Page 17 of Dark Rover’s Luck (The Children Of The Gods #95)

17

FENELLA

"F ascinating." Fenella's interest was piqued. "What do they like to drink?"

"Mainly hard liquor, but they like mixing it with some sweet juices that they can tolerate to an extent. It's not good for their digestion, but then it's not good for humans either, but they still like to drink."

Atzil seemed like a nice guy, and Fenella had a feeling that she would like working with him.

"Do you have anyone helping you in the bar?" She threw the bait, hoping he would bite.

"No, which is why I only open on weekends," Atzil said. "During the week, I cook for Kalugal and the rest of our men."

"A chef and a bartender." Fenella leaned back. "That's an interesting combination."

Atzil smiled, something rueful in the expression. "Food and drink make people happy, and I like doing both."

A young waitress, who couldn't be older than Arezoo and looked like she had some Kra-ell in her, brought over two bottles of wine, a red and a white. Fenella opted for a glass of red.

"I should tell Kyra's older nieces about Callie's. I'm sure they would love to have a job in the village, and it looks like Callie needs help here."

"She does." Ingrid sipped on her red wine. "I would love for her to move to a larger place and cook enough for the entire clan. Maybe then Kalugal and his men will come eat here, and Atzil will be free to open the bar every day of the week."

"I can help with that." Fenella seized the opening. "I mean in the bar. I have a lot of experience bartending, and I need a job."

Atzil leaned forward. "What's your specialty? Classic cocktails? Modern mixology? Or just pulling pints and lending an ear?"

"All of the above. I've worked everywhere from dive bars to five-star hotels. I can mix a perfect martini while breaking up a fight and balancing the till."

Atzil laughed, a rich sound that transformed his serious face. "Impressive resume. When can you start?"

"I'm available whenever you need me," Fenella said. "And I just want to add that I can run the place on my own while you are busy cooking for Kalugal. I can keep the bar open every night."

Atzil looked intrigued. "How about you stop by the Hobbit tomorrow afternoon? I'll show you around, and we'll discuss particulars."

"Perfect." Fenella beamed, feeling an unexpected surge of optimism.

When their food arrived, it temporarily diverted the conversation to appreciative comments about the meal. The pasta was excellent, simple but perfectly executed with fresh ingredients and a light, flavorful sauce.

Once the main meal was over and it was time for dessert, Fenella leaned back with her coffee and leveled her gaze at Atzil. "From what I was told, Kalugal and a number of Brotherhood members escaped during WWII, but I was wondering what you did after you escaped."

"The Brotherhood had been deeply embedded in the Imperial military structure," Atzil said. "They were using it as cover for their operations in the Pacific. When the nuclear bombs were dropped in the area where we were stationed, we used it as a perfect opportunity to disappear. Not even immortals can survive a nuclear blast, so we were presumed dead. Getting to the United States wasn't difficult for a guy who could compel and a group of soldiers who could shroud and thrall. We arrived in New York with nothing, and establishing ourselves wasn't easy. We had no resources, no identities in the modern sense. Kalugal made difficult choices to ensure our survival."

"What kind of choices?" Fenella asked, though she suspected she already knew.

Atzil met her gaze steadily. "He used thralling and compulsion on Wall Street traders, extracting insider information that allowed us to build a financial foundation. Not ethical, certainly not legal, but necessary at the time and super effective. We were practically swimming in money, and then he moved to investing in technology. Our boss is very smart."

The guy obviously worshiped the ground Kalugal walked on, and she couldn't blame him. His boss had saved him from a horrible life in the Brotherhood's ranks and then ensured that his men were well provided for.

"I've done worse to survive," she said. "Much worse."

The admission hung in the air, raw and honest.

"I wish white-collar crimes were the only ones I needed to confess to." Atzil sighed. "They are just the easier ones. We all have lines we never thought we'd cross. Until we did."

"And then you have to live with it," Fenella said, thinking about those crimes that Atzil didn't want to talk about.

"Yes," Atzil agreed. "But you also get to choose who you become afterward. That's the gift of a long life—the chance to reinvent yourself, to atone, to do better."

Fenella found an unexpected resonance in his words. She had been running for so long—not just from external threats, but from the parts of herself she wasn't proud of, the compromises and sacrifices that had kept her alive but chipped away at her soul.

"Is that what you're doing here?" she asked. "Atoning?"

Atzil smiled faintly. "In my own small way. Feeding people, mixing drinks—it's hardly heroic, but there's a simple goodness in it. In creating moments of pleasure for people I care about." He swept his arm in a wide arc. "That includes everyone in this community. They are all my peeps, as the young humans like to say."

