Chapter 12
“By the abysm. Well spotted.” I barely hear Isi through the roaring in my ears.
I can’t take my eyes off this man. Something about him sucks me in.
Probably the fact that I dreamed about him two nights ago and now there he is, staring back at me.
I realize I’ve been gawking at him with my mouth open like a fish.
I feel my face heat and tear my eyes away, looking back to Isi, who is grinning at me.
“What?” I snap, immediately defensive.
“He’s handsome. You should go talk to him.”
“More handsome than dear Orryn?” I raise an eyebrow.
“Different kind of handsome.” She waves her hand, brushing off my question. “Seriously, I’ve never seen you so captivated so quickly.”
“I am not captivated! I . . .” I can’t tell her why he’s caught my attention; she’ll think I’ve gone insane.
Fuck. I think I’ve gone insane.
I don’t have time to think of a convincing lie. “Oh my gods. He’s coming over,” Isi says, swatting at my hand.
“What!” My head snaps back to the spot where he was sitting, but he’s disappeared. I desperately scan the crowd and sure enough, there he is, sauntering his way directly for us, pushing his way through the sweaty, stinking, drunken mass of bodies.
“Oh by the abysm!” My head swivels, looking for an escape route.
“What’s going on? Do you know him?” Isirae’s voice drops, her playfulness gone.
“I . . . no . . . no, I . . . well . . . I might . . . I . . .” I stammer, still looking for a way to duck out.
My heart is pounding in my chest as I look for an opening in the swirling mob of bodies.
Unfortunately, the tavern has gotten even busier, and people have begun to dance, leaving not even an inch between each other.
There’s no escape. I look at Isi desperately. She’s looking at him.
He shoves up to our table, his eyes roaming over my face.
Up close he is devastating. Honestly, it seems a little unfair that one person can possess looks like this.
It’s just plain inconsiderate. I tear my eyes away from him.
This is definitely the same man from my dream.
My protector. More than that, there’s a strange pull in my chest, begging me to get closer.
What is happening?
Isirae kicks my shin under the table, finally breaking the spell. “Ouch! What?”
“Don’t be rude,” she says sweetly, though I know that tone—it’s anything but sweet. She usually reserves it for me when I’ve been particularly impolite but she doesn’t want to embarrass me by calling me on it outright. “He asked you a question.”
His deep chuckle rolls over me like a breeze off Lake Naleoa on a hot summer day, sending shivers down my spine. “Can I buy you a drink?” His voice is deep and rough. One side of his full lips is pulled up in a half-smile where a small scar pulls, mostly hidden under his beard.
“Oh . . . um . . . you . . . um . . .” Gods and goddesses, what is wrong with me? I’ve never been this tongue-tied around anyone. “No!” I practically shout at him. I kick myself mentally. “I mean, I’m here with my friend, I don’t want to abandon her.”
“Orryn!” Isi shouts, making me jump. She runs into the waiting arms of a good-looking blond man, shoving people out of her way.
He doesn’t hold a candle to the man still watching me, but I can see why she likes him.
He has a kind face, and he looks at her as though she holds the sun in the sky.
I watch as his adoration quickly turns to worry as he takes in her bruises, running his fingers over one delicately. I like him already.
“Though she doesn’t seem to have any issue abandoning me,” I grumble. He chuckles again, the sound crashing into me. I look up and meet his eyes to see amusement dancing behind them. All hope of escaping the situation shrivels up and dies a quiet death.
I sigh, smile up at him, and gesture toward the bar. “Lead the way.”
He takes the hand I gestured with firmly and I feel a jolt, butterflies taking flight in my stomach.
Seriously, what in the abysm is wrong with me?
Men don’t do this to me. He pulls me toward the bar, moving bodies out of the way while I have to grip his rough, calloused hand tightly to avoid getting sucked into the crowd.
Stopping at the bar, he holds up two fingers to the barkeep, who nods and brings two glasses.
I have no idea how the barkeep knew what he wanted.
Especially the surly bastard behind this bar.
Half the time he doesn’t even bring you what you order, just whatever’s closest to him and, in my case, whatever’s cheapest. I look at the amber liquid in my glass and wrinkle my nose.
I’ve never cared for whiskey. The man laughs at the look on my face.
“Just try it,” he chuckles. I give him a look and take a tentative sip.
I’ve never had whiskey like this before.
It still has the burn of normal whiskey, but it has a spiced flavor to it, with a vanilla aftertaste.
