Page 14 of Dark Rover’s Luck (The Children Of The Gods #95)

14

DIN

D in's heart hammered against his ribs as he saw Fenella.

She wore a colorful sundress, her hair was swept up in a casual updo, a few strands escaping to frame her face, and her bare feet were in simple flip-flops, one dangling half-off her foot in a way that was inexplicably captivating.

As their eyes locked across the café, the background noise seemed to fade. She was just as beautiful as he remembered—perhaps more so, with the confidence and character that the years she'd lived added to her gaze.

The young barmaid's softness had been replaced by something more defined, more knowing.

Din forced himself to breathe and keep his face from betraying the storm of emotions churning inside him.

He stood as Fenella approached with the woman beside her in step. He had no doubt that it was Jasmine, not Kyra, mainly by her statuesque figure and her slight resemblance to Fenella.

"Din," Fenella said, his name a soft exhalation that somehow carried over the café's ambient noise. "I'm so glad you made it here in one piece." She offered him her hand. "After all the trouble you've gone through, I was afraid of what might befall you on the way from the house to the café."

Her welcome was a little biting, but Max had prepared him for her sharp tongue, and he had a feeling that she used it as a sword to protect herself when she felt threatened. Though why she would feel that way toward him, he couldn't begin to guess.

"The Fates seemed determined to put obstacles in my path," he said, his Scottish brogue sounding thicker to his own ears. "But I think they are done testing me. I didn't encounter any obstacles on my way from Thomas's house to here."

The woman beside Fenella cleared her throat, breaking the moment. "Hello, Din."

"This is Jasmine," Fenella said, gesturing to her companion. "My new bestie and Kyra's daughter. Kyra is Max's mate."

"I know." Din offered his hand, studying Jasmine with interest.

Max had mentioned a resemblance between the two women, and it was there, but it was superficial. They shared the same dark chestnut hair color and olive skin tone, and even had matching clefts in their chins, but the similarities ended there.

If he had to compare them to desserts, Jasmine would be a chocolate cheesecake with too much mousse on top—rich, complex, and a bit overwhelming. While Fenella was more like a delicate vanilla crème br?lée, seemingly simple but with hidden depths, perfectly balanced between sweetness and sharp edges.

"It's a pleasure to meet you," Jasmine said, her warm smile revealing perfect teeth. "Max has told me a lot about you."

"Good things, I hope."

Jasmine laughed. "You know Max. He's almost as sharp-tongued as Fenella."

"Ouch." Din winced. "Now I hope that he didn't paint me in too gloomy colors."

"He didn't." Jasmine cast him a charming smile. "I should leave you two alone to catch up on old times. It was lovely to meet you, Din. I hope your stay in the village is long and fruitful."

There was something in her tone, a slight emphasis on the last word, that made Din wonder what she meant, but before he could ponder it further, she was turning to Fenella.

"Call me later?" she asked.

Fenella nodded, and the two women exchanged a look that seemed to contain an entire private conversation.

"Good luck," Jasmine added with a smile that encompassed them both, and then she was gone, weaving through the tables with a graceful sway of her hips.

Din had been worried that Jasmine might stay, creating a buffer between him and Fenella during their first so-called date. While he understood Fenella might not want to be alone with him after everything she'd been through, it would have been disappointing to have a chaperone in the very public setting of the café.

"Shall we sit?" He pulled out a chair for her.

"Yes. Definitely." She sat down and adjusted her sundress with a casual flick of her wrist.

"What would you like?" he asked. "We should order quickly before the place closes."

"A cappuccino would be nice." Her eyes drifted to the display case. "And one of those almond croissants."

"Coming right up." He walked up to the counter and placed the order for two cappuccinos and two almond croissants.

The truth was that he could have waited for the waitress to approach their table, but he needed a few moments to collect himself after the shock of seeing Fenella again.

She was even more breathtaking than he remembered. The years had added character to her beauty, but there was a certain wariness in her gaze that hadn't been there before. She carried herself differently too, with the watchful readiness of someone who had learned the hard way to always be prepared for trouble.

It made his heart ache to think of what she must have endured.

He returned to the table with their cappuccinos and pastries, setting Fenella's down in front of her.

She broke off a corner of her croissant. "So, you're a professor now? Of archaeology?"

Din nodded, wrapping his hands around the warm cappuccino cup. "At the University of Edinburgh. I fell into it by accident, to be honest. I started with night classes to pass the time, and then I discovered that I had a knack for it."

Fenella studied him. "I can picture you hunched over ancient relics, piecing together forgotten histories."

"You make it sound more romantic than it is." Din chuckled. "Most of my time is spent grading mediocre papers and attending dull faculty meetings."

