Chapter 2
Ginger
It turned out that dragons were miserable sleep companions.
Brambleby had somehow managed to steal the covers and the pillows from me in the night, spreading out wider than I thought possible.
For a critter the size of a small cat, he demanded an impressive amount of space.
It was ridiculous.
And adorable.
Consequently, I was exhausted.
“Hey, Ginger! Those ales?” a customer asked as I absentmindedly drifted by their table. The fae woman had asked for ales twice now, and the request had gone in one of my ears and out the other.
My sleep deprived brain was not cooperating.
I scrubbed my forehead with my palm. “Right. Ale. Sorry about that! Coming right up!”
“What’s on your mind, Ginny? Your head is in the clouds today. You’re usually on top of these things,” Tandor quipped as he brushed past me, setting the ales on the customer’s table for me. They thanked him and shot concerned glances in my direction.
“Didn’t sleep much,” I mumbled. “The beast kept me up.”
The orc snorted. “That’s motherhood for you.”
I grabbed a towel, quickly wiping down a vacated table as Tandor lingered nearby to pick up a few empty goblets. “Spoken like someone who knows.”
“Oh, absolutely. Raine still wakes me and Kizzi up in the middle of the night trying to snuggle in between us. And he’s usually cold as ice, too. It’s the worst.”
I snorted. “You poor thing.” The mental image made me laugh.
Raine, the blue dragon with an affinity for water and ice, had been adopted by Kizzi and Tandor, and she was a mighty terror. Not as mischievous as Ember, Fiella and Redd’s fire dragon, but a very close second.
Brambleby, so far, was an angelic by comparison.
Or maybe he just hadn’t shown his full personality yet.
I would find out soon, because I had left him alone in my cottage this morning when I left for work. I attempted to bring him with me, but he refused to budge.
I smiled to myself. Lazy little beast.
If I returned to my cottage in rubble, I would kill him.
Not actually, of course. I would never—even if he razed the entire town to the ground.
But I would certainly be upset. Perhaps I would scold him. Gently.
I turned to wipe down the next table and stopped short. The towel dropped to the floor with a resounding splat.
The table was occupied.
And its patron was the mysterious stranger from last night.
I had to remind myself to breathe.
Inhale. Exhale. Inhale. Shaky exhale.
He was even more breathtaking in the light of day. He was almost painful to look at. His energy was overwhelming—a storm that threatened to ensnare me and pull me under.
His hair was inky black in color, flipping wildly and settling around his temples in a shadowy crown. It was messy, as though windblown or like he’d been pulling his hands through it.
His cloak was tattered and dirty. The fabric was snagged at the edges and fraying at the hems.
And his eyes… oh, gods, his eyes. They were a striking gold color that penetrated my skin and stroked my very bones.
In the light of day coming in through the windows, his irises almost glowed.
The eyes rested beneath furrowed dark brows, one of which was slashed in half by that deep, prominent scar that almost hindered its movement.
He was studying me intently, scrutinizing my every move. I suddenly felt clunky and awkward.
The clank of a spoon hitting a bowl snapped me from my stupor. Shaking my head, I bent to retrieve the towel from the floor. I wrung it between my fingers, grateful to have something to do with my hands.
I quickly made up my mind—I would pretend I’d never seen him before. Easy.
As naturally as I could manage, I approached the table. I had to clear my throat twice before any words emerged from my throat. “Can—can I get you anything?”
The man just stared at me for a moment, his eyebrows furrowing even further. He examined me like I was a puzzle he needed to solve.
I stepped back. “I’ll give you a minute, then.”
Before he could object, I darted toward the kitchen, relieved to escape the stranger’s heavy stare.
Tandor glanced at me from his place in the kitchen. “You alright, boss?” he asked as he ladled stew into a bowl. The stew was beef and rice today—one of my favorites to make. I’d loaded it with fresh herbs.
“He’s back,” I said by way of explanation.
Tandor’s forehead wrinkled. “Who? Who’s back? Why are you so jittery?”
I glanced down at my fingers that were nervously twisting in the towel. I forced them to still as I dropped the towel into a bucket of soapy water. “I’m not jittery.”
“Sure, you aren’t. Who’s back, Ginny?”
“That guy! The man from last night!”
“The man from…” Tandor trailed off, sticking his head out of the kitchen to get a look at the pub’s patrons. His mouth fell open for a moment before snapping shut again. He clenched his jaw. “Oh. I’ll ask him to leave.”
