“Maybe you… maybe you can date.”
“No. Don’t do that. I’m here just to serve drinks and listen.”
“Yeah, but… you’re single, right?”
“Doesn’t mean I’m interested.”
“C’mon…”
“You really think wheedling like a 5-year-old kid’s gonna work? Dude, just download Tinder. Give it a whirl. Don’t proposition barmaids, or I’ll have to ask the boss to kick you out.”
He shut up after that, but looked rather sullen and deliberately moved so that someone else could serve him instead, with a “Bitch” muttered just loud enough for her to hear.
With the shift ended, with a few more woeful patrons’ tears collected, she made it back home to her little cottage and retreated to the basement with the cocktail bar. Too late for her friends to come around, unfortunately. Would’ve been nice. This place was empty without talk and laughter, without her hands being busy doing something. Part of the reason why sometimes she just hired from Date Monsters. She liked entertaining for guests. Liked listening to them. And it was honestly surprising just how many of the shifters she spoke with actually needed that space to confess about their own lives. Some of them were broken hearts, the others longing to make enough money for the woman of their dreams. Others also ended up wanting to take things further with her, but she tended to refuse and remind them gently that it was a contract.
Something about sharing the soul made them open like that. Seemed she was damn well excellent at listening and solving other people’s problems. Seemed less excellent when it came to her own love life, to kick-starting her own business, to perfecting the alcoholic mixtures she wanted to grow and make herself.
Everything felt like it was years away from happening. Maybe it never would.
Knock knock.
Tegan snapped out of her reverie and slid off the barstool. Who was knocking at this time of night? She headed upstairs along the awkwardly narrow steps (her stepfather kept insisting he’d come over one of these days and renovate) and made it to the door. “Who is it?” she called.
“It’s me.”
Ah. Tegan opened the door to face Emory on the other side. Emory, the town pariah, the person who most of the boys in town might’ve had at one point, if you believed all the rumors out there. Someone who liked to frequent bars for a good time. Someone who lost herself in different, destructive ways.
Someone who also happened to be Tegan’s friend. “You’re not having issues with a guy again? Oh.” Just as she finished speaking her sentence, a stranger moved into view from the darkness. A stranger with piercing green eyes—bioluminescent and a weird contrast to the rest of his face.
A shifter.
“Hi,” Emory replied brightly. She glanced behind her at the stranger. “Mind if we both come in? This is Kieran, by the way.”
“‘Sup.” Kieran stared intensely at her, to the point where Tegan felt a little uncomfortable.
“Uh, sure. But why are you here this time of night?”
“I know you finish around this time,” Emory said, promptly letting herself in, followed by the shifter known as Kieran. He moved with that sinuous, prowling confidence she’d seen in a few others. Like he was constantly on the lookout for prey, and danger. A predatory grace that made her feel like prey, like she needed to keep watch on him and have her guard up.
He wasn’t a wolf, she knew that. They generally had yellow eyes. A few rare cases of orange. She tried not to stare too much back, but these people had a way of taking up space and attention in a room.
“You’re enjoying Date Monsters, I take it?”
“Oh, yeah. It’s been an eye opener. Much better prospects compared to what’s around in town. You regularly hire as well, don’t you?”
“I do,” Tegan said in a cautious tone, wondering just where this whole adventure was going. She beckoned them downstairs to the basement and offered a drink, just to keep her hands busy.
“I told Kieran about you. How you’re all into confessions and listening to people crying on your shoulder all night long. And those mean mofos you mix.” Emory gestured to the drink shelf.
“Okay,” Tegan said, not sure where she was going. “That’s cool?”
Emory gave a wicked little grin. “Since you’re always trying to help other people with their love lives, figured maybe I could help you with yours. You see, there’s an interesting section of that site which I don’t know if you’ve explored or not… but it has people who are looking for actual love. Trial relationships. Kieran here is one of them.” She winked at Kieran, who seemed to still be taking in every aspect of Tegan, like she was the sole most interesting thing in the universe.
“You did what now?” She glared, even as her friend cackled in glee.
“I never even realized there would be a section for that,” Emory continued, as if she hadn’t just said something completely alarming. Tegan’s heart began to do awkward palpitations. It was far too late to be dealing with this shit right now. “But I know you’ve been feeling a little down in recent months. Everyone’s hooking up and getting love, and there’s you. The eternal matchmaker, matching everyone but herself.”
“You’re serious?”
“Of course. So’s Kieran. Isn’t that right, Kieran?”
The rather silent shifter gave a small glance to Emory. “You were right about her being pretty.”
For some reason, that affected Tegan a little more than she wanted to admit. It also offended her, because damnit, she wasn’t here to be ogled! “Really, buddy? You just let her hire you out and send you my way?”
“I’ve had more unusual,” Kieran said. “And the way she described you, it made you sound like quite the catch. Physical and personality.”
“I’m not a catch,” Tegan said. “But I do make a mean drink.” Her hands shook slightly as she went through the routine, the familiar one meant to relax her and take attention away from the fact that this shifter seemed to actively approve of her.
He’s not fucking bad-looking, either. Smooth, angular features, giving him a strong, Renaissance painting appearance. Narrow, calculating eyes that blasted that intense shade of green. A pointed nose that suited him. The smirk that graced his lips was full and soft. He had dark hair which glinted with a kind of red ombre in direct light.
“What kind of shifter are you, anyway?”
At this, his expression dropped and he folded his arms. Well, she was obviously planning to ask that question at some point. “A dragon. But… I don’t really like being in my dragon form.”
What? “Why not? Dragons are really powerful. They’re among the strongest shifters I know.”
Kieran looked even more uncomfortable. “Not my kind of dragon, no. We don’t have the same kind of clout as the ones you… typically think of.”
Now Tegan’s curiosity was piqued. “How so? I don’t understand.”
Emory listened in avid interest as well, which suggested she hadn’t quite asked all the questions either.
Kieran eyed the drink that Tegan handed him, and sighed. “Well, I wasn’t expecting to get into detail so fast. Whatever.” He gulped it down as if it was nothing. “Okay, are you aware there is a hierarchy when it comes to dragons? The wealthier and purer-blooded your family is, the bigger the dragon? Biggest ones out there can be the size of houses. Monstrous and proud. Then you have dragons like me.” He tapped his chest, lips curling into a sneer. “We are small. Our blood is impure, filthy. We are the outcasts, the flotsam that other dragons look down upon.”