… and how dragons woo their mates …
Dim sum at Sun Sui Wah was always a delight, but it turned into a fifteen-course extravaganza whenever I had a dragon seated beside me.
Specifically, a six-foot-four-inch, broad-shouldered, dark-blond, blue-green-eyed sentinel who had a serious thing for Chinese food.
Impromptu dim sum outings had become almost a weekly ritual for Warner and me over the previous year. We’d tried just about every restaurant in Vancouver, returning to our first choice after we’d decided it was the tastiest.
The linen-swathed table we were currently occupying in the middle of the restaurant was designed to accommodate groups of eight or more. The host never bothered to seat us at any of the smaller tables that ringed the large open room and were designated for parties of two. It hadn’t taken long for us to gain a reputation. It probably helped that Warner ordered in fluent Cantonese. The sentinel was relaxed and jovial when surrounded by good food and large crowds of people.
Even on a Thursday the restaurant was more than half full and noisy. The management had recently installed two massive TV screens, but none of their clientele appeared to pay attention to whatever sports game was playing at any given time.
Thankfully, brunch or lunch was an easy time for me to get away from work, and Sun Sui Wah was open seven days a week. Because even as stable and predictable as my schedule was, Warner had taken over patrolling the territories of Chi Wen, the far seer, working alongside Haoxin and Qiuniu, the guardians of North and South America. Apparently, it was commonplace for the younger dragons to do so — further training and whatnot — but I was suspicious that it might also be my father’s way of keeping Warner and me from getting too cozy. Either way it meant that the sentinel came and went without much warning.
His unpredictability didn’t bother me as much as I would have thought, though. Probably because it was obvious that he made an effort every single time he walked through the portal in the bakery basement.
Of course, it could also be that he had a knack for picking the perfect shade of green or blue whenever he manifested his clothing. Today, he was wearing a deliciously thin-knit kelly-green merino wool sweater that barely encompassed his shoulders and hugged his ribs and abs just enough to make it difficult to not continuously stare at him.
We’d actually set this rendezvous far enough in advance that I also had the option of making a bit of an effort with my appearance. I opted to wear a new long hoodie of gray cashmere over a dark pair of straight-leg Citizens of Humanity jeans, with a black tank top underneath my T-shirt for extra warmth. The jeans showed off my vintage Fluevogs — golden-brown Giulias with their stacked three-inch heel, from the Fluevog Operetta family. My Christmas presents from Gran — a charcoal silk and cashmere hand-knit triangle scarf, a matching set of wrist warmers, and a ribbed, slouchy hat — were all I needed to add to the outfit to make it outdoor ready. So far, the winter had been mild in Vancouver.
“I thought the wolf was coming back after Christmas?” Warner asked as he reached across the table, expertly picking up a prawn dumpling with his slick plastic chopsticks.
“I texted this morning,” I said. “Haven’t heard back.”
I hadn’t seen Kandy for more than a couple of days in a row since I’d left her in Portland. She’dbeen in Mississippi last July with the oracle, Rochelle, and her shifter boyfriend, Beau. Something had gone down there, but aside from grousing about how she’d ‘saved the oracle’s and the kitten’s asses’ she hadn’t given me any details. Though being close-mouthed was typical for the green-haired werewolf, I couldn’t shake the feeling that something had happened in Mississippi that she didn’t want me to know … or that she was trying to figure out a way to tell me.
I just hoped like hell it wasn’t that she’d laid eyes on a sketch of one of Rochelle’s visions and it was freaking her out. You know, something like my death rendered in charcoal.
Still chewing the dumpling, Warner dipped half a shrimp-and-garlic spring roll in the Worcestershire-type sauce that came with the dish. He popped the crunchy roll into his mouth whole, then raised an eyebrow at me.
“Same with Kett,” I said.
Warner grunted. “The vampire is under house arrest.”
“Sorry?”
“You were worried about the vampire. He’s in London. His elder wasn’t too pleased to find me knocking on his door.”
I stared at Warner, mouth hanging open and everything. “You knocked on the door of the big bad of London because I was concerned?”
Warner shrugged. “It’s good to keep them a little shaken up.”
“How shaken?”
Warner grinned wickedly. “Well, he’s going to have to rebuild a tower that was probably seismically substandard anyway.”
“You … destroyed the big bad’s … castle?”
“Destroyed is such a harsh word.”
I started laughing.
“Damn vampire didn’t want to come with me. I had to formally request permission from the fire breather to enter her territory, then the cold bastard didn’t even want to be rescued.”
“Oh my God … you told Suanmi you were rescuing a vampire and she gave you permission?”
“I might have used the term ‘hunting,’ but yes.”
I attempted to stifle my laughter. I was already drawing attention from nearby tables, which was saying a lot in a huge room filled with large groups of boisterous families.
Warner grinned at me. His chopsticks were poised over the gai lan in garlic sauce.
I wiped tears from my face. “What does house arrest mean?”
Warner shrugged again. “Kett isn’t exactly verbose. But apparently, it’s voluntary … or self-imposed. He seemed pissed that he’d have to cover the cost of the repairs, then sneered at the gold I offered.”
“Kettil, the executioner and elder of the Conclave, is difficult to please.”
“I wasn’t trying to please him.” Warner topped up my tiny mug of jasmine green tea, then lifted his gaze to meet mine.
“Thank you,” I whispered. I’d come to adore the blue starburst that edged the green of his irises. Under the right circumstances, flecks of gold appeared in his eyes as well.
He pushed the final prawn-and-chive pan-fried dumpling — my favorite — across the table toward me, touching the back of my hand as he withdrew his arm. The neck of his sweater opened up just enough that I could see a hint of the dragon tattoo across his collarbone.
Yeah, I was doing that staring thing again. Instead of acting embarrassed, I kept eye contact and slowly curled my lips in a smile.
Warner laughed, low and husky and for my ears only. “Later. We have another stop first.”
“Oh?”
“We’re going somewhere else for dessert. It’s a surprise.”
“Well, apparently you just stormed a castle to rescue my vampire BFF who didn’t actually want to be rescued, so I’ll let you have your dessert secret. For now. But don’t push it, sixteenth century.”
Warner laughed, then raised his hand for the bill.
I finally tore my gaze away from him, dipping the prawn-and-chive dumpling in soy sauce. I’d never been so enamored with anyone before, and certainly not for well over a year. Usually, a couple of weeks were all it took to send me packing. My former boyfriends all had habits … deal breakers … and well, just weren’t … enough.
Some days, being around Warner was almost too much. Too consuming. Thankfully, he had his dragon duties, I had the bakery to distract me, and we met somewhere in the middle every few days.
Still, I wondered if there were just some people you couldn’t get out of your system. Not that I was interested in trying.
–Artifacts, Dragons, and Other Lethal Magic (Dowser 6)
Why did I share this excerpt? See my Spill the Tea 2023: dim sum edition post!
