“If you are, my friend, I shall be notified. Swift action will be taken.” A growl exited his lips. “Once again, this is the twenty-first century. Though some things must remain the same, others can and will be changed.”
His dark eyes shadowed somewhat, Pennice granted him a half smile. “I appreciate that, my lord. More than you know. But in the meantime, how can I help you?”
“I will be mated. There is no help for that.” He drained his ale and set it down on the granite with a bit too much force. “But as you said, I can continue to play. Tonight, after I receive my new mate and she returns home to plan our ceremony, ready the cottage.”
The man nodded. “How many females do you require?”
It wasn’t unusual for Cas to entertain up to three or four females when he was home. However, tonight he wished for something outrageous. He needed something outrageous. If only to remind him that although duty and tradition compelled him to concede in this one thing, he was still very much an Incubus Master.
“I require ten females,” Cas commanded, snatching up the remaining newspaper. “Have them waiting for me at midnight—bathed, naked, wet and ready.”
Pennice’s eyes glowed. “As you wish, my lord.”
~
The household’s palpable excitement flickered through Lia as she rested on her knees and scrubbed the beautiful, dusty ballroom floor. She’d come to work at Trevanion Castle only five months ago, so tonight’s grand Cornish party was to be her first.
To witness, of course. Not to attend.
She glanced up, took in the three other maids who were dotted about the room, one washing the floor like her, the two others polishing fixtures. They would be watching as well. Staff did not co-mingle with the family, or their guests. The Trevanions had blood ties to the royals, for goodness sake, and did things differently than most Incubi households. Formality was key. And anonymity. The latter being why Lia had applied for the position in the first place.
Just as Lia was wringing out her rag, a sudden burst of energy and sound erupted outside the ballroom doors, in the gardens. In seconds, Ms. Gilly, the housekeeper, rushed in.
“Stand up, you silly girls,” she called, clapping her hands three times as she scurried over to the doors. “It’s Master Trevanion. He’s home.”
A thrill went through Lia as she pushed to her feet. Smoothing down her pale green work dress, she watched as a party entered the ballroom. It was a group of six or seven, and they were moving fast. Master Trevanion was among them. Surrounded by them. But she couldn’t yet catch a good look at him.
Ms. Gilly dropped into a curtsy and said grandly, “My lord.” As did the other maids.
But Lia remained standing. As a Temple Blade she would have never genuflected to anyone—including Masters or royalty—unless under threat of death. And even then, she was not so sure. But that wasn’t the reason for her blatant insolence. She’d finally caught a true glimpse of the Master—her Master—as he moved, deep in conversation with his Watchman, and her body wasn’t listening to her mind. It was an unfortunate pattern with her. Lack of mind/body connection when it came to this man. And staring. That, she did far too often as well. Granted, she’d seen plenty of Masters in her time, and with every one her body reacted as any Nephilim’s would: with hunger, heat, need. But her reaction to Casworon Trevanion was something altogether different. Otherworldly. Fearsome. Problematic. When he was around, the air seemed to bloom with scent, the light seemed to dim proactively, the energy thrummed with life.
And her muscles and bone and skin no longer felt imprisoned by scars and ugliness and pain.
As those around her remained in a respectful curtsy, Lia dragged her teeth across her upper lip, fighting to keep her ragged breathing under control. Her eyes clung to him. Watching, admiring, coveting. Intimidatingly tall, his heavy muscles straining beneath the crisp gray suit and black tie he wore, he was truly a formidable sight to behold. And as he walked—no…that was too gentle a word for what he did. Stalked was far better. He moved with intention and an air of animal rage.
For a moment, he turned and glanced about the room. Lia’s breath caught in her throat at the full view of his face. His thick ebony hair was cut shorter than usual, and his light caramel skin gleamed like the sex demon he was. But it was those sharp, overtly sexual violet eyes that made her insides turn to liquid fire, made her tremble with fear and longing and something she’d tried so desperately to tamp down.
Hope.
When she had been a Blade, high-ranking and respected, she might’ve offered herself to him. Her strength and ferocity would’ve matched well with his sensual power and hunger. He would’ve noticed her. He would’ve wanted her, craved her. But now…she was a small, inconsequential bug. Squashable only because she was in the way, not because she posed a threat.