Sevin: Lords of Satyr (5 page)

She straightened and pushed at him, her nimble fingers going to re-button her bodice. He frowned, wanting to stop her. Wanting the right to sweep her into the house and keep her there, under him, all fucking night. His eyes went to her mouth, reddened by his kiss, and watched it form a single word.

“No,” she murmured.

“What?” He pulled back, realizing he’d been staring like some callow moonstruck youth. His jaw worked as anger at himself welled up and burst out in her direction. “If you defy me—if you remain in this city, you’ll regret it, I promise you.”

Alexa nodded tiredly, not meeting his eyes. “I’ll consider what you’ve said, signor. But I’ll need time to come to a decision.”

“You have until tomorrow,” Sevin informed her in a clipped voice.

Ignoring her protest at this perceived injustice, he flung open the door and leaped from the carriage. Determined to put her from his mind, he welcomed the bracing chill in the air and the half hour of walking it would take him to reach the salon.

In the hours before a Calling, he often formed a strong attachment to a female that would see him through the moonlit night of debauchery with her. That was all he was feeling now. Sexual desire. He would slake that elsewhere soon enough.

But as he made his way through back alleys and narrow crooked streets to the rear entrance of the salon, a decade-old prophecy pounded over and over in his head in time to the sound of his boot heels pounding the cobblestones.
Your beloved. You will know her by the iris.

He hadn’t thought of that old Romani crystal gazer’s prophecy in years, not till he’d seen that tattoo tonight. It had been a foolish prophecy, one he hadn’t heeded then and would not now, despite tonight’s strange coincidence.

The fortune had been told to him during the dark years that he’d been alone, cut off from all family. When he was but fifteen and cast adrift—his parents recently dead and his brothers missing—he’d been taken in by the Romani, a tribe of nomadic gypsies passing through the Italian countryside.

They’d become a surrogate family. And for three years, he’d lived, worked, and loved among them.

Clara had been one of them. The crystal gazer’s daughter. She’d been comely, fragile.
Human.

She’d loved him.

And he’d killed her.

By the time Sevin reached the salon, the crowds outside had dissipated, presumably due to the intensifying of the storm. A few hardy stragglers remained, but he paid them little heed. The forcewall he’d erected would keep them out.

Opening the back entrance, he was immediately greeted with the soft strains of music. Nodding to the guards posted there, he tossed his dripping coat on a hook, and moved down a corridor. Another dozen steps and he was parting velvet curtains and entering the central salon.

It was a massive, splendid room that was the heart of the salon, with a gilded, coffered ceiling that rose three stories high to form a dome. Encircling the vast circumference of the upper floors were rows of balconied seating boxes, including two that served him as office and personal apartments. Enormous candelabras forged of precious metals mined in ElseWorld were positioned between the boxes, bathing strategic areas of the floor in their radiant glow, while leaving others intimately shrouded in shadow.

He took it all in with a calculated eye, noting in satisfaction that everything was going smoothly. Years ago, he’d designed this place in its entirety. Had made it a seductive paradise in which creatures of his blood could engage in concupiscent pastimes away from the prying eyes and suspicions of humans.

In the distance, a carousel turned with mesmerizing slowness. Lacquered dragons, unicorns, and other fantastic creatures pumped up and down upon it, some bearing riders engaged in amatory embraces, and others who rode alone, exhibiting themselves for the voyeuristic entertainment of the room at large.

His new hire Ella was among the latter, he noted, and she had drawn an appreciative crowd of spectators as she undulated sinuously on a demonic dragon. Seeing him, she sent him a sultry smile and reached out in his direction, coyly beckoning him closer with a sly curl of her fingers. He returned her smile with one of his own and a nod, but felt no pull to venture closer.

He had another woman on his mind. Alexa. The remembered shape and texture of her flesh still burned his hands, and her taste was still fresh in his mouth.

But he would not have either woman tonight, or any night. Instead he would lie with Shimmerskins—a breed of insentient females who had serviced the Satyr’s lustful needs since ancient times. In recent years when he’d been so busy with building and then operating the salon, they had become familiar companions to him. They were convenient and accommodating sybaritic partners, who simply disappeared into the mist from which they’d come when he had no further lustful need of them.

