Etched in Silver

Etched in Silver By Yasmine Galenorn



1

THE room was a shade darker than night as I pushed my way through the haze of pungent smoke, trying not to cough. The fragrance of stale wine and decaying lotus blossoms filled the air, cloying and overripe. Noise echoed through the dimly lit room, a cacophony of whispers and laughter, drunken singing and arguments from the gambling tables all rolling into one to give me a supremely bad headache. Yeah, the Collequia was jumping and so were my nerves. I’d had a very long, very bad day, and it wasn’t over yet. Normally, I came here to hang out and play, but tonight was all business.

The hardcore opium eaters were out in full array. My nose twitched. Not only did they smell—think a week’s unwashed sweat and grime—but they were looking for nookie. Check that. They were looking for money, and they’d earn it by giving a woman—or a man—anything she or he wanted. Considering their habits, they’d probably toss in a few extra gifts for free. Disease, lice, fleas . . . all lovely little bundles of joy that I wasn’t interested in acquiring.

The pretty boys crowded around their tables in tight-knit groups, sucking on hookahs, gossiping, eyeing each new person who crossed the door. Oh yeah, they were hungry for money. Opium was a commodity, a pricey one, spurred on by our illustrious queen’s habit, and she set the price point for distributors throughout the city. Selling sex was an easy way to score one more round.

Sometimes I wondered what drew me back to this club time and again, but to be fair, not everybody here was out for the drugs. I’d met a number of friends and lovers here.

I scanned the room, looking for any signs of my quarry. Roche, one of the Veiled Fae, was wanted for rape and murder. He also happened to be a member of the Guard Des’Estar. Or at least he’d been a member till he’d gone bad. Very bad.

When Lathe, my boss at the Y’Elestrial Intelligence Agency, had assigned the case to me I knew one thing: they didn’t think that I had a chance in Hel’s domain of catching him. They always gave me and my sisters the cases they couldn’t solve. That way, they could blame us for ineptitude and save face. And we’d accrue another notch in a long string of botched jobs. Camille D’Artigo at your service—on the fast track to nowhere.

I meandered past a table for six, ignoring the bozos eyeing my boobs. Sawberry Fae, all of them—rough and crude. I couldn’t blame them for looking, though. After all, I was dressed to attract. For one thing, Roche responded to curvy women, so I was playing it up to lure him out. For another, I’d been waiting for a chance to wear my new outfit. Tight, sheer magenta tunic, thin skirt with a slit all the way up my thigh, the barest hint of woven silver panties. I made quite an impression, all right.

So when men stared at my boobs, it was part of the game and I just laughed it off. But the sweaty hand reaching out to cop a feel on my butt crossed the line.

“That’s one step too far, boy.”

The man didn’t budge, his fingers firmly fastened on my ass. “Hey girlie, give me a ride. I promise, I can do amazing tricks with my tongue.”

“I said, back off. I don’t offer pity f*cks.” I didn’t pay for it either, and all the opium eaters were looking for was cash for another round.

“The pity would be if you don’t f*ck me.” He snorted and squeezed.

Realizing I wasn’t going to get out of this without making some sort of scene, I slid my leg through the slit in my skirt to show off the silver dagger strapped around my thigh. “Remove the fingers from my ass or I’ll ram my stiletto through your crotch and you’ll never use that cock of yours again. Understand?”

He scowled as his buddies laughed, but he let go.

I leaned on the table. “Listen, boys, some of you aren’t half bad. Or you wouldn’t be if your eyes weren’t glazed over and your teeth were a couple of shades closer to white. Clean up your act and get a job.”

Without warning, Mr. Butt-Grabber grabbed my wrist and twisted. Hard. “Bitch. When I want advice from a half-breed, I’ll ask for it.”

“What did you call me?” I couldn’t reach my stiletto—he had my wrist, but he was standing, pressing against me, so I came down hard on his insole with my heel. He yelped and let go. I whipped out my dagger as he knocked over his chair. The dude was a good six-five and muscled, and it took everything I had to stand my ground. “Touch me again and you’ve touched your last woman.”

“Filthy windwalker.” He fumbled for his weapon, but his eyes were so glazed over from the opium that he couldn’t get a good grip on the hilt. I knew the look, though, and it wasn’t a safe one. Junkies were dangerous. “You should be grateful for any attention you get—”

“I suggest you apologize to the lady right now, unless you prefer to make an intimate acquaintance with my blade.”

