly in a wave, though it was clear he was indicating the cuff on Layla’s left wrist. Then with John’s affable grin, he turned and got back in the car, starting it up and pulling swiftly away.
Layla was left standing alone by the Guards with her luggage – one of whom, the solid-looking blonde Scandinavian woman, cocked an eyebrow at her. Shuddering with heat and pleasure, not to mention feeling exquisitely foolish, Layla took a moment to master herself.
John was Adrian. Adrian was John. It had been Adrian Rhakvir who came to her house with her Hotel acceptance letter. It had been Adrian who had sidled up to her at Club Havana making small talk about his dragon ring. He’d actually been there in her yard the night she thought she was sleepwalking, and it had been Adrian who’d tailed her in the black Bentley that stormy afternoon, who’d finally convinced her to take the position. It had been him squaring off with Luke; him who had bought her gowns and her Nutella; him who had held her hand in the jet during takeoff.
Adrian had been with her on the plane all along, answering her questions about himself with John’s glowing smile and easy manner. Him in the doorway of the jet watching her sleep, who had stolen into the jet’s bedroom as she lingered between waking and dreams, pressing her with his kiss before leaving her to sleep.
Nothing here was as it seemed, Layla suddenly knew. If Adrian was any indication of what was possible here – wherever she was – then she had to be ready for anything. Turning, Layla gazed up at the palace’s heights, feeling like the quadrangle was a wolf’s jaws about to bite. People bustled around her now in the bright day, though a few continued to stare and whisper. Smoothing loose curls back from her face, Layla straightened her shoulders, shrugging her mink stole up with deep breaths. Scents swirled around her, like the air of the plaza was perfumed. Gilded white banners snapped in the morning wind, the Guards attentive below. The Palace of Versailles was the Palace of Versailles – but as Layla noted every stone block and gilded rail saturated with new colors, she knew it was also something else.
Just like Adrian Rhakvir – able to take on the shape of another man right down to the eyes.
Glancing at the Guards with her baggage, Layla was fairly certain none of them had been standing close enough to hear her conversation with Adrian or see his eyes change. But no one could have missed that kiss. It had been rash, impetuous, bold – just like Adrian himself. Thinking about the way he had deceived her made Layla heat with fury from beneath the hamsa-cuff. She was at once pissed but also impressed by the depth of Adrian’s cunning. At last, an incredulous smile lifted the corners of her lips. She felt shaken up; out of her element. And yet because of it all, she felt exhilarated – jolted out of the rut that had consumed her back in Seattle.
Well, she was here now.
Layla’s lips lifted a little more, feeling herself in this strange new place on this strange new day. Adrian Rhakvir – that sneaky bastard. Layla felt him again as if summoned; his warm wind slipping over her lips in an echo of what had gone before. Pressing in, licking into her mouth with a deep and gentle tongue. Caressing her, arousing her, his passionate wind flamed her body, thrilling it high as his sensations devoured her from her mouth down.
“You bastard,” Layla breathed as she rocked from his pleasure in the bright day. She thought she heard a chuckle on the wind, or perhaps it was just in her ears as a soft touch slipped over her neck, teasing her curls.
Taking a deep breath, Layla shook off Adrian’s touch in the wind. He could be a mysterious bastard if he wanted to be, but she was now employed by a fully-functional hotel, and Layla was not about to start her first day upended by Adrian’s antics. Squaring her shoulders and standing tall, Layla nodded to the Guards, ready to take in any strangeness here with elegance as graceful as her grandmother Mimi had ever been.
Proceeding forward, Layla stepped to the grand entrance beneath the gilded railings and snapping banners – and into the Red Letter Hotel.
CHAPTER 14 – TWILIGHT
Opulence dazzled Layla as she entered the Red Letter Hotel Paris. At once the Palace of Versailles she’d once visited and yet not, the soaring reaches of the grand main hall were entirely gilded in the French Baroque style, ornately carven with painted frescoes, silvered mirrors, and glowing with crystal chandeliers. The atmosphere was like a resort, businessmen lounging in chaises reading newspapers or smoking pipes while elegantly-dressed women sauntered past chatting and laughing. Potted palms softened the grand space, while an enormous fountain commanded the main hall. Spouts of water flared from a gilded mermaid holding a trident as octopi writhed around her – the water swirling into impossible patterns as it cascaded down.
