Aria had no idea what a madmosel was, but his voice sent a thrill through her.
Lucas regarded Jacques with narrowed eyes that sparked emerald. “You came here because she might be close to her cycle?”
Jacques waved a hand in the air. “Female Dragon shifters are immune to my charms. But I have noted in the past that when they are entering their cycles, their immunity weakens... and I presume she is low on crystal as well?” His eyes sparkled.
The Satyr trailed off as he finally noted Lucas’s glower. “Oh. Um. You two aren’t—”
“No,” Lucas snapped.
“Well, then—”
“No.” There was a finality to Lucas’s word which seemed to get through. The Morph continued to glare at Jacques, but the Satyr couldn’t take his eyes off her.
Aria’s senses reeled, caught up in the powerful pheromones.
Lucas glared. “Jacques, I’m warning you—”
“I can’t just turn it off, you know,” the Satyr pointed out.
“Aim it elsewhere, then.”
“Very well.” And Jacques turned toward Lucas.
The Morph’s face paled, the emerald growing more chaotic within his eyes. He tore his gaze free and dug beneath his cloak, emerging with the bag of stolen currency. “Look, let’s just get this done, okay?” His voice shook.
Aria, released from being the prime focus, blinked. Wow, that was powerful stuff. Her body clamored to plaster itself all over Jacques. Jacques? It wasn’t the Satyr she leaned toward now. It was Lucas.
Her gaze drifted from the depths of his emerald-ringed eyes, to the narrow jaw, and on to the lean planes of his body. The muscles hugged tight to Lucas’s broad shoulders and upper body and tapered to a scrumptious butt and thighs built to run... And he moved like a dancer, light on his feet, every gesture graceful.
His gaze flitted her way for a second, widened, and then returned to Jacques. She saw him swallow. “What do we owe you?”
“Sacré bleu, you two are no fun at all,” complained Jacques. “From what I’ve heard, Morphs and Satyrs share certain interests, but you resist every time.”
Lucas spoke through gritted teeth. “Just give us the goods, and go.”
“Oh, very well,mon ami.” The Satyr dug two satchels out from his trench coat pockets and tossed them on the table. “Crystal dust and the herbal mixture to stave off the reproductive cycle. Although why you would want to do that—I’ve seen Dragonas mating. It’s a heady experience, and I understand—”
“Dammit, Jacques,” snarled Lucas.
The Satyr cleared his throat. “I suppose being pregnant would be an inconvenience at this time.” He waggled his bushy brows at Lucas. “But for that to happen, she would have to mate a Dragon—”
Lucas’s growl was Dire-worthy as he tossed some coins to the table in front of Jacques. “This is what we agreed on.”
Wisps of smoke drifted across the kitchen. Jacques picked up his coins and sniffed. “I am assuming Betsy’s smoke alarm needs new batteries. Were you making me a bagel?”
Lucas swore, spun around, and yanked open the toaster oven door. Jacques took advantage of his distraction to bow to Aria.
“Pleased to make your acquaintance,mademoiselle. If you ever need anything from me, just shout.”
Aria fought through the pheromones to the goal. “We need to find Cara,” Aria blurted.
Lucas dropped the smoking bagel into the sink and turned back to them. “Can you tell us how to get an invitation to her place?” His voice was a full octave higher than normal.
Jacques glanced at him. “I understand you have one of her Familiars with you?”
Familiars? Was that what they called Mai? Aria pulled the little shrew out from under her hair.
Jacques smiled. “Yes. If you get yourselves to Coronation Park, the Familiar can take you the rest of the way.”
