Chapter 3: Creatures of the Night
"And to what do I owe the pleasure, to have you in Denerim, Your Grace," Solona asked with fake cordiality as sipped from her beverage. She drank alcohol on rare occasions, always felt sick when she had to. Instead she always had craftily disguised drink, the bartender made only for her. He named it ' Butterfly-effect ', that Solona found utterly stupid and corny but it did the trick nonetheless. No one could tell there wasn't even a drop of alcohol in it.
"A corruption scandal," Duke Gaspard answered, his words hazy, infused with wine. "Our ambassador meddled with some shady trade of artifacts."
"Did he now?" Solona chirped. "Shame. It is hard to find loyal and honest civil servants nowadays."
"I understand you know each other with the ambassador," his voice was tinged with jealousy.
"We are familiar, indeed," she admitted as crossed her legs making them exposed for the lecherous eyes of the Orlesian. "We've spent some lovely dinners together."
"Why are you wasting your time low-lives like him?" He leaned into her, crowding her personal space and running his fingers along the bare skin of her thigh, his hand disappearing under her skirt. No matter how many times she had done this, she still felt disgusted. She swallowed the irritation and plastered an alluring smile on her face, her eyes fixed on the wanton glance of the Duke.
"Professional hazard," she twittered as ran her gloved fingers down his cheek.
"You should consider my offer and leave this shithole to come back with me to Val Royeaux," he breathed against her skin as planted kisses on her neck. There was nothing sensual, nothing elegant in it just crude instincts.
Duke Gaspard always offered her fame, fortune, titles, and lands just to become her full-time mistress. But these were just empty words. Solona exactly knew Duke Gaspard had nothing but his title and a way too generous state income. Still not enough to make his extravagant proposals true.
She removed his hand from her thigh, dropping it in his lap, moving away from him with a playful giggle. "You are too generous, Your Grace. But please, give a lady time to consider-"
Gaspard grunted in frustration as stood up. He grabbed her by the back of the neck and pulled her to him, crushing his lips against hers, smearing the delicately applied paint on her lips. His breath was sour with wine, and even the finest cologne couldn't conceal his reek of sweat. He forced his entry in her mouth. Solona swallowed the rising bile in her throat kissed him back as a good whore would have done.
"You're a tease, little butterfly. I warn you, I do not deal well with constant rejection," he growled against her skin. She could feel his shallow hot breath leaving vapor on her skin.
"Duke Gaspard," she heard a melodious voice. "Would you honor me with a dance?" Both of their glances turned to the red-haired girl, wearing a simple black gown and pearls around her neck. She was Leliana, the regular singer of the club, also another associate of Zevran's little 'enterprise'.
There was enough composure in Gaspard to clear his throat and straighten himself. "If Lady Amell doesn't have an objection to it."
"If you must," she replied. Leliana nodded, escorting the Duke to the dance floor.
Solona lifted a cigarette to her lips, her eyes on the dancing pair. He hadn't drunk enough yet. He handled it better than usual. Light flared from a match lighting her cigarette. She inhaled a deep brag and rose her eyes to the two honeyed one.
"What the hell are you doing here," she hissed. "I'm trying to work."
Zevran chuckled. "I spared you from some unsatisfying sex. You should really thank me" He took a short glance on Gaspard improperly gripping Leliana's buttock. He leaned to Solona's ears, his fingers running down her bare back. "Duke Gaspard has a well-known appetite on red haired women. A few more shots of whiskey and he won't care if it is you or Leliana."
"I believe you don't understand the concept of my business," Solona stated, with a hint of annoyance in her cadence.
Zevran smiled, as sipped from the champagne flute in his hand. "I do, my love. But title does not necessarily comes with elegance and style. But you should know this the best. How many brutes has come and gone in your bed the last few years? Did they care how delicate you are? Of course they didn't."
His hand came to her chin and lifted her face to meet his. His gaze was warm, still threatening. She knew this glance knew too well. "I perfectly know what game you are playing tonight, my love. So don't try to scam me."
