Chapter 15
mei
The doorbell chimes just as I’m pulling on Tovek’s t-shirt. The faded black one with “The Drunken Dragon” stretched across his massive chest. It hangs on me like a dress, the hem brushing mid-thigh as I pad barefoot across the living room.
My hair is still damp from the shower, twisted into a messy bun that drips down my neck.
We weren’t expecting anyone. Tovek has the day off after working a double, and I’m still officially “recovering” from the cook-off according to Greta’s texts, which have gotten increasingly pointed about me actually resting.
But the thought of visitors doesn’t make my stomach twist anymore. Not here. Not in our space.
“Did you order something?” I call toward the bedroom where Tovek’s pulling on his pants, his massive frame taking up more than its fair share of our bed.
“No,” he calls back. “Might be a delivery for the downstairs unit?”
The bell rings again, followed by three short, distinct knocks. Familiar and deliberate. My heartbeat picks up as I swing the door open to find Sunny and Khanner standing in the hallway, their faces lighting up when they see me.
“Surprise!” Sunny launches herself at me, wrapping me in a hug that smells like expensive perfume and airplane air conditioning. “We know we should’ve called, but Khanner swore you’d be home since it’s Tuesday and—”
“You’re here.” I wrap my arms around her. “You’re actually here.”
Behind her, Khanner smiles. He’s carrying a small, carefully wrapped package, his free hand resting at the small of Sunny’s back with easy affection.
“We were on our way back to Obsidian City, when Sunny had the great idea to detour here first,” he says, his deep voice filling the small hallway. “Plus, Sunny insisted we deliver these immediately.”
He holds out the package. It’s wrapped in brown paper tied with twine. Nondescript enough that I know something special is inside.
“You didn’t,” I say, unwrapping it carefully. I lift the wooden box and open it. The aroma makes my eyes water.
“Dragon peppers,” Tovek says from behind me. “The real ones. From the southern volcanic region.”
I’m holding three perfect dragon peppers, each one deep crimson with their distinctive curl at the bottom that gives them their name.
They’re about the size of my thumb, their skin slightly translucent so you can see the seeds inside. Contraband, technically. Imported without the proper permits, the kind of find that makes chefs fight at food festivals.
“How did you—?” I start, then stop, suddenly aware of how they got here. “You smuggled chili peppers across an international border.”
Khanner shrugs, but there’s a pleased set to his shoulders. “It’s not smuggling when you’re a dragonkin.”
Sunny snorts. “It’s absolutely smuggling, but who’s going to question a dragon?
” She pulls off her jacket to reveal a simple black top underneath.
She’s wearing loose linen pants and elegant flats, her hair down and glossy past her shoulders.
“Especially a dragon with a hungry mate,” she says, blinking innocently.
The hint is not subtle. “You’re staying for dinner,” I say, meaning it completely. “Hell, for dragon peppers, you’re staying for however long you want. Breakfast, lunch, the entire time you’re in the city.” I’m moving toward the kitchen, peppers in hand. “Tovek, we need to order in. Or go out. Or—”
“How about,” Tovek says, his hand settling between my shoulder blades, “we order carryout from the bar? Greta’s working tonight, and she’ll make sure we get the good stuff.”
Of course. Order food from our own restaurant, where Greta will ensure it’s perfect, where we won’t have to worry about ingredients or timing or any of the complications that come with cooking for people who matter.
“Yes,” I say, reaching for my phone. “That. Exactly that.”
Twenty minutes later, we’re sprawled across the living room. Picnic on the coffee table, sitting on the floor, because apparently that’s what we do now.
And it makes sense. The food from the bar is perfect. Mapo tofu, my chili oil noodles, Greta’s spin on spring rolls that she refuses to put on the menu because “people expect spring rolls to be boring.”
“So,” Sunny says, spearing a piece of tofu, “the cook-off. First place. Not even acknowledging there was a tie, by the way. You were first, I know it. Tell me everything.”
And we do. The chaos, the drama, the moment we knew we’d won.
Sunny laughs, clapping for us. “That’s my girl!”
She reaches for her wine, then stops, her eyes on my hair. I just took it out of its clip, and it now falls like a curtain around my face. “Holy shit. Is that—”
I nod, realizing what she’s seen. “Red. Again. Or, you know, working on it.”
The streaks are subtle. Just a few bright lines near my face, the vibrant red that became my brand before everything fell apart.
