Chapter Nineteen

The girls and I approach Strega Nightclub after exiting the Uber, greeted by an enormous line worthy of a Disney World ride wrapped around the block and then some. The same two burly bodyguards from our last visit stand sentry at the roped off double doors, but we march right up to them, Scar ready to use her Persuasion powers again.

The brute of a man to the left tilts his head and presses his finger to his ear as we approach. He straightens and beckons us forward. "Come in," he says, opening the large dark door.

I say nothing as I walk inside, stupefied as to why we were let in so easily. Scarlett hadn't spoken, so she didn't use her Persuasion powers. We follow the path of a long familiar corridor that opens to a balcony overlooking the dance floor.

My mouth parts at the scene before me.

"What," B says in bewilderment, "in the actual fuck is going on here?"

The girls and I look down upon what can only be described as complete sexual debauchery. About seven roped off stages are scattered on what used to be the dance floor, complete with different setups such as couches or beds. Various props litter the stage floors, everything from feathers to handcuff and whips. Some of the club's patrons surround the stages, glimpsing the show being put on behind the ropes. But that's not what has driven the girls and I speechless.

People are fucking on the stages.

Correction: people are fucking everywhere.

"Circe has turned it into a sex club," Astrid mutters.

While Zo and B appear to be fascinated by the scene before us, I glance in Scarlett's direction, and she looks supremely mortified, judging by the fact that the color in her cheeks reflects her name.

Me? I don't know how I feel about this. I've only had sex with two people, and while I guess my tastes run slightly toward the taboo spectrum, given that I love Nick's dominance and his penchant for violence, I never fantasized about watching other people have sex.

Or other people watching me.

A flash of gold sneaks into my periphery, and my attention slides towards the church altar turned VIP section of the club. A man with vibrant, gilded hair stands in the center, his champagne glass raised in a toast. His stunning yet odd green and gold eyes flicker in amusement, and his lips curl with feline laziness.

Lyncus.

I motion for the girls to follow, and we make our way down the spiral staircase to be engulfed in literal fuckery. We pass the first stage, where a man with chiseled abs violently shoves his cock into another man's mouth. The people surrounding the stage aren't just watching. Some peel off their own clothes and touch each other intimately.

We continue winding about the throngs of nearly naked bodies serving as spectators. I almost reach the VIP section when the couple from the closest stage draw my attention. A woman is being held down by the nape of her neck, her face pressed so firmly into the mattress I wonder how she can breathe. She's on her knees with her chest and arms against the sheets, her ass lifted in the air. A man savagely powers into her from behind, his thrusts so ruthless I can't decipher whether her screams are in pleasure or pain. Maybe both. The position itself looks uncomfortable, but then I take note of the way her fists grip the red sheets and how her face contorts in ecstasy.

The man raises his hand and brings it down on her ass so hard, I hear the slap above the pounding music. She screams even louder, and I can't tear my eyes from the two of them.

Arousal pools between my legs as I imagine myself in place of the woman, and the man's face transforms to reveal a prominent jaw, sculpted cheekbones, bronzed skin, and most importantly, gleaming, golden eyes.

"Rhi!" A voice pulls me to the present, and I find Zo standing at the top of the small set of stairs to the VIP section. The rest of the girls stand behind her, bestowing me with various looks of concern.

Zo takes a step down. "Everything ok?"

I lick my lips and rub my clammy palms along my thighs. "Yeah. I thought I recognized someone."

Zo watches me with narrowed eyes as I ascend the stairs and stand in front of Lyncus. I know she doesn't believe me. She's too diligent at spotting my lies.

"Rhiannon," he greets and grabs my hand to place a chaste kiss on the back of my knuckles. "It's been too long. Have you come to partake in the festivities? "

My jaw drops in horror, and the King's mouth lifts in a sublime grin.

"I came to ask you a question."

"Oh. Pity. There's so much fun to be had." He sighs regretfully. "Come then. You and your guests make yourselves comfortable." He motions to the black cushions surrounding a marble table ladened with plates of food and ice buckets filled to the brim with liquor. The girls settle in, each of them pausing to stare at the continued debauchery happening on the various stages. I sit at the end of the couch, resting on its arm as I lean into Lyncus.

"Where's Circe?"

"Not here." He smiles like the Cheshire cat.

"It's poor taste for a host to leave their own party."

The smile widens, and he leans into me. "This is not her party."

"Figures." This debauchery screams Lyncus.

Lyncus sits back and rests his right ankle atop his left knee. His gaze sweeps over my friends, eyes flashing when they once again land on me. "One of your pack is missing."

