Chapter 5

I woke slowly,wrapped in warmth, drifting in comfort, and opened my eyes.

Zee’s face was an inch from mine, his closed eyes fluttering from dreams. That warmth and comfort came from the weight of demon limbs shrink-wrapped around my body, and his tail looped around my leg.

That was his tail, right?

When I’d allowed him to stay, I’d explicitly said on the couch. Not in my bed, and not wrapped around me.

His soft breaths puffed against my cheek. His mouth was soft when not sprung into a grin, and those sharp little teeth were hidden away. His tousled, two-tone hair poked out at all angles. Mercy, he was adorable.

And . . . this was awkward.

If I tried to move, he’d wake up. And if he woke up, he’d have a whole lot of colorful things to say about this unfortunate situation, most of them undoubtedly sexual. To make it worse it was morning, and there were parts of me already standing to attention for some inexplicable, biological reason. It didn’t mean anything that I was hard, just that... it felt really, really good to be held.

How was I going to extract myself from his limbs before he woke up, without waking him up?

Oh my stars, his eyelashes were pretty. I knew he loved purple. The hair, the clothes, always purple and black, but I’d never seen him so close before, and even his black eyelashes had sparkles of purple in them. The color of storms. His lips, slightly parted, had a plump, glittery sheen, making them perfectly bitable. He really was beautiful beneath his endless act to ensure everyone looked at him. He didn’t need to be loud, or brash, or any of those things. He was even more amazing when silent.

He didn’t have to impress me. I knew his worth, and it had nothing to do with sex, or how pretty or flamboyant he was.

His eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings, and then his eyes opened and fixed on me. Dark pupils narrowed, then swelled. His eyes were multifaceted, like black diamonds surrounded by amethyst, if there were such things. I sucked in a little gasp. He was... breathtaking.

“Fuck, this is awkward,” he said.

It was, and it wasn’t. Half of me screamed to get away, but the other half really, really liked being wrapped in his limbs, which meant I was stuck between a rock and a very hard place.

Time ticked by. He stared into me, and I stared into him, falling into his hypnotic eyes, his heat throbbing through me in waves. Or maybe that was my heat? Did it matter?

Maybe, just this once... Just a little fooling around? He had to know how I wanted him—could probably taste the pheromones, or whatever he called it. And I did want him. I wanted to pull him closer, to taste those soft lips, to feel him brush against me, hear him moan my name.

“It’s killing me not to go down on you, Adam,” he said, his voice deep and rough, as though dragged over gravel. “Literally killing me.”

“Oh-nope, no.” I rolled over—or tried to—but his arm was heavy, and as I levered it off, and tried to escape the bed, his tail clung to my thigh. It was unraveling, but painfully slowly.

He let me up, then his tail vanished, and I staggered from the bed.

At least I had my pants on, and a T-shirt from the night before. I dropped my hands to cover my very obvious and eager dick.

His gaze dropped too.

Zee smiled, and stretched like a lazy cat in the sun. The sheet covering him outlined a gorgeous body made of firm muscle. His tail writhed under there, like a snake maneuvering across a forest floor, and of course, the bulge at his crotch made it clear he was hard. And big.

I tore my gaze away. Mercy, he wasbig. I supposed that was part of the whole porn talent.

I’d never watched his movies—didn’t want to see him like that, knowing it would be all kinds of torturous—so I wasn’t as familiar with his anatomy as his millions of fans were.

“Don’t hurt yourself, Kitten,” he purred. The bed creaked.

I peeked and caught a glimpse of his smooth back, and the wings, rising from over his shoulder blades. Powerful muscles rippled, and a startling image of me licking up his back, between those wings, dried my mouth and made my insides flutter. My morning wood came roaring back.

“I know you don’t want this,” he said, “despite your dick saying otherwise.”

He stood, and I briefly caught a glimpse of his gorgeous ass before he flicked a hand in the air, manifesting a fluffy white dressing gown. He tugged it on, covering up the x-rated display, cinched the belt tight and headed for the door, tail trailing out behind him.

But as he’d thrown on that gown, I’d seen the friction marks around his wrists and the bruises at his neck. I hadn’t seen them last night, with the lights off, but they were apparent now. Somebody had held him down. Somebody had hurt him.

