When Damian had arrived at Nevada Ashes, the gray walls felt almost like coming home. But going in through the gates was an entirely different story from going home to Montana Border. Here, the humans were friendly, though some of the jokes were crude. A few recommendations on who to try and who did what for the least amount of money. They barely took a look at his false ID, just copied the name into the computer for the visitor records and handed it back to him. He was almost annoyed—that ID was a work of art, the best the government could produce.

But then he was through into a sort of courtyard, bounded on three sides by multi-story buildings, the gate behind him making up the fourth. A fountain made watery music in the space in front of each one—the Lady Medeina holding out a jug that poured water in front of one, a moonscape with a deer drinking from a stream in front of the next, the Lord of Wolves in his wolf form standing on a waterfall in front of the third, and what looked like the moon itself with water pouring down over its curves in front of the fourth. Carved into the concrete of the pools at the base of each was a name.

The third one, the one paying homage to the Lord Lysoon, was his goal. He took a short, calming breath, and headed for the door.

Inside was much cooler than out. Prettier too, as much as he was a judge of such things. But it felt peaceful inside, like he’d just stepped into a quiet grove with sun and a breeze and sheltering trees. The walls were painted a grayed blue that somehow made the hall feel warm and welcoming despite the cool colors. The furniture and the trim around the walls and doors were dull white and pewter and glass and looked both expensive and comfortable.

But it was the smell that stopped him in his tracks and made him take in a deep breath, pulling the air in through his mouth so he could savor it through the vomeronasal organ in the roof of his mouth. Home.

“It’s beautiful, isn’t it?” a woman said beside him.

Damian turned to stare at her and only then realized that he looked like a human struck dumb by the place. He snapped his mouth shut, then remembered he was supposed to be human here. “Yes. I wasn’t expecting this.”

She laughed lightly and beautifully, her red-brown hair flowing softly around her shoulders. She was wearing a dress of the same blue as the walls, only darker, and it caressed the curves of her body in a way that made Damian briefly doubt his choice of companion tonight. “My name is Jacinta,” she cooed and took his arm to move him away from the door. “Are you browsing tonight or did you have someone in mind?”

“I, uh, have an appointment? I think?” Go ahead, Damian, make yourself sound like even more of an idiot.

“Oh, I love a man who thinks ahead.” She drew him aside to a podium and touched the surface, bringing up some sort of scheduling software. “May I ask what name the reservation was made under?”

Reservation. Like he was going out to dinner. “David Walker.”

Her fingers danced across the screen like dragonflies and then she smiled. “Your first time with us? You’re a lucky man, David Walker. Salem is one of our more popular omegas and he’s still in heat. You’ll be glad of the block of time you booked.”

“Oh.” He hadn’t expected that.

“Come, I’ll take you up to the lounge on the third floor, you can have a drink, relax. Salem will be along shortly.” She led him down a hallway, past a large room with a bar at one end, filled with tiny round tables scattered over a floor that did a damn good job of looking like marble. At the end of the hallway was a wide curved staircase, but she led him to the side, to an elevator tucked in under the curve of the stairs.

He didn’t know what to say, but she didn’t seem to expect conversation from him. Her light chatter filled him in on what he could expect upstairs, laid out some of the house’s rules without sounding severe, and encouraged him to enjoy himself tonight. “After all, an omega’s heat only comes around once a year.”

Not true—intel on some of the other packs had indicated that they had some omegas who had two, but it was unusual. Damian had decided not to volunteer any information to his human employers about True Omegas and myths surrounding them. Because an omega had no business in his kind of business—he wasn’t going to lead the humans to them.

They stepped out of the elevator into a beautifully decorated lobby, a vase full of flowers directly opposite. The colors up here were all gray: steel, pewter, silver. A mirror stretched up toward the ceiling behind the flowers. He stared at himself for a moment in it, then looked away.

What was he doing?

He had a moment of panic that he hadn’t brought condoms, then remembered he was in a brothel. They’d have to have them on hand, for when they had shifter customers. Or maybe they used something else—his…booking…would know. He’d just follow the omega’s lead.

She led him to the right and then to the right again, into a room ringed with comfortable couches and elegant little spindle-legged chairs. More flowers were scattered around the room here and an open cabinet revealed a variety of liquor bottles and a row of heavy glasses with a large S etched into the side of each of them.

“Can I get you a drink?” Jacinta asked. She ran a hand down the front of the bar and smiled.

“No. Thank you,” he said, still standing in the middle of the room like he was lost. Maybe he was; it wouldn’t be that surprising. If he wasn’t lost, he wouldn’t be here, would he?

“It’s okay, Jacinta,” said a quiet musical voice from the door. “I’ll take it from here.”

Damian spun at the words and then his entire body froze. The pictures, even the video on the website hadn’t done Salem justice. It was the eyes more than anything, smoke blue and bottomless, but the smooth skin and lithe, well-kept body made Damian’s instincts go wild. He wanted to touch the other shifter, hold him and see how well his hand fit into the small of the other man’s back. Pull their bodies together and explore the muscle hinted at under the soft drape of the rich carmine cloth that clung his curves and angles. Make that voice scream his name, his real name.

Such a bad idea. And yet, he didn’t run away when Salem moved toward him, hand outstretched to shake one of Damian’s. “I’m Salem,” the omega said and his voice sent shivers over Damian’s skin. “You must be David.” He let go of Damian’s hand to run light fingers over Damian’s chest, sucking in a sudden breath. “Are you sure you wouldn’t enjoy maybe a five hour session?” He smiled up at Damian, need and that omega desire that had no match anywhere shining in those pool-like eyes. “I’m certain I would like a five-hour session.”

He’s a prostitute, he has to say those things. But they felt real. The emotion felt real. He could smell the omega’s arousal, see the evidence of it in the bulge at the front of his trousers.

“Why don’t we see how we get on,” Damian finally croaked out and tried not to pay attention to the way his heart bounded at Salem’s answering smile.

“Of course. Then let’s not waste any time.” Salem wound himself around Damian’s arm and turned toward the door. “Why don’t we go someplace a little more private. And comfortable.”