21. Chapter Twenty-One
Apparently, both Kyrielle and I have received admonishments from our respective loved ones. The fight at the dinner didn’t go unnoticed.
Surprising, I know.
I’m not about to invite her out just for a conversation, so last night I texted an invite to a tasting for one of the caterers on the list Fynn gave me.
Tastings are her responsibility and venues are mine, but we’re also meeting with the photographers in a few days.
They’ll probably have the best idea about venues.
So today is about food and making some semblance of peace.
Standing outside the simple farm-to-table restaurant, I check my phone repeatedly. Not that Kyrielle is late — I’m twenty minutes early. I’m both anxious to get this started and get it over with. If we can get through this without arguing, it’ll be a miracle.
I don’t want to argue with her. What I want is to recapture the magic of Heimlocks and cozy bars. What I want is to relive sliding inside her body again.
The mere memory of it has blood rushing to my groin with a lightning bolt of lust shooting down my spine. Maybe there’s time to run into the bathroom to take care of this. It could make things easier if—
“Hey, you.” The voice that haunts my dreams interrupts my thoughts.
Inhaling sharply, I whirl. Kyrielle deftly hops over my swooping tail, narrowly avoiding being tripped.
For a moment, I can’t speak. Her creamsicle hair is perfectly styled in soft waves over her shoulders.
Pink lipstick covers her kissable mouth.
Cleavage almost fluffy enough to cushion someone jumping from a tall building.
Hips that would look incredible cradling mine.
Correction: hips that do look incredible cradling mine.
It’s infuriating how the memory has never faded, even after all this time.
I swallow hard as she walks closer. When she looks me up and down appreciatively, there’s a single moment in time I let myself pretend she’s here for me; for an ‘us’ that doesn’t exist.
She shatters it by examining the restaurant and saying, “You know what kind of food Fynn likes, right?”
My throat bobs again. “Yeah.” The damn word cracks, making me sound like an adolescent boy. Trying again, I say, “Uh, yeah. He’s a pretty simple guy.”
“Orliana, too.” Kyrielle gives me a small smile. “They’re pretty well suited.”
Not trusting my voice, I motion for her to walk in front of me. Not to look at her ass or anything. Although it does look delicious in those tight shorts.
Stop it.
Pulling the door open, I follow her inside.
It’s a simple restaurant, with wooden tables and chairs, painted bucolic scenes in frames, a silent piano in one corner, and a roaring fireplace.
A chef, wearing all white, waits for us at a table.
Kyrielle marches toward him without a second glance at me.
The chef, whose nametag reads Sebastian, pulls out a chair for her. I sit in the neighboring seat, picking up a printed menu.
“Welcome,” Sebastian says. “When you made the reservation, you mentioned it was for an engagement party?”
“Yes,” Kyrielle murmurs, reading the menu options. “It’s for our friends. They’re about to get engaged, and we’re helping the groom prepare.”
My heart warms at her confidence that Orliana will say yes. Not an ounce of hesitation.
Sebastian looks me over. “Would you like to start with something to drink?”
“Yes, please. A Heimlock if you have it.”
“Two Heimlocks,” Kyrielle says, grinning. Sebastian gives a small bow and backs away.
Pleasure I’ve never felt before warms my blood. Recalling her words all those months ago, I say, “Is this our first official inside joke?”
“I guess so.”
We hold the stare for a beat; I’m the first to look away. Clearing my throat, I read the menu options. “I know he’s obsessed with piglet. No idea why. It’s bizarre to me, eating babies.”
Kyrielle snorts. “I just ate at a restaurant where they serve phoenix wings. Piglet would be the least disturbing thing on the menu.”
I raise an eyebrow. “Which one is that?”
“Euphorlia.”
Letting out a low whistle, I say, “That place is pricey.”
Kyrielle shifts in her chair, playing with a napkin. “Yeah, thankfully I didn’t have to pay for it.”
She doesn’t have to say anything else — it’s clear she’s implying it was a date. “Was it North?”
Her fire-marbled irises flick to me, then away. Like she’s ashamed of admitting she’s been on a date. “Yeah.”
While I may not know why she’s uncomfortable, I know it’s far too easy to visualize them fucking, because I’ve literally seen it in-person. Now it’s easy to imagine him wooing her with fancy meals, followed by making her cum all night. Because he’s lucky enough to not need boxing to keep him sane.
Bastard.
Stuffing down my raging jealousy, I ask, “What did you eat?”
