“Leonidas Castellan. Reservation for two. Saturday evening.”
A pause. The subtle intake of breath that meant his name had registered. “Of course, Mr. Castellan. We have availability at seven-thirty. Will that be satisfactory?”
“Perfect.”
He ended the call and sat back in his chair, studying the ceiling of his room at the Siren’s Rest. Four hours of driving each way. A restaurant designed to impress the most discerning supernatural elite. A woman who’d thrown a spoon at him during their second conversation and had called him an insufferable know-it-all.
This was either a brilliant strategy or spectacular self-sabotage.
His lion didn’t seem concerned which.
He foundher in the inn’s garden courtyard.
Junie was perched on the stone wall surrounding Avine’s herb beds, bare feet dangling, a cup of coffee cradled between her palms. Glimmer was coiled around her shoulders, scales catching the early light in ripples of purple and green. She looked soft in a way she rarely allowed herself to appear—unguarded, lost in thought, the sharp edges of her wit temporarily sheathed.
The animal inside him went very still. Watching. Wanting.
Leo cleared his throat.
Junie startled, nearly dropping her coffee. Glimmer’s head whipped around, tongue tasting the air, scales shifting color.
“Castellan.” Junie recovered quickly, mask sliding back into place. “Lurking in gardens now? That’s very gothic villain of you.”
He approached the wall, keeping a distance between them. Professional distance. The sort that was supposed to prevent him from noticing her. “I have a proposition.”
Her eyebrow arched. “That’s a dangerous word choice.”
“Dinner. Saturday evening.” He kept his voice steady. As if this were any other business arrangement. “There’s a restaurant I think you’d find interesting. Four hours from here, but worth the drive.”
Junie’s cup paused halfway to her lips. Her eyes narrowed—that suspicious squint that meant she was searching for the angle. “This isn’t an investigation thing?”
“It’s a dinner thing.”
“A date thing?”
Date. Such a simple term for an act that felt like stepping off a cliff without checking for a parachute first.
“If you’re amenable.”
Her lips twitched. The corner of her mouth curving upward in that way that made his lion rumble with satisfaction. “God, you talk like a contract sometimes.”
“I will take that as a compliment.”
“You would.” She took a sip of coffee, studying him over the rim. Glimmer had gone still, scales that complicated amber that Leo had learned to recognize asfeelings neither of us wants to examine. “Four hours is a long drive. What if we run out of things to talk about?”
“We’ve been sharing meals for two weeks. We haven’t run out yet.”
“Breakfast conversation is different. Lower stakes.” She tilted her head. “What if I hate the restaurant?”
“Then we’ll leave.”
“Just like that?”
“Just like that.”
She was quiet for a moment. Leo watched her process—the way her mind moved behind those sharp eyes, weighing options, calculating risks. He recognized the pattern. It was the same thing he did before every major decision.
The realization hit him like a physical blow. They weren’t that different, he and this chaos witch. Both of them building walls out of different materials—his from discipline, hers from humor—but walls, nonetheless.
