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The university pub was crowded. It was the beginning of term, so those students who survived on a parental allowance were flush with money and keen to spend it. In turn the influx of cashed-up students attracted more than the usual number of under-age patrons with fake IDs, eager to engage in their own dangerous liaison with one of the magic boys. The air was thick with the smoke from hundreds of cigarettes and joints, their acrid smell mingling with the cloying scent of body odour partially masked by dozens of perfumes, and the lingering reek of stale alcohol. It was, in essence, a typical university pub.
Mozus Trein sat with his back against the bar. He cut a striking figure. Handsome, debonair, clearly aristocratic (despite his country no longer having an aristocracy) and clearly rich. He was flanked by two (nearly) 18-year-old girls with whom he had been flirting most of the evening and with whom he was probably going to spend the night. He was half-turned towards the barman, one of his current friends-with-benefits, who was providing much-needed adult conversation – and discounted drinks!
The barman touched the back of his hand and placed a new drink on the bar for him. “Moze” he nodded towards the drink.
“Thanks, but…”
He smiled. “Not me, love. Courtesy of the young man at table 6.”
Mozus turned back around and tried to scour the room. Like most pubs it had pools of very bright light that made the shadowed areas even more shadowy. Table 6 was in one of the most shadowy, one of the most secluded. Unlike pretty much every other table, there was only one occupant. Mozus peered through the gloom, trying not to look like he was staring. The stranger was drop-dead gorgeous! Mozus could feel himself harden just looking. The young man lifted his head and looked straight at him with brilliant red eyes.
“Are you drunk enough not to judge what I’m doing?” The voice was rich with an accent he couldn’t quite place. He looked around, but no-one seemed to have been speaking to him. He looked back at the stranger.
I wonder, he thought. Then Are you high enough to excuse that I’m ruined? ‘Cos I am ruined!
The stranger raised his glass in acknowledgement, smiled and nodded towards the empty chair at the table. Mozus raised his own glass in response and rose to make his way across the room.
“Are we going?” one of the girls asked. “Can we get something to eat, first? Hey! Wait for us!”
“Ladies,” the barman put out a hand to stop them. “I think he has received a better offer. Oh, stop pouting! There are plenty of other rich young men here who would be glad of your company.”
“Thank you for accepting my invitation. I hoped my instincts were not wrong; you seemed very comfortable in the young ladies’ company.”
“They’re pleasant enough, and I was planning to spend the night with them, but your invitation…interested me.”
The stranger laughed and flicked his long, dark hair, revealing bright red streaks and pointed ears.
Ah! “Are you from the Valley of Thorns?”
“Indeed! Here on…business. Lilia Vanrouge, at your…’” he looked Mozus up and down and licked his lips, “service. And you, I think, are from Pyroxene?”
Mozus inclined his head. He was finding it difficult to speak. That voice! Those eyes! “M, Mozus” he stammered. “Mozus Trein.”
“No honorific? A younger son, perhaps?”
“Not for some time. The family was noble – once – before the…”
“Ah, yes! The regrettable political situation. No matter. You are a student at the university, yes?”
“Yes.”
“What are you reading?”
“Humanities. History and languages, mostly. Also politics, and music.”
“I, too, am interested in the interactions of cultures. Their ‘intercourse’ you might say.” The stranger – Lilia – was lightly stroking his hand with one long, manicured nail. It sent electricity coursing around his body. His brain was so overwhelmed with desire that he couldn’t think straight and he knew that he was rock-hard. Lilia gently took his hand and lifted it to his lips. Mozus let out a gasp and just managed to stifle a moan. Lilia smiled, turned his hand over and kissed the palm, letting his tongue swirl around the soft, sensitive flesh. This time Mozus couldn’t stop a loud moan. He had never met anyone who affected him like this. He had never been seduced so entirely!
Is it loud enough? he wondered, ‘cos my body is calling for you.
He heard Lilia’s response in his head: I need someone to do the things I do.
Lilia started kissing his wrist, scraping two sharp fangs against the flesh so that he drew two tiny drops of blood. He lapped them, then placed a finger over the wounds to heal them. “I wouldn’t want to leave any marks on such perfect skin. At least, not where they’d be visible.”
Another loud moan, and they leant into each other, lips locked, tongues twisting and exploring.
“Make love to me?” He was never so forward, so obvious. What was this man doing to him?
“Yes! But not here. You deserve so much more than a sordid quickie in the back room of a bar. I make no promises; I can’t do golden rings; but I’ll give you everything, tonight.” He stood up and held out his hand to Mozus. ‘Is it late enough for you to come and stay over?”
Mozus nodded and stood up, a little unsteadily due to the drugs, the alcohol and his hard-on.
They made their way into the warm summer night. The crescent moon provided soft light as they headed to a secluded part of the city. A large, converted chateau emerged from a densely wooded copse.
“Would you like to stay?” Lilia asked again, taking Mozus in his arms and waltzing him across the expansive lawn. “‘Cos we’re free to love, so tease me!”
“Oh, Gods!” Mozus moaned softly as Lilia drew him even closer. He could feel his body under his clothes, and what a body! “I'm heating up, energy's taking control! I'm speeding up; my heartbeat's dancing alone, ‘cos I need your green light.”
Lilia nodded. “You have it! Day and night. Say that you're mine?
“Oh Gods, yes!”
Lilia smiled, took his hand and led him to the base of one of the turrets. He opened the barbican door. “Welcome, Mozus Trein. Magic is in the air, there ain't no science here, so come, get your everything, tonight.”