She smiled and laughed and pulled his hand from her face. "Don't you trust me, Zevran?"
His finger brushed her stained lips lingering there. The lipstick paint left a blood red spot on it. "I still have the memento of our unfortunate venture in Minrathous. I can't afford you making the same mistake again. Or any mistake." His head cocked to the bar. "Besides, you have already had something to take care of."
Solona followed his glance until met a man in a tuxedo. His strawberry blond hair was elegantly combed, his face clean shaved. Solona felt disappointment. She strangely liked his slightly neglected appearance. It suited him better. He held a glass of whiskey in his hand, his hazel gaze searching something. Or someone.
"You fucking bastard." she hissed.
He chuckled as pulled a handkerchief from his pocket and handed it to her. "I love when you speak dirty. I have a feeling, he would love it too," he exhaled a kiss on her lips. "Be a good girl and make me proud, my love."
"Go to hell, Zevran," she hissed as pushed him away from herself and stormed to the powder room.
A wide grin appeared on Zevran's face as he watched disappearing behind the door. "Only with you, my love. Only with you ."
The cab turned into the parking lot of the Black Pearl stopping at the path paved with red carpet. Cullen lingered in the cab to settle the fare, while Alistair got out of the car and adjusted his tuxedo, his eyes scanning the establishment. A two-storey mansion rose before them, the walls painted to ostentatious red, the wide balconies adorned with colorful lanterns, as the latest fashion required. The sound of careless laughing and smooth jazz filtered off the building, long rows of wannabe stars and emerging nobodies waited to get in or just get on the months long waiting list.
Alistair lit on his cigarette as watched these young, hopeful and beautiful people, bathing in the tawdry shine of shallowness and the false promises of the Denerim nights, which inevitably became nothing more than sullage disappearances in the sewers in the cold light of dawn. He knew this world too well.
"Nice place," Cullen said as stepped next to him. Alistair hummed as puffed his cigarette. "You also owe me money."
"Indeed," he answered, tactfully ignoring the comment about money. "Ideal place to set up a trap ."
"And yet you accepted the invitation with nothing but me as back up," Cullen noted, adjusting the cuff of his tuxedo. "I have the feeling this is really more than professional curiosity on your side."
"Solona Amell plays in high stakes. I know her kind." Alistair dropped his cigarette and trampled it on the red velvet carpet, uncaring he left a black stain on it. "And I know how to deal with her kind."
"If you say so,"
They walked to the entrance guarded by two bouncers put in elegant suits, but their tattoos still peeked out at their necks. Alistair recognized those symbols. Those were military tattoos.
"Invitations, sirs," one of them stopped them by putting his hand on Alistair's shoulder. He involuntarily grabbed the wrist of the man and twisted it behind his hand. He loosened his grip as Cullen's voice reached him through the flood of memories of a soldier hiding from the enemy, the sound of impacting grenades and batons deafened him. Cullen's hand was gripping Alistair's wrist, and a stunned hush had fallen over the people in line.
Alistair blinked and let go, the echoes in his head fading, drowning out his muttered apologies. "Old war wound," Cullen explained. "Don't mind him, he just doesn't like to be grabbed. We left our invitations at home, I'm afraid. Alistair Theirin and Cullen Rutherford."
The man glowered at him checked the list in his hand. "You are not on the list."
"This must be a misunderstanding," Cullen frowned. "Miss Amell-"
"Step aside, gentlemen," another bouncer ordered as he approached, towering before them.
"They are with us," a tinkling female voice chimed in. "They are the honored guests of Miss Amell."
Solona Amell's bodyguard loomed up in the brightness of the entrance door, a petite silhouette, then a girl in a blue silk dress with pink flowers. The sleeveless, oriental gown followed her slender figure ended at her ankles, a deep cut revealing the curve of her calf. Her short ebony hair combed behind her ears at one side fixed with a golden headdress, adorned with blue and pink flowers, matching her dress. She held a golden pipe figuring a dragon. She didn't wear a particularly provocative outfit or makeup, only enough to catch men eyes. Or at least one man's eyes.
