♥♥♥
One date turned into two, and the days turned into weeks.
He was handsome and successful, she reminded herself daily, with a nine to five job and a standing racquetball match on Saturday mornings. Silva knew that he was a catch, knew that there were probably a dozen other elves lined up behind her, ready to take her place. The fact that electricity didn’t thrum through her veins when he kissed her was simply a sign that she was free of fae trickery, she’d decided. The sex was adequate, they looked great together, and everyone around her seemed happy with their relationship.This is what you’re supposed to do. Tate had left her with nothing more than a hazy maybe, not even his phone number, and the distance brought clarity—his nonchalance was surely a sign that he simply wasn’t interested in hearing from her again.
There had been a moment of weakness, several weeks after returning to her life, several weeks into her new relationship, when she’d called the restaurant. She’d been invited to happy hour with Ris and Dynah, had indulged in too many of the fruity, potent house special, and had come home with an itchiness in her bones and a bravado that she didn’t possess in the daytime.
She wanted to feel his teeth at her throat, wanted to be fucked in that big room with a cue ball in her grip, wanted to hear his lilting voice call her his dove, his Silva of the nighttime, and shehatedhim for it. She wasfuriouswith him as she stumbled into her moonlit apartment that night, enraged that he’d given her a taste of freedom, a glimpse of a life outside of the world she knew, only to set her free as if she really were the little bird he’d named her. Silva decided to call him, to call him out on the fact that she hadn’t even warranted his number, her anger that he'd let her leave so casually, to rescind her affirmation that she’d see him again.
She realized she didn’t know the name of the bistro when she attempted to search for it online. It only added to her anger as she stood at her sink, gripping her phone in her dark apartment. She could clearly envision the outside of the building: curling metalwork and sculpted boxwoods outside the doors, twinkling fairy lights strung across the small flagstone terrace...but no sign, no name above the door, nor on the building itself. She’d searched out the name of the hamlet, found listings for the resort, for the jewelry shop and the soap maker, the little store that sold locally made honey where she’d bought her jug of cider. Silva recognized the names of the other restaurants they’d passed, but there was no listing for Tate’s bistro, and the map she’d pulled up on her GPS showed nothing on the corner where she absolutely knew it existed. In the end, she’d called the quiet restaurant across the street, where the girls had dinner the night she’d met Elshona.
“Clover. It’s called Clover.” The flat voice on the other end of the line had interrupted her stumbling question in an irritated tone before disconnecting abruptly.
Silva felt a shiver mover up her spine as she held the phone in her dark kitchen, typing inClover Bistrointo her search bar. The listing for the restaurant pulled up immediately, a small dot pinging on the map in a spot that had been empty a moment before.More fae trickery, she sneered to herself contemptuously, recognizing as soon as she had the thought that it was likely just a clever marketing ploy. She’d punched in the number with fingers that shook with frustration and anticipation, recognizing the voice of the beautiful mothwoman instantly. Her own voice had come out like a croak when she asked for him, feeling her heartbeat behind her eyes, the confidence the fruity drinks had provided vanished in the moonlight of her empty kitchen.
“Where’s Tate tonight?” she heard the moth ask someone else on the other end of the line. Silva’s mind instantly conjured an image of him out with some lithe nymph, maybe engaged in an orgy with a buxom harpy and a graceful cervitaur, living his life completely free of obligation or expectation, nary a single thought of her in his head, not even letting his own business get in the way of his good time.
“Tate’s tending bar at the Pixie all week...do you want to leave a message? He’ll be here in the morning.” She’d slid to the kitchen floor after turning down the offer of a message taken, her breath coming out in great shuddering heaves as reality cleared the cobwebs of her indignant imagination. He'd been at work all day, was still at work, no harpy or cervitaur there to distract him.
Unlike his bistro, the listing for The Plundered Pixie popped up immediately. Silva stared at her phone screen, able to perfectly envision the creaking sign and black painted bricks, the tall bar with the gruff-voiced orc and the little back room with the low sofas. If she called the little bar, she’d hear the ever-present amusement in his lilting accent, would imagine his cocky, crowded smile and laughing eyes and she would be lost.