“Uh... don’t go.” I didn’t want him thinking he had to leave. That wasn’t my intention at all. “I mean, you don’t have to go. Stay. I’ll just... I’ll get dressed.”

He arched an eyebrow.

“If anyone sees you leaving my room wearing just that gown, rumors will fly.”

I hurried to the bathroom, hoping he waited, and flicked on the shower. A few minutes’ blast of cold water cooled me off, and by the time I emerged, Zee was dressed in a leather and lace combination, with a trailing tailcoat and frilly cuffs. He sat sideways in my desk chair, boots kicked up on the table top, crossed at the ankle, as though he’d been poured in place.

No fluffy white gown. No naked ass. We were back to being business partners. As it should be.

“Sorry,” he said, eyes downcast. “I haven’t done that in a while.” He peered up through his lashes like a scolded dog. “I sleepwalk sometimes. Wasn’t intentional.”

“It’s fine. Nothing happened.” I parked my ass against the opposite edge of my desk and glanced at the marks on his neck. “Are you alright?”

“What? Oh this?” With a soft, hollow chuckle, he flicked his purple-painted nails, scattered a basic glamor over himself, and the bruises vanished. How many times had he covered the bruises in his past? When I’d found him six months ago, everything had been on display. Every cut, every bruise. He’d been a mess.

His eyes flashed a warning for me not to ask.

He planted his heeled boots on the floor and leaned forward. “Let’s make a deal. You don’t mention the bruises and I won’t mention the bloody clothes in your laundry hamper.”

Ah, so he hadn’t forgotten about those. I didn’t have to explain anything to him. What happened outside the hotel was my own business. The same as whatever happened to him in Runo, was his. “Deal.”

“Good. Now, I’ve been thinking about a hotel tagline. How’s this?” He cleared his throat and swept a hand through the air. “SOS Hotel, Your Final Resting Place.”

I winced. “Hm, yeah, no.”

“Alright. What about SOS Hotel, Your Home Away from the Torch-Wielding Mob?”

“Uh... I thought we agreed on Supernaturally Safe?”

“We did, I just...” He screwed up his nose. “It’s fucking dull.”

“It’s safe, that’s the point.”

“Safe is vanilla. Safe is missionary. Where’s the spice?” He reclined in the chair and announced, “Your Friendly Sanctuary for the Fiendishly Fabulous?!”

I smiled. “You know, I’m sorry about that silly article, and for not telling you I was having issues with Reynard sooner. Yesterday got kinda crazy.”

“Yeah, it did.” He shrugged, and examined his nails. “He’s leaving today, so it’s done.”

“Well . . .”

“Well?” He looked up.

I winced. “He might be staying a little bit longer.”

Zee’s eyes narrowed into his resting bitch face. “He fucking attacked me in the bar, and we’re letting him stay?”

“He didn’t attack you. He was protecting me.” Which sounded weird, now I’d said it aloud. I’d only met Reynard that morning. Why would he go feral?

“Oh, fucking excuse me.” Zee stood and strutted toward the window. “Did you not see the wards bitch-slap him against the bar?”

The wards had also slapped Zee down, so he’d meant to harm Reynard too, although his retaliation could have been in self-defense. At least the wards had worked. It didn’t hurt to show the guests the security in action. “I’ll talk to him.”

Zee turned, folded his arms, and huffed. “He wants this hotel, you know that right? The article said as much—said he already had it—but I checked and he doesn’t own a fucking thing.”

“What else did the article say?”

“A bunch of stuff about how big his dick is. Nothing important.”

I was going to assume that was a metaphor, and Noreen Greene didn’t actually know the size of Lord Reynard’s dick. But I could do with knowing more about his personal life, and why he was staying with us, and who these others were that Noreen had mentioned might be looking for him. “How did you even know about the article?”

“There’s a tiny corner of the attic where the wards don’t reach. I get a phone signal there, check my socials. I suppose I can download the article and print it off for you, if it means you’ll stop asking about Lord Fuck-Hard.”

I pushed from the desk and strode closer to him, stopping with just a foot left between us. He planted a hand on his hip, eyebrow arched, waiting.

