He didn’t matter to her.

Honestly, he was nothing more than a means to an end. A scary means to an end, at that. Stupid Thane was welcome to his stupid Harpy and his stupid love life and his stupid room and his stupid pleasure.

She would forget him just as easily as he’d picked up that skanky Harpy.

Name-calling? Who are you? The blonde was probably as sweet as candy, a stay-at-home divorced mom just looking for a night of fun to give her self-esteem the boost it needed after her husband cheated on her with their next-door neighbor.

Buck up, Vale. You have Fae snobs to charm and jewels to win.

Charm. Right. Except, she’d already failed in that endeavor.

So...what else could she try?

What would your mother do?

Easy. Renlay would kill everyone.

Well, that wasn’t going to work for Elin. There had to be another way.

As she thought it over, her eyes widened. There was another way. It might land her in serious trouble with Thane, but at the moment, she didn’t exactly care.

Victory, here I come.

CHAPTER FIVE

THANE TUGGED ON his robe, his motions steady despite the aggravation attempting to choke him. The Harpy was asleep and unaware of his mood, thank the Most High. She would have panicked—or asked for round two. He wasn’t in the mood to deal with either.

What was her name?

Not that he cared. It wasn’t as if he would ever speak to her again.

He’d used her. She’d used him. Pleasure was had. The problem was, he wasn’t satisfied.

Have you ever been?

He worked his jaw. Yes, of course. At least a little. For years, he’d brought his women here, to the bedroom across from his. It was where he’d kept Kendra.

She was the first, the only, woman ever to move in for longer than a few hours, and he’d allowed it only because she’d experienced no remorse after his depraved desires had been slaked. No matter how badly he’d frightened...and marred...her. No matter what horrible things he’d asked her to do to him.

A perfect union, at least on the surface. And yet, they had never actually fit, or balanced each other.

Same with the Harpy. While she possessed a measure of dark yearning, proved every time she’d run the tip of a blade over his skin, as demanded, and smiled as his blood welled, she hadn’t satiated him. Not when he’d chained her, and she had struggled, her wrists and ankles chafing, her eyes tearing up—not just with fear, but with uncertain anticipation. Not when he’d shown her an array of weapons and told her slowly and quietly what he was going to do with them, and the tears had streamed down her cheeks in earnest. Not even when he’d put his words into action, and she had begged for mercy...and for more.

Her whimpers hadn’t been sweet, sweet music, as he’d expected. Her fear hadn’t fanned the flames of his passion, and her pain hadn’t soothed the savage beast inside.

She hadn’t given him anything he’d needed.

What did he need?

He thought he’d known.

He could take her again, harder, harsher, and finally, hopefully, exhaust himself, but he refused to bed the same woman twice. Never again would he risk enslavement.

Oh, he knew there were only a handful of females like Kendra, capable of enchaining through sex, and none that were not Phoenix. But what if the Harpy had Phoenix blood in her ancestry? How was a man to know?

Besides, why take the Harpy a second time when his body craved another woman?

The...don’t say it...ignore the desire, and it will go away...human.

He had to bite back an aggravated snarl. He couldn’t ignore—and he couldn’t forget. Somehow, she had branded her image in his mind. Her name, he was suddenly desperate to know. He wished he’d confronted her, today, yesterday, every day, and drank in every word about her.

What was it about this female?

At the camp, she had looked at him with wild panic and even fear, and he’d hated every moment. He should have enjoyed that, as he did with other women, but no. He hadn’t. Therefore, he shouldn’t desire her. But earlier in the club he’d taken one look at her and hungered as if he had never eaten.

She was prettier than he remembered, and he’d somehow scented her from across the room. He’d had to fight the compulsion to close the distance between them, sweep her into his arms and carry her away to ravage her.

She had been dressed provocatively, yes, but that shouldn’t have had any bearing on the situation. Since the opening of the club, his female employees had worn that barely-there uniform. It was like white noise to him—there, but hardly noticeable. And yet, on the human, he’d noticed.

Despite her fragile build, she had lush, ripe breasts made for a man’s hands and dangerous curves made to cradle the hardest part of him. Her legs would fit perfectly around his hips, anchoring him as he plunged into her—

No!

Tomorrow, he would force her to wear a robe.

He no longer screwed the staff. He could always find a lover, but he couldn’t always find a dedicated, trustworthy worker. And if he took the delicate human the way he liked, the only way he could, he would do more than panic and frighten her. He would harm her irrevocably. In body...and in mind.

He didn’t like the thought of her alabaster skin blighted...or fear in her smoked-glass eyes.

How odd.

You could be gentle with her. You could—

No. He couldn’t. He had tried that before, but it hadn’t worked. He hadn’t even been able to finish. Pain, he’d realized, wasn’t just a desire; it was a need.

Although, he thought he might actually like seeing the human lost in the throes of passion. She would writhe underneath him, soft and warm and wet. He would spread her legs, and she wouldn’t fight him, because she would want him just as desperately as he wanted her. He would relish the sight of her body, pliant and eager. He would kiss each of her freckles, then move over her, push inside her, going slowly at first, savoring every sensation, before increasing his tempo.

His shaft throbbed.

And what happens when your control slips, and you revert to habit?

He pushed the upsetting thought from his mind and focused his attention on the things around him. Though this room was smaller than his, it was far more luxurious. Overhead hung a chandelier boasting a bouquet of rose-shaped diamonds. The walls were sheets of the purest gold, so clear rainbow flecks appeared to be trapped inside. The bed was formed from intricately twisted metals, fit only for a queen...of the night. At both the headboard and footboard were rings for different types of shackles. Whatever he preferred to use during any given encounter.