Forteza—or Gianna, as she insisted she be called in the bedroom—had a near unending supply of stamina. The sun had long since set—by Lucia’s reckoning, at least six hours previous—before the Marchesa managed to called it quits, flouncing onto the magnificent bed as she sighed, sweat still glistening on her skin.
If she was being honest with herself, Lucia really, really needed that.
The demon sat in a cushioned seat, a twin to the other down in the inn’s dining room—if a little less worn. She pulled on her socks, and began looking about for her other clothing.
“So,” said Gianna. “Will you stay the night with me?”
“What, so you can demand we go another round? Sorry, even I have limits.” The succubus reached out and dampened the Marchesa’s passion, just a bit.
The Marchesa frowned. “Well, I seem to remember you were given to me for the entire night. I would hate to put an end to things before I’ve gotten my money’s worth.”
The Lion fixed Lucia with a possessive stare. “I still want you, and I get what I want.”
Lucia found her thin shift and slipped it on over her head. Her coat was still on the door, with its precious forgery within. “Well, as long as you give me a break beforehand. A nap, at least.”
“Hm.” Gianna hummed to herself a little, not bothering to move for her own clothing. Instead, she rolled onto her stomach, the toned quality of her muscles catching Lucia’s eye yet again. It was impressive that a sitting Marchesa, head of one of the most powerful Houses in the Isles if not the continent, had the time to keep in shape.
Almost as muscled as Talia. Lucia quickly shut down that line of thought.
It had been rather hard to keep Talia off her mind, even in the midst of their activities.
“Tell me,” Gianna said after a moment. “How much did Jedediah pay for you to accompany him?”
Lucia paused, having decided not to bother with her dress at the moment; instead, she draped her coat about her to ward off the chill. She played off the woman’s comment. “Well, certainly less than one thousand five hundred.”
Gianna shrugged, then rolled off the bed and to her feet—much like a cat. “That’s a bit surprising. He came out ahead on the deal after all.” And she whistled.
Lucia shrugged. “I wanted to come; my price was low since I was aiming to meet you anyway.”
The Marchesa paused on her way to a small side door—one that adjoined a room next to theirs. She eyed Lucia for a few heartbeats, for the first time sizing her up in an entirely non-sexual fashion. Honestly, that sort of stare felt worse.
“Hold that thought,” she said slowly, “but you’ve some explaining to do.” She rapped against the door, and a peephole slid aside after half a moment.
“Wine,” the Marchesa commanded. “The richest we have.”
Lucia didn’t fail to notice she hadn’t specified a vintage. Interesting. The peephole slid shut, and Gianna turned to Lucia.
“Well, you certainly have my attention.”
Lucia did not speak immediately, instead pulling out a carefully crafted forgery from her coat. Talia had procured it herself, using the signet ring created by Cleft on the wax seal, its shadows now dancing in the candlelight.
“I suspect you might know who sent me, but I cannot divulge that fact myself. This letter should be explanation enough for now.”
“I’ll be the judge of that.” And the Lion took the bait, breaking the seal immediately and unfolding the letter.
She read through it quickly. A frown formed on her face, which deepened, and then transformed into a slow, cruel smile that sent shivers down Lucia’s spine. Then, she placed the letter on the bedside table after she carefully folded it.
“You know, that might be the first secret missive where I don’t immediately burn the letter,” she mused, seemingly to herself. Her fingers touched the pistol beside the letter—she never went far from the thing—and after a moment, she nodded.
“Yes, I do think I know who sent you. The lion’s paws cannot fail to leave their prints.”
Ah, good. “And you understand the need to be discreet.”
Gianna smirked, then walked up to the succubus who was now leaning beside a bedpost. She caressed the side of Lucia’s neck. “Wouldn’t want any … oh, any ministers finding out, would we?” she whispered in her ear. “Yes, I’m not a dullard.”
Three knocks at the small door, and then the sounds of feat retreating. Gianna walked over—rolling those hips ridiculously—and pulled it open, picking up two crystal wineglasses that had been laid on the floor. The door closed behind her as she proffered one to Lucia.
The demon looked into her glass, swirled the wine about a few times, and dipped her nose to inhale. It smelled … well, Lucia hadn’t really learned, in all her lifetimes, the sommelier’s trick. It certainly smelled rich as fuck, but that was all she could say.
Gianna took a sip of her wine. “So, a short nap and then let’s try something new?”
Lucia followed suit. The wine was bitter—but expensive bitter, which was perhaps the point. “That sounds agreeable, my Lady.”
“Mmm! That sounds good coming out of your mouth, you know. My Lady.”
Lucia shrugged as she took another sip. The nap did sound good, actually. She hadn’t lied about needing a break. She yawned.
There was something in her eye, though; she blinked at the irritation. She set the wineglass down … there was the tinkle of shattering glass. Something strange—she itched at her eye with a finger and yawned, and things started getting blurry.
A kick of adrenalin surged through her as she realized. Gianna was saying something, but the demon couldn’t quite make it out, as if there were cushions pressed over her ears. The room blurred further into splotches of candlelight.
The floor swam up to meet her, but she slipped into darkness before it could reach her collapsing form.