Kyrielle’s head lifts. “Hippogriff flank.”
Sitting back, I raise my eyebrows. “Never had it. Was it good?”
“It’s one of my favorite things,” she smiles. “But it’s so expensive, so it’s better to make a man pay for it.”
I grin because it’s impossible to hate the logic. “I don’t blame you. If I were a woman, I’d make men pay for everything.”
Her smile transforms into a brilliant grin. As Sebastian approaches with a tray of food, she says, “That means you’re picking up the tab today, right?”
I scoff. “I’ve never made a woman pay for a meal, ever.”
As Sebastian sets down the tray, she says, “What are your most expensive drinks?”
***
After an hour, we’re officially drunk. With each course, Kyrielle orders a round of drinks, each one crazier than the last. Sebastian has left to gather our dessert options, and Kyrielle’s finishing another martini.
She loves the sweet ones, and while I’m not counting, I think this is her fourth.
Not including the Heimlocks ordered in between.
I’ve never seen a woman put away so much alcohol, and still stand. I’m at least two martinis and one Heimlock behind.
My crush intensifies.
Her hands wildly gesticulate while she tells a story from the battle arena.
The passion on her face is mesmerizing. “So the first thing he said to me, right before we went into the arena, was—” Kyrielle’s voice lowers into a mockery of a deep voice.
“—little fly, I’m going to teach you how a real man fights. ”
I frown. “Does it bother you when people give you insect nicknames?”
Her joy flickers for a split second. “It’s fine. I’ve been called way worse.”
“Like what?” When her body stills, I’m instantly interested. “That bad, huh?”
She drinks the remaining teaspoon of her martini, then slams the glass down. Any harder and it would’ve cracked. “Cockroach.”
Everything inside me stills. “Cockroach?”
With a grim smile, she gives an exaggerated bob of her head. “Yep.” She pops the P. “One of my stepfathers. It was his favorite term of endearment.”
“Is he alive?”
She gives me a sharp look. “Why does it matter?”
“I just want an address, if he is,” I say conversationally, examining the remains of my beer. “No specifically violent reason or anything.”
Kyrielle lets out a bitter laugh. “He’s alive somewhere. You might be able to find him; he isn’t hard to miss.”
“Why’s that?”
Once again, her face shifts, this time to a devilish one that might become my favorite expression of hers. “Because half of his face is burned off.”
The laugh that explodes out of me takes her aback, but I can’t help it; I’m impressed. “Compliments of you, I assume?”
She holds up a palm, wriggling her orange-tipped fingers. “Five finger fryer right here.”
The way my insides feel is indescribable. It’s a mix of awe, fear, lust, admiration, and bewilderment. “How old were you?”
“Eighteen.”
Eighteen. That was the same that I … no, not going there. But it’s strangely comforting to know we’re both vicious, even at that age. Desperate need to understand appears. Leaning forward, I ask, “What did he do?”
She looks to the door where Sebastian disappeared. Her mouth twists as she thinks.
“If I overstepped, you don’t have to share,” I say quickly. The goddesses know there’s so much I’ve never told anyone.
Kyrielle shakes her head. “No, it’s fine. I don’t like talking about it, but also, no one asks, either.” She exhales slowly. “Everything. He did everything. But he wasn’t the only one — he was simply the unlucky one to make me snap.”
The blackness inside me swirls in recognition. The words are on the tip of my tongue; me too. But my teeth won’t part. These secrets remain eaten.
Instead of letting her know she isn’t alone, I dip my chin. “I’m glad you survived.”
She considers me, mouth opening, surely about to ask about my past. Dread yanks my belly to the floor, but Sebastian sweeps in with the desserts. Saved by the cake.
The conversation ends.
After I pay the bill, Sebastian packs what we haven’t finished and bids us farewell. Stepping outside with Kyrielle, the leftovers bag in my hand, I inhale the fresh air. Anxiety has my body vibrating. It’s a struggle to calm my pulse.
“What do you think? A caterer worth hiring?” Kyrielle wraps her arms around her chest. The top of her head doesn’t reach the middle of my chest. How can someone so small be so fierce?
“I think it’s a good option for them.”
“Me, too.”
“I’ll let him know.”
It feels like something unnamed has shifted. I was convinced this would turn into an experience full of arguments. I’m not sure how to feel about the opposite happening.
What is there to say right now? I stare into her pale face, knowing how many secrets, hopes, and dreams hide behind that placid expression. All of it waiting to be activated by the right words.