The voice came from behind the Sawberry. It was smooth and calm, like silk drawn across skin, and set up a vibration in the air that rolled through my senses like a wave. I slowly turned my head to see who was speaking.

The most gorgeous man I’d ever seen was standing there, serrated dagger out, the tip lightly pressed against Mr. Fingers’s ribs. He wasn’t even looking at the Sawberry, but instead, was staring at me—his gaze fastened on my face, not my breasts. His eyes were the coolest shade of blue I’d ever seen. Ice blue. Glacier blue. Blue like a frosty morning in autumn. They stood out against the onyx color of his skin, as did the shock of silver hair that flowed down his back, shining with cerulean highlights. His face, though . . . damn, he was beautiful. More handsome than any man had a right to be, with a refined nose that led narrowly down to thick, luscious lips.

My breath caught in my throat. Touch me, kiss me, hold me, and help me get out of my head.

The Sawberry glanced down at the blade, then at the man holding it and fear flickered in his eyes. He held up his hands. “No harm, no worry,” he said, sitting back down. He swallowed his anger and added softly, “I’m sorry, miss. I won’t bother you again.”

Taken aback by the sudden turnaround, I looked back for the man who had cowed the giant but he’d vanished. Blinking, wondering if I’d imagined the entire incident, I hurried over to the counter.

“Petre bothering you?” Jahn, the bartender, wiped the polished wood in front of me. “He’s harmless enough, though when he’s hurting for another fix, I wouldn’t lay odds on his behavior. I cut them off around dawn. They haven’t paid their tab from last week yet, so they’re probably ready for more.”

“I almost had to cut him, but that man . . . Something about him scared the dude and he stopped right in his tracks. Apologized, too.”

“What man?” Jahn reached for the brandy bottle. I shook my head.

“No brandy tonight.” I looked around the bar, but didn’t see the man who’d come to my aid. “I dunno, I don’t see him now. He just . . . appeared from out of nowhere.” I glanced back at the bottle he was holding. “I’m in the mood for something different. Something a little more . . . exotic.”

Jahn let out a grin. “The day you’re not in the mood for something kinky is the day I close this place down. What’s the matter, Camille? Rough day?”

“Rough week.” I shrugged, scooping up a handful of the torado nuts and popping the salty treats into my mouth.


Lately, my life had been a long string of one bad day after another. My job sucked. I sucked at my job. My father was on my case again about how I was running the house. Hell, I was a Moon witch, member of the Coterie of the Moon Mother, and I worked for the YIA. Between work and Coterie meetings and running with the Hunt, I barely had time to sneeze, let alone help the housekeeper keep things tidy at home. Not only that, but I was worried about my sister Menolly and the new job the agency had assigned to her. It was dangerous—too dangerous, and I had the uneasy feeling they were setting her up for a big fall.

“What happened?” Jahn tossed the bar rag over his shoulder and rummaged through the bottles on the shelves behind the counter. He held up a clear bottle, filled with a chocolate brown liqueur. “Here, try this. Straight from the Nebelvuori Mountains.”

“Dwarven? Won’t that be a little raw?”

He grinned. “Dwarves may be crude in the bedroom and at the dinner table, but they like their liquor, so the drink should be smooth and rich.”

I actually laughed for the first time in days. “Set me up, babe,” I said, resting my elbows on the counter as I glanced around the bar. Still no sign of Roche. He was supposed to be here. My supervisor had practically guaranteed it. And I had a tight deadline. Find the perv before he struck again.

He shook his head as he filled a small cognac glass. “You use the oddest expressions, Camille. But they fit you somehow.”

“I have my mother to thank for that. She was human, you know, and she kept some ties over Earthside.” And I missed her more than I could ever say. It had been years since she died, but her loss still left a gaping hole in our family that no one could fill, no matter how hard they tried.

“I remember her. She was a lovely woman, with gracious manners. So, you ever think you’ll go Earthside when the portals are finally open to travelers?” Jahn pushed the glass my way and rested his elbows on the counter. His eyes were warm. He was one of the few friends I could count on who really gave a damn about my sisters and me.

I snorted. “Are you kidding? Hell, I have a hard enough time coping with one world, let alone two.” But I lingered over the thought. Maybe it wouldn’t be such a bad idea. Seeing my mother’s homeworld might help me understand why she’d been the way she’d been. I had a while to think about it, though. The project would take a number of years to complete.

