The clock continued to tick away. One hour became two, then three, yet still no word from Quinn. During this time, Buffy’s mind spun with irresolute and unsettling questions—ones that would make the strongest weak and drive the sanest mad.
Reaching her breaking point, Buffy had enough of wasting valuable time. She needed answers. With a quick call to a taxi service, she collected her phone and clutch and headed to Concentrico alone.
It had snowed recently, and the freshly fallen powder gave new life to the previously exhaust-tinged piles of snow littering the ground. Carefully, she stepped out of the taxi and teetered across the slick sidewalk. The scenery spread out before her was well worth the extra tricky navigation, even if it was exacerbated by her two-inch stilettos.
After her fourth time silently cursing the inventor of the sadistic, ankle-twisting excuses for proper footwear, she made her way to the velour rope guarded by the stoic Rick. During her determined, yet shaky, walk over, Buffy toyed with the idea asking if he’d seen Quinn. This was an option until his don’t-fuck-with-me glare had her quickly abandoning that plan.
Not a word passed between them as Rick allowed her to enter the dark alleyway. Almost immediately, last night’s ominous feeling returned, but without faltering, Buffy dug in deep and carried on. As before, when she reached the top of the stairs, the door opened, apparently of its own accord.
When she walked down the dimly lit hallway, she expected to enter the first room. Yet she didn’t. For reasons she couldn’t explain, it was the second.
Weird.
Buffy then remembered something she had read in Quinn’s report:
“Concentrico in itself is a mystery. There are dozens of rooms, each unique and as ever-changing as those who frequent them…”.
That was the truth. Buffy had only been in two rooms so she couldn’t explain how, but she knew deep down that this was strangely accurate. Yet now wasn’t the time for figuring it out. So she shelved this info for later on and pressed forward.
For the most part, Buffy managed to shut out the overwhelming energy of the room while heading to the bar seeking the solidity of a stool supporting her body and a smooth glass in her hand to further ground her.
After settling in, but prior to signaling to the bartender to order, she was served a glass of rich burgundy. Quick to anticipate her evident question, the bartender motioned to the end of the bar. Following his gesture, Buffy raised her glass in gratitude and with a simple shifting of her eyes to the neighboring stool, invited William to join her.
Earlier, while getting dressed, Buffy had formulated a plan. Last night was filled with many unanticipated distractions, including the attractive one now approaching. This wouldn’t happen again tonight. Tonight she was in charge.
“Hello, Buffy. I’m pleased you came.” William’s voice was sensuously deep, triggering shivers to dance along her skin.
“Hello.” At a loss for words beyond a simple greeting, she sipped her wine tentatively, hoping the alcohol would settle her jumbled nerves and subdue any further bodily reactions.
As though no time had passed, they fell into sync with a steady ebb and flow of conversation complete with comfortable silences. Although difficult, Buffy ignored any personal interest she would have had in this man. Maybe in another time and place she could have pursued it, but right now, the case was all that mattered. That was the sole reason she was here.
Buffy had an inkling William frequented Concentrico when he never asked what day and time she would be returning. She then accepted her hunch as fact when she watched how comfortable he appeared with his surroundings and when the bartender served him bourbon neat without his order. Buffy planned on utilizing this familiarity. Now all she had to do was wait for the opportunity to present itself.
“Might I be so bold as to say, you’re looking exquisite this evening.”
To her amazement, she didn’t have to wait long. This was her chance and she planned on taking full advantage. Reaching down deep, she tapped into her long-dormant feminine wiles and the newfound confidence begotten from her earlier make-over.
“You may.” Her tone was brazen, yet playful.
Appearing pleased with her response, William smiled complacently as his eyes flashed with impish delight.
“Might I also be so bold as to ask if I will have you all to myself tonight?” William lifted his glass, swirling the amber liquid around the sides.
“That depends—” Buffy took a small sip of wine, her throat suddenly tight and dry. She needed to play this just right.
“On?” William volleyed, seemingly giving her full control in the direction of the evening. This was more than Buffy could’ve ever hoped for. So she grabbed on with both hands and went for broke.
“I’m very interested in Concentrico’s many amenities.” She left the rest unsaid and maintained a passive, almost indifferent, demeanor while casually sipping her wine.
“It would be my pleasure to show you all Concentrico has to offer, Buffy.” The deep rumbling of his voice caused another round of shivers, but she didn’t falter and remained strong.
William finished his bourbon in one swallow and stood lithely from his seat. Buffy grabbed her clutch, swiveled on her stool, and gracefully stood. Then, in a seemingly chaste gesture, he rested his hand on her mid-back. On contact, her entire body shuddered and she nearly lost all sense of composure. Finally, when she was able to refocus, they had crossed the room and were now standing before a non-descript black door.
“Lead the way, Buffy.” William’s voice dropped several octaves, making her name sound almost sinful.
