“I’ll let you know.” And he touches his knuckles to my arm, moving me out of the road. “Let’s take the back street.”
The way ahead is now littered with houses, all built from dark stone, with gardens full of neon green and bright purple. In the distance rises a white-and-gold manor, so contrasting with the rest of the architecture that my eyes are drawn to it. Because of the red sky, the spots where the light hits look like running blood.
“Is that your plan?” I ask Zaki, jutting my chin toward the house.
He nods. “Lord Berith will give us transport. Let’s just pretend for a while longer.”
I bob my head in agreement, and we make our way to the manor. We don’t want to look like we’re in a hurry, but we keep to a fast pace. Zaki tells me about the weird plants we pass, and for some reason many of them came from fae lands. I keep picturing the prince standing behind a stall, selling flowers. The picture doesn’t fit.
“You think your mates will get rid of your body?” he asks suddenly.
I blink in confusion. We were talking about blue flowers that drip honey for a moment, and then we’re back to my mates. I don’t understand his fascination with the subject. He keeps asking about them. “I’m sure they will,” I reply. “They’ll do everything in their power to do what I ask.”
“Why?” And he has an honest look of befuddlement on his face.
“Because we’re family. Why wouldn’t they?”
Zaki presses his lips into a thin line and looks ahead. He closes off. I ask about the flowers a couple of times more, but his answers are short and to the point, not the chatty Zaki from moments before, so I give up. It seems as if he dislikes the whole idea of mates, even when he keeps asking about it. I don’t get it.
The street, so far deserted, changes when we reach a small square. Demons of all sorts stand in a huge line, all dressed up to the nines. Veils and silks and velvets, every hue represented in their clothes. Many are dressed in tunics and cover-ups. Others wear clothes so skimpy I can see nipples and butt cracks. A girl waits in line, chatting with a friend, holding a leash in hand. The leash is connected to an old man’s neck and to a piercing on the tip of his exposed cock. Ouch. The sight gives me a shiver of pain.
Some of the creatures have horns, others don’t. It’s a wonderful thing to watch—how different they all are. Short horns, long horns, stretched up high or curling. White, red, painted. Several don decorations. I gawk and gawk, marveling at the differences and how vibrant the place looks. Everyone chats in a lively way, but the words die out when we pass them. People bow down to Zaki once more, but he keeps a bored look on his face, eyes focused ahead. I don’t dare to say a word.
We reach the front steps of the manor and Zaki climbs them, not pausing for a moment. He makes his way to a man in black, several short horns sprouting from his forehead, who turns to look at Zaki and almost drops to his knees.
“Master Zaki!” he cries out, his voice trembling. “What an honor, Your Majesty. We didn’t expect you.”
“Is Berith home?” Zaki’s voice is stormy, like an order, like a slap. My body is so damn confused. I suck my lower lip between my teeth, unsure if I want to step closer or step away.
The man in black bows lower. “Of course! He’s hosting a party to celebrate the new season.” He slides a glance in my direction. “I see you’ve brought a new slave, Your Majesty. Will you join the party? I can get her more... presentable for you.”
Zaki shoots me a glance, then looks back at the man. It’s so fast I can’t read his eyes. What’s happening? What does he mean by making me presentable? For what?
He sighs. “You do that.”
The man in black, a butler or something, steps away to let us in. Zaki crosses the threshold, then once I’m through, the man grips my elbow. I jerk my arm back, but he keeps a tight hold, forcing me to follow him down a corridor. I bare my teeth, ready to pull a punch when Zaki appears next to me, and the rage coming off him is so strong air clogs my throat.
The man feels the same buzzing energy and freezes to the spot. He moves his eyes up to Zaki, his entire body trembling.
Zaki leans closer. “Do not touch her,” he says in a whisper, and it’s a velvety threat, underlined with all the things he’s going to do if this man touches me again. The butler lets me go.
My heart soars. Shit, this is so hot. Zaki steps away, shooting me a meaningful look before he nods. He’s telling me to play along. Do what the man says. I nod back, then watch him disappear down a long corridor, the high, decorated ceilings a harbinger of the wealth ahead.
“This way,” the man whispers, walking down a side hallway with hurried steps. He doesn’t touch me again, even if Zaki’s not here to do anything. After a couple of twisty turns I have to force myself to remember, he stops in front of a door. “In here. When you’re done,” he points to the way we came from, “hurry back to the main hall. His Majesty is not merciful.”
I nod and watch him disappear up the corridor.That’s already been too much demonic contact for the day. I don’t want anyone else to catch me here, so I grip the knob. Opening the door, I slip into the closet-sized room and shut myself inside. When I turn around, I jerk with surprise at someone standing behind me. Shit. Not someone. Just a mirror. I’m so jumpy, afraid of being caught, that my reflection surprises me. With my hand on my chest, I take a couple of deep breaths, calming my racing heart, and take another look.
This is the first time I’ve seen myself in a mirror without the tattoos in a long time. And I like it. I hope that, when I’m back on earth, I’ll be strong enough to control and accept my power so the tattoos won’t come back.
With my gaze, I rake the space for how to get morepresentable. Then I see the clothes and almost regret coming here. A skimpy red dress waits on a hanger next to an ugly stool. On the stool, a pair of gold high heels, the sort of thing I used to wear in casinos. I haven’t missed the pain of walking on stilettos. Twisting the corner of my lips, I walk to the dress and pick it up from the hanger.
Spaghetti straps, low cleavage, a slit up a leg. Backless, two strings crisscross to keep the piece of fabric together. I can’t help but laugh.
Zaki is dead. I’m so going to kill him.
CHAPTER17
ZAKI