“Nobody will ever replace you, Zee.”

His sagging wings lifted. “I know,” he said, clearly not knowing, and needing to hear it. But that was okay. We all needed to be told we were special sometimes. And he was special to me, personally, but telling him that after we’d woken, hard and hungry in each other’s arms, seemed like maybe too much for one morning.

“Ready for another day at the SOS Hotel?” I asked breezily.

“You mean the Friendly Sanctuary for the Fiendishly Fucking Fabulous? Fuck, yes.”

I headed for the door, and he fell into stride beside me. “We’re not using that.”

“You’ll change your mind when it’s trending.”

“When it’s what now?”

His hand landed on my lower back and guided me through the doorway, into the hall. “You’re so cute I could eat you.”

I checked his face, and found his typical smile beaming back at me.

“But won’t,” he added.

We stepped into the rickety elevator, and among the clanging cables I was reminded I hadn’t yet asked Claymore about the lift music.

“So, whose blood was on your clothes?” Zee asked. It must have been killing him not to.

“Who put you in chains?”

He pursed his lips, stared at the door, and we rode to the ground floor in silence, our secrets intact.

We entered the lobby together, at the same moment as a uniformed delivery man wheeled his empty trolley out the door. The crate he’d left behind stood as tall and wide as me in the middle of the floor.

“What’s this?” I asked Madame Matase.

Her knitting needles click-clacked in her hands. She tilted her head at the crate. “Don’t know, darling. Just arrived, addressed to you.”

I checked the delivery note stuck to the lid. Adam Vex, SOS Hotel. No mention of Zee. “What do you think?” I asked him.

Zee circled it. His tail snaked up one of its edges. “A bomb would be smaller.”

“A bomb?!” I stepped back and eyed the box with alarm. “You think it’s explosive?”

He pulled an I-don’t-know face. “I just said it probably wasn’t.”

“Then why mention a bomb?”

“You asked.” He shrugged.

“So it’s not a bomb?”

“It could be. What the fuck do I know about bombs?”

“Zee.” I dragged both hands down my face. It was too early for this, or I was too tired. “What do you think it is?”

He spread his hands. “Maybe open it and find out? Does it say where it’s from?”

I checked the delivery note again and my heart sank. “Oh.”

“Oh?” Zee took the note. “Oh for fuck’s sake. Reynard Technologies? Send it back.”

Why would Reynard send us a human-sized crate? “We could do that. Or we could take a look?”

He planted a hand on his hip. “It probably is a bomb. We should definitely send it back.”

“Oh, stop. Why would he send a bomb to a place he’s staying at?” Although, last night in the bar had been a bit tense. “Madame Matase, is Lord Reynard still in the guest book?”

She opened the book and flicked through. “Lord Reynard has booked his room until the end of the month. Paid in advance.”

Zee flung his hands up. “Fuck my life.”

What if the crate was a weird vampire thing? Like a gift? What if it was a corpse gift? I screwed up my nose. “You had better open it.”

He huffed, flicked his wings out, thrust his nails under the seams, and yanked off the side. Inside, a colorful, old-style jukebox gleamed like candy. Even Zee seemed momentarily impressed, before snarling.

Zee pointed a finger at the jukebox, then me. “This is...” He threw his glare toward the ceiling. “He’s buying you. I know their kind. Flashy fucks who throw their cash around, believing anything can be bought. Anything. It starts with little gifts, then favors, and before you know it you’re on your knees, taking it up the ass with a leash around your neck. Is that what you want?”

I hadn’t—didn’t—definitely did not want that. Mostly. Did I? No. Wait. “What was the question?”

Zee frowned, and all the flashy arm waving and wing flicking vanished, leaving just his large, pleading eyes, that went to my heart like a sucker punch. “It’s bad news. Send it back.”

“We do need a jukebox for the bar . . . ?”

“Kitten.” He marched to me, grabbed my face in his warm hands, and peered into my eyes. “Listen to my voice. He is buying you with shiny things.”

