CHAPTER FIVE
Lukendevener
The door of Slice of Life opens, puffing out warm air that smells of garlic and tomatoes. A high cry of “Pizza!” echoes through the restaurant, and I almost turn away, but the growling of my stomach urges me forward.
Winter on Earth is colder and longer than any such season in Faerie, especially outside the bubble of warmth Severin created around Ferndale Falls.
It’s curtailed my normal ability to hunt for food.
Plus, humans are everywhere, disturbing the game animals.
Ferndale Falls might be surrounded by forest, but it isn’t the deep forest of Faerie.
There are deer, though not in the numbers a dragon requires.
I hunted the night before—I needed to let out my frustration at being trapped by the little witch’s spell somehow—but I can’t hunt every night, so I’ve been reduced to eating cooked food like a bipedal fae.
I’ll never admit I actually quite like it.
Whereas my dragon form craves nothing but meat, it turns out my weredragon form enjoys a wide variety of tastes and textures.
A flock of pixies flies from the kitchen, carrying a pizza tray between them. They deposit it on one of the tables with another joyful cry of “Pizza!”
Once done, one of the pixies breaks away from the others to hover in front of my face. Smaller than my hand, her skin, hair, and moth wings glow a distinctive light blue. Even her clothing matches the color, made from the leaves of a Faerie blue birch.
“Lukendevener,” Blue shrieks, pleased I’ve succumbed to her restaurant’s charms once again. “What will you have tonight?”
“What do you think?” I growl.
“Meat lovers, it is!” She does a delighted spin, then streaks toward the kitchen to place my order.
“To go!” I yell after her, then stand, arms crossed, leaning one shoulder against the wall, that wing shifting toward the center of my back.
Golden walls wrap the wide room, the bottoms painted with a mural of plant life, creating a magical forest caught at sunset, when the sky blazes with the warmest colored sunlight.
Shadow fae fill most of the square wooden tables dotted throughout the open space.
Tall and lean and beautiful, they resemble their elfin ancestors except for one thing: the shadow magic swirling across their skin in black tattoos, ready to unfurl into wings or reaching tendrils.
A few tables of humans are mixed in, and my magic reaches out instinctively yet feels nothing. They aren’t witches. They eat and talk, completely oblivious to the magical beings all around them due to the disguising glamour that protects the entire town from the non-magical.
That same spell keeps them from seeing my horns, wings, and tail.
A small snarl curls my lips. I shouldn’t need such a spell.
If only the timing had been different three-hundred years ago—if only the goddess hadn’t hurled me across realms right when I was mid-shift.
Now, I’m damaged and can only access two of my three forms: dragon and weredragon.
If I could shift all the way to my fae form, I could travel the human world, researching at will.
How can I study this new realm and write scholarly articles about humans if I can’t walk freely among them?
Being forced to be human inside the book, however... I shake my head. How odd to finally achieve the form I’ve agonized about only to hate it. It didn’t feel like me. Perhaps it was the loss of my magic.
Blue emerges from the kitchen, leading a group of pixies who carry a flat, square cardboard box between them. They deposit it onto my outstretched hands with a shrieking cry of “Pizza.”
I don’t bother to hide my wince at the assault to my keen fae hearing, and Blue smirks. “I’ll charge it to your tab.”
I grunt and spin for the door. Along with the protection glamour, Severin also placed one of his shadow fae within Ferndale Falls’s human bank.
She handles all the paperwork for the fae living in town, allowing us to function within human society.
As superior beings, dragons prize knowledge instead of piles of gold like the ludicrous stories humans tell, but that doesn’t mean we have no gold.
Money is useful, after all, when needed to buy books.
The cold evening air glides over my exposed skin, which is so much more sensitive than my dragon scales. My inner fire immediately flares higher, keeping me warm as I stride down the sidewalk and into The Thirsty Tusk.
The bar is like a slice of home, decorated in imitation of a Faerie orc pub, the entire interior made from rich, honey-colored wood.
Thorvinn looms behind the bar, tall and green skinned with long black hair.
The orc gives me a small nod, and by the time I take a seat at one of the stools, he’s got a tankard of ale waiting.
I grunt my thanks and take a swig, the hoppy beer pleasantly tangy. “No Rune tonight?”
“Not yet.” He scowls, showing off his tusks. “Don’t see him much these days.”
“Too true.” I snort. Ever since he and Severin found their fated mates, they’ve been insufferably happy and busy, leaving those of us still single to drink alone most nights.
I’ll never admit it, but I’ve missed the werewolf.
Of all the fae who gather in the pub of an evening, Rune’s the least objectionable.
Perhaps I can entice a few more dragons to move to Earth.
At least then I’d have someone else scholarly minded to converse with, and they’d hopefully be willing to stand my company for short bursts of time.
I open the lid of my pizza box, and magic shivers through the air beside me as a hand appears. Moving in a blur, I grab the wrist, halting it before it can steal any of my food.
“Show yourself, cat.”
“Now, now,” Shadow says, laughter dancing in his voice. The werepanther steps out of the shadow roads, becoming fully visible in his fae form. Only the cat sith can walk the hidden roads of Faerie, and that ability makes them especially tricky.
Instead of wearing the leather pants and linen tunic top of Faerie make, he’s dressed like a human in jeans, a green cotton shirt, and a black leather jacket.
About as tall as me, Shadow has pale skin and long black hair that shades to silver by the tips.
His green eyes sparkle above a too-large smile.
