Elven Surrender

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Silver Delacroix wiped her palm against the soft leather of her pants. The magi were making her nervous tonight. Powerful or weak, they glided through the nightclub like sharks in search of prey. More than once she’d seen one of them brush against a witch, as if testing for the presence of something beyond a willingness to couple.

She’d ignored it the first few times she’d seen it. Sorcerers—or magi as they liked to call themselves—might have an endless thirst for magical knowledge and a willingness to sell their services to anyone with the coin to pay for it, regardless of right and wrong, but they came to the club for the same reason coven-bound warlocks, the male counterpart to witches, did—to sate the needs of the body, or one particular organ anyway, and not the mind.

That was the usual case, but tonight… Something was different.

Whatever had brought the magi out in such numbers, the women, other than the nulls—humans without magic—should be safe enough. And even then, the nulls only had to worry about the sorcerers casting a spell and taking them as brides.

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