Unfortunately, words are my curse.
“Um,” I shift, trying to figure out what to say. “This wasn’t as bad as I’d thought it would be.”
Kyrielle’s face lights up with a laugh. “Seriously? That’s all you have to say?”
“What?” I say defensively. “I genuinely thought we would fight this whole time. It’s all we do lately.”
Clearly unimpressed, Kyrielle crosses her arms, raising an eyebrow. “And whose fault is that, Trinte?”
“Yours?” I smile, knowing damn well it’s a lie.
Anger sparks in her eyes. “Are you bringing this right back to the bar?”
“No.” I deflate. “It might not appear that way, but I don’t hold that against you. We were both consenting adults who agreed it was a one-time thing. I just …”
Looking over her head, I stare into the distance, unsure of how to continue my train of thought without too much vulnerability.
She steps closer; close enough for me to scent her warm vanilla skin. Kyrielle is the embodiment of dessert. “Just what?”
“Nothing,” I mutter, switching the bag of leftovers from one hand to the other. “I should get going. Fynn is expecting me. Thanks—”
A small, soft hand grabs my free one. Kyrielle looks at me with a pleading expression. “Just what?”
Clenching my jaw, I struggle to overcome this entire emotional mountain blocking my ability to speak. For other people, maybe speaking their thoughts and feelings is as easy as breathing. Most of the time, I’d rather take a knife to my wings than expose myself.
But the way she looks at me, how her hand feels in mine, the mountain cracks a little. Taking advantage of the momentary weakness, I say, “I just wish it was for more than one night.”
Internally, I’m wilting, terrified she’s going to disagree or reinforce that it was a good thing it was only one night. Or maybe she’ll laugh at me, like others have. Make me feel small. Too small.
“I wish it hadn’t been for one night either,” she whispers, nibbling on her lip. Her words feed the flickering light inside me. The memory of those lips on mine aches in my heart. Scratch that — the memory of that night makes everything ache. All the time.
My ears ache for her laughter.
My heart aches for her smile.
My skin aches for hers against mine.
We played with fire, and despite being made of it, we both got burned.
The lump in my throat fights back as I swallow. “But it was. Because we agreed it made the most sense.”
“Yeah,” she murmurs, looking away. My hand twitches with the need to touch her face. To rub a thumb across her cheekbone and down that thick lower lip. Tilt her head upward … to run my nose along her neck. To bite—
“And … it was the best decision, right?”
Her words yank me from the daydream. Is she actually asking me to confirm if her rule makes sense? That all of that chemistry was worth wasting? That spending the last few months searching for a quick glimpse of creamsicle hair was the best option?
The immediate impulse to scream NO! has me stepping back. She frowns at the movement. Clearing my throat, I say, “I think the decision reflected the reality at that time.”
When she closes the gap between us, my hands begin to tremble. What is she doing?
“What if, this once, we made it a second night? We can go to your place or head over to the nearest bush?”
Her joke doesn’t resonate. Ice fills my body, stilling my racing thoughts. The corruption decaying my heart intensifies. It’s difficult to not let hate fill my expression. “So, one more fuck?”
It comes out more harshly than intended, but I can’t find the will to apologize. All her words do is reinforce exactly how women view me.
My confession’s rooted in my desire for her as a person and less about sex — even if the memories of our one-night stand distract me more than they should.
To be honest, I’d rather spend the day hearing her laugh.
To listen to battle arena stories and create inside jokes.
The small, objective part of my brain understands why she thought differently, but it’s not in charge right now.
Devastating shame is at the helm.
She jerks back slightly. “You’re right, it was a silly thing to say. I’m sorry, I shouldn’t—”
I hand her the leftovers. Dumbfounded, she takes them.
With a trembling voice, I say, “How about we agree to never speak about that night ever again? It will only make this process more complicated.” Silver lines her eyes, but I’ve shut off every single emotion; I don’t care.
“Fynn and Orliana’s happiness is more important than whatever mess we’d just make. ”
Expression blank, I turn away from her. Kyrielle calls my name, but I ignore her, choosing to walk right off the ledge of the cliff.
This is my penance for vulnerability. Why do I keep doing this to myself?
Allowing people the opportunity to hurt me?
All because I want to be loved? Fucking pathetic.
I don’t shift into Dragon form until the very last second, right before the earth squashes me into oblivion.
Growing accustomed to tasting the edge of death.
Making it a more palatable future meal.