Chapter 3
Chapter Three
Ivor
Absolute fury raged through Ivor as he watched this pompous chef yelling at someone who obviously worked for him. Another chef by his black chef’s jacket. Ivor had witnessed the accident, which had been just that—an accident. Certainly nothing that warranted this sort of unprofessional behavior.
The only thing keeping him in his seat was his utter fascination with the tall, gangly younger chef.
Copper-colored hair was swept back off a thin, freckle-covered face.
The freckles were reddish in color, like his hair, and even from this far away, he could see the light amber of the man’s eyes.
Eyes that sparkled like gemstones. He towered over the yelling chef, but was built narrow, and right now, his cheeks were flushed red from embarrassment.
He was absolutely stunning.
“Want me to send something flying into that asshole’s head?” Emory murmured.
“Definitely.”
A mug flew off a shelf behind the bar and smacked into the back of the chef’s head, making him whirl around and glare.
“Who threw that?”
Ivor returned his gaze to the pretty, freckled man, who was again looking at him before his eyes went to Emory—or rather, Emory’s wings.
Oh, wasn’t this an intriguing addition?
Surprise had him lifting his eyebrows. The younger chef could obviously see through Emory’s glamour, making him one of those unique humans Ivor had recently learned about. Ones their glamour magic didn’t work on.
Ones who could be soulmates.
And from the color of his hair and the freckles, Ivor was guessing this was the son they were here to find. His name was Rowan. Rowan kept staring at Emory.
Ivor wanted that gaze on himself something fierce.
Then Rowan’s eyes finally moved to Ivor. They were fucking beautiful eyes, light amber that shone like polished stone. Ivor locked gazes with him, holding his breath. A strange and overwhelming feeling of rightness washed through him.
They stared at each other for a long time, and that feeling just grew more intense until it swamped every part of Ivor.
Realization struck, and he narrowed his eyes to study Rowan more closely.
Raw, pure lust shot through him, and it was all he could do to not let his magic loose, not release his pheromones into the room to lure Rowan in.
Rowan’s eyes flared wide, and he fled back into the kitchen.
Emory chuckled, regaining Ivor’s attention.
“Whoa,” Emory breathed. “Did you just, like, imprint on that man or something? What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know, but I’m intrigued.” That was putting it too simply. Something had just happened to him, and it had everything to do with that beautiful man.
“He’s not like the men and women you usually go for at all, but it was damned obvious you are interested. You do know you were looking at him like he was food, right?”
Ivor cracked a grin. “He very well could be.”
Emory laughed again. “True, very true. I’ve always been a little jealous of the way you feed your magic.”
Ivor tilted his head to study his friend. “What are you talking about? You don’t have to feed yours at all. That’s got to be preferable to having to feed to keep the magic sustained.”
“Yeah, but I really, really like sex.”
Ivor winked. “Luckily, so do I.” He looked back at the swinging doors the man had fled through. “I’m pretty sure he was the one we’re here to find.”
“He certainly resembles his mother.”
Their server arrived at the table with their desserts, wearing a sheepish smile of apology. She was a pretty young woman with long brown hair pulled into a high ponytail. Normally, Ivor would have flirted with her, but his attention was now completely focused on Rowan.
“I’m so sorry you had to witness that,” she said. “I promise that doesn’t usually happen here, so don’t be afraid to come back.” She gave Ivor a flirtatious glance. “I’ve enjoyed serving you tonight.”
“You’ve been wonderful, so thank you. But someone needs to tell that chef that treating his employees like that is deplorable.”
She shrugged. “His word is god around here, so there’s no one to tell him that unfortunately.”
“What’s the name of the other chef?” he asked, though he already knew.
“The one he was yelling at?”
Ivor nodded.
“That’s Rowan. He’s a complete sweetheart and doesn’t deserve to be treated the way he is here.
” She grimaced. “I shouldn’t have said that.
” She set down plates in front of them both.
“Rowan made these desserts himself, so you’re in for a treat.
Chef Angler likes to take credit for the recipes, but between us, Rowan is the real talent in that kitchen.
You’ll have to try his limoncello tiramisu next time.
” She kissed her fingertips. “It’s perfection.
But the Astrid you ordered is just as good. ”
Ivor looked down at the layered cake, and his mouth watered. He waited until she left before taking his first bite.
It was a good thing she’d left because the moan he released was positively sinful.
A light sponge cake was complemented by a creamy layer of vanilla custard and a tart layer of raspberry jam. The smooth finish was green marzipan. The burst of flavors on his tongue made him give a shiver of pleasure, and he quickly took another bite.
“Looks like I should have ordered that,” Emory muttered before he tried his crepe.
He moaned, too. “Nope, I’m happy with this.
Damn, if that guy is the talent here, I wonder what we could do to lure him back to Seattle so we could eat like this all the time.
Dinner was good, but this dessert is out of this world. ”
Ivor didn’t reply because he was too busy inhaling his Astrid.
He’d had this before—the first time in the nineteen thirties—but this one far outshone all those before.
The rich creaminess was absolutely perfect.
As someone with a voracious sweet tooth that rivaled his taste for sex, Ivor had had his fair share of desserts over his many years, but this one beat out all others.
He waved their server back and promptly ordered several more desserts off the menu. She gave him a startled smile and rushed off. Yeah, he didn’t look like he indulged in sweets, but his supernatural body burned off calories quickly, so he could afford to indulge.
And indulge he did. He tried a salted caramel pie, a lemon ricotta cake, and some chouquettes. When he finally set his fork down, it was to find his friend grinning at him.
“You and that sweet tooth. I’d be sick if I tried all those desserts, but from your expression they are all excellent.”
“He definitely has to move to Seattle.” Ivor patted his thankfully flat belly as he leaned back in his seat.
He looked back at the door to the kitchen, hoping for another glimpse of Rowan.
He hadn’t even thought about how they were going to approach him when he got off work—all he could think about was the strong pull he felt toward the man.
Emory folded his arms on the table and studied Ivor. “From your reaction to him personally, I’d say you have ulterior motives as well.”
“You did notice he was looking at your wings, right?”
“I didn’t.” He swung his head around to look toward the kitchen. “He’s one of them?” He looked back at Ivor with one blond eyebrow raised.
“Definitely.”
Emory rubbed his hands together. “Oh, isn’t this a fun, new intrigue. I take it you’re calling dibs?”
Ivor’s frown was instant. He fiercely hated the idea that Emory could be intrigued by Rowan. “You’re not even interested in a soulmate.”
“I’m surprised you are. How could that even work for you?”
And that was the problem. It couldn’t. All of a sudden, the over-indulgent desserts turned to a lump in his stomach, because he knew the truth.
He’d once tried to have a relationship with a human, and there’d been disastrous results.
So he might be interested in the pretty, freckled human, but he could never be faithful to one soulmate.
Not without killing him.