“I request a room for the night. Any room you have available will suit, but I ask that I be granted permission to stay overnight. You may charge any expense to the Alpha Council.”
She lifts her chin. “I can give you a room. The best room, and more. I’ll send my prettiest girls to you as well. Three of them.”
“I’d like to request—” I’m about to sayMiss Snowwhen I recall Madame Desire referring to her asMiss Lovecraft. “I request a night with Miss Lovecraft, if you will.OnlyMiss Lovecraft.”
Her expression shifts to one of surprise. “Miss Lovecraft?”
Astrid gives my hand a squeeze. From the way her nails dig into my palm, I think it’s meant to be a silent threat. I can feel her gaze burning into the side of my face, but she doesn’t argue.
“Yes,” I say, and Madame Desire continues to blink at me in a perplexed manner. Did I perhaps come to an inaccurate conclusion regarding Astrid’s profession? “She does work for you, does she not?” I ask.
Astrid opens her mouth but only manages to utter a sound before her voice is drowned out by Madame Desire’s fervent tone. “Yes, she does! She very much does.” Her gaze slides to Astrid’s, and there’s a clear warning brimming in her eyes. “Shewillspend the night with you. Because she works forme,and she doesn’t dare forget that.”
Astrid’s hand turns rigid in my palm yet again, but all she says is, “Of course, Madame Desire.”
* * *
A few minutes later,Astrid and I stand alone in a bedroom on the top floor of Department Lust. The room is spacious with floors of fiery opal, pink papered walls, and plush rugs woven from ruby wool. The lamps give off a rosy glow, casting the brightest light upon the bed. The latter is the only piece of furniture in the room, aside from two narrow nightstands.
It sends a clear message that this room was designed for one thing and one thing only.
Astrid seems equally aware as her gaze wanders everywherebutthe bed. She steps as far away from me as our linked cuffs will allow. “I take it you’ll claim the floor.”
I huff a dark laugh and guide her to one side of the bed. “Sit.”
She glances from me to the bed. A note of panic rises in her scent profile. “Why?”
I tilt my head toward the ewer of warm water left on the nightstand. It was the final request I made from Madame Desire. “You’re wounded. You need to clean up.”
She looks pointedly at my chest with those unsettling eyes of hers. Eyes I still cannot see. Eyes I can only comprehend. “You’re wounded too. Why don’tyouclean up?”
“I will after. Besides, I’m full fae. My wounds have already healed.”
“How do you know mine haven’t also? I’m not fully human, you know.”
I shift my jaw back and forth. Must she argue with everything I say? “I know your wounds haven’t healed because your elbow is dripping blood.”
She glances down at her free arm where a scrape runs from her wrist to her upper arm. The most severe part of the wound is at her elbow. It gapes open, dripping rivulets of crimson. I can only imagine how much worse it must have been when she first sustained the injury, before her innate healing kicked it. Or has it not begun healing at all? Regardless, it shouldn’t be this bad for someone of fae heritage.
She lurches forward as if suppressing a gag and brings a hand to her lips. “Oh no. It’s bleeding.”
“I said as much.” I lift a brow. “Are you sensitive to the sight of blood?”
She nods and plunges a shaking hand into her skirt pocket, swaying a little as she extracts a small vial. I narrow my eyes while she turns the lid and draws out a glass dropper. My blood goes cold at the aroma of Crimson Malus filling the air.
Poison.
The very same that killed her father.
“Don’t judge me,” she says, voice strained. With shaking hands, she tilts her head back and places two drops under her tongue. Then she seems to think better of it and drops a third.
My shoulders tense, my muscles rippling with rage. Crimson Malus is a vile drug, one that harms more than just humans. It can hurt fae too. Destroy lives. Families. And here she is, brazenly swallowing it down like it’s some prized nectar. How could she be so reckless as to take that drug in front of me, knowing what I know?
She returns the vial to her pocket and releases a slow breath. Her eyes flutter closed. “I really needed that.”
Her scent grows dimmer, mellower, the lemon, apple, and morning dew components of her aromatic profile blending into a harmonious concoction.
I stand stiffly beside the bed, unsure how to react. Unsure how to swallow down the anger twisting my heart…and the memories it forces to the surface.
