Page 25 of Live Love Lasso

Furyon blows out a breath, glancing skyward. “Ah, let’s see. The most recent one lasted twelve days, and she was the thirteenth we’ve had since Sipan died. Longest one I can recall was about a year… I really thought that one might stick around.”

“Damn.” I consider how truly weird that is. As far as I knew, all havens had a Keeper to function like a human mayor. It’s how havens work with Hearth Headquarters to keep everything running smoothly within the system. “No wonder the sheriff’s grumpy,” I muse. “You said he does the Keeper job in lieu of an actual Keeper, right?”

“Yup.” Furyon catches the waiter’s attention, and we order two pumpkin meads. At the last second, he tacks on two cactus shooters, whatever that is. Sounds painful, but I promise I’m down to try it when he swears it’s good.

“So…you didn’t grow up here, right? You said you’d been here about fifty years.” I sip at the pumpkin mead, and, fuck, it’s really good. Amadala was right.

Furyon shakes his head. “Hearth Headquarters. My family’s into personal security like most dark elf houses. I just never wanted that for myself. There’s something about hitting your first hundred years and realizing what you don’t want, ya know?”

I wave around. “So how’d you end up here after…that other place.” Halfway through, I feel guilty for mentioning the vampire coven he shared with me earlier.

He smiles anyhow, that crooked half grin that’s so damn sexy. “I never wanted a security job, and I always preferred the company of animals to other monsters. After my time with the coven, I needed space to clear my head and get back to what felt right in my bones.”

His smile grows thoughtful. “I visited most of the havens, but nothing ever felt like a fit to me until Pine Gulch. Not to mention the sheriff practically begged me to stay and help him, ironic since I was tryna get away from monsters.”

I lift a brow. “And the accent?”

He chuckles. “I’ve been here fifty years, just about, so that developed over time, and I think it sorta suits me. What do you think?”

Flaring my nostrils, I shrug playfully. “Seems to me like you’re fishing for compliments.”

“I changed my mind, that’s all!”

Raised voices draw our attention, and I glance to my left to see Varek the minotaur developer cross his arms as he scowls at another minotaur across the table from him.

“We had an agreement,” Varek says, his tone dark and peeved-sounding.

“And yet I no longer agree.” The other minotaur rises, fists balled. “You can’t make me sign this contract.”

Varek stands, seemingly oblivious to how everyone on the patio is staring at him and his guest.

“Of course not,” he snaps. “But you’ve got half the fucking money already. So, if you don’t plan to sign, you’ll be returning that immediately."

The other minotaur grits his teeth. “Naturally.”

For a long moment, they glare at each other. I’m worried they’ll lock horns and one or both of them will get tossed around and knock things over. But Varek remains silent, and the other minotaur eventually turns to go, leaving behind an untouched plate of food.

Furyon and I are still staring, although most of the other monsters go back to their brunch.

Varek turns to us, eyes flashing with irritation. “Suppose you’ll be happy to see that deal fall through, Furyon.”

Across from me, Furyon chuckles. “Can’t say I’m sad to see it fall apart, Varek.”

The big minotaur sighs and drops into his chair, crossing one muscular leg elegantly over the other. “Why can’t anyone around here see my vision?” he seems to say it to himself.

When neither Furyon nor I respond, he looks over. “If we had a real Keeper, they’d get it.”

Furyon shrugs. “If you say so, friend.”

But the way he spits the word tells me exactly what he thinks of Varek’s idea. Given how negative all the Gulchers I’ve met seem about it, I wonder why Varek’s stuck it out here this long?

Curious…

Furyon

Lemon and I sit on the porch and talk for hours. We blow through an entire pitcher of summer sangria and a trayful of cactus shooters talking about my work and hers. She’s light on details, but it sounds like Letitia hasn’t been the most welcoming of managers. Doesn’t surprise me in the slightest. The pixie female isn’t friendly, but she’s haven-renowned for her potion skills. She’s turned out quite a few master potioneers over the decades I’ve been here.

Eventually, our waiter gives me a look that screams for us to get the table back into rotation. I slap down cash and rise to pull Lemon’s chair out for her. When she stands, she’s close to me, and against my better judgment, I breathe in.