"Still, it somehow suits you." She took a sip of her cappuccino, leaving a small foam mustache that she quickly wiped away with her napkin. "Teaching is better than tending bar, I imagine."

"I'm not sure. It depends on your character. You always enjoyed being around people. I didn't. Frankly, I'm surprised at myself at choosing to teach. I thought I would be spending my days in dusty digs."

"Why don't you?"

He shrugged. "Sometimes the Fates lead you somewhere you never intended to go, but you discover that they were right."

Her eyes darted away, her fingers fidgeting with the handle of her cup. "I barely remember my bartending days," she admitted. "They seem like they happened to someone else."

"In a way, they did," Din said. "You were a different person back then."

"I was just a girl," Fenella agreed. "Naive. Sheltered, despite thinking I was so worldly and wise."

"And now?"

Her eyes met his, sharp and assessing. "Now I know better. The world isn't safe, or nice, or fair. It's a dog-eat-dog world and evil lurks everywhere." She shivered. "I had no idea how bad it could get. I wish I could go back to being naive and not knowing."

He leaned over and placed a hand over hers. "There are many good people out there, Fenella. Don't judge the entire world by its bottom feeders."

"It's hard to tell the difference sometimes," she said. "Indifference is almost as bad because it allows evil to flourish. Most people just want to live their lives and not be bothered, and I get it because I was the same way. But eventually the rot reaches them as well, and then they have no choice and are forced to join the fight. Only then, it's often too late."

An awkward silence fell between them, heavy with unspoken histories.

"I'm such a downer." Fenella forced a smile. "Enough of this doom and gloom. Tell me about your work instead. Have you ever taken part in a dig?"

Din took the lifeline, grateful for the shift to safer territory. "I have. Quite a few. I once took a group of students to Jordan. It was fascinating—a Bronze Age settlement near the Dead Sea, virtually untouched. We found pottery with intact pigments, tools, and even some jewelry. The preservation was remarkable due to the arid climate."

As he spoke about his work, he watched Fenella gradually relax, her posture becoming less rigid, her eyes softening. She asked intelligent questions, showing interest in his discoveries.

"You've traveled extensively," he said during a lull in the conversation.

"Necessity rather than choice," she said with a shrug. "Never staying in one place too long was safer."

"Was there anywhere you enjoyed? Somewhere you might have stayed if circumstances were different?"

Fenella considered his question, absently tucking a strand of escaped hair behind her ear. "Greece," she said after a moment. "The islands, not the mainland. There's something about the quality of light there, and the people mind their own business." A faint smile touched her lips. "I rented a room in a little whitewashed house on Naxos for almost a year. Longest I ever stayed anywhere."

"Why did you leave?" Din asked.

The smile vanished. "A tourist recognized me from a bar I'd worked at in Vienna years before. I went by a different name, of course, and I claimed no knowledge of the barmaid he was talking about, the one who looked exactly like me, but it was time for me to leave. It's amazing how small the world seems when you want to disappear."

Din wanted to reach across the table and take her hand again, but he resisted the impulse. "It must have been exhausting," he said. "Always being on the move, looking over your shoulder."

"I adapted," Fenella said with a shrug that didn't quite achieve the casualness she was aiming for. "Speaking of adapting, how are you handling your job and your unchanging appearance?"

His smile wilted. "It won't last. At some point, I will need to disappear and return as someone else in a different university. The clan is very good at arranging for alternative identities, including titles. Naturally, it's better to live in the village or back in Scotland in our castle and only venture out on assignments like Max does. There is much less risk of exposure that way."

"Ah, yes, Max," Fenella said. "You two seem to have patched things up rather quickly. Fifty years of not speaking, and suddenly you're best buddies again?"

"Not quite," Din said. "But life's too short—even immortal life—to hold on to old grudges. Especially when there are far more important things at stake."

"Like what?"

"Like making amends for my part in what happened to you," Din said quietly.

Fenella's eyes widened. "Your part? You weren't even there when Max..." She trailed off, unable or unwilling to finish the sentence.

"I didn't know you were a Dormant," Din said. "But there was something about you that I should have identified as more than just an attraction to a pretty girl. If I weren't such a colossal ass, I wouldn’t have said all those horrible things to you, lashing out in anger without thinking. I would have stuck around and found out what was happening to you when you transitioned. Imagine all the grief I could have saved you. Instead, I was so caught up in my rivalry with Max that I lost sight of what mattered."

Fenella stared at him, her expression unreadable. "So, you think that this is all your fault?"

"Not entirely," Din said. "I could have handled the situation much better, and I offer my deepest and most heartfelt apology for how I acted, but the blame for what happened ultimately lies with Max and with the monster who hurt you. Still, I could have prevented it, and I didn't. And that is my greatest regret.”

