Page 9 of Feeding Beauty (The Lost Girls #5)

Don’t Come in Your Pants, Dragon

TALON

R ap doesn’t say much when I enter the Poison Apple for my orientation.

She just hands me a staff security badge, a black comm earpiece that’ll probably work, and goes over a few cursory rules and regulations any idiot would intuit.

Thankfully, I don’t have to wear a uniform or shirt. Rap makes some joke about how no one fucks with a guy who wears leather over a bare chest.

The only reason I left Aura alone is because the shop they went to is right next door. And she is nowhere close to needing to feed. I can lengthen the leash...for now.

I can’t deny I took advantage of it. Before coming here, I found myself called back to that disgusting-looking food truck I clocked the first night we arrived. The Salty Bastard.

After devouring one of their suspiciously inexpensive lobster rolls dripping in butter and sweet brine from a paper boat, I realize that by the end of the day I’ll either be violently ill or have a food habit that will be very hard to kick.

The fries were crisp and salted to perfection, and I already can’t stop thinking about when I can go back.

I shouldn’t develop a dependency on food here. We won’t be staying.

Though a part of me hopes Aurora’s right. Maybe she can go cold turkey. Maybe she knows her body and power better than anyone.

But the larger part of me knows. Her power is a curse. It is not to be controlled. It is only to be endured.

Shaking my head, I push my worries of the future out of my mind and focus on being shown around Poison Apple from front to back.

I don’t need to ask questions. The work’s familiar—stand still, look dangerous, end problems before they start.

It grounds me.

The bar isn’t open yet, so I pitch in to help prepare, bringing out crates of booze from the back. I drop a stack of three crates when I hear the deliberate thud of heavy boots approaching. They strike the floor with real weight, not the dainty tap of someone trying to make an entrance.

Laughter spills down the hallway. “Five bucks says he walks into a wall,” Snow sings.

“His pupils are gonna dilate so fast he’ll blackout,” Ariel adds, somewhere between amused and pitying.

I turn in time to see the two Lost Girls make space, and then she steps out.

Aurora.

Only this is not the princess I’ve guarded for years.

No glittering chains. No silks draped over curves to imply virtue or seduction. No crown of grief.

Hair hacked to her shoulders, pink, choppy, wild, as if cut on a dare.

Blue streaks drip down the ends, inked rebellion in her hair.

Her lips are stained a dark berry red, and her eyes are lined in sharp black.

A bar pierces through her brow, complemented by a stud in her nose.

Her ears glint with silver. She looks like sex and war had a baby and dared you to touch it.

She’s wearing a grunge band tee that’s cut in a crop so high, I can see the under swell of her breasts. The very thought of her lifting her arms to expand the view turns my throat dry.

A leather skirt hugs her to mid-thigh, over fishnets with one rip near the knee. Combat boots envelop her feet, and a black choker wraps her throat.

It’s not an outfit for lust. It’s not for me . It’s not for anyone.

This? This is hers.

Aurora didn’t dress to please. She got dressed to be. And fae fuck me, I’ve never wanted anything more.

My cock stirs before I can stop it. My skin tightens with heat. My teeth ache. I want to turn away but can’t. She walks like a blade being unsheathed. Every step loud enough to drown my thoughts.

I know the girls are watching me.

My jaw clenched, chest rising and falling in jagged breaths.

But I don’t care. She’s radiant. And it’s not magic. Not her curse. Not the energy that ensnares when she feeds. It’s something wilder.

She’s fire and steel and leather and skin, and I want—gods, I want to drag her to a back room and rip those fishnets with my teeth as I grip the collar at her throat. I want to bury my tongue between her thighs and make her forget every person she’s ever had to feed on.

I want to hear her moan my name while I bite the place just below her ear that always made her shudder when she fed.

Snow elbows Ariel. “Yup. Hard as stone.”

“He’s gonna ruin his pants,” Ariel mutters, while shaking her head.

Rap doesn’t say anything. She just watches me, cataloging every move.

Aurora doesn’t flinch at their teasing. She doesn’t blink.

She’s watching me. Not with mischief. Not with heat. Her eyes pin me in place. There’s a furrow in her brow, a tight pull to her mouth. She’s bracing for rejection. Like she thinks I’m going to tear her down. Like I’m still the person who gets to say what’s right for her.