Cullen's mouth slightly slackened as ran his eyes across the girl. Alistair chuckled as saw the red of embarrassment creeping on his cheeks.
"I'm sorry, Miss Trevelyan, I wasn't informed," the doorkeeper stammered. The girl smiled and winked as she passed them, taking the two men by their arms and escorting them to the vestibule, threading their way through the lingering guests.
"Why didn't you bring your invitations?" she sighed.
"Why didn't you put our names on the list?" Cullen muttered in return. She flashed him a grin.
Half of Denerim's elite was there. The Minister of Defense danced with an auburn-haired beauty, who was definitely not his wife. In the dark corner, the Mayor ran his hands on the well sculpted abdomen of a half-naked man, his fingers smearing the gold paint on his skin. These men who were the well-respected members of the Denerim society at daytime became primal creatures of the night. Alistair wondered if he was a product of another alcohol and lust infused night like this. That her mother swayed her hips the same way, that whore between the hands of the Minister, looking cheap despite the lavish cover. He could have felt the nauseating smell of her overused commercial perfume and wondered about her tariffs. He wondered about the tariffs of Solona Amell. Probably more than he could ever afford.
His thoughts were derailed by the sudden absence of the arm holding his. "Miss Amell awaits you at the bar," the girl said.
Alistair nodded. He noticed that her other hand was still around Cullen's arm, who was unusually stiff. "Only you," she smiled wryly. "This handsome is my guest tonight."
Cullen and Alistair exchanged a short glance before Alistair nodded. "Good luck with her, Detective Theirin. You'll need it," the girl chirped as glided away with Cullen by her side.
Alistair strode to the bar, made his way through the dancing pairs. He leaned on the bar, ordered a double whiskey and lit another cigarette. He could feel her scent, or he just imagined, he couldn't decide. His eyes scanned the room for her, across the sea of dyed-haired girls laughing inanely and preened themselves to the lecherous nobles until his eyes stuck on a green dress.
She was with her back to him, leaning to a marble statue, talking to someone. The velvet skirt of her gown followed the curve of her hips, the lace upper part had a deep cut, making her freckled skin exposed to the small of her back. Her gloved hand idly held a cigarette, the end of it stained with her lipstick. As if she felt his glance on her, she turned to him, her eyes glistened like a cat's when noticed the prey and her lips turned to an alluring smile.
Once they were alone, Evelyn led Cullen gently with her arm hooked around his. They threaded their way through the crowd, all the while the girl dropping idle greetings to guests and declining to introduce her handsome male caller, who stood as silent as the grave beside her. She led him out of the room, to an upper balcony, looking out at the ocean. There were other couples here, tucked away in their quiet corners, bubbles of privacy wrapped around them.
The cool sea air caressed their faces. The tide was out, carrying most of the trash in the water away, sweetening the breeze. "You can stop scowling now," she said to him, letting her arm drop from around his.
"I was not scowling," he said.
"Your face can make other expressions besides that one, you know, Cullen," she said, setting her pipe down on the marble verandah. "But hey, I'll take the one I deserve."
"Was there a reason for this charade?" he asked, standing with his arms crossed stiffly beside her. "This is extremely inappropriate. We should not be meeting."
"Right, because you're an upright copper while I'm a whore's bodyguard," she snapped. "I'm sorry it's only my hands that are dirty."
He stared out over the black void of the sea. There was no moon that night, and it was like looking into the heart of darkness. He sighed. "You're right," he murmured. His arms uncrossed, and he leaned on his elbows on the verandah. "You're not the only one with their hands dirty."
She looked at him, her blue eyes uncertain. "You still didn't need to do all this to meet me," he said.
"Oh really? Should I have drop by for lunch? Have a coffee?" she chuckled. "You always-" Her voice faded, and she drew a breath. "Well, it was inappropriate, like you said. Especially after… everything. You got a promotion out of the whole thing too. Congratulations."
