3. Chapter Three #2
There’s only one bartender, so I wait patiently for a few minutes. The crush of bodies is quickly becoming overwhelming, though. Being shorter than most citizens of Gondora means people forget to look down.
An elbow lands between my shoulder blades, and I hiss, “Ouch.”
The bartender isn’t anywhere close. Maybe there’s a waitress waiting to take orders? Accepting defeat, I turn … and run straight into a wall of muscle.
“I’m sorry,” I rush out to say, looking up.
A handsome blue Dragon grins, peering at me with one blue eye and one golden, swirling orb. Silky black strands fall into a braid down his back, with the sides shaved off. He looks vaguely familiar, but I can’t quite place from where.
“I’ve watched you struggle for five minutes. Would the damsel like a solution to her distress?”
I frown. “I’m not a damsel in distress; I’m a vertically challenged Sprite.”
His eyes flick to my wings. “Can’t you just flutter into the air?”
“First off, I don’t flutter,” I snipe. “Second, that’s rude, and a misuse of my abilities.” I pointedly look him up and down. “As a Dragon, I’m sure you’re unfamiliar with the concept of discretion.”
His smile is so wide, white fangs flash. “What’s discretion?”
“Exactly.”
He huffs out a laugh. “Let me at least buy you a drink so you aren’t forced to suffer and use discretion all night.”
I open my mouth to refuse, but then remember why I’m here. To find magic.
“Fine. You can get me one drink.” I quickly add, “But it doesn’t mean anything.”
The last thing I need is some man thinking I owe him my evening for one measly drink.
“Wouldn’t dream of it,” he says smoothly. Stepping into my personal space, he leans an elbow on the bar. It’s astounding how easy it is for him; all it takes is a single raised finger and the bartender saunters over. If it weren’t so impressive, I’d be pissed off.
“What would you like?” Lowering his voice, he adds, “Make it expensive, or I’ll be insulted.”
Challenge accepted. “I’d like a Heimlock, please.”
He narrows his eyes. It’s the cheapest beer option on the menu. Costs about three corals. Some drinks on the menu were seventy corals. My mouth twitches, trying to hide my smirk.
He raises an eyebrow, his own mouth quirking at the corner. To the bartender, he says, “Two Heimlocks, please.”
The bartender slides away, leaving us to simmer in this moment crackling with tension.
It gives me an opportunity to take Trinte in.
His scales are various shades of blue, their iridescence glistening in the light.
He’s muscular, in an almost-intimidating way.
I fight hand-to-hand with men all the time, but that doesn’t mean I’m blind to being outmatched. At least, appearing to be outmatched.
Men’s weakness will always reside between their legs, for better or worse.
But it’s also the quiet confidence inside his observations. How his gaze scans the crowd, as if looking for potential problems.
Finally, his focus is back on me. Something deep inside my belly warms at the intense expression that strips me bare.
His low voice tingles along my spine as he asks, “Are you here for the speed dating event?”
I smile. “Isn’t everybody?”
He cocks his head, brows drawn together. “Why?”
“Why, what?”
He motions at me with a hand. “Why would someone like you need to go to a speed dating event?”
I look down at my dress, where my cleavage is on full display. “Trying something different, I guess.” I make a show of examining him. “And what about you? I’ve heard Dragons have no difficulty in the dating department.”
A dark cloud of something passes over his face, then melts into a smile. “I’m thirty-five and growing tired of the club hook-ups. In theory, I’d like something a little more real one day.”
“Just a little?”
His focus on me is painfully acute. “Alright, maybe a bit more than a little.”
My chest flutters with nervousness. Maybe this event won’t be lame after all. “I’m Kyrielle, in case you were wondering.”
“Kyrielle.” He savors saying my name, like it’s a delicious dessert. Suddenly, all I want is to hear my name on his lips again.
I raise my eyebrows expectantly. “Yours?”
“Trinte.”
“Trinte.” I taste his name as well, enjoying the flavor.
“Two Heimlocks,” the bartender announces, sliding the pints across the bar top. Trinte reaches for both. When I try to grab mine, he lifts it higher than I can reach without hopping.
I laugh, bouncing on my toes. “Knock it off.”
Placing it in my hand with a chuckle, he gently pushes me to walk in front of him. The sea of bodies separates as I move forward — the predator behind me parting any obstacles.
Fire sparks at my fingertips at the deep pleasure this sense of safety offers. Even though I’ve known him for all of five minutes, his consideration has me wanting to skip around like an idiot.
Down, girl. The molten desire appearing low in my belly threatens to weaken my knees. I can’t tell if this makes tonight’s event promising or not. If this is all I get out of the evening, it’s enough.
When we exit the thick of it all, I turn to smile at him. “You’re pretty handy in a crowd.”
His eyes sparkle with amusement. “Glad to be of service to the damsel.”
My distress has never felt so far away.
“Everyone! Please take your seats!” A female Satyr, a brown doe, holds a microphone in one hand and a piece of paper in the other.
Her dark eyes scan the bustling bar. “The event starts in two minutes. Men, go sit at the chair designated as your initial starting point. Ladies, you’ll find your seat number behind your name badge. ” She claps her hands in dismissal.
Trinte and I look at one another. Inspecting the back of my badge, I see the number eleven. “I have eleven. What do you have?”
Disappointment pulls a frown onto his soft-looking lips. “Twenty-three.”
Matching discontent flares inside me. Sharing a bright smile, I say, “Well, we can continue our conversation soon.”
Trinte raises his beer glass. “To finding something more.”
Excitement finally expands my heart with pleasure. “To finding something more.”