~Zaire~

Zaire sighed heavily, rubbing his temples. He had just sent Maggie out with the wax-sealed envelopes to dole to the mortal employees, because unlike Talon, he had no desire to have them coming and going from his office all throughout the day. When he was just a patron of The Den, rather than the new owner, he found Maggie to be tolerable, even a little impressive. But now, the head waitress just rubbed him the wrong way, because his mate was so attached to her. Still, she was the only mortal employee that he would allow inside the office other than the little doll, once the renovations were completed. 

The first things that Zaire was eager to send off to Talon were his damn paintings of the Dark Court palace, and the infernal cocktail table. Now, as he glanced around at the office that was becoming his own hidey-hole from the rest of The Den, he finally felt at home. He could understand why Talon spent most of his hours locked inside when he ran the place. All the royal blue accents he'd painstakingly decorated the room with helped to ease his discomfort with all the stress attached to taking over the establishment for his friend. 

It was an undeniably strange new dynamic for the two of them. While most of his life, Talon had been Zaire's mentor, the roles were officially reversed. Talking Talon into accepting the crown had been no easy feat. Zaire argued with him for an entire day that should he be the one to take the throne, balance could not be achieved, because even if his mate didn't claim the title of Queen, she would still be seen as such. And the Dark desperately needed the balance of only one ruling head, after a century of Roan's failed sovereignty. Talon only agreed with steep conditions: One, Zaire would be the advisor to the new King, as well as the enforcer, the muscle, so that all in the Dark Realm knew that opposing Talon would mean opposing Zaire. That also meant Zaire would be involved with the most serious Dark Court matters, while Talon handled the day-to-day. A sort of co-management situation. The second condition was that Zaire take ownership of The Den, and keep it running smoothly in Talon's stead.

The two of them had made quite a lot of drastic changes since the switch-up, in both the Dark Realm, and the mortal city. Their first item on the agenda for the Dark Court was to downsize the Royal Guard. They ordered the fortress walls to be demolished, and the abominable steel building was rendered to ash. The over-abundance of guardsmen were whittled down to a more respectable number, and the miles of courtyard were given back to the surrounding kingdom. Talon and Zaire divided up the rebels who had fought with them on the day they stormed the palace, as well as Talon's "cleaning crew," half went to serve in the Dark Court inner circle, and half were allotted to Zaire in the city. 

It had been comical to line them up and squabble over who would go where, as if the two of them were picking their teams for a game of basketball. Of course, Zaire's first pick was Weiss, the Fae who had deafened himself in order to aid the abdication of the crown. He admired his loyalty, and wanted him as his right-hand man. Weiss was immediately entrusted as his mate's primary bodyguard. 

As if thinking of her had drawn her back to him, Zaire felt the cursed nausea from her absence suddenly easing. She must have returned from her part-time shift at Hylea's newly-opened garment shop down the street - a position that his mate had volunteered for, surely only to annoy Zaire with the distance between them. He couldn't help but smile at the fury that slid over his tongue the closer she got to him.

His little doll was pissed off. Her rage was quickly becoming one of his favorite flavors, so spicy and rich. While everyone else, mortal and Fae alike, tiptoed around him these days, she was only becoming more and more forthright when she was upset with him. Before she burst through the door like a flaming Valkyrie, he already knew what was troubling her, and he did his best to wipe the amused grin off his face.

The door swung open hard enough to bounce off the interior wall, with a lovely explosion of splintered wood adding fanfare to her entrance. She still wasn't used to her growing strength, though he was sure that she purposely refused to temper it at that moment, regardless. She locked eyes with him - a vicious, piercing glare from her citrine eyes that didn't budge as she flicked one of her shadows at the door, sending the wispy tendril to slam it shut behind her. The glamour he had shared with her that morning wobbled slightly from the force of her unbridled anger, but held up. 

"What's this I hear about The Den serving blood at the bar after-hours?!"

Zaire lifted an eyebrow at her coolly, drumming his claws on the edge of his desk.

"Where did you come by this information, darling? A reliable source, I trust?"

