9. Chapter 9
Chapter 9
Estate of the Heart
Aubrey
Mrs. Brindlewood has barely been gone five minutes, and already the silence in the shop feels thick enough to cut. I’m pretending to catalog the baseball cards while sneaking glances at Sundar, who’s doing an equally terrible job of appearing focused on his ledger. His tail keeps doing this restless little coil- and-release motion that’s frankly adorable, though I’d never tell him that.
We both know what needs to happen next. The Talk. Capital T. The one where we address whatever this is between us, preferably without me spontaneously combusting from embarrassment. There’s no avoiding it after Mrs. Brindlewood’s less-than-subtle interference, complete with knowing looks and pointed comments about storms.
I’m gathering my courage to break the silence when the shop’s phone rings. Sundar hesitates, then lets it go to the answering machine. His voice plays through the speaker: “You’ve reached The Golden Scale Pawn Shop. Please leave a detailed message after the tone.”
“Sundar, this is Gloria Blackhorn.” An elderly woman’s voice crackles through the speaker. “I’m calling about my brother Marcus’s estate appraisal. We expected you over an hour ago, and given the circumstances of his passing—”
Sundar’s hood flares wide as he lunges for the phone, all pretense of calm vanishing. “Miss Blackhorn, my sincere apologies—”
I watch his expression shift from controlled panic to genuine distress as he listens, his tail coiling tighter beneath with each passing second. When he hangs up, those golden eyes are filled with such self-recrimination that I want to wrap my arms around him and tell him everything’s fine. Which is probably inappropriate given we haven’t even discussed Friday’s… ‘events,’ one might call them.
“I can’t believe my carelessness,” he says, running a hand over his face. His hood is still partially flared in agitation. “Marcus Blackhorn was a renowned minotaur scholar, and I promised his family weeks ago that I would personally appraise his collection of artifacts. Today. And I… I forgot.”
The way he says ‘forgot’ like it’s a personal failure makes my heart ache. “You’ve been distracted,” I offer softly, then feel my cheeks redden when his golden eyes snap to mine.
He merely nods. We both know exactly what distracted him. The only thing I’m not sure about is whether he considers it a mistake or not…
He clears his throat, scales shifting as he gathers himself. “Well. It appears I might need your assistance, given that it might be difficult hiring a ride on such short notice…” He pauses. “Though I hesitate to ask, given our current situation.”
“Short notice? Ride?” My brain catches up with his meaning. “Wait, you need someone to drive you there?”
He gives me a defeated sigh. “I never saw the necessity of learning to operate a vehicle. My own methods of transportation have always sufficed.”
I try not to smile at how adorably defensive he sounds. “Your own methods being…?”
“Moving quickly through the shadows, of course.” He straightens his already perfect posture. “Though that becomes problematic when transporting potentially fragile artifacts, or going long distances.”
Okay. So he needs a ride, and he wants to ask me but doesn’t want to put me on the spot. Or maybe he’s a bit too prideful to ask for help. I must not forget he’s an ancient legendary being, after all.
One who for some bewildering reason is attracted to me.
“I’d be happy to drive you,” I say, maybe a little too quickly. “I mean, my car’s not fancy, but she’s reliable. Mostly. The check engine light’s been on since 2019, but my mechanic swears that’s just her personality.”
Something softens in Sundar’s expression, and for a moment I think he might say something about Friday, about us, about whatever this tension is between us. Instead, he says, “You don’t have to do this. I can find another solution—”
“Sundar.” I cut him off gently. “I want to help. Besides, what kind of assistant would I be if I let you down on your first crisis since hiring me?”
He smiles slightly, before forcing himself to take on a more serious expression. “Very well. Though I should warn you, the estate is nearly an hour outside the city.”
An hour alone in a car with Sundar. An hour of pretending Friday didn’t happen while being extremely aware of his presence. An hour of—
“That’s fine,” I say, my voice only slightly squeaky. “Just let me grab my phone charger. And maybe some snacks? Travel games? A mix tape?”