Jahn motioned for me to drink up. I tossed a coin on the counter and inhaled the aroma whirling up from the glass. One long whiff filled my nose with the fragrance of harvest time, and moss and trees and stone circles.

“You sure the dwarves made this?”

“I know. I was surprised, too,” he said. “I gather they’ve discovered some new process or something for distilling the brew. Nobody’s talking secrets, though. Taste it. I think you’ll be in for a surprise.”

I brought the crystal to my lips and took a sip. The flavors of warm honey and cinnamon raced down my throat, and then—an aftertaste of galangal and oats and . . . kirmeth? A potent flower bud, kirmeth produced a stiff kick when added to alcohol.

Coughing, I wiped my eyes, trying not to smear the kohl. “Whoa . . . this is a damned sight better than anything I’ve had lately. Pour me another, please.”

He filled another glass and shoved it my way. “What’s got you so wound up? You’ve been coming in here all tight and tense this whole week. You act like you’re hunting for something, and I know you haven’t found what you’re looking for.”

He reached out and took one of my hands in his. His skin was rough and his face was scarred. I wondered what battles he’d seen in his younger days.

“Sweetie, it’s no wonder the men are scared shitless of you. They want you, don’t get me wrong, but that glint in your eyes promises you’ll take down the next man who even looks at you wrong.”

I slugged the rest of my drink and pushed back the glass, toying with the second drink. As much as I wished I could tell him, I was under wraps. Agents of the YIA were sworn to secrecy, except to one another. Even though Jahn had been a friend of the family since before I was born, I couldn’t confide in him. So I lied.

“Family stuff. Father’s on a tear about the gardens again. Mother loved them. But I don’t have the time to keep them up like she did, and I really don’t have her green thumb. I can grow herbs—some, for my magic. But I’d rather talk to them than tend them.”

“Green thumb?” He looked perplexed.

“Mother was able to grow things . . . like an herbalist. Anyway, so he’s pissed about that. And I’m worried about Menolly.” I stopped, frowning. And here we come to another problem, folks—my sister and the YIA’s unrelenting use of her in dangerous cases, thanks to her innate abilities to sneak into places and climb walls and so forth.

“What’s she done now?” Jahn knew all about Menolly’s propensity for getting into trouble.

“It isn’t what she’s done, it’s what . . . Oh, it’s confidential. Let’s just say I don’t trust the mission she’s been assigned to. I have a really bad feeling about this one, Jahn, but there’s nothing I can do. We can’t refuse our assignments.”

I shifted on the bar stool, my body aching. It had been weeks since I’d had sex, at least with anybody other than my own hand. Or even a decent date. The last guy bailed on me when he found out I was half-human. Damned bigots.

Jahn noticed. He leaned closer and whispered, “I thought that’s what was wrong with you. I’ll take you home, darlin’. I’d jump your bones in a second if you’d let me.”

That smarted. Not the fact that Jahn looked at me that way. I was flattered, actually, because he was a worldly, seasoned traveler who had finally settled down after a volatile career on a fishing boat up in the tumultuous Wyvern Ocean.

No, what smarted was that here I was, young, unattached, pretty—or so I was told, reasonably intelligent, hardworking, and willing . . . and nobody had looked my way in over three months. Well, nobody that I was interested in. Race didn’t matter. I’d dated a dwarf a few years back, a giant, even an elf, but lately it felt like I’d been classified as untouchable.

I stared at the bartender, mulling over his offer. Roche wasn’t around and I might as well give up the hunt for the night. A fling with Jahn might be just what I needed. He was rugged and I had no doubt he knew how to use his hands—and everything else, as well. But he’d been after me for years and there was something a little creepy about sleeping with my father’s friend. And Father would be livid. You just don’t f*ck old friends’ daughters.

He leaned on the polished mahogany counter next to my drink. “You’ll walk away more than satisfied.”

Slowly, I reached out to run my fingers lightly over the top of his hand. “I’m incredibly flattered . . . I know you see beautiful women in here day after day. But I don’t—”

“Stop. Just think about it for a moment,” Jahn said, slowly pulling his hand away. “I’ll make you come like you’ve never come before.”

He turned to another customer as I sat there, playing with my drink. I was so tense, so in need of release, but something just didn’t feel right about accepting Jahn’s proposal.

“I don’t think I can do it,” I whispered, staring at my glass.