I grabbed his shoulder, suddenly nervous. “Wait! We can’t kick him out. He’s just sitting there.”
“Sitting there staring at the back of your head like it’s made of diamonds.”
My cheeks warmed. “He probably just wants an ale.”
“Did he order one?”
“No, but—”
Tandor interrupted me. “I’ll see what he wants.” He strode from the kitchen without another word, marching toward the stranger.
I resisted the urge to follow. Instead, I set to refreshing my giant pot of stew, adding more water, more rice, a dash of salt, making sure the pot was topped up. I gave it a great, hefting stir. The scents of meat and spices filled the room in a delicious cloud.
A short while later, Tandor returned to the kitchen. “He won’t speak to me,” he grumbled. “Not a single word. You try. Figure out what he wants so I know if I need to kick him out. He’s taking up a table.”
“The pub is only half full,” I said.
“So, you want him to stay?”
I sighed. “No. Fine. I’ll try again.”
I approached the table once more, hesitantly this time.
The man’s vast presence seemed to absorb the very air around him, darkening the corner of the pub in a peculiar way.
A shiver rolled down my spine. The man didn’t have pointed ears, or fangs, or any other markings that would make his species of origin obvious.
I wasn’t the best judge, though. I couldn’t determine species by scent, like the vampires and the shifters could. Nor could I sense their type of magic, like witches. I had to rely on other methods, like politely asking.
Or minding my own damned business.
He straightened when I stepped into his view. His shoulders pulled back into a regal posture much more ostentatious than his previous casual slump.
Still, he didn’t speak.
“Have you decided what you want?” I asked as I shifted my weight back and forth.
He nodded, just once. “I want you, wife.”
I huffed in irritation. There went my plan of pretending I’d never seen him before. “I’m not your wife. I know this. You know this. Now—today we’ve got honey ale, dark wine, or a few flavors of cider. Juice if you’re not the alcohol type. Stew if you’re hungry. Which will it be?”
He clenched his jaw, something like frustration flashing across his face and vanishing just as quickly. “Wine, then.”
I could’ve sworn the room darkened slightly, probably a cloud passing over one of the suns.
“Wine it is. No more of this my wife nonsense or Tandor over there will toss you out the door.” I gestured to the orc with my thumb, hoping he looked big and threatening enough.
The stranger’s eyes narrowed. “Will he, now?”
“He sure will. Behave and you won’t have to endure that embarrassment.”
A long, tense moment passed. “Very well,” he said eventually.
I departed swiftly to retrieve the wine, which I filled to the very brim. Luckily, my practiced hand held the goblet as still as ever, not spilling a single drop even though my insides felt soft and rattled.
The wine was a rich plum color, expertly brewed and deliciously flavored, but guaranteed to stain if it met with fabric.
I begged my muscles to behave, to remain steady.
I returned and dropped the goblet off, keeping as much distance between the dark-haired stranger and myself as possible. I brushed my hands off with a clap. “Anything else you need?”
“Yes.”
I waited, planting my hand on my hip. I expected the word you to come out of his mouth again.
I counted ten breaths before he responded. “A place to stay,” he said, sounding more like a question than a statement.
That was… strange. Where had he slept last night if he had no place to stay? Perhaps he simply needed a new place. “Mayor Tommins can help you with that. Where did you come from, anyway?”
His forehead creased. “I… I do not know.”
“You don’t know where you’re from?”
His lovely face scrunched up even further. “No.”
I glanced at the wine. Maybe he didn’t need any alcohol, after all. Either that, or he didn’t want to divulge any information about himself, no matter how trivial. He followed my gaze and looped a protective hand around the goblet’s stem.
His fingers were long and slender, darkened at the tips as though frostbitten. Or dirty.
I supposed he would be keeping the wine. Fair enough—I had enchanted sober dust I could blow into his face to snap him to his senses if the need arose.
“Well. Tommins can help with that, too.” Hopefully. It certainly wasn’t my problem.
“Mayor Tommins? Is he the ruler of this place?”
“I guess you could say that. Sure. He’s in charge.”
“And where can I find this royal?”
I tilted my head. The phrasing he used was so strange. “His office is down the street. You can’t miss it. Just turn left when you leave here.”
He nodded, staring absently into the wine. “Left. Yes.”
Feeling even more confused, I left him there to serve my other patrons.
What a strange, strange man.
He left without paying for his wine, simply vanishing into the night.