Oh, right. The bracelet feels like it’s contracting around my wrist, reminding me of why I’m here.
Focus. This is just a pawn shop. With a devastatingly handsome snake man running it. Totally normal.
Finally, I square my shoulders, lifting my chin. I can do this. “I have something to sell. Or pawn. Preferably pawn.”
He shifts, scales catching the light as he moves closer to the counter. There’s something hypnotic about the way he moves, fluid and powerful all at once. The sash at his waist rippleswith the motion, and I find myself wondering exactly how the transition works under there—then immediately force my thoughts toward a less dangerous direction.
I lift my arm, pointing at the bracelet. “This. It’s… It’s a family heirloom. So I was hoping it might be worth something.”
His hood flares slightly as his eyes narrow, focusing on my wrist with an intensity that makes the temperature in the shop feel ten degrees warmer. The way he studies the bracelet—studiesme—makes me feel like prey, yet somehow it doesn’t make me want to run. It makes me want to step closer, to see what might happen if I walk within a predator’s reach…
“An interesting piece,” he murmurs, and somehow he’s closer now, though I didn’t see him move. He’s emerged fully from behind the counter, and my breath catches as I take in the full length of him—his serpentine body must be at least fifteen feet from waist to tip, his powerful tail shifting with liquid grace as he moves.
My traitorous mind immediately conjures an image of how easily that length could wrap around my entire body, those muscles flexing against my skin, restricting me, pinning me down and—nope. Not going there. This is a business transaction, not a fantasy novel.
But watching his tail coil into loops beneath him, scales gleaming like black silk, I can’t quite banish the thought. My mouth goes dry as he leans closer, studying the bracelet.
“It’s most certainly valuable,” he begins, watching me closely. “But tell me. Why do your hands shake when you offer it?”
My eyes meet his, and in that moment, I realize I’ve made a terrible mistake. Not coming here—no, that was probably the most reasonable decision I’ve made all week.
The mistake was thinking I could walk into this shop, face this creature with his ancient eyes and impossible grace, and walk away unchanged.
Because right now, watching his cobra hood flare slightly as he scents the air between us with his forked tongue, I know with bone-deep certainty that I’m already caught.
And the scariest part? I don’t want to escape.
Chapter 2
Ancient Magic, Modern Problems
Sundar
The bell above myshop door chimes, and instantly my senses flood with awareness. Her scent reaches me first—a mix of coffee, anxiety, and something unique that makes my tongue flick instinctively against my will.
I remain still behind the counter, organizing a collection of pocket knives, but I know exactly where she is, sensing the vibrations in the ground as she moves through my territory.
Her footsteps whisper across the aged floorboards, hesitant yet determined. Like prey that knows it’s walking into a predator’s den but does it anyway.
Intriguing.
I listen as she pauses by the haunted Victorian doll. Her heart rate spikes when the doll moves, but she doesn’t screech or drop anything breakable. Already showing more composure than most first-time customers.
When she finally stops at the Furby, taking an inordinate amount of time to look over its mint condition packaging, I can’t help myself. “Of everything here, it’s theFurbythat catches your attention?”
She startles, spinning to face me, and—oh.
Oh.
She’s… lovely. Not in the cold, sophisticated way Nalini was, with her perfectly arranged scales and practiced grace. No, this human girl is warm, alive, with expressive blue eyes and a mouth that looks like it was made for smiling, even though right now it’s hanging slightly open in what I hope is appreciation rather than horror.
Her shoulder-length blonde hair curls rebelliously around her face, and a light spattering of freckles draws my attention to the gentle curves of her cheeks. She’s wearing what humans call “business casual,” but the effect is somewhat undermined by the way she’s clutching her purse like a shield up to her chest.
“I have something to sell,” she finally manages, then quickly amends, “Or pawn. Preferably pawn.”
Her voice is pleasant—slightly husky, with a hint of Texas in her vowels. I allow myself to rise to my full height, not missing how her eyes widen as I tower over her. My tail coils beneath me automatically, and I notice her gaze following my movement with… Is that fascination?
Interesting. Most humans either stare in disgust or pointedly avoid looking at my serpentine half entirely.
