(Dylan)

Unable to watch Dylan suffer another moment, Nathan stepped in with the introduction. “Dylan, this is Meekan.” He gave Dylan a quick, encouraging smile.

Dylan refused to look up. His gaze remained glued to the floor, as if looking at her would make things worse. “Hi, Meekan.”

She crouched to Dylan’s level. Her voice softened with an apologetic lilt. “Sorry about knocking you over. I hope I didn’t hurt you. It’s just…” The shift in her tone was impossible to miss as she smiled. “I’ve been really excited to finally meet you.”

Dylan melted at the kindness in her voice. ‘Oh no. She’s hot and she’s kind,’ he thought. Kindness—his personal kryptonite—left him hopelessly infatuated too often. It was a lesson he thought he’d learned, but clearly, his heart missed the memo.

Meekan reached down, slipping her hand into his. Dylan’s entire body tensed at her touch.

‘She’s holding my hand!’ he thought.

Meekan stood, pulling him effortlessly to his feet. The fox-woman was surprisingly strong for someone with such a slender, light frame. “It’s not everyday I meet my best friend for the first time.” Meekan smiled at him, revealing a pair of sharp canines.

Dylan blinked at her, half-startled, dazzled by her smile. Confused, he pointed at his own chest. “I’m… your best friend?”

Nathan gave Meekan a wounded look, his eyes flashing black for an instant before shifting back to blue.

“He’s”—Nathan pointed to Dylan—“your best friend?” Meekan nodded. Nathan’s finger shifted toward her, his jaw tightening. “You knew…” He narrowed his eyes. “You knew about the contract.”

Without missing a beat, Meekan deflected. “Your friend Charles is here.” She tilted her head, gesturing with her nose toward the opposite side of the dining room.

Dylan felt a wave of relief wash over him. He’d been worried when they couldn’t find Charles at Merchant’s Circle, but some things still weren’t adding up. “Charles…?” he asked.

Meekan gave his hand a reassuring squeeze. “Yep.”

“Having dinner…?” Dylan’s lips twisted in doubt.

Her ears twitched slightly as she nodded. “Uh-huh.”

“With… people?” Dylan squinted, tilting his head, still unsure.

“Yes,” Meekan said. She tugged his hand, and he followed without protest. This time, she took the long way around, skirting the edges of the room, no longer in a rush. Several people shot Meekan disapproving looks from her earlier stunt as they passed.

At the first corner of the room, Dylan leaned in and asked, “Have we met before?”

Her pace didn’t falter. “Nope,” she said, continuing to walk.

“But you… I’m…?” Dylan halted, struggling to make sense of everything. “How do you know me?”

Meekan turned to face him, her expression pensive. She bit her lip and pondered briefly, then asked, “What… do you know about time magic?”

Dylan gasped, eyes wide, scanning the room for eavesdroppers. Was she trying to get them killed? He reacted before he could think, or she could say another word, and found himself pressed up against her with a hand covering her mouth.

Meekan giggled behind his hand, and his tension dissolved. Her brown eyes locked onto his, and, slowly, she reached up to pull his hand down. Leaning in, Meekan’s lips barely moved as she whispered, “It’s okay.” She pointed to herself. “I have—” She paused. “I… am time magic.”

They stood so close, Dylan felt her breath laced with citrus as she spoke. Blushing at his own forcefulness, he took a clumsy step back to give her space. His eyes darted around the room, but only Nathan, waiting patiently a dozen feet behind, paid them any mind.

Meekan followed him, closing the gap between them again. Continuing to whisper, she said, “Everyone here—except your friend Charles—knows my secret. And I’m choosing to trust you with it, too.” Her eyes remained locked on his. “You asked how I know you. It’s impossible to explain, maddening to experience, but that’s how I know what I know—Time.”

Somehow, her hand was in his again before he realized it. She gently pulled him along as they slipped through the crowd and found their seats at the table.

“Hello, handsome,” a playful voice purred from a red draconi. Her golden eyes glittered, pupils narrowing like a cat’s, and locked on him with a hunger that dinner wouldn’t sate. “I couldn’t help but notice you entering the dorms with Nathan earlier today. Are you one of the new initiates?

