Page 23 of Dark Rover’s Luck (The Children Of The Gods #95)

23

FENELLA

O n the way back from the clinic, Jasmine had insisted that Fenella and Kyra stop by her house and go shopping in her closet. Her excuse was that she needed to get rid of some of the old stuff to make room for new, but Fenella knew that her newly discovered cousin was just being generous.

Jasmine wanted Fenella to have nice things for her so-called dates with Din and for her job interview.

Still, Fenella wouldn't have taken anything if Jasmine hadn't threatened not to let her and Kyra walk out of the closet unless they were each carrying an armful of clothing.

Fenella had chosen the few items that Jasmine had claimed were too short or too small or just no longer wanted, and out of the pile she'd taken, she'd opted to wear a simple white blouse and a pair of dark jeans for her job interview.

As the doorbell rang, her heart gave a little jump, and she gave herself a final once-over before hurrying to answer it.

When she pulled the door open, she had to catch her breath.

Din stood on the doorstep looking like he'd stepped out of a fashion magazine. He wore slim-fitting gray jeans that accentuated his long legs, paired with a deep burgundy button-down shirt that accentuated the rich tones in his dark hair. The sleeves were rolled up to his elbows, revealing strong forearms, and he'd left the top button undone—just casual enough to make her wonder what lay beneath.

"Hello," he said, a slight smile playing at his lips. "Are you ready to go?"

"I am." She stepped outside and pulled the door closed behind her. "You look nice."

"Thank you." His gaze traveled over her with quiet appreciation. "You look lovely. Beautiful."

They fell into step alongside each other, their arms occasionally brushing as they walked. Fenella was bursting to share her news, the excitement fizzing inside her like champagne.

"You're in a good mood," Din observed. "You're practically bouncing."

"I've had an interesting morning," she said. "You'll never believe what Bridget discovered when she ran genetic tests on the samples she took from me."

Din gave her a curious look. "Do tell."

"I'm related to Kyra and Jasmine." The words tumbled out in a rush. "We share the same maternal lineage—some ancestor from the Caucasus Mountains about seven or eight hundred years ago."

Din's eyebrows rose. "That explains why the three of you look alike. But it is unexpected."

"It's absolutely mad." She couldn't keep the smile off her face.

"Well, congratulations. Do you think it's a good family to be related to?" he asked, his tone teasing.

Fenella laughed, the sound bubbling up from somewhere deep inside her. "Who knows? Jasmine's an actress, Kyra's a rebel fighter, and both of them have these weird paranormal abilities they channel through strange objects." She waved a hand dismissively. "I have none of that. I'm the boring relative."

"I don't think so." Din's eyes crinkled at the corners. "I'd say that you are the most fascinating of the three."

"Thank you." She flipped her long hair over her shoulder. "I don't know if Bridget told the Clan Mother yet, but even before the revelation, the goddess thought it was significant that Kyra and I were found together. She told Kyra that it wasn't a coincidence and that it must mean that my help was needed to find Khiann. She thinks I should work with Kyra and Jasmine to look for him."

Din stopped walking, his expression shifting to something more somber. "Khiann is dead. He has been dead for over five thousand years."

She frowned. "The Clan Mother thinks that Khiann is in stasis, buried under the sands in the Arabian Desert."

Din shook his head. "According to clan lore, he was beheaded by Mortdh. I wasn't aware that assumption has changed."

"Well, apparently it has," Fenella said. "I don't know all the details of how and why, but it has something to do with Syssi's visions."

"Ah." He nodded. "That piece of information explains it. I'm surprised that the news hasn't made it to Scotland yet."

Fenella suddenly feared that she'd said too much. "Maybe I shouldn't have said anything about that, so please, don't tell anyone."

"I won't," he promised. "I'm happy to hear that there is a chance Khiann might be found. I've always felt sorry for the Clan Mother and how lonely she seemed despite her warm smiles and the love she showed all of us. Never finding a true love mate is sad but finding him and losing him is tragic."

She looked at Din from under lowered lashes. "You're a romantic, aren't you?"

He smiled. "Why do you say so?"

"Because only romantics believe in fated mates and all that crap."

He looked offended. "Fated mates are real, and you've met them. Kyra and Max, Jasmine and Ell-rom, Syssi and Kian, and many others. Those matings are unlike what you are familiar with from the human world. When immortals meet their one and only, they know. It's a connection that feels deep from day one. There's a recognition on a soul-deep level. It transcends physical attraction or compatibility—it's a matching of essences."

There was so much conviction in his voice, such passion, that Fenella didn't feel like she should say anything to dispute it. She hadn't expected this level of romanticism from him.

"That's a lovely sentiment," she said noncommittally.

"Just think about it. Jasmine and Ell-rom—two people from entirely different species, and yet Jasmine felt the pull of Ell-rom's soul across continents, and when they met, their souls recognized each other instantly. Do you think it was a coincidence? Just consider how incredibly improbable that was for them to find each other. Talk about star-crossed lovers."

