Chapter 12 #2
“I haven’t tried any of the dragon spices myself yet, but I’m not sure any herb, magical or otherwise, would be capable of making a sane woman spring upon a goblin.”
“There are such beings as half-goblins in the world.”
“Yeah, but that usually goes the other way, with human men deciding they want to experience a green lover. Human women are more reasonable.”
“Nonetheless, I may avoid the soup. If you’re willing to defy the chef’s wishes, tell me what you rate it, and I’ll put the same.”
“I haven’t decided yet if I’ll try it.” Rylana lifted her tiny bowl of soup to her nose.
A tantalizing, rich aroma of herbs and spices she couldn’t identify wafted into her nostrils, immediately making her mouth water.
And was there a hint of bacon in the soup?
That seemed to be one of Jildarin's signature items, and she’d enjoyed every bite he’d offered thus far.
“Maybe just a spoonful. To satisfy my curiosity.”
“Shall I let the goblin know to prepare himself for atypical human ardor?” Mya smirked.
“It’s Rolf, and I’m not going to get horny from a spoonful of soup.” Since she’d seen the results when others had consumed the dragon spices, Rylana supposed it would be arrogant to believe she couldn’t be affected herself. “Not that horny, anyway,” she amended.
“Do you want me to hold you back if you go after him?”
“Dear gods, yes.” Rylana dug into her meal, deciding to save the soup for the end. If dragon spices were like alcohol, they would be less potent on a full stomach.
“What is it, Chef?” Zalani asked when she joined him in the doorway.
Jildarin waved her toward the empty stool.
“You will take a break from your serving duties to eat and judge the food. You are only a half-elf, so I do not know if your palate will be indicative of the preferences of full-blooded elves, but I do desire a wide range of people to taste my offerings. Perhaps I should also bring Gniknik back, but gnomes deliberately do not allow their kind to apply as judges in the Golden Whisk since they strive to be neutral parties in potentially contentious matters in their city.”
“I do hate when cooking contests get contentious,” Rylana said.
With a fork in one hand and a spoon in the other, Mya was intently digging into the food and making pleased noises. Busy chewing while her eyes rolled upward and she licked her lips, she didn’t respond to Rylana's comment.
Since Rylana was also enjoying her meal, she didn’t mind focusing on the food and only nodded and smiled when Zalani sat beside her.
“Chef Jildarin hasn’t invited me to opine on anything before,” Zalani whispered. “This is an honor, but the dining room is surprisingly busy tonight. I shouldn’t leave Rolf and Gniknik alone for long.”
As her tastebuds sang, and Jildarin returned to filling orders for the diners out front, Rylana found herself glancing at her soup.
It was such a small amount that she couldn’t imagine the spices affecting her overmuch.
When Rolf had dished up under-the-table to-go orders for people, he’d used much larger containers, and the bowls Rylana had seen it served in for in-house diners had easily been three times the size of her small sample dish.
Halfway through her meal, as Mya and Zalani ate to either side of her, neither speaking other than to smack their lips and issue pleased noises, Rylana risked taking her spoon to the soup.
A taste wouldn’t hurt, and she had to know why people wanted it so much that they were willing to pay the outrageous goblin tip that Rolf added on when he delivered it.
As soon as the creamy liquid touched her tongue, Rylana understood.
Oh, it was so rich, with a unique blend of intensely appealing flavors bathing her tastebuds.
She’d never had anything quite like it but immediately loved it.
No wonder Jildarin had wanted to introduce the spices to other species.
Not only would they delight the palates of everyone who tried them, but they might be able to stop wars and convince people that dragons were to be befriended, not battled.
Before she’d swallowed the first bite, Rylana's spoon returned to the small bowl. She emptied it, then, after hesitating only briefly to wonder if the others would judge her, brought it to her mouth so she could lick it clean.
“That’s what I’ve heard about it,” Mya said, having finished her dishes, save for the soup, its creamy contents gleaming appealingly under the light from the nearest lamp.
Rylana had the urge to snatch up the baker’s untouched bowl, forego the spoon, and slurp it straight up. Would Mya notice? She’d picked up the charcoal stick to put her ratings on the butcher paper.
Mya looked at her. Guessing her thoughts, she waved in invitation at her bowl.
Rylana glanced over her shoulder to make sure Jildarin wasn’t watching—he stood with his back to them, sprinkling salt on a couple of dishes almost ready to go out.
She traded her empty bowl for Mya’s full one, then forced herself to be civilized and use her spoon.
A warm and contented flush filled her as she polished off the second bowl, but why were the servings so small?
She could have happily eaten an entire stockpot full.
A clank and shout of alarm came from the dining room. Then a crash sounded as a dish hit the tile floor and broke.
“What was that?” Jildarin frowned and looked toward the hallway. “I have not served any soup tonight, except to my judges. There should not be coital acts in my dining room.”
