Hitting the final stair on the landing, Aviva burst through the front doors, dashed across the street, and rounded the corner to It’s A Wrap. Though still early, a line was already forming nearly out the door. She wasn’t surprised. The restaurant was kosher, vegetarian, and catered to the heavy Mythriq herbivore demographic. She silently thanked her luck as a gaggle of chattering Nymphs from the City Hall People Resources Department entered behind her.
Thank you HaShem for not making me wait!
She glanced at her watch. Twelve oh two. There was time.
Okay. Just order. Eat. Run back. Check email. You can do this.
She began mentally tallying the number of angry constituents who had already written more than twice, triggering her system’s warning alert that they could become problematic if their issues were not resolved. She had instituted a better system for managing citizen complaints shortly after arriving at HAMR, but a better system did not magically speed up the glacial pace of government bureaucracy.
As she multitasked between her inbox, voicemails, missed calls, and team instant messages to cover her previous commitments that day, she heard the gaggle of office Nymphs oohing and aahing behind her.
High-pitched giggles and sighs mingled with a far deeper single masculine voice. He was asking if he could cut ahead. They all seemed more than happy to oblige.
She smelled him before she felt him.
Is there a fire?
Like the s’mores she used to make at sleep-away camp, the scent was faintly sweet, charred, and smoky. It crackled in her nostrils. What is that?
At the head of the line, an older woman was rifling through her phone for a coupon code, and the two patrons behind her sighed in exasperation and shuffled from foot to foot. Then, Aviva went still.
The baritone voice wove through the cluster of women and came to rest immediately behind her in line. The skin up her back prickled hard. Enveloped by a warm sweet otherworldly cloud, Aviva blinked.
What the heck kinda Mythriq is this guy?
So tall, he blocked the overhead light, she suddenly felt goosebumps crawl right up her thighs. He was fire itself, burnt sugar and a dryer vent in the middle of winter. But in all her life, she had never known a fire elemental to smell like melted caramel. Her body went soft and mushy.
“Do you want to move?” a deep heavily accented voice purred in her ear. It felt like warm honey and the low vibrato rippled through her.
She turned her head and spun around, about to ask in a distinctly not-so-Midwestern-nice tone who he thought he was talking to and to hold his horses and be patient, thank you very much.
The words never made it out of her mouth. As she turned to face him, her eyes widened, and she stared.
Holy… God in heaven.
Before Aviva stood a Mythriq she had only ever heard about in photos and textbooks. His people were beyond rare, less than a thousand in North America, most living in New York or Miami. He broke six foot two easily, with broad shoulders, corded arms, and a tapered torso beneath an expensive white shirt open at the throat.
Gold flashed everywhere: an enormous wristwatch, a pinkie ring, two chain bracelets, and a simple chai medallion nestled against honey-colored skin and dark curls at his chest.
Across his throat and over his collarbone, faint gray markings pulsed like ink-less tattoos, etched beneath the skin in strange deliberate patterns. At his light brown hairline, a black crystalline ridge stretched across his forehead, obsidian and gleaming, with a pear-shaped stone glowing softly at its center.
He’s Emberborn.
He gave her a white-toothed half smile. Heated taffy scent hit her again, and her lungs forgot how to work.
His warm amber eyes widened when she had initially spun on him, then softened as he fully took in her face. He looked like he was pleasantly surprised. Eyes lingering on her mouth a second too long before returning to hers. Aviva squeezed her cell phone in a death grip.
“Do you want to move?” he repeated in a deep husky voice. She blinked. He smelled like sweet, singed marshmallows and looked like an angel.
After long moments, she sputtered, “W-what did you say?”
His thumb kept absently twisting the simple gold pinkie ring on his right hand as he cocked his head, wearing a lopsided smile. He inclined his head toward the line, where the coupon lady had finally ordered and the two patrons ahead had already stepped forward.
“Are you going to move forward, koukla?”
She flushed hard, opening her mouth without a response. His voice was heavily accented, thick vowels and rolling consonants softening his words. He wasn’t from here. He probably wasn’t even American. That’s why the question sounded so odd.
He wants you to move forward, genius!