His mate scoffed, folding her arms over her chest while the shadow that she had used on the door returned to her forearm, bristling under the influence of her rage. 

"I heard some Dark Fae chattering away about it on the street corner! Don't you dare act like it's not credible for that reason! I can see you trying not to smile, you know!"

Zaire wanted to chuckle so badly that he had to cover his mouth as he shook his head at her. He cleared his throat and stood, leaning forward with his palms pressed flat on the desk. Just that minimal advance forced a trickle of lust to slide down his throat - despite her anger, she was as sexually frustrated as he was, given how busy they both were with everything going on. A week was a long time to put off a chase.

"Would you like an explanation, or would you rather I fuck that insolence out of you, little doll?"

The flecks of darkness in her amber eyes widened, almost blackening her irises, and she shifted restlessly, adamantly ignoring how his question bloomed her arousal and added a rosiness to her countenance. 

"Explain, damn you!"

Zaire allowed a smirk to tug at the corner of his lips while he rounded the desk, enjoying how her eyes followed his movement with a hyper focus. 

"As you know, since I've taken over, I have stationed guardsmen throughout this district that you so eloquently refer to as the Killing Grounds, and the strict rules I've enforced have mitigated the gratuitous hunting in this area. I've made this part of the city safer to protect not only our employees, but other mortals as well. Any argument there?"

She scowled and shook her head, her fury fizzling by a fraction. She respected the efforts he'd put forth to preserve the staff that she cared so much for. 

"Well, I decided that I should reward the good behavior of the patrons by offering them respite. I procured a deal with a local blood bank, so after closing, my Fae employees will  serve blood at the bar."

"Do you expect me to believe that you won't be partaking in a glass, yourself??" 

His little doll's envy took over, mixed with her confusion and feeling of betrayal. She resented that he still hadn't sated his bloodlust since their first chase.

"I gave you my word," Zaire told her with a frown. "You will not find me indulging in a nightcap in my own establishment. When I need a drink, I will take it from your pretty little throat only, like we agreed."

Her arms unfolded, hanging limply at her sides as she toyed with the hem of her dress, suddenly taking on the appearance of a harmless, blushing schoolgirl. She stared at her shoes and sighed, her emotions losing their ferocity.

"Why haven't you, then?"

"I'm not thirsty," he lied smoothly, his wings twitching in defiance beneath his glamour. 

They both knew why he was choosing sobriety, and it wasn't from a lack of craving. Hell, he needed a drink now more than ever. He was so damn sick of feeling sick when she wasn't in the same room with him, so fed up with the long hours spent in the mortal world where he couldn't feel her presence as strongly, couldn't taste her emotions without her being in his vicinity. And damn it all, by the end of each week, he was ridiculously irritable and eager to retire to their home in the Dark Realm, leaving the weekend management of The Den to Weiss. During the weekdays, he and his little doll would stay at either her place or his, in the mortal neighborhood she had grown up in, and the drive there was just as much of a comfort as it was maddening. It was either silence or bickering between the two of them, and he wasn't sure which he preferred, but having her close after a long day of working separately left him plaintive and wanting. 

Due to her strained upbringing, she seemed much more accustomed to the ill feeling that came with the lack of proximity than he was, and that was just another source of frustration for him. Not to mention the irritation that befell him any time he ventured out of his office to see her so jovial with her beloved co-workers. He wanted her smile for himself, and though he felt like a petulant child being forced to share his favorite toy, he couldn't quell his infantile desire to be the sole beneficiary of her affections. 

"I guess I'm not much of a temptation for you, if that's the case," she replied, her voice too soft and sullen.

A growl rumbled from the base of his throat in response, and her insecurity made his tongue itchy. 

"I'm tempted  to rip that dress off of you and bend you over my desk," he rasped, his claws flexing in warning. "Be a good girl and get back to work, and I'll run you ragged tonight."

She shot him a stubborn glare, though her excitement delighted his taste buds and gleamed in her eyes. 

"Yes, sir," his little doll purred as she graced him with a patronizing curtsy before flouncing out of his office, her dark hair swishing behind her.

