Ms. Nubbin existed to dance. Not in gilded halls or on a glittered stage but under the wall of disdain and forum of lies which adorned the Silvermoon justice system. Past the heroic, hypocritical idealization of its eager street enforcers, knights, military ambitions and nepo leaders lay a web of vile lawyers and nobles keeping the pockets of magistrates filled and the peasants in check.
Luckily for Nubbin, she was no peasant. But she was no full-blooded elf, nor was she even alive. This should have made it impossible to work in the city, let alone argue and WIN in the courts. So her success in getting Heathcliffâs revolting fortune protected from taxes, fees, fines and general outrage gave her a particular reputation. For being a fucking crafty bitch.
Her methods werenât always clear, but the results always were. She just waited until they got emotional, dropped their pants in front of the courtroom. Especially if they started moralizing. How stupid the righteous were to preach and scream and banter about their own judgements. Who gives a shit with that approach? Morals were merely perspective, and she was happy to awkwardly expose any bias to unlucky people on the stand for jurors just waiting for their next lunch break.Â
And she made headlines. Whenever a case involving the rights and crimes of those accused to be among the âwretchedâ âa word she has fiercely condemned as unreasonably cruel and biasedâ came into focus, there she was, ready to defend and present far more juicy dirt on the supposed victims than her wrongfully accused client.Â
Was it crimes fueled by an arcane addiction or did a medical condition long ignored by healers finally result in tragedy for all? Did a gang of criminals steal and terrorize a caravan of shipments from Pandaria or was that peach just too juicy to resist in a community starved for healthy alternatives while magistrates ate off tits and golden banquet tables? Here, try this one, take a bite. Sheâll have a whole crate delivered privately to your home before you bring down that gavel.Â
Her advertising was a cringe fest of pithy cliches and gaudy promises, yet it yielded results.Â
"Better Summon Nubbin - they got NUBBIN on you!â
In addition to the atrocious graphic design, photos of her most notable connections crowded the wall of her office. Smiling handshakes and proud grins from the famous to the formidable. This and way too many action shots of hawkstriders she was constantly betting on, the only real hole in her pocket and favorite weakness. That and killer suits, all hand-tailored to her specifications to deliver maximum results.Â
She was glued to a radio broadcast of today's heated race, pacing and smoking up a storm in her office when she heard a knock on the door. It was probably âherâ. Heathcliff warned Nubbins by crow with a hastily written note, instructing her to spare no expense on the escort and to expect her unannounced arrival. Fucking crows. She hated how they always shat on her balcony. At least his pay was worth the shit she cleaned up for him, both in and out of the courtroom.
She hoped he gambled right on this one, unlike the fucking strider with a sprained toe hemorrhaging all her money as she listened impatiently. But it wouldnât be the first wheel she greased, and she was looking forward to making this one move. Heathcliffâs plan was stupid, but money doesnât have to be smart. Only she needed to be. Â
TW: Tristan is unwell, self harm, ideation, eroticized death
Tristan Black knew himself very well. He had spent his existence picking himself apart so he knew he wasâŠbehaving poorly. It was simply impossible to care when the consequences rarely mattered. How he wanted them to matter. After his fourth fruity cocktail, he became careless, sloppy. The stakes were forever so low he could afford these outbursts. Nesnora had unbalanced him. He was driven to please her whether he wanted to or not. He didnât fight this urge because he had learned long ago this was futile. What instinct demanded, it got. One way or another. It only served to rub his nose in his inadequacy.
He looked at her with his true face. His sharp jaw held all the coiled tension of a slavering beast just under the thin veneer of flesh. Everything she said, her play acting, excited him. He had long chased the devastation of his first death. The exquisite sting of betrayal. The first heartbreak. To feel that fear againâŠto taste the tease of obliterationâŠnot knowing heâd come right back. His infuriating flesh sensed her aggression and the flesh always desired to continue living. It recoiled from pain and violence and sent adrenaline and warning to course through his rushing blood.
But he wasnât afraid enough for his taste.
His smile was horrible, a show of promised violence with a flash of white teeth, his dark eyes wide, breath quickened. âTell me,â he whispered, leaning in, âwould you like to leash me, Caroline?â
Tristan could never shake the hope and optimism that future attempts might be successful. The thrill of this twisted up inside him until it became deeply erotic.
He despised her. Human and undead. Just pointless, brief. Necromantic magic utterly wasted on this grasping creature who sincerely thought she was better. Than him. That her lying and manipulation would land. It felt like when Molly had sunk her dirty little knife in his guts. And he would chase that and lap it up like a fucking dog until there wasnât a drop left to wring out of it.
His body was not obeying him and this could no longer continue in public. He ran a hand through his hair and wet his lips. âWe should leave,â he said, not even bothering to mask his wicked excitement. He slapped an obscene amount of gold into the low, lounge table and stood.
âIâŠneedâŠwant to discuss things. But not here,â he said, offering a hand to help her up. âWe need privacy,â he said with urgency. âYour office, perhaps.â
Impatience itched under her skin. She needed to kill him, soon. Once this was decided, everything else was boring and tedious in comparison. She wanted to pout for herself just for enduring him. This pompous, arrogant prick. At least tearing him apart would be a balm.Â
âCompete?â She repeated his own word, as if this puzzled her. His disgusting manners distracted her enough to pause on this.
"You havenât even earned the right to lick the blood off my heels. Yet.â
She put her drink down, thoroughly repulsed. Her throat was dry with rage so she spoke softer. Quieter.Â
âI didnât say I wasnât interested. Your negotiation and tact is⊠very emotional.âÂ
Like a concerned mother or caretaker, she allowed her face to crumple in concern for him. As if he were a helpless boy throwing gum in her hair. Pitiable and stupid. Her tone was practical and forgiving.
âYour approach is⊠concerning. Itâs not the money, itâs the chaos I donât want. Surely you can see that.â
She sighed heavily, carefully bringing out her own cigarette. She artfully loaded this into a black, thin holder and smoked pointedly more polite than him. An eyebrow raised, accessing his arousal.Â
Oh, she hated him. She imagined him in many ways, all ending in the last words of his life choked short under her mercy.
There was no shame held for what she was. The Dracones had enough power that they were most likely the only ones that could keep her tethered. This was his fuck-up. One she would exploit. He tested the one leash she liked and did not want to lose.Â
So she feigned the hurt and outrage he wanted. A man ruled by his own heart this much needed to see it reflected back. Her tone was raised, indignant, ruffled.
âHow long?â She repeated his question. Pretended to get upset like she was considering it thoughtfully. Matching his ambition, she hissed her next words like she was giving him an honest secret. âWithout paying me? Until I wrap it around their neck and it chokes them."
