Chapter 2 Dorian
DORIAN
Dorian Vale lounged against the stone wall of the Silver Fang Tavern, nursing a whiskey and pretending he wasn't watching the festival preparations with predatory interest. The irony wasn't lost on him that he'd spent years avoiding the spotlight only to find himself drawn to it like a moth to flame whenever music started.
He'd seen the redhead walk up to the inn with Diana twenty minutes ago, her guitar case marking her as another festival hopeful. Pretty enough, he supposed, though he'd barely caught a glimpse through the lantern-lit square. Nothing to write home about.
So why was his panther pacing restlessly under his skin?
"You're brooding again."
Dorian turned to find his cousin Lucien emerging from the Book Nook, arms crossed and wearing his perpetual scowl. Dark hair fell in waves to his shoulders, and his forest-green eyes held the kind of judgment that only family could deliver with surgical precision.
"I don't brood. I observe with style."
"Right. And I suppose you're observing why that woman has you looking like a cat who smelled catnip."
Dorian raised an eyebrow. "What woman?"
"The one with the guitar who just walked past. The one whose scent has you practically vibrating."
Trust Lucien to notice what he'd been trying to ignore. The redhead had passed close enough to the tavern. Rain on copper hair, wild magic that tasted like freedom and danger in equal measure.
His panther had gone stone still. Knowing.
"Don't know what you're talking about," Dorian said, taking another sip of whiskey.
"Of course you don't." Lucien's smile was razor sharp. "Just like you don't know why you're down here instead of upstairs charming whatever blonde caught your eye at the market this morning."
"Maybe I like the music."
"You hate folk music."
"I'm expanding my horizons."
Lucien snorted. "You're stalking."
"I prefer the term strategic positioning."
The fiddle player struck up another tune, and more townspeople gathered around the makeshift stage. Dorian found himself scanning the crowd for copper hair, though he told himself it was just idle curiosity.
"She's fae," Lucien said quietly.
"Who?"
"The woman you're not watching. I could smell the magic on her from the bookstore." Lucien's expression grew thoughtful. "Old magic, too. Not some half-blood trying to pass."
That explained the pull. Dorian had always been drawn to power, and fae magic had a particular allure for predators like him. It was probably nothing more than supernatural attraction.
"Good for her."
"And she's running from something."
Dorian finally looked at his cousin directly. "How do you know?"
"Same way you know. She moves like prey. Question is, what's hunting her?"
"Not my problem."
"Right. Because you never get involved in other people's problems." Lucien's laugh was dry as autumn leaves. "Remember the witch from Asheville who was being stalked by that warlock? Or the wolf shifter whose pack was trying to force a mating bond?"
"Those were different."
"How?"
Because neither of them had made his panther sit up and take notice like this woman had with a single glance across a crowded square. Because their scent hadn't hit him like a memory he couldn't quite place.
"They just were."
"Mm." Lucien pushed off the wall. "Well, when you're done not being interested, you might want to know that Twyla's been asking about backup musicians for the festival. Apparently they need someone who can play guitar and harmonize."
Dorian's pulse jumped. "And?"
"And I told her you'd probably be interested. You know, since you're expanding your horizons and all."
"Lucien."
"What? You said you liked the music." His cousin was already walking away, but he called over his shoulder, "Festival starts tomorrow night. Try not to scare the new girl before then."
Dorian watched him disappear into the bookstore, then turned his attention back to the square.
The musicians were winding down now, people beginning to drift home with promises to return tomorrow.
The festival would officially kick off with sunset, but tonight had been a preview of what was to come.
And somewhere up at the inn was a fae woman with copper hair and magic that called to something wild in his chest.
"Trouble," he murmured to himself, finishing his whiskey. "Lucien's right. She's definitely trouble."
His panther practically purred at the thought.
Dorian straightened his rumpled shirt and ran a hand through his dark hair, making sure it looked artfully tousled rather than actually messy. If he was going to meet trouble, he might as well look good doing it.