He’s annoyingly handsome and genial. And even though cat sith can’t match the magnificence that is dragons, he’s so cocky it’s clear he doesn’t recognize any inferiority. “Is that any way to treat a friend?”
“No,” I growl. “But who says you’re a friend?”
He pulls his hand from my grasp and clamps it over his heart as if I’ve given him a mortal blow. “Oh, how you wound me!”
Then he slides his own box of pizza onto the bar top and takes the stool beside me. “We can trade.”
“What is it?” I sniff. His food smells strongly of spices.
“Chili garlic chicken.” He hands me a piece, and I let him steal one of mine in return.
His pizza tastes surprisingly good, tangy and hot, with the chicken and cheese offering a nice counterpoint to the spices. But I’m careful to keep my expression neutral—there’s no point in inflating the werepanther’s ego any more than it already is.
“Meat lovers… again?” he teases, finishing off the piece he took from me in two bites, fangs ripping through the crust with ease.
“It’s what every carnivore should eat,” I say, biting into my own piece, piled high with pepperoni, sausage, and smoky bacon.
Shadow shakes his head and gestures to Thorvinn. “What new drinks do you have this week?”
“The human women keep asking for special cocktails for something called Valentine’s Day. Red cocktails.” The orc sneers. “As if alcohol should be red!”
My wings stir on my back. “There’s nothing wrong with red.”
“These red drinks are sweet.” Thorvinn sounds offended.
“Cider’s sweet.” I frown. His argument makes no sense.
The orc grumbles, “Not like this, it isn’t.”
“But you’ve been practicing making them anyway, haven’t you?” the werepanther prods, knowing full well the bartender can’t resist the challenge of new drink recipes. “I want to try one.”
The orc slams a metal carafe onto the bar top and starts pouring in various liquors from human bottles.
He shakes the entire thing, ice cubes rattling against the sides, then strains it into a strangely shaped wine glass with a conical bowl.
After adding a piece of red fruit to the rim and sprinkling chocolate shavings across the top, he slides the drink to Shadow with a gruff, “One chocolate covered strawberry martini.”
The werepanther sips the creamy cocktail and nods. “I can see why the women love it. It doesn’t pair well with my pizza, but it’s like dessert in a glass.” He grins widely. “And I’m all for dessert before dinner.” He downs the rest of the drink and asks for a cider to complement his pizza.
We eat in silence—perhaps not completely companionable silence, but not not-companionable.
Before things get too awkward, the door opens behind us, and Rune and Severin walk in.
Both fae are tall with long dark hair, though Severin’s is a bluer-black paired with light skin, while the werewolf’s is a warmer brown against his tan complexion.
Rune’s the physically larger man, carrying more muscle mass, but a steady thrum of magical power vibrates in the air around Severin and stirs the black tattoos covering his skin.
Next to dragons, shadow fae are the strongest magic users in all of Faerie.
“What brings you two here?” Shadow asks. “Did your women let you out to play?”
Severin smirks. “They’re having one of their witchy meetings tonight, so we’re stuck looking at your ugly face.”
“Ha! Such a lie.” Shadow spreads his hands wide. “I’m magnificent.”
“He also looks quite similar to you,” I say to Severin. “So if he’s ugly…”
Rune’s lips twitch, while the shadow fae scowls at me, his tattoos swirling across his skin in agitation.
This is good news, though. If the human witches are meeting, then the other women can help Skye break the spell.
I consider asking the other fae for assistance but don’t want to face Shadow’s teasing if the spell’s going to be broken soon.
Besides, I don’t want anyone to know I’m doing anything as undignified as dancing.
Rune grunts and gestures to Thorvinn for an ale.
Severin says, “Make that two.”
“You’re not trying the new human drink, Rune?” Shadow asks. “I thought you wanted to study all the human traditions your mate Autumn loves. The women have been asking for a new cocktail for Valentine’s Day.”
While the werewolf changes his drink order—much to Thorvinn’s disapproval—I ask, “What is Valentine’s Day?”
“Of course you know nothing about it,” the werepanther teases. “It’s the day humans celebrate romantic love.”
“I don’t see you mated,” I snap. “Your witch barely talks to you.”
“At least I try.”
“He’s got you there,” Rune says.
“Shows what you know.” I take a swig of ale. “I spoke to Skye this very day.”
“Ha!” Shadow points at me. “I knew you liked the blonde.” My scowl doesn’t deter him in the slightest. The annoying cat’s grin remains firmly in place. “But were you romantic?”
Memory washes over me: Skye in my arms as we waltzed across the dance studio, the softness of her little hand in mine, the sweet scent of her skin, the allure of her flower-pink lips, the way she looked up at me, her eyes filled with delight…
Was her pleasure because we danced? Or was it because I was a man instead of a weredragon?
I shake the vision away and lie, “Of course it wasn’t romantic. I hired her to catalog my library.”
“Yeah, that won’t do at all.” Shadow shakes his head. “All three of you had better get really romantic really quickly, or you’re going to be in trouble.”
“I’ve claimed my mate.” Rune tugs down the collar of his shirt to show off the mate mark over his heart.
“I’ve not only claimed mine.” Severin smirks. “I’m already married to her.”
“Doesn’t matter.” Shadow’s grin stretches wide. “They’re all going to expect something special and romantic on Valentine’s Day, or they’ll be disappointed.”
I brush off his words as unimportant and settle in to enjoy more drinking and banter. Yet when I return to the castle to find Skye’s romance book still hovering in midair, I wonder…
What if I need to understand romance to break her spell?
It’s time to order more books.