Page 15 of Sweetling
“A moment, please, miss.”
Unfailingly polite as always. She made her eyes big as she blinked at him. Fates, she went all breathless, excited to hear what he’d ask.
“I would like to speak with your uncle, when it is convenient for him.”
Molly’s brows nearly rose to her hairline with surprise. Why should he want to talk with Brom? They’d spoken perhaps once, when Brom was curious about what brought a fae to his establishment, but after gleaning little besides that business didn’t slow but actually picked up with Allarion there, he’d retreated back behind the bar, content as always to let Molly do most of the work.
Clearing her throat to hide her shock, Molly said, “Of course. I’ll go tell him now.”
“Thank you.”
She didn’t think she imagined the warmth in those dark eyes, and another little thrill zipped down her spine as she headed back for the bar.
What could he want from Brom?
The older male kept Allarion waiting for several hours. From what he’d learned of the man’s rather odious character, this made sense—an attempt to prove dominance and gain the upper hand.
Not that Allarion minded or cared. He had time, he had patience. And, most importantly, he had a plan.
Allarion was content to wait as he watched Molly work the tavern and its customers.
He might have been jealous of all the other males there leering at her, yet she was adept at encouraging their attentions only enough to secure more orders and therefore coin. It was subtle, but Allarion had learned her tricks, admiring her strategy. She kept moving; it was a dance she did through the tavern, as graceful as any trained dancer, never bestowing too much attention on any one patron. Still, as Allarion well knew, when her beatific smile fell upon you, it made you feel like the center of the world, the sun in the sky.
His body nearly vibrated with the force of his yearning. As the days and fortnights drew longer, his desire only grew stronger. He had time, yes, and patience, too, but as Allarion continued to dwell with the humans, he felt the dwindling of both acutely.
Hewantedher. And finally, after months of imbuing his new land with his magic, he had a home to bring her to.
There was still much to be done at the manor, to be sure. But enough rooms were prepared, enough magic infused into the house and land, that he felt secure in bringing anazaito it. She would be key to finishing his bonding with the estate, and with every visit to the tavern, Allarion grew ever more impatient to see her on his land, within his home, in his bed.
Watching her that evening only solidified his desire into a heavy knot in his chest.
Her liveliness, her effervescence filled the tavern, making it glow brighter than the sconces and central fire. Imagining her filling his own empty home with such energy made Allarion’s fangs ache curiously. His gaze fell to her neck, where he could watch the thick vein there pumping as she danced through the night, balancing heavy trays and carrying multiple tankards in each hand.
He apparently wasn’t too old to be taken in by an immaculate set of breasts, and as he did whenever he came to visit her, he was easily enchanted by their gratuitous curves and enticing bounciness. Still, his eyes trailed up to her neck and his fangs ached again and…and it was strange. Perhaps even unsettling.
Allarion wanted Molly in all ways—even to bite, it seemed. And while that may have troubled him in the past, he was a fae with few options and too much desire. His course had been decided the day he saw her drawing water from the well.
A tankard landed on his table, amber liquid sloshing over the rim. Allarion looked at it before watching the uncle lever himself into a seat across the table.
He was a large man, who’d once been quite muscular and strong. His shoulders were still broad with strength, but his middle had gone soft and overhung his belt. A thick beard and mop of hair had once been a golden reddish color but now had streaks of white, and the redness of his cheeks nearly obscured the freckles dotting his face. His beard smelled of the ale he’d been indulging in all night as he poured drinks for others, but despite this, his eyes were as blue and clear as a summer sky.
Allarion inclined his head the requisite amount. “Master Dunne.”
The man grunted in greeting. “You going to complain about a cup you never drink?”
He didn’t bother looking at his untouched tankard of mead. He’d no need or desire to tell the man across from him that the fae didn’t need nor want to drink, nor that he only ordered it because it was the closest he could find to Molly’s scent. A cup of it near him was almost like scenting her honey-sweet smell.
“No, I have no complaints at all. I wished to speak with you. To make a proposition.”
The interest in Dunne’s eyes was immediate, though he tried to hide it. “And what is that? Want to be a partner in a tavern, do you?”
“I wish to wed your niece.”
Allarion had expected a shocked silence, but Dunne merely chuckled and took a long sip of his ale.
“You and everyone in here,” he muttered into his cup.
“Perhaps. But I mean to succeed where they failed.”
