“Because there are always burns when she is involved, Pru. Come what is meant. Be safe, boring life or not.” Seren winked and Pru left Crow’s Brew in a daze.
Pru thought about Seren’s words about her life. Boring. Quiet. She considered it so herself. As she returned to Book Nest, she realized she had been thinking that since she returned to Dragons after getting her college degree in library science. Nothing much happened in town, which had slumbered quietly in the shadow of the school for centuries.
With her father thoroughly uninterested and wanting to dedicate more and more time to his mayoral duties, she took over her grandmother’s business. She told herself she was happy. Was the bookshop her dream? Not when she began, but slowly, with her entire life beginning to revolve around the narrow aisles and cozy armchairs by the brick fireplace and the displays she spent way too many hours on, Pru had realized she had found her place. But her place felt…empty. Despite the stacks of books and the candles and the tchotchkes.
As she restocked the Women’s Fiction shelves, she looked around herself with a critical eye. A few years ago, when her grandmother passed away, the store became solely hers and yet she’d stalled on making big decisions about it. Maybe that needed to change. An adjustment was needed. Both to her way of living and of thinking, as if waiting for something to happen. To the business, to her. In the meantime, both had been languishing. The store needed something. A new coat of paint, a new vibe, if you would.
Pru knew a metaphor when one presented itself so unequivocally. She made a mental note to order paint swatches. And maybe some decals. Of dragons. And crows. And possums. Of course, possums.
The island and the town carried an allure of mystery. It was perhaps time to lean into it more. Mentally going through some of the changes she could adopt, Pru missed the bell signaling customers.
It was just one. A tall, handsome man with a backpack and a steel water bottle plastered with stickers. A quintessential tourist. He smiled as he approached and Pru returned it, her bookseller eye assessing him quickly. Nonfiction fan, mostly audiobooks, judging by the headphones. He’d want something on local history and a souvenir to commemorate his visit to the island. Pru’s hand reached for the stack of postcards.
“Welcome to Book Nest. How may I help you?”
When he rattled off how much he heard about Dragons on a podcast, loved what he had seen so far, and wanted a piece to remember his trip by, Pru patted herself on the back for a well-made guess.
Twenty minutes, two coffee table books on the town, an audiobook on the school and one on the island itself, three postcards, a few stickers, and a magnet later, Jalen—because he insisted she use his name—shook her hand and wished her a pleasant afternoon.
He did try to persuade her to have a drink with him “at this absolutely magnificent restaurant just down the street,” but Pru waved him away. She was almost two hundred dollars richer and preferred not to waste her evenings. He took her polite refusal on the chin, and Pru returned to the back of the shop where the fire was fading in the reading nook. She knelt, debating whether to throw on another log or to let it die out.
“I shall have to tell my aunt that people think the Tavern is absolutely magnificent. She will be pleased.”
Pru screamed and dropped the bulky piece of wood. It landed half in the fireplace, thus taking care of her decision of whether to keep the fire going.
Rhiannon—unrepentant, gorgeous, dangerous, sly—looked down at her, arms casually crossed over her chest, pulling just a bit on her blouse, revealing the deep vee of her décolletage. Pruthought how fitting it was that she was on her knees. One needed to genuflect when faced with those breasts.
Rhiannon’s gaze was knowing. Seeing. That arrogant smile was back on those lips and Pru almost whimpered. Almost. For all she knew, Rhiannon could be here for a business meeting. As two neighboring merchants were prone to do. Also, weren’t they going to some town hall event later some week or another?
Moreover, it was barely mid-afternoon. The shop was open… Pru glanced toward the front door.
Rhiannon leaned forward, extended her hand, and lifted Pru’s chin till their eyes met. Pru felt the touch and the gaze in her bones.
“You’ll have to pray that nobody enters, then.”
In an instant the fingers on her chin tightened, and she barely managed to get up on her feet before those full lips she admired earlier descended on hers. Rhiannon still held her face, the move doing more for Pru than she cared to admit. It managed to pin her in place more effectively than a wall would. Her mouth was there for the taking.
And speaking of taking, she barely tasted Rhiannon before she was unceremoniously turned around and pulled flush against her body. She opened her eyes and blinked at the view. Both of them, standing back to front, reflected in the shop’s mirror, the fire bathing them in golden shadows. It was erotic. The distinct possibility that anyone could come in at any moment should not be making this as attractive to Pru as it was.
“I don’t back out of my debts, Prudence.” Rhiannon bit her neck, the placement of the bite a perfect facsimile of the one Prudence left on her just yesterday.
“Ah… There’s no keeping score… Rhiannon….”
She watched herself melt against that wicked, wicked mouth. And she watched her eyes attain a wild quality to them, one thatshe had never seen before. Hungry, desperate. And she was. She wanted… She wanted…
“Tell me, Prudence. Tell me what you want me to do to you.”
This was the Devil. Surely, this was Her. Prudence moaned, and Rhiannon licked where she bit and then bit harder. Prudence’s palm flew to her mouth to keep the scream in.
“The door?—”
“You will have to keep so very quiet, Prudence. Can you do that?”
When Prudence didn’t answer, Rhiannon’s hand caressed her spine, running up until her fingers tangled in Pru’s hair and then they pulled, exposing her neck to a ravenous mouth. Except it did not bite, nor kiss. Rhiannon’s mouth lingered, a breath away from the skin, the grip holding Pru’s head immobile.
“Or should I walk out, Prudence?” the Devil’s lips whispered against the side of Pru’s exposed throat, ending the question with a tiny lick, a barest whisper of tongue, caressing and gone before she could even realize it had been there.
“No!”
