Page 10

EZRA

O rion leans over. “Put your tongue back in your mouth.”

Orion’s appearance still gives me a bit of a shock, but I’m trying hard to get over myself.

He’s all shadows and flame and very very far from human.

Plato says he’s called a shade. I can see why they put me on shift with Plato the day Syril gave me the amulet, because in comparison, a pair of horns is pretty tame.

“C’mon.” I jab Orion in the midsection with my elbow. He’s surprisingly corporeal for someone made entirely out of shadows.

He grins. “Fairies are hot. Let’s face it, we all like looking at their pretty faces and pretty colors.”

Uncharacteristic irritation sizzles up my spine at the thought of everyone in this room objectifying Lysander. I huff into my soda. “It’s not like that.”

It definitely is, though, and Orion’s knowing look makes it clear he’s onto me.

I should’ve faced Lysander straight on instead of sending Plato over with his drinks, but nerves got the better of me. He’s gorgeous, ethereal, and fascinating, whereas I’m what people might charitably call ‘a loser’ — and I’ve been flirting with him like he’s just a regular dude.

On stage, the giant, leather-clad monster they called Bear shows the crowd a hank of deep, bloody red rope and they cheer. It’s at this point I remember this is a bondage show, and the delicate fairy who’s kneeling out of sight is about to get tied up like a pretzel.

I grip the cool glass in front of me. I am not going to spring a boner at a kink night — I’m twenty four, for fuck’s sake, not eighteen.

Lysander stands again as the lights dim and the spotlight comes on.

I gulp. His skintight costume hides nothing.

Not only does it cling to his slim shape like lycra, but the cutouts leave reams of skin exposed.

I’m getting a full, potent blast of his effect.

But from the sound of the audience, so is everyone else, and that sobers me.

Bear pulls on a pair of heavy duty gloves and turns Lysander around firmly.

I’ve seen a lot of monsters in my last few shifts, and my brain is slowly adjusting, but I haven’t seen anyone like the guy on stage.

He’s bigger and broader than any human, dressed in leather pants and a leather vest that reveals scaly muscle.

His face is distinctly not human, never mind the horns, the teeth, and the thick, powerful tail.

He looks like he’s five seconds away from sprouting wings and breathing fire.

In contrast Lysander is slender, no taller than me — almost a foot shorter than Bear — with delicate-looking wings and smooth, gleaming skin.

The difference between them is startling. It obviously makes the show popular, because the club is packed.

The ropes slowly weave in intimate patterns around his limbs, the dark red standing out starkly on his pale green skin.

Bear doesn’t shift from his spot beside the mat as he works, gently moving Lysander where he wants him.

Lysander is pliant. There’s not a single drop of the haughty attitude he put on the first couple times I met him.

The longer it goes on, the hotter it makes me inside.

Finally Bear reaches for the clip, and with one powerful hand he lifts Lysander to his toes and snaps the clip onto his harness.

Lysander is slowly lifted off the ground, exposing Bear’s work.

Knowing nothing, it’s obviously pretty impressive.

Even his wings are tied. The bondage spreads them wide, showing off their full glory.

His legs are bent with his toes pointed toward the back of his head, his arms arranged to either side, and there’s a rope pulling his long hair up, making it seem like it’s blowing in the wind.

What hits me hardest is the look on his face, though. There’s no mistaking the bliss. The peacefulness. My nerves flutter. Jolts of adrenaline rush down my arms. I need to look away, but my eyes are glued to the scene. I’m not getting a hard-on — nope. What I’ve got is undeniably worse.

I have a goddamn crush.

When the show’s over, I do what I do best — compartmentalize. I’ve only just learned about the existence of monsters, and I don’t need to add complication to my life. For all I know, this could be some kind of physiological reaction everyone gets around fairies.

Besides, what would I possibly say? Hey, I like the way you get all flustered when I tease you, wanna get to know each other? Do monsters go on dates? Would he go on a date with a human for that matter?

Yeah. That all sounds pretty implausible.

“So what’s a guy — uh, a fairy — like Lysander doing living at The Sanctum?” I ask Orion as the crowd disperses and we make our way back to the bar.

What? Just because I’m compartmentalizing doesn’t mean I’m not curious.

