“Good morning,” he says, his voice that perfect mix of polite and distant that we’ve maintained all week. “There’s quite a bit requiring attention today.”
He gestures to his current project, and I see the pistol is just the start. The intake table is covered with an eclectic mix of items: a standard collection of baseball cards, a Victorian mourning ring that supposedly grants glimpses of lost loved ones, and what appears to be a perfectly ordinary toaster that, according to its intake form, keeps burning prophetic messages into toast slices.
“I’ll get started on the research,” I say, moving to my workspace and carefully maintaining the proper amount of space between us. As if we haven’t memorized exactly how far apart we need to stay to prevent his tail from accidentally brushing against me.
The morning passes in a strange tension. We work separately but aware of each other, like dancers moving to different rhythms in the same space. I catch him watching me categorize a box of vintage Transformers, his hood flaring slightly when I successfully identify which ones are rare variants. He pretends not to notice when I steal glances at him examining an art deco lamp that supposedly traps shadows.
It works fine until we have to examine a set of divination stones together. They’re beautiful things, smooth river rocks with gilt Sanskrit letters that seem to shift and move when you’re not looking directly at them. The practical part of my brain tries to focus on proper cataloging procedure—noting down weight, dimensions, suspected origin, any obvious magical properties… But it’s hard to concentrate when Sundar keeps making these small hisses of disapproval.
“What?” I finally ask, watching as he quickly rearranges the stones for the third time in as many minutes. “Are they cursed?”
His tail twitches. “Not cursed. Merely… inappropriate.”
“Inappropriate how?” I lean closer despite myself, trying to catch the letters before they shift again. This brings me near enough to catch his scent—that intoxicating mix of exotic spices and old books. “Are they telling dirty fortunes or something?”
“Of course not,” he says, yet he quickly scrambles the stones before I can decipher anything. Not that I can even read Sanskrit, but whatever they’re saying makes Sundar not want to take the risk.
That’s when his tail brushes my ankle—accidentally?—and electricity shoots up my leg.
Maggie’s words from breakfast echo in my head:Maybe he doesn’t know how else to get a girl to spend time with him…
“Two weeks down,” I hear myself say, my voice shakier than I’d like. “Only three more to go, then I’ll be out of your scales and you can get back to your nice, quiet solitude. Must be a relief, huh?”
His golden eyes fix on me. “Why would you assume that’s what I want?”
Something in his voice—a hint of genuine confusion, maybe even hurt—makes me brave. Or stupid. Probably stupid. But I’ve spent a week maintaining this careful distance, pretending I don’t notice how his tail seeks me out, how his tongue flicks more rapidly when I’m near. Pretending I don’t catch him watching me when he thinks I’m absorbed in work.
“Why did you really hire me, Sundar?”
He goes completely still—that uncanny stillness inhuman creatures can achieve. Even his tail freezes mid-coil. Only his tongue moves, flicking out to taste the air between us.
“I saw your ledgers,” I continue, forcing the words out before I lose my nerve. “You help everyone else who’s in need. You waive interest, extend payment terms, fix things for free.” I swallow hard. “But with me? You set the harshest terms possible. Then created this suspiciously well-paying job right after I cried all over your counter about my pathetic life.”
The divination stones start rearranging themselves again, but Sundar doesn’t stop them this time. His hood fully flares, and something dangerous glints in his eyes.
“You believe I hired you out of pity?” His voice has dropped lower, taking on a resonant quality. Behind him, the prophetic toaster pops up a slice of bread with what looks like ‘OH HONEY NO’ burned into it. “You think I created this position out ofobligation?”
I lift my chin. “Didn’t you?”
“No.” His tail lashes once. “When you came back and told me everything—about your struggles, about your ex, about how small he made you feel…”
He moves closer, and I should step back, should maintain that distance we’ve carefully crafted. Instead, I sway toward him, drawn by the raw honesty in his voice.
“Someone with your warmth, your kindness, deserves so much better,” he continues, his tongue flicking out to taste my reaction. “And seeing Nalini only highlighted how different you are—how your presence makes centuries of solitude seem suddenly unbearable.”
The divination stones are desperately spelling out something, but I can’t look away from his eyes. Can’t focus on anything except how close he is and how his tail has started to curl around my ankles.
“Sundar…” My voice comes out in a shaky breath. “I…”
“Aubrey.” My name escapes his mouth in a low hiss as he continues tasting the air. “Your scent changes when I say these things.”
I don’t know what to say. My mind is stuck on that phrase—‘how your presence makes centuries of solitude seem suddenly unbearable.’ But there’s no way to respond, no way to explain that he makes me feel exactly the same way, even despite my comparatively shorter human lifespan.
So I step forward instead, entering his space fully, so close that his tail coils instinctively around my ankles. I tilt my head back to look up at him, my heart pounding.
“Sundar, I…”
But I never finish, because a second later our mouths clash, his forked tongue sliding between my lips, his fangs grazing my skin. It’s fierce and demanding, and I know I should pull away and apologize for crossing this line, but my body has other ideas.