“Maybe.” I tugged my head back, breaking free. “But we also could use a jukebox, and just so long as he’s not signing any legal documents, what does it matter if he’s throwing cash around? We can benefit. I’ll make it clear he’s not buying his way into our business. We’ve got this. And now we have a jukebox.” I skipped my gaze from his concerned face to the 1930s jukebox, with its neon arch and classic retro style. “Must be an antique.”

“Reynard’s a fucking antique. You know he’s like a thousand years old or something? Probably creaks when he fucks.” But he looked at the jukebox, eyebrow arched, and sighed. “It’s fuckin’ chic though.”

“Right? We should try it out?”

Zee rolled his eyes, and head, then his wings, and lastly his tail did a flip-flop. “Ugh. I could have bought a jukebox, but you said no, we’d already spent all the money. And I’m not allowed to”—he air-quoted—”“suck cockfor cash.”

I’d tried to set up music in the bar, but as with most electronics, the speaker systems hadn’t worked. This old jukebox was analogue. Reynard had thought about it and come up with a solution. I had to give him credit for that. “Let’s plug it in.”

After a great deal of bumping, grinding, huffing, moaning, and puffing, we manhandled the jukebox into the bar, cleared a space by the wall, and plugged it in, all while Tom Collins watched on—proving yet again how generally useless he was.

Zee flicked the socket on, and the jukebox blazed to life, lit up like a rainbow chasing away storm clouds. “The last time this thing played was probably the last time Reynard got laid.”

I snickered, and hit a random button. The selection arm behind the glass shifted along the library, picked up a record, and dropped it onto a turntable. It was all very mechanical, and rather delightful. The unmistakable guitar riff from “House of the Rising Sun” by The Animals, boomed from the huge front-facing speaker.

Zee arched an eyebrow, reluctantly impressed.

I tapped my finger on the glass to the beat. “They caaaaaaall the rising sun...”

Zee laughed. “No, Kitten, just no. Yours is not a voice for radio.”

“You sing it then?” I suspected he could, since he lived to perform.

His eyes lit up. “Moi? Well, I couldn’t possibly—al-fuckin’-right-then.” And he sang. Not only did he sing the song word for word, he grabbed a discarded mop and strutted through the otherwise empty bar, weaving between the tables, singing as though he owned the stage in a theater full of thousands. I was enthralled, watching him sing and sway, and the song was over way too soon, with Zee left standing in front of the bar, panting hard.

The jukebox clicked.

Zee bowed—wings spread—and a crowd who had unbeknownst to me joined us, let loose a burst of applause. I clapped too.

Zee straightened as electric sparks sizzled through his wings, absorbing the attention like an addict getting his overdue fix.

“Fuck,” he breathed, bounding over and handing me the mop. “That was better than sex. Almost.”

He’d clearly loved the attention, and the guests all beamed. Some came up to him, thanking him, telling him how brilliant and talented he was, which he of course adored. I scanned the bar, visualizing how much space we had to play with. “So, here’s an idea. Shall we install a stage?”

Zee followed my gaze. “Will it have a pole?”

I opened my mouth to immediately shut him down, then paused. The idea had some merit. I wasn’t going to take advantage of his status as an adult-movie star, but he clearly thrived on attention, and just so long as he wanted to perform, where was the harm in having a pole? “Do you want a pole?”

He laughed. “Is that a trick question?”

“Just so long as you’re happy.”

“Kitten”—he chuckled—“the things I can do with a pole will feed your wet dreams for weeks.” That laugh might have been the truest, most honest laugh I’d ever heard from him. My insides did a little flip-flop at hearing it. There he was, the real Zodiac, buried deep under all his sex-obsessed layers. It was an honor that he trusted me enough to truly relax. Even if he shouldn’t trust me at all.

“Breakfast?” he asked, sauntering toward Tom Collins at the bar.

“Sure.”

I side-eyed the jukebox, now playing a different tune in the background. Zee would never admit it, but Reynard’s gift might have been one of the best things to happen to the hotel.

I chinked my morning whiskey against Zee’s fancy, rainbow-colored cocktail. “To new beginnings.”

He grinned. “I can get behind that.”

It felt good, drinking with a friend in our own hotel—a business venture we’d brought to life, together.

Take that, Noreen Greene, and your Lost Cause news article.

I should have known it wouldn’t last.