“Hunting?” he asked, his voice lazy.
I slowly turned my head to lock his gaze. “What business is it of yours?”
“I’ve seen your prey. Last night, as it so happens.” He slid onto the bar stool and casually snagged a handful of nuts from the bowl on the counter.
“Where?” I clenched my fists on the counter. “What price do you want for the information?”
Jahn put his hand on mine. “Darlin’, don’t go doing business with his kind—”
“Excuse me, barkeep, but perhaps you’ll answer a question.” The Svartan’s voice was smooth.
“What is it?” Jahn glared at him.
“If you disapprove so much of me, why do you continue to accept my money?” The Svartan gave him a faint smile, both derisive and yet challenging.
Jahn’s eyes were cold but he turned away. “Camille, use your head. I know you’ve got one. You’re too smart for the likes of him.”
The Svartan slowly swiveled to face me. “I don’t need your money. But if you would accompany me to luncheon, I’d consider that acceptable payment.”
My father would have a fit, but I wanted the information and this man could tell me what I needed to know. And I wanted to know more about him. He was hot, he fascinated me, and we had some odd connection—I could feel it there, hanging between us, though I had no idea just how or why it had formed.
I swung off my bar stool and smoothed my skirt. “I don’t accept dinner invitations from nameless strangers.”
He smiled then, a smile to melt the coldest of ice statues. His teeth gleamed, sparkling white. “The name is Trillian.”
As he offered me his arm, I slowly placed my hand on his elbow and he escorted me out of the bar. Deep inside, I could feel a whisper saying I’d just sealed my fate.
The afternoon sun beat down, the dusky scent of summer wafting through the streets. Y’Elestrial was beautiful. Buildings of marble and stone stretched along the neatly patterned streets. Carts clattered past us, horses’ hooves clicking delicately as they trotted along the cobblestones. Flocks of pedestrians milled through the thoroughfares, hurrying on their way to wherever they had to go.
We turned down the road leading to the central market where the vendors opened at sunrise and closed after sunset. Most lived in their stalls, spending their money on brandy and wine, sleeping off one drunken stupor after another under the canopies and awnings. Unlike regular shopkeepers, they were vagabonds—their wagons their only homes.
Bees droned their way past, lazily hunting through the flower arrangements that were for sale. The cadence of the vendors hawking their wares and of haggling customers filled the street with a cacophony of noise…an argument over the price of starflowers at one stall, quibbling over a bone pipe at another, women bargaining for fresh meat at the butchers’ kiosks. The collision of voices and sounds sent a bustling energy through the air.
The vast market was four blocks long. Eventually we came to the end and exited onto a smaller side street. Trillian pointed toward a low building with a sign that read the steak and ale.
As I pushed through the door, the aroma of sizzling beef caught me short. My stomach rumbled and I let out a grateful, “Oh, that smells good.”
Trillian returned my smile, winking slyly. “You’re hungry.” It wasn’t a question.
I nodded. “I didn’t get a chance to eat breakfast this morning. I was running late, and the nut bread Jahn gave me only took the edge off my hunger.”
He led me over to a private booth and we slid into the upholstered seats on either side of the table, illuminated by a honeycombed candle, its wax fragrant and inviting. Trillian didn’t speak until the serving girl approached. She blushed when she saw him. I realized he must have that effect on a lot of women.
“We have good beef today,” she said. “And rosemary potatoes, fresh bread, and strawberry jam. Will that do?”
Trillian glanced at me.
I nodded. “I’d like a glass of water, please.”
“Would you prefer wine?” he asked. I shook my head and the girl moved off to place our order.
“All right,” I said after a moment. “I’m having lunch with you. Tell me what you know of Roche.”
He gazed at me for a moment, not speaking, then softly said, “And so swiftly she veers to the contract.”
“It’s just…I need to know about him,” I said, suddenly feeling rude. He’d been nothing but a gentleman so far. Since I was using him to get to Roche, the least I could do was extend a hand in peace. “I’m sorry. This is so very important. I have to catch this man.”
Trillian rested his elbows on the table, leaning toward me. “I assume you work for the YIA. You don’t have the look, but I recognize the harried expression. Don’t worry—” he said, fending off my protest. “I’m not asking you to answer, just speculating.”
I let out a long sigh. “You speculate right. And my neck is on the line if I don’t bring in this guy. My boss is doing everything he can to prevent me from succeeding.” Suddenly, I didn’t care anymore. I didn’t care who heard me, or whether it cost me my job. I was tired of fighting, tired of being the scapegoat.
Trillian cocked his head to the side and slid his hands across the table, gently taking hold of mine. The feel of his skin against mine sparked like oil on flame. My nipples pressed against the lace of my bustier, the material suddenly feeling harsh and arousing. The spark traced a fuse that led down through my stomach to settle between my thighs.
His fingers, so dark against mine, were like coffee on cream, soft and velvety smooth. He slowly turned my palm face-up and rubbed the tip of one index finger against the cup of my hand, tracing the lines that creased my flesh. Every touch unsettled me. I clenched my thighs together, trying to hide my arousal, but I couldn’t pull away. I didn’t want to.
“Your supervisor seeks to fail you because you are de’estial?” Again, the silken voice.
I raised my eyes to meet his. He’d used the Sidhe term for a phrase that meant “walker of two paths,” but I knew he was talking about my heritage. But usually, the word de’estial was given as an honor, not used when referring to a half-breed like myself. I searched his face, but there was no hint of repulsion, no sign that he looked down on me because of my human heritage.
Slowly, I nodded. “That, and he wants to sleep with me, and I won’t comply.”
Trillian pursed his lips, but a ripple of laughter broke free. “I can understand why he would want you,” he said. “But a real man never forces a woman, even when he has the opportunity. Even when he has the power to enslave her against his will.” He stood and leaned over the table, his face mere inches from mine. “There is no pleasure in a hollow victory, is there?”
Mesmerized, I shook my head. All of Jahn’s warnings were screaming at me, along with my father’s worries, but I swept them aside. Svartan he might be, but I could sense when people lied to me. And Trillian wasn’t lying. Maybe he was prettying up his words, but outright deceit? No, I’d bet my paycheck that he meant what he said.
I realized I was clutching his hands now, holding them tight. Another glance into his eyes told me he was aware of my hunger. I slowly let go, forcing myself to sit back in the booth as I tried to catch my breath.
The serving girl brought our meals and Trillian paid her.
“Eat. I’m starving.” He handed me the bread. I tore off a chunk and then pushed the rest across the table. “So you are looking for this man Roche. You work for the YIA. He’s a fugitive?”