Tristanâs eyes could be pretty things. They always looked ravenous and glittered like polished obsidian. But his eyes also revealed his nature. Pitiless. Unblinking when he didnât pay attention and he wasnât now. He stared, listening intently both to what was said and what wasnât. His lips were slightly parted, mouth ticking up at the corner as if pleased in some strange, perverse way.
His gaze swiftly became unnerving. Possessive. Covetous. He inhaled sharply, as if remembering he had to behave like a flesh and blood mortal thing that breathed and blinked. He sat up straighter, as if very excited. His smile was indulgent and so very pleased. Like sheâd done a very cute human trick and had amused and delighted him.
âYes,â he said with a little pleasured hiss, âit is to rub it in. Youâre so right.â His dark eyes crinkled in the corners revealing his delight was far more than performative. He looked as pleased as a serpent unhinging its jaw to swallow whole an egg.
âBut come now, you donât think Iâm clever. You think youâre clever. From experience,â he said, lighting a cigarette and taking a long drag. He blew the smoke out of his nose. âThat sort of arrogance is dangerous for the temporary.â He grinned crookedly, signaling the waitress for another drink.
âYou want me to extol your virtues? Tsk, Caroline. You canât be that hard up for praise,â he said before running his tongue over his teeth, his gaze slithering over her. âBut youâre worth it and if it pleases you, how could I possibly refuse?â
Tristan found her loyalty foolish beyond belief. It was oh so disappointing. If he couldnât crack it, sheâd be an annoying obstacle to rid himself of and he found those methods so crass. But he certainly wasnât above it.
She reminded him of someone suddenly and all his pleasure drained from his face so that he briefly didnât look pretty at all, but monstrous. A deep, black rage writhed behind the congenial facade.
âI want you because you are simply the best and I do not bother with less. You are clever, beautiful, and vicious. My favorite traits,â he said this dryly but earnestly enough. âAnd of course your loyalty. Even if itâs currently misplaced and in unappreciative hands.â He shrugged.
âMost are moved by the promise of wealth. And if youâre not that tells me interesting things about you,â he said, taking his drink from the waitress without even looking at her so the fruity concoction splashed over his fingers. He waved off the apologizing waitress like a buzzing gnat, his vacuous gaze fixed on Caroline. He sucked his fingers clean.
âFew things make women like you refuse the amount of money I offered. And I donât think itâs vengeance. Nor do I think itâs power. You could get those things on your own.â He plucked the umbrella from this drink too and twirled it in his long fingers. âThe Dracones have you over some kind of barrel. If it was blackmail, I donât think that would earn your loyalty,â he said with a shake of his head.
It was clear he had the answer but was toying with her. There was no pretense of well bred manners now. His hands shook with terrible excitement. Liquor and a nasty sort of arousal flushed his cheeks.
âI thinkâŠyour heart is in the job,â he said, enjoying the twist of the knife. Absently, his fingers stroked over his shirt, just below his naval.
âI canât compete with that. A shame. I think you would have enjoyed working for me,â he saidâŠand this was the moment he turned vicious. His lip curled over his teeth and he felt his temper come boiling to the surface.
âI do wonderâŠhow tender that heart will be when I seize every last copper and holding until the Dracones are left with nothing?â he hissed. âWill you feel that same desire when they canât pay the retainer? How do you think theyâll try to use you then, M-âŠCaroline? How long do they get to hold your leash?â
Nubbins burst out laughing, a rich, unapologetically loud sound as she sipped her drink. She did not address his assertions. Instead, she tilted her head like he was being cute.Â
âBoorish, selfish⊠obnoxious little men all day? Hmmm. It sounds like you need better friends. I couldnât imagine.âÂ
This wasnât said in a mocking tone, instead iced into him with a slice of pity, drawn back with a flick of her painted lashes. She smiled. Idiots were far easier to deal with. Anyone thinking a scheme like this would bring them any good had to be the worst kind.Â
But he was very pretty. Dark, arrogant, rich. Immediately she fantasized about his tears, breaking the comfort hanging off his cheekbones. She shifted, tucking her legs under her coquettishly as if this seating displeased her.Â
She saw a bonus for this. Another chance to prove her loyalty to the Dracones. They had been distant lately, especially Leo. It hurt going through the withdrawal of his blood. It had her writhing, sweating and moaning in the dark, unable to work until the clawing pain passed. Humiliating. In a way, she was grateful now the physical addiction was gone but it only drew out her real pain that⊠he simply did not care. Feelings were far worse than self-pity from a medical condition and lasted too long.Â
It was disappointing knowing oneâs reputation couldnât keep men like this from toying with her. Smiling, she knew because of this, she gave herself permission to be brutal.Â
âPaperworkâŠâ she said softly, as if she was giving precious advice to a moron. âIs never the problem. Or the solution. It has no power.â
She leaned in, not sipping anymore on the drink he had given her.
âPaperwork⊠is to just rub it in.â She cooed sweetly.
She assumed he thought her loyalty was a fun little pawn to antagonize. That money moved her like most. Her expensive tastes certainly gave this impression.Â
The more he spoke, his death settled into her mind with an excitement verging on vicious. So she tempered her tone to be breezier. He was either intentionally gloating so sheâd run to the Dracones in a flurry of upset or wanted to take one more piece for himself.Â
She was not an acquisition.Â
âMmmm. How clever you must be. How bold! A Magisterium secretly plotting against the Dracones⊠without my knowledge. Shocking, given my connections. My surprise isnât the best resume.â
Her eyes glanced over his casual pose with disgust she hid with a wide, gracious grin.Â
âTell me why you want me, Lord Tristan Black. And Iâll tell you if you need my approval."
Tristan didnât hide his admiration. He let his gaze take its timeâŠto crawl over her body, her face. It lingered on her legs. Finally, with half lidded, dark eyes, their cold glitter hidden by the sweep of his long lashes, he smiledâŠslow and wicked.
âArenât you lovely?â He remarked with strange, dark amusement. As if she had said or done something he found very funny. âPlease,â he said with a sweeping gesture like some horrible little dictator granting mercy, âmake yourself comfortable. And let me buy you a drink. Anything you like though I wager you would prefer something withâŠbite,â he said this with a slick grin. âGin. Or whiskey. Would that soften your sharp tongue?â
He didnât look like he minded her tongue either way. His gaze kept sweeping over her in self indulgent appreciation. âAs we wait for your drink allow me to apologize for my lack of manners. You see, I deal with boorish, selfish, obnoxious little men all day and have sorely missed the company of beautiful women. Iâve gone a bitâŠferal it seems.â He shrugged and plucked the umbrella out of his drink. âMy name is Lord Tristan Shadowglade Dracone,â he said. âAnd youâve not heard of me. Few have. This was deliberate so you neednât feel any sort of way for being out of the loop.â
He sipped his drink and smoked thistle from an elegant, silver pipe. He lounged back against the cushions, one knee drawn up, legs casually spread making him redolent with ease.
