Page 31 of Heimlock

“I have, yes.” North places his menu down. “Every time, I order the Dun Cow steaks.”

My jaw drops. “Dun Cow? I thought that was banned?”

He gives me a conspiratorial smile. “Not banned — highly regulated. This place excels in curating unique menus.”

Concern has me examining the whole menu. My eyes widen with each revelation: phoenix wings; braised indrik; selkie carpaccio. On and on, the list shows rare dishes. Nothing is actually endangered, but all are expensive because of how difficult procurement can be.

“This is … not what I would’ve expected out of a place like this,” I admit, placing the menu down. It seems to celebrate nature, so the menu is jarring.

North rests his chin in a hand. “It’s all fantastic. I enjoy the duality of it all.”

“That’s one word for it,” I mutter. When the server appears, I immediately order a glass of wine. Something about the menu makes me feel icky. Not enough for me to not order the hippogriff, though.

I’m not an ingrate.

By the end of the dinner, North and I sit in semi-tense, but mostly companionable silence. I’ve waded through the painful process of asking how his life has been, and receive single sentence answers. He asks me how my life is, and I usually tell him a story or two from the battle gym. The stories don’t appear to entertain him; I think he’s humoring me.

When the check appears, he pays without looking at the total. Left three hundred corals on the table as a tip. Guided me back outside. To save me energy, he sweeps me into his arms and flies us back to his apartment.

Once inside his apartment, he goes through the motions of “making a nightcap.” I smile, pretending we haven’t done this song and dance around a dozen times. By now, my body is ringing with sexual tension, desperate for skin-to-skin contact. Something to drive away the loneliness I refuse to look at most days.

I take my obligatory sip of wine, then beckon him closer for a kiss. As soon as our lips touch, it turns into a frenzy of grabbing, kissing, and biting. He’s a brutal lover, but in a good way. What woman doesn’t want to be thrown around by a man two feet taller than her? One of my favorite things is him taking me from behind, and having his dexterous tail in my mouth.

North is a machine, not stopping until both moons are high in the sky. He leaves me boneless and satiated. After I get dressed, he walks me to the door. We banter about whether or not he’ll fly me home. I always insist that I’m fine. He makes me promise to let him next time. I lie and agree.

Relief is quick when his door closes, and the silence ‌outside embraces my chaotic mind. At the end, it feels like this every time — empty. A quick orgasm that fixes nothing.

The flight home is lonesome.

12

Age 28

I’m officially in the longest relationship of my life. A month. Not that I’ve told Iola that. Some women see it as a red flag — who could blame them? A twenty-eight-year-old man who can’t get anyone to stick around longer than a month?

Pathetic.

Tonight, I’m taking her out on a date. It’s a local restaurant made entirely of stone and waterfalls. I made the reservation on our third date, filled with optimism. Ever since we met at the market, I’ve known she was something special.

Flowers in hand, I wait at the restaurant’s entrance. She’d texted an hour ago confirming, but here she is, ten minutes late. Where is she? I check my phone for any other missed messages. Nothing.

Rocking on the balls of my feet, I scan the faces to find her pretty pink one. She’s a Dimension Witch with a knockout smile. It was the first thing I noticed.

Relief washes through me when her silver eyes catch mine. I accidentally wave with the hand clutching the bouquet. Petals flutter to the ground. Grimacing, I give her a sheepish smile.

“Are these for me?” she gushes, snatching them from my hand.

Watching her inhale the roses’ scent, I say, “Of course.”

I open my arms to give her a hug, but she’s too focused on the flowers. Lowering my arms, I clear my throat. “Would you like to go inside?”

Iola nods, grabbing my hand. My heart warms at the affection. Maybe there’s a chance here. For a split second, I let myself imagine the future. A wife, kids, a home, love. So much of the last one, I wake up grateful every day.

A beautiful dream.

Leading Iola through the front doors, we’re greeted by a hostess, who immediately shows us to our table. The restaurant is waterfall themed, with alcoves made of falling water holding intimate tables. A Water Sprite owns the restaurant and uses magyck to block the sound of crashing water, so it’s more eerie than anything.

After pulling out the chair for Iola, I sit across from her and smile. She looks so pretty with her silver hair swept back in a braid. Too busy reading the menu, she doesn’t notice my admiration. That’s okay. I like watching her when she doesn’t realize it.