Page 14 of A Kiss of Flame
Barith chuckled. “Don’t get yer silk panties in a twist, Vi.” He raised his hand and waved at Lily for another round. Levian couldn’t see her, but based on Barith’s swoon-worthy smile, she imagined Lily had smiled back with her giant dimples. “All I’m saying is that ye know what ye want and how to set clear boundaries. Ye’ve seen me muck up countless relationships, so ye know I’ve got no room to judge.”
“That’s because you always knew your fate,” she declared without thinking. Barith’s whole countenance darkened, and Levian cursed herself immediately. “I’m sorry,” she offered, her voice softening. “I didn’t mean to?—”
He shrugged it off. “Och, it’s alright. Maybe yer right. I always knew my mother would call me home eventually to get mated, but honestly?—”
“What?” she asked, sliding her beer toward him, chilling it with a swipe of her finger as she did. She’d never been much of a lager fan and was fine to spend a few evenings sober after their night in Berlin.
He shifted in his seat and looked down at his empty glass. “It’s silly,” he admitted, his voice quieter. “I always thought I’d find love. That I’d find my true mate, and then my mother wouldn’t have a say in who I ended up with.”
Levian’s heart couldn’t help but soften at his words. It was charming, albeit a bit silly. Dragons had old traditions around courtship and mating. Arranged matings were more common than not. From her understanding, mating in the magickal sense—finding a true mate—was extremely rare. It was even rarer, or unheard of entirely, for a dragon to mate with someone whowasn’t also a dragon, and as far as she knew, Barith had never had too much interest in dragon females.
“We can’t all be as lucky as Gwen and Sirus,” she said softly.
The dragon grinned half-heartedly back at her. “Aye, those two are downright disgusting.”
She laughed. “I do love them dearly, but I’m not sure I’ll ever be able to set foot in Volkov again without remembering the time I caught them in the library—very loudly?—”
Barith pulled a face and slammed his palms over his ears. “I don’t want to hear it,” he groaned. “Gwen is like one of my wee sisters—it’s just—gross.”
“I only mean that they could figure out some kind of warning system,” she chuckled. “Even a tie on the door handle would suffice.”
Levian knew real love wasn’t in the cards for her. It just wasn’t how she was built. But she couldn’t help feeling warmed by seeing Gwen and Sirus together. Levian would never know how a surly, stoic vampire like Sirus ended up with a charming creature like Gwendolyn, but their odd pairing was beautiful—a true love match for the ages and one she believed would endure for many years to come.
A glass shattered somewhere in the bar, and Barith cocked his head to get a better look. Levian watched him in the dim light, her heart-stirring slightly. The dragon had always been a ridiculous romantic, willing to throw himself headfirst into love until things inevitably imploded dramatically. There were times over their long acquaintance when Barith had been her closest friend and confidant. When they’d reconnected last fall to help Gwendolyn, they’d quickly returned to their old ways. Levian had again enjoyed the comfort of Barith’s reassuring presence in her life—his irritating but endearing solidity. She knew he’d grown accustomed to it too, which was why it had been so difficult when she’d left to take on her role with the Counciland why she’d bristled when he’d been called home for his long-overdue courtship. She’d felt his absence more this time than ever before because, this time, it was permanent.
“Barith,” she started, unsure where she was headed, knowing she’d likely regret it. “I am happy—happy that you?—”
Lily suddenly popped up at their table empty-handed. “He’s here,” she told Barith, leaning unnecessarily low so her ample bosom was on full display, her very low-cut top emphasizing the view. The dragon followed her gaze as the pix peered over her shoulder at a large creature standing at the bar, his bright red dragon tail swishing lazily behind him.
“That’s him,” Levian confirmed. It wasn’t easy for other Folk to see, but shifters had a strange energy when using their gift—like a picture not quite in focus. The mage could have found him without Lily.
Barith rose from his stool, and the Lily went wide-eyed as he towered over her, her cheeks flushing a deep shade of crimson as she no doubt imagined all the wicked things she and Barith could do together.
“Thanks, Lily. We’ll take it from here,” he said.
“All right,” she replied, her voice a bit breathless. “Just don’t make too much of a scene, darling. It’s busy tonight.”
He winked at her, his smile as charming as ever, as he began to step into the crowd, which parted for him like the sea. “I wouldn’t dream of it, sweetness.”
Levian could hear the woman giggle behind her and glared at Barith, who caught her scathing look out of the corner of his eye. “What?” he mouthed.
“You’re insufferable,” she mouthed back.
He smiled smugly. “Insufferably irresistible,” he replied proudly as they came up behind the shifter. Levian rolled her eyes and gestured to the shifter standing before them. Barithlooked the fake dragon up and down before shooting Levian an unimpressed look.
The shifter felt their gaze and turned to look over his shoulder. He was broad, with wavy deep brown hair, yellow eyes, and tattoos crawling up his neck in an incoherent jumble—utter gibberish to anyone familiar with Elder runes.
“Hello, brother,” Barith greeted the shifter warmly.
The faux dragon turned to face them, his smile widening, clearly proud of himself for fooling a real dragon with his disguise. “Oi, mate,” he said, his East End accent coloring his words. “Ain’t usually see other dragons in ‘ere. How ‘bout that?”
It was almost laughable. No member of a dragon horde would have such an accent. The nearest horde was Barith’s, based on the isles northeast of Scotland.
“Let me buy ya a pint,” the shifter offered, nodding toward the bar.
“A raincheck,” Barith replied, his tone turning more menacing, his hand clapping down on the shifter's shoulder with enough force to make the other man wince. Then he yanked the shifter closer. “You know, I try to be a good sport about this kind of thing, but my friend over there told me you’ve been using her pub as a spot to sell some shite drug the Alchemists are cooking up.”
The Alchemists were the makers of Opal, as well as all the other more popular drugs to pass through the Folk underground over the last century. No one knew precisely who led their organization, but Levian suspected a mage had to be involved in their concoctions—a gifted mage at that.