The walk from the tavern to the inn took exactly three minutes, which gave him just enough time to come up with a plausible excuse for showing up unannounced. He could ask about the backup musician position. Or inquire about festival schedules. Or simply claim he was being neighborly.
All perfectly reasonable explanations that had absolutely nothing to do with copper hair and wild magic.
The inn's front porch was lit by warm yellow light spilling from the windows. Dorian could hear voices inside, Diana's soft tones mixing with something lower, more musical. The redhead, probably, settling in for the night.
He took the porch steps two at a time and knocked on the front door.
Diana answered within seconds, her honey-blonde curls catching the light and her amber eyes bright with curiosity. "Dorian? It's a bit late for social calls."
"Is it? I hadn't noticed." He flashed his most charming smile. "I heard you might have a new guest. Thought I'd stop by and welcome her to Hollow Oak."
"How thoughtful." Diana's tone suggested she saw right through him, but she stepped aside to let him in. "She's in the sitting room. Try not to overwhelm her, will you? She's had a long journey."
The sitting room was cozy in the way only Diana could manage, all warm throws and overstuffed chairs arranged around a crackling fireplace. And there, curled in the corner armchair with a cup of tea, was the woman who'd been haunting his thoughts for the past hour.
She looked up as he entered, and Dorian felt the world tilt slightly off its axis.
Copper-red hair that caught the firelight like living flame. Amber-green eyes that seemed to hold secrets and sorrows in equal measure. Delicate features that spoke of fae heritage, but with a steel beneath that suggested she'd learned to defend herself.
Beautiful. Dangerous. And looking at him with the wariness of someone who'd learned not to trust charming men.
"You must be our new arrival," he said, turning on every watt of Vale family charm. "I'm Dorian. Welcome to Hollow Oak."
She studied him for a long moment, those amber-green eyes cataloging and dismissing in the same breath. "Ivy."
"Ivy. Pretty name for a pretty woman."
"How original."
The dry response made him grin. Most women melted under that particular smile. This one looked like she might roll her eyes.
"I try to avoid originality. It's so exhausting." He gestured to the empty chair across from her. "Mind if I sit? Diana makes excellent tea, and I'd hate to miss the chance to properly welcome you."
"I'm not stopping you."
Not exactly an invitation, but not a refusal either. Dorian settled into the chair with the fluid grace that came naturally to predators, noting how her eyes tracked his movement before she caught herself and looked away.
"So," he said, accepting the cup Diana pressed into his hands. "What brings you to our little corner of nowhere?"
"Music. Diana mentioned there's a festival."
"There is. Should be quite the event. You perform?"
"Sometimes."
"Modest. I like that." He sipped his tea and studied her over the rim of his cup. "What do you play?"
"Guitar. Some vocals."
Getting information from her was like pulling teeth, but Dorian found himself enjoying the challenge. Most people, especially women, tended to overshare around him. This one guarded her words like they were precious gems.
"Well, you'll fit right in. Hollow Oak loves its musicians."
"So I've heard."
A comfortable silence settled over them, broken only by the crackling of the fire and the distant sound of the wind in the trees. Dorian found himself studying the play of firelight across her features, the way her fingers curved around her teacup like she was holding something precious.
"I should probably turn in," she said finally, setting her cup aside.
"Of course." He stood as she did, noting how she moved with a dancer's grace despite her obvious exhaustion. "Perhaps I'll see you at the festival. If you decide to perform, that is."
"Perhaps."
She was already moving toward the stairs, but something made her pause at the bottom step. "Thank you for the welcome."
"My pleasure."
"Well?" Diana appeared at his elbow, refilling his teacup with practiced efficiency.
"Well what?"
"Did you get what you came for?"
Dorian considered the question. He'd come to satisfy his curiosity about the new arrival, maybe indulge in a little harmless flirtation. Instead, he was leaving with more questions than answers and a restlessness in his chest.
"I'm not sure," he admitted.
Diana's smile was knowing. "Funny. That's exactly what she said when I asked her the same thing."