Aviva blinked several times, realizing her mistake, and stammered. “Sorry,” biting her lip. “Yes, I’m sorry. I misunderstood, um they’re just… um… I was distracted, with uh, my email…” She stepped backward and nearly knocked over the metal sign near the register declaring:
HALF OFF WEDNESDAY WRAPS!
ASK US ABOUT OUR LENTILS!
The gaggle of Nymph clerks snickered at her misstep, and she silenced them with a glare. Apparently, an embarrassed Aviva face was a warning to others. She glanced at the gorgeous man once more before spinning back around toward the lanky young Drow behind the register, who sported a tiny goatee.
“I’ll have the number four,” she blurted. “With chips and a pop.”
He nodded and gestured toward the payment terminal. She passed her watch over the device, paid, and counted the painfully long seconds it took for the receipt to print, acutely aware of the waves of incredible warmth radiating down her spine from him. She snapped the receipt from the dark Elf’s hand and harrumphed her way toward her usual seat by the window, focusing on the swaying trees. She was shaking like one of the leaves on those trees.
Ugh! Holy cow, what just happened?
An Emberborn? Here? In Cleveland?
Even across the restaurant, the scent lingered. In her favorite spot, Aviva shut her eyes and set her wallet on the table. Heat tingled across her skin and settled low in her belly. Her pulse thundered in her ears. She planted both palms on the table and forced herself to breathe.
Oh my god, he smelled delicious.
An involuntary shiver hit her, arousal and annoyance, heat and cold, mingling in her body. Of course, she eventually figured out what he meant, damn that husky voice.
But he was stunning, so rare, so delicious. She allowed her mind to wander, imagining what he might have meant had the situation been different.
Ooof.
Would he have invited her to dance in some dark smoky hookah bar? Would he have taken her hand and led her barefoot down a moonlit beach? Or could it have been something far naughtier altogether? She sighed, squeezed her eyes tighter, and clenched her thighs.
He’s not that attractive…. Calm down damn it…
A moment later, she heard that same deep voice murmur to her.
“I have something for you.”
Aviva snapped alert. “Huh… what?”
He had slid his hand across hers, so hot it almost burned, and she quickly snatched her hand away.
“Oh, sorry. You were what? Meditating? Praying?”
He was smiling down at her, tall and overpowering. Somehow the entire shop had become filled with him. His sheer presence made her nervous. Then she realized what he was holding. Her fists balled up, she huffed, and angrily crossed her legs.
Her empty soda cup.
He held it and grinned smugly at her.
In her rush to escape him, she had forgotten it entirely. And he had brought it to her. Great.
She deflated, fists unclenched, and chewed her cheek hard.
He held it out toward her face like a billboard, announcing to the entire world: Hey stupid, missing something?
She snatched it with both hands, flushing furious pink, not sure whether to bite his head off or beg God to strike her dead in that moment and spare her further humiliation.
“Thank you,” she growled.
He took in her fuming with candid amusement. His curious stare, half playful, half longing, continued to unnerve her. He definitely knew what he was about.
“Do you want to drink, koukla?” he offered softly. “I can get it for you.”
Aviva’s belly flip-flopped.
Koukla? What the hell does that mean?!
Her nostrils flared and she found herself too aggravated to speak. So, she nodded at him. He smiled, turned toward the fountain machine, clearly waiting for her drink selection.
At thirty-one years old, a grown adult with a degree and a career under her belt, Aviva was now struck dumb by his stunning Emberborn grin. She gripped both hands fiercely in her lap. ‘If you don’t have anything nice to say…’
“Iced tea,” she forced. He smiled with closed lips and strode toward the fountain machine, summoning the drink into the paper cup. Aviva watched his tight muscular backside stretch his charcoal trousers to their limits, sparks firing across her skin.
How dare he… be so… so nice…
This man—this Emberborn—was in her city. In her sandwich shop! She had only ever dreamed about meeting one and now he wanted to talk to her… of all people? Her neurospicy brain panicked, flipping through hundreds of mental tabs, recalling any and all information she had learned about them in school.
The only thing she could remember was that they were angelic somehow, part earth and part fiery coals, and at least a dozen millennia old. They were few in number, private, insular, and often lived as merchants and traders. Rare, exotic, maybe biblical, and now she learned they smelled like s’mores.
He returned with her drink and sat down at her table, quite pleased with himself. She raised a dubious eyebrow.
