July 2013
The RhyDin Imperial Hotel

Her eyes flew open.

Sleeping was only easy for Jewell when she felt safe, and she never felt safe these days. Four months free from Faerie and she still woke up with a start, tearing herself from nightmares that might never go away. The soulless eyes of changelings. Her magic ripped from her chest. Children trapped in paintings. Her body sold to the highest bidder.

And then the next.

And the next.

And the next.

At first she had rebelled. She had dared to say no to her liege lady. Then she had closed her eyes. She pretended it was happening to someone else. That she was someone else. That she was anywhere else.

Then she had learned to enjoy it. She found, in time, that there was a thrill to the art of seduction. There was power in it. There was power in sex. In her body. Faerie took everything from her, but they couldn't take that. That power belonged to her no matter what. And she could use too. She could use it to get what she wanted.

Whatever she wanted.

Shifting onto her side, she looked over at the man lying on his stomach. Long dark hair fell over his face, obscuring his features. If she remembered correctly, they had been nice enough. A finely shaped nose, strong jaw, and laugh lines at the corners of his eyes. They were green. Maybe blue. It didn't matter. It wasn't important. What was important was the way he brushed the red hair from her face, the way he kissed her, and the way he said her name as he slid inside her.

She liked when they said her name. It gave meaning to the entire night: the dimly lit bar, the cheap drinks, his hand on her thigh, and the inevitable tumble in the dark.

It made her feel a little less alone.

For a brief moment, it even made her feel loved.

And that's all Jewell wanted.

She tried to cling to that feeling sometimes, but magic always disperses with the dawn. Oh well. She'd find it again. The faerie slipped out of bed, leaving the bedroom for the hotel suite's living area, not even bothering to don a robe. The fae knight sitting at the small breakfast table lowered his newspaper when she emerged. "Mira," he greeted her before lifting the paper up again to continue perusing an article on the latest Hydra fights.

"Merai." She strolled by him on her way to the bathroom, unabashed and unashamed. "Be a doll and make sure he's gone by the time I'm done with my shower."

((Written for the Hot Mess Anthology on December 12, 2016))