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ChapterOne
Vori hoped she’d found the right sex dungeon—the one with the Hollywood mogul who had an amethyst from the goblin’s wicked crown.She had less than a month to return home to that realm with the six missing jewels.
If she didn’t get home with these rocks, she’d be screwed.
Because forfeiting a blood vow meant a painful death.
The mogul fed his fetish at this sex dungeon every Wednesday night.Hump night.So appropriate.As hidden as anything could be in Los Angeles, the place sat at the top of a winding one-lane road just below the Hollywood sign.
She’d taken so many wrong turns on her Ducati motorcycle in the labyrinth of twists leading up the hill that she’d lost count.She checked the address for the gazillionth time.
This had to be a sick joke.
Someone had built the pleasure club inside a massive storybook cottage that looked as though the witch from “Hansel and Gretel” owned it—if she’d been a West Coast power player into expensive kink.
Shrink the place to a fraction of the size, add legs, and it could be Baba Yaga’s house.Vori’s pulse raced as if she’d run an hour at her goblin fastest.With weeks left on her agreement with Baba, surely the old crone wouldn’t come all this way to collect early.
No, it simply had to be another place for humans to pursue fantasies outside their considered norms.A floodlight cast a ringed halo over the spindly turrets and crooked gables.Muffled sirens blared from the silver-screen city far below.She scanned the street, looking for the mogul’s car.No luck.
Leaving her motorcycle at the curb, she hurried past the cameras on the front of the house.Humans didn’t know about magic, which made it too risky to hide herself with the shadow powers she’d been gifted by a faerie queen at birth.
She looked through the windows of the garage next to the house.A luxury sports car gleamed atomic tangerine.Score.She’d found the mogul.Her pulse kicked into a rhythm as fast as her celebrity-status-gets-me-out-of-tickets driving.
The front door creaked open.Damn, she’d been here less than thirty seconds.Someone must’ve been watching the surveillance feed.She glanced at her Cartier watch, running her fingers over the gold to calm her adrenaline spike.She was right on time for the private midnight tour.Punctuality was necessary in both of her chosen fields.A supermodel late to a production wasted tons of money, and Vori hadn’t become a master thief without knowing when to show up and when to hide.
“Hello?”A petite redhead in staggeringly tall heels stood in the doorway.Her voice was a melody of naughty promises, her sweater set more suited to prep schools and pearls than pain and pleasure.“Miss V?”Names weren’t allowed in sex dungeons.Privacy came with the six-figure annual membership fees.
“I’m here for the tour.”Vori stepped into the light, risking the same momentary blindness as each time she strutted a runway.
“Oh.”The word puffed out in a squeak of starstruck recognition.The redhead straightened another impossible inch.“Miss V indeed.Come in, please.”She pivoted on those seven-inch heels without wobbling, something that had taken months of tumbles for Vori to perfect.
Taking a suck-it-up breath, Vori followed her inside.It was just a house, a nonmagical human house turned sex dungeon.Nothing to do with Baba Yaga.Still, she traced her fingers along the gold-threaded corset under her designer jacket.Goblins and gold went together like supermodels and stilettos.
“I’m Petra, and I’ll be your guide.”The redhead led her through a foyer that featured whimsical stained glass and soft pastels.It was inviting, unlike the depressing medieval prison vibe of most sex dungeons.“I understand your time is limited.”
“Yes, I have an international flight tomorrow.”To Paris for a quick promo shoot and a lead on another amethyst.
Petra hummed her disappointment and waved at a wardrobe selection that rivaled the designer racks for fashion shows.“Our dressing rooms.We have clothes and footwear for every desire.Schoolgirl, leather-clad warrior, nun—”
“Witch?Given the looks of the place, I was half afraid an evil hag might wait inside to gobble me up.”
“Good thing no one believes in magic.”
Oh, but witches were real.Some good, some horrible, some she counted as friends.Of course, she’d made her blood vow to Baba Yaga, the most powerful witch of all.
They walked into a long hallway, painted bright white with gleaming hardwood floors.Mirrors on the walls gave the illusion of wide-open spaces.
A huge red “Surveillance System in Use” sign was posted on every door.No way could she be filmed here.Not if she was going to snatch the amethyst.“There are cameras inside?”
“The safety of our clientele and staff is imperative.”
“I appreciate the concern for safety, but with my career, I can’t risk a video.”As a model known for magazine spreads involving lingerie or less, she could recover from a celebrity sex scandal, but she couldn’t recover from being exposed as a thief.
Petra slid closer, her cashmere sweater brushing against Vori’s skin like a kiss.“For you, we’ll turn off the cameras.”
Ooh, a fan.This had possibilities.“But what if I like to watch?You know, watch others being taped.”Their cameras had to feed into a room somewhere, and a glance at the screens might help her find the mogul with the amethyst.
“This way.”Petra led her into a retro kitchen.“If anyone asks, you’ve never been in here.”
