Chapter 22 Dorian
DORIAN
The door chimed just as Ivy was gathering her notes and preparing to leave, her guitar case already slung over her shoulder. She looked up with that same hopeful expression he'd noticed through the window, and something in him clicked into place when her face brightened at seeing him.
"Dorian." Her voice carried relief she probably didn't mean to show. "I was just heading back to the inn."
"Perfect timing then. I was coming to see if you wanted company for dinner." He nodded to Moira, who was tactfully organizing books behind the counter. "Diana mentioned she was making soup tonight."
"Soup sounds good."
As they walked toward the inn, Dorian found himself scanning the shadows and side streets with automatic vigilance.
He'd spent the afternoon checking the town's perimeter after his encounter with Sebastian, looking for signs the warlock had lingered or set up surveillance.
Nothing obvious, but men like Crowe were skilled at staying hidden when they wanted to.
"You seem tense," Ivy observed.
"Long day. Festival logistics." The lie came easily, necessary to keep her from worrying about threats she couldn't control.
"Where you busy researching with Moira?" He knew the answer, but he also knew that she hadn’t shared that with him.
She was private and he wanted to let her ease into trusting him.
Her face reddened as she searched for an answer. He could tell she wasn’t ready to share.
“Uh, yeah. Looking up some legal things and fae songs that have been long forgotten.”
"Ah, well I can’t wait to hear them." He knew she hadn’t been entirely lying but he didn’t want to push. She’d share when she was ready.
Diana's soup turned out to be a rich butternut squash bisque with fresh bread that made the inn's dining room feel like a warm embrace. They ate by candlelight while rain began pattering against the windows, creating the kind of intimate atmosphere that made conversation flow easily.
"Tell me about your music before," Dorian said as they finished their meal. "Before you started traveling. What did it feel like when it was just yours?"
Ivy was quiet, staring into the candle flame. "Like flying. Like the whole world opened up when I sang." Her smile was soft with memory. "My grandmother used to say that music was the closest thing to magic humans could touch."
"She sounds wise."
"She was. She taught me those ward songs I mentioned earlier. Showed me how to weave protection into melody." Ivy's fingers traced the rim of her wine glass. "I lost that for a while. The ability to sing freely."
"What happened?"
She hesitated, then seemed to make a decision. "I had a manager. In Nashville. He... he wasn't what he seemed to be. Used contracts to control my music, my voice. Made it so I couldn't perform without his permission."
"That's not management. That's ownership."
"Exactly." Her voice was barely above a whisper. "It took me months to break free, and even now I can feel the bindings trying to pull me back. That's what I was researching today with Moira. Ways to sever the connection permanently."
"And you think you can?"
"Maybe. The research was promising." She met his eyes directly. "That's why I can't leave Hollow Oak yet. Not until I'm truly free."
The simple statement seemed to settle something between them. "You will be. Whatever it takes."
"You sound very certain."
"Because you're stronger than whatever he did to you. I've heard you sing, remember? The freedom is still there."
Outside, the rain intensified, drumming against the inn's windows with the kind of persistence that suggested they'd be staying inside for the evening. Diana appeared to clear their dishes, her empathic gift picking up on the charged atmosphere between them.
"Storm's supposed to last through the night," she said with studied casualness. "Good thing you're both already somewhere warm and dry."
After Diana disappeared into the kitchen, Ivy turned to him with a look that was half invitation, half question. "My room has a decent view of the storm, if you're interested in watching it for a while."
"I'd like that."
Her room was on the second floor, simple but comfortable with a window seat that overlooked the town square. They settled there to watch the rain, close enough that their shoulders touched, close enough that he could catch her scent with every breath.
"I keep thinking about what you said yesterday," she said quietly. "About choice mattering."
"What about it?"
"No one's ever said that to me before. Not about anything that mattered."
"Everyone deserves choice. Especially about who they trust with their heart."
"Is that what this is? Trust?"
"Part of it."
She turned to face him fully, studying his expression in the lamplight. "What's the other part?"
"The other part is that I want you. Have wanted you since the first night I heard you sing." His honesty surprised them both. "But wanting and taking are different things."
"What if I want to be taken?"
The question hung between them with a careful vulnerability that came from someone who'd learned to guard her choices carefully.
"Then I'd remind you that being taken and choosing to give are also different things."
"And if I choose to give?"
"Then I'd make sure you never regretted it."