“May I sit?”
You already did, Golden Boy. Can I really stop you?
She motioned to the seat, fascinated and horrified, as he folded himself into the far-too-small chair across from her. She nervously adjusted her ID badge to face the right direction.
Don’t embarrass yourself. You represent Cleveland.
He sipped his steaming coffee, the smell of him so overpowering. Cup still pressed to his lips, his bright amber eyes narrowed. He slowly scanned her body with open appraisal.
As though a serpent had wound itself inside her core, it took every ounce of self-control to sit still.
Uh, uh, uh buddy.
He would not win this. She squared her shoulders and stuck out her chin. With an upraised brow, she tilted her head in acknowledgment.
“Yes?”
He smiled sheepishly. “You’re very pretty. What do they call you? Do you work for the city?” He tipped his head towards her neck lanyard, his accent thick and warm, carrying traces of someplace far away.
He slowly took in her delicate features. A slender nose and full pink lips that pressed in a firm line. She was daring him to keep ogling her. He chuckled.
“I’m Rafael. Rafi.”
Aviva watched him, trying not to get caught looking higher at the obsidian ridges crowning his forehead. She crossed her arms,
God he’s full of himself.
He was a living sculpture—all gold, sculpted muscle, and impossible sharp angles. His light brown hair, recently cut and edged, combined with his smile, gave him the Peter Pan energy of a stow away who had somehow made himself captain.
He set down his coffee and shrugged out of his bomber jacket, letting it fall casually across the back of the chair. Aviva quietly blew out air as her basement promptly flooded.
Ribbono Shel Olam, are all Emberborn built like this?
His broad shoulders strained his expensive white silk shirt like a second skin. His trousers fit far better than should have been legal. As one knee bounced in an easy, relentless rhythm, his thumb kept circling that gold pinkie ring. The whole infuriating package snapped her body to alertness.
When he reached for his phone, his sleeve shifted and she caught sight of what almost looked like the shape of an eye across one wrist. He was texting someone.
Is that a hamsa?
“I, uh…” She gulped. “I’m Aviva. I do. That is, uh, I work at city hall. Are you… uh… Jewish, Rafi?”
Her mouth snapped shut. Heat crept up her neck and she scanned the room, attempting not to look awkward.
Don’t interrogate him, genius!
Rafi put down the phone and grinned mischievously. His gaze fell from her face to the tiny gold Magen David hanging at her throat, then lower, taking in her well-proportioned breasts. He nodded once and raised an eyebrow seductively.
“I am… Aviva. So are you.”
Somewhere deep inside, Aviva felt a stone thud in her gut. Her mouth hung open. The swirling trails climbed into his hairline, hypnotizing her.
How could someone this gorgeous be Jewish?
Suddenly, the lanky Drow, apparently tired of calling her number, wandered over with her food, and dropped the tray unceremoniously onto the table. She crinkled her freckled nose. How long had he been calling her number?
Rafi smiled as his own number was called and rose in one fluid motion to retrieve his food. Aviva took the brief reprieve to try to pull herself together. She placed one hand on her forehead, the other on her belly, and inhaled deliberately.
Breathe, damn it. He’s just a guy. If he wants to flirt, then flirt.
At that thought, she checked the time and realized she had less than half an hour to eat and return to the office. She fired off a quick text to Siobhan.
Aviva
Met a hottie at Wrap. Literally. OMG. Have to tell you about him. I’ll try to snap a pic.
She snickered to herself as the message disappeared into the ether and glanced up just as he returned carrying his tray. Her intuition told her they had ordered the exact same thing. She was right.
As they sat down with their wraps before them, Aviva rose to wash before bread. She excused herself and Rafi blinked twice before understanding crossed his face. He nodded politely and spoke into his cell phone, recording a voice-to-text note in another language.
She walked toward the small washing station near the back wall. As she shut off the sink and thoughtfully shook the water from her hands, she forced herself to focus on the blessing, grounding herself in the familiar ritual of gratitude before eating. Grabbing a crouton from the small paper basket beside the sink, Aviva whispered the blessing over bread, and popped it into her mouth. Still chewing, she returned to the table to find him taking his first bite.