He was quiet as she looked up at him, avoiding her gaze. "No, really, I mean it," she said. "Honest."
He sighed heavily. "I know you do. That's what makes it difficult. I wish things had turned out differently."
She smiled up at him, her fingers gently touching his arm. "Yeah. But you're here now. For one night. You can have fun. You remember how to have fun, don't you?"
He chuckled, his scar moving as he gave her a half smile. "What is this fun you speak of?"
"You know, fighting, kicking people, punching them in the face," she said impishly. "Or dancing, polite conversation, normal people things."
"Normal people?"
"Hey, we can try. Or I can go into the hall and point out who's fucking whom. Scandals galore. While dancing I hope."
"I don't dance."
"I'll dance then, I'm good at it."
She saw the red in his cheeks rising. "I'm happy you remember something good about me."
He rolled his eyes. "Of course I remember good about you." She stared at him, and he seemed to catch himself. "That is- There was a lot of things that we did- Of course I remember."
She laughed at that. "Good," she purred, her fingers running down his arm. "I would hate for you to forget. Come," her hand wrapped around his, "You're on duty, so you don't drink. But you can watch me drink."
"Aren't you on duty as well?" he asked as she led him into the hall once more. His hand quickly reached for her pipe, which she had forgotten on the verandah.
"You're an upright officer of the law. I'm a low-life who doesn't give two shits." He sighed, but followed her nonetheless, his hand resting comfortably in hers. It would be easier to keep an eye on Theirin from the bar, as it would be to watch Solona from the same vantage point. He watched her small form, the sway of her hips in that dress that should be made illegal, the loose lock of hair curling at her neck. She was wrong. He did remember good things about her.
She was everything good he could remember from that doomed undercover job. That made it hurt more.
But maybe, just for a night…
Alistair stood motionless, watching her come towards him, her every move deliberate. From time to time she was stopped by a gilded guest who probably whispered a sweet proposal in her ears, an offer, a hint at their interest in spending some private time with her or inquired as to what the cost was to be with her. Solona laughed and smiled, gifted them with her golden touch through her gloved fingers, ended in a kiss landing on the back of her hand every time with the anticipation of a conquest. Men were predictable. He thought.
Her feline eyes were framed with black eyeliner that night never moved from Alistair. She wore simple makeup. Nothing elaborate, nothing exaggerated, just simple in its own elegance. She was something different. Something that wouldn't have left a sour taste behind. She was the kind that from men always wanted more. She was the worst of her kind.
"Detective Theirin," she beamed as reached the bar. "To what do I owe the pleasure?"
She sat on the high bar stool, crossing her legs, making her neat legs exposed. Alistair briefly ran his eyes across them as sipped from his whiskey. "You invited me, sweetheart. Why are you so surprised?"
She hesitated for a moment. "I would have never thought you would accept it," she exhaled the smoke of her cigarette. "As I have never thought you are smoking," she pointed out as gestured to the cigarette in his hand. "You seemed so straight-laced about regulations at the Yard."
"You wrote in your note that you can provide new details about the Guerrin homicide," Alistair crossed his hand before his chest, ignoring her comment.
She leaned closer, an insolent smile on her face. "Do you have a warrant?" she asked. Alistair shook his head. "Or your badge with you?" he shook his head again. "I guess you even left your holster at home. Then every evidence shows you are off duty. So you are not here to interrogate me. Which raises the next logical question. Why are you here?"
Alistair puffed his cigarette and drowned his whiskey. And as the crystal glass reached the bar, the eager bartender refilled him, without asking him to do. She had her tricks. "Not to play your games, sweetheart. This is still an official visit."
Solona tittered as stood up from the stool. "Right to the point, I like this. But has anyone ever told you that anticipation sweetens everything?"
"I have diabetes, Miss Amell," he scoffed. "Also kinda short with patience."
