“More females than males on your staff,” Mikhael noted casually, but she saw his significant look as her staff returned to their conversations, again dividing the room into two distinct sections. She told herself it didn’t underscore his point. Mikhael’s presence had disrupted the normal order. If he wasn’t here, she’d be joining their conversation. Or at least listening amusedly and throwing in her part. Just because he’d embraced the comic-book propaganda about the lone warrior didn’t mean she was buying into it. Sounding authoritative on every damn subject didn’t mean he really knew everything.
“Do you have trouble keeping the males fed?” he asked. “Your client base in this neck of the woods would be mostly hetero males.”
That was true. In fact, she could easily call four of her good-ol’-boy redneck regulars and give them a case of Budweiser to quarter Mikhael on her front lawn with their four-wheel-drive pickup trucks. Dark Guardian blood would make a wonderful fertilizer for her roses.
However, his question appeared to be motivated by sincere curiosity, and, of course, no purpose would be served by her snubbing him. Again—emotions weren’t going to rule her.
“I’ve increased marketing efforts to encourage female clients, so between that and a handful of openly gay or bi regulars, the males stay suitably fed.”
Her monthly tea parties on the back lawn, with her staff doing the serving in tasteful but sexy apparel, had bumped up the female clientele. Women were comfortable in social groups, less inhibited about ogling and flirting with what she had to offer. Particularly when the four males flirted right back with romantic hand kisses and sexy smiles. They also didn’t discourage the occasional bold, wandering female hand. The women enjoyed themselves thoroughly, but, more important, the incubi had their fill of appetizers at such events. When stimulated, female sexual energy offered itself in bite-sized pieces.
Many of the women who subsequently came into the house for services had their first experience with one of the succubi, to gain confidence and security. After that, they moved to the males. For all their initial caution about visiting a bordello, women were far less inhibited about crossing gender boundaries than her male clients, likely because they weren’t as concerned about being categorized for doing so.
Aside from nourishing her charges and increasing her profit margins, there were practical reasons for increasing the female client base. The more Raina’s house was utilized by the women, the more intertwined she was in the community, taking momentum away from those who didn’t like having sex-for-hire in their county. Law enforcement was easy to handle. Her energy, carefully disseminated, distracted them from any investigation attempts. She’d had the pleasure of entertaining the sheriff’s men on her front porch, offering them her lemonade and encouraging them to bring their wives to one of the coed tea parties.
Her incubi were also fed by the men who weren’t openly gay because they hadn’t admitted it to themselves, or to the straight friends with whom they came. However, even when the client had a female on his lap, she would note the man’s eyes tracking Li’s supple form or marking the flex of Saul’s powerful physique. When that man went up to his assigned room, she would slip in and ask if he would prefer a male. Inevitably, the truth of his own desires, encouraged by the euphoric vibes of the sex demon energy, would prevail. Her discreet handling of the situation meant he’d come back, again and again.
As she hit those points, Mikhael listened attentively. So much so, she was tempted to discuss more, because she enjoyed her business. However, she noticed most plates were clean at this point.
“Ellen, Aiden, get the table cleared. All of you, go enjoy your day. Doors open at four, so don’t wander too far. Isaac, stay here for a moment. Isabella, Luke, you can wait for him in the parlor.”
During the meal, while he couldn’t hear the discussion she was having with Mikhael, Isaac had studied every shift, every word spoken by the others. He’d made few comments, mostly cautious responses to direct questions. While he’d relaxed a little, as the others left the dining area, he looked pale and tense once again.
Stretching out his powerful frame, Mikhael reached a long arm down the table to snag the comic strips. He put it on the table, studying the Peanuts column. The innocuous pose didn’t seem to soothe Isaac in the slightest, and Raina didn’t blame him. It was like watching a dragon work a crossword puzzle while picking his teeth with the finger bone of his latest virgin victim.
“I expect you have nothing to add to what you told me last night?” she asked the incubus.