She looked away, her throat working as she swallowed. "It's in the past," she said dismissively, though her voice had a slight tremor. "Water under the bridge, as Max would say."

"Is it?" Din asked. "Because it seems to me that you're still carrying it with you."

Her eyes flashed back to his, suddenly fierce. "Don't presume to know me, Din. A few memories of who I was half a century ago don't give you that right."

"True," he conceded immediately. "I apologize."

She exhaled slowly, some of the tension leaving her shoulders. "It's fine. Just... let's not rehash the past, all right? It is what it is."

"Fair enough," Din agreed, taking a sip of his now-cooling cappuccino. "What would you rather talk about?"

"Tell me about Scotland," she said after a moment. "Is it still as dreary and beautiful as I remember?"

"That sums it up perfectly," Din chuckled. "The Highlands are still wild, the cities still full of history and whiskey. Edinburgh's changed, though, and not for the better. But the heart of it is the same."

"I miss the rain sometimes," Fenella admitted. "Everything's so bloody sunny here. Perfect weather, perfect surroundings, perfect people with perfect teeth and perfect lives." She rolled her eyes. "It's kind of boring."

Din laughed. "I keep forgetting that this is all new to you, and that you didn't know immortals existed until a couple of weeks ago. It's always jarring to come home from my flat in the city and see how perfect everyone looks in comparison to the humans."

Fenella leaned forward, her eyes lighting up with the pleasure of being understood. "It's like living in a glossy magazine spread. Even the bloody squirrels look well-groomed."

"At least the coffee's good," Din said, lifting his cup in a small toast.

"The coffee's excellent," Fenella agreed, clinking her cup against his. "And the security's top-notch, I'll give them that."

"Have you thought about what you'll do here?" Din asked. "Any plans, or are you taking it day by day?"

"Jasmine mentioned that the Hobbit Bar is looking for help. The owner only opens it on weekends because he works for Kalugal during the week."

"Ah, Kalugal." Din nodded. "The wayward Doomer prince."

She arched a brow. "Why do you call him a prince?"

"Because he is. He's Navuh's son. Has no one mentioned it to you?"

She shook her head. "Who is Navuh?"

Din snorted. "They didn't tell you much, did they?"

"I guess not. So, who's Navuh?"

"He's the founder and leader of the Doomers. Evil incarnate himself. He's the son of Mortdh, the one who killed all the gods and murdered the Clan Mother's beloved husband."

Her eyes widened. "And yet your people invited his son to live with them in the village?"

Din shrugged. "I have nothing against the bloke. He's not his father, and he managed to escape with a platoon of soldiers who were loyal to him."

"Max said that Kalugal and his men never believed in the Brotherhood's twisted ideology," Fenella said, though she didn't sound entirely convinced herself. "That's why they defected."

"People can change." Din smiled, lifting his cup as if to toast his statement.

"Speaking from experience?" Fenella asked, her head tilting slightly.

He met her gaze steadily. "I'd like to think I've changed for the better over the centuries. Grown wiser, at least. More patient."

She laughed. "I'd say. You were patient enough to wait fifty years for me when you had no reason to believe that I was still around."

Din considered how to answer. "I should have searched for you," he said.

"Yes, you should have."

"I thought that you didn't want to be found."

Her eyes never left his. "That's a convenient way to absolve yourself."

"Convenient, but not entirely untrue," Din countered. "Would you have welcomed me if I had found you in, say, that house on Naxos?"

Fenella considered this, her fingers tracing patterns in the condensation on her water glass. "Probably not at first," she conceded. "But getting an explanation for what happened to me would have been welcome."

He nodded. "I know that I'm a little late, but how about now?"

Her eyes were guarded but not cold. "I already know what I am and what happened to me, but I'm here, am I not?"

It wasn't much, but it was something. A starting point, perhaps.

"You are," Din agreed. "And I'm grateful for the chance you are willing to give me."

A small smile tugged at the corner of her mouth. "Don't get ahead of yourself, professor. I'm still deciding whether you're worth the trouble."

"Fair enough." He was unable to suppress a smile. "Take all the time you need. I've waited half a century. I can wait a bit longer."

"Ever the patient Scotsman," she said, a hint of her old teasing manner returning.

"Only for things that matter."

Their eyes held for a long moment, something unspoken passing between them—not quite trust, but perhaps the possibility of it.

Somewhere in the background, he noticed that the serve-out counter had closed and that the other patrons had left, but he paid attention only to Fenella, aware of the subtle shift in her demeanor from wary to cautiously receptive.

It wasn't perfect, this reunion. There were still walls between them, histories unshared, wounds unhealed. But it was a beginning, and after fifty years of wondering, of regretting, of imagining this moment, Din would take it.

For now, it was enough that she was here, that she was safe, that she was willing to give him a chance to know the woman she had become.