Her drink order was taken. He made sure this was put on his tab. âI aim to be your new employer. Now, this can go several ways. Iâm hoping for a smooth transfer of assets and holdings, so I wish to pay you double whatever the former Lord Dracone pays you. There is certainly enough wealth. No need for me to be stingy. Perhaps a benefits package as well?â
He leaned in a little. âI want to take veryâŠvery good care of you, Caroline.â
When the waitress arrived with her drink he snatched it to taste it before he handed it to her. He wrinkled his nose. âInteresting. Not to my tastesâŠI like things sweeter.â
âI have had all pertinent documents asserting my claim delivered to your office for your secretary to muddle through. They are sound and unimpeachable. I donât expect you to take my word for it and I donât need your approval, please understand.â He watched her sip her drink, dark eyes fixed on her mouth. âI have already had my line of inheritance seen by the Magisterium. It has been filed and notarized. So,â he said, tone snappy and full of good humor. He felt very much the victor. It showed. âI donât *need* you, Caroline.â He paused to drain his drink. âI just want you.â
Nubbins disliked Nova. Overwrought with gimmick. She hated being reminded of effortless magic she wasn't allowed to possess. What an absolute waste. She enjoyed business with Lord Heathcliff Dracone, because he never dragged her to such places. And Leo preferred churches to blaspheme. This had to be someone else that wanted her attention and her heels clicked to a sharp stop walking up to the cushions with the lounging lordling.
Her red suit was just a normal Tuesday but she wore it like it was Saturday night. Lace peeked from a perfectly shaped corset underneath a black sheer bouse buttoned up her neck. The shiny silver of her buttons matched the spike of her black high heels. Her hair was still whipped into obedience, not a blonde strand astray as she leaned in a tilt.
The expression she wore was uninterested in impressions. She openly huffed at the stranger, grinning at his audacity. It was a pleasure to let someone so handsome get away with annoying her. So she looked put out as she figured out where to sit on the floor cushions, irritated at the intimacy and romance. The drinks were sure to sicken her. And the lights going out⊠she hoped the business was quick before she accrued assault charges.
This was no doubt a distant relative come to claim the pot. She has seen this before. Dealing with this would already cost Heathcliff. Billable hours for sure. After hours so double her rate. He was handsome though. Perhaps she could play with him a bit. Convince him to leave this obnoxious club.
Looking over him like he was meant to please her, she adjusted one of her diamond earrings in a gesture of faux relaxation before reaching out her hand with a smoker's purr.
"Caroline Nubbins. Dracone Obligation Manager. Legal counsel for all holdings and family affairs."
She emphasized this, as she sighed, flicking a sparkling cantrip from her drink to skitter on the floor. Half of it was drunk as she closed her eyes. The first drink of the night always lightened her mood. She opened them on Tristan, eyeing him up and down.
"Before you begin, I must say that not knowing your name is... already dooming this conversation short. What do you know..." she asked, tilting her head. "That I already don't besides your name I don't need?"
Tristan gazed at his naked body in the mirror, head tilted as if curious. He had despised this body for so long it was very strange having aâŠmild appreciation for it now. He ran a hand down his torso, admiring the red marks on his neck and chest. Love bites. It was deeply, viscerally satisfying, and he had to take a steadying breath and firm his resolve or heâd march right back into his bedchamber for more.
Last night changed everything with sudden joyful cataclysm. But, he was nothing if not adaptable. Not all of his machinations had to change, merely the motivation behind them.
He may have been forever bound to this mortal flesh, but his mind and instincts stayed true. He had to please his woman. And his woman deserved nothing less than whatever her fiery heart desired. He found it a great injustice she wasnât the head of her House. It was time to get the ball rolling on what would likely be a lengthy fight.
Heathcliff Dracone had slithered under his notice for most of his near worthless existence. Just the thought of him and all the things he had he hadnât won by wit or brawn or even fucking birthright so infuriated him that what he was about to do was so delicious he could barely contain his excitement. None had challenged Heathcliffâs claim as Lord of House DraconeâŠuntil now. Tristan wondered if Anya would stay with him when he no longer had the castle and title.
Tristan considered himself a being of immaculate taste refined through ages so that he always looked timelessly elegant. However, he was going into the city. Black robes and ancient armor would be too out of place and not make the impression he wished to. Yet, anyway.
He dressed himself in a loose, pewter gray, silk shirt, leaving it unbuttoned to his navel. Form fitting black trousers, tall, polished boots and a black cape slung over one broad shoulder was more casual andâŠhe just looked good in it. He let his hair down to spill over his shoulders and down his back. He slid heavy rings on his long, thin fingers and affixed a jeweled clasp to his cloak. He annoited his wellâŠloved flesh with oils, dragonâs blood and sandalwood and rich florals.
Yes, he looked like a pompous lordling.
Satisfied, he wandered the expanse of his tower until he found his prisoner. Seeing young Rovalmourn in front of the hearth in the great hall, he was filled with a strange possessive pride. Blood of his blood, son of his enemy. Now securely in his grasp. Perhaps there was opportunity to turn prisoner into ally.
Tristan loomed over Roval who had been reading to occupy himself. He noted the young man looked quiteâŠrumpled. He discarded this as it was beneath his concern and reached out to fondly ruffle the manâs curly black hair.
Roval, predictably, did not like this and recoiled sharply from Tristanâs âaffectionsâ. Persistence might be key.
âGood morning, Lord Dracone. I shall be away briefly dealing with business. You will make sure your aunt does not want for company when she rouses from her slumber. Iâve no staff, something else I shall remedy today, so you will tend to her needs to the best of your abilities,â he informed the lad. âI expect obedience,â he added. âI do not currently have a dungeon, but it would take little effort to change this. I prefer you to enjoy my hospitality. Not my displeasure.â
Rovalâs cherubic face crinkled in displeasure but then his brow rose in resignation and he sighed. âIâll make sure she is safe,â he grumbled.
This greatly amused Tristan. Nesnora was perfectly capable of that on her own but he admired the sentiment. âHmm. See that you do,â he said, his parting words to the agitated young man.
He parted Rovalâs company by disincorporating himself in front of him. The last thing Tristan saw was Roval startling horribly and shouting in alarm. It was a handy trick and other than dragonflight, the only way to leave his tower. Distance nor time existed in the same way in the in between and he was outside the city in moments. Not long enough to trigger his death and subsequent reformation. He had long ago learned the limits of this ability.
