have his moments when he goes full punk. And his girlfriends almost always have the look.”
“Then no studded dog collars for you.”
Eamon touched his cheek to hers. “I’m tempted to return to the bedroom and strip you out of everything except for the necklace.”
“I could be convinced that’s an excellent idea.”
“If we return to the suite, you won’t meet anyone until tomorrow, especially if Cathal joins us.” He gave a small, teasing suck to her neck then stepped backward and snagged her hand.
On the first floor the elevator door opened in a discreetly placed alcove between public area and private, as if occasionally humans were allowed deeper into Elven territory.
Eamon guided her toward the back, the kitchen, she presumed, given the deepening scent of food and the cadence of called-out orders interspersed with status updates. A waiter passed, as enticing as the food he’d collected from the counter where it waited to be taken to diners.
It occurred to her that all the Elves she’d seen at Aesirs were men. “Do you allow females to work here?”
“Some.”
“Why only some?”
The question held an edge of militancy. She’d been lucky in her chosen profession. Her talent, her looks, and though she hadn’t been aware of it at the time, magic and Elven allure, meant she’d never experienced discrimination in the same way other female tattoo artists had. She’d brushed up against assholes, and men with a boy’s club mindset, but they’d held no power over either her advancement or her earning a good living.
“Peace, Etain, peace,” he said with a laugh. “I’m glad you so readily champion our females. Those who wish to serve here do so at one time or another.”
He opened the door to the kitchen, allowing her to precede him. The moment she did, all motion and conversation ceased. Their wariness slammed into her, unmitigated by the smiles that quickly followed because of Eamon’s presence, tentative on several faces and forced on others.
In a rush, the desire to escape into comfortable reality returned. Her gaze went to the outside world visible because of a service door propped open for a delivery.
A boy stepped through the doorway, carrying a crate. Lost in thought, he didn’t immediately notice them, but when he did, his attention was solely on her and stark terror filled his features.
“No!” he cried, dropping the crate. Fish spilled across the floor as he turned and fled.
“Farrell! Stop!” Eamon ordered, and she felt magic across her senses.
The boy—the changeling he’d told her about—only barely got outside before the door slammed shut.
“I’ll go after him, Lord,” one of the kitchen workers volunteered.
“No.” Eamon grabbed Etain’s arm, turning her to face him. “Do not leave Aesirs.”
Denial was her kneejerk response to his command, to the autocratic ruler who had replaced teasing lover. She remained silent, offering neither promise nor protest as the door he’d closed with magic flew open and then he was gone.
As if summoned by Eamon’s absence, Liam was suddenly at her side, his arrival releasing those in the kitchen to go back to their tasks, though with fierce concentration instead of the easy glide and cadence they’d had moments earlier.
The urge to bolt through the open door was nearly impossible to resist. She didn’t belong here any more than she did in the elegant dining area serving men and women she had nothing in common with—not even being human.
Ignoring the Elves who were steadfastly ignoring her, she turned to Liam. “Why was he terrified?”
Terrified enough to ignore Lord Eamon’s order, and she couldn’t imagine those he ruled often did. Scratch the surface and Eamon was more like Cathal’s family than Cathal was. She had only to look at Liam to know Eamon was capable of ruthlessness. Why else would he have an assassin serving him?
“That’s for Lord Eamon to answer.”
Liam’s response was a scrape over raw nerve-endings.
The compelling need to run and keep running increased with the first step, done in fuck-me heels that suddenly seemed meant to hobble her as thoroughly as the tight skirt and the lack of transportation. Panic swelled with the sense of being out of control.
Until she’d been taken by the Harlequin Rapist, and then rescued from him, she’d lived life completely on her own terms, trusting in herself and her gift and confident in her ability to survive. Could she even leave, given Eamon’s command to stay?
Her skin felt unbearably tight. It occurred to her that she hadn’t been back to her apartment in days, and as quickly as the realization came, she craved being alone in her own space, at least for a little while.
Without a word to Liam, she headed for the public area, strategy rather than any desire to see and be seen. It’d be harder to stop her from escaping where there were witnesses—that is, if she could pass through the wards at all.
Maybe once outside she’d consider herself a coward for not forcing herself to stroll through the restaurant as if it were hers, to imagine herself at Eamon’s side, or Cathal’s. She wasn’t foolish enough to think this was anything more than a temporary reprieve.
The maitre d’ stand came into view. Seeing the three women who’d just entered Aesirs only solidified her determination to leave this place she didn’t belong in. It’d been a year and a half since she’d had the misfortune of encountering the captain’s wife and daughters.
Like piranhas zeroing in on some hapless living creature dropped into the water, they noticed her. Lips painted bright red tightened and eyes narrowed to accompany expressions of disdain that were really only polite masks for a voracious hate.
Turning tail and heading in the opposite direction wasn’t an option. She’d never give them that much power over her.
Liam moved ahead of her. Protection? Or merely to position himself to prevent her from leaving?
She’d fight that battle after she dealt with the one in front of her, because there was definitely one brewing given the way the three women had moved to block her exit, forcing her to stop and interact.
Still trading on your looks, I see,” Portia, Parker’s older sister, said, eyes making a sweep over the outfit then returning to stare at the necklace.
Etain touched the cool stone. “It’s beautiful, isn’t it?”
The maitre d’ came out from behind his stand. “If you’ll follow me, ladies,” he said firmly enough to imply that patrons involved in unpleasantness would be escorted out rather than escorted to a table.
The captain’s wife stepped into Etain’s personal space, her voice a whispered hiss. “You’re dragging my husband and son through the mud with your antics and your association with gutter trash. I want you gone from their lives.”
Etain shrugged, refraining from pointing out that Parker and the captain were the ones who called her, who involved her in their cases. “Nothing new there.”
“Oh but there is something new. If I tell you where your whore of a mother is, will you leave my family alone?”
Anger and loathing poured off Laura. Visceral. Rabid. Fresh enough to give birth to hope. “Where is she?”
“Agree to have nothing to do with my husband and son. No calls. No contact.”
It wasn’t a promise Etain was willing to give. It wasn’t an oath she could make without becoming foresworn.