My heart clenches. "Liv."

"The beautiful sea monster," he says sadly. "I thought I recognized death's mark upon her when she visited Kieran's cell with you. "

I recall the strange expression that crossed Lyncus's face when he first saw Liv. At the time, he confirmed someone would betray me, and I foolishly believed that to be her.

I clear my throat and change the subject to avoid my heart totally caving in on itself. "What do you know about Threads?"

"Threads?" He feigns genuine confusion as he tilts his head. "It's a social media app and extension of Instagram where -"

"Lyncus," I groan in frustration. "Not those Threads."

His cat eyes glow. "Then be more specific."

I raise my chin and square my shoulders. "I want to know who would have the power to cloak someone's Thread, and how to remove it."

Lyncus watches me intently. He takes a small sip of his champagne before placing it down on the table, meets the girls' stares one by one, and then settles his gaze back on me. "Intriguing, Rhiannon. Very intriguing." The King places his leg on the floor and leans forward, resting his elbows on his thighs as he steeples his fingers beneath his chin. "But also impossible."

"Why?"

"Because it cannot be done."

"Why not?" I push.

The King smiles mischievously. "Tell me a secret."

Of course. Even though he no longer is bound to his lynx form, the curse itself has not vanished. Lyncus is the Keeper of Secrets and won't relinquish one without gaining another in return.

I glance back at my friends, each one of them showering me with looks of encouragement. I turn back to Lyncus and say, "My Thread is cloaked."

The sly King's features shift into an expression so foreign on him it looks completely out of place.

Shock.

He schools his countenance swiftly and sits back in his chair, taking another sip of champagne. "It's very difficult to take me by surprise, Rhiannon. Yet, this is the second time you've managed to do so."

I'm tempted to ask him what the first time was, but I don't want to get off track. "I told you a secret, Lyncus. Now answer my question."

His fair brows rise at my authoritative tone. "I'll do you one better, Scylla, " he all but hisses the name, "I'll give you two, but these secrets are for your ears alone."

I huff in aggravation, turning to dismiss my friends, but the four of them are already up.

"We'll uh…go to the bar, I guess." Zo beckons for them to follow her.

They leave the VIP section and wind their way among the stages toward the bar against the left wall. Only when each of them are leaning over the bar counter paying us no mind, does Lyncus speak.

"Only a god, or someone of equal power, can cloak a Thread." Lyncus places the champagne glass on the table and then folds his hands, resting them against his abdomen.

"Why would a god cloak my Thread?" I shake my head. "That makes no sense."

"No, it doesn't." Lyncus agrees. "As for removing it, it has to be removed by the same person who put it there."

This is completely unhelpful. I have no idea which god or goddess would cloak my Thread, and I don't exactly know where to start looking for one to ask.

"What's the other secret?" Hopefully, this one is more useful than Lyncus's first revelation.

His gaze zeros in on my throat. "Where is that stunning piece of jewelry you so often wear?"

I groan, not bothering to hide my annoyance. What is everyone's obsession with this fucking necklace? I understand it's meant to protect me, but the fixation on it is wearing me thin .

"Focus, Lyncus."

His brows arch again, and a dark smile curves his lips. "I see. You know what I find funny, Rhiannon?"

"No, but I'm sure you'll tell me anyway."

"At our very first meeting, Nicholas refused to give up his true name, a secret that would have revealed the monster and put an end to your mystery that very moment."

"What does that have to do with the necklace, or anything, for that matter?"

The smile widens, unnaturally so. "He was so adamant about not revealing his true name, remember? Even when you begged him. Why do you think that is?"

He's egging me, the fucking prick, and it's working. My breath picks up in conjunction with the thrashing of my heart and the burning embers of wrath that ignite within my chest.

"Get to the fucking point," I growl.

In a movement so sudden I barely have time to blink, Lyncus looms over me. "The point is, Rhiannon," his face moves closer, "that Nicholas freely relinquished his true name in exchange for helping me make that protection charm. Curious, no? Nicholas had no qualms leaving a monster loose at Alystair to murder innocents, but when it came to protecting you, he divulged that information to me in a heartbeat. "

I clutch the empty space at my throat with trembling fingers. I knew he had given something up. A part of me should be relieved Lyncus didn't say it was his life. Even though Circe claimed that wasn't the case, there was always a sliver of doubt in my mind. Yet, why does this revelation feel even more foreboding?

I swallow thickly, anxiety writhing in my belly like venomous snakes. "What are the consequences of Nick revealing his true name that had him so vehemently against it in order to protect the students of Alystair, but more than willingly to protect me?"