The spot on her shoulder, where he’d bitten her, was still bruised, a deep purple flush marring her lavender skin. Silva wondered if she herself was the reason it had not vanished yet, for she’d developed a habit of pressing into it, her thumbnail approximating the sharp stab of his teeth. She’d pulled herself from the floor that night and stood under a scalding hot shower before bed, attempting to convince herself that her spiraling thoughts and frustrated tears were an unwelcome side effect of the fruity happy hour drinks she’d consumed and nothing more.
♥♥♥
“I can’t wait to meet this lil’ killer.”
Lurielle turned back to give him the stinkeye, her glare met by Khash’s crinkled eyes and wide smile. “You just wait. Junie and I are a package deal, mister, so you’d better hope she likes you. She’s never had to share me with anyone, so we’ll see how you both do.” He sobered instantly. Lurielle tried and failed to suppress her snort of laughter as the big orc gulped, his wide throat bobbing when the outraged Yorkie’s head appeared at the window, her indignant yips meeting them as she slid her key into the lock.
“Hey now, none’a that, bunny rabbit…”
She watched, over the course of the following hour, as Khash got down on the ground, his big chin practically bumping the floor, working to win Junie over—playing with her squeaky ball, letting the little dog growl and nip as they played tug-of-war with her rope, and jump onto his chest to better bark in his face. Lurielle had merely needed to sit on the sofa in his apartment, letting Ordo lumber up and place his giant head in her lap for ear scritches, so she appreciated the extra lengths involved in winning over Junie. Khash was as tenacious and stubborn as the badly-behaved little dog, beaming triumphantly when the small bundle of fluff settled in the crook of his arm to sleep, and Lurielle climbed onto the sofa beside him to deliver a victory kiss.
Later—long after he’d placed Junie in her little bed with a blanket and stuffed elephant, long after she’d knelt on the shower floor to mouth at his straining cock, after he’d carried her to her bed and climbed atop her, holding her hips as he pumped into her slowly, after his eruption into her had necessitated the sheets being stripped, which he’s helped her replace sheepishly—he held her against him, the tips of his fingers grazing the small of her back as she snuggled against his side sleepily.
“Who else do I need to win over, Bluebell?”
His voice was low rumble, sticky sweet honey, pulling her down. “No one,” she mumbled into his skin. “Just Junie.”
“Not your parents? Or your brother?”
Her brother lived on the other side of the country, and Lurielle only saw him a few times a year, while her mother could be notified of her new relationship in a few decades, she thought.
“Nope. I haven’t even said anything to my parents yet. My mom will lose her mind when she finds out I’m dating an orc. I told you, she’s one of those types.”
“Is that what we’re doing, Lurielle? Dating?”
He still had a way of saying her name like it was something exotic and sensual, his thick drawl coating each letter, pulling it like taffy. She raised her head to look up to his hooded eyes and lazy smile. “Do you have a better name for it?”
“Well,” he began, pushing an unruly lock of hair behind her ear, “I told my parents my girlfriend is an elf...Mamma asked how serious we were, and I said very.”
There was a flip in her stomach and a quiver in her spine at his slowly spoken words.This was a meaningless fling a few weeks ago,she reminded herself wonderingly. “That’s a good answer. Let’s go with that, okay?” His laughter was equally as slow, a lazy rumble against her as she resettled against his chest, a small smile tugging her lips as she drifted to sleep in his arms.
♥♥♥
The final heatwave of the year coincided with the start of the third month she’d been dating the handsome elf. He had charmed her family thoroughly, earning the firm handshake of her father and the cooing approval of her mother and grandmother both. Silva wondered if she would get a choice in the gilding of her cage, or if that decision would be made for her as well.
He’d suggested she ought to lighten her hair, the evening they’d gone to a concert in the park, after she’d mentioned her appointment the following morning.
