Free Raine: The Lords of Satyr by Elizabeth Amber Page A

the person who’d blundered into him from the alley. He felt the softness of a woman encased in yards and yards of velvet and satin.
    A head lifted. Black witch’s eyes gazed up into his from the twin holes of a bauta mask.
    It was the creature from the theater. The hermaphrodite! The answer to his prayers. He might not have recognized her if she hadn’t still worn the Carnivale mask.
    A sharp elbow found his ribs. He grunted but otherwise ignored it. The scent of Fey had dissipated. Had he only imagined it?
    Her dark eyes were laced with fear, her breathing was fast, and her body was heated as though she’d been running. Over her head, he surveyed the streets around them. They were dark and deserted except for the occasional straggler. The Grand Canal was quieter now in the evening hours. Where had she come from?
    She punched his back and elbowed him repeatedly. “Let go of me, you dolt.”
    He ignored her. Since no one else stood nearby, it had to have been this creature that had brought the scent with her. He couldn’t take the chance of letting her go until he knew for certain.
    He clasped her arm before she could aim her weapon at a more vulnerable part of his anatomy. “Hold there. I mean you no harm.”
    Nimble hands groped under his coat, pinching at him and poking for his crotch with hard knuckles. He turned so she couldn’t reach her goal.
    “Hold, I say.”
    She only squirmed in response. Was she Faerie or merely a comely prostitute? Or both?
    “Let go of me.” Her voice was cultured. Throaty. Sexy.
    His cock swelled. “Who are you?”
    “Who are you ?” she countered, trying to yank herself away.
    He grabbed both of her forearms. Bacchus! Though she wasn’t aware of it, the cloak shifted and he caught a fleeting glimpse of a breast. Underneath, she was naked.
    She tried to knee him. He angled away, causing her to tumble forward and grab at his hips for balance. Her hand lodged in his pocket by accident, ripping it.
    Abruptly she stopped struggling against him. She was staring at the ground now, transfixed.
    What the devil? Raine glanced down and saw that the ribbons he’d stuffed into his pockets earlier that day had tumbled free onto the tiled street.
    The woman shook off his hold, knelt, and picked them up. She stood again, holding them cupped in her palms and studying them as though they were priceless treasures.
    When he automatically reached for them, she closed her hands into fists and snatched them back. He caught the straggling ends of several ribbons. Winding the strands crossways around his palm until he had a firm grip, he used them to pull her against him.
    The woman held on to her prize, refusing to let go. And for a moment they were linked, tethered by rainbow threads of satin. He stared into the black pools of her eyes and saw they were flecked with gold. Her lashes were cobwebby, casting shadows on the bronze cheeks of her mask. Her breasts were soft against him. His desire for her ratcheted higher.
    “How old are you?” he demanded in a level tone.
    She wriggled, trying to look around him, first to one side, then the other. She frowned, obviously not finding whatever it was she wanted. “Where’s violet?”
    “What?” Was she simple?
    “You only have six ribbons,” she explained, gazing at him with brittle patience as though he were the simple one. “You have only six colors of the rainbow here. Where’s violet? It’s missing.”
    “I don’t know. Who the hell cares? I bought them for my sister-in-law and her younger sister,” he explained needlessly, then felt annoyed that he’d revealed even that small bit of himself.
    He gave the ribbons a jerk and repeated his earlier question. “How old are you?”
    She shrugged, irritated. “Nineteen. What does it matter?”
    Relief filled him, but he was careful. “Don’t lie. I won’t seek my pleasure with girls not yet become women.”
    “Pleasure?” She stilled, lifting her eyes to search his. “I’m nineteen,”