“You can do anything you set your mind to.” That voice—Mr. Silk on Satin. Once again, something in his tone made me tremble.

I darted a glance to my right. Sure enough, it was the beautiful man again. “And who are you, to be interrupting my thoughts? And my fights?”

He arched an eyebrow and motioned to Jahn, who had just returned. The bartender’s expression clouded over.

“Sonyun Brandy. Warmed over a slow flame, please.” As the man tossed a handful of coins on the bar, he added, “ And another drink for the lady.”

I was about to protest, but another glimpse of those baby blues shut me up.

“I take it you’re alone tonight?” he asked, turning back to me.

And then, I saw it—the sparkle of fire, the hint of magic. The man bled charm like a bee tree oozed honey.

He wasn’t a wizard, nor a witch nor a mage. A sorcerer? No, I’d sense the magic. Nor did he look like royalty. Sometimes the nobles of the Court slummed in the nightclubs, picking up lovers to use and abuse. I couldn’t figure out what game he was playing, but he intrigued me. I decided to accept his challenge. I’d learned to bluff from the best.

As Jahn let out an irritated grunt and moved off to warm up the man’s brandy, I suddenly remembered his offer. Shit, I was being rude, and to a sweet guy, at that. But ignoring the man sitting next to me would be as hard as ignoring the pressure between my thighs.

I shifted on the bar stool. “Am I alone? That depends on who’s asking. And you haven’t answered my question yet.”

The man smirked. “No, I haven’t. Consider it a lesson in patience, which you obviously need, the way you’re fidgeting in your seat.”

Blushing, I slammed down my drink and stood. I leaned close and whispered, “You might like to play with p-ssycats, but you’re not getting near mine. Not unless you can give me a damned good reason.”

As I started for the door he reached out and lightly placed two fingers on my arm, not holding me, just ever-so-slightly touching. A ripple raced through my body. I grabbed for the counter, steadying myself as he swung in behind me and rested a hand on my side—tracing the curve of my waist with the lightest of pressure.

“Leaving so soon, beautiful?” he whispered, leaning close to my ear. “I was just starting to enjoy myself. I don’t often meet women who can hold their own. I hope you aren’t offended that I interfered in your tête-à-tête back there. I have no doubt you would have taken that idiot down alone, but I can’t stand louts. They offend my senses.”

The breath from his lips washed over my neck and I pressed my thighs together. I’d met plenty of gorgeous Fae over the years—hell, I was half-Fae myself and knew how to use glamour, but this was more than glamour. This was like being swept out to sea by a riptide of hunger. I wanted to strip naked and throw him down on the counter.

“Camille? Can I speak to you? Alone.” Jahn set a snifter of brandy on the counter. “Here’s your brandy. Why don’t you let the lady go?”

Without missing a beat, the dark man said, “Mind your business, barkeep. She’s a grown woman. She’ll tell me if she wants me to leave her alone.”

I didn’t move.

“Camille, please, I need to talk to you.” Jahn gave me a strained look and I reluctantly broke away. In a fog, I followed him to the end of the counter.

“That’s the man who helped me out. Do you know him?”

“Oh, lovely.” Jahn narrowed his eyes. “Not by name, but he’s a Svartan. Surely you know what that means, girl.”

I frowned, thinking for a moment, then understanding broke through. A Svartan . . . one of the Charming Fae, as cunning in nature as they are sexual. As predatory as they are suave.

“I didn’t realize . . .” I glanced back at the man, who raised his snifter in salute, then took a long, slow sip.

Jahn let out a little groan. “Girl, promise me you aren’t going to sleep with him. Please? Even if you don’t sleep with me, for the love of the gods, do not get mixed up with the likes of him.”

I listened to what he was saying. I really did. But the entire time, my gaze was fastened on the Svartan. After a moment, I let out a little sigh. Roche wasn’t here and he wasn’t going to come. Not tonight. Another wild-goose chase. Another black mark against my name.

“I think I’d better go home for the night,” I said, feeling defeated. “Thank you, Jahn, for everything.”

As I gathered my purse and turned to go, I realized that I couldn’t just leave it at that. Feeling Jahn’s disapproving stare follow me, I walked back to the Svartan and deliberately laid one hand on his arm.

He glanced down at my hand, then up to meet my eyes. “Yes?”

