“You always do this,” Soria snaps. “You waltz in here acting like the sun shines from your ass, toss out a request, and expect our cooperation.”Her voice drops to a roughened pitch. “Let me remind you, Bringer of Spring, that this is Under. Your divine privilege extends no farther than your fingernails.”
Eyes narrowed, Zephyrus studies Soria, then Ailith. When he finds no support, he turns to me. I gaze at him calmly. “She’s not wrong,” I murmur. The West Wind possesses an unfailing streak of self-importance.
“Let’s try something different.” Soria paces toward the window and returns. “Why don’t you ask for our help as your friends, instead of using us as a means to an end. A difficult concept for you, I know. But the fact is, your options are few. Why mistreat those who can help you?”
Pride gleams in Ailith’s eyes as she takes in her wife. Zephyrus, however, bows his head.
“You’re right. I think of you both as my friends, and I should have treated you as such. For that, I apologize.” A wayward curl falls into his eyes; he brushes it away with a shaking hand. “Please, if you can help me, I would be grateful. If not, I will leave you in peace.”
Once more, Ailith taps her nails on the sofa back as she considers him. “I’ll make an exception, just this once. But if anyone comes to harm under my roof, you will suffer the consequences. I like you, Zephyrus, and I would hate to lose a friend, but those are my conditions.”
His eyes close in apparent relief. “Thank you both. I won’t forget this.”
“A likely story,” Soria mutters.
Ailith lays a hand on her wife’s arm. “As luck would have it, we are expecting Yakim shortly. Normally, we place him in the Red Room, but we will inform him it requires cleaning. He will wait in the great room until it is done. That should give you the opportunity to approach him.”
“Excellent.”
“And what of your companion?” Soria questions.
Ailith’s whetted gaze takes me in. Indeed, she did not overlook my presence. Merely tucked me aside until needed. “It is true he cannot resist mortal flesh. If you’re willing to take the risk, the payoff could be to your benefit. But your pet will need to participate.”
The West Wind’s eyes darken as he turns to the faun. “I already stated that she is no pet,” he warns.
Ailith shoots him a conspiratorial grin. “Why does Yakim need to know that?”
30
“ARE YOU CERTAIN THIS ISnecessary?” I whisper.
Ailith meets my gaze in the mirror, her hands filled with my springing curls, a few already pinned in place against my scalp. Maneuvering my hair into sections, she piles the red tresses so they frame my face. “Quite certain. When I’m through with you, Yakim will look nowhere else.”
I blanch as she feathers the ends of my curls with a comb. Do I regret agreeing to this outlandish scheme? Maybe a little. I’ve tossed myself into the sea without first checking its depth.
Tonight, I am to play the part of Zephyrus’ pet.
Once my hair is properly styled, Ailith bustles to a small table littered with cosmetics. The vanity mirror is so large I’m granted an unencumbered view of Ailith and Soria’s bedroom. Pale pink silk plasters the walls. Aside from the enormous four-poster bed, there is a small sitting area to my right backed by a tall bookshelf.
I’ve no personal touches at Thornbrook. I never wanted them. This bedroom, however, reflects the couple’s nature. It must be nice, I think, to make a space your own.
“You are quiet,” Ailith states, plucking a shade of lip cream from the pile, holding it up for scrutiny, and discarding it amongst the impressive collection with a shake of her head. “Do you not want the West Wind’s attention?”
“His attention?” They are sharp, these words. It is too late to temper them. “Why would I want that?”
Her gaze angles toward my left hand, which claws the arm of my chair. I loosen my grip, sink back into the cushions with a soundless exhalation.
“Why indeed?” she drawls.
I neither want nor need Zephyrus’ attention, or any man’s attention, for that matter. Zephyrus is a distraction. Always has been. If he happens to stir certain yearnings in me, well, I can worry about those later.
I say, “Why did you ask Zephyrus if something had happened to his face?”
Cosmetics in hand, Ailith crosses the room with a sway of her generous hips. Tubes, pots, brushes—all clatter onto the table.
“He did not always appear so unsightly,” she replies, opening a tube and smoothing a pale cream over my cheeks. “I’m not sure what trouble he got himself into. Knowing him, he probably deserved it.”
“What did he used to look like?” Truthfully, I find Zephyrus handsome, despite his awkward features, though I am convinced his nose is straighter than it was when we first met, his skin more luminous.