Buffy briefly hesitated, studying him for any hint of what might lay beyond. His face betrayed absolutely nothing. With a slightly shaky hand, she grasped the cool metal knob and turned, opening into a dark landing. Buffy stepped forward and noticed several feet away was a small set of metal stairs spiraling down lit only with dim sconces to guide the descent.
“Careful.”
His warning tightened the ball of uneasiness in her stomach. Buffy looked over her shoulder, wearing a confident smirk belying the nervousness churning inside.
“Always.”
With sure and steady steps she descended the nine stairs. When she reached the bottom, she stood before another door, waiting for William. Soon he was by her side. He eyed the door then her, raising a single brow in silent questioning, “Are you certain?”
As an answer, she turned the knob.
She entered confidently, sensing William close behind her. This room was entirely different from the previous two. While those rooms had spoken volumes with their impressive size and brilliant sights and sounds, this one spoke just as loudly of savoir vivre with a twist.
The room was much smaller, almost intimate, but not any less breathtaking. White marble walls and floor and a soft, sultry melody playing, set the stage for elegantly dressed patrons leisurely walking among seven equally exquisite living statues, positioned on raised platforms of marble scattered throughout the room.
“This is a feast for the senses. Is it not?”
“Yes.” Buffy responded in a faint whisper, yet her reply sounded deafening to her own ears.
“Shall we?” William gestured to the room with a tilt of his head, and he replaced his hand on her mid-back.
Buffy approached the first statue, a living rendition of David in his classic contrapposto pose, complete with a weapon casually slung over his shoulder. As with all the statues, every inch of faux “David’s” nudity was painted ivory, giving his flesh a marmoreal appearance. One by one, she approached each statue with an equal mix of admiration and titillation. William never left her side.
“May I show you my favorite, Buffy?”
William led them to the other side of the room. Most of the other living statues were portrayed by solitary people, but this was a couple, a man and woman in an intimate embrace. The man was lithe with broad shoulders and sweeping wings, clutching a shapely woman by her arm and the back of her neck as she halfheartedly pulled away from him. What drew Buffy’s attention was his intense expression, a mixture of seduction and possession.
“So beautiful.”
William responded to Buffy’s hushed reverence by lightly circling his fingertips over one spot on her back and moving closer. As he spoke, his breath fanned across her neck, making it near impossible for her to focus.
“He’s a Nephilim. A virile, ancient warrior, larger than life in sheer size and strength, and a giver of untold pleasures.” William’s silken voice reached in, bypassing all the walls she carefully erected, and shook her to her very core. Buffy felt herself faltering, losing sight of everything except him. It was only his next word that broke her from a freefall.
“Thirsty?”
Buffy could only nod dumbly and followed him to another statue standing on a marble platform in the middle of a large basin complete with a drain. From the fountainheads of small, clear tubes affixed to the statue’s shoulders, sparkling wine flowed in small rivulets over her breasts into the waiting glasses of the guests.
William grabbed two empty flutes, handed one to Buffy and brought his own under the stream. In spite of a pang of discomfort, she followed suit. When their glasses were full, he asked if she was hungry then led her over to a ceramic tray heavily laden with a wide array of fresh fruit held by a nude, ivory-painted woman.
Everything looked so sinfully delicious, but after some consideration, Buffy chose a small cluster of golden Muscat grapes. As soon as the first burst of sweetness hit her tongue, she ate them steadily one by one, letting out a soft moan with each bite.
With the final grape, Buffy’s attention moved from the hastily stripped stem to William and his apparent fixation with her mouth. Feeling suddenly self-conscious, she raised her hand to wipe away possible stray juice, but just ahead of her was William. He gradually dragged the pad of his thumb along her bottom lip, brought his thumb to his mouth and slowly suckled.
She’d never seen anything so erotic in her life.
Now having her full attention, William turned toward the tray and selected a blood orange. He skillfully tore away a section of the rind then sank his teeth into the exposed crimson flesh. As his tongue slowly gathered the clinging juices from his bottom lip, Buffy’s mind involuntarily flashed to last night’s dream—his deft tongue laving her nipple, teasing the sensitive flesh, until it was hard and demanding before he moved to the other nipple, giving it the same attention. Her arms straining in his tight hold—
“More?”
William’s single word brought her crashing back to reality. She was quickly losing control. Which was not an option.
“Um, no. I think I’ve had enough for tonight. Thank you, William.”
Giving him a tentative smile, Buffy set her sparkling wine and stripped grape stem off to the side on a small table and headed toward the exit. When she finally reached the outside, the cold air striking her face sobered her even further.
With renewed concern for Quinn returning, Buffy opened her clutch and pulled out her phone. To her dismay, there were still no missed calls. She decided right there and then the first thing on tomorrow’s agenda was getting a hold of Quinn. The second and even more importantly, was learning more about the one thing not found in Quinn’s or any other report: the ever puzzling and elusive William.
Author’s Note
Nephilim: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Nephilim