The dark purple fae beneath him arched her back, claws digging into the silk sheets as she cried out in pleasure. Lysander Silvermoon moved mechanically above her, his powerful frame going through the motions while his mind wandered elsewhere entirely.
Her violet skin gleamed with perspiration, her pointed ears twitching as she whispered his name like a prayer.
He felt nothing.
Absolutely nothing.
This was the fifth woman this week, and it was only Wednesday morning. Each encounter had been the same, desperate attempts to feel something, anything, that might prove to himself that he was normal.
The fae woman's breathing hitched as she approached her peak, but Lysander simply stopped. He pulled away from her abruptly, ignoring her confused whimper as he swung his long legs over the side of the bed. His silver hair cascaded down his bare shoulders like the finest silk, and he could feel her hungry gaze tracking the hard lines of his body.
"Lysander?" Her voice was breathless, confused. "What's wrong? Don't you want to—"
"We're done here." His voice was arctic, final. He reached for his discarded pants, pulling them on. From his jacket pocket, he retrieved a small leather pouch and dropped it onto the mahogany nightstand with a careless flick of his wrist. The auric coins inside clinked together musically.
The fae woman sat up, the sheet pooling around her waist as she stared at the payment. "Will I... will I see you again? You were so very sturdy, so—"
"No."
He didn't even look at her as he shrugged into his crisp white shirt, fingers working the buttons. "Let yourself out whenever you're ready."
His phone buzzed insistently from the desk where he'd abandoned it earlier. Seven missed calls from his assistant, Rebecca, and a string of increasingly frantic text messages. The latest one made him pause:
New intern has been waiting for TWO HOURS. It's 10 AM. Where are you???
Lysander glanced at his Rolex, solid gold, naturally, and cursed under his breath in ancient Elvish. He'd completely lost track of time, not that the meaningless encounter had been worth it anyway. Nothing ever was anymore.
He grabbed his jacket and phone, ignoring the fae woman's lingering stare as she watched him prepare to leave. "The door locks automatically," he said without warmth, then stepped out of the penthouse suite without another word.
The elevator ride down to the parking garage gave him time to compose himself, to slip back into the mask he'd worn for decades. By the time he slid behind the wheel of his matte black Aston Martin, he was once again the untouchable Lysander Silvermoon, CEO, empire builder, the elf who commanded respect from kings and cowered from no one.
The drive to Silvermoon Industries took exactly twelve minutes through the heart of the Aether district. The towering glass and steel building rose like a dark spear into the cloudy sky, its sleek surface reflecting the organized chaos of the city below.
His name was emblazoned in silver letters across the top three floors, a reminder to everyone who truly held power in this realm.
The moment his car pulled up to the private entrance, valets materialized to handle the vehicle.
Lysander strode through the revolving doors calmly, his six-foot-four frame cutting an imposing figure in his perfectly tailored charcoal suit. His silver hair was pulled back in a low ponytail, revealing the sharp angles of his face and those piercing gray eyes that had been making lesser beings tremble for centuries.
Workers scattered like startled birds as he passed, offering respectful bows without quite meeting his gaze. He was magnificent and terrifying in equal measure, beautiful in the way that only truly dangerous things could be.
"Mr. Silvermoon," a breathless fae receptionist called out as he passed her desk. She had cotton-candy pink hair and was batting her eyelashes so hard they might take flight. "I was wondering if you'd like to grab drinks after—"
The look he gave her could have frozen hellfire. She immediately ducked her head and busied herself with shuffling papers, her cheeks flushing crimson with embarrassment.
Disgust rolled through him in waves, though he couldn't quite pinpoint why.
She was attractive by any standard, curves in all the right places, that ethereal fae beauty that had once been enough to distract him. So why did the thought of touching her make his skin crawl?
Why didn't any of them satisfy him anymore? Even kissing women had become a chore, something to endure rather than enjoy. When had that changed?
Maybe you're attracted to—
No. He slammed that thought down with the force of two centuries of practice, burying it so deep it couldn't claw its way back to the surface. He wasn't. He couldn't be. He just hadn't found the right person yet, that was all.
Someone who could challenge him, match his intensity, make him feel alive again.
The elevator whisked him up to the top floor in seconds, the familiar ding announcing his arrival. More workers bowed as he passed, their faces carefully neutral but their body language screaming their awareness of his foul mood.
His assistant Rebecca, an elf, looked up from her desk with obvious relief, her graying hair slightly mussed from what had undoubtedly been a stressful morning. "Thank god you're here. The intern has been waiting since eight, and I've been running out of excuses—"
"Where is he?" Lysander's voice was clipped, professional, giving nothing away of the chaos beneath the surface.
"Your office. I gave him some filing to keep busy, but—"
Lysander was already moving, pushing through the heavy oak doors to his private domain. He stepped inside, expecting to find some bumbling college kid hunched over a stack of papers.
Instead, his eyes widened as they landed on the most beautiful human he'd ever seen.
The young man was bent over Lysander's desk, completely absorbed in organizing what appeared to be financial reports. His golden brown hair fell in soft waves across his forehead, and when he looked up at the sound of the door, Lysander was struck speechless by the most incredible pair of warm brown eyes he'd ever encountered.
The human, the intern, immediately straightened and offered a nervous smile that made something dangerous and primal stir to life in Lysander's chest.
"Mr. Silvermoon? I'm Adrian Bennett, your new intern. I'm so sorry for the wait, I know you must be incredibly busy..."
That voice. Sweet, slightly uncertain, with just the hint of a blush creeping up his neck.
Oh my.