Sliding back into her seat, excitedly anticipating her warm falafel wrap, her smile faded as she saw the Emberborn man’s face sour with visible disappointment. About to dig in, she raised an eyebrow.
“Are you alright? What’s wrong?”
“Is this what passes for falafel around here?” he grimaced with incongruous disgust. “This is horrible. Who made it? Sheep-shifters with hooves for hands and cow shit for chickpeas? Bleh!”
Aviva nearly burst out laughing. She pressed her lips together tightly, watching him swallow forcefully before gulping down coffee in distress. His irritation was oddly endearing, cracking through his supernatural beauty.
“Uh… yes,” she giggled. “That’s pretty typical here. I’m sorry it’s not what you’re used to. Where are you from that the falafel is apparently life-changing?”
His brows remained scrunched in obvious offense as he took another deeply begrudging bite. “Thessaloniki,” he replied. “Greece. I’m from Greece. I got here last night.”
“Well, uh, nice to meet you. Welcome to Cleveland. Sorry about the falafel?”
Aviva stifled a laugh and chewed thoughtfully while stealing glances at him. He was so beautiful, so charming, she felt shabby in comparison. The men she had dated years ago often moved with uncertainty and trepidation. This Emberborn was nothing of the sort.
He smiled again with soft eyes, hoping she’d speak. Despite the dizziness from his scent and warmth, she reached for something neutral.
“Are you here for business or pleasure?” then immediately frowned at her ridiculous question. She pursed her lips and took a giant bite of falafel.
Good-naturedly, he laughed out loud. It reminded her of summer thunder.
“You sound like those immigration people,” he teased in that rich accented voice. “What is it called? ICE? Are you going to ask for my papers too?”
She blushed and blurted. “Sorry. That’s not what I meant. Just wondered what brought you here.”
But he chuckled good-naturedly. “It’s okay. Don’t worry. I’m here for work. Hopefully good work. But also, to visit family. My great-aunt and cousins live here. I’ve never visited them before. They’ve always come to visit me.”
Aviva perked slightly at that. So, he had family here. That somehow made him feel more real. More grounded.
As, she took another bite of her wrap, she found, between his rippling muscles and stunning face, she’d become increasingly thirsty. She gulped down more iced tea. The food was growing harder and harder to swallow, though her hunger strangely had not abated. After a few more distracted bites, she gave up entirely and began wrapping the remainder back in paper. Her mind raced with unspoken questions.
“Aviva,” he said with soft curiosity. The sound of her name in his mouth was deeply distracting, nearly an obscene command. She looked up.
“Are you from here? From Cleveland?”
She nodded and gulped, trying hard not to stare again. “Yes. My family’s been here for a few generations. We mostly live in Beachwood.”
He looked confused.
“It’s east of here,” she clarified quickly. “Near the Heights.”
He nodded. Glancing at his watch, he pulled out his phone again, typing a quick message before setting it face-down beside his tray. Then, it seemed to her that he turned his charm on stronger.
“I don’t know many people here yet,” he admitted. “Just family and a few people for work. I would like to see the city while I’m here. I love baseball. I heard there are many museums.” Aviva heard the faintest hesitation in his voice. “Would you maybe like to go out with me? Show me the city?”
That pause caught her off guard. Was it a game? A ploy? The vulnerability of it didn’t match the rest of him at all. Everything about this Emberborn man, Rafi, appeared controlled—his posture, his confidence, his marvelous body heat, his impossible beauty—but the question itself carried an almost childish uncertainty. And despite herself, Aviva smiled.
Oh God, please don’t let him be married. Please don’t let him be one of those passport bros.
He regarded her, caramel eyes alive and dancing. She realized that she still hadn’t answered him. Her mouth had just begun forming a very enthusiastic yes when her phone dinged loudly against the table. She glanced down.
Siobhan
Enclave rep heading over now! Hurry up!
Aviva’s stomach lurched and her shoulders dropped.
Oh crap.
She bolted upright so abruptly that Rafi startled. “I’m sorry,” she blurted. “I have to go.” She collected her wrap and chips, shoving her phone in her pocket, and began rambling as she avoided his eyes. “I have to get back to work. I have this huge meeting with this giant group and they’re making this city project unbelievably complicated and I still have to organize all my notes and prep everything because if I don’t get the paperwork finalized my boss is literally going to kill me and I’m really hoping whoever they sent isn’t an asshole—”
She stopped abruptly.
