Page 17 of Born in Fire

The hostess offers me a prime table with a view of Elliott Bay. I decline, choosing one with sight lines to both the entrance and the Space Needle instead. Back to those old habits, keeping an eye out for threats.

Though what threats I’m expecting at a tourist-friendly rooftop bar, I couldn’t say.

I spin my dragon ring, watching the sunset paint the city gold. Mount Rainier looms in the distance, a sleeping giant crowned with snow. Below, Seattle pulses with evening energy—headlights tracing arterial roads, ferries crossing the sound, humans moving through their brief, urgent lives.

My phone buzzes. Caleb, of course.

Did you review the security upgrades for the Heartstone chamber?

I ignore it. The Heartstone can wait. I know he’s been worried about it, but it’s been safely guarded for centuries; it can survive one evening without my attention.

Something prickles along my senses, and then movement at the entrance catches my eye. Juno. My pulse jumps like I’ve spotted rare prey.

She pauses in the doorway, scanning the space—not casually, but methodically, like she’s assessing exit routes.

Interesting.

And then she turns, and her gaze lands on me as if she knew exactly where to find me. Something shifts in her expression. Relief? Wariness? Both?

She approaches, and my senses sharpen impossibly. I catch her scent before she’s halfway across the room—something floral but not perfume, more like herbs. Rosemary? Basil? Underneath that, her natural scent triggers something elemental in my brain.

“Hi,” she says, stopping a foot distance from the table. “Sorry if I’m late.”

“You’re right on time.” I stand, resisting the urge to move closer. “I was early.”

She wears jeans and a deep blue top that makes her eyes look like twilight beneath lashes that seem impossibly long. Her hair falls in waves past her shoulders, catching the golden hour light. Nothing flashy or provocative, yet I can’t look away.

Fuck. She’s beautiful.

“This place has an amazing view,” she says, taking the seat across from me rather than the one I’ve pulled out beside mine. Another boundary established.

“I thought you might appreciate the stars once it gets darker.” I settle back into my chair, giving her space. “Though the city lights make it harder to see them clearly.”

“Light pollution,” she agrees. “My parents used to take me to Mount Baker for real stargazing. The Milky Way looks like spilled sugar across the sky out there.”

Her expression softens when she mentions her parents, then shutters quickly, as if she’s revealed too much.

“What’s your poison?” I ask, nodding toward the approaching server.

“Gin and tonic, please.” She glances at the menu. “With lime, not lemon.”

I order the same, plus a charcuterie board. When the server leaves, Juno’s posture relaxes slightly.

“So,” she says, “beyond stalking baristas for their phone numbers, what do you do, Dorian?”

The question is teasing but pointed. She’s establishing control of the conversation.

“Corporate acquisitions, mainly.” I keep it vague. “My family has interests in various industries.”

“That sounds deliberately mysterious.”

“Says the woman who deflected three personal questions during our coffee shop conversation.” I lean forward slightly. “We could make it a game. For every question you answer, I’ll answer one of yours.”

She considers this, head tilted. The breeze lifts a strand of her hair, and I have the most ridiculous urge to reach out and tuck it behind her ear.

“I’ll start easy,” she says. “What’s with the ring? You keep touching it.”

My hand freezes mid-spin. I hadn’t realized I was doing it.

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