So here I am at 11:45 p.m., becauseof coursemy last client is also late, standing in an empty luxury penthouse with the keys laid out on the counter. I wish they glistened in the low light. I wish they sparkled enticingly. I wish they did something other than sit there stupidly like normal, non-magical keys.
My freedom is so close.
But as my hundredth monster steps off the elevator, I realize I’m dead wrong. My freedom is gone. Any misconception of freewill I have entertained is now tethered to the beautiful, graceful, breathtaking creature that fixes me with a warm smile.
It’s been a long time since I gay panicked, and it’s as if all those years in the closet are catching up to me. I feel like I might pass out.
Seraphine Desroches initially looks like a beautiful Black woman—a touch taller than me, head fully shaved, strikingly dressed in a silk slip dress beneath a knee-length Burberry coat stylishly tied around her waist. She’s wearing practical but clearly expensive loafers, a clutch tucked under one arm. As she crosses the hall, I can’t help staring at the sleek grace of her muscular form, the soft shift of silk the only sound before her lilting voice addresses me. She has just the slightest French accent, and it takes me a moment to come back to reality instead of getting lost in the shape of her words.
But as I take her well-manicured hand in mine, unable to stop the press of my other hand on top of hers, clasping her fingers with a reverence more often reserved for oracles and religious figures, I finally drag my eyes away from her deep brown gaze. Arching from her shoulders is a pair of intimidating bat-like wings, each a slate grey with a sheen that invites visions of running curious hands over the bony frames, the taut stretch of skin across them, the dangerous claw tips at each point.
Right. Miss Desroches is my last monster. I have to get it together.
“Miss Marina.” Her voice is like the wind before a storm—bold, confident, promising excitement with a tang of electricity in the air. “A pleasure. I’m Seraphine.”
“Anya.” I barely choke out my own name. I’m still clutching her hand as if she presented a priceless relic I’ve been searching for my entire life. Maybe she is. Willing each finger to release, I let go. “Please call me Anya.”
“Anya.” She gives me a soft smile, revealing the glint of fangs. I could listen to her say my name forever and never need another word again. “I’m looking forward to working together. What do you have for me today?”
Too late, I realize I’ve been staring. Shaking my head as if a single action could ever remove her from my thoughts, I gesture behind me to the open penthouse door. “Please, come in.”
As Seraphine passes me, her perfume wafts around us both, and I inhale hungrily like some kind of pervert masquerading as a real estate agent. She smells like freshly washed pavement on a hot morning, like the first breath of fresh air after a storm.
Inside, I prattle on about the penthouse features, barely aware of what I’m saying as we move through each room. Seraphine nods politely, never interrupting or dismissing a point as unnecessary to her needs. When we get to the largest bedroom with a private balcony and ensuite bathroom, complete with a Japanese soaking tub and rock shower, I can’t stop stuttering. I also can’t stop staring pointedly at the staged bed with its dark silk sheets and plush duvet. I’m not imagining the knowing smile she flashes me. Before I can process the heat simmering through my veins, I move us back to the living room, fixating on the floor-to-ceiling windows with their stunning view.
At this time of night, we can see the flickering lights of the city around us, leading to a rare sight of the Golden Gate Bridge, illuminated against the hills and the ocean beyond.
“You must’ve charmed even the fog today,” I say before I can stop myself. Seraphine gifts me a laugh, encouraging me to continue. “Usually, Karl is hanging around and wants all the attention for himself.”
“Karl?” She quirks a brow.
“It’s what locals call the fog here. It hangs around so often, we decided to give it a name. He’s got his own social media andeverything.” I’m shifting my weight from one foot to the other, wringing my hands at my waist. It’s as if all the electricity around Seraphine has filtered into my skin, and each spark is a new twitch.
“You humans are so dear.” She grins, her fangs flashing beneath her shapely lips. The blood slams into my cheeks so fast I resist the urge to touch them in surprise. “I’ll have to tell Meghna at our next lunch.”
“You talk about humans with your—” I clear my throat, swallowing the word “monster.” Seraphine isnotmonstrous. Ferocious, powerful, intimidating, radiant. But not a monster. “. . . friends?”
“I am not partnered.” Now Seraphine is flustered, a half-smile flickering on her face as she glances down at the edge of her coat. “But Meghna is like me, a being of in-betweens.”
I don’t have a chance to ask what that means before she rolls her shoulders back, each wing flexing delicately. “But enough of my social calls. What other properties do you have for me?”
Panic flips my stomach, dropping my mouth open a fraction. “This was our only appointment for tonight, unfortunately. Is this not to your liking?” I gesture half-heartedly at the luxurious suite around us. After five years of this cursed contract, I’ve honed my showing finesse to a single appointment bringing success. I spent hours cross-referencing Seraphine’s lengthy requirements with available listings across the city, then doubling back to find a booking that would allow us to meet in the middle of the night. There are a few more units I could show her, but not tonight, and not that will meet her demands.
Seraphine shrugs one shoulder, looking around thoughtfully. “It doesn’t speak to me.”
Shit.
“And I never make such an important purchase without comparing options.”
Double shit.
“Yes, of course.” I slide back into realtor mode, grateful for the familiarity and control it allows while every emotion I’ve been stuffing down for years swirls around me. “I’ll make arrangements.”
“Tomorrow?” There’s more hope in her question than I can let myself accept.
I nod, giving her my most winning smile, but this time it’s not an effort. Iwantto please her so very,verybadly. “Tomorrow.”
“Marvelous.” The way she purrs around the word makes me believe she means it. “Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’ll need to test the flight exits for any potential new home.”
