Rik squinted as he struggled to see through the dim light of the restaurant, which was only lit by a gentle illumination to give the illusion of privacy, with most of the light coming from the roaring fire crackling merrily in the central fire pit. From the pounding of his heart, and the tingles tracing electric paths along the flesh of his left pectoral, oh, and don’t forget the nervous perspiration dotting his forehead and trickling down his spine, she was close. Sam. Samantha. Ms. Kelly. My anam cara.
“Mr. Leon, would you like a table, sir?” The perky young hostess beamed up at him, her brown eyes as warm as her smile as the petite teenager picked up one of the leather-bound menus.
Rik gave her a distracted smile, “Sorry, Beth, just looking for someone. No, don’t need a table, thanks.”
Finally spotting his quarry, he found Sam and Clara sitting close to one another at one of the smaller tables located near the kitchen. The two women, one with hair a pale blonde, the other whose flame-kissed tresses glowed in the firelight, were staring at him. He couldn’t resist the cocky grin that crossed his face, nor the instinctual need to puff up his chest just so and clench his fists to make his arms flex.
Then Clara whispered something into Sam’s ear with a giggle, drawing the redhead’s attention. When Sam looked back at him, the glare could be felt across the room and damn near sent him back a pace. For such a tiny bit of a woman, the force of her personality rivaled that of the Sidhe nobility. Damn, that made his dick ache with the violence of blood rushing to his second head.
Never one to back down from a confrontation, though, Rik sauntered toward their table. He nodded his head, tipping his ball cap at a few of the faces he recognized, and the smile he gave the table of witches earned him a few titters and the batting of eyes, but his attention never left the tiny but fierce woman who continued to glare at him.
“Good evening, sister dear,” he said politely, barely glancing at Clara, who had her hands wrapped over her stomach and was trying to muffle her giggling. He really didn’t want to know how much wine his baby sister had consumed, but at least she lived on the Estates, so she would get home without a problem.
Looking down into the stormy gray eyes glaring up at him from behind the lenses of her black-framed glasses, Rik gave her his most charming smile. “And good evening to you as well, Ms. Kelly.”
“I’d say call me Sam,” she muttered as she took a sip from her wine glass and turned her attention away from him, an obvious snub that only made him grin wider when she continued, “But we’re not friends, so Ms. Kelly will do.”
Rik took a few moments to just visually gorge on his anam cara’s presence. As he had noted earlier, she had to be barely five feet in height, and the men’s dark red-and-black plaid flannel shirt was a few sizes too large for her, concealing her frame, but even that couldn’t hide the bounty of her breasts as they strained the buttons. The top few buttons had been left undone, revealing a tantalizing glimpse of her cleavage that his height rewarded him with, and sure enough, there was a smattering of those freckles of hers just visible against her pale, creamy flesh.
When she turned back to look at him, and noticed his attention was fixed on her breasts, she gave him a haughty huff that drew his attention back to her scowling face. Gods above and below, she’s stunning when she’s angry. Her face was not classically beautiful, a little too round, with rounded cheeks at odds with her stubborn chin, and she was apparently only wearing minimal make-up this evening, as he could see the freckles that damn near kissed every visible inch of flesh. They didn’t detract from her looks, instead they gave her face a unique character that was more potent than a perfect ivory complexion could ever hope to be. At least if his dick was any judge, and let’s face it, Rik’s dick was the most important judge of all. Right? She was the sexiest little librarian-turned-lumberjack ever, Rik’s dick had decided.
As he shifted uncomfortably, trying to ease the pressure of his dick straining against denim, eager to meet its mate, he was glad his sweatshirt hung low to hide what would otherwise be a rather obvious bulge straining to poke out Sam’s eye. Rik only distantly noticed the silver hoop that pierced her right nostril, or the small glittering emerald stud placed on her upper left lip, as his attention was caught by the purse of her plump lips that glistened with a faint glossy sheen. I wonder where else she’s pierced? Maybe we should get matching piercings to go with our matching ma…
“Earth to Rik, Earth to Rik…oh, Rikky Boy,” Clara mockingly sing-songed, finally dragging his attention from Sam, who had begun to squirm before the intensity of his regard.
Smirking at the expression on his face, Clara batted her big green eyes up at him as she asked, “Are you planning on looming and staring all night, or are you going to tell us why you’re here?”
Sweeping off his ball cap, Rik pulled over a chair and sat down, without waiting for an invitation—or a refusal. Snapping his fingers to draw the server’s attention, he barely muffled his grin at Sam’s grumbling and Clara’s snorting giggles. He likewise ignored them as they began furiously whispering to one another in what appeared to be an intense discussion. About him, no doubt.
“Carter, could you bring me the usual?” Rik asked the server, a young fox shifter who, like many of the younger staff, attended the University of Colorado in Boulder. Carter was barely 19, with dark auburn hair and a sunny, charming smile that made him popular amongst the guests. The dark red poet’s shirt and black trousers worn by the staff hung a little loose on his rangy, wiry build, so Rik made a mental note to see about suggesting better outfits for some of the more slender staff.
“Oh! And two slices of Bertie’s cheesecake, please!” Clara piped up, followed by Sam’s low, husky voice adding, “And maybe two cups of coffee? Think I’ve had more than enough wine for the night.”
