I shrug. “Seems quieter.”
A bouncing pair of large pale breasts passes by the window inside, just as we’re walking up to the door. I can’t see the girl’s face, and Sephania notices the lack of modesty.
“Wait,” she says as I reach for the handle. When I perk my eyebrows at her, she adds, “This is a brothel, isn’t it?”
I shoot her a tempting smile. “Is that a problem if it is? Scared of some bare skin, lass?”
She scoffs, aggrieved. “Me? No! It’s just . . . it seems even raunchier than the busy tavern down the road, doesn’t it?”
I start to turn away from the door, saying, “We can go back—”
“No,” she says firmly, eyes watching me. “This will be fine.”
My beautiful girl raises her chin defiantly, stepping inside once I open the door. Before we’re three feet in, she leans over and asks, “Do you frequent this kind of establishment when I’m not around, Garro?”
“Not for the thing you’re thinking of,” I mutter.
Her brow furrows and I walk past her toward the bar at the end of the room. She quickly follows, staying no further than six inches from my side. I can feel her wide, lovely hips bumping against mine every other step.
The light here is dim and tinged red, covering up most of the lewd nastiness of the establishment. There are some murmuring voices to our left, around a circular table, and a unique stench wafts through the place.
Sephania’s head moves on a swivel and she lets out a gasp when she glances right. I follow her eyes to see what’s surprised her and notice a man in the corner of the room, seated on a bench with his pants around his ankles. A rotund woman jiggles on top of him and moans softly, dress hiked up to her large belly and her hanging tits bouncing in front of her as she rides the man’s cock for all to see.
“Truehearts flog me,” Sephania hisses. “Is there no decorum in these places, to be gallivanting in the open like that?”
“Way I hear it,” I say, “you were mating in the open with Vallan just a few hours ago.”
“That’s different!” she scolds in a harsh whisper. “No one was around.”
“That you’re aware of.”
Her eyebrows jump, a horrified expression on her face. “Shit. Do you think someone . . . Ohh, Cordea, maybe?”
I laugh as we reach the bar, gently elbowing her arm. “I’m only jesting, lass. I don’t take Cordea as a voyeur. Though anything’s possible with that one.”
The barkeep is a man I recognize, so I nudge my chin to the right as we approach. “Banooth is at it again in the open, lad.”
The bearded barman frowns, peering into the orange-red light. He can’t see around a corner wall to see what I’m talking about. “With who, this time?”
“Looks to be Tamiryn.”
The barman lets out a snort of annoyance and steps aside to leave his side of the bar. “Thanks for the heads up, Garro. First one is on me. I’ll be right back.” He walks away, past us, yelling, “Banooth, how many times I fucking told you!”
I lean over the bar, pluck a bottle up, and bring two mugs with it. After pouring the ale, I look at Sephania and she appears to be staring at a stranger—me.
“What? He said the first one is on the house,” I say to defend myself.
She throws her arms out. “Banooth? Tamiryn? The barkeep knows yourname. How do you know everyone here, Garro?”
“It’s obvious, isn’t it?”
She crosses her arms over her chest, no longer looking so mirthful or genial. “Enlighten me. I want to hear you admit you frequent abrothelon your nights off.”
There’s jealousy in her tone, and I realize why she sounds frustrated. I’m a fool not to notice it sooner—what this must look like to her, with all the frolicking and drinking and nakedness around us.
I put down my mug and sigh, rubbing the back of my neck. “It’s not what you think, lass. I come here because it’s one of the only places where a grayskin like me is welcome in Nuhav. And I don’t come here to engage with the nightladies or nightlads.” The last thing I want with Sephania is miscommunication, so I keep talking into the stern silence, deciding to spill the truth. “Do you smell that lingering scent?”
She tilts her head and lightly sniffs. “Ale and perfume to hide the sweaty stench. What of it?”