“Camille te Maria. I’m in here a lot. Next time—and I trust there will be a next time—ask before you intervene.” I sauntered toward the curtains cordoning off the exit, then paused in midstep to call over my shoulder. “Remember, stranger. You still owe me your name.”

As I swept out the door, I could feel him watching me. But I didn’t look back.





“WHAT do you know about the Svartans?” I asked my father that evening after dinner.

Sephreh ob Tanu jerked his head up from where he was polishing his dress sword, his brow lined, a worried look in his eyes. They reflected the violet of my own, and his hair was the same color as mine—raven black and woven in a shoulder-length braid. I took after him. My sister Delilah took after our mother—golden-haired and tanned, and Menolly . . . well, no one knew where her burnished copper locks came from.

“What have you gone and done now?” He sounded positively overjoyed. Not.

I shrugged. Father was cagey. I’d have to walk softly because I could already sense the storm brewing in his voice.

“I saw one in the club tonight.” With a little luck, Jahn wouldn’t breathe a word to Father about my interaction with Tall, Dark, and Dangerous. He’d keep his mouth shut because he’d be too afraid I’d mention his offer, and we both knew my father well enough to know just how that would go over. Old friends don’t f*ck other friends’ daughters. At least not without permission.

With a look that said I know you’re up to something but I don’t know what, Father shook his head. “Leave the man alone. They’re all a bunch of perverts. You know the city of Svartalfheim rests in the Subterranean Realms.”

“I’ve heard rumors about the entire city migrating back to Otherworld.”

“Wonderful. That’s just what we need. If they do, I’ll guarantee they’ll bring a host of demons swarming with them.”

“The demons can’t get through the portals,” I said. “They’re barred.”

“So they say, but I’m not too sure about that.” He grunted, then after a moment, cleared his throat. “Your sister Delilah needs to start dressing like a lady, at least for your aunt Olanda’s visit. Take her shopping. Get her out of trousers and tunics, please.” He gave me the once-over. “You’re fine. Menolly, too. But . . .”

“Delilah’s a tomboy and you know it,” I said, laughing. “Those dresses will last a couple of days and then you’ll never see them again. But yeah, I’ll add that to my to-do list.”


Father put down his sword and leaned back in his chair, crossing his right leg across his left. He was a handsome man, looking barely older than the three of us. Full-blooded Fae, he would age far slower than we until we drank the nectar of life. But that wouldn’t be for some time yet. We were forbidden to touch it for now.

It was easy to see why Mother had followed him home from Earthside. She’d fallen for him before he ever kissed her, before he told her he loved her, and they’d been devoted to each other, right until the end.

“Camille, I’ve been meaning to talk to you about something.” Sephreh looked uncomfortable. “Your mother provided for you over Earthside. You have means there, should you ever need it. But here . . . I’ve put aside what I can for the three of you, but it isn’t much.”

I frowned. “What do you mean? You’re not sick, are you?” I slid down to his feet and rested my head against his knee, stabbed by a sudden fear. We couldn’t lose both of them.

He shook his head and patted my hair. “No, I haven’t taken ill. I’m talking about the fact that, by your age, girls normally start thinking about marriage and everything that comes with it—security, a title, convenience . . . I’m just not sure . . .”

“How well we’ll fare in that department?” As I spoke, he grimaced and I knew what was bugging him. “You’re afraid no one will marry us because we’re half-breeds?”

He jumped up, grabbed my shoulders, and lifted me to my feet. Tipping my chin up, he stared at me, his eyes flashing. “Never call yourself that. Never, ever demean yourself. You are half-human. Your mother was human and she was the most wonderful woman in the world. In either world. You will not be ashamed of your heritage. I’m not ashamed of you or your sisters. I’m proud of the three of you, and I know you do your best to make me proud. Do you understand?”

Shaken, I nodded. “I’m sorry. I didn’t mean . . . what I meant was—if someone can’t handle our lineage, then they can go f*ck themselves. None of us will ever marry a bigot. Besides, I’m never getting married. I like my freedom too much.” I grinned, trying to take the edge off his worry.

Father searched my eyes. After a moment, he laughed and kissed the top of my head. “You take after me, girl,” he said, returning to polishing his silver sword. “You prefer sex to breathing. Sometimes I wish you’d taken after your mother like Delilah. I think she’ll have an easier road to walk than you will. As for Menolly, it’s anybody’s guess.”

I was about to ask if he ever thought of remarrying but stopped myself. There were some places still too painful to tread.