“What was that, darling?” Madame Voulouer gazed down the table. “Speak up, we didn’t hear you?”
“No.” Layla spoke up more robustly. “I won’t become a Courtesan.”
“Then you will leave this establishment.” Reginald spoke from across the table, his face hard as stone.
“I didn’t come here to be a Courtesan.” Layla locked eyes with Reginald, feeling power seethe out from her and dig into the Siren like talons, though he didn’t betray any discomfort.
“Yet that is what you are.” Reginald didn’t back down, holding her gaze with an icy intensity. “From the moment you stepped foot upon our grounds, I saw how Adrian watched you, and the way Dusk’s eros leapt to you the moment you arrived. Men’s eyes follow you wherever you go, and women’s too. I’ve watched two of the most powerful drakes I’ve ever known start a battlein publicbecause of you, and then you get abducted by one of the most dangerous creatures ever to walk our halls. Don’t tell me all of that is pure coincidence. Because it’s not. And if you try to lie to yourself, believe me, it will rebound upon you. Badly.”
It was a scathing tirade, possibly the most Layla had ever heard the Head Courtier speak. As she sat there, flushing from rage, she felt her emotions whirl through the room. People shifted, and Layla suddenly realized that she could feel their desire in the air. She could feel all the Department Heads, most of them Royals in their own respective Lineages, responding to her magic.
Sex flooded the room, stirred up by Layla’s power, all of it rushing her way even though she wasn’t trying to project eros right now. Inside her body, Layla’s Dragon roiled with pleasure to feel all that passion stirred up. It was like a drug to her. It was like when she’d been in the middle of the Samhain Masquerade, being spun from partner to partner.
A heady ecstasy; something her Dragon wanted more of.
As Layla had that thought, her Dragon roiled inside her eagerly, thinking about having as many partners as she liked. Casual partners, not true mates, but delicious all the same. An image of thebacchanaliarose in Layla’s thoughts, and she felt how much it had arrested her on the day of her arrival at the Hotel. Her Dragon wanted to be in that public orgy. Feeling so many hands; tasting so many mouths. A simmering golden fire curled out from Layla’s body as she felt her passion surge and she couldn’t put it away. It didn’t do harm as it rolled through the room, but it made people gasp and shudder with pleasure.
Reaching out again, Sylvania set a hand to Layla’s thigh. But it was Reginald staring at her with his ice-cold intensity that solved the problem. Layla heard the rush of the ocean in her ears. A chill wave of power made her Dragon retreat with a strangled sensation. She shivered, not knowing how to fight it as goosebumps stood out upon her arms. As her mind was devoured by the sound of the sea, her eros quieted.
And in Reginald’s eyes, she saw what he didn’t say – that he had known he was the only person who could control her passion, right from the very beginning.
Her mouth dry, Layla at last found her voice. “How long would I have to train with you?”
“Until I am thoroughly satisfied that you are not a danger to our guests, and have learned at least the bare minimum of skills required as a Courtesan.” Reginald’s gaze was frigid upon her.
“Training as a Courtesan can last weeks to years, Layla.” Sylvania supplied, her luminous eyes gentle as the glanced over. “It all depends on how fast you learn. But know that the position carries both power and choice. In the eyes of the Twilight Realm, a Courtesan of the Hotel carries immense social standing. Courtesans are not at anyone’s beck and call – you only accept the Assignations that appeal to you. And often a Courtesan who couples rarely carries the highest value – if your skills and magic are worthy of the price. Which, from what we are all experiencing now, I’m certain will come to pass. If you desire it.”
Her gaze locking with Adrian, her hand snaking out and finding Dusk’s, Layla felt her world ripped apart just as it was finally being assembled. Sylvania’s words were a comfort, but the decision was heinous. Layla didn’t want to fuck for money, even though her Dragon was eager. She didn’t care if the position carried higher standing than a Concierge, or if she could choose her partners. Layla had grown up believing that fucking for money was prostitution, no matter how elevated it seemed.
How could she reconcile that inside herself?
And how could she reconcile that with the two men she actually wanted?
Layla’s gaze was still locked to Adrian’s, and she saw a terrible knowledge in his eyes. He was silent as all eyes followed Layla’s to look at him. With molten rage, he glanced to Reginald, but the Head Courtier held his ramrod-stiff seat, staring Adrian down in an intense standoff.
“I invoke a vote.” Reginald spoke quietly, still staring at Adrian. “How many Department Heads here believe Ms. Price’s magic is only suited to the Assignations department?”
Hands raised all around the table; nearly all of them. Only Dusk, Rikyava, and Rake kept their hands down, all three of them giving Reginald a chilly stare. Adrian didn’t vote either, but Layla had a feeling he wasn’t supposed to. As she looked around, she saw finally how the majority of Twilight Realm people saw her.
She finally saw that nearly all of them believed her magic was calling her to become a Courtesan.
“A vote has been cast, Hotel Head.” Reginald spoke quietly, though his presence was intense. “Would you gainsay it?”
Layla watched Adrian bristle. She watched his energy roar, blistering and furious. Curls of aqua and crimson flame simmered in the air around him as a mirage was stirred up, his eyes blazing gold as they pinned Reginald.
“Adrian.” The Madame spoke quietly. “Please. Place your personal feelings aside. For the good of our Hotel, I beg you to consider the wisdom of your Department Heads. All of us have the safety of this establishment in our hearts. Do you?”
Adrian simmered with wrath a moment longer. But then Layla saw the Madame’s kind words sink in, and she watched him pull his scalding magic back. Closing his eyes, he took a deep inhalation. When he opened them, his magic had settled, the vibrant gold in his eyes no longer terrifying.
Though his gaze returned to Layla, devastated. “Layla. I leave this choice to you. A vote has been cast as to the proper department for you. And though I hate it to the depths of my being, I have to honor it. Furthermore, by Hotel law, I cannot override the Head Courtier’s decision on a Training Partner for a new Courtesan. If you choose to remain in this Hotel rather than taking severance…then you would remain as a Courtesan, and abide by the Head Courtier’s will.”
“Choose, Layla,” Reginald spoke, pinning Layla with his gaze. “Stay with the people who care about you and become what you truly are… or choose to be alone. Because as long as you deny what you are, then none of the people you love are safe around you. Believe me, I know.”
In that moment, Layla saw something in Reginald’s eyes – a flicker of memory shining through his power. He shut her out with a wave of white-crested water, but not before Layla had seen a pale woman with raven-dark hair, red lips, and beautiful lavender eyes embracing a far younger Reginald on a lonely northern beach.
With the vision, Layla had an impression of awfulness. As if whatever had happened to that woman had been Reginald’s fault, maybe even a fault of his magic as a young man – and it haunted him still. Something about it gave Reginald an iota of humanity in all that austere ice and pale blue silk. And Layla suddenly realized that like Adrian and Dusk, Reginald was actually trying to protect her by giving her this horrible ultimatum – from something far worse that her magic might potentially cause.
It made her think of Luke. Of him twisting in spasms in the house back in Seattle, Layla’s magic tearing him up inside. The image was so vivid and horrifying that Layla shuddered. Her heart twisted from what she’d done with her uncontrolled magic. She saw Reginald frown as he watched her, something deeply human moving through his pale eyes. They were suddenly not quite so ice-blue, not quite so cold as he watched her re-experience her trauma.