"But I guess a dance is not too much a price for the information," she purred as she turned to the dance floor. Alistair slammed the whiskey into himself as watched her hips swaying in a dress that would allure even the Maker to sin. Poison green was definitely her color.
He trampled his cigarette in the crystal ashtray and followed her. She took his hand and he pulled her body close to his. Her steps were smooth and graceful, as the melancholic jazz embraced them. Alistair felt her scent, soft and caressing, still enough to be intoxicating. His hand pressed in firmly against her lower back and guided her to match her rhythm with his body. His hips were pressed against hers, his breath falling softly upon her face. He wondered if anybody could ever say no to her. Probably not. Even he, who promised himself to not fall for her little games, followed her neat ass blindly. Fuck.
A small smile tugged at her lips. "Well, well, you are quite a good dancer, Detective. I'm impressed."
"I have my talents," he stated dryly as spun her around and pulled her close again. Their bodies pressed against one another, closer than it was appropriate or advised.
She peered up at him through her thick eyelashes. "And quite handsome. The tuxedo looks ravishing on you. But one thing makes me wonder-" she moved one of her hands from his neck and touched his cheek, sweeping across. "This scar must have a story,"
Alistair grabbed her hand and guided back to its proper place. "I'm not here to discuss me."
Solona Amell released a dramatic sigh. "You can be so prosaically official, Detective."
He felt her footsteps slowing as the music swelled to an end and the sudden absence of her body as she stepped away. "Professional hazard, Miss Amell," he said. "You got your dance, so it is time for your end of the bargain."
"Oh, Detective, you are breaking my heart," she purred. "Don't tell me you didn't enjoy as much as I did."
"You have a heart?" he growled in his growing frustration. He couldn't tell what was frustrating him more - that he let this whore lead him on, or that despite his every effort he wanted her.
A wide grin appeared on her face. "This is a very good question," she glided away, casting her an alluring smile, a hint to follow her. Alistair raked his fingers through his hair and grunted. She escorted him through the shadows to a side door that led out into the cigar room, closing it behind them. She hopped down one of the couches and lit a cigarette, as leaned back, her legs crossed, and his arms rested across the back of the couch.
"I have to ask you once again, Detective, can you handle the truth," she purred. Alistair stopped at the other side of the coffee table, towering over her like a threatening shadow, his hands crossed. But she didn't falter, that insolent smile plastered on her face.
"What did you do at his place?" he asked, his voice steeled.
She puffed her cigarette and exhaled the smoke into his face. "Men want all the same from me, you know," she began, her eyes fixed on him. There was something unreadable in that gaze that made him feel uncomfortable. "But I never give them what they think they want. Any cheap trumpet in the harbor could do that. Even their frigid wives could do that. There is nothing special in the primal needs of men. But I give them what they need, or what they never thought they need."
"And what exactly did Teagan Guerrin need that night," he asked.
Solona put the cigarette at the side of the crystal ashtray and stood up. "Men need courtship, a companion, they need intimacy and discretion," she said as with slow and considered steps bypassed the coffee table, stopping inches from Alistair. "They pay for my company, not to shag me."
"Right," he scoffed. "So you are telling me that you and Lord Guerrin did nothing but talk all night. And about what? Constellations? Embroidery patterns?"
She chuckled. "I never said we were just talking. But the nature of our conversation is too private to share with you," she ran her finger down his arms. Her eyes followed the movement of her fingers. He could barely suppress the shudder. "Lord Guerrin was always a gentle and caring lover. More than the usual, I always knew what he needed. He was one of my best clients."
"You told me nothing new, sweetheart," Alistair grabbed her wrist. "I knew he fucked you. Not a surprise, considering your profession." He spat the word like it was a poison on his mouth.
Solona laughed and smiled as move from his grip. "Why don't you call things as they are? I'm a whore. But a good one. And to be honest, I didn't invite you to provide some new information."
"I'm all ears, sweetheart," Alistair said.
