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More laughter from the workers. She was glad they enjoyed their job.
“Only so long. Eventually, I need a warm body.” He opened his mouth, accepting another large forkful of pancake.
Harley almost blurted out how she’d love to watch, but good sense prevailed. “Is it hot in here?” She pushed her glasses up again with her little finger.
Chapter Nine
The elevator dropped. Down. Down. While Roark didn’t mind plummeting toward the ground on his own wings, being trapped inside a box, traveling at a high speed toward a possible crash landing—or into The Inferno’s Ninth Circle of Hell—didn’t sit well. He preferred the open skies where he could breathe with the wind ruffling his feathers.
He and Indigo journeyed deep into the bowels of Alarik’s Ministry of Well Being, the center for medical clinics, scientific research, and other intellectual bullcrap. They were here to meet with a historian who was an ancient weapons expert. She worked in a virtual tomb.
Thump.
They hit bottom. Finally. With a swish, the door opened. When he stepped out behind Indigo, he eyed mile upon mile of dusty shit in a cavernous warehouse.
The hypnotic witch, her unlaced combat boots a loud thud on the concrete floor, led him through a labyrinth of floor-to-ceiling shelves filled with what had to be millions of artifacts. Ahead, her ass, swathed in a long, flowered skirt, swayed in a nice rhythm, almost making him forget why they were here.
After he rose this morning, showered, dressed, and padded into the kitchen, she shoved a cup of strong, dark coffee into his hand followed by a plan for their day delivered in a business-like tone.
He much preferred sparring with a sparkling Indy, watching her blush, listening to her heart pump louder when he aroused her. While she hadn’t given in to him yet, she would. Once she decided trust wasn’t necessary for sex. Hell. He’d screwed females he didn’t even like.
Females were toys to be enjoyed. When playtime was over, they returned to their satiny, plush boxes, doing whatever it was females did to idle away their time. Out of sight. Out of mind. Roark, however, was spending way too many hours thinking about the witch. He was discovering she didn’t fit his preconceived notions of her gender.
In the warehouse, Indy broke the silence, strutting in front of him through the shelving, her long dark hair bound in a thick braid swishing back and forth, tickling her round, tight ass. Her hips bounced from side to side, a thin-fabric skirt clinging to her legs.
As his jeans threatened to cut off circulation, her words wormed into his lust-addled brain.
“I sneaked over to the river this morning before you awoke. Nothing on Blood’s Kiss. My other process for finding lost objects is also a no-go. If I touch a piece of an item, I can use it as a homing beacon. In this case, we have no chunk of the sword. We’ll have to find it the hard way. I need an expert to point us in the right direction, or I get my hands dirty reading musty old books on the subject.”
She paused in her trip through the ceiling-high shelves, glancing over her shoulder, violet eyes catching what little light shone. “Once I get a whiff of an object, though, I’m a bloodhound.”
Continuing on her way, Indigo wove left and right through the metal maze while she popped chewing gum, the sound echoing in the labyrinth. “Lynretta, one of Alarik’s historians, is a whiz at ancient weaponry despite being a bit of a slut.”
Roark shook his head to clear it of the enticing vision in front of him. He reminded himself Indigo was nothing more than a distracting diversion who could help him in his quest. “What’s all this shit?”
“Memories. History. Junk. Take a deep breath. That’s us you smell. The story of Aeternals. Isn’t it aw-sum?”
“Sure, if you enjoy dust mites clinging to your nasal passages. I think I just coughed up a dirtball.”
Indy ignored him, her brisk stride taking them deeper into the cavernous room. “If it pertains to our species, it’s stored and cataloged here. Significant items are on display in the museum above, but other stuff remains on these shelves. Where’s your pride? Anyway, the female we’re visiting manages the armory collection. We can explore later if she thinks the sword might be stored here.”
Once the witch rounded a corner, she beelined for an office along a side wall. Peeking through a large window, she knocked on the glass. A female waved them into the room.
The historian inside was a petite succubus, all curves and boobs, looking too young to hold vast knowledge. She wore stylish torn jeans and a sweatshirt advertising what Roark supposed was a rock band. She closed an ancient tome before rising to greet them. Removing a glove, she shook Roark’s hand after the intros. Her eyes traveled from his boots to his head as he gripped her fingers a little longer than necessary. An appreciative smile curled her lips in seductive invitation. “Ooh. Coffee, tea, or me? Tea?”
Indy frowned. “Tea.”
Lynretta signaled the visitors to two chairs at a table in the middle of the room before she swished her hips on her way to heat water and prepare three cups. Re-joining them, she set down a tray, passed out the drinks, and pointed to cream and sugar. “Help yourselves. Business is better over a good Darjeeling, don’t you think?”
Across from Roark, Indigo poured a splash of cream and two heaping teaspoons of sugar into her cup. “Definitely.” There was an edge to her voice.
He glanced at his cup. Frankly, he preferred dark roast coffee. Or beer. Mead. Bourbon. Scotch. Tequila. Anything but tea.
Returning to a comfy chair beside Roark, the succubus, who couldn’t be much over five feet, sipped her warm drink. “Now what is this weapon you seek?”
“A sword called Blood’s Kiss,” said Indy.
Lynretta scooted to the edge of her chair, her eyes bright, revealing an age and knowledge far older than her youthful exterior. “Never heard of it. Why do you want it?”
