Yvette pulled back slightly, her body still pressed against his beneath the tangled sheets. She studied his face, her fingers tracing lazy patterns across his chest. His heart still raced from exertion—very welcome exertion.

  "I shouldn't spend the night." She stretched against him, then winced as she glanced at the bedside clock. "I have an early flight."

  Morthisal's arm tightened around her waist, pulling her closer into their warm cocoon. The hotel might be a 'dive' as Eddie liked to call it, but Tommy always provided fresh linen changes for each room.

  His own body felt pleasantly exhausted. "Stay," he murmured against her disheveled platinum hair. "You can wake up early. Set an alarm. I can set one as well."

  She considered this, her head resting in the crook of his shoulder. The sheets pooled around their entwined forms, and neither seemed inclined to move despite her protests. "I suppose..." She yawned, her body already surrendering to the comfortable lethargy. "A few hours of sleep wouldn't hurt. The finance guys might grumble, but they can wait a little longer if they want my backing." She chuckled lightly. "Yes. I'll stay on this lumpy bed."

  "You find it lumpy?"

  "I was teasing. I sleep on a mattress made to my specifications. Hours of measurements and tens of thousands of dollars later, and I now sleep on a bed that is about as warm and inviting as a slab of stone."

  "Do not discount the feeling of a stone slab after a day of hard…er…work." Morthisal chuckled.

  Instead of asking questions, Yvette laughed. "Maybe it would fix this kink in my back. It's been bothering me for a few days."

  "I can attempt to massage it, but must confess I am not well-versed. Still, my hands upon your flesh might be welcome."

  "Smooth talker." Yvette giggled. "It's okay, Vince. I'll get it taken care of tomorrow. I already have a massage appointment."

  "Excellent, dear Yvette." He pressed a kiss to her forehead, and she relaxed against his body.

  They fell silent again. The sounds from the pool below faded as evening settled over the motel. Morthisal held her and realized something strange had happened to him. He was happy. Genuinely happy. Conquering Hollywood could wait. The dark lord, who had terrorized kingdoms, found complete contentment in a shabby motel room with a beautiful woman in his arms.

  The next morning arrived too soon. Yvette's phone alarm chirped at five AM. She groaned and reached across him to silence it. As she pulled back, her lips brushed his.

  "I have to go."

  Morthisal sighed, but happily watched her naked form move through the room as she gathered her scattered clothes. Pale morning light filtered through the thin curtains, painting her skin in soft shades of gold.

  The water ran for several minutes. Steam drifted from under the door. While Yvette showered, Morthisal picked up his phone and checked for messages, finding a few from yet more talent agents. He knew he needed to get back to a few of them, even though Marty had advised against it. There was also another email from the hospital he had been brought to after his arrival in Vince's body. They wanted him to pay his share of the expenses that were not covered by insurance.

  "Pah," Morthisal said, and deleted the message. It could wait until another time. With nothing else to do, he put on a cat video. The first one that popped up in his feed was of a rather enormous orange cat batting things off of counters, much to the horror of their owners.

  "Show them no mercy, my feline friend," Morthisal cackled.

  When Yvette emerged, she wore a towel wrapped around her head and nothing else. Morthisal nearly dropped his phone.

  "What?" She asked innocently.

  When Morthisal found his voice, he said, "Your beauty struck me."

  "Smooth." Yvette grinned. Her eyes again took in the room. "No one should live like this. You know we could be staying at the Beverly Wilshire, or any number of fancy hotels. But I get it. You're immersed in the culture."

  Morthisal laughed. "That is a comfortable way to put it. If you would like to stay in a nicer hotel while in town, I will happily join you."

  "I'll take you up on that."

  They dressed in comfortable silence. Yvette pulled on her disguise—the wide-brimmed hat and large sunglasses that transformed her into Mary.

  Morthisal slid into a pair of cargo shorts, flipflops, and his Dark Lord Energy t-shirt.

  "Interesting shirt." Yvette pointed at the logo on his chest.

  The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

  Morthisal inclined his head.

  "You should market those when the movie comes out. Did you come up with the idea?"

  "I did."

  "Clever." She gathered her purse and jacket and slung them each over one arm.

  Morthisal met her at the door, and they turned to each other. Her kiss tasted like clean mint toothpaste.

  She stared at him. Something unspoken hung between them. He let the moment stand. Who knew how long until he saw Yvette again?

  "I will miss you," he confessed.

  "I'll miss you too."

  "When can we see each other again?"

  "Sooner than you think. I'm not leaving the country for another month. Once I wrap a few things up in Seattle, I'll come back." She held up her phone. "We can talk and message. Send me shots from the studio. I'd love to see you in action."

  "Last night wasn't enough?"

  Yvette put her hand against his chest, face reddening, and laughed. "No comment."

  They kissed at the door. Yvette adjusted her disguise and reached for the handle, then paused and turned back.

  "Were you serious about helping me out in your special way with a business deal?"

  "I was quite serious and would be delighted to assist you in any manner." It was Morthisals' turn to grin.

  "And you won't feel funny or guilty about it?"

  "Not in the least," Morthisal said with complete honesty.

  She kissed him again. "We're going to make a great team."

  "I believe we are already a team, Yvette."

