Page 40 of Burn of Obsidian
Jax finally looked up. “I did.” His eyes lazily swept down her legs, and only then did she realise her T-shirt was barely long enough to cover her important parts. It wasn’t exactly appropriate attire for a guest. But in all honesty, Jax could go fuck himself for all she cared.
“Then what are you doing here?” Not bothering to change her T-shirt, she tugged on a pair of jeans. “Wait, have you tidied?” Her clothes were in a neater pile than she left them, and she swore there had been dishes in the sink.
He was silent, so she let out a sound of annoyance as she brushed her fingers roughly through her hair.
He tapped the book he was reading. “I’m fascinated by the two cocks,” he said, his face carved from stone.
“You’re so full of shit.” Thea’s skin flushed, anger burning hot in her veins.
Reaching for the toe ring she’d placed on her bedside drawer, she hesitated when she noticed the fresh sunflower. It eased some of the anger, until she remembered he’d broken into her flat while she’d slept. And no amount of pretty flowers could help with that.
Men didn’t sleep over. Ever. It was a rule, and he’d broken it.
Refusing to acknowledge the flower, she slipped on the ring, and within seconds, her naturally silver hair transformed into her favourite pastel pink.
She was proud of her heritage, and her ears already gave her away as one of the Fae. But her ears were easily hidden. Her hair wasn’t. The pink was easily explained as a charm, but the silver of her natural hair couldn’t be. It glistened as if it held strands of glitter, and while it was beautiful, it was more distinctive than the pink. More memorable because of how unusual it was, and impossible to dye without magic.
“Did you sleep here?” she asked, tucking her T-shirt into her jeans.
“No.” Jax watched her get dressed with a predatory gaze. “I don’t sleep.”
Thea frowned at his words, the bag she grabbed swinging from her shoulder as she turned to face him. “What do you mean you don’t sleep?”
Jax clenched his jaw, but that only highlighted the sheer angle. He must have shaved, his stubble closer to his skin than the night before, and he looked like he’d changed his clothes, too. He’d taken off his boots, which was probably the strangest thing to see his feet in socks – almost domesticated.
It took a moment to realise she’d been staring, the silence stretching.
His eyes darkened, and she fought against the weight of his gaze even as heat pulsed between them.
“You can leave now,” she said, her voice suspiciously husky. Which only pissed her off more.
“Not until – ”
Thea closed her eyes, taking a deep breath before thinking of her destination. Smiling at the familiar tingling of her magic, she flipped him her middle finger as she forced her body from her bedroom to the Troll market.
The pain was immediate, like lightning down her spine and into her butt. She’d landed too close to the ward, which was shrieking against her chi. Taking a step back, the pain relieved, allowing the racket of the market to overwhelm her senses.
The Troll market, owned by two Fae High Lords – elves, not trolls, disappointingly – was one of the most convenient places to buy anything within the Undercity. Weapons, black spells, drugs and other morally questionable products and services were offered without risk of police or Paladins. Normally, only those who owned a token for the specialised doorways were allowed to step foot inside. And to get a token, you either needed to have the obscene money to pay for one, have someone nominate you, or offer your own depraved services. Luckily for Thea, being a Fae who could drift, she had access without a token.
Which was great, because she had no intention of setting up a stall between a screaming banshee selling illegal Fae charms, and a black witch who sold handmade doilies, and decorative pillows with phrases such as, ‘sorry for the mean, awful, accurate things I said.’ Or, ‘go deepthroat a cactus.’
Picking up a pink cushion not too different from her hair, she smiled. “So, you can embroider anything?”
The witch sniffed, her pupils slightly dilated as she patted the cushion gently. “Anything you want, I can do.”
Thea’s smile turned into a grin. Accepting the pen and paper handed out, she wrote down exactly what she wanted before handing over a single Imp Ravyn.
The witch grabbed the small, black opal coin. “It’ll take me about twenty minutes.”
“I’ll pick it up on my way back through.”
With a jerky nod, the witch turned to the glittering threads set up neatly on a table behind.
The market was a cavernous room, with anti-violence wards engraved into the solid stone. Hundreds of multi-coloured awnings blocked the majority of the high ceilings, which was perfect because she couldn’t stomach the cages that hung high above. Thea could hear pixie wings whistle as they rubbed together, as well as little voices calling for help. Apparently, she’d once been in a cage, and if it wasn’t for her father, she’d likely have met a similar fate.
Not that she remembered anything. The fact she’d been only one year old and years of forced therapy helped with that.
Pushing herself past a larger than normal troll, his meaty hands pawing at a rather mouldy looking vegetable, she found the sign she was looking for.