Solona sighed. "I find myself in the very uncomfortable situation of I have an urgent need. And actually, you are the only one who can satisfy this need." She took a step forward him, running her gloved fingers down his cheek. He couldn't prevent the shudder waving through his body now. The smile on her face widened. "It breaks my heart, I can't give you what you need, but I can definitely give what you want."
She pressed her lips to him and sought entry eagerly as wrapped her hands around his neck. His arms circled her waist and held her fast against him. His hands sought the bare skin exposed on her back and his fingers twirled in end of her loosened hair. His kisses became hungry, more seeking, and a groan came from deep within his chest. He lost his mind in that kiss and the Maker knew what prevented him to not tear that blasted dress on her to pieces and make her of his own right there on the floor. He was a fool falling for her games and the more he wanted to break free, the more her webs tightened around him.
He broke away and for long seconds he just battled for air. He steeled himself despite every scream of his every fiber. "Sorry, sweetheart, I can't afford you." he steeled his voice and pushed her away from him, leaving the room, the stain of her lipstick still on his face.
He couldn't get out fast enough to feel the fresh cold air of the night on his skin.
Solona watched him leaving with the other detective from the benevolent concealment of the balcony. The other detective released Evelyn's hand, a look of disappointment unmistakable in his eyes as he turned from the girl to follow his partner. Her eyes followed Alistair's rushed steps as he caught a cab and vanished into the darkness of the desperate night. She wiped the smeared lipstick from her lips with the silk handkerchief Zevran gave her earlier. And as if she just summoned him, she felt his presence behind her and soon a gloved hand smoothed down the line of her spine.
"So?" he asked as walked to the railing and sat down on it.
Solona stepped to him snatching the glass of champagne from his hand as brought it down with a single gulp. "Never, ever again put me in the situation like this," she hissed. Do you hear me? Never. "
Zevran chuckled as his finger ran across her lips removing the remaining stain and champagne beads. "You gave me no choice, my love. The client is too impatient to give you the luxury of time."
"Fuck you, Zevran. And fuck your client, your 'enterprise' and everything else. I'm out," she yelled as stormed to the door, but before she could reach the handle he grabbed her wrist shoving her onto the couch. he slammed his two hands beside her head. Solona felt the uncommon feeling of fear creeping on her, quickening her breath and pulse.
"My, my, you still don't understand your situation, do you, my love? You can't quit, or you will bring the whole thing. Rest is assured, Evie would testify against you anytime. It would be such a waste seeing you hanging on the gallows."
"Go to hell, you son of a bitch," she snarled, whisking her hand to a slap but caught, pinning it over her head.
"Shhh," he hushed her in an infuriatingly caring cadence. "Calm down dear, it would be such a shame if I had to do it for you. I hate when your skin is covered with syringe marks." she felt his hand gliding down her torso, gripping her thigh, lingering there for a moment his gaze on her lips as if he considered something before releasing her. Evelyn stepped in, Solona's fur coat in her hand. Her blue eyes hardened when she saw Zevran holding Solona against the couch.
Solona sat up, smoothing her dress, gathered her every willpower to not cry. Whores never cried, unless the client paid for it.
Zevran grabbed her chin, forcing her reddened eyes on him. "You are so beautiful, my love," he purred. "Promise me, you won't disappoint me."
Solona bit her lip before nodding. She wanted to feel pain, real pain, just to know she could still feel. Zevran chuckled as released her and left her in the charge of Evelyn. Her trembling hand lit on a cigarette, the other left smoldering to ashes in the crystal ashtray. But she couldn't inhale it deep enough to calm her nerves, nothing could prevent a fat tear trickling down her face, black from her eyeliner. She hastily wiped it away as if it never happened.
Evelyn approached her, handing her the coat. "Did he hurt you?" she asked, her voice bearing genuine concern.
Solona jumped up, the green of her eyes blazed. She didn't need Evelyn's pity. False or not. "Don't act like you care, puppy," she hissed shoving Evelyn from her way and storming out the room, the building, rushing her steps until she felt the night swallowed her.