  "I believe you're right."

  Morthisal stood at the window, hands clasped behind his back, as the black SUV pulled away from the curb. He remained there for several minutes after the vehicle disappeared around a corner.

  A knock at the door pulled him from his thoughts.

  Kenadee stood in the hallway dressed in bright yellow running shorts and a neon green tank top. "Morning, Vince! Looks like you had company. Your sister, right? You and your sister sure are loud. I'm not judging, or maybe I am. Shit, man. I love Game of Thrones just like everyone else."

  Morthisal's mouth dropped open as he tried to think of a rejoinder.

  "Anyway. I'm heading out for a short run. If you're not worn out from your sister's visit, do you want to run with me?"

  "Ah. My sister. Shall we say she is more of a friend and leave it at that? I appreciate your discretion."

  "Sure, but bro. Unless everyone in adjoining rooms is deaf, they all heard you two."

  So much for blasting him with a thread and making him forget, Morhtisal would have to hit the entire building, and that would take time and energy. Speaking of energy, he needed to top off his supply. Last night he had not worn his TENS machine. He could always put it on after he got a little exercise.

  "A run sounds like a fine plan, Kenadee. Allow me a moment to put on my socks and shoes."

  "That's 'Kenough' for me." Kenadee flashed a brilliant white smile.

  Morthisal dug out a pair of socks and decided he needed to do more shopping. He lacked many clothes. He also needed to use the little laundromat on the first floor, or risk jeopardizing his renewed relationship with Yvette. She would likely put up with some things, but malodorous laundry might not be one of them.

  Morthisal pulled on shorts and a t-shirt, then laced up his running shoes. He grabbed a water bottle from the mini fridge and joined Kenadee outside.

  They set out at a brisk pace through the neighborhood. Kenadee chatted about an audition he had later that week for a reality show about fitness influencers. Morthisal offered appropriate responses, but his mind wandered.

  He thought of Yvette. Her platinum hair spread across the pillow, face in the dim morning light, hot skin against his. The way they touched.

  "Vince! Vince, stop!"

  A hand grabbed his shoulder. Morthisal jolted back to awareness. He stood in the middle of an intersection. A delivery truck honked as it rolled past, the driver shouting something obscene out the window.

  Kenadee pulled him back to the sidewalk. "Dude, the light was red. You were about to walk right into traffic."

  Morthisal blinked and looked around. "My apologies. My mind was elsewhere."

  "Careful, man. You'll end up on the news instead of the screen, know what I mean?"

  "I know precisely what you mean."

  They continued to run for another five minutes. Morthisal's legs burned with each stride, and his chest heaved as he sucked in the warm morning air. Sweat soaked through his shirt and dripped down his temples.

  "Kenadee," he gasped. "I must turn back now."

  Kenadee stopped and jogged in place. He appeared to be barely winded. "Yeah. Yeah. No problem, my dude. Glad you made it this far. By next week, you'll be able to run 2 miles. Stay safe out there." Kenadee pointed at him. "And stay out of the middle of the street. Can't have you getting flattened before your big Hollywood break."

  "I shall endeavor to avoid such a fate."

  Kenadee flashed a thumbs-up and took off at a pace that would have required Morthisal to sprint. The neon green tank top disappeared around a corner within seconds.

  Morthisal jogged back for a minute before his body demanded mercy. He switched to a walk, hands planted on his hips, breathing hard. "Cursed diet," he muttered between breaths. "Cursed sedentary existence. Cursed mortal limitations."

  His previous diet of rich foods and comfortable living had left him woefully unprepared for this world's obsession with physical fitness. Not that his current vessel had been in excellent condition to begin with.

  As he approached the Hollywood Hacienda, something shifted in the air around him. A sensation like a distant magical echo made the hair on the back of his neck stand rigid. Goosebumps rippled across his arms despite the heat.

  The sensation didn't belong in this world.

  Morthisal stopped and turned slowly, scanning the rooftops. His eyes swept across the faded storefronts, the cracked sidewalks, the peeling paint of a pawn shop called Lucky's Treasures.

  There.

  On the flat roof of the pawn shop, partially obscured by an ancient air conditioning unit, crouched a figure. Was that the same figure who had fled with the paparazzi? It was hard to tell from this distance.

  The person jerked back and vanished behind the AC unit.

  Morthisal's jaw clenched. He set off toward the building at a brisk walk that quickly became a jog. Pain shot through his calves. His lungs protested. He ignored both and pushed harder.

  His phone buzzed against his leg. Once. Twice. Three times in rapid succession.

  "What now!"

  He yanked the device from his pocket as he made for the pawn shop. The screen displayed a message from Marty, written entirely in capital letters:

  VINCE WE NEED TO GET TO THE STUDIO ASAP. EMERGENCY IN THE STUDIO. MEET ME OUTSIDE THE HOTEL IN TEN.

  Morthisal glanced between the phone and the pawn shop. The mysterious man had already disappeared. Tracking him down would take time—time he apparently didn't have.

  He frowned and turned back toward the motel, breaking into the fastest run his exhausted body could manage. Ten minutes meant he had little time to shower, change, and appear presentable. The man from Mythralon would have to wait.

  Soon, they would have words.