Nathan and Charles answered in perfect unison: “No.”

“Hmm, that’s a shame. I’m Ni’ot, by the way.” She smiled at Dylan, flashing an impressive row of fangs.

Distracted by the food—dishes piled high with blue, green, and purple meats, all smelling richly of roasted spices—Auto-manners took over before he could stop it. He gave the hungry red dragon a big smile and held out his hand for a shake. “Hello Ni’ot. I’m Dylan. It’s a pleasure to meet you.”

Taken aback by his sudden boldness, everyone watched as the scene played out. Ni’ot raised an eyebrow, glancing from Dylan’s hand to his face before taking the offer. While Y’rell’s touch had been warm and silky, Ni’ot’s grip was firm, calloused, and hot.

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“A pleasure indeed,” Ni’ot said.

Ni’ot bit her lip, fighting a grin, then mouthed “So hot” at Meekan. Meekan tried to hide her amusement, watching Dylan be himself.

Dylan closed his eyes, swallowing hard. ‘Goddamnit Dylan, you did it again,’ he thought. Quickly pulling his hand back, he scanned the room for something—anything—to change the conversation. He didn’t want to repeat the Y’rell incident. Especially not in front of the pretty fox-woman.

Too hungry to think of anything clever, Dylan went with the obvious. “This all smells and looks amazing.”

“It does, doesn’t it,” Ni’ot agreed, with a lingering glance at Dylan. “I have the hardest time resisting things that look so delicious.”

Dylan sighed. ‘That’s it. Everyone’s going to horny jail,’ he thought, deciding to just focus on the wonderful food in front of him. His stomach rumbled, mouth watering at the scent of proper food—something he hadn’t had since arriving on Mother of Dragons.

A fresh cut split open along Charles’s neck, and Dylan frowned. The rugged elf was good at taking care of others, but Dylan wondered who took care of him. The tailor’s needle pricked his finger, and the wound vanished. Dylan blinked, unsure what to make of the strange healing ability.

“You should probably get that looked at,” Dylan said, trying to sound casual, but his concern slipped through. If Charles wouldn’t look after himself, someone should

“I did. There’s nothing they can do. It just has to run its course. I’ll be fine.” Charles rubbed at the spot absentmindedly, offering Dylan a stiff, forced smile.

Across the table, Meekan pulled a vial of purple liquid out of her pocket. Dylan’s curiosity grew as he watched her.

“Are you sneaking booze at dinner?” Dylan whispered, leaning over the table. He glanced around to see who else noticed.

Meekan’s ears twitched, and she glanced at the vial, then back at him. “Oh, this?” she asked, smiling as she shook her head. “It’s just Prune Juice.” She took a sip, downing about a third of it. “Actually…” She stared at the bottle, her smile replaced with concern. “You might want some of your own.”

‘How old does she think I am? I’m middle-aged at most. Wait—how old is she?’ Dylan wondered, shaking his head, trying to dislodge the spiraling thoughts of how out of his league the stunning fox-woman was. That, and the fact she just indirectly called him old. He flashed his best polite smile and shook his head. “I don’t think I need any prune juice.”

Her frown deepened. “Are you sure?”

“Yep,” he said with a nod. “Absolutely sure I don’t need prune juice.” He shifted awkwardly in his seat, averting his gaze from Nathan. “I’m pretty regular as it is.”

Overhearing their conversation, Ni’ot said, “We’ve got alcohol, you know. I’d be happy to share a drink—after dinner, maybe?”

Meekan hid behind her mug, snickering as she took another sip of tea. The tea’s warmth spread through her hands, but it was the scene in front of her that really warmed her heart. Watching Ni’ot chase after Dylan brought her great amusement, especially seeing his adorably awkward reactions.

Charles leaned in toward Dylan. “How do you do it? This is the second time in as many days I’ve seen you draw the attention of a draconi.”

Nathan set down his utensils. “Okay, so it’s not just me.”

Dylan’s gaze bounced between Charles and Nathan. “What exactly are you two talking about?”

