anniversary, maybe?
What was it like to have someone in life, every step of the way, closer than he could ever be to anyone?
He remembered Amelie, the woman Lero had brought home once. Zeph was eight, maybe nine then, still learning to read in English. Amelie brought him an English children’s book as a gift and taught him how to pronounce a few words he didn’t know.
He liked her, but even more so he liked the tenderness in Lero’s eyes whenever his friend looked at her.
Less than two weeks later though, Lero told him that Amelie wouldn’t be coming by anymore. Zeph had never seen another woman with Lero since. Whatever had happened between them, Zeph understood that Lero might be speaking from experience when warning him against getting too intimate with a human female.
There were a number of things about Fae that could be deadly to a delicate, vulnerable girl like Ivy. Yet he simply did not have it in him to part with her for good yet.
Just for a few more days. She’d be gone soon, anyway.
He was confident he could control himself around her for a week. Her company was worth the self-restraint.
While finishing the song, he allowed his memory to bring up the images of her wavy, pink-blue hair.
The two round dimples that popped up high on her cheekbones whenever she was relaxed enough to smile wide and free.
The wonder and adoration that floated in her huge moss-green eyes when she listened to his singing...
The sensation of her silky skin, lathered with bubble bath...
The way she moaned, arching her back as he played her body like the most exquisite instrument he had ever held in his hands...
The song ended, allowing Zeph to flee the stage before any further memories stretched his pants with an erection too obvious to conceal.
Heading straight to the bar, he poured himself a glass of white wine, feeling suddenly parched.
“Zeph.” One of the waitresses, Lorraine, tapped his arm. She leaned closer to his ear as the sound of Selene’s luscious voice rose from the stage, her backup dancers burning up the floor behind her. “There is a girl asking for you.”
“What girl? Where?”
“Just outside the front door.” Lorraine gestured that way. “Medium height, blue-and-pink hair.”
“Ivy?” His heart made a leap in his chest.
“She didn’t say her name.”
“Why wouldn’t she come in?”
“She has no ticket.” Lorraine shrugged, moving on to weave between the tables, her drink tray above her shoulder.
“Oh, for fuck’s sake.” Zeph slammed his wine glass on the counter, heading to the main entrance. He had to have a word with Gabriel at the door. For as long as Ivy was in Paris, she would be allowed to come and go as she pleased—no ticket required.
Gabriel was not by the door when he got there. He had probably stepped aside to chat with the new ticket girl.
A flash of pink-and-blue hair caught his eye when he exited, a feminine figure descending the basement stairs of the building next door.
“Ivy!” He rushed after her. The initial excitement at getting to see her again was suddenly replaced by the worry about what brought her here tonight.
A large van moved in front of the basement entrance, shielding him from the street. The next moment, somebody shoved a bag over his head. It was then yanked all the way down, shrouding his entire body.
The sharp scent of womora leaves hit his nostrils, the thick fog of it almost tangible inside the bag.
Instinctively, the spikes on his back, arms, and legs tensed, snapping up from his skin and shredding his clothes to pieces. Fervently, he fought against the rough hands that lifted him and carried him off.
The heavy fabric of the bag held, however. Whoever did this knew exactly what they were doing. The poison from the tips of his spikes dripped uselessly onto his own skin.
The womora smoke, mixed with another scent, sharp and unfamiliar, thickened around him, clouding his vision and muffling all his senses.
Until he could no longer feel a thing...
Chapter 7
MY FINGERS WRAPPED around the mug of my third cappuccino, I stared at the red-and-white checkered tablecloth in front of me.
It was well into the second hour of my sitting here at the table for two in the café where Zeph had promised to meet me.
Except that he was nowhere in sight.
I called his number a couple of times, but he didn’t answer. The cappuccino was cooling in the mug. The warm excitement that had reigned inside me since last night had fizzled