Nova was a very posh lounge filled with gentry and was notorious for only letting those on their list in. The doorman asked for his name politely given the way Tristan was dressed.
âLord Tristan Dracone,â he said smoothly. He could have claimed House Shadowglade as well, but it no longer held any sway. Largely thanks to him.
Tristan patiently watched the man wrestle with the fact that Dracone was certainly on the list. But Tristan wasnât. âI would prefer a table in the back, please. Iâve a meeting with my attorney,â Tristan added.
The doorman made a face, clearly uncomfortable but having no way to prevent insult should he protest. Finally, the man nodded and held open the door. âInform the hostess, Lord Dracone. Sheâll take care of you.â
He spent an hour alone, enjoying a whiskey sour and his blood thistle pipe. He arranged to have a courier sent to deliver the boxes of ancient documents that had months ago been officially stamped and sealed with the Magisterium to Ms. Caroline Nubbinâs office along with a message requesting her presence at Nova immediately. Tristan added that it was an emergency and only said it was from Lord Dracone. Sheâd be wrong no matter which one she guessed.
When she arrived, sheâd find Tristan Black sprawled indulgently on the cushions, black eyes glossy from drug and drink shining like beetle shells. He trailed his gaze from the tips of her heels, up her shapely legs, meandering on its way to her face. His lips curled into a genuinely pleased smile. His pleasure looked and felt very smug.
He lazily gestured to the cushions beside him. âPlease. Make yourself comfortable. Order something to drink. My treat.â He paused to savor centuries of meticulous manipulation. âThere are many changes to discuss.â
Summary: Aronsen visits the Dracone's lawyer and runs to the Castle to find Seralah @seralahbloodhaven. A tragic intersection finds him in the next installment after Jaws of the Fox Part 3
The crimson blood spray from Rhuenâs hand was obvious on Aronsenâs pants as he stumbled into the street. Shifting the box of records and papers to his shoulder, it was with great effort he made it to Ms. Nubbins Law Office. He had never met the woman, but when he arrived he gave her an impression she would never forget.
The large vampire with a hairless dome and the prettiest face Nubbins had ever seen barged in without knocking, past her terrified secretary. Nubbins was finishing a late lunch, a piece of lettuce quivering on her fork in mid-air as her door burst open.
His brows gave him away. Unmistakably Dracone, in fine blue and white tailoring unusually bright for the style of their House. Nubbins openly inspected the intrusive man with quick assessment, retaining her cool despite every instinct telling her to scream. His size was breathtaking. He ducked through the doorframe and she could smell the violence on him. His demeanor was that of a drunk. No⊠someone that looked drugged. Nubbins didnât bother to hide her recoiling expression despite his obnoxiously handsome face.
âAronsen Dracone.â She declared, like he would be a ghost if she did not name him.
The large man bowed and nearly fell over, gripping the chaise lounge as he bent over to catch himself. The box was dropped on the cushion and he smiled as if he didnât quite see her in focus. He looked simultaneously unbothered and distressed, as if this was perfectly natural.
âMs⊠Lawyer. NubbâŠins.â He replied back with great effort while blinking, sweating, trying very hard. As if the paperwork spoke for itself, he took it roughly from the record box and dumped it in front of her before knuckling his fists and leaning on the desk for support. This close, she should have felt fear but she was immune from Leonardoâs vampiric antics she had been dealing with for years. She put on her glasses and raised an eyebrow.
âHe agreed to Ms. Bloodhavenâs terms.â She declared, surprised partly at first but reasoned this was probably acquired by force. Interesting. Immediately she suspected this had something to do with his strange state. It irritated her, and his entitled intrusion. She whipped off her glasses and stared at him unafraid.
âWhat the fuck is wrong with you? What are you on? Did you get stabbed?!â
Aronsen winced, looking disinterested in her questions.
âIâve been poisoned, I think. And stabbed. I need blood. I have to get back to the carriage⊠to Seralah.â His eyes were as unfocused as his labored breathing. Nubbins paused, considering her options with this brute. Gods, he was good-looking. Those fucking Dracones. No wonder why the world wanted to destroy them and did half the job. A family this beautiful with an endless ocean of money they could tap into would never be allowed power as well. She admired their ability to stay in the game even after death, like her. Respect and compassion laced her reply. His eyes were too pretty to do anything else. This prick.
âThere are blood packs in my cooling unit over there.â Her eyes gestured to her office bar area. âI use them as mixers for Leonardo. He claims they give him a fucking wicked hangover if itâs not chased within a few hours with living blood so⊠take care.â She mumbled, adjusting her posture.
Aronsen moved too quickly for her comfort and drank them messily, getting blood all over his light jacket and ruffled cravat.
âOh for fucks sakeâŠâ Nubbins said sharply and went to her coat closet. She came back with a hooded dark cape and a messengerâs bag. Hastily she shoved the records from the box in this and offered it to him as he drained all four blood bags, grunting and grimacing while he made a face of displeasure.
âTake these, itâs shit your brother left here. You cannot go into public this way.â
Her stomach dropped at her accidental slip-up. She used the word brother. Fuck. Fuck fuck fuck fuckâŠ
âOkay.â Aronsen said, breathing hard, figuring she meant they were Heathcliffâs. He adorned the cape and bag, looking at Nubbins one last time before heading back to the carriage. It was almost an hour, he hoped they waited. He paused at the door, his face full of appreciation.
âThank you. Thank you for this. It was nice meeting you.â
Nubbins smiled, crossing her arms. It was hard to be mad at this one. And she was secretly pleased she got to finally meet him. He was a brute, but definitely the right kind.
âYouâre welcome. Iâll get these papers filed. Tell Seralah to visit me next week for a follow-up. Oh and AronsenâŠâ she couldnât help a little flirt.
âIâm pleased to say the rumors about you were all untrue. Youâre fucking beautiful, darling.â She said with hands on her hips and a sly smile. Aronsen didnât smile back, his thoughts were elsewhere and he walked out. Nubbins looked at the empty blood bags, the paperwork on her desk and sighed.
âFucking DraconesâŠâ she lamented to herself as she sat back down at her desk.
Aronsen was driven by purpose as he billowed down the street wrapped in the cape. Guards were close to switching and this had the advantage of unspoken reluctance to engage in confrontation when all they wanted was a pint. He froze seeing there was no carriage. They had already left. This didnât make any sense. Something was wrong.
Anyone else would find a carriage or a hawkstrider. Not Aronsen. After he walked briskly past the gate⊠past the front battlements and over the first knoll leading to the city, he started to run.