A few hours after she left, Zaire was watching the minutes tick by on the clock. Perhaps it wouldn't be prudent to take a lap around The Den, but he needed to move,  so he vaulted himself and made his way down the hall. He startled the new hostess, as she had only seen him once upon hiring her to replace Lola after Talon's former tap decided to find employment elsewhere. The woman stood up a bit straighter and smoothed her hair back from her face, appearing nervous. Zaire offered an impetuous wave as he passed the podium. 

The parlor room was crowded for the dinner hour, and though he knew that the increased safety of the district meant that there would be more mortals dining than ever before, he was mildly astonished that there was almost an equal number of Fae and mortal patrons. Each Fae bowed their head as he walked through their vicinity, and some raised their glasses, silently toasting his presence. He was glad that he was vaulted and couldn't taste the males' admiration and envy, or the unbound females' lust. And fortunately, no one dared to speak to him, as he was in no mood to carry on a conversation. 

That is, until he had cracked open a book that he'd chosen from the library, attempting to get his mind off of his mate for one goddamn second. 

"Sir?"

Zaire glanced up to see Agron, the leader of the rebel faction and Talon's first pick, looking uncomfortable to be wearing a glamour. Zaire hadn't known him long, but he was aware that Agron was a male that preferred to stay on the other side of the Veil. Whether it was because he didn't like crossing over, didn't like donning a mortal guise, or he just didn't enjoy traipsing around the mortal realm, Zaire wasn't entirely sure. But he endured it to play envoy for confidential messages between Talon and Zaire, even if the Fae male was officially titled as a sentry. 

"What is it, now?" Zaire asked on an exhale, returning his gaze to the book. 

"Summit tomorrow," Agron grunted in a hushed tone. "The King requests that you leave your other half at home."

"A cumbersome request," Zaire huffed, his agitation evident in his tone. His mate would not let him hear the end of it if he attended a clandestine meeting without her. "Pertaining to . . . ?"

"The emissary, sir." 

Fucking great. Just what he needed, another thing to worry about. Relations with the Light Realm was of utmost importance, and Talon had sent an emissary to the Light Court to inform them of the change in sovereignty and gauge where the two realms stood with each other. And while this district had always been a popular hang-out for the Dark Fae above any other kind, there had been a noticeable absence of Light Fae since Roan's demise and the former Queen's subsequent attempt to claim Solitaries under the Dark Court. Talon believed that it was highly unlikely that the Light Court had slain the emissary, and Zaire's centuries-old friend had an extensive knowledge on the history of Light and  Dark Court dealings that disproved the need for that concern. But when days turned to weeks after the emissary was sent, even Talon had begun to worry, despite his belief that the Light wouldn't deign to resort to such an obvious slight. Surely, if they intended to go to war, they would not give that type of warning, and instead, they would strike immediately with the element of surprise working in their favor. So it could be assumed that the summit was called to address and debrief the dilatory emissary's return. 

"I'll be there, but I make no promises that my other half will be dissuaded." 

https://youtu.be/Q-PB4s4Vpio

"He said you'd say that," Agron chuckled darkly, before nodding and making a swift departure. 

Talon was well aware that Zaire's power meant next to nothing when it came to his mate. Even with her distaste for Faerie political happenings, she would hear, "You can't come,"  and her rebellious ass would tag along if only to assert her dominion over her own actions. It should infuriate Zaire that she got such a kick out of disobeying his wishes, but it was partially his fault. She enjoyed his punishments for her bratty behavior far too much. If anything, he was rewarding her willful defiance every step of the way, spoiling his little doll rotten.

It took a concerted effort for him to immerse himself in the book, and push everything else out of his mind, but he managed to do so, even while his mate came and went, serving the patrons. She didn't appear  to notice him leaning against the bookshelf, but as his vaulting only shut out everyone else's emotions but hers, he could sense that she was faking her obliviousness. It reminded him of the day he had returned once the stitch dissolved on the seam in his home, and she did everything she could to pretend he didn't exist. 