Nathan adjusted his seat on the bench, leaning back slightly as if trying to distance himself from the statement. “The fact you’re a walking aphrodisiac—”

Tea sprayed back into her mug. “Sorry,” Meekan said, dabbing at her mouth with a napkin. “Please, continue.” Her enjoyment of the conversation was obvious.

Nathan paused for effect, then added, “And it’s not just draconi. There’s a gnomish woman asking after him too.”

“I’ve only met one gnomish woman…” Dylan muttered, half to himself.

“Yes, I’d like to know how it works.” Charles interlocked his fingers and rested them on the table, waiting expectantly for the chubby man to explain.

“How what works?” Dylan asked, still unsure what they were talking about.

“How do you attract draconi?” Charles asked.

Dylan blinked slowly, his gaze flicking between an expectant Charles, an embarrassed Nathan, and a very amused Meekan.

Ni’ot had finished filling her plate and was already tearing into her meal. She chewed thoughtfully, speaking aloud to herself. “He has a perfectly approachable height,” she said, pinning her steak down with a fork.

‘Approachable? Was that a compliment?’ Dylan wondered; unsure.

“And that gorgeous hair, an exotic, deep chestnut brown. I don’t think I’ve ever seen that shade before.” Her knife sliced into the dripping slab of meat. “A deliciously plump figure—bet he’s soft as a pillow.” Ni’ot put the strip of tender meat into her mouth, making no effort to hide her thoughts as she continued to talk through her chewing.

‘She’s not wrong,’ Dylan had to admit—he was very soft.

“And those irresistible button-sized ears?” She paused, taking a gulp from her mug. “Sexual energy overflowing from the moment you meet. I mean, he greets you with a soul-seeking stare, a disarming smile flashing an aggressive display of teeth, followed by an immediate offer of physical contact.” She tapped the table lightly with her utensils, as if hammering the point home.

“If that doesn’t start your furnace, I don’t know what will.” Ni’ot shook her head and took another bite of her steak.

The table fell silent. Ni’ot blinked, finally noticing the stares. “What? I can see the appeal,” she said with a mouthful of food.

Meekan slapped the table, laughter spilling out uncontrollably.

Charles continued to stare at Dylan, squinting. “I just don’t see it.”

Nathan sat slack-jawed, unable to find words to express himself.

Dylan’s stomach rumbled, and the aroma wafting from the dishes was heavenly—a perfect blend of sweet and tangy. Without missing a beat, he piled his plate with colored meats and vegetables, pretending the last two minutes hadn’t happened.

He savored each bite; the flavors bursting beyond expectation. He spoke between mouthfuls, filling in the table on his past couple of days. He carefully skipped over the Time orb and his many resurrections, starting his tale with the explosion and ending with his arrival in Dartmouth.

A long, ominous growl from the depths of his bowels made him freeze. “That’s weird.” Dylan interrupted his own re-telling of the beating he took from the okamijin, who ‘almost’ killed him.

Meekan tilted her head. “What’s weird?”

“My fingers are numb.” Dylan gave the table a few experimental taps, frowning. “I think I ate too fast.” He set down his utensils, pushed his plate away, and continued his tale.

Nathan and Meekan exchanged worried glances, their concern deepening as Dylan’s complexion paled.

‘Why’s he looking at me like that? I left the dying bits out…’ Dylan thought. Beads of sweat dotted his brow. The dining hall was getting uncomfortably warm.

Dylan took a long pull from his mug. A queasy churn stirred in his stomach, but there was no way he’d waste the delicious meal he’d just devoured.

Nathan’s eyes shifted to yellow as he leaned forward, his gaze sharp. “Dylan, you don’t look so well.”

Dylan blinked hard, shook his head, then blinked again, raising a hand to shield his eyes. “When did the lights get so bright?”

The urge hit him like a spell gone wrong—sudden and unstoppable. Dylan’s hand moved to cover his mouth. His chair barked against the floor as he shot to his feet. Nathan and Charles’ chairs cried out in unison as both elves sprang up to follow.

“I need a bucket,” Dylan mumbled, voice muffled by his hand. All three of them frantically scanned the room for anything resembling a bucket.