Nails sliced the fabric on Ms. Nubbins couch as she hissed back at the snake man. The forsaken woman placed the spike of her heel resting snug against his manhood as she arched the black leather like a bear trap. She bent over, leaning in with narrowed warning. This was all she was wearing, her nude body glowing falsely alive in the golden candlelight, evidence of an afternoon of debauchery underfoot. Her white hair was pinned up messily, lipstick long worn off. Her eyes held his in place with the threat of her foot.
"Don't you think for a moment I endorse your sick fucking games." she sneered at him. "You're a weak child, at heart. Barely a fucking man. And that's quite the insult, given how beautiful you are. How fucking old, too."
Leonardo smiled up at her, eyes glittering with triumphant swagger. "Yet you play all my games, Caroline⊠again⊠and againâŠ" his hands went up her leg, smoothing over her calf as she remained tense to crush his balls. "I'm just amazed at the attitude that comes from a fruit fly gaining immortality from the death fairy." His fingers threatened up her inner thigh with a caress of serpentine smoothness.
"Better raised by a Queen than suckled from a San'layn bitch." she snapped, her foot pressing against his vulnerable sack. He looked unbothered, ending his caress to casually reach over for a cigarette. His vampire body looked exceptionally appealing in this light. Her urge to collar him grew hotly under her skin. But that wasn't the dynamic tonight. Not when he knew she needed another dosage of that little red vial he brought with him.
Heathcliff's blood from one of Seralah's samples in the little cooling box was easy to steal now. Before, Leo resorted to drugging Heathcliff's wine enough to extract blood while he slept. It was risky but he never felt guilty about it, not when Heathcliff pissed away their family legacy chasing tail and doing some medical experimentation that Leonardo immediately decided was worse than anything he'd ever done.
He grinned, thinking about how he got Ms. Nubbins addicted to Heathcliff's blood. Arcane, so finely saturating every cell from generations of magic influence. It had unique properties, when the blood deteriorated. Bursts of pleasure, timed in waves for hours. There was hardly a drug like this, with near fatal side effects. None of these bothered Nubbins in undeath, except for the addiction.
Oh, how she resented this. This piece of shit had convinced her it would bring her powers long locked away within the Dracone family legacy. That all these efforts to secure Heathcliff's fortune and keep the authorities away could actually turn into something more, something she could be a part of.
All it gave her was headaches after the high. And an ache for more.
Leonardo laughed, blowing smoke in her face.
"I quite like this⊠switch of power. I should try this more often." he leaned back, arms extending over the back of the velvet chair. His smug grin was evidence alone of the debasing acts he demanded of Nubbins in exchange for the vials. Her eyes held a rage boiling with contempt. Deciding this was enough of an exchange, she released her foot and moved quickly to his jacket thrown over her desk. She fished in his pockets until she found the vials, holding them up to the light. The black blood had already coalesced into suspended obsidian crystals, the arcane clustering with decay. This was the ideal state to drink it.
She prepared a gin martini and poured the vials in, flecks of light catching with the magic swirl. Nubbins took a sip and sighed, relaxing immediately. Her mood swung a little. She was chatty, gossipy, convivial. Hips arched elegantly as she perched her nude body to sit with legs crossed in front of her desk at him.
"Heathcliff's lab assistant came by a few days ago." she said with the delight of divulging something juicy. Perhaps she could swing back the power dynamic with intrigue.
He took the bait, brows arching. Anything to do with his family was naturally his highest business.
"And?" he said, irritable. This made him lose his boner. He was reminded of Lillandyr's challenge, to woo the brat. As if Seralah was a threat. He doubted Lillandyr was insecure. It was just⊠mean. Predictable, he judged. Just a pawn for the real game at play between him and Lillandyr. One he was obsessed with winning. Every hand must be played perfectly, every challenge exceeded.
"She was a bruised and not a blushing bride." Nubbins dropped, taking another sip.
This peaked Leonardo's interest. He smiled grossly. "That little thing?"
She nodded, clearly bothered by the memory. But not enough to not continue. "She's divorcing him. Little idiot signed away everything, there's nothing I can do." she shrugged. "Marriage is a fucking curse." she declared, hearing no opposition from Leonardo. He sat thoughtful, smoking.
"Did she seem frightened? Angry? Did she cry?"
Nubbins arched her brow, narrowing her eyes at Leonardo. His cock was offensively flaccid. The question was genuine curiosity so she told him.
"She was upset, fucking obviously." she scoffed. "Mentioned she couldn't wait to get back to the Castle. She's staying at a nearby hotel. Oh and she said she's having tea with that brute, Heathcliff's brother. I can't imagine what he's like based on the stories. Ghastly, I'm sure. You must tell me if he's hideous. It's hard to imagine anyone in your bloodline unattractive." she purred, adjusting her legs.
Leonardo frowned at this. He forgot about Aronsen. He secured his accomplices already for the abduction but assumed Aronsen was staying in Silvermoon with Varistan. Since when did he care about Seralah? Would he want to travel with them and foil his plans? Realization hit him and he burst out laughing.
"My cousin has a habit of eating Heathcliff's table scraps, sometimes literally. It's very embarrassing. I swear it's like a fucking mental condition." he said with glee, shit-talking exciting him to animation.
"You don't understand, he tries to secretly seduce or at least befriend all of his paramours, even the whores." he snickered. "Even Heathcliff's dead fucking wife." he grinned at Nubbin's smile as she drank in the gossip. "Oh! And he's fucking Lady Shadowglade. She melded their minds together or some shit. And now he's after Seralah? Of course he fucking is. Heathcliff probably stuck his dick in that doll too. Fuck, my family is absolutely crazy."
They both laughed as Nubbins downed her martini, her high making everything very agreeable.
Continuation of The Flame, final part. Master post here
@wraaronsen âs writing in red
TW: less smut but there is a moment of domestic violence. Vampire shenanigans
She peppered his face with hot, little kisses as she rode him, her slender arms wound around his neck. Lighting the candle had doomed her so sweetly. In some way, sheâd known that it would. Sheâd already been wading in those waters from the moment she met him. Not that she could explain why. As if it mattered.
He was the fallen prince in a romantic story, lost and all alone. The gods had crafted him so beautifully and filled him with more love than he could hold only to curse him to exiled solitude. He broke her heart in a hundred ways. Heathcliff had meanly told her that Aronsen would have killed her if given the chance, but she hadnât believed it then. And she didnât believe it now. So when the hunger in his eyes burned into her and his breath rasped as he moved her over him, she gracefully turned her head, offered her throat.
She had flirted with death a thousand times. Seralah had spent a childhood with Deathâs whisper on her cheek. She had poisoned herself to get closer still. Long ago sheâd resigned herself to an early grave if only to have the embrace of the ineffable hold her. So she wouldnât be so alone anymore.
