Absolute fury raged through Ivor as he watched this pompous chef yelling at someone who obviously worked for him. Another chef by his black chef’s jacket. Ivor had witnessed the accident, which had been just that—an accident. Certainly nothing that warranted this sort of unprofessional behavior.
The only thing keeping him in his seat was his utter fascination with the tall, gangly younger chef. Copper-colored hair was swept back off a thin, freckle-covered face. The freckles were reddish in color, like his hair, and even from this far away, he could see the light amber of the man’s eyes. Eyes that sparkled like gemstones. He towered over the yelling chef, but was built narrow, and right now, his cheeks were flushed red from embarrassment.
He was absolutely stunning.
“Want me to send something flying into that asshole’s head?” Emory murmured.
“Definitely.”
A mug flew off a shelf behind the bar and smacked into the back of the chef’s head, making him whirl around and glare.
“Who threw that?”
Ivor returned his gaze to the pretty, freckled man, who was again looking at him before his eyes went to Emory—or rather, Emory’s wings.
Oh, wasn’t this an intriguing addition?
Surprise had him lifting his eyebrows. The younger chef could obviously see through Emory’s glamour, making him one of those unique humans Ivor had recently learned about. Ones their glamour magic didn’t work on.
Ones who could be soulmates.
And from the color of his hair and the freckles, Ivor was guessing this was the son they were here to find. His name was Rowan. Rowan kept staring at Emory.
Ivor wanted that gaze on himself something fierce.
Then Rowan’s eyes finally moved to Ivor. They were fucking beautiful eyes, light amber that shone like polished stone. Ivor locked gazes with him, holding his breath. A strange and overwhelming feeling of rightness washed through him.
They stared at each other for a long time, and that feeling just grew more intense until it swamped every part of Ivor. Realization struck, and he narrowed his eyes to study Rowan more closely. Raw, pure lust shot through him, and it was all he could do to not let his magic loose, not release his pheromones into the room to lure Rowan in.
Rowan’s eyes flared wide, and he fled back into the kitchen.
Emory chuckled, regaining Ivor’s attention.
“Whoa,” Emory breathed. “Did you just, like, imprint on that man or something? What the hell was that?”
“I don’t know, but I’m intrigued.” That was putting it too simply. Something had just happened to him, and it had everything to do with that beautiful man.
“He’s not like the men and women you usually go for at all, but it was damned obvious you are interested. You do know you were looking at him like he was food, right?”
Ivor cracked a grin. “He very well could be.”
Emory laughed again. “True, very true. I’ve always been a little jealous of the way you feed your magic.”
Ivor tilted his head to study his friend. “What are you talking about? You don’t have to feed yours at all. That’s got to be preferable to having to feed to keep the magic sustained.”
“Yeah, but I really, really like sex.”
Ivor winked. “Luckily, so do I.” He looked back at the swinging doors the man had fled through. “I’m pretty sure he was the one we’re here to find.”
“He certainly resembles his mother.”
Their server arrived at the table with their desserts, wearing a sheepish smile of apology. She was a pretty young woman with long brown hair pulled into a high ponytail. Normally, Ivor would have flirted with her, but his attention was now completely focused on Rowan.
“I’m so sorry you had to witness that,” she said. “I promise that doesn’t usually happen here, so don’t be afraid to come back.” She gave Ivor a flirtatious glance. “I’ve enjoyed serving you tonight.”
“You’ve been wonderful, so thank you. But someone needs to tell that chef that treating his employees like that is deplorable.”
She shrugged. “His word is god around here, so there’s no one to tell him that unfortunately.”
