Page 13 of The Crown of a Fallen Queen
Goosebumps rise on my neck as my eyes flick to the lantern. “He’s been pretty quiet lately,” I admit.
“Well, thank you for taking care of him as long as you did.”
“Not at all. He’s my responsibility.”
The corners of her eyes crinkle, her smile stretched a little tight. “Maybe, but he’s my grandson.”
After my lastpatrons have gone, Jonas finally steps into the shop. His blazer, tie, and dress shirt still look neat despite the late hour, so he hasn’t stopped by the pub before coming to see me.
He doesn’t waste time with pleasantries, his voice low, "We need to talk, Devi." His eyes scan the room, landing on me with a look that tugs at something deep inside my dead heart. As soon as our eyes meet, he looks away and rubs the arch of his brow, his breath catching in his throat. “I’m serious.”
I’m wearing a black dress with a scoop neckline, a fitted bodice, and a flared skirt for the occasion—and nothing else underneath. Shiny black army boots complete the look. Bet that’ll distract him from his detective duties.
I finish washing the teacups from my last customers. “I’m all ears.”
He approaches the bar. “We got a strange call this morning, by the river. I’ve got about twenty dead men and the picture of a bonnie lass…” He presents the picture to me, and it’s blurry, so I give him a pep-filled shrug.
“How are you so sure it’s me?”
A shadow drapes over his brow. “William told me,” he grumbles, glaring at me with his inquisitive, serious detective stare, yet I catch him sneaking a glance at my bare thighs.
I shake off the nerves and reach for the top cupboard, pulling down Jonas’s favorite teacup. The earthy green ceramic feels steady in my hand, the smooth matte surface cool and achingly familiar against my fingers. “Tea?”
He clears his throat. “It’s…been a while.”
My eyes dart to the empty seat in front of me. “You want answers, don’t you? Sit down.”
He shrugs off his leather jacket and hooks it on the coat rack, but he doesn’t obey. Instead, he licks his lips, his strong, powerful arms crossed in front of his chest. “You can’t keep killing people.”
I wave away his concern. “Criminals.”
“And I can’t keep covering for you.”
I walk around the counter and press my hip into his side. “But you will.”
Our gazes meet, and a heavy sigh whistles out of his lungs. “You’re one complicated woman…” He shakes his head and hides his hands in his pockets. “I’m too old for this.”
I huff. “Old? You’re barely forty.”
“And yet you don’t look a day older than the night we met.”
I grip the counter, my jaw clenching at the familiar reproach. “So you’ve told me many times before.”
Jonas and I met during one of his patrols. He was a young, 22-year old constable with killer abs and a sweet, heartwarmingpassion for doing the right thing. We dated on and off for almost a decade.
He stopped seeing me after we crossed paths with one of his new detective friends. The bastard scolded him for dating a girl barely out of puberty. I assured him I was of age, but the accusation shook the then freshly-promoted detective to the core. It’s a sore subject between us, and one of the most painful reasons why mortals should never fall in love with a Fae.
“We shouldn’t do this. You could pass for my daughter, now.” He traces the shoulder strap of my dress with the back of his index finger, and the soft caress spreads from my chest to my belly, warming my whole body.
“Come on. You know I’m older than you, Jonas,” I scold him.
“I know.”
I stand on my tip-toes to nuzzle his nose. “It’s just us, here.”
“I can’t.” His breath warms my lips, and the hunger stirs inside me. He strokes the curve of my waist back and forth, his actions a sharp contrast to his words. “I have to go.”
Who is he trying to fool? He’s not going anywhere.