I hate that she’s holding her breath on my opinion.

“You look…” I swallow, because my mouth’s gone dry. “Good.”

It’s not nearly enough, but it’s the only word I trust.

Her shoulders drop. The tightness in her face melts into something warmer.

She smiles.

I said the right thing. Thank the fae lords for that.

In a moment, she’s swept away by the others, disappearing behind the bar so they can teach her the basics. Before long, it’s time for me to open the doors and check the IDs of the masses lined up to get in.

The night rolls forward, and I lose sight of Aurora in the throng.

In less than an hour, the bar’s packed shoulder to shoulder.

Sweat and perfume hang thick in the air.

The line still wraps down the block, but we’ve reached capacity.

I nod to the outside guard to hold it up.

That’s when it hits—the familiar burst of powder-blue sparkle dust, an explosion of magic and flair.

Geanie.

He appears beneath the lantern-lit tree again, top hat low, coat tails trailing. His voice pours over the mic, silk wrapped around sin.

“Alright, you wicked little deviants. You know the drill.” His grin is all fangs and fanfare. “Drink deep. Touch soft. Sin hard.”

The crowd roars.

I cross my arms and lean against the wall to watch.

Snow’s up first—same routine, same flair. She smirks as she tosses bottles behind her back.

Then Ariel rolls into place, copper hair flashing fire as she spins in her chair, her tattooed arm steady as she pours shot after shot into a tower of glasses.

Geanie purrs into the mic. “And now…” He drags out the pause until the air buzzes. “Our newest temptation.”

He saunters a slow circle around the bar, his voice deepening with every syllable.

And then?—

A pink spotlight cuts the bar in half.

Aurora’s boots connect with the wood in confident, measured strides. She lifts her arms.

Fae fuck me off a cliff into Kraken’s arse.

The sight slams into me, every bit as I feared it would. The impact drops lower and stiffens my cock as her shirt lifts dangerously high, threatening to reveal more than the heavy swell of flesh.

Her skirt is tight enough to tempt, short enough to be dangerous. Her thighs gleam beneath the torn fishnets, golden and strong.

Aurora spins slowly with a dancer's grace sharpened into a weapon. Her piercings flash. Her hands trail over her hips, then up, up, until they’re in her hair, fluffing, twisting, lifting. She bites her lip, and everyone in the place loses it.

She’s a natural performer.

“She’s not here to flirt,” Geanie intones. “She’s here to set the room on fire and let you beg for the burn.”

She dips her body low into a roll, palms brushing the bar, then rises again, hips swaying. Her lips part. Her head tilts. She’s flirting with the entire room, and no one can resist her. They aren’t drawn to her curse. They can’t resist Aurora, herself.

Suddenly, I’m not just stunned.

I’m jealous.

Ugly, ravenous jealousy claws up my throat as I watch the room devour her with their eyes. Hands reach. Voices howl. Someone yells, “Marry me!” and another slaps down a couple large bills.

Even when she’s fucking and feeding, I don’t feel a tinge of jealousy. As she takes whatever she needs, the other person doesn't get even a little piece of my Aura.

But the girl up on that bar isn’t the same girl I've protected for years, and for the first time, I have to share her.

It’s fucking terrible .

Because I suddenly realize this could be the beginning of losing her. And I can’t do a damn thing about it.

The primal side of me wants to explode in wings and fury, pluck her off that bar, and hold her to me as I fly us to a far secluded cave and keep her. Hoard her the way Dragons guard their treasure. My treasure. My Aura. My everything.

But I can’t touch her. Even in this new world, with this new Aurora, the rules remain the same.

“Her eyes promise trouble, her fingers spell sin, and her smile will send your soul packing.”

The crowd screams. But I’m silent. Carved hollow by want and fury and the ache of everything I can’t have. My jaw clenches so hard it clicks.

Geanie lifts his hand.

“One more thing,” he purrs, voice velvet dark. “If you’re thinking about taking her home,” he grins, “you better make peace with dying happy.”

The bar erupts .

Aurora throws both hands in the air and howls , laughing as the pink light pulses around her in a flirtatious heartbeat. She belongs here. A Lost Girl.

And it guts me. Because I see now how right she was. Here she is alive and free.

Which is going to make the fall all the more brutal.