It’s delicious. I take another sip, and my drinking partner fails to hide his smirk behind his glass.
There’s a loud pop and he swings his head toward the crowd, his eyebrows furrowing.
I use the distraction to my advantage, eyeing him up and down.
His clothes are clean and well-made, his hair is shiny, and his beard is trimmed, cut close to his face.
There doesn’t appear to be a smudge on him.
His only visible flaw is that small scar that runs through his full lips on the right side.
“So,” I say when he turns his attention back to me. “What are you doing in the Rookery?”
“What do you mean?” He raises an eyebrow.
“You clearly don’t belong here. Your hair is perfect, your clothes are clean, and this whiskey is obviously not cheap,” I say, lifting my glass.
His other eyebrow joins the one already raised, his full lips lifting in a small smile. “Perfect?”
I feel my cheeks burn. “Just your hair,” I say a little too quickly. I take another sip of whiskey to try to get myself under control.
For Death's sake, get ahold of yourself, Vayna. This is not who you are. You are Vayna Cahira. Badass bitch who doesn’t need any man. Get it together.
“So?” I try to get the conversation back on track.
“So,” he repeats, lifting his glass to his lips. Damn, I want to be that glass. I clear my throat, ignoring that particular thought.
“Why are you here?”
“Should I not be?” He flashes me a rakish smile.
“Not looking like this.” I gesture up and down his body, referring to his clothes. I don’t think he catches the reference. He cocks his head, his grin getting a little wider.
I groan. “I just mean you’re a target for criminals dressed like that.” I take a large sip of whiskey and try to preserve what little dignity I have left.
“Right,” he says, his eyes wandering over my face. Tingles erupt everywhere his eyes roam. I decide I’m going to keep my mouth shut from here on. Better that than continuing to dig my grave.
He watches me, grin fading. “I’m looking for someone,” he says, as if this explains everything. I just stare at him, waiting for him to continue. He doesn’t.
“Who?” I press, disregarding my earlier commitment to staying silent.
He doesn’t answer. I sigh and take the last swig of my whiskey, hissing as it burns its way down my throat.
I place the empty glass on the bar and turn to walk away.
If he isn’t going to talk to me, then I’m not going to waste what little freedom I have left with him.
“Thanks for the drink,” I say over my shoulder.
“Wait,” he rumbles, and I turn to face him again. “It’s hard to explain. It’s someone my father wants to speak with. I can’t say much more than that. I’m not even sure what she looks like.”
“How can you find someone when you don’t even know what they look like?” I ask, sitting back down, my curiosity piqued.
He looks at me through thick, dark lashes. “We have an idea of where she might be, what she might look like, but the sheer number of people in this borough makes it difficult to narrow down.”
“What does she look like?” I ask. “Maybe I can help.”
A small smile pulls at his lips, and his eyes rake up and down my body. I swear I can feel his gaze. “Red hair, blue or maybe brown eyes.”
My heart flutters. “You think it’s me?”
His smirk doesn’t waver as he stares into my eyes like he’s looking straight into my soul. I try not to squirm.
“No,” he finally says. “If you were, I’d know.”
“How?” I ask.
“I’d just know.”
I wait for him to continue. He doesn’t. We sit staring at each other for a long moment, the room seeming to disappear around me.
“Tell me something,” he says, breaking the moment.
“What?” I ask.
“Anything,” he says, taking a sip of his drink. I watch his throat as he swallows, watch as he licks the drop of whiskey left on his full lip. I imagine myself licking away the whiskey, what it would feel like, taste like. I swallow.
For Death’s sake libido, calm the fuck down.
He chuckles, bringing my focus back up to his eyes, my cheeks burning. I’ve completely forgotten what he asked.
“Where are you from?” he asks, smirking.
“Um . . . here?” I answer, raising a brow.
“Was that a question or your answer?” he laughs. I want to drown in his laugh.
I shake my head. “Who would willingly move to this borough? Everyone I know was born here or forced here. So asking where I’m from makes no sense.”
He nods in understanding.
“Though you’re certainly not from here, so where are you from?” I ask. Based on his attire and just general perfection, I think I can guess.
He leans in close, curling his finger inward to get me to lean in. The motion of that finger makes me think of other things he could do with it. I lean in, getting a whiff of him. He smells oddly calming and earthy, like cedarwood maybe, with a hint of smoke. I let myself savor it for a moment.
“I’m from your dreams,” he says quietly, his deep voice reverberating through the air between us.
My heart sinks to my feet, and I stop breathing.