The corner of his mouth twitches as he repeats, “It’s only an hour outside the city… But I always wondered what a road trip experience might be like.”
“I’m on it!” I say, grabbing my purse. “Let’s hit the corner store for road snacks, then we’re off to the races!”
Maybe I’m being a little too enthusiastic, but I think both of us are looking for any excuse to prolong The Talk .
“One condition,” he says, moving to lock up the shop’s display cases. “No country music.”
“Hey, some of those songs are actually—” I catch his expression and laugh. “Okay, fine. But I’m not promising anything about pop music.”
He mulls it over, then relents, “I suppose I’ll survive.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re pulling out of the corner store parking lot with a bag of snacks I insisted were “road trip essentials” and Sundar looking both amused and concerned at my selection of gummy worms and energy drinks. The city unfolds around us as I navigate through familiar streets, trying not to think about how this is the first time we’ve been truly alone since… well, since Friday.
The late morning sun catches on his scales, sending little flashes of gold dancing across the dashboard. I pretend not to notice how the confined space of my Corolla makes his presence feel even more overwhelming than usual. I have to focus extra hard on not running any red lights.
As we hit the highway, the sprawl of Houston gradually begins to thin. Strip malls give way to scattered buildings, then to open spaces dotted with wildflowers. Spring in Texas means bluebonnets, and they carpet the roadside in waves of vibrant blue.
The sight usually fills me with peace, but today I’m too aware of how Sundar has somehow managed to arrange himself with surprising grace in my passenger seat, his tail coiled in intricate loops across the back seat while maintaining perfect posture up front.
I sneak another glance at him. The sight of him—ancient, powerful, deadly serious—sitting next to a bag of Hot Cheetos is probably the highlight of my week. A ray of sunlight catches his profile, and I’m struck by how the golden undertones in his scales match the morning light perfectly, like he’s somehow absorbing it.
“Your car handles well,” he says, breaking the comfortable silence that had settled between us. The formal comment is so perfectly him that I have to bite back a smile.
“Thanks. She’s not much, but she’s got heart.” I pat the steering wheel affectionately.
“Heart is all that matters,” he says simply, and when I dare another glance, I catch him watching me with an intensity that makes me grip the steering wheel just a little harder.
“So,” I say, fiddling with my Spotify playlists more than strictly necessary, “what exactly are we walking into? I mean, besides a minotaur scholar’s estate?”
His expression grows thoughtful, and I watch from the corner of my eye as he absently strokes the length of tail draped across his lap.
“Marcus Blackhorn was unique,” he finally says. “He dedicated his life to studying the interactions between monsters and humans throughout history. His collection is said to contain artifacts from some of the most significant mixed-species couples in recorded history.”
Something in his tone makes me glance over. “That sounds fascinating,” I manage.
“It is.” He pauses, and I can tell he’s choosing his next words carefully. “Particularly given recent developments in monster-human relations. The Great Unveiling making it less of a secret now.”
Oh. We’re definitely not talking about just historical artifacts anymore. Friday’s memories threaten to overwhelm me yet again as I think about how his tail had felt wrapped around my knees, the burning intensity of his gaze as he—
A horn blares, and I realize I’ve drifted slightly into the next lane. Sundar’s tail twitches, but he doesn’t comment on my driving. Instead, he reaches for my phone, which is still chirping through various Bluetooth connection attempts.
“Perhaps some music would be appropriate,” he says. “Though I admit, I’m not familiar with most modern genres.”
“Well, then,” I say, grateful for the shift in conversation, “prepare yourself for an education. Just tap ‘Road Trip Mix’ and—”
The opening notes of “Mr. Brightside” fill the car, and Sundar’s hood flares slightly in surprise. “This is energetic.”
“Just wait until we hit the ABBA portion of the playlist.”
