Page 1 of Let Slip the Dogs of War

Previously...

Lark

There is a reason I have no opening hours posted for Hallowed Grounds, and it is for nights like these. Nights where I usually would have locked the doors an hour before and made my way to the cramped flat I occupy, but instead, I remain, wiping the counters over and over, all so I can enjoy simply being in his presence.

Not that he is alone. Not tonight. Tonight, Ophelia is with him, leaning into Dante’s space and speaking in low, urgent tones.

His hair is pale pink today—has been all week. The kind of pink that reminds me of cherry blossoms, which is why I added cherry blossom tea to the menu two mornings ago and ignored Drew’s soft smile.

I do not mind having an employee, especially one so diligent. I do not require a friend.

Dante shakes his head at something Ophelia says, lines marring his brow, and then glances at me. Even with his olive-toned skin, his cheeks flush. He looks away quickly.

I see all the signs of his attraction. It is not about that. It is about time, about waiting, about having him truly understand what he would be entering into, aside from the obvious. I know a great deal about him, and he knows very little about me and that is not his fault, not at all, but I simply need more time to pass, so in the meantime, I will remain close and wait.

A flash of light hair draws my eye to the door. He does not enter, just stands there long enough that I know he will not be dissuaded.

I sigh. It is time to stop staring, to close, and then see why the Huntsman has deigned to visit me after all this time.

Neither Dante nor Ophelia is looking at me now, Ophelia showing Dante something on her phone, so I approach them. I will need to clean their empty mugs anyway, and that will give me something to do with my hands during the no doubt unpleasant conversation that will follow their departure.

“…just swipe this way, and then if he does the same, it’ll match you together.”

“Yeah, thanks, I know how dating apps work.”

I come to a stop a few feet away, my heart beating so loudly that I am certain they will hear it. Dante frowns down at Ophelia’s phone, swiping one way, then the next.

“Oh, don’t match me with him, Jesu—” Ophelia looks up and spots me standing there. Her eyes widen when she glances at the time. “Shit, sorry! You should’ve closed ages ago.”

Dante blinks at her, then at me before he mutters his own apology, too. I can do nothing but stand there as he hurries their mugs over to the counter.

Ophelia watches me the whole while, and I get the sense she is puzzled, but I do not know why. “You could’ve said something,” she says. “We’d have gone home.”

“No, I—” I shake my head. I cannot lie, and it is never more frustrating than in moments like these. “It was not a bother.”

Ophelia nods, and she bustles out the door first, but Dante pauses in the doorway. His eyes soften when he looks back at me. “Night, Lark.”

“Good night.”

They leave, and I do not lock the door. I do not move to wash the mugs either. I sit in the same spot Dante just occupied and let the faint traces of his magic ground me.

There is little of his I can sense now, being as I surrendered so much of my own to come to this realm, but what I can is always so solid, so of the earth. Ophelia’s is similar, but in a way that screams danger to my fae senses.

I sigh. It is irrational for me to be upset. The point of giving Dante time is for him to experience things like this. For him to come into a relationship with me—should he wish for that—on a more even footing. That does not mean it does not hurt, of course. The idea that he will have drinks with these men, dinner, conversation, kissing, touching—

“I am not here to improve your mood,” the Huntsman says. He sits in the armchair next to the sofa I am on and frowns at, I imagine, the softness of it.

“I never presumed you were.” I know why he is here. I might not have had the news already, but I heard the queen was fading. It is not a leap.

“Mother is dead.”

I feel… empty. Sadness will come, surely, but it has been years since I saw her last and decades, if not centuries, since we spent any real time together.

“You were there.”

“You were not.” He is not wearing his glamour, and I know to humans we are unreadable, but I see the fleeting pull of his lips that tells me he is irritated. “You need to return, Lark.”

“I cannot.”