His gaze shifted between them. Mikhael didn’t look up. He wasn’t expecting anything and, in truth, neither was she. She suppressed a sigh as Isaac shook his head.
“I want you to take time today to learn about how we live here. While you’re doing that, think very carefully about whether there are things you should have told me that you haven’t. I know you have lived by deception, but in this place, honesty is your best chance of survival.”
His jaw flexed. He really was a pretty young man. The shower and sleep had brought it out further. Flaxen hair to his shoulders, sea green eyes, straight nose and sensitive mouth. There were no ugly sex demons, but his androgynous look would appeal to her clients, if he chose to join her staff.
Considering the profit possibilities on a parallel track with her concern for his well-being didn’t bother her, because she knew which one took precedence. Of course, Ramona, her closest friend other than Ruby, had once dubbed her Fagin. Though she preferred Ron Moody’s movie depiction of the savvy businessman, Raina didn’t dislike the nickname. After all, he had taught the boys marketable skills and gleaned a profit in an environment of thieves and murderers.
“Unless you have questions for me, you can go to Isabella and Luke now. I’ll be around today if you wish to speak with me.”
With a short, furtive nod, he slunk toward the door, looking like a cunning, abused animal.
“Isaac?” When he halted, she met his uncertain, resentful expression with a steady one of her own. “Every succubus and incubus who crossed this threshold has been told the same thing by me. Self-worth is a gift you give to yourself. No one else can offer it. If you hold yourself cheaply, you’ll be treated cheaply. Doesn’t matter if that’s fair or not. It’s not up to the world to rescue you from your poor opinion of yourself. If that poor opinion is deserved, fix it. Each demon here has discovered something in themselves they didn’t expect to have. As a result, they’ve found what they never believed they could. A home. Contentment, brief spots of happiness. A family.”
Isaac eyed her suspiciously. “Everything comes with a price.”
“Yes, it does. You have to earn that kind of place. I’m not talking about working as one of the companions here. That’s your choice. I would make sure you had food regardless, and we’d find other ways for you to earn your keep. An old house always needs hands to keep it up. You earn your spot by pulling your weight honestly, and by not being a scavenger who takes lives indiscriminately. You prove you can be worthy of the trust and friendship of others. It doesn’t happen overnight. No one here managed that, and no one would expect it of you. You’d make mistakes; you’d have setbacks. But if it’s something you want, you’ll find those here willing to help you, to forgive the mistakes and setbacks. Think on that today as well.”
He nodded, then slipped out. Mikhael examined the Scooby-Doo comic strip. “I will bet you the last croissant that, out of all those well-meaning words, all he heard was, Blah-blah-blah-blah, you’ll get food, blah-blah-blah.”
Picking up the last croissant, Raina took a decisive bite. “I’m so turned on by your I-don’t-give-a-damn-about-anyone attitude and wiseass cracks about Desperate Housewives. Was it a gradual process, Mikhael, or have you always been a coldhearted bastard?”
As his head rose, the eyes that locked on hers turned cool. She wasn’t going to back down from him, though. Not now, not ever. She’d done enough running in her life. Sweet Dreams was her line in the sand. She’d never retreat from that line, even if her ashes were left smoking upon it.
“You’ve got the sharp-tongued bitch act down,” he said quietly. “Yet the facade is thin, isn’t it? You’re vulnerable, Raina. Almost fragile. You showed me that last night, when you were pleading for release, when you let your fear show.”
He pushed the paper aside. “I’m charged to run down your kind when they step out of bounds, beyond what even the Underworld can tolerate. To hunt them effectively, I have to know their stories, inside and out. When I corner them, when I execute them”—his gaze pinned her, and she saw Death there—“those stories come to the surface, much like that tapestry your deadly energy puts forth. In their dying moments, that story is stamped on them. They become a book I have to burn, the story lost forever to anyone but me, because when they reach that point, they have no one.
“You were wise to counsel Isaac the way you did, because it’s family that saves a soul. If he turns his back on it too often, he’ll be another book on the pyre. My job isn’t pity. It’s justice, and justice is about balance.”