With a laugh, Carter nodded and headed off to put in their orders, leaving Rik once more to meet the glaring eyes of his soulmate.
While the word soulmate was banded about quite often in Mortal popular culture, to the Sidhe, the Fae, and all the races that comprised the Uncanny Ones, it was another thing entirely. They had adopted the Irish Gaelic term anam cara centuries ago to describe it, but a person’s soulmate, or soulmates in some cases, were those individuals who completed one another. It was like discovering that all your life, you had been missing your arm or your hand. You could live every day without it, compensate for it, and some days never even notice its lack. But suddenly, you meet that missing piece, and everything clicks into place. The world seems brighter, tastes you never noticed before exploding on your tongue, your entire life was simply made more complete.
That wasn’t to say that finding one’s anam cara was an easy thing. In a world filled with billions of people, there were those that never found their true anam cara, who either settled for something lesser, or found one of the potentials, those who were almost perfect, but not quite. And not all unions ended perfectly, some were tragedies, others horror stories, and some were simply never meant to be. The Fates were fickle that way, and though gods and supernaturals loved to play with the lives of others for ill or good, none were quite as adept at the game as the Fates.
The Fates had chosen to give him a feisty, fiery little Mortal. He would have to be gentle about introducing her to the Uncanny World, and that was only after he managed to soothe her ruffled feathers. Oh, and deal with the fact that they were interviewing her for a position that they would most likely have to give someone else. Bah, minor details. She was going to end up around anyways, if Rik had anything to say about that. He just wanted to get to the good parts—catching, seducing, and binding Ms. Samantha Moira Kelly to him for eternity. Easy, right?
He must have snorted or something, because Rik suddenly found himself pinned between a pair of green eyes that glittered with amusement and a pair of gray eyes that made him feel like a school boy. A very, very naughty school boy. A very, very naught school boy who wanted to spank the teacher. Rik casually readjusted himself, trying not to notice Clara’s smirk or the narrowing of Sam’s eyes.
“So, I’d ask what you two ladies have been talking about, but I know I wouldn’t like the answer. Let’s change the subject then,” Rik said with the most charming grin in his arsenal of smiles. And yes, he had a rather large arsenal of smiles. His mother and grandmother both subscribed to the School of Kill Them With Kindness, even if he did prefer her grandfather’s and father’s more direct, School of Knock Them The Fuck Out. “I take it you’re going to be showing Sam…Ms. Kelly,” he corrected, flashing a grin at Sam that had her rolling her eyes, “around the Estates.”
Turning his attention to Sam, he said, “I hope you’ll enjoy the tour, and that you’re planning on staying at least through the weekend. The Village opens two weeks from Friday, the weekend before May Day, so this weekend we’ll be opening the Village for some of the vendors and performers, so they can start setting up.”
Her brow furrowed in thought, Sam looked like she was about to ask a question, when Carter arrived carrying a tray. She waited for the young man to set out the plates of cheesecake and cups of fresh coffee for the ladies, and quirked a brow as he handed Rik a cut crystal decanter filled with an amber liquid and a matching glass. Noticing Sam’s gaze, Rik turned the decanter so she could see the crimson wax seal inset with a golden lion’s head.
“Fuisce Leon, the Lion’s Whisky,” Rik said as he poured himself a few fingers of the draught. “We have a small distillery. Been brewing since before Prohibition.” He coughed, half-covering his grin with his fist as he said, “Purely for medicinal purposes, of course.”
“Of course,” Sam echoed, actually giving him a grin before she caught herself. Scowling, she turned her attention to her cheesecake, attacking it with gusto. When she stabbed it with her fork, purposefully letting her eyes stray up to meet his, he had to laugh. Fucking adorable, he thought, then his heart literally skipped a beat when she stuck out her tongue and he caught the glint of a silver stud in her tongue. Fuck me, I’m done. Rik would forever swear afterwards that, at that moment, his dick howled like a horny werewolf baying at the full moon.
Clearing his throat, Rik shifted in his seat. “Right. Right. Uh,” Damn it, his brain had retreated to its second, more confined and single-minded, head. He took a swallow of his whisky, swallowing hard as the smooth, expensive liquid burned a sweet path down his throat as he struggled to get his brain back up to its proper home. Setting his glass down, he found his tongue once more.
“I’m going to be working from here this week, so if you and Clara need anything, just let me know.” Okay, he had to get out of there. Now. Otherwise, he was going to toss a curvy little redhead over his shoulder, drag her to his room, and do things he wouldn’t regret. He was a Frenchman, dammit, not a Viking! So much for charming and debonair, right now he completely understood why some Fae kidnapped humans and hid them away in the Otherlands.
Rising to his feet, grabbing both the bottle and his glass, he gave the ladies a quick toast. “You ladies have a lovely evening. I’ve got some…work…I need to finish up before I call it a night. I’ll be seeing you around, Ms. Kelly.” Okay, he meant that to sound more like a seductive invitation and not a threat. Really. Right?
Retreat was the better part of valor, wasn’t it? Yes. Retreat, regroup, and claim the saucy wench.