Chapter 7 Lemon
Lemon
This is great, just fucking great. I’ve been here less than twenty-four hours, and I’m already embroiled in shenanigans that have nothing to do with me.
Which seems to be the theme of my life this month.
I glare at the sparkly pink boots at the bottom of my closet.
They feel a lot like me right now—flamboyant and out of place and possibly useless.
Last night was long as hells, and as a result, I’m jittery and unrested this morning. Not to mention feeling very put upon that Furyon immediately blamed me for the poor moose’s demise. Sighing at my mental turn for the dramatic, I grab my bag and leave the cottage.
Furyon “Jumps to Conclusions” Zayle strides up the walkway toward me with a frown on his stupid handsome face.
“Morning, Lemon.” He tips his cowboy hat at me.
“I’ve got a friend with a backhoe coming to meet me to remove the moose.
We’ll take it to the office for further investigation.
Don’t expect I’ll be here when you get back, but I might come find you at work with a few questions. ”
His tone is carefully cautious, which makes me want to slap his pretty face. He’s all gorgeous angles with a tiny divot in his chin that I’d like to stick my tongue into.
“I’d rather not do that at work.” I lift my chin. “Perhaps you can call me, and I’ll meet you back here instead?”
“Understood.” There’s that same careful tone again. Dark eyes drift to my neck tattoos and cautiously back up. “For what it’s worth, I didn’t mean to imply you killed that moose. I know it came across that way a bit. I just meant I need to find out what happened.”
I haul my bag higher on my shoulder. “Yeah, well, I don’t even know what I’d want to do with a moose or why I’d throw it in a hole in my backyard if I did kill it.
But knock yourself out.” I stride past him, resisting the urge to scent his blood.
Dark elf blood is like a damn homing beacon for vampires, and his would be no different.
But I cannot start smelling him and making this weirder.
When I get past him, he grabs my arm and halts me in place. “I’m gonna call you in a bit, alright?”
I pull my arm from his grip. “Suit yourself, Mister Zayle.”
He blanches. “Furyon’s fine, Lemon, or Ranger Zayle if you hafta get formal. Mister Zayle is my father, and he don’t live around here.” His cautious expression returns. “Have a great day.”
I stare at him. “I can’t tell if you’re being serious or not.”
Pale blue eyes flecked with silver narrow as he cocks his head to the side, his smirk returning. Why does he have to smell like snow and pine trees? He’s stupid hot, and he knows it.
He chuckles, tipping his hat again. Then he spins on his heel and disappears around the side of the cottage and out of view.
I most definitely don’t stare at the way his ass fills out those jeans.
I blame said staring on my love of human country music, which has given me vaguely romantic notions of life in the country.
So far, the reality is not living up to my favorite songs. Pine Gulch is way more “Honky Tonk Badonkadonk” than “Body Like a Back Road.”
Four hours later, I don’t feel much better.
I’m alone in a barely lit room somewhere in Glimmer’s basement, scraping dried-up, crusty potions off the floor of a room that looks like it hasn’t been used in a century or two.
I try not to let the tears well up when I consider just how much I’m not going to learn by doing this.
The only upside so far is that she didn’t give me a…
.what did she call it yesterday? Babysitter.
It’s clear that Letitia wants nothing to do with me, though, so maybe I’ll get lucky, and she’ll tell Father I’m a crack whiz at potions. It’ll get me out of her hair, and we can all go back to business as usual.
“Lemon! Lemon Knox, are you down here?” a voice floats down from the stairwell.
Rocking back onto my heels, I rub a hand over my sweaty forehead, noting that my gloves are coated in sludge and potion powder. I grunt as I rise and head to the door.
Oz appears in the doorway at the same time as me, and we nearly bump into one another.
“Oops!” He giggles and throws both three-fingered hands up. “I was just looking for one Lemon Knox, she of the beautiful boots, slayer of karaoke songs and possibly mooses?” His expression goes confused. “Meese? No, I think it’s still moose whether it’s singular or plural.”
I sigh and pull my gloves off, tossing them on the nearest dust-coated table. “That’s me, Lemon Knox, she of the dust bunnies and potion sludge, absolute slayer of this job nobody wanted to give me.”
Oz’s playful smile falls, his horns flexing and straightening as he shuffles his wings at his back.
He slips his hands into his back pockets and pops his dark purple lips.
