Wycke knew the war had taken a toll, but in his opulent prison, he’d never witnessed the devastation firsthand. The destroyed houses. The dead bodies. Perhaps he should be less harsh in his opinion of Broen keeping him and Saris sequestered.
Which led him to thinking. If these beings knew the lady’s son lived among them, wouldn’t they have taken some action by now? Sure, the child couldn’t be held accountable for his mother’s crimes, but these folks lost their homes and families. So much anger needed an outlet. Murdering Nyanda’s son might appease some of the rage.
No one knew of a magical child or any human in this realm with magic. Not even the fairy who’d charged Wycke two dances for what little information she offered—no more than any other had told him. She patted Wycke’s ass when he walked away.
Several beings he talked to made their availability perfectly clear. So why the hell hadn’t Wycke taken anyone back to his hotel by now?
Like a moth to a flame, his gaze repeatedly returned to Piers. “Would you answer me something?” Wycke asked the gnome he’d been speaking to.
“I thought you’d never ask!” The guy’s face lit with a grin.
“Not that question.”
The gnome’s smile fell. “Then what?”
“Take a look at the bartender, the one on the end with dark hair.”
“Yeah. Nice. But he’s already turned me down a few dozen times.”
Interesting. “Do you feel any magic from him?”
“From Piers?” The gnome snorted. “He’s as nonmagical as you get. Plain human through and through. Though I wouldn’t mind if he had a little gnome in him for an evening.” The gnome waggled his brows.
Exactly what Wycke thought—about the magic, not the gnome wanting, well… Right on cue, Wycke found himself staring again. He didn’t realize the gnome left for several moments.
Piers looked back, quickly averting his gaze. Ah, so he wasn’t completely unaffected.
The feel of stray magic. The man’s familiar-sounding name. Something about… Once more, Wycke’s brain shut down the thought, not letting him delve any deeper, as if some barrier stood between him and the information he sought.
For a moment, an image of his dream man flashed into his head—or tried to. Why couldn’t he recall what the nighttime phantom looked like? So strange. What was wrong with him? Why wouldn’t his thoughts connect?
Piers wasn’t the only one watching Wycke. From the corner of his eye, Wycke caught a glimpse of a man… No, wait. Glamour. Good glamour. After a moment of quiet observation, he separated illusion from reality. An ogre. Watching both Piers and Wycke. Not good. The war Wycke’s father provoked took a heavy toll on the ogre population. Did the ogre recognize him as a Bertillian? Maybe he should have hidden the white hair, but how was he to know there would be so many magical beings here?
Several other magicals glanced Wycke’s way and either made meaningful eye contact or returned to their business—when they weren’t blatantly flirting.
Not the ogre. Wycke emptied his beer, using the excuse to revisit Piers. Despite his tense shoulders, Piers managed a genuine smile, which crinkled the corners of his eyes, but somehow made him appear younger. Possibly too young to be in this club.
“Another beer?” Piers asked.
“Sure.”
Head on the bar, the woman, Jess, let out a highly unflattering snore.
Wycke didn’t try flirting this time, studying Piers instead as he handed over the beer. Handsome, with a toned but not bulky body, roughly a hand shorter than Wycke. Slender. Compact. But still taller than most in the room.
Beautiful. Wycke sent out his senses, trying to capture the sensation of magic again. Nothing.
Then again, he himself usually wore a talisman to hide his abilities. No visible jewelry on Piers, though.
“Not doing too good tonight?” Piers asked, wiping down the bar. The club must be getting ready to close.
“Wasn’t trying,” Wycke admitted. Or rather, not trying with anyone else.
Piers’ smile turned into a frown, but he let out a breath that somehow sounded… relieved? “What a shame. I’m sure you let a lot of people down.”
Wycke never felt nervous around a potential conquest. Finally, he dropped any hint of flirtation, shifting to honesty. “I’m not in town for long, and I’d like to see you again.” Truth tasted strange in his mouth, used as he was to verbal games.
“I told you—”