When the conversation shifted to lighter topics like Atzil's favorite mixes and which drinks were the most popular in the village, Fenella felt more at ease than she could remember. It could have been the wine, or the food, or the good company, or all of the above.

"We should get going," Ingrid said at some point, picking up her fashionable handbag. "This was lovely. We should do it again soon."

"Definitely." Fenella nodded, turning to Atzil. "What time do you want to meet tomorrow?"

"Three o'clock is good for me. It's the lull between lunch and dinner at Kalugal's."

"Perfect." She shook his hand. "I'm looking forward to it."

"What did you think of him?" Din asked after Ingrid and Atzil left.

"I liked him a lot. He's a good guy." She lifted the small cup of coffee to her lips and took a sip. "After what was done to me, I wanted to hate anything connected to the Brotherhood, but I can't hate Atzil. He's just too nice."

"Do you trust him, though?"

The question gave her pause. Trust was something Fenella had rationed carefully over the decades, extending it rarely and often regretting it when she did.

"My gut tells me that I can trust him, but I can't help being cautious and reserving judgment."

"That's progress, I guess," Din said.

"Of a sort." Fenella drained the last of her coffee. "I should head back before Shira starts to wonder if I've been kidnapped."

"I'll walk you home," Din offered while swiping his card over the scanner.

"I can find my way there," Fenella said automatically, the instinct for self-reliance too deeply ingrained to ignore. "The village is super safe, right?"

"It's not about safety. I would just like to walk you home, if that's okay with you."

"Of course it is." She flashed him a broad smile.

If she was being honest with herself, she wasn't quite ready for the evening to end either.

When they stepped out of the restaurant, it was nearly completely dark outside, and with no illumination allowed in the village, she had to rely on her excellent night vision.

"It's beautiful here." Fenella threaded her arm through Din's. "Almost too beautiful, if that makes sense."

The night air was pleasant, carrying a clean, earthy scent that reminded her of how it smelled after rain.

"It's like a dream," Din agreed. "One you're afraid to wake from."

She was surprised that he understood. This place belonged to him even though he didn't reside here. He could move into the village anytime he wanted, and there was no reason for him to dream about it when it could be his reality.

Following that logic, though, it was true for her as well. The boss of this place had invited her to stay, even insisted on it.

As they reached the front door of Shira's house, Fenella turned to face Din, suddenly aware of the awkwardness of this moment at the end of what had essentially been a date. Not that either of them had called it that, but that didn't change the fact that it was.

"Thank you for today," she said. "I had a very good time with you."

"It was my pleasure."

He stepped closer, and Fenella felt her heart rate increase. Was he going to kiss her? Did she want him to?

Din's hand rose, gently tucking a strand of hair behind her ear, the gesture so tender it made her breath catch. He leaned forward, his intention clear in the tilt of his head, the softening of his eyes.

At the last moment, Fenella chickened out and turned her head, so his lips landed on her cheek instead of her mouth. It was a reflex, an instinctive protection of a boundary she wasn't ready to cross yet, even as part of her yearned to do exactly that.

Din pulled back, no hint of frustration or disappointment on his face. "Goodnight, Fenella," he said. "Sleep well."

"Goodnight," she replied, her voice slightly unsteady. "I'll see you tomorrow?"

It came out as a question, uncertain in a way she rarely allowed herself to be.

"Sure. Do you want me to come with you to meet Atzil?"

The relief she felt made her weak at the knees. "I would love that."

"I'll pick you up at two-thirty so we can enjoy a leisurely stroll over to the bar."

"I'm looking forward to it."

He waited as she stepped inside, raising his hand in a final farewell before turning to walk away.

Fenella closed the door and leaned against it, her fingers rising to touch the spot on her cheek where his lips had been. The house was quiet, with Shira apparently still out for the evening.

Why had she turned away? Din had been nothing but respectful, patient, and attentive all day. He had shown no signs of pushing boundaries or expecting more than she was willing to give. Unlike most men she'd known, he seemed content to move at a snail's pace and let her set the terms of their interactions.

And yet, when the moment came, she had pulled back, some deep-seated instinct for self-preservation overriding the warmth that had been building between them all day.

Fenella walked through the dark house to her room, her thoughts churning. Fifty years she'd spent running, hiding, guarding herself against threats both real and imagined.

It was difficult to adjust to her new reality, slow down, and stop seeing everything and everyone as a threat.