"Well, when you put it like that, it's hard to argue with."

He looked relieved that she stopped trying to argue against the existence of fated mates. "I think there's a reason I couldn't forget you for fifty years," Din said, his eyes never leaving hers. "Why no other woman ever measured up, why I felt compelled to come running the moment I heard you'd been found."

Fenella looked away, her chest tight with emotions she wasn't ready to acknowledge. "That's a lovely sentiment," she repeated, trying to keep her voice light. "But fifty years is a long time to build something up in your imagination. The reality of me is bound to disappoint."

"I'm a historian and an archaeologist, Fenella," Din said. "I deal in facts and evidence, not imagination or wishful thinking. And the evidence is that despite having only met you briefly half a century ago, I've been unable to shake the connection I felt to you—even when I believed you were human and therefore lost to me forever."

His words resonated in a way that both thrilled and terrified her. Part of her wanted to believe, to surrender to the possibility that something cosmic and beautiful had drawn them together across time and space. But the skeptical part balked at the notion.

"I don't know if I can believe in destiny," she admitted. "Not after everything I've been through. Chaos rules. Trust me on that."

"I'm not asking you to believe just yet," Din said. "It's okay to be skeptical. But just to be open to the possibility."

"I suppose I can suspend disbelief for the time being," she conceded.

Din's lips curved into a smile. "That's progress."

As they resumed their walk toward the bar, Fenella studied Din from the corner of her eye, trying to reconcile the passionate believer in cosmic love with the overly serious, scholarly guy she'd first taken him for.

"Does Max know that you are such a romantic?" she asked.

He laughed. "I don't think he does but given how hard and fast he fell for Kyra, I'd say that he's a romantic himself."

"Good point."

As they rounded a bend in the path, Fenella caught sight of their destination and stopped in her tracks, a delighted laugh escaping her. "Oh my God, it actually looks like a hobbit hole!"

The Hobbit Bar was built into the side of a gentle hill, its facade covered in lush grass and wildflowers. A perfectly round wooden door, painted a cheerful green, served as the entrance, with a brass knob positioned exactly in the center. Small round windows peeked out from the hillside, warm light glowing invitingly from within.

"I've never seen anything like it," Fenella said.

"I think it was Syssi's idea to build it, but I'm not sure."

As they neared the round door, Fenella's anticipation mounted. This place looked magical, a fantasy brought to life. For the first time since arriving in the village, she felt like she might actually put down roots here, at least for a little while.

Din pushed the door open, and they stepped into a space that could have been lifted directly from the pages of Tolkien's imagination. The doorway was low, forcing Din to duck slightly, though Fenella had no such issues with her height. Wooden beams crossed overhead, from which hung bundles of dried herbs and lanterns that cast a warm, golden glow throughout the space.

The bar itself was a masterpiece of craftsmanship—a curved, polished oak counter that stretched along one wall, with shelves behind it holding an impressive array of bottles. Barrels served as tables, each surrounded by wooden stools that were sized just a bit smaller than standard to maintain the illusion of this being an actual hobbit establishment.

Atzil was already there, wiping down the counter that didn't need wiping.

He looked up at them, a smile breaking across his face. "Welcome to my humble establishment," he said, setting aside his cloth and coming to greet them. "What do you think, Fenella?"

"It's bloody brilliant," she said honestly. "I've never seen anything like it."

"I wish it were my idea, but it wasn't. It was Syssi's. I only offered to run the place. We can seat about seventy when it's full, which it usually is on weekends." He gestured around the space. "It's not large, but that's part of the charm."

Fenella moved toward the bar, running her fingers along the polished wood. "The craftsmanship is incredible."

"Thank you," Atzil said.

As Atzil went on to describe the things he'd built to Din, Fenella only half-listened to their conversation, her attention captured by the bar setup. The bottles were arranged by type and quality, and the glassware was sparkling clean and organized by style. It was a bartender's dream—efficient, well-stocked, and aesthetically pleasing.

"Ready to show me what you can do?" Atzil asked.

She grinned, rolling up her sleeves. "Absolutely."

"The bar is fully stocked," Atzil said, moving behind the counter and gesturing for her to join him. "Surprise me with three different drinks—one classic, one modern, and one of your own creation."

Din settled onto a barstool. "This should be entertaining."

Fenella walked behind the bar, feeling at home in the familiar territory even though it had been ages since the last time she'd bartended. She surveyed the bottles, cataloging what was available in her mind. The selection was impressive—top-shelf spirits from around the world, artisanal bitters, and there were also fresh fruits and herbs in refrigerated drawers beneath the counter.

"Right then," she said, cracking her knuckles. "Let's start with a classic."

She selected a bottle of rye whiskey, vermouth, and Angostura bitters. Filling a mixing glass with ice, she added the spirits and bitters and then stirred with a long bar spoon. After straining the amber liquid into a chilled glass, she expressed an orange peel over the surface and rubbed it around the rim before dropping it in.