His expression of mild alarm makes me laugh, and some of the tension eases from the car. The Texas countryside rolls past, all spring-green and morning light, dotted with those waves of bluebonnets. A few white-tailed deer graze in a distant field, and overhead, a red-tailed hawk circles lazily.
“The human world moves so quickly,” Sundar says suddenly, his voice thoughtful. “Sometimes I forget how much beauty there is in these brief moments.”
I slow the car slightly as we pass through a particularly stunning stretch of wildflowers. Next to me, Sundar’s tail shifts in what I’m learning to recognize as contentment—a slow, graceful undulation that’s like the waves of the ocean.
“These flowers,” he says, leaning slightly closer to the window. “They return every spring?”
“Like clockwork.” I smile, remembering childhood road trips. “Though they only bloom for a few weeks. My mom used to say that makes them more precious—because they’re temporary.”
Something flickers across his expression. “Yes,” he says softly. “She must be a wise woman.”
The weight of unspoken words fills the car. I focus on driving, trying not to read too much into his comment or the way his tail has unconsciously stretched closer to my seat. It’s distracting in the best and worst ways.
“Would you like a gummy worm?” I blurt out, immediately wanting to sink through the floor.
But Sundar simply smiles. “I’ve never tried one.”
“Never?” I reach blindly into the bag between us. “That’s practically criminal. Here.”
I hold out a red and yellow worm, doing my best to ignore how intimate it feels to offer food to him. His fingers brush mine as he takes it, and when he studies the candy with the same intense focus he usually reserves for valuable artifacts, I have to bite back a grin.
“The texture is… interesting,” he observes, and his tongue flicks out briefly to taste the surface, before giving it a bite. “Hm. Sweet, but not unpleasantly so.”
The playlist shifts to something slower—a soft indie song I’d forgotten about. Its gentle melody fills the comfortable silence between us as miles of Texas countryside roll past. A bunch of longhorns graze in a distant field, their horns catching the light.
“Thank you,” Sundar says suddenly. “Not just for driving, but for… understanding the urgency. Most humans might have hesitated to spend a day alone with—” He stops himself, but I hear the unspoken words. With a monster.
“Hey.” I dare to glance at him, catching those golden eyes. “I trust you.”
The words hang between us, heavy with meaning. His tail coils tighter, and I feel the atmosphere in the car shift into something more charged.
“Perhaps you shouldn’t,” he says quietly. “After Friday—”
My hands tighten on the steering wheel. “Do you regret it?”
“No.” The word comes out like a growl, making heat pool in my core. “But I regret not discussing it properly. Not explaining… certain things about my nature. About what it means when a naga—”
A truck honks as it passes us, making me jump. I realize I’ve let the car drift again, too caught up in his words and the intensity crackling between us.
“What it means when a naga…?” I prompt, trying to keep my voice steady while correcting our course.
He shifts in his seat as he chooses his words. “When we… feel deeply for someone, it manifests physically. The need to coil, to protect, to…” His tail twitches. “To claim.”
Oh.
Well, that sure seems to imply something.
“Is that why you kept wrapping around me?” I ask. “When we…”
“Yes.” His voice has a rich, dangerous quality. “Though I tried to maintain control. To resist the urge to bind you completely, and…” He stops himself.
“What if…” I swallow hard, gathering my courage. “What if I didn’t want you to resist?”
His sharp intake of breath is oddly satisfying. Before he can respond, we pass a sign announcing our destination is only twenty miles ahead. The reminder of our actual purpose today brings me back to reality.
“Actually, if we talk about this much more, I probably will crash,” I say quickly, though my voice sounds breathless even to my own ears.
Sundar nods sagely. “Yes, perhaps it’d be better to have this discussion when we aren’t in mortal danger.”
