11. Chapter Eleven
Trinte brushes past me, leaving me with the truth — there’s nothing between us. So why in all twelve Hells do I have the urge to help him? I’m not like this with men. Telling him all those months ago that it’d be a one-time thing wasn’t out of the ordinary for me.
North has been an exception because he keeps our relationship in a vacuum. We see one another every couple of weeks, fuck, and that’s it until the next time. The moment he asks for more, I’ll cut it off.
Watching Trinte’s defeated form disappear into the locker room, I can’t shake the feeling that he needs someone. Ever since I ignored that instinct with Orliana, I swore that would never happen again.
It’s impossible to help someone who doesn’t want to be helped, though.
Sighing, I look around the empty gym. Even Coach isn’t here. Checking the clock hanging over the battle practice ring, I curse under my breath. Speaking of, I’m supposed to meet North in two hours.
After the interaction with Trinte, I’m not in the mood to push it. Why I pushed it at all is mystifying and hypocritical. If he wants to be alone, it’s not my job to fix it.
At least there’s one man in this city who wants to see me.
Two hours later, I’m walking up to an incredibly fancy restaurant, with North, the Gargoyle I’ve been screwing, waiting at the front.
He looks dashing in his black suit, inky dark hair, and even darker eyes.
The wings towering over his back are larger than a lot of wings I’ve seen.
When he spots me, his tail curls in pleasure.
He has a dominating aura; one of the reasons I like him. Around him, the world feels safe. I’m perfectly capable of defending myself, but having a nearby handsome weapon is nice.
“You look beautiful,” he murmurs, bending down to brush a kiss against my cheek. I’m wearing a dark blue glittering dress with matching heels. My hair’s styled in gentle waves. My wings flutter at the compliment.
What can I say? Thanks to trauma, I have a praise kink.
“You look pretty good, too,” I run a hand down his very muscular chest. While I genuinely don’t care where we fuck, North prefers the show of it all.
Dinner, compliments, then back to his place.
I worry it blurs the lines, but he always pays for the food, dinner is always expensive, and the thing he does with that tail is sinful.
“Come, the table is ready.” He brings a large hand to the small of my back, guiding me to the restaurant’s front door. This one is actually owned by a Forest Sprite who decided it was to be the most gorgeous plant-covered restaurant in all of Gondora. I’ve been dying to go here.
Right at the entrance is a hallway of sorts, with tightly compacted trees with flowing branches, each holding small lights that wave in a sourceless breeze.
Immediately, my worries flitter away like butterflies. It smells of mountains on a spring afternoon.
“Wow,” I breathe, captivated.
“Wait until you see the waterfall,” North whispers into my ear, his warm breath causing goosebumps.
A female Elf stands at the hostess stand, eyeing North. Without giving me a second look, she asks, “Name, sir?”
“North Regar,” my date says gruffly. He won’t be winning any awards in the personality department. That’s actually the most annoying part of these dates — having to talk to him.
I tend to pick them hot and preferably quiet. Can’t care about something you know nothing about.
The hostess finds his name, perking up immediately. “Of course, Mr. Regar. Please follow me to the center table.”
“Ooo, the center table,” I repeat, doing a flourish with my hands with a grin.
North hums in agreement, offering a small smile. That’s it. No returning jokes or playfulness.
The hostess leads us past the intimate entrance through a small hallway with a curtain blocking the next room. Before pulling back the curtain, she gives both of us a warm, welcoming smile.
“Welcome to Euphorlia.”
I gasp, clutching my hands to my chest. Sunset light warms our faces as we step into a magical wonderland. It has the charm of a forest at dusk, with faint rays of golden sunshine breaking through thick, sprawling trees. Branches intertwine overhead, creating a twilight canopy.
Clear bridges connect everything, creating the sensation of walking on water. The restaurant itself has eight lily pads featuring tables made of glass, each seating no more than six. It takes months to get a reservation here.
This is the benefit of a date with North — he has good taste in restaurants.
We’re led over the bridges to our table in the center of the room.
I pause to look over the railing, admiring the enormous koi lazily swimming through reeds.
Overhead, birds flit. I can’t tell if they’re real.
This room feels both intimate and vast, so it’s likely some kind of magyck makes it feel larger.
Everyone speaks in quieter tones, including the serving staff. It allows the sounds of a forest, with its frogs, birds, and bugs being a noticeable feature of the experience.
“Here’s your seat,” the hostess says, guiding us to an enormous lily pad. The table and chairs are clear, as are the pre-set plates. The silverware looks to be a beautiful marriage of filigree and silver.
Stepping onto the lily pad cautiously, I grin when it feels like an actual floor. No chance of falling over the edge.
North pulls out my chair, making sure I’m situated before sitting across from me. He smiles politely when we’re handed the menus.
Thus begins the slow process of getting my brains fucked out.
“Have you been here before?” I skim the menu, spotting my favorite dish of hippogriff flank, fileted at the exact spot the bird and equine halves blend into one another. It’s extremely rare and expensive.
“I have, yes.” North places his menu down. “Every time, I order the Dun Cow steaks.”
My jaw drops. “Dun Cow? I thought that was banned?”
He gives me a conspiratorial smile. “Not banned — highly regulated. This place excels in curating unique menus.”
Concern has me examining the whole menu. My eyes widen with each revelation: phoenix wings; braised indrik; selkie carpaccio. On and on, the list shows rare dishes. Nothing is actually endangered, but all are expensive because of how difficult procurement can be.
“This is … not what I would’ve expected out of a place like this,” I admit, placing the menu down. It seems to celebrate nature, so the menu is jarring.
North rests his chin in a hand. “It’s all fantastic. I enjoy the duality of it all.”
“That’s one word for it,” I mutter. When the server appears, I immediately order a glass of wine. Something about the menu makes me feel icky. Not enough for me to not order the hippogriff, though.
I’m not an ingrate.
By the end of the dinner, North and I sit in semi-tense, but mostly companionable silence.
I’ve waded through the painful process of asking how his life has been, and receive single sentence answers.
He asks me how my life is, and I usually tell him a story or two from the battle gym.
The stories don’t appear to entertain him; I think he’s humoring me.
When the check appears, he pays without looking at the total. Left three hundred corals on the table as a tip. Guided me back outside. To save me energy, he sweeps me into his arms and flies us back to his apartment.
Once inside his apartment, he goes through the motions of “making a nightcap.” I smile, pretending we haven’t done this song and dance around a dozen times.
By now, my body is ringing with sexual tension, desperate for skin-to-skin contact.
Something to drive away the loneliness I refuse to look at most days.
I take my obligatory sip of wine, then beckon him closer for a kiss.
As soon as our lips touch, it turns into a frenzy of grabbing, kissing, and biting.
He’s a brutal lover, but in a good way. What woman doesn’t want to be thrown around by a man two feet taller than her?
One of my favorite things is him taking me from behind, and having his dexterous tail in my mouth.
North is a machine, not stopping until both moons are high in the sky. He leaves me boneless and satiated. After I get dressed, he walks me to the door. We banter about whether or not he’ll fly me home. I always insist that I’m fine. He makes me promise to let him next time. I lie and agree.
Relief is quick when his door closes, and the silence outside embraces my chaotic mind. At the end, it feels like this every time — empty. A quick orgasm that fixes nothing.
The flight home is lonesome.