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Reynard folded his arms and leaned a shoulder against the wall, apparently relaxed, although his eyes scanned the faces of everyone who passed us. Then his gaze landed on me, and the smallest of smiles lifted his lips. That smile landed like a reassuring hand on my shoulder.

It was good to have backup.

Sebastien surged into the lobby in a blast of baby pink—accented with snow-white details on his jacket and pants—with his long white hair currently pinned up in an artfully messy bun.

“The fuck are you doing here with that? Was one warning not enough? You thought you’d bring your suit back, to what? Make you look big? You just look like a simp. Don’t embarrass yourself. Fuck off. Bye.”

He was a lot. Every time. I took a breath, reeling from his tirade.

“Then do you rescind your offer?” Reynard asked, adding some much needed composure to the conversation.

“What fucking offer?”

“La mort d’amour? You offered us a room, no?”

“La mort dafuq?” Sebastien straightened, then stepped back. A few nearby demons, including the one at the desk, fell quiet too. It probably wasn’t often that they saw their boss lost for words.

Sebastien’s wings gave a little flutter, and from watching Zee . . . that showed he was interested, perhaps even intrigued. “I did say that . . .” Sebastien purred and tilted his head. His black pupils widened, swallowing the pale blue of his eyes. “Well then, right this way.” After turning on his heel and vanishing his wings, he led us deeper into the club, tail swishing behind him.

My heart pounded, hard and fast, like the music trying to break through the walls. This was happening. It was working.

“Death sex. You’re a kinky fuck, human. You taking this to its limits, vampire? Or just for fun?” Sebastien asked, leading us down several steps into a neon-lit hallway. Several of the doors hung open, revealing lavish rooms inside, like private booths with a bed area. A few doors were closed too. Probably occupied.

“For fun,” Reynard replied, since my brain had forgotten how to word.

“If you change your mind, I’ll pay good money to film you fuck the human to death. Snuff videos sell for a fortune.” Sebastien glanced over his shoulder, pupils blown wide now. His wings sparked some too, dusting the air with pale blue glitter.

“Money is not something I’m short of.”

We’d been concerned that Sebastien might ask why we’d come to Razorsedge to erm . . . do the thing, when we could just engage in death sex at the hotel, but Reynard had suggested Sebastien would be too titillated to ask. He was right.

Sebastien opened a door for us, into a large suite with a red leather–cushioned booth area to the right and a bed draped in red curtains on our left.

“You have the room for an hour. If you need longer, hit the button over there on the control panel. Oh, and don’t forget, I’ll be watching. As was the deal.”

“Of course, as was the deal,” Reynard said, heading into the room without a moment’s hesitation.

Sebastien eyed me from his towering height, like a bug he’d like to squish. “Erm, thank you.” I stepped inside too, and Sebastien swept the door closed.

Reynard and I stood alone in the large, sumptuous, and comfortable room. I couldn’t hear the music as much now, so there was adequate soundproofing should things get noisy.

“So.” I clapped my hands together. “This is nice. It’s very . . .” Hot? Erotic? Sexy?

“Red,” Reynard said for me. “Look for the camera.” Straight to business. Always the professional.

“Yes. Right. The camera.” I hurried toward the gleaming, stainless-steel control panel on the back wall and its array of candy-colored buttons. Poking at one opened a side panel in the booth, revealing a small drinks cabinet stocked with wine. A mini bar. I jabbed the next button, and a drawer popped open in the oval table in front of the booth. That one appeared to be filled with essential oils of all different colors. Massage oils? No wait, flavored lubricant. I jabbed that button again, closing it before Reynard saw.

When I pressed the third button, a whirring sounded, the ceiling panels opened, and an array of chains and leather dropped from above. There were, very clearly, four straps ending in buckles, creating a large sling of some kind. It looked like a medieval torture device.

I blinked, frozen in place.

Reynard also blinked. Twice. And paused, midway through adjusting his shirt cuffs.

A drawer beside the bed popped out with a loud clang, revealing a selection of coiled whips.

“I doubt we’ll be needing those,” Reynard said smoothly.

“Oh. Right. Yes. I mean no. No! Definitely not?” I jabbed at the panel, missed the button, and hit the one next to it. A drawer under the bed rolled out, displaying a rack of dildos and buttplugs that put Zee’s drawer of dicks to shame. Big ones, small ones, studded ones, colorful ones, double dicks, small dicks, spikey ones, fat ones. So many . . . The display went on and on.