When I finally work up the courage to enter the shop, the bell’s cheerful chime feels like it’s mocking me. The air inside is cooler than I remember, heavy with the scent of old books and that earthier smell I now know is specificallyhim.
My heart stutters as I spot Sundar behind the counter, his tall form bent over some ancient-looking text. He’s wearing a deepgreen vest today that makes his scales gleam like black opals, and when he looks up, those golden eyes pin me in place.
“Miss Garrett.” His voice is exactly as I remembered—deep, smooth, with that hint of an accent I still can’t place. “Or should I say, Aubrey. Right on time.”
Of course he remembers me. Of course he knows exactly why I’m here. I clutch my purse tighter, trying to draw strength from the wadded bills inside—all I have to show for a month of overtime.
“Sundar.” My voice sounds steady, even if my heart is pounding. “I… We need to talk.”
His hood shifts slightly—the tiniest flare of interest—as he closes his book. “Indeed.”
God, why does he have to be so… somuch? Everything about him commands attention, from the way his tail coils beneath him to the sharp angles of his face. It’s not fair to look this impressive while about to crush someone’s hopes.
“The thing is,” I begin, then falter as he moves from behind the counter. His full height is even more overwhelming than I remembered, and watching him move makes my thoughts evaporate.
Dammit, I need to pull it together. “About the bracelet…”
“You’re short on the payment.”
It’s not a question. I nod, unable to meet his eyes. “I tried. I really did. I picked up extra shifts, cut every expense I could, but there was this car repair, and—” I’m rambling. I stop and force myself to breathe. He doesn’t need to hear my excuses. “I have most of it. I just need a little more time.”
The silence that follows feels endless. When I finally dare to look up, Sundar’s expression is unreadable, those golden eyes studying me intensely.
“A deal,” he says slowly, “is a deal.”
Something inside me cracks at his tone—so formal, so distant. Like the past month of me thinking about him, wondering if there had been something more than just business between us, was just my imagination running wild.
I feel so stupid. I forget everything I felt about him, my entire focus turning toward the one thing that matters.
“Please.” The word comes out raw and desperate. “I know you don’t owe me anything, but that bracelet… It’s survived generations, and now I can’t even…” My voice breaks embarrassingly. “I can’t even earn it back after a month.”
His tail shifts, the scales catching light as he moves closer. Too close. I have to tip my head back to maintain eye contact, and oh God, this was a mistake. Being this close to him, breathing in his scent, watching his hood flex slightly as he considers me—it’s too much.
“You humans,” he says softly, almost to himself. “So attached to these physical reminders of your short lives.”
The words sting, even though his tone isn’t cruel. Still, I argue, “Maybe because our livesareshort. Maybe because some of us are just trying to hold on to something meaningful while working dead-end jobs and living paycheck to paycheck and constantly doubting every decision we’ve ever made.”
I clamp my mouth shut, mortified. Where did that come from? But now that I’ve started, the words keep spilling out.
“Do you know what it’s like? To wake up every morning wondering if this is all there is? To feel like you’re drowning in responsibility while everyone around you seems to have it figured out?” Tears blur my vision, but I keep going, unable to stop. “I’m almost thirty and I can’t even manage to save a family heirloom. God, my ex was right—I’m completely useless at being an adult.”
The silence that follows my outburst is deafening. I want to crawl under one of his display cases and die. Or maybe touch that cursed mirror in the corner and hope it transports me to another dimension.
Sundar remains perfectly still, in that way only predators can manage. His golden eyes study me so intensely that I want to look away, but I make myself meet his gaze.
In the quiet, I notice things I wish I didn’t—how his scales shift color under the shop’s warm lighting, how his chest rises andfalls with each measured breath, how his tail has coiled closer to where I stand, as if unconsciously drawn to me…
Finally, he moves. It’s subtle—just a slight softening of his hood, a tilt of his head that makes him look almost… concerned? When he speaks, his voice has lost its professional edge, becoming softer, richer, sending a warmth curling through my chest despite my embarrassment.
“I have…” He pauses, and for the first time since I’ve met him, he seems to be choosing his words carefully. His tongue flicks out briefly, tasting the air between us. “I have a new offer for you.”
His tail shifts, coiling closer, and something in his eyes makes my breath catch—a heat, a hunger, that has nothing to do with business transactions.
“A new offer,” I repeat weakly.
“Yes.” His voice drops lower. “Though I suspect you may find the terms… unconventional.”
And suddenly I’m very aware that I’m alone in a shop with a predator who’s looking at me like I might be his next meal.