And though the grand space was nearly normal, many of the people were decidedly not. Staring around with astonishment, Layla saw a group of elderly dowagers all dressed like they were going on the Titanic, each of them wearing royal sashes and tiaras. Her attention was caught next by a haunting waif in a dress like cobwebs who slipped around the dowagers, her ears fluttering like gossamer fins as she flashed by. A naked man bound in silver ropes passed right in front of Layla, led by a creature made entirely of silver – something Layla couldn’t even begin to call human. Ecstasy shuddered through the man with every step as the creature led him past. After him, a woman glided by wearing an opera coat of pheasant-feathers, her nakedness softened by golden feather-down coating her belly and breasts. Her face was feathered like a Carnevale mask and she smiled as she passed, her eyes gold with ruby streaks.
Near the fountain, an orgy was in progress at a group of scarlet chaises, enormous throw-pillows, and Persian rugs set up on a round platform surrounded by a red velvet rope. Staring, Layla was arrested by the exquisite scene. She knew she should have been scandalized, but she wasn’t. An intensely public display, rutting and fucking was well underway, accompanied by gasps that echoed through the vaulted space. The group of twenty or so people touched and fornicated, a strange creature writhing among them. Her skin was mottled like silver tree-bark, her long fingers were like branches, and corkscrewing ram’s horns issued from her temples, her legs shaggy with silver-white hair. Smoke wafted from her nose and mouth as she fucked a man, exhaling smoke through her kiss and making him rut harder. Turning her head to pour her kiss through a woman nearby, the woman screamed with pleasure – the entire assembly’s passion rising.
Watching their exquisite largesse filled Layla with sensation; bliss, abandon, ecstasy. Something inside her moved as she watched; as if a creature deep within her body stirred, lifting a great serpentine head and focusing sharp eyes on the action in the center of the velvet ropes. She shivered as waves of pleasure rolled through her, her skin heating and flushing deliciously. Layla felt something roll inside her flesh and she shivered – as if some beast inside her was eager to slither out and join the party.
But she had no more time to stare as Madame Voulouer appeared from an alcove and took Layla’s arm, escorting her away from the carnal delight. Turning down a long hall adjacent to the main one, they entered an area that was quieter – both to Layla’s relief and subtle disappointment.
“So, Layla. Adrian tells me you’re quite unaware of the Twilight Realm – of our world. That it’s very new to you.” The Madame spoke conversationally, as if her statement was the most normal thing in the world and the carnal scene behind them had been equally normal.
“Does it show that much?” Layla couldn’t resist some humor; she felt rocked by what she had just seen. She’d never felt anything like it and was still trying to process the dark, strong passion that had risen inside her at the scene. The only thing she could compare it to was her first encounter with Adrian Rhakvir in the gallery, when he’d bound the Moroccan cuff on her wrist. And when he’d kissed her just now, outside on the promenade. That thought rocked Layla all over again, but thankfully, the Madame’s presence beside her was warm and steady.
“People who know our world don’t generally stare at thebacchanaliosquite so hard, my dear.” Madame Voulouer chuckled kindly, her arm threaded through Layla’s as they walked. The Madame’s severe companion had disappeared, while the Madame escorted Layla wherever they were headed – to her entrance interview, she supposed.
Trying to channel Mimi, Layla kept her posture regal as they rounded another fountain. This one was made of live lotuses twining up to form a statue of a man and woman embraced in coitus. Milky water cascaded from between the woman’s legs where he penetrated her, and also from the man’s lips locked upon her breast. In the pond, a trio of mer-girls cavorted with fluttering fins pierced with long strings of pearls – cajoling and pulling in for a kiss any who passed too close. Layla saw one mer-girl flick her broad tail fin, shedding water cheekily over a man who rushed by with a hand held up in decline of her offer. The girl pouted her pink lips, then laughed as he ran back with a grin, giving her a deep, delicious kiss before jogging back about his errand.
Though impeccably dressed, Layla noted the man had a platinum pin on his lapel with the scarlet ‘R’ and crown done in garnets and gold – an employee of the Hotel. Now that she had seen the pin Adrian had spoken of, Layla saw it everywhere. The ‘R’ was done in red enamel on the lapels of two Guardsmen who moved by with a salute to the Madame. The same pin was done in garnets on a man and woman in sexy business attire chatting at a group of chaises. It also stood out upon the low-cut bodice of the Madame’s gown, done in rubies and diamonds.
