years. And survived. I probably should have feared him, but I felt strangely calm. Serene in his presence.
My stomach had other ideas.
“Oh, gods…” My hand went to my mouth. “I’m gonna be sick.” Not even feeling the ache in my leg, I tore off for the bathroom. I heard his laugh follow me down the hall.
“I warned you.”
Asshole.
“It’s hot, right? I’m hot.” My mouth moved without much input from my brain. Everything felt toasty and happy.
My stomach ejected the food quickly but settled once it was back to being empty again, forbidding me to add anything except liquid. I lay on the bed, suckling on the mostly empty bottle, mourning the waste of my tasty dinner, while Warwick finished off his meal and the rest of mine. At least I had a nice buzz, a really, really nice one, taking the edge off the pain, worry, and most of all, him.
Nighttime was in full bloom, the house and passage below thriving with activity. Music, laughter, glasses clinking, smells of food, body odor, perfumes, and cigarettes crammed through the open window, battling for dominance.
I could hear the girls already shouting down at pedestrians passing by, encouraging them to indulge in their wildest fantasies.
“What do you want, pretty boy? Fae, half-breed, or human? Male or female? On top or underneath? Against the wall or over a table? Chains or feathers? Any way you want it,” a woman purred down above us.
“How about all my friends and me? It’s his birthday,” a youthful boy’s voice hooted up.
“Ugh.” I swallowed, no longer feeling the burn of the shoddy liquor, each sip glossing the room in a haze.
Warwick scoffed, pouring back his own shot, his attention out the window. He began to slump down more into the chair with every chug he took.
“What?” I struggled to push myself higher against the headboard, my muscles limp and floppy.
“You really are uptight and prissy, princess.”
“Stop calling me that.”
“Stop being so judgmental.”
“About a bunch of boys wanting to chain bang a girl?” I flung my hand toward the window. “Sorry, I really am awful.”
“No.” He shook his head. “About the fact she fucks for money.”
“I wasn’t.”
“Please. I can feel—” he cleared his throat, gesturing to me. “See it all over your face. Your nose wrinkles every time you hear them in the hallway or calling out.”
“Didn’t know I was being monitored so closely.” My ears heated with guilt. Did I do that? I couldn’t deny I was uncomfortable being around prostitutes. Meeting people such as Rosie, who made this place feel so normal, was kind of unsettling.
He flicked his eyes, peering back outside. “Guess you can’t help it. Though really, as someone coming from prison, who are you to judge?”
“I’m not.” I so was. “Prostitution is severely frowned on in my world. I’m sorry if I’m having trouble adapting instantly. Plus, prison wasn’t a choice. This is.”
“You think what they do is a choice?” he snapped back. Wagging his head, he returned to the window, quietly drinking, his attention feeling far away and haunted.
Picking at the label, his silence curled around us, choking the air. Several minutes passed before he spoke.
“I was born in a whorehouse,” he muttered, making me freeze with his admittance. “Nothing as nice as this one. Back then, life was even more cruel and unkind to women trying to survive. Especially those who didn’t come from money, weren’t married, and had been abandoned and pregnant. It’s not a choice. It’s survival.”
My teeth dove into my bottom lip, not sure how to respond.
“I was ten when she died of syphilis.”
“I’m sorry.” I curled my good leg closer to my chest, understanding the effects of losing a parent.
“It was a long time ago.”
“How long?” I tried not to slur, my mouth not working as fast as my head. I was curious about how old he was. To humans, age mattered, to fae it didn’t. I wasn’t sure how half-breeds aged.
His blue eyes slid to mine, his lip curling up. “Subtle.”
“What?” I feigned innocence, but a wicked smile hinted on my lips. Damn, he was so sexy. Was the room humid? Why was it tilting?
“You think you’re the first to try and figure out how long I’ve been around?”
“No,” I retorted, really feeling the alcohol cloud my head. “But for some reason, you have this unexplainable need to tell me.”
I was flirting, wasn’t I? What the hell was wrong with me?
His head tipped back in laughter, and goosebumps vibrated my flesh. He rubbed his brow, chuckling to