"Manhattan," she announced, sliding the glass toward Atzil. "Classic, elegant, and simple. Too many bartenders rush the stirring and end up with a watery mess."

Atzil lifted the glass, inhaling the aroma before taking a sip. His eyebrows rose appreciatively. "Perfect dilution and temperature."

Fenella was already moving on to her second creation. This time she reached for gin, St-Germain elderflower liqueur, fresh cucumber, lime juice, and mint. She combined the cucumber and mint, added ice and the liquid ingredients, shook vigorously, and double-strained into a tall glass, garnishing with a cucumber ribbon and a mint sprig.

"Garden Party," she said. "A modern take on the classic gin smash, with elderflower for complexity and cucumber for refreshing crispness."

Din accepted the glass, taking a sip. "That's remarkable," he said, looking impressed. "I'm not typically a gin drinker, but this is balanced and refreshing."

"For my final offering," Fenella said, feeling a surge of confidence, "a creation of my own."

She selected a bottle of mezcal, along with Aperol, yellow chartreuse, lime juice, and a house-made ginger syrup she'd discovered in the refrigerated drawer. She combined the ingredients in a shaker with ice, shook vigorously, and strained the resulting coral-colored liquid into a rocks glass over a large ice cube. A final spritz of orange blossom water and a dried lime wheel garnish completed the presentation.

"I call this The Rover," she said, sliding the glass toward Atzil. "Named after my wandering lifestyle. The smokiness of the mezcal represents the fires I've warmed myself by in strange places, the bitterness of Aperol is for the hard lessons learned, the chartreuse adds mystery, and the ginger and lime bring brightness and hope."

Atzil took a thoughtful sip, his eyes widening. "The balance is impeccable. The progression of flavors tells a story. First smoke and bitterness, then herbal complexity, finishing with bright, spicy notes." He took another sip, nodding to himself. "You're hired."

Fenella blinked. "Thank you. That was easy."

"You clearly know what you're doing, and you have both technical skill and creativity. What more could I ask for?" He glanced at Din. "Frankly, she's much better than I am."

A wave of pure joy washed over Fenella, so intense that she acted without thinking.

Darting around the bar and launching herself at Din, she threw her arms around his neck. He caught her automatically, his strong arms wrapping around her waist as she clung to him in a moment of uninhibited happiness.

"I got the job!" she exclaimed against his neck, breathing in his warm, masculine scent.

Din's arms tightened around her, his low chuckle reverberating through his chest. "Congratulations," he murmured against her hair. "Atzil would have been a fool to turn you down."

The reality of what she'd done suddenly hit her, and she pulled back, though Din's hands remained at her waist. His eyes had darkened, the blue now just a thin ring around dilated pupils. Their faces were inches apart, and for a moment, Fenella thought he might kiss her.

Instead, he gently set her back on her feet, his hands lingering for just a moment before releasing her.

Atzil cleared his throat. "I think this calls for a celebration drink," he said. "Give me a moment."

He disappeared into the back room, leaving Fenella and Din alone in the bar. Fenella felt heat rising to her cheeks.

"Sorry about that," she mumbled. "Got a bit carried away with excitement."

"I quite enjoyed it."

Before she could respond, Atzil returned with a bottle of champagne and three flutes. He popped the cork and poured three glasses.

"To a new, wonderful partnership," he said, raising his glass.

"Partnership," Fenella and Din echoed, clinking their glasses together.

The champagne was excellent—dry and crisp with delicate bubbles.

"I can open the bar every night for you," Fenella said to Atzil, excitement bubbling up again. "I can do seven in the evening until two in the morning, or eight to three."

Atzil nodded. "That sounds reasonable for weekdays, although Guardians returning from missions might arrive even later, and they are usually my best customers. We might need to adjust based on demand, but it's a good starting point. Are you sure you can handle it on your own, though?"

"The bar I worked at in Scotland was twice this size, if not more, and the clientele was much less well behaved. I can handle a crowd of polite immortals with one arm tied behind my back."

"I don't doubt it," Atzil said with a smile. "Having the bar open every night will be a welcome addition to village life. There aren't many evening entertainment options."

Fenella walked back behind the bar, already feeling at home there. She ran her hands along the wooden surface, imagining the pub bustling with people, glasses clinking, conversation flowing, and maybe even a few lewd Scottish ballads sung by drunk Scotsmen. She'd missed those.

"When do I start?" she asked.

"How about this Friday?" Atzil suggested. "We need to work together for a few days until you get a feeling for the place, and it will also give me time to spread the word that we're extending our hours and to stock up on supplies."

"Perfect," Fenella agreed. "I can use the next few days to familiarize myself with your inventory and come up with a signature cocktail menu. Is there a dress code?"

Atzil shook his head. "None."

"Awesome. I can't wait to start."