“Well, I’m here to make all of that a little bit better because it’s sunny outside, and I want you to come have lunch with me at Betty’s.
So why don’t we get out of this, err, lovely little room and get a little vitamin D?
” He glances around the room with a frown.
I can’t seem to summon my usual positivity or even my trademark snark. So I wave him back toward the stairs and straighten my tee.
I ignore the nasty look of the feral cat lady who mans the front desk, just happy to be out of Glimmer and into the sunshine.
The potions shop is so cute, and they’re haven-renowned.
But it’s hard for me to see past the nonsense Letitia is making me do simply because she’s upset I got foisted upon her.
“So,” we head left around the end of the street toward the main drag, “what’s good at Betty’s? And do you work there too?”
Oz chuckles. “I’ve done the odd shift at Betty’s, yeah, but it’s just if Betty is super strapped for help.
She makes a mean burger, although Whiskey Business’ is better.
Mostly Betty makes great sammies—pastrami, club, roast beef.
Betty’s got all the meats, which I suppose makes sense given the sheer amount of cattle around here. ”
Oz fills me in on Betty’s history—centuries ago, she, the pixie twins, and the very first Keeper got together and asked monster headquarters to add a Montana-based haven to the haven system. That’s literally how Pine Gulch came to be, so they’re pretty much pillars of the community at this point.
When we get to Betty’s, I’m pleased to discover it’s adorable inside.
Like if a diner and a saloon had a baby, and everything was rustic and covered in ruffles.
Everything that can be red-and-white checkered is, including the long bar that runs down the left side of the restaurant.
The windows clack open and shut in a friendly way. What a cute little personality she has.
A hostess leads Oz and me to a table, and it must be my day for good luck because Furyon A. Zayle sits at the table next to mine. Lucky for me, though, he’s entirely focused on a big male minotaur who’s talking loudly about something.
“They’re sick, Furyon. I’m tellin’ you something ain’t right. I’ve never seen my herd act like this. It ain’t natural.”
Oz and I sit, and I do my best to snoop but not appear to snoop. More sick animals?
Furyon leans over the table and takes a big bite of his sandwich—corned beef, I think. Nope, pastrami. Thousand island dressing drips down onto the plate. Without meaning to, I scent the food and him at the same time.
Totally accidental, but a wash of heady pheromones and the tangy richness of his blood explode across my senses. I mask a groan under a cough, picking up the menu and focusing on that instead of the delicious-smelling dark elf to my right.
He glances over, but I don’t look up from the menu, pretending to be utterly focused on the frankly enormous sandwich selection.
“This was a good choice, Oz.” I smile at my new friend as he stares at me, nostrils flared as he fails at holding back a smile. “This rivals some of the city’s delis, to be honest. Kinda nice to find that here. I’m excited to try it.”
Furyon’s still looking at me, and I can almost feel those shocking pale eyes drifting down my body. What’s he looking for? Trying to decide if I’m sitting like a guilty person?
I look over at him and lift my chin. “Can I help you with something, Furyon?” I bat my lashes for effect. Damn him for being so cute. You could cut glass with those angular cheekbones. And that little dimple in his chin? Unfortunately darling.
He shakes his head but shoots me a charming smile before looking back at the rancher. “I’ll be by in a bit to take a look at your herd, alright? Give me an hour while I interrogate someone.” He jerks his head toward me.
My mouth drops open. Oh my gods, did he just insinuate that I’m a suspect right in front of another monster? How completely and utterly inappropriate!
I shoot upright and slap one hand on my hip as I throw a finger in his face. “Are you kidding me right now?!”
The minotaur rancher looks between us and then rises slowly, dipping his head at me as he slips a cowboy hat between his horns. “Furyon, I’ll see you later.” Crimson eyes flick to me. “Ma’am.”
I give him a quick head nod in return before scowling at Furyon.
The dark elf rises slowly and takes a step forward until his chest nearly brushes mine. “You ready for your interrogation, Lemon?” His tone’s sultry and low. He’s doing this shit on purpose, and I don’t appreciate it.
Scowling, I poke him hard in the chest, attempting not to notice how firm his pecs are beneath his official uniform.
“I object to being treated and literally named a criminal in front of people I don’t know, who I haven’t had a chance to make a good first impression on yet.
I don’t know how long I’ll be stuck in this godsdamned grass-filled hellsish haven, but it would be great if you didn’t make it harder for me. ”