Chapter 7 Lemon #2
Emotions flicker though Furyon’s pale eyes as he cocks his head to the side, gaze dropping down my body. He makes a slow perusal back up until his eyes meet mine.
“You’re pretty when you’re mad, you know that, Lemon Knox?”
Behind me, Oz attempts to mask laughter beneath a cough. Furyon doesn’t look away from me. Instead, he pulls a wallet out of his pocket and throws a handful of bills on his table.
“I’m gonna join you and Oz, and we can talk about things here, or I can haul you down to the jailhouse, where you can meet our sheriff, get a pat down, and be thoroughly interrogated by one or both of us.”
I scoff. “Is that your version of an apology for pronouncing me guilty as charged without any proof?”
He shakes his head and rounds me, sliding onto the red-and-white checkered bench seat next to Oz. “Naw, Lemon. You ain’t been charged yet, city girl. Have a seat so we can get started.”
Oz bites his lip and looks out the window at absolutely nothing while I glare a little more and flop onto the seat opposite the two males. Furyon waves at the menu. “Reuben’s a banger, but you can’t go wrong with the French dip.”
I refuse to thank him despite several hundred years of formal vampire cotillion training to learn proper etiquette. A giant minotaur waiter comes over and greets us, taking our orders with clinical efficiency.
“Well,” I spread my arms wide, “shall we get started?” My cheeks flame with embarrassment. I can’t believe we’re doing this in public with Oz sitting right there, but if anything, Oz looks delighted at being in the middle of these dramatics.
Furyon grins again. His smile is lopsided, black lips curving up on one side to reveal one of his fangs. A flash of heat rolls through me at that smile. It’s sensual and full of promise, and if he wasn’t investigating me for a crime I can’t believe is even a real thing, I’d find that smile hot.
“Tell me what happened last night, in your words.”
I rehash the story again. How I had dinner with Bluebell, which he confirms. How I went home and was woken by the noise. How I called Bluebell and then scared the wolves away. How Bluebell came right over, saw the moose, went white as a sheet and then promptly called Furyon.
He listens in silence.
I wave a hand toward him as nerves jangle in my stomach. “Aren’t you going to write this down or something?”
“Naw.” He shakes his head. “Got a great memory.”
I shrug and clasp my hands in my lap to avoid picking at my thumbnail. “Okay, well, that’s the whole story.”
Furyon grins at me again. Damn that crooked smile and single white fang, teasing me with a good time. I wonder if he drinks blood and where he gets it around here. It’s not a necessity for either of our species, but it’s fun, and we love it, as a general rule.
“Alright, well, that’s that, I guess.”
My mouth drops open. “Wha—what do you mean?”
He shrugs. “You said you didn’t do it, and I’ll confirm your story, of course, but I don’t get a criminal sorta vibe outta you.”
Oz looks at him. “Where’s Sheriff Rygold? Shouldn’t he be doing this with you?”
Furyon grits his jaw, a muscle working overtime as he looks around the restaurant then between Oz and me.
“Rygold’s stone-sleeping at the jail. I could wake him for this, but seeing as how it deals with animals and not monsters, I technically have the authority here.
I may have to wake him, depending on anything else that comes up, though. ”
Oz shudders. “Best not to wake a gargoyle from stone sleep if you can help it. He’ll be even more of a dick than usual.”
Furyon chuckles. “Mhm.” He glances at me. “Our sheriff’s an old warrior, and he’s a mighty bit grumpier than most. Stone-sleeps a lot to recuperate from an old injury. When he’s awake, though, steer clear.”
I sink back against the seat as the waiter returns with our sandwiches. “Noted,” I mumble as the minotaur waitress sets a turkey club down in front of me.
Furyon rises. “Well, I won’t keep you two any longer. Enjoy your lunch.” He winks at me. “Stay outta trouble, Miss Knox. A pat down at the jail would be mighty awkward, don’t you think?”
Pronouncement made, he turns and heads for the door. Oz and I watch him go in silence. Once he’s out the door, Oz doubles over the table, raucous laughter echoing off the window to his right.
“Oh my gawds, Lemon! Could the tension between you two be any more palpable?! This is so delicious, it’s fab. The best meet-cute ever, if I’m honest.”
I snort. “Meet-cute my ass.”
“I bet Furyon’d like that.” He winks at me again.
I scowl. “Something in your eye, Ozifer?”
His playful expression falls, and he shoots me a superior look. “No need to go full first name, thank you.”
He changes the subject, but my focus is firmly on the dark elf’s playful tone.
What if Oz is right, and there was tension between us, but like…
sexy tension. Furyon practically offered to assault me in a jail cell like that might be remotely tempting.
I’m meant for candelabra-encrusted sex clubs with velvet cushions and a healthy discussion on safe words.
Furyon Zayle and a Wild West jail cell?
Gross.