But Aronsen wasnât death. Even as his teeth pierced the tender skin of her throat sending her reeling into pleasure all over again, Seralah knew she wouldnât be harmed. Aronsen was *forever*. With his teeth in her throat and her blood on his tongue she had never felt safer and sheâd never wanted so deeply to be alive. Death lost all allure.
When they were only holding each other, refusing to separate, he apologizedâŠand told her he loved her. He rushed past this soft, pained confession to tell her he hoped sheâd light the candle again.
She pulled back and held his face in her hands, features soft. âIf I lit it every nightâŠwould you come?â She whispered, lower lip trembling. It wasnât precisely what sheâd wanted to ask. Seralah had almost begged him to take her away from here. To steal her. But she couldnât do that to him. The world had made a monster of him already and she wouldnât dishonor him by asking that of him because she was a coward and afraid of the mess sheâd made of things.
Then, she smiled, slow and sweet and almost shy. âYesâŠyou would,â she answered for him because she knew it was true.
She drew in a soft breath, thumbs stroking over his cheeks. âDonât be sorry,â she said, voice quavering. That he felt shame or sorrow for loving her was unbearable. âI should apologize for not doing this properly. If I werenât such a wicked creature I would have left him first.â
Seralah kissed him desperately with this estatic certainty. She laughed in relief and delight against his mouth before pulling back again. Her pale face was flushed and her smile crinkled her eyes at the corners as her chest ached. âI will leave him,â she told him earnestly. âBecause I donât love him.â It was very easy to say. So easy it surprised her as it took all the pressing, screaming weight off her heart. She could breathe again.
âAnd I know I donât love him because I love you.â And that was easy to say too. It should have felt wild to say. But it was just like her stories. Just as sudden and as certain.
Seralah, with her guileless, sincere heart, didnât know that whole lives were lived after the sunsets people walked hand and hand into. And that things were complicated. And that love, often, wasnât enough. But if anyone would have told her this she wouldnât have cared. If it was destined to doom and ruin and horrible heartbreak, she would have done it anyway. Said it anyway. If he left her now and she never saw him again, it would still be worth this one, beautiful moment to have him look at her this way and hold her.
She paused to gingerly pull apart, thighs still shaking, all of her a little, deliciously sore. âWhen I return to the Castle? I wonât have to light candles,â she promised him. âNowâŠkiss me and leave me. Or I will beg you to stayâŠand there are unpleasant things I have to do.â
The return of his affections reverberated through his body as she spoke, her words sliding along every hurt that touched him, soothing. His chest felt tight with longing but he was already dressed in a sly grin when she mentioned the candles. He rose to dress, his black silks draped over muscles that gleamed pale blue in Elune's light.
When he finished, he kneeled on the floor by the side of the bed and took her face in his hands, giving her the kind of kiss he'd want her to dream about. Then her hands in his, lips worshipping those too.
"I'll be here while you're here." he swallowed back a thought. "Wherever you are, as long as you want me." looking overcome, he turned his face away a moment, as if he needed space to understand. Something clicked and his eyes snapped back to hers, smiling. Adoration covered his face as he left, unable to elaborate.
A soft breeze from the balcony moved dying flowers to sweetly scrape inside, scattering coverings of white petals on the carpet. He stepped through these, leaving gently crushed shadows. As the breeze billowed the curtains full, he disappeared with their crest and left soundlessly in the night.
Seralah gazed up at him as Aronsen held her face. She noticed the care in the way he touched her, as though she were fragile and precious. How he minded his own preternatural strength in his every movement so as not to hurt her. He chained his monstrous qualities, but his heart was open and bleeding. Seralah thought it was very brave to have remained like that despite the drag of centuries and hurt. She saw unsaid things on his face, and she knew a single night and breathless declaration wouldnât be enough. And that was all right. They had time.
For a long while, she stared at the rumpled sheets, the open balcony window with the sheer curtains fluttering in the breeze as dawn began to creep pale light across the floor. Reality came with the light of day, making the night seem like some gauzy dream. She knew she could what happened between her and Aronsen stay there, let it be just a dream.
When she rose from the bed and slid her nightgown back on, Seralah didnât even bother thinking of what she was going to say to Rhuen. If she did, she feared sheâd just start screaming at him and never stop. The fierce anger that rose up inside her surprised Sera. She knew that it was the right decision then, with or without Aronsen. To let it continue would take her places she didnât want it to go. She could suddenly see the long life laid out before her.
Sera would be pushed to give up her alchemy. Forced to plan garden parties and sit silent at dinner. Sheâd be alone when Rhuen was deployed, or worse, relegated to taking care of his aging father. Eventually, sheâd have Rhuenâs children, whether that was something she wanted or not. Sera had never considered having children. Motherhood held no real appeal and forced her to think of her own childhood.
With a passing glance at the sleeping kittens, Seralah turned to go into the adjoining room. Standing over the bed, she looked down at her husband, chest tight, face burning with an angry flush. Rhuen woke with a start as she stood over him, glowering down at him. What a sight she was, ravaged, long, dark hair mussed, little streaks of blood on her lips and throat. Clearly alarmed, Rhuen sat up.
âSeraâŠwhat happened? Are you all right?â
She didnât answer his question. âI am going to leave here, Rhuen. Iâm going to dissolve this marriage.â She paused, watching the shock spread over his face. âI never want to see you again,â she finished, tone edged in harsh finality as she banished the grasping chains of a life she didnât want for herself.
Before she could say anything else or think, Rhuen was on his feet, grasping her by the arms, shaking her. It shocked her into silence. His grip hurt her and she protested with a shocked gasp.
âYouâre talking nonsense,â he hissed in her face. âStill pouting over what? Flowers?â
Seralah tried to recoil, horrified by his cruel words. âNo! Itâs not about the flowers!â Except it was. In a way. It was about how he dismissed everything important to her, but she was too upset and angry to articulate this.
He sneered down at her, hands squeezing her upper arms too tight. âThis is what you wanted. What your FATHER would have wanted. I promised him Iâd take care of youâŠand I have. Itâs time for you to grow up, Seralah.â
The very mention of her father briefly weakened her resolve. Guilt crashed into her, but before she could drown in it, anger and defiance had her breaking the surface. âDaddy wouldnât want this for me! Heâd want me to be happy! Iâm not in love with you. Not anymore and I donât think I ever was. I was justâŠjust lonely!â She shouted at him, trying to pull out of his grasp.
The slap took her by surprise.
Rhuenâs hand cracked over her cheek, snapping her head to the side. When she gathered her wits, she stared up at him with wide eyes, lips parted in shock and pain.