Oh no. Did I really just say all of that out loud?
Rafi rose slowly to his feet, chuckling with unabashed amusement. The warmth rolling off him hit her again, making her sway where she stood.
“But you didn’t answer me yet,” he grinned in his sexy, accented voice. She craned her head up to meet his eyes. It was deeply unfair how small he made her feel simply by standing there. Her phone dinged again.
Janice
Where are you? Rep is nearly here!
She gulped. Crap! Crap!
“I really have to go,” she said breathlessly.
His amber eyes remained fixed on her, hot and curious. Forcing herself not to completely unravel beneath the attention, she slipped around him and hurried toward the door.
“It was nice meeting you!”
“Goodbye, Aviva,” he called after her, making no move to follow. She felt his eyes enjoying her backside as she slid out the door, her belly tight with inexplicable hunger.
Practically fleeing across the street, cheeks blazing scarlet, her thoughts were in complete disarray. She took the elevator up from the side entrance and made it back to her desk just in time for Siobhan to begin interrogating her.
“Where have you been? It took you forever, woman,” the Fae demanded. “Well, where’s the picture you promised? Was he cute? What did he look like? Was he married? Did you talk to him?”
The sheer absurdity of the questions helped cool Aviva’s racing blood as she reached for the heavy stack of files she needed for the meeting.
“I don’t know if he was married,” she admitted, still flushed. “But holy crap was he gorgeous. Like fake gorgeous. Like living-breathing-Greek-statue gorgeous. Oh my gosh, Siobhan. I was stuttering like an idiot. I almost knocked over a sign because I was so flustered.”
She groaned dramatically. “And then he ordered falafel like me and immediately made this face like it was the most offensive thing he’d ever eaten in his life.” Aviva panted and Siobhan burst out laughing.
It was good to hear her laugh like that. She and her husband had gone through years of heartbreak trying to conceive, loss after loss after loss. Aviva had spent countless afternoons bringing her tea at work and countless evenings curled beside her on the O’Learys’ couch watching terrible movies and crying together. She went out of her way to make Siobhan smile whenever she could. At least her humiliation at the hands of this absurdly attractive Emberborn could apparently serve some noble purpose.
As Siobhan continued her barrage, Aviva smiled then she heard Janice’s familiar heavy footfalls approach. Straightening immediately, she gathered up her folders as she saw the top of the orc’s head as she strode past toward Conference Room One.
Behind Janice walked the rest of the enclave delegation, a Meadowborn, a Griffin, a Gargoyle, and two humans already talking over one another in irritated overlapping voices, complaining loudly about the city’s proposals and how dissatisfied they remained with negotiations.
Aviva shook her head hard. She was losing it. She still smelled summer campfires, even now. Taking one final deep breath, the HAMR deputy director grabbed her tablet, slid the stylus behind her ear, silenced her phone, and gave herself the usual pep talk.
You’re smart. You’re good at this. You can find a win-win solution here. Knock it out.
She squared her shoulders, arms full of paperwork, and walked into Conference Room One. She never quite remembered the exact moment the folders slipped from her hands.
Only the sight and her body’s reaction.
Golden eyes.
Obsidian crystals glimmering under fluorescent office lighting.
Tiny gray markings pulsing softly across marvelous honey-colored skin.
Aviva gasped and falafel threatened to come back up. The Emberborn man sat comfortably beside Janice at the head of the conference table, several other Mythriqs and humans arranged around him, all seemingly waiting for the meeting to begin.
He looked up the instant she entered. Then smiled wide and joyous. The papers slid from her arms and scattered across the floor in a violent rustling avalanche.
Aviva barely heard them. Eyes wide, mouth completely dry. Her brain moved too slowly to fully process what she was seeing.
Rafi?
The man who smelled like char and summer and bad decisions. Smiling with every single tooth in his head. Looking at her like she would be the absolute highlight of his afternoon.
Then—to her absolute horror—he lifted one hand and gave her a small playful wave, motioning casually toward the empty seat across from him like a child inviting her to play.
The entire conference room smelled faintly of sweet smoke. And suddenly Aviva understood exactly how people accidentally ruined their lives.