Yet his engagements with them were becoming unsatisfying of late, and he’d rarely bothered over the past few weeks. If he didn’t watch himself, he would become like Luc, foregoing all carnal pleasures except once a month during the Calling, when he had no choice but to yield to his body’s demands.

All thoughts of fleshly pleasure were instantly set aside when he was approached by one of the sharp-eyed guards. Two dozen or so were stationed at discreet intervals within the salon to ensure that no trouble erupted.

“There’s been an incident in the east wing,” the man announced
sotto voce
. “A small explosive device discovered in the liquor bar. Your brothers have gathered there—fortunately they contained it when it went off.”

“It went off? Gods, man, don’t leave such details to the end next time.” All business now, Sevin made for the east wing himself, hurrying without seeming to hurry. No need to draw more attention to this minor disaster. Everyone was agitated enough already with the moon’s coming and the upheaval outside tonight.

He found his brothers gathered like three dark pillars around the larger-than-life statue of Bacchus—the focal point in the center of the main liquor bar. Eva and Silvia were nowhere in evidence and presumably awaited Dane and Bastian in two of the many private and semiprivate chambers that ringed the central salon. Likely they were even now being pampered and prepared in anticipation of the sensual rites they would soon enjoy with their husbands.

Upon seeing him arrive, Dane gestured to the statue’s pedestal. “You missed the excitement.” When he stepped back, Sevin saw that the pedestal and floor tiles surrounding it had been blackened and damaged. An ugly pile of charred and twisted debris was being swept away by servants.

Atop the pedestal, the Roman wine god stood frozen in gold-veined stone, appearing blithely unaffected. Grape vines wreathed his hair and a wine goblet was extended in one hand as he offered a toast, one made in celebration of the fleshly delights all comers might enjoy in this idyll of his making.

Sevin’s brothers held no goblets yet, which meant they had not begun the ritual that would initiate the changes that would occur in them with the fullness of the moon. They’d been waiting for him.

Bastian held out a gnarled ball of mangled metal and Sevin took it, turning it over in his hands. “What am I looking at?”

“It’s an artifact of some kind. Was, I mean. It’s rubble now.” Bastian took it back and studied it with the concentrated fascination he typically reserved for two things: archaeological artifacts and his wife. “A rudimentary device, but effective all the same.”

“We think the culprit smuggled it in somehow,” the guard admitted.

“Looks as if there’s a traitor in our midst.” Dane went behind the massive, semicircular liquor bar of polished mahogany and brass, finding an ancient cabinet hidden there. Turning a golden key in its lock, he then removed two bottles, which he set on the bar. Finding a quartet of ornate goblets, he began pouring.

“Hard to believe that only a few weeks ago Pretender Galas were all the rage in Rome,” he went on. “No fear then. Humans thought nothing of cavorting about dressed as their favorite mythological deities and beasts. Their greatest pleasure on a Sunday afternoon was flocking to the museums to gawk at the statues and urns Bastian unearthed in the Forum. Centaurs, Venuses, Fairies, Satyrs.”

“That was before they found out such creatures were real,” said Bastian. “Which put a more sinister complexion on things for them.”

“I’ll be damned if anyone is going to force us out of this world with rioting and arson,” said Sevin. “We’ve been here most of our lives. This is our home, not ElseWorld.”

Then to the guard, he said, “Lock the doors for the night. From here on out, I want tighter security checks before anyone is admitted. Weapons are to be confiscated and held until patrons depart. Interview everyone before they go tomorrow to find out what they know about this. And secrete that device somewhere safe for tonight. Lord Bastian will want to take it with him tomorrow for study.”

“Understood. Certainly,” said the guard as Bastian handed over the artifact. With a quick half-bow, the sentry charged off with the device to carry out his orders.

Once he’d gone, Sevin set a hand at his hip and surveyed the scene. “The guard said you contained the explosion?”

“Luc did.” Bastian jerked his head in the direction of their youngest brother, who hadn’t spoken a word since Sevin had joined them. “Which is why there was no more damage.”

