“Since when? You’ve been filing complaints with Mr. Singkham against the Wyvern ever since he reverted—”
“That’s only my PR team. And can you blame them? Your team has been making them look awful,” he interrupts with a laugh, and I jolt at the sound. Deep and smooth, with just the slightest smoky-whiskey edge. It’s not possible for a man’s laugh to be that attractive. Like a long-dead composer scribbled out his most beautiful score in the margins of this man’s voice—this being, thissuperbeing. It shouldn’t be allowed. Yet here he is, laughing again as he holds on to the jammed door, leans across the divide into the elevator, and offers Vanessa his hand.
“Roland can help me,” she says, surprisingly rudely—for her, anyway.
“So little trust. I did just save you from going insane, didn’t I?” He winks at me.
Vanessa still hesitates.
Taranis rolls his eyes. “Considering the Wyvern’s powers aren’t exactly helpful here, I encourage you to see reason. I can either get you out safely, or he can help by turning the elevator into a kiln.”
“Ugh. Fine,” Vanessa mumbles.
“Wait!” I hiss, lunging to intercept Vanessa just as Taranis grabs her wrist. “Haven’t either of you seenSpeed?” Both of them stare at me like I’ve lost my marbles. “OrFinal Destination 2? Come on, you have to know what I’m talking about. Don’t get split in half!”
Vanessa’s hand is locked in Taranis’s, and they both give me a funny look.
“I ...” I start, but no other words come out as Taranis’s brows suddenly soften and his perfect, blemish-free light-brown skin smooths. So perfect he could be carved from stone, he makes Michelangelo’sDavidlook like a pox-riddled Pilgrim.
“Actually, maybe she has a point.” Vanessa extracts her grip from Taranis’s and glances at the opening around his body. “Maybe we should wait for maintenance.”
“As you wish, my ladies.” Taranis’s eyes flare, and he winks at me again. He has naturally thick, curly eyelashes. Perfect eyebrows. I feel weirdly self-conscious of my unplucked brows, and rub the heels of my hands over them before carding my fingers through my hair. I remember I haven’t washed it in two weeks. It’s greasy at the roots and dry at the ends. What a splendid combination. Also, if I was warm before, I’m sweating now.Sweatingsweating. Like I just ran laps. Taranis smiles wider, his head slightly cocked.
The elevator lights suddenly turn back on, with no bright flares or concerning adjustment period. Just off ... then on. The sound of machines working whir to life, and with one short jolt down, followed by a smooth rise up, we’re suddenly at the floor Taranis is kneeling on. The elevator dings to announce our arrival.
Taranis is still on the ground on one knee, a dangerous position for me to see him in after having spent so much time reviewing engagement photos this past week. I stuff my sweaty palms into the pockets of my cargo pants, unable to break his gaze, even as Vanessa skips past me into the open and waiting arms of her giant pink monster.
His horns almost touch the high ceilings, and when he catches her against his chest, which is so thick that it looks like he’s smuggling barrels, she looks half his size. It’s kinda hot. I’ve never felt particularly dainty at five nine, size 16, and usually end up sleeping with women smaller than me or dudes who weigh as much or less than I do, but I imagine that it might be fun to be tossed around by arms that thick just once.
“Does the dress fit, Monika Kim?” My mom always calls me by her last name whenever speaking with me. My dad finds it adorable, like a pet name, since in Korea we don’t have many of those for parents to use to refer to their children. But I always felt like it sounded scolding, even when I was a child. Now even more so as I remember an unanswered text on my phone. My mom sent me a dress to wear to the event. Size 6. Burn. Burn burn burn. Even with his powers over fire, the Wyvern doesn’t touch my mother when it comes to fire.
“You won’t get cut in half now. I promise.” Taranis stands and reaches toward me. The fool that I am, I forget to wipe my sweaty palm before I take his smooth, dry, massive hand in mine.
The moment our fingers touch, I swallow a gasp behind sealed lips, pressed together so tight that it hurts. Holy shit. A surge of energy tunnels from his skin into mine. Maybe he’s electrocuting me?
He clears his throat, the connection severed with the loss of our touch. He frowns briefly before sucking in a quick breath and turning those glowing purple eyes back up to mine. He smiles. “Monika, I know we’ve met before, but I’d like to reintroduce myself.” He guides me out of the elevator by gently pressing his hand to my lower back.
He’s taller than I am. Not by a foot or two, like the Wyvern is compared to Vanessa, but a good distance. It feels nice. So does that gentle stirring, a low current unlike the heat it had been before. It stirs my gut and my conscience as a sweet realization sweeps me. A damning one. Whatever he’s going to say next, he already has me. I’m a fly sucking the nectar without realizing I’m already caught in the trap. Or maybe even worse—I do realize it, and I’m totally fine with whatever happens next.
“I’m Taranis. I’ve been admiring your work for a while, and I’d really like to work with you. I’m not trying to poach you, as Ms. Theriot would have you believe,” he says with another of those deeply charismatic chuckles that make my knees turn to soup. “But I have an upcoming assignment, and even though it might be a little dangerous, I think ...” He drones on and on, but it doesn’t matter. It really doesn’t.
Working with Taranis closelyanddoing something dangerous? The latter would have had me alone. And then he has to go and kill me stone dead.
In his sweet, sweet voice, Taranis says, “I also was invited to the South Korean Embassy for the Jinju Lantern Festival kickoff next month. I saw your name listed among the guests of honor and ... I know I’m not Korean, and I don’t want to take the spotlight away from any talented Koreans in attendance, like yourself, but I was thinkingsince you’re already going I might come with you ... as your date?” He clears his throat, sounding just the right amount of contrite for me to know this is real and not some crazy ploy to get me to take the bid. “Sorry. I know that’s insanely forward and you’re likely already taking someone, given, I mean ...” He glances down my body. I’m wearing a baggy black shirt, chunky black sneakers, and fucking cargo pants. “Sorry. I take it back. Of course you have a date already ... boyfriend. Are you married? I’m so sorry. I didn’t see a ring. I—”
“IWill Go With You as a Date.” I say the words at maximum volume, which is strange because I’m speaking in a normal-ish tone. The whole thing is a disaster coated in chain mail. I can’t break through the compulsion to keep talking as loud as I possibly can and say, “Sorry. Yes. Sorry.”
He blinks at me, but he’s somehow smiling anyway. “Yeah?” he says, his eyes aglitter. It takes me that moment to notice he’s wearing a pale baby blue sweater, beneath the V of which I can see a silver strand glimmer, tan pants, matching baby-blue-and-tan sneakers, and a watch layered among other chunky silver bracelets that collectively look more expensive than my most expensive lens—hell, more expensive than all of them, plus my car.
“And what about coming with me on this mission? It’s dangerous, I’ll remind you, but I’ve seen some of your other photographs, and compared to what you went through in the Democratic Republic of the Congo, Syria, or Afghanistan, it should be nothing.”
“Oh yeah. Yes. Definitely. I’d love to.”
“Monika!” Vanessa’s voice is shrill, and I jolt, looking past Taranis at Vanessa standing there with her hands on her hips. “You can’t just say yes. You need to see the terms!”
What? Wait. What am I doing? I shake my head. “Of course. I, um ... will need to talk about it with my lawyer,” I say to Taranis. “Not the date part, but the pictures ... I just need some time to consider ...”
But he’s already pulling something out of his back pocket. I don’t get a glance at it before he leans in and brushes his lips over the uppershell of my ear. He puts the smooth, dry paper in my hand. A pen finds its way to my other hand, and a shiver travels between the paper and the pen up through my hands that expands throughout my entire body when his fingertips graze the outsides of my arms.