Orion raises two shadowy eyebrows. “Syril didn’t tell you?”

“Tell me what?”

“He’s the prince of wildlings. He’s here cause his whole family’s dead or missing, and he’s being hunted by a creepy undead cult.”

My jaw drops. “Holy shit.”

Orion pats me on the shoulder. “Be nice to him. He’s been in hiding his whole life, so he’s a little… sheltered.”

I cast around for something else to say besides holy shit . “I keep hearing that word — wildling. What does it mean? Or is that monster business.”

“Nah. I forget you’ve only been wearing that thing for a week.” Orion jerks his chin at the amulet around my neck. “Wildlings are one of the four kingdoms. They might look cute and shy, but don’t underestimate them. Lilian is one, and technically Syril’s half, too.”

“Does that mean one of Syril’s parents is a dryad, and the other is, what, a shade?” I swear I catch Orion emitting sparks occasionally, so I wonder how wise that pairing would be.

“Presumably.” Orion shrugs. “But you don’t ask about someone’s parentage, y’know? That’d be rude.”

“Noted.” I make a zipping motion over my lips. “What about the other kingdoms?”

“There’s stoneskins — that’s Plato’s kind, even though he’s soft inside and out.

They’re ruled by the dragon king. Third is waterspirits, although they’re pretty uncommon except for the nymphs.

Last but definitely not least are the shadowfey.

My peeps.” He jerks a thumb at his chest. “Our guy is King Hellebore. He’s a shade like me. ”

“You guys don’t have democracy yet?” I half joke, but Orion only grins.

“It might sound like a dusty old tradition, but there’re benefits to kings. Trust me. If we didn’t get anything out of it, good luck getting any monster to pledge to a kingdom.”

I nod. That, I can believe.

“Speaking of dusty old traditions — you’re gonna join the qualifiers for this summer’s Crossing festival, right?

Syril’s leaving the first competition up to chance, which probably means it’ll be all waterspirits who win,” he complains.

“Larch is trying out, but c’mon. He’s a gargoyle, about as graceful on the water as a boulder. ”

“Are you sure I wouldn’t be intruding?” The last thing I want to do is put my foot in it more than I just did.

“Nah. Syril hired you for a reason. Be the rep your species needs! Grab a win for the staff.”

I snort. “Is that why Syril hired me?”

“Well, Lilian would rather die than possibly fall on her face in front of everyone, and King Hellebore would kill me if he caught me competing —”

“No, I mean, to be a human representative?” I barely stop myself from telling him there are a lot of people who’d make better ambassadors.

“Course it is,” Orion replies. “Most of us monsters live cheek and claw with humans these days, especially in Greenriver, but the truth is we barely interact with them at all. Except for the weirdos with a human fetish, you know? No offense.”

“None taken.”

Human fetish is a first, but it’s not the weirdest thing I’ve heard since putting on the amulet.

Is that what I’ve got going on with Lysander? A fairy fetish?

Somehow, I don’t think so.

“The problem is, there are a lot more humans than monsters, so some — like the wildlings — keep getting squeezed into smaller and smaller spaces, because they’re afraid of expanding their territory and letting humans know we’re here.

But what if there were humans who already knew about us?

What if we had allies and friends? We can’t just stay scared of humans forever.

” Orion shrugs, his shadows rippling. “The idea is that when you make a fool of yourself and Lilian sees you’re a nice, normal guy, she might be okay with her sister’s family having a human landlord instead of cramming all eight of them into the single gargoyle-owned apartment in her neighborhood. Syril thinks it’ll make a difference.”

I get it. And I get that maybe Syril did pick me because I’m an outcast. Not because no one would believe me if I tried to tell them — because I’d understand their problems.

But… “Who says I’ll make a fool of myself?”

Orion laughs, exposing the fire in the back of his throat. “Lysander’s gonna be watching. So — me.”

I lean over the bar and unhook the clipboard quickly. “Fine. I’ll join.”

“You don’t have to write your name down,” Orion says.

“C’mon, I said I was going to.”

“No, I mean, cause you work here. Just tell Syril.”

I put the clipboard down with a groan. “Are you sure you want me to keep the amulet?”