“I’m taking my time,” I say, reaching for a deflection. “Double-processing black hair is a nightmare.”
“It’s perfect,” she says. “Especially getting back into your spicy era. The red is everything.”
“Speaking of spicy,” Khanner interjects. “I’m curious about the peppers. Will you use them in a dish? Or are they more of a trophy situation?”
“Both.” I reach for the container. “I’m thinking a dry chili oil. Something that captures the heat but also the complexity. Then we’ll use it for everything. Noodles, obviously. Maybe a marinade for the pork belly. Definitely the dumpling dipping sauce.”
Tovek nods. “We could do a special. One night only, dragon pepper menu. Limited quantities, premium pricing.”
Khanner hums a little. “Or, you could bottle it. Sell it alongside the other oils. Limited edition, collectors only.”
The idea hangs between us. Not just a product or even a possibility, but a recognition of what we’re building. The bar, the kitchen, the alchemy that happens when we work side by side.
“We could,” I say, picturing it. The label, the type of bottle, the way it would look on the shelf next to our other offerings. “After the expansion. When we have the space.”
“To the expansion, then,” Sunny says, raising her glass again. “And having options.”
We clink our glasses together and settle back into our places.
Sunny and me on the couch, Tovek and Khanner on the floor, surrounded by takeout containers and half-empty glasses.
The food from the bar is perfect, the company even better, the future we’re building taking shape piece by careful piece.
It’s been two weeks since Sunny’s visit. Two weeks of careful calculations and watching the numbers move in the right direction.
The cook-off coverage did exactly what we hoped. My socials back in the green, the bar’s reservation list stretching to three weeks out, the leverage that Grishnak held over us weakening with each new feature and interview.
The bar is quiet. I’m sitting at my usual spot at the end of the counter, a half-empty cup of tea at my elbow and the afternoon light bathing my freshly red-streaked hair in a golden glow.
Greta is polishing glasses with completely unnecessary vigor, her expression sharp and calculating. She’s thinking three moves ahead. Tovek is in the kitchen, the rhythm of his knife against the cutting board carrying through the partially open door.
I stare at the transfer confirmation on my phone. Six months of debt, of goblins, of gnawing background mental stress, all gone in the swipe of a bank transfer.
The relief hasn’t hit yet. I’m numb, waiting for my new reality to sink in.
“Did it go through?” Greta asks, her voice carefully neutral despite the tension in her shoulders.
I nod, reaching for my tea. “It’s done. We’re clear.”
Amusement flashes in her eyes. “Good. Now maybe you’ll stop looking at the books like they’re about to bite you.”
I laugh, the tension in my chest easing slightly. “No promises. Old habits and all that.”
We sit in companionable silence for a long moment until the door opens.
Vex.
He’s wearing his usual outfit. Gaudy suit, gaudier watch, the annoyingly confident smirk. But there’s something different in his expression. Something that might be respect.
“Ms. Tan,” he says, moving toward the bar. “I was in the neighborhood and thought I’d stop by. Confirm to you that your payment cleared.”
“It did.” I keep my voice neutral. “Two hundred and fifteen thousand, plus interest. We’re square with the goblins.”
He nods. “You are indeed. Crimson considers the matter closed.” He reaches into his jacket, producing a small envelope with careful precision. “Your final statement. For your records.”
I take it gingerly, careful not to touch him. “Thank you. No reason for me not to be professional.”
Vex nods, satisfied, and makes his way toward the exit. “It was never personal. Just business. The Association will be in touch about your membership application. Grishnak was very impressed with your performance at the cook-off.”
The implication that Grishnak would still be watching me is not subtle, but I’ve proven to myself that I can handle whatever he throws at me. “We look forward to it,” I say with a bright smile.
I watch him leave and feel the weight that’s been hanging over me since that night on the Strip finally lift.
I turn back toward the kitchen only to find Tovek leaning against the door frame, his massive form taking up more than its fair share of the narrow space.
He was there the whole time and he stayed put. Didn’t step in, didn’t speak for me, didn’t do any of the things that would have turned my victory into his protection.
He’s learning. We both are.
“You good?” he asks, his voice low enough that only I can hear it.
I nod. “Better than good. We’re clear. Completely, officially clear.”
“And Vex? Grishnak?”
“Still assholes. But assholes without any power, which are the best kind of assholes.”
He laughs. “The very best.”