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7- Devi

Selk can be such a little shit.

If we were back at the bond house, I’d chew him out and thoroughly put him to work so he learns how best to behave. But I can only be a cold mask in public like this. Knowing that, he enjoys pissing me off even more. Doing the council’s bidding has always been an annoyance for Ryverin and me, something to keep stability while our real loyalties lie elsewhere.

At least this is a worthy cause. If these humans had any idea of the threats we face to keep them safe…

What was Selk thinking, offering to let her dance on his lap instead of mine? I inhale a snort, knowing the balance between us as if I would allow him to claim a chosen female first over me. As if I would want such a thing. It’s only fitting that the head of the house leads in all things.

I set the pace. I allow females into our house, then quickly remind them how short-lived it will be. Ryverin smooths over any harsh edges I’ve created and soothes any bruises. Selk softens them further by dancing between pain and pleasure. In the pecking order, he’s third, saved from last only because Emer thinks himself too big to do anything but break females.

Time has proven him right again and again. Yet the attendant, at least, is sturdier stock. I felt decent muscle beneath the thin, tight scraps of clothing even though it still wouldn’t be enough assurance for Emer… He prefers when we do the breaking-in for him—when our shared female is already soft and pliable with incoherent lust by the time he takes a turn. Why am I even thinking of this? This human won’t be participating in any of that. Though she has the legs for it, I grudgingly admit, and she is taller than most female humans.

Sweet smelling too.

When she adjusts her skirt and straightens, I notice the curve where her waist meets her hips. The ratio is perfect for my large hands to control and master her movements— Selk meets my silent glare head-on, goading me to admit where my mind has gone… exactly where he’s led it. That annoys me.

I blame that for my sharp tongue. Go on, and try not to embarrass yourself a second time, I say and the flash of hurt that crawls over the dancer’s face when she shrinks away. Her eyes change color with the underlights against the wall, dancing in vivid blues and soft pinks. I make myself break eye contact even though she can’t see my face because pretty things mean nothing to me.

I quietly roll the onyx dust littering the ground into a hefty ball and chuck it at Selk’s crotch. The muffled grunt of pain is worth it, even as the human startles.

I want to have her replaced. Maybe I’ll call down for Jack to send us a male. Her presence is distracting me, and one look at Selk and Emer, and I know she’s distracting them too. But why? This is the third club we’ve been to this week and each one had attendants. All young and pretty enough with wide smiles and eager offerings. We played our roles, gained our information, and left.

So what’s bothering me about her? Her pale, reflective eyes? The curved cupid’s bow that tenses when she’s scared? Or maybe it’s the fact that my skin still tingles where I held her, the sensation almost burning as I rub my fingers together. Her soft skin was cooler than I would expect from a human. Iron-scented and musky. Intimate.

And damaged by four distinct scratches across her stomach.

Not my business, I remind myself. She said it was an accident.

She’s careful to skirt around the group of us as she heads back to the bar, her long legs wobbling in heels that make her ass round perfectly. Emer hasn’t stopped looking since her skirt lifted. Selk’s been dialed in since he sat down.

Her perfume lingers in my nose again. Sweet, warm, and with a fresh iron edge.

How long has it been since we recharged?

Maybe that’s the issue of why my throat feels thick thinking of the scabbed lines across her stomach. They were fresh, still damp around the edges like they’d bleed with enough pressure. Selk raises a brow in the human’s direction when she starts talking to herself. Quiet little mumblings that have me wondering how her mind works.

Silently sighing, I rest my head against the sofa lip. This cannot continue.

Emer, for his part, looks stable tonight, though he hasn’t stopped fidgeting since we hit the stairs. I’d be concerned if not for the pale, pinkened beauty in the corner who has somehow pulled a reverb from his chest— a fact Selk will tease him for the second we leave. Singing so sweetly for a little nobody in scraps of fabric.

Emer’s gemstones glow brighter, and I flick back to the mouse moving around behind the bar. She’s not shaking at the signs of unstable Nanaria—or magic as they wrongfully call it behind our backs. But we don’t correct them. Let them think of us as raw power if it keeps them docile. Even one cog out of place in this damned machine, and the whole thing breaks. It’s why the council allows New Eden to exist, although they rebel harder every year. Keep the cogs running and the machine can perform its function. Repopulation. Recharge.

That is the whole point of entertainment districts like this one.

I inspect my power reserves, wondering if a recharge is precisely what I need to fix my mood.

Or maybe I need to find this club’s weasly owner and pin him by the throat until he tells me exactly where he gets his Lithe supply. That way, we could wrap this up sooner and call one of our usuals to help recharge us.

But would her eyes filter like stained glass? Would she have those hips?

It’s irrelevant. This is work.

Emer’s eyes cut to the far corner again. I glance at Ryverin beside me, who hasn’t said a word since we left the hoverscor idling at the curb. His golden hair is gray in the shadows, and with his dark clothing, it’s hard to see his heritage clearly. For the Lightfleck, a traditional suit consists of four pieces, each more pretentious than the last, though they vary in color. And judging by how he subtly tugs at the pair of extra softened black pants that taper to the shoe, he’s not uncomfortable at all. An unwilling smile pulls at the corners of my mouth. As my oldest friend, one would think I’d get tired of seeing Ryverin uncomfortable, but I don’t.

Fuck you, Nox. His thought buzzes through our tetherlink. This facet of the tech is still in testing, but so far, it’s been able to broadcast our thoughts perfectly into one another’s ears. After another month or so of testing, Selk will have a new patent to sell. And maybe we’ll all wear them. For now, only two can be linked at a time. Fuck if I know how he manages it in his free time. He snaps,you’re wearing onyx so far up your ass. I bet it itches.

I let out a soundless snort. He eyes at my attire as if I have no room to speak. Focusing back on Emer and Selk, I admit the traditional leather dress shirt is pinching uncomfortably at my elbows and pits. Thankfully, we don’t sweat like humans, but my neck is chafing. My shirttail is covered in Onyx, so it’s likely shredding the couch beneath us.

Any plans on speaking tonight? I redirect, wondering if we will all be playing our parts as we have at the last few clubs: me as the menacing interrogator and Ryverin as the unlikely hero. But Ryverin says nothing. What’s your issue tonight? Do you need a recharge?

Yes, we all do, but it’s not that. I’m just at risk of compromising us tonight. There are familiar faces here, and I don’t want to be remembered.

What exactly does that mean? Years of training have taught me to keep a level head in all things, but this is unsettling. Do we need to extract quickly? Who recognizes you?

It’s not a big deal. I’ll fill you in later. You know we can’t account for every unexpected interaction that happens during these missions. Tonight, I simply need to stay silent, and you need to keep me obscured.

I let it drop, but we’re in a private room with no cameras. Why would he still need to be careful? Out of the corner of my eye, instinct reminds me of the pair of lovely hips mere steps away. The only other creature in the room.

So the question begs, how does he know her?

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