A LAMPPOST FOR A SPOTLIGHT
Ifroze as the curtain to my dressing room twitched, wondering if I would slap Ronan when he walked in, or drag him to the chaise and ride his cock until he was in too much agony to torture me with his stupid chatter.
But it wasn't Ronan at all who so tentatively pushed the fabric aside. Of course not. The imp would've barged in without an invitation.
"Hello, Miss Nix, might I—"
"Hunter!" I cried, darting forward and dragging the gentleman orc inside the room with me. One boundary Ronan would leave alone was interrupting a patron's visit, if only because Myra would prick holes in his wings if she caught him.
Hunter's eyes widened as I yanked on his arm, but he stumbled into the narrow room and the curtain slid shut behind him. I'd replaced my candle from the night before, and Hunter's shadow crawled high up the brick wall to the ceiling.
"I was hoping you'd be here tonight," I said, aware of my own blush as I thought of Ronan's teasing.
Hunter gaped at me briefly, so obviously surprised by the declaration he seemed to forget to speak. I leaned in, ready to whisper in his ear that I'd searched the audience for him, see how he responded to the flirtation, when the words tumbled from him.
"I thought I might offer the use of my carriage to you this evening, and to your friend of course," he said, the latter part added in a quick afterthought.
"Will you be in the carriage?" I asked, grinning.
He blinked at me, and his gaze slid to my shoulder where my robe was hanging loose. "I'm happy to walk, so you and the other young woman might have—"
I laughed and let my hands stroke up Hunter's arms, admiring the muscle I found hidden under all that fabric. He stiffened under my touch and as I stepped forward to lean into him, his hands hovered at our sides.
"You mistake me, sir. I was hoping you'd join me at my door again," I said. Hunter's smile was genuine but nervous, and I released him from my teasing. "Beth didn't show up to the theater today, so it will just be me and I'm done for the night. Sit there and I'll change and we can leave right away."
"Is she unwell?" Hunter asked as he took a seat on the chaise, and I was surprised by the real concern in his tone.
I watched a reflection of him in my mirror as I shed the robe, that sharp hunger appearing on his features again as he watched me pretend to hunt through piles of mending to find a dress.
"She's unreliable. Probably found one of her lovers on the way home and was too tired to come into work today," I said, shrugging and then bending to rummage under a stool, glancing through my lashes to watch Hunter's black claws dig into the knees of his trousers, gaze fixed to my ass.
"You—" His voice came out a growl, and he cleared his throat before speaking again. "You often miss your final bow."
It wasn't a question. Hunter had been watching for me these past couple months.
I stood again, feigning a gasp as I spotted my dress draped over the rickety chair in front of my mirror. "I do," I said, debating whether or not to tell him that after eight years, a curtain call was starting to feel like an unnecessary chore. It was easier to be cleaning up and getting ready to leave, than swarming up and down the stairs with the rest of the company.
"You don't care as much for the applause as the others," he said.
It was my turn to pause in surprise, and I hid the reaction under the skirt of my dress, wrestling my way through the bodice. "I suppose…an audience will clap at the end of a show no matter what," I said, straightening the waist of the dress around me as I thought. "Even if they only enjoyed themselves a little bit. I prefer the reactions that come during a scene—the gasps or the cheers, even the laughs. Those are honest, rather than queued, and…they're for me."
It was more than I meant to say, my own quiet obsession with my audience's adoration. My need for their stares on me, their approval, a craving and hunger buried so deeply in me, it seemed to clench with every beat of my heart. I cleared my throat and shook my head, drawing in an uneven breath. "How many buttons shall we fasten, hmm?"
I turned in front of Hunter, offering him my unbuttoned dress. The chaise creaked, and Hunter's body was warm at my back. My breath hitched at the first gentle scratch of his claws on my lower spine.
"We could even leave them undone if you like," I said, reaching to pull my hair over my shoulder.
The waist of my dress grew snug as he fastened the buttons into place. "I think you try to tease me, Miss Nix."
I couldn't help my grin as I turned my head, charmed by the furrow of concentration on his green brow. "It's only teasing if I don't mean it, sir."
* * *
Hunter's carriagewas warm and cozy, and he ignored my invitation to sit at my side, so I rested my head against the cushioned side and watched London pass out the dark window. He wasn't wearing his charmed disguise—the carriage was also spelled for his privacy—and seemed content to stare at me without making any other advances.
I knew Myra was hoping this orc might be the "nice man" to take care of me in my not-quite-old-age, and while I was sure there were signs of interest, Hunter was proving to be a bit of a puzzle. I'd never heard of an orc who only liked to watch, but perhaps this was the case. If only I knew how to ask.
"Have you always lived in London?" I asked as we bumped along the paved roads, murky fog from the sewers rolling and fluttering around the wheels of the carriage.
"No, my kind come from the woods far north of here," he said, finally turning to stare out the window, frowning at the city around us. "Like the trolls. And you?"
We were rounding Stepney Green Park and turning onto Jamaica Street, and I studied the familiar shops and public houses. "My father had a farm in Somerset, but I don't remember it. I've lived here nearly all my life."
"And your father, did he return?"
"He died," I said absently, noticing a crowd of figures halfway down the block that we were slowly approaching.
"I'm sorry for your loss, and so young—"
"Hunter," I said, not mentioning that I was older than I looked, sitting forward and reaching for the door of the carriage as I realized where the crowd was gathered. "This is Beth's apartment, can we stop?"
Hunter didn't hesitate from rapping against the roof of the carriage, and I gathered up my skirt and jumped out the moment the driver appeared to open the door. The crowd was dense, but it was mainly made of black uniforms with gleaming buttons and badges—police, all hovering and bustling in and out of Beth's door. I walked slowly forward, eyeing the windows of the building—expecting a fire—and then the door where the men darted in and out.
It wasn't until Hunter caught up to my side, draping his coat over my shoulders and stopping me with a hand on my stomach, that I noticed the mound of white on the ground, surrounded by the boots of police officers. It was placed beneath the bright glow of a street lamp, the flame turned up high for their work, and it shone even in the shadow of the crowd.