Page 22 of Dark Rover’s Luck (The Children Of The Gods #95)

22

DIN

D in stared at his laptop screen, his eyes glazing over as he read through yet another student paper on Mesopotamian pottery styles. He had already graded fifteen essays that morning, and they were beginning to blur together in an endless stream of mildly plagiarized paragraphs and enthusiastic but uninformed theories about ancient civilizations.

"The distinctive red slip seen on vessels from the early fourth millennium BCE shows clear influence from neighboring regions..." he read, sighing as he marked another grammatical error, even though those would not affect the final grade he gave on the paper.

He wasn't an English teacher, but it was sad to see that the student struggled with basic writing skills despite being a third-year archaeology major.

He wasn't the exception either.

Din had promised his department chair that he wouldn't fall behind on grading during his absence, a commitment he now regretted. The last thing he wanted to do after reconnecting with Fenella was to immerse himself in undergraduate essays, but duty called, and five centuries of existence had taught him the value of honoring commitments.

The front door opened, and Din glanced up to see Thomas entering with a grocery bag in hand. His temporary roommate gave a casual nod of greeting as he headed toward the kitchen.

"I thought you'd be out with Fenella." Thomas set his bag on the counter.

Din stretched his arms overhead, feeling the satisfying crack of his spine after hours of hunching over his laptop. "I'm only picking her up at two-thirty, and until then, I have to grade these bloody papers."

"I admire your dedication," Thomas said. "Especially since you don't really need the job. Do you enjoy doing what you do?"

"I enjoy most of it, but not grading papers," Din admitted. "But if I fall behind now, I'll have twice the work when I return." He closed his laptop and stood, rolling his shoulders. "What about you? Don't you have work today?"

Thomas pulled a carton of eggs from his grocery bag, placing it in the refrigerator. "I'm going on a mission tonight, so my day is going to start at four o'clock for the briefing." He arranged a few other items in the fridge. "I'll probably be back by morning."

"Anything serious?" Din asked.

Thomas shrugged. "Routine stuff. Yet another trafficking cell to bust, and more victims to rescue. Nothing exciting."

"I'd say it is very exciting." Din leaned back in his chair and crossed his arms over his chest. "It must be heart-wrenching."

"Not nearly as bad as what the Avengers are doing. I'm very happy to be on the Savior teams."

Din frowned. "I'm not familiar with either designation. What's the difference?"

"The Saviors continue to do what we've been doing for a while, which is busting trafficking cells, rescuing the victims, and bringing them to the sanctuary for rehabilitation. The new Avengers division is in charge of busting pedophile rings. Imagine what they have to face."

Din shivered. "I prefer to be blissfully ignorant. Which one does Max serve on?"

"The Saviors, but right now he is in charge of the keep's dungeon and the collection of scumbags Kian keeps there. Don't ask me what's happening there because I don't know. I haven't been stationed in the dungeon for a while."

"I heard that the Doomer who tortured Kyra and Fenella is there, being interrogated."

Thomas nodded. "It's supposed to be confidential, but since you already know, there is no harm in my confirming that."

"Why is he still alive?" Din asked. "I'm sure they've had enough time to get every last bit of information out of him by now."

Thomas shrugged. "Don't ask me. As I said, I'm not part of that operation." Thomas closed the refrigerator door and turned to face Din with a mischievous glint in his eye, which didn't fit the conversation they'd just had. "So, how did it go with Fenella yesterday at Callie's?"

"Better than I expected. As I mentioned before, we're meeting again later today."

"A second date. That's promising."

"It's not exactly a date," Din clarified. "She's meeting with Atzil about a job at the Hobbit Bar, and I offered to go with her."

"Ah," Thomas nodded. "It's still a date or could turn into one."

Din leaned against the kitchen counter, crossing his arms. "I'm in no rush. I waited fifty years for her, I can wait as long as it takes."

Thomas gave him an approving nod. "Well, since I'll be out tonight, you'll have the place to yourself, and if you want, you could invite your lady for dinner."

Din shook his head, though he appreciated the thought. "We're not at that stage yet. Probably won't be for quite some time."

"Fair enough, but there aren't many options for eating out in the village." Thomas gave him a calculating look, walked over to the freezer, and opened it with a flourish. "Unless you want to dine with Fenella at the café with vending machine fare after hours, you might want to consider cooking her a meal here."

He gestured toward the freezer's contents—an impressive array of neatly stacked steaks, ribs, and other cuts of meat. " Mi casa es su casa , as they say. You can impress your lady with a home-cooked dinner."

Din peered into the freezer, considering Thomas's generous offer. He could grill a decent steak, and there was something appealing about the intimacy of a home-cooked meal.

"That's actually not a bad idea," he admitted. "I just hope she won't assume that I'm inviting her here to seduce her."

"Perhaps she'll hope you are." Thomas winked. "I do know a thing or two about wooing women." He pulled out a package of thick ribeye steaks. "These will do nicely. Pair them with some roasted potatoes, a salad, maybe a good bottle of red..." He placed the steaks on the counter. "No pressure, no audience, just good food and conversation."

Din could almost picture it—Fenella sitting across from him at the dining table, the soft glow of candles between them, the comfort of privacy that a public setting couldn't provide. Not for any hidden agenda, but simply for the chance to talk without constantly looking over their shoulders.

Then again, candles could send the wrong message, so maybe a simple meal at the kitchen counter would be better.

He nodded. "It would be nice to spend time with Fenella, get to know her better. For the first time, actually."

"That's as good a starting point as any." Thomas pointed to the steaks. "Consider it my contribution to the cause of romance. I don't have a large selection of wines in the bar, but there should be a couple of bottles to choose from, and as a former bartender, Fenella might appreciate fine whiskey. I have a few interesting brands."