“Hey, my driving isn’t that bad.” We both share a smile, and it does feel good that we at least broached the topic. But now would be a good time to talk about literally anything else. “So,” I begin awkwardly. “Tell me more about Marcus Blackhorn. What exactly are we appraising here?”
Sundar takes a moment to collect himself, his tail doing that adorable coil-and-release thing again. “Marcus dedicated his life to proving that monster-human relationships weren’t just possible, but natural. He collected letters exchanged between monsters and humans, artifacts that symbolized their love…” He pauses, his voice softening. “Each story he documented challenged what we believed impossible.”
“That sounds amazing. And kind of romantic.”
“Indeed.” He pauses, then adds softly, “His work helped many of us believe that after the Great Unveiling, perhaps… perhaps we could find acceptance among humans. It helped knowing that there were already quite a few who already accepted us in the past.”
The vulnerability in his voice makes my chest ache. I want to reach over and take his hand, to tell him he never has to hide anything from me. Instead, I say, “Well, I think Mrs. Brindlewood is living proof of that. The way she talks about her knight…”
“Yes.” Something warm enters his tone. “Though she can be overwhelming at times, her story gives hope to many. The choice she made—”
“Choice?”
“We who live for centuries can choose to align our life force with a mortal mate,” he says carefully. “To share not just our life, but our lifespan. Mrs. Brindlewood made the choice to remain ancient after her knight passed, which…” He pauses. “Well, it’s a valid decision, I suppose. She gets to watch her great, great—however many greats—grandchildren grow. Though I think I would make the opposite choice.”
The implications hit me like a wave. “You mean… you’d want to age like a human?”
“‘Age’ implies decline,” he says, his voice taking on an unexpectedly gentle tone. “I’ve lived long enough to know that time means nothing without purpose. Without connection.” He pauses, and I see him reach for another gummy worm—his fifteenth, and yes, I’m counting. “What use are centuries if they’re spent merely observing life rather than living it?”
My heart thunders against my ribs. Is he saying what I think he’s saying?
The way he’s looking at me, all intense golden eyes and careful vulnerability, makes me think he is.
That maybe all this tension between us isn’t just about the present—it’s about a future. A shared one.
I open my mouth to respond, but what do you even say to something like that? ‘Hey, thanks for considering giving up centuries of life for me of all people’?
Instead, I focus on driving while stealing glances at him, watching as he discovers his newfound addiction to gummy worms. Every thirty seconds, his hand dips into the bag with careful precision, like he’s trying to maintain his dignity while absolutely demolishing gas station candy. It’s adorable and surreal and somehow makes my heart squeeze even tighter.
The countryside continues to roll past as I try to process everything, but before I really can, the private road to the estate appears exactly where Sundar’s directions indicated, marked by ancient oak trees creating a natural archway.
As I turn down the road, the house reveals itself slowly—first a glimpse of copper-green roof through the leaves, then weathered stone walls, until finally the full sprawling estate spreads before us, beautiful in that slightly intimidating way that old money tends to be.
Pulling into the curved driveway, I feel a flutter of uncertainty. The moment I cut the engine, the quiet seems to press in around us, broken only by the rustle of Sundar fishing out what must be his thirtieth gummy worm.
“Nervous?” he asks, and I notice he’s unconsciously shifted closer.
“Maybe a little,” I admit. “I’ve never helped appraise a legendary collection before.”
“You’ll do wonderfully,” he says with a conviction that makes something warm bloom in my chest. He leans closer, and for a moment I think he might kiss me. Instead, his tail gives my leg the gentlest squeeze—a promise for later—before he straightens up and hands me the last remaining gummy worm with such solemn ceremony that I can’t help but laugh.
Right. Focus on the task at hand. Even if my skin is tingling where his scales brushed against me, and even if I can’t stop thinking about how he basically just admitted he’d consider sharing a mortal lifespan for the right person, and even if that last gummy worm somehow feels like the most romantic gesture I’ve ever received.
Oh man. This is going to be a very long day.