"Oh, you have to ask him," Lyncus answers nonchalantly, picking up a cherry from the bowl on the table. He pops the whole thing in his mouth, stem and all. Lyncus chews thoughtfully for a moment, then reaches between his lips with his thumb and forefinger and pulls out the cherry stem, now tied in a perfect knot.

I rise from the couch. "Nick has never been inclined to share anything with me. I'm sure he won't start now." When I brush past Lyncus, he grabs my wrist.

"Prophecies never unfold the way you believe they will, Rhiannon. Remember that."

I stare at Lyncus, dumbfounded. "You know? "

His mouth lifts in a forced smile. "I am the Keeper of Secrets. It is my gift…and my curse."

"How do I save him?" My lips quiver, asking the one question I know I'll never get the answer to.

"Alas, that is one secret even I am not privy to, and believe me, if I knew, I'd ask nothing in return for sharing it."

I bite the inside of my cheek to keep my anguish at bay and nod.

Lyncus releases my wrist and busies himself with the bowl of cherries. Our conversation is over. Just as I'm about to join my friends at the bar, one of the bull-like bodyguards from outside stops me.

"I need you to come with me, miss."

"Where?"

"The host of this evening requests your presence in one of the private rooms."

Host? I thought that was Lyncus. And there are private rooms? I scan my surroundings, taking note of the areas I'm already aware of. The restrooms lie in a corridor off the right corner of the bar. The main entrance is across the dance floor and up the winding staircase. The VIP section is behind me, where I just came from. The dance floor branches off into another room that is just another, smaller version of this one. The difference is that the room houses more sitting areas, but there's no way it can be considered private.

The guard guides me around the VIP section toward the eastern wall. It's then I notice a small roped off corridor. I can't make out what lies beyond the entryway as it disappears into a sea of darkness. I lift my gaze, scanning the wall above the corridor until -

A balcony juts out high above the crowd, gold lacquered bars wrapping around an open space in the wall. Red velvet curtains are drawn back, but that's all I can make out. Like the corridor I approach, shadows paint nearly every surface behind the balcony. It's then I realize the odd darkness and my futile attempts to see beyond it are due to a glamour, the same one that likely hid the corridor and balcony in the first place, until I was informed of their existence.

The guard unclasps one side of the rope and ushers me forward.

I glance behind me once. "My friends -"

"Will be informed and well taken care of," he cuts me off. He stands behind me so that turning back is not an option, unless I want to literally go through him. The Scylla is silent, so no danger is imminent. Reluctantly, I put one foot in front of the other and continue down the corridor that is now aglow with soft light.

At the end of the hallway, we veer slightly to the left, where a set of stairs awaits. I refer to the guard, who gestures towards them with a grunt. Our ascension is paused by a simple door that looks like nothing extraordinary, except for the fact that the space where the handle should be is empty.

The guard knocks three times, with purposeful pauses in between each one. Some sort of code, I assume. The door swings open on its own, and I'm given a gentle push over the threshold before the door slams shut behind me.

My eyesight sharpens to the dimly lit room. The single chandelier in the center casts eerie shadows over a velvet, blood-red couch flush against the back wall. A rectangular cherry wood table sits in front of it, a sparkling decanter filled with a rich amber-gold liquid gleaming on its surface. I study the liquid for a moment, not because I have any interest in drinking it, but because its color is so reminiscent of -

My blood heats as a familiar scent hits my nostrils. A scent that promises sin and seduction in equal measure. Spicy with an underlying sweetness that draws you in like the call of a siren, only to drown you beneath crashing waves of pleasure and pain.

His scent.

As though my thoughts summoned him, Nick manifests by the balcony. He looks out above the dance floor, paying me no mind, as though he isn't aware of my presence. But I'm no fool. He knows damn well I'm here, considering he requested I be brought to him, which means he is the host of the sexual debauchery I witnessed outside this room. Not Lyncus. Not Circe. Him.

I do nothing except stare as the black shirt covering his back stretches taut across his muscles. He leans over the balcony with the finesse of a prowling lion, the lithe fingers of his left hand wrapped around the railing. In his right he holds a rocks glass filled with the same liquid in the decanter, liquid the exact color as the eyes that strip me to my core the moment he turns around.

My simple black dress feels tighter than normal, the small sliver of skin at the sides of my breasts too exposed. The neckline that wraps around my throat might as well be Nick's own hands as I struggle for air beneath his unnerving gaze.

"Hello, little liar."