"I owe you," Din said. "I'll get you a good bottle of whiskey and refill your freezer."

Thomas waved away his thanks. "Just doing my part in bringing fated mates together. The Clan Mother would approve."

"Fated mates?" Din laughed, setting the steaks to thaw on the counter. "I wouldn't go that far. I think you're getting a bit ahead of yourself."

It wasn't that the thought hadn't occurred to him, but it was too early for that. He was too excited about the opportunity the Fates had given him to think clearly, but more importantly, Fenella wasn't ready to hear that.

"Perhaps," Thomas conceded, then glanced at his watch. "I should get some rest and relaxation before tonight's mission. I'll be out of your hair by the time you get back from Atzil's with Fenella."

"Appreciated," Din said.

As Thomas disappeared into his room, Din returned to his laptop to finish at least one more paper before meeting Fenella, but his mind kept wandering to his dinner plans.

It was just a simple meal between friends, right?

No, they were more than that, or at least, they had the potential to be.

He tried to focus on the student's essay on his screen, but it failed to capture his attention. Instead, his mind wandered to Fenella—the way she'd looked in that flowery sundress at the café, how her walls had seemed to lower slightly during dinner with Ingrid and Atzil, the softness in her eyes when they'd said goodnight.

And that almost-kiss...

Din had replayed that moment countless times in his mind. He'd leaned in, certain she wanted it too, only to have her turn at the last second, his lips finding her cheek instead of her mouth. But it hadn't felt like rejection—more like caution, a silent request for more time.

Time he was more than willing to give her.

For fifty years, he'd carried her memory with him, a ghost, a what-if that had never found resolution. He could be patient now that she was real and present in his life again. What were a few weeks or months more compared to the half-century he had already waited, without even realizing he had been in standby mode?

He couldn't have known that she'd appear like a phoenix from the ashes of his memories, perfect and immortal, and yet he'd kept thinking about her and comparing every woman he'd dated to her.

Closing his laptop, Din rose to his feet and walked over to the bathroom for a quick shower. As the hot water pounded him from three pulsating shower heads, he planned the dinner he was going to prepare. Nothing too elaborate—simplicity had its own charm. Thomas's menu was perfect, but he needed to check what vegetables were available.

Did Fenella have a sweet tooth? He couldn't recall. Perhaps some fruit and cheese to finish the meal would be safest, provided that Thomas had the stuff in his fridge.

Regrettably, the village didn't have a grocery store, and he didn't have time to make a shopping trip to the nearest supermarket.

Stepping out of the shower, Din wrapped a towel around his waist and confronted his reflection in the steamy mirror. Like most immortals, he looked good, and he had better tools now to court Fenella properly than he'd had fifty years ago.

Perhaps he'd needed to go through the heartbreak of losing her once to become the male she needed him to be. He'd been prideful, rigid, unwilling or unable to communicate his feelings, because he hadn't been trained to find and court love.

It had all been about the conquest and moving from one woman to the next.

If he had stayed the same, he would have been ill-equipped to handle the complexities of Fenella's trauma, her wariness, her hard-won independence.

He dressed carefully, choosing gray, slim-fitting jeans and a burgundy button-down shirt. It was similar to what he'd worn the day before, just in different colors. He'd noticed Fenella's appreciative glance and decided not to fix what wasn't broken. A touch of cologne—not too much—and he was nearly ready.

Back in the living room, Din was surprised to find Thomas emerging from his bedroom.

"That was a short rest," he said.

"I don't need much." Thomas gave him a quick once-over. "Heading out so soon?"

"In a few minutes," Din confirmed. "Any last-minute advice for dealing with a woman who could either kiss me or stab me, and I'm not sure which is more likely?"

Thomas laughed. "Just be yourself, the guy who carried a torch for fifty years, and not the professor with a stick up his arse."

Din raised an eyebrow. "I don't have a stick up my arse." Much less so now than he had when he'd first met Fenella, at least.

"It's just a figure of speech. But seriously, academia has a way of making people rigid and overly analytical. Fenella doesn't need someone to lecture her. She needs someone who sees her as she is now, not who she was or who you wish she could be."

Din nodded. "I'm actually less rigid now than I was back then, but I will remember your advice about not lecturing. It's a good one."

"I have my moments." Thomas smiled.

After getting his phone and wallet, Din tucked them into his back pockets, and as he headed for the door, he paused with his hand on the knob. "Be careful tonight."

Thomas nodded. "Always am." Then, a mischievous smile returned to his face. "Make a couple extra steaks and save them for me for when I get back, will you?"

"Count on it," Din promised, then stepped outside.

The village was quiet at this hour, with most residents either working or resting before their evening activities. Din walked at a leisurely pace, enjoying the serene beauty of the surroundings. The pathways were lined with flowering shrubs, their blooms adding splashes of color to the carefully maintained landscape.

As he walked, he rehearsed how he might suggest dinner to Fenella. If he were too casual, it might seem dismissive of the significance, but if he were too formal, she might feel pressured. He needed to find that delicate middle ground.

Perhaps after their meeting with Atzil, he could suggest dinner as a way to celebrate. He had no doubt that Atzil would hire her.

He could frame it as a practical alternative to the limited dining options in the village, rather than a romantic gesture.

Unless Fenella signaled that she wanted more.

Yeah, dream on .

Din shook his head at his own thoughts. He was overthinking this, analyzing it like one of his archaeological sites—layer by layer, looking for meaning in every fragment.

Thomas was right. Fenella didn't need that version of him.

She needed someone real, someone present, someone who could match her directness with his own.

As he neared Shira's house, a strange sense of calm settled over Din. Yesterday's nerves had largely dissipated, replaced by a quiet confidence. Not arrogance—never that—but the steady certainty that he was exactly where he was meant to be, doing exactly what he was meant to do.