The Dream Crafter(47)

Wannabe couldn’t move fast enough after that, half-tripping as he turned tail. As Fallon glanced around in an instinctive check for other threats, instead what was apparent was the intensity of several of the men and women as they looked at her, an ill-defined eagerness that had them stepping forward with hesitant motions.

Laire glanced around too, and with a growl of disgust stepped forward to grab Fallon’s elbow, leading her to the elevator with determined steps. “Stop that. You’re riling up the subs.”

“He started it!”

In quick time they arrived at the elevator, and now as the mood once again became weighted. Fallon began, “Laire–”

“I’m not asking questions,” Laire interrupted. On her face was a serious expression Fallon saw only in intimate and dire situations. “I’m here to back you up.”

“It’s not necessary.”

Neon orange was not made to go with such a grave countenance. “I’m not sure if it makes me more nervous to believe you are saying that because you are trying to protect me, or if you are saying that because you really think that’s true.”

“I’m not giving myself a headache to figure out what you said.” But Fallon’s hand on Laire’s shoulder was gentle as she ushered the tiny mage into the elevator.

The ride was brief, and the doors opened to a waiting Zemar. “Lady Fallon.” He did not acknowledge Laire as he led them both to the two large red doors at the end of the hall.

In front of the doors Fallon glanced down at Laire. One thing to be said for a long partnership – your partner often knew what you mean with just a look. Laire rolled her eyes again but nodded, and Fallon turned to Reign’s bodyguard. “Laire is waiting here. I will take an attack on her as an attack on me.”

He never looked at Laire, but he said, “We will defend ourselves, but the mage is as safe as you are.”

Not exactly the most risk-free promise, but as that was as good as she was going to get, Fallon left Laire behind and walked with Zemar into an interior room, more opulent and private. With a bow he let himself out.

The Crimson room was aptly named. Not garish as she feared, but instead everything about it spoke of elegance, the red hues dominating similar to the shading in Reign’s eyes.

She went farther in, past the living area, into a lush room with furniture in dark, sumptuous fabric. Amongst gorgeous silver filigreed chains which fell in waves down walls and whips and crops of finely crafted leather stood Reign, with danger and sexual power clinging to him in a way the pitiful boy from downstairs could never hope to replicate. For the first time Fallon understood the draw of this lifestyle. Saw, at least in small measure, the allure.

That deep, rich voice shook inside her as he spoke. “Fallon.”

“Thank you for seeing me on such short notice.”

“When have I ever turned you away?” He pulled on a chain, the silver links sinuous against long fingers. “I am glad my meeting spot was acceptable.”

Fallon moved to a wall where chains hung which were so delicate, they were more decorative than durable. The metal was cool as she wrapped one around her left wrist, twisted and turned until it encircled her, then pulled until her arm was between them, the chain pulling taut. “Interesting accommodations. Can’t say I’ve ever thought to try them before.”

Reign’s answer was in the way his eyes turned hungry, the red depths boiling as they fastened on where the filigreed metal bit into her skin. His only words, though, were, “I will see to it the man who accosted you is dealt with.”

Fallon freed her arm, the chain giving a small clink as it fell against the wall. “Do I look worse for wear? Don’t insult me by inferring that idiot could possibly do anything.”

The silence grew heavy around them. They faced off, neither willing to give an inch. Fallon fought against speaking first, but he was here at her invitation. The power was his, and he wielded it without pity. She spoke. “You know why I’m here.”

“Hmmm.” He neither confirmed nor denied. She was on the hook, and he was letting her squirm.

Heh. And if the situation were reversed, she’d do the same thing and wouldn’t be able to control the giggles as she did it. Bastard, and damned if she didn’t smile at the hint of pleased smug in his gaze. Giving up, Fallon leaned against the wall, positioning herself so she fell into the line between comfortable and battle ready. “I need your help to get the Spellbook. Merc controls it. That sums up our problem right there.”

Reign’s body projected perfect nonchalance. “Your problem, not mine. The knowledge of the Spellbook in Merc’s hands amuses me no end. It lends our game a wild card element I find…exhilarating.”