Page 16 of A Secret Crush Valentine's

The bars in Laudville had the most customers in the afternoons and evenings, too.

“You’re up early.”

The barmaid from last night, Angela, smirked at her from behind the counter.

“Are you going to keep standing over there, or what?”

Julia walked over to her and took a seat. Angela poured a drink into a nearby mug. Whatever kind of drink it was, Julia had no idea. She stared into the mug but made no move to take a sip.

“It’s just water,” the barmaid said, rolling her eyes. “I’m not giving you any of our ale on an empty stomach.” She grinned. “I never did get to introduce myself last night. I’m Angela Whiteclaw.”

“Julia Reel.” Julia glanced around the tavern once more.

“Don’t worry, your friend should be back soon,” Angela said as if reading her mind. She frowned at a man who had just walked in. “Speaking of friends returning…”

She wasn’t the only one gazing at him. Everyone else in the bar was staring, their drinks practically forgotten. The man was quite tall, his fur jacket doing little to conceal his massive build. A silver pendant on his chest gleamed. Julia’s gaze dropped to the floor. Standing by the man’s large feet was a silver wolf.

“There you are,” Angela said. “I thought you said you’d be here yesterday?”

The man shrugged, coming to take a seat next to Julia. “I got caught up. Sit, Laia.”

The wolf sat.

He turned to Julia, who realized she was still staring. “I remember you. You and Damon came in last night.”

“This is Julia Reel,” Angela said. “Julia, Rowan Flameheart. He’s my best friend, although sometimes I want to kick him into the snow.”

Julia’s gaze flicked from his face, and she realized she wasn’t the only one still staring. “Why’s everyone looking at you like that?”

Rowan’s expression darkened for a second, but the next moment he was smiling. “They don’t exactly like me.”

A memory from last night flashed through her consciousness. “Are you… are you a Collector?”

He blinked at her, and then he and Angela burst into laughter.

“What? No, of course not.” His grin broadened. “I’m one of the town guards. But I’m a dragon shifter. These aren’t welcoming times for dragon shifters in Dragon’s Den.”

“Isn’t this town literally named after your kind? I figure dragons should be top dogs around here or something.”

“Not since dragons set this town on fire,” Angela replied, picking up a rag and wiping the counter. “That was a long time ago, but there’s been a recent dragon attack. And people think Rowan’s got something to do with it.”

“Why?”

“Because,” Rowan said, “I’m the last dragon in Dragon’s Den.” He lowered his voice. “Except for Damon, of course, and he doesn’t count. Speaking of, where is he?”

“He went to get supplies. We’ll be leaving soon,” she replied quickly, still dismayed at his words. “It must be hard, having everyone think you’re guilty and knowing you’re not.”

He gave another shrug. “I thought some of these people were my friends. Then the attacks started, and they turned on me. Sometimes, the people you expect to hurt you are the ones who don’t. It’s usually the ones you least expect that end up hurting you.”

“Me, for starters.” Angela dropped her rag and punched him hard in the shoulder. Both friends laughed again.

A thought prodded the back of her mind. “What’s the deal with the Collectors, anyway? I heard they work for some guy named Grim Jim, but…” she said, her voice trailing off.

Angela’s jaw tightened. She and Rowan exchanged a look.

“The Collectors are marauders,” Angela said, her voice so low that Julia had to lean in closely to listen. “Theydowork for Grim Jim, and they… they find treasures for him, no matter the cost. Over the past few decades, they’ve plundered villages, separated families, and even killed just so they could get what they wanted: precious metals, rocks, rare creatures. Anything that could be valuable… it goes straight to the Ice Melter.”

“That’s horrible,” Julia said, suddenly considering asking for some of that ale. She wasn’t sure she could stomach more of what Angela was telling her. Whoever these Collectors were, they didn’t sound much different from terrorists. “Why do they work for him?”

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