At the moment, Luc was lounging on a chair cocked back on two legs against the wall behind him, his boots propped on the chair opposite. His arms were crossed over his broad chest, chin tucked, and eyes closed. Without opening them, Luc muttered, “Just tossed out a simple spell, is all. Nothing to get excited about.”

Bastian sent Sevin a look, which informed him that what their brother had done went far beyond “simple.” Knowing how Luc hated anyone marveling over the unusual powers he’d somehow acquired while hidden away for all those years in the Roman catacombs, they let the matter drop. All of them knew he was downplaying what he’d done. They were accustomed to that, and to his moody silences.

Having poured measures of ruby liquid from the first bottle into three goblets, Dane handed them around. Then he poured from the second bottle into a fourth goblet. This was a nonalcoholic elixir, which he served only to Bastian, who could not tolerate spirits. “Drink up. The moon’s no more than an hour from coming.”

Four golden goblets lifted toward the statue of their god, accompanied by four calls of
“Salute!”

Then, as one, the four Satyr lords drank of the elixir that was their lifeblood. It was a necessary thing they did now. Without this elixir to commence matters and prepare their minds and bodies for the Calling, they would meet their deaths in the hours before dawn.

This ruby liquid was the sole reason that the Satyr clan in Tuscany still guarded a special, ancient gate on their lands. Through this conduit between the adjacent worlds, grapes were regularly exchanged. Those that came from ElseWorld vineyards were brought into this world, and then a portion were transported to Rome for use in this tradition.

This cross-pollination between the worlds was crucial in keeping all the peoples of ElseWorld’s blood alive. If the gate’s location was ever leaked to humans, it could prove disastrous.

Sevin tossed back his elixir and was quickly done, setting his empty goblet aside. Humans considered them to be little more than carnal beasts, he knew. But these Callings were more than an animalistic sexual romp. Nights such as these brought ElseWorld clans and families together to worship the ancient gods and ways of their ancestors. The ritual tonight would be a time of bonding. A renewal of what they all were. An affirmation of what it meant to be of Satyr blood.

“Is this the last of it?” Dane asked, studying his goblet.

Sevin nodded. “I’ll send for fresh grapes from Tuscany on the morrow to get started on fermentation of more stock.”

Bastian shook his head. “I’m afraid it will no longer be so easy. There’s a travel embargo. Voted into law throughout Italy this afternoon. I don’t know the details. But the gist is that those of us with ElseWorld blood are no longer allowed to travel outside the confines of our city of residence.”

Dane and Sevin both swore darkly.

“This day just keeps getting better and better,” Luc muttered into his goblet. He raised his drink to his lips. But then he grimaced and moaned. His chair legs hit the floor and he bent low, his head dropping between his legs.

“Luc! What is it?” Sevin demanded in alarm, going to him.

“Damned headache.” Luc pressed the heel of his hand against his forehead.

The brothers shared a look. Luc never complained unless he was near to dying.

“Has this happened before?” asked Dane.

Luc nodded and then moaned again as if the movement had pained him. “A few times. But this is worse. Like lightning driving through my brain.”

He sat up again and let his head drop back against the wall, visibly making an effort to breathe evenly.

“Could the coming of tonight’s whole moon be the cause?” Bastian speculated. “That combined with the fact that the protective curtain is now gone?”

“Maybe this will help,” said a voice. Sevin looked over his shoulder to see Ella approaching. Other employees and patrons had been filtering into the bar. But she had brought a cool cloth and now made as if to lay it on his youngest brother’s brow.

With a snarl, Luc knocked her hand away.

Another of the salon’s female employees shook her head sharply at Ella and drew her aside. “That one doesn’t like to be touched,” she whispered in a voice that carried. “He won’t even touch us on a Calling night.” She nodded in Sevin’s direction. “Unless his brother insists.”

Her warning fell into a silence that caused it to hang heavily in the air.

“Out!” Sevin commanded, his gaze encompassing the room. Patrons and employees alike started in surprise at his tone.

As a guard came and ushered them away, Sevin went to Luc and carefully clasped a hand on his shoulder. He and his brothers made a point of regularly making such gestures, trying to accustom him to accepting them again. “Perhaps it’s time to retire, Luc. Maybe Shimmerskins will put you at ease.”