No one had ever struck her in her entire life. Fear and loathing spilled into her, making her tremble. No longer in his iron grip, she held her cheek and took a step backwards. Rhuenâs face twisted in immediate regret, but the anger still simmered in his gaze.
âSera, I-â
She held up a hand, silencing him. âYou will leave this room while I pack my things,â she said in a low, quavering voice. âYou have put hands on me and this is unforgivable. Itâs over.â
To his credit, Rhuen simply nodded, heightened emotion draining from his expression. After a tense moment, he grabbed a house coat from its place draped over a chair, shrugged it on and left her alone.
It didnât take long to pack her things. Seralah had a maid help her and mind the kittens. Yanking off her wedding ring, she placed it on Rhuenâs bedside table. She had Rhuenâs driver take her into the city, the Bazaar, to the only lawyerâs office she knew.
Seralah looked a sight when she stood before Ms. Nubbinâs secretaryâs desk. Her long hair was down and mussed, her cheek still reddened from the slap. It would bruise. She wore a rumpled, black dress, modest as always.
Giving the secretary a polite smile, trying to calm her trembling, Seralah gestured to the double doors to Ms. Nubbinâs office. âI should like to see Ms. Nubbin about a serious matter and Iâm afraid it canât wait until tomorrow. Iâm sure she is very busy so I do apologize for not making an appointment. Itâs a bit of an emergency.â
Ihdrys saw Seralahâs state and clearly took it seriously. The secretary guided her to an overstuffed chair and gave her a glass of chilled wine. She told her Ms. Nubbin would see her just as soon as she could.
Lillandyr Shadowglade was only supposed to LOOK rich. But sheâd never had a swollen bank account before. Sheâd lived rough for years eating nasty bar food and stale pastries Luna Bakery would have thrown out otherwise. The sudden plunge into extreme wealth was making her head spin.
Not that she wasnât enjoying herself, itâs just that lunch sounded so good and she knew that dessert was amazing and it was for her. She had to blink back tears as her eyes stung. Annoyed with herself, she cleared her throat, had more whiskey and reached for another blood thistle cigarette on Nubbinâs desk.
The inside of her chest felt bubbly like effervescent champagne. She snorted in amusement as Nubbin explained the situation in the bathroom. But then she was hit with all that information about Leonardo. Her eyes widened as she was just unable to hide her utter shock.
Sheâd been inside that low manâs mind and he had no business being the head of his house. Soon to be HER house and the thought of him lording over Heathcliff was so repulsive and infuriating, she had to calm herself down.
A flush spread over her cheeks. Oh. Oh, she hated him. He had to be done away with.
âYes,â she snapped, âPunished,â she said, voice tight. âAnd donât worry, I wonât tell that cunt anything. He should never find out. Heâd be even more insufferable.â She wrinkled her nose.
âIâve had a little taste of his tongue on my legs as he groveled at my feet like a fucking dog,â she said with clear disdain. It was emotion well past hate so that it twisted into something newâŠsomething very violently passionate.
âIâve touched his shadow with mine,â she saidâŠnot in ownership, though Lillandyr fully intended on making him her creature. She had to. He needed a fucking muzzle.
âHe ought to be given aâŠtongue lashing himself. For losing control like that. You should have seen it. He made a spectacle of himself.â She scoffed and felt a little drunk. Not that it stopped her from finishing off another tumbler of whiskey. Fuck, she thought. She really loved good whiskey.
She hmmâd. âWe should do it,â she said with a teasing, flirtatious smile, candy apple red lips curving coyly. She pepped up through her dark, sooty lashes. âDoesnât that sound fun?â
Whatever Lillandyr was spilling, Nubbins was lapping it up. Her eyes flared with approval at the candid details dropped from lips far too good for a mere stop in. Oh no. This would be her entire afternoon, Nubbins would make it so. With possible cocktails and⊠layers of questioning.
TW: The faintest whiff of BDSM, crude gossip
"Darling, you can come in and get our lunch orders please, I know you're listening." Nubbins said flatly to her peeking assistant with a patient tilt of her neck. She ordered for all of them. "Raspberry and burrata salads. Dungeness crab deviled egg and⊠seared scallops with saffron cream. Four bottles of chilled bubbly and Luna Bakery's wild berry pound cake with mascarpone yogurt creme." Nubbins directed her attention back to Lillandyr but quickly added to her assistant:
"Oh and please cancel all afternoon business appointments. Thank you, Idhrys. Your help is excellent as always." her tone was on the edge of praise and a threat.
She realized since she was inviting Lillandyr to revel for the afternoon, Nubbins would have to explain why she had the new Magistrate â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â â in her bathroom, naked with an expensively jeweled mask over his head during this brunch hour. After she heard the door click shut she leveled with her before getting to the gossip.
"Don't be alarmed. Little situation in the bathroom. I wasn't expecting anyone for a couple of hours on my schedule." she didn't pause long, not wanting to sound unhappy about this. "But it's not a problem. Just use the bathroom down the hall if you need to. He can wait forever." she grinned, allowing herself this slip. She felt extra mean today. Spicy secrets do that.
"Ok. There's so many questions, where to startâŠ" Nubbins reclined elegantly and flipped her wrist in the air, diamond bangles clinking sharp in the Silvermoon sunlight beaming through her balcony windows.
"LeonardoâŠ" Nubbins leaned in. "Isn't a carriage driver. He's Heathcliff's brother." she said with dramatic assertion. "I know because I've seen the medical records of all the Dracones, from the estate paperwork they gave me to catalog for the vaults here in the city." she paused, taking a sip of whiskey, her voice smooth.
"That "mother" died a year before Leonardo was born, technically. Tell me how that works." she grinned. "I think he's actually the seventh son, not Heathcliff. One of Eve's actual children." her eyebrows went up. "With a birthright over Heathcliff." she added with a warning. "You should know these things before you marry into that mess. And yes, Leo is a horrible snake butâŠ" Nubbins swayed a moment in a girlish, knowing gesture and settled back in her chair.
She crossed her legs and rested them on her desk, black stockings running into a leather pencil skirt. "He's very fun to feed. That tongue⊠his shadows⊠the vampire speedâŠ" her eyes rolled up into her head in performance. Her laughter turned into coughing.
"But I'll never tell him. And neither should you. He'd make a terrible Lord of House Dracone. My bank account agrees with Heathcliff." she shrugged. "He doesn't know either." she warned. "I wouldn't tell him. Family business is tetchy with all of them."
She said all of this shocking secret casually, smoking.
"Anyway, I knew about your troubles later, Leonardo informed me. I feel less guilty now knowing you had fun doing it." she raised one eyebrow in a tease, unbothered by the tale of the harrowing gauntlet.
"And yes, Leonardo must be punished." she smiled one that mirrored Lillandyr's.