He was smirking at the memory, but the expression quickly morphed into a scowl when he tasted her sudden burst of negative emotions as a mortal couple she was serving began to cause a scene. A husband and wife were screaming at each other, drawing attention from the whole parlor room. His mate was absolutely mortified, anxious, and riddled with guilt as if she had accidentally posed as a catalyst for their argument. Zaire had half a mind to stalk over to the mortals and drag them out of The Den with his own two hands for upsetting her, but he forced himself to remain where he stood, nodding at a member of the cleaning crew, wordlessly ordering them to escort the riffraff outside before their tumultuous display riled up the Fae with their volatility any more than they already had. 

As the cleaning crewman acted as a bouncer, his little doll looked up at him with tears in her eyes. Seeing her tears made his shadows vibrate and reach toward her, but he consciously yanked them back in place and attempted to calm himself while he hooked his finger in a come-hither gesture. She clenched the fabric of her heavy skirts in her fists and scurried over to him. He held his arms out and she eagerly threw herself into his embrace, letting the tears fall freely as she cried quietly, 

"It was my fault!"

Zaire shook his head, preparing to absolve her from blaming herself for the altercation, when she pulled back enough to peer up at him, her guilt intensifying on his tongue.

"I don't know how, I d-didn't mean to, but I did something to that man! Like a spell, or . . . "

"What makes you think you put a spell on him?" Zaire asked carefully.

"Wh-when he looked at me, his eyes flashed this bright pink color and then they went all cloudy," she explained in a frantic whisper, "I thought I was seeing things, but then he started speaking like he was in a trance, saying I was the most beautiful woman he'd ever seen and he fucking told me he loved me, right in front of his wife! She yelled at him, and when he looked away from me, he snapped out of it. He started screaming back at her that she was making shit up, that he hadn't said one word to me!"

What the fuck?!  She enthralled the man without even meaning to! Zaire didn't even possess the ability to invoke a thrall, how the hell had she acquired that ability?? He knew that she was not quite mortal anymore because of the Mark, but this was unheard of for more reasons than one!

First of all, she was not - and would never be - fully Fae. Also, while Dark Fae fed on emotions, the act of feeding on them didn't diminish the source, and only the rare Dark Fae like himself who harnessed shadows could actually manipulate  someone's emotions. Even then, it was the shadows themselves that accomplished it, not the wielder, and they could only inject fear - no other emotion.

 It was purely a Light Fae thing to be able to physically drain an emotion completely, or in this case, influence and replace someone's emotions altogether. It was common knowledge that the Light Fae are born emotionally-devoid like blank slates, and though they don't feed on the emotions of others, draining comes naturally to them since their souls have a sort of vacuum effect. However, the ability to replace emotions takes centuries  of practice to perfect, and it still  could not shine a light to the strength of a thrall. 

There were occasional rumors that Fae who could enthrall still existed, but most believed that the power had been bred out long ago - or perhaps, most just hoped that it had, because if someone could make you love them more than life, freewill meant nothing. You would gladly be their love slave, and abandon everything and everyone you ever knew before.

But the flash of pink followed by the clouding in the eyes were sure symptoms of a thrall that were spoken of by Dark Fae children like mortal kids attempting to terrify each other with ghost stories, certain to have sent a chill down the spines of immortals since Maeve was a child. It couldn't be mistaken for anything else, regardless of how mortal his mate still was. Zaire wondered anxiously if the matebond would prevent his little doll from accidentally (or god forbid, intentionally) enthralling him. Surely, if he couldn't vault himself against her, if they couldn't kill each other, then he should be the one person that she couldn't place a thrall on that wasn't a Light Fae. Trying to put a thrall on a Light Fae would be like trying to fill the Grand Canyon with a water hose - over a long, long  time, it might work to some infinitesimal  degree, but the water would naturally divert down a million different channels and dwindle away before the Grand Canyon would ever get close to full. They were emotional black holes, and they held onto nothing. 

That small assurance that the Mark most likely protected him  from her newfound power eased his anxiety a bit, but did nothing for his tension. How could she learn how to control a power like that, when there was no one alive who could teach her??  He silently cursed at the Oracle, demanding that there had better be some ancient book in the Dark Court palace library that could help, or he would have to risk her wrath by locking her away.