As he strode toward the hallway, Gniknik pushed open the swinging door.
“It’s really busy out there. Zalani, can you come help?
” His serving contraption whirred past his legs and toward the sink.
It made distressed gurgling noises, perhaps because a dark gravy smothered one of its sides and coated the wheels.
“There is a problem?” Jildarin asked.
“Just a dropped dish, Chef,” Gniknik said. “We’re a little overwhelmed.”
Zalani rose and slipped past Jildarin. “I’ll take care of it.”
Jildarin looked at her mostly finished tasting meal. “Return to complete your ratings later.”
“I will,” Zalani called as she left with Gniknik.
“Have you noticed he orders everyone around instead of making requests?” Rylana licked her spoon, the second bowl, alas, depleted. Maybe her observation should have annoyed her, but she caught herself watching Jildarin more with appreciation than irritation as he returned to his work.
“He’s the chef, and this is his kitchen,” Mya said. “Also, he’s a dragon. Dragons don’t make requests.”
“No, they’re uptight and demanding.”
Rylana swapped her empty bowl for Zalani's full one. By the time she returned, the soup would be cold, and she might end up wasting it. That would be distressing. Though, as Rylana slurped up the contents of the third bowl, she knew she would cheerfully eat more even if it were cold. She’d never had anything so delicious in her life.
Fortunately, Jildarin was too busy concentrating on his work to notice her overindulgence. Rylana watched him as he moved about the kitchen, powerful and appealing, his strong jaw set with determination.
Mya finished her ratings, then eyed Rylana and the empty bowls. “I’d better return to my bakery and lock up for the night. I’ll let you know what I decide about the oven.”
“Good,” Rylana murmured, her gaze locked on Jildarin.
When Mya walked past, temporarily blocking her view, Rylana frowned and stood, not wanting anything in her way.
“The goblin would be safer,” Mya whispered as she left the kitchen.
The goblin? What did that mean?
With a flush of heat and happiness filling her, Rylana walked toward Jildarin. By all the gods in the world, wasn’t he handsome? And so strong. The memory of him carrying that oven out the door came to mind. She also recalled him shirtless and frying bacon. How perfect and honed his physique was.
She eased closer to him, such an intense urge to touch him coming over her that all rational thoughts fell out of her mind. As she reached for him, Jildarin turned. Wariness rather than desire flashed in his brilliant emerald eyes.
He caught her wrists before she could grip his shoulders, and he turned her hands over, as if suspecting she might have a dagger hidden under her palm.
No, she didn’t want to slay him. She wanted to have him.
His strong hands wrapped around her wrists should have been alarming, but the heat of his flesh against hers was arousing instead.
“Jildarin,” Rylana whispered. “I didn’t realize… you are so…”
He looked past her shoulder toward the table. “You had more than one sample of soup.”
“Yes, I couldn’t stop myself from wanting…” Her wrists still grasped in his hands, Rylana leaned forward and kissed him. She had to. She was drawn by his power, his allure, and the spices.
Even though she remembered consuming the soups and understood they were responsible for her lust, she couldn’t stop the kiss. She needed this. She needed him.
For a few heartbeats, Jildarin stood still, letting her lips press against his and allowing her to squirm closer. He seemed surprised and flummoxed about what to do, but he of all people had to understand what was happening. He stepped back and pushed her out to arm’s length.
“It was a mistake to serve any of it,” Jildarin stated.
“But I believed… My spices are like a secret weapon, yes? That is what humans would call it. Their magic makes them potent and appealing to your kind. To all kinds. Even dragons cannot consume too much or the power causes us to act… irrationally as well.”
“Jildarin…” Rylana couldn’t take her gaze from his mouth as he spoke, his lips hypnotic, the rich timbre of his voice drawing her. Why was he keeping her away from him?
Jildarin rotated her toward the door. “This mistake was mine. You will go to the storeroom and sleep until the spices wear off.”
“I don’t want to sleep.” Rylana tried to turn back toward him, but he was too strong. He kept his grip gentle, but he pushed her inexorably out of the kitchen. “I want you,” she said over her shoulder.
“I am aware. By morning, the effects will have worn off and you will return to desiring me dead.”
“I don’t desire that. I never did. You were just a target among the enemy forces, and those forces were trying to kill us.”
“Go to the storeroom and sleep,” Jildarin said firmly. “In the morning, you will be yourself again.”
There was power in his voice, dragon magic that all the tranquility ribbons in the city couldn’t diminish, and Rylana’s legs moved to obey of their own accord.
She walked toward the dark storeroom, but sleep was the last thing she wanted.
How could she rest now when she was in this state? She needed a release.
She passed through the room and out the back door. If Jildarin would not satisfy her, perhaps another could.