Lillandyr accepted the blood thistle cigarette when it was passed to her with an arched brow. She took a long drag before answering, then a sip of whiskey to soothe the scorch of the caustic smoke.
Until she was sat down across from Ms. Nubbin, Lillandyr hadnât realized how badly sheâd needed this. She felt like a woman running with wolves and sometimes they saw her as though she were prey and not one of them.
She hmmâd. âI donât have any cocks to compare his to,â she explained, âbutâŠI certainly have no complaints about the intimacy. Heâs ravenous.â
Lillandyrâs smile was almost bashful and her cheeks pinked. Not with embarrassment, but with this girlish sort of excitement.
âBut thatâs skipping ahead of things,â she said, draining her tumbler of whiskey. She poured herself another glass. âWhen I left your office? I nearly died. Twice.â
Lillandyr didnât leave room for Ms. Nubbin to interject. âI blame the fucking carriage driver, if weâre being honest. What a slimy, filthy low man,â she sneered with a roll of her eyes. âAt any rate, Heathcliffâs brother attacked the carriage, killed the two men inside and I was next. Aronsen has admitted now to me that he came to take my head. Lucky for me, Iâm very attached to it and IâŠconvinced him not to.â Her smile was crooked, though a little strained.
âThis had unintended consequences and nowâŠAronsen and I areâŠlinked. I used my magic and it didnâtâŠwork out exactly as I planned.â She waved this off. Sheâd elaborate if asked, but there was a lot to catch Ms. Nubbin up on.
âSo, I arrived at the Castle covered in blood. My dress? Ruined. It cost a fortune,â Lillandyr said, clearly still miffed about it. âWhen Heathcliff greeted me? I tried to slap him.â This drew an amused smile across her lips, some of the tension lifting. âHe didnât let meâŠand we fucked for two days straight.â
Lillandyr lit another black cigarillo. âAs for the Castle? WellâŠIâm not sure how to say thisâŠIâm not sure what you know. ItâsâŠalive. Sentient. And maybe we have something. Not exactly an affair.â Lillandyr shrugged, still not wholly able to rationalize what was happening with Manus.
âAnd since weâve been in the city, Heathcliff and I have confessed our feelings. I expect a proposal. Soon. And if I donât get one, then maybe Iâll propose instead,â she said. âI think Iâve earned it givenâŠeverything.â
She seemed very sure of herself.
âAs for the incident in the club, which Iâm sure you know all aboutâŠwell should it come as any surprise? Leonardo is a nasty piece of business and I simply had to put him in his place. He thinks he can blackmail me intoâŠhonestly, Iâm not quite sure. I think he just wants to fuck me. So, maybe IâŠscrambled his brain a little and he acted poorly.â She waved this off too. âI refuse to be cowed or intimidated by the likes of him! He should be punished for how he behaved and for how he spoke to me. The unmitigated gall,â she grumbled, still clearly sore at the âcarriage driverâ.
She sat back in the chair then, smoking and nursing her drink, ready for Ms. Nubbinâs questions.
Her red nails scraped the polished glass to pick up the coin, a gesture of complete confidentiality. Ms. Nubbins bit her bottom lip. Lillandyr was giving trust and she always rewarded her clients for this.
TW: Crude shit-talking?
She wasn't the kind of woman to turn down gossip. Especially not about the mysterious Dracone family and their disgustingly rich, handsome and tragic men that were left to history like mistakes. Keepers of their own dark graves.
So she grabbed that coin on the table and stared at her welcome mid-day intruder with rapt attention. If Lillandyr was planning on marrying her client, that would be a lot of financial planning. Their vault was legendary, their coffers impolitely full. It was kind of a problem. What they really needed was an actual gold digger.
Here that very woman was reclined in her office, face poised to pout or pleasure as if every emotion was offensive or addictive. A walking contradiction of unnecessary lies and deeper denied ones. Nubbins saw through it all, and wasn't surprised in the least when Lillandyr announced she planned to marry Heathcliff. Proud, actually. She knew a smart woman when she met one. But was her appetite too ambitious?
"Yes. This is an excellent idea. There are many holdings I can direct you to that need attention once you are married. Lucky for you, I have most of that calculated out for this exact scenario. There will be a lot of documents you must sign. It's important you come by my office before any ridiculously opulent honeymoon you'll have for⊠ten years, or however long nobles vacation for these days."
She stopped herself with a wave of her perfectly manicured red nails.
"But enough of that. Tell me about his dick. Tell me about his dead dick." Nubbins grinned at her tease, snickering with Lillandyr.
"Or at least tell me about his Castle. His big, impressive castle." her eyes narrowed with emphasis as she lit up a bloodthistle cigarette for them to share.
Lillandyr found herself actually bored of all the lounge hopping and shopping. She didnât complain because she wasnât sure she wanted to go back to the Castle right away. It left her with many complicated feelings. Feelings she didnât want to think about. The last time she had seen âManusâ was at that miserable dinner party. Heâd told a deep, hurtful truth about everyone there. Everyone but her. Heâd openlyâŠsuggestively flirted with her until Heathcliff had bashed his face inâŠwell, conjured face. It wasnât as though Manus had been hurt.
Lillandyr didnât know what all of this meant. Sheâd not made a proper deal with ManusâŠyet. She was still considering playing a part in his scheme. It would require more thought. And study. Of the Castle itself.
Heathcliff was off attending some business sheâd not been particularly interested in but now she found herself wanting someone to talk to. Her only other choice was Aronsen andâŠwell, he was a lot of complicated feelings too.
Pouting, she stirred her cocktail with her finger. This would be more fun with company, she thought, plucking a cherry out of her whiskey sour and popping it into her mouth.
This particular lounge had big, picture windows looking out over the Bazaar and was right across from Heathcliffâs lawyerâs office, Ms. Nubbin. Sheâd liked the woman when sheâd met her.
So, Lillandyr purchased top shelf whiskey from the bartender, taking the whole bottle, then marched right over to the lawyerâs office. She ignored the new secretary, some bright eyed young woman in cheap shoes and barged in.
She set down the bottle of whiskey on the desk and one gold coin. âI want to hire you. As my attorney. If you take that coin that means we have attorney client privilege so you canât spill my secrets.â Lillandyr smiled, feeling clever. âI want to gossip,â she said, eyes narrowed slyly.
Ms. Nubbin was very quick to snatch up the gold coin as Lillandyr sat in the big, leather chair across the desk from the other woman. She lit a black cigarillo and crossed her leg over her knee, satin of her dress crinkling.
She waited until Ms. Nubbin poured them both a tumbler of whiskey. Then, she spoke, âIâm going to marry Heathcliff,â she announced, deadly serious.
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