And worse… Some part of me hopes I am.
Chapter 4
Time and Temptation
Sundar
Time moves differently formy kind. Centuries can pass like seasons, decades blur together in memory. So why has this past month dragged on with excruciating slowness?
I coil my tail behind the counter, pretending to focus on cataloging a newly acquired cursed music box. The familiar task should be soothing—examining the delicate mechanisms, testing for malevolent enchantments, documenting their histories. Instead, my mind wanders treacherously toher.
Aubrey Garrett.
Even thinking her name makes my scales ripple with unwanted awareness. Her scent still seems to linger in corners of my shop, despite how thoroughly I’ve cleaned. Something warm and alive, like sunshine on old books, with undertones of coffee and determination. It’s maddening how often I catch myself seeking it out, tongue flicking unconsciously to taste the air where she once stood.
“You’re being foolish,” I mutter to the music box in my hands, its haunted melody a fitting accompaniment to my dark mood. My tail shifts restlessly beneath me as I recall her smile, the way her eyes lit up when discussing the shop’s oddities. How she didn’t flinch from my more monstrous aspects, but seemed fascinated instead.
Dangerous thoughts. I’m not some lovestruck serpent, mooning over a human who only came here out of desperation. I have centuries of carefully constructed control, of keeping emotions properly caged where they belong. And yet…
The bell above my door chimes, and my entire body tenses before I recognize Mrs. Brindlewood’s distinctive gait. Her half-dragon form casts shadows as she navigates through mydisplays, wings tucked carefully to avoid disturbing the more volatile items.
“Darling,” she begins, “you’re brooding again. The crystals are getting gloomy.”
I glance at the display case of meditation crystals, which have indeed taken on a distinctly melancholic hue. Betrayed by my own inventory. How mortifying.
“I do not brood,” I say stiffly, though my hood betrays me by flaring in irritation.
Mrs. Brindlewood’s laugh is a rumbling thing. “Of course not. And I suppose you haven’t spent the past month checking the door every time that bell rings, either?”
“I value my customers’ punctuality.”
“Mmhmm. Particularly cute blonde customers with freckles?”
I bare my fangs slightly, but Mrs. Brindlewood only chuckles. “You know,” she says, settling her bulk carefully against a sturdy display case of old jewelry, “all this brooding reminds me of my dear Frederick. He was just a simple knight back during the crusades. Had little to show for it, besides his armor and his horse. But oh, how he made me laugh. Used to polish his armor three times before visiting, just to make sure he looked presentable for a dragon.”
My hood flares in surprise. “The crusades? That was—”
“Over eight hundred years ago? Yes.” Her scaled fingers trace the edge of a nearby frame. “And yet I remember every moment like it was yesterday. The way he’d bring me riddles instead of gold, claiming a dragon’s mind needed exercise as much as her hoard.” Her eyes, usually twinkling, grow distant. “Love doesn’t fade. It just changes form, like magic rewriting itself. It’s why you find yourself so restless now, even if it’s only been a month.”
Before I can properly scoff at the absurd implication, her head snaps toward the window, nostrils flaring. “Speaking of which…”
A familiar scent drifts through the shop—sunshine and coffee and anxiety.
It’s her.
“Well!” Mrs. Brindlewood’s wings rustle as she backs toward my storage room. “I believe that’s my cue to exit gracefully. Through the back, if you don’t mind? I don’t want to get in the way of your date.”
“This isn’t a—” I begin, but she’s already slipping through the door with surprising agility for her age and size.
Then the bell above my door chimes, and Aubrey’s scent fills my shop completely. My carefully rehearsed coldness wavers as I sense her worries, her hope.
No. I must remain distant. This is for the best.
“Miss Garrett,” I say, keeping my voice professionally detached as I give her a quick glance. “Right on time.”
She looks different today—a blue sundress that makes her skin glow, her hair slightly wild from the Houston humidity. My tongue flicks involuntarily, tasting the air. Beneath her usual scent, I detect traces of sleeplessness, worry, and something else… something that awakens a primitive interest, deep in my—
No. Focus.
