Nectar of the Wicked (Deadly Divine, #1) (10)

Said ears heated and filled with my racing heartbeat as I attempted to ignore unwanted thoughts of what awaited.

“Come.” Turning, she beckoned for me to follow her back down the hall to a room at the very end near the exit. “Finish preparing in here. Hair, rouge, you know what to do. Hurry.”

The door slammed. Powders plumed from pots upon the once white and now stained furniture surrounding me.

There was only one other creature present. A male who sat at a stretch of mirror-lined tables edging the far wall. He’d paused in applying kohl to his eyes, and met my gaze in the mirror. “Fresh meat?”

I looked at the trays of glitters and powders scattered before him, unsure what to do. “I’m...” I swallowed thickly. “I think I might be sick.”

“Sit down,” he said with a scowl, then returned to lining his bright-emerald eyes. “You’ll ruin our tips with the scent of vomit clinging to us.” He was a faerie, or at least half, judging by the near-point of his ruby-studded ears.

I did as he said, but my hand shook as I reached for the jar of rouge brushes. Instead, I shoved it in my lap and stared at my reflection. My cheeks, high and sharply curved, were drawn, making my soil-dark eyes appear black.

I bit my lips to bring back their color. I could certainly do with the rouge. A ghost. My client was about to meet with a wraith. I was about to meet with a stranger, and I...

I couldn’t move.

Silence permeated like another flesh-eating mist. I twisted my fingers while silently reciting my letters in an effort to quell the unease noosing around my throat.

The male’s rich voice was gentler when he eventually spoke once more. “The first night is always the most daunting, but you never know...” He set the tiny brush back into a vial. “You might enjoy it.”

“Do you?” I asked, unsure why but needing his answer all the same.

He laughed, a buttery sound that both jarred and soothed. “Darling, do I look like I hate it? It’s the best job I’ve ever had, and believe me,” he huffed, “I’ve had many in my hundred years of existence.”

At that, I turned on the cushioned stool to better look at him. He appeared not a drop older than twenty-five years. Though that was no surprise. Even half-fae could live a few hundred years before signs of aging slowly took hold.

The male twisted on his stool, too. His thigh-high leather boots creaked when he reached down to his feet.

His focus sharpened on my face as he paused in tying the maze of laces. “Who in the skies are you, innocent one?” He sniffed. His neck rolled as he straightened, gaze brightening. “Such dark eyes for such a seemingly pure soul.”

I refrained from saying I wasn’t pure. I couldn’t be when I was more grateful than distraught over Rolina’s demise.

The door burst open.

Morin cursed viciously. “You haven’t done your hair.” I watched her scowl in the mirror. “Or so much as touched your face.” She looked over her shoulder into the hall, her complexion paling when she stared back at me and chewed her red-painted lip. She sighed. “Never mind. We’ve no time. Come.”

I offered a slight smile to the male who was now smirking at me and rose on weak legs.

As I entered the hall, the fear I could scent dampening the air grew stronger. Strong enough to realize it was not merely emanating from me but from the stiff-backed madam I trailed.

“Room twelve.” Halfway down the hall, she stopped and turned to me. Her apple-green eyes were glossy. “Whatever you do, do not displease him.” With that, she gestured to the slim stairwell beside her.

“But...” I frowned, thinking she would surely tell me more. “I don’t know anything. I don’t know what I’m expected to do or if—”

“You do whatever he tells you to. Now go.”

She waited as I hesitated. It was now clear there was no escaping this, and that informing her of my inexperience would be pointless.

So I gripped the railing tight and waded down to the second floor.

Adrenaline fled. Terror froze my feet to the floor before the closed purple door of room twelve. The room sat at the end of the hall. Firelight in the lone lamp upon the wall caused the aged brass of the numbers one and two to darken and then glow.

Could I truly do this? Not only was I ill-prepared, but apparently, I was also a coward.

The silence of the entire floor was too telling. Too stifling. Indeed, the rooms had been masked by spell-work to keep all sound trapped within.

Claws, sharp and sinking, dug deep into my stomach.

I shifted over the cool wood floor beneath my bare feet, unsure how I should proceed.

Was I supposed to knock or simply enter the room and introduce myself? Would he decide to just get straight to... business? What would such business entail when it was a transaction? I had some idea of what to expect when I one day gave myself to another, and I’d imagined passion, heat, and a magic that could not be explained. Would this gent want any such thing?

Perhaps he was expecting me to merely offer myself and forget about any enjoyment of my own. Was I permitted to enjoy it? What if I loathed it? How should one even offer themselves? Naked? Half clothed? Sprawled upon the bed and hopefully not shaking with fear of the unknown?

Behind me, the stairs halfway down the hall tempted like an alluring siren I wasn’t sure I could muster the courage to become.