Page 1 of A Reckless Indulgence

ONE

Cav

Captain Heathen is going to kill him, but at least he’ll leave a pretty corpse.

That’s what Cav tells himself as he rows toward the Silver Spoon, his dragon scales flattening against the wind. From his dinghy, the luxurious restaurant ship looks impressive, a wooden double-decker covered in carvings and candles flickering against the night. The Spoon’s path of travel is a meandering circle around the wealthiest island, reminding the rest of the archipelago where the elite reside.

Cav churns the oars and hisses when his shoulder twinges. That old wound seems to flare up when he’s doing something he shouldn’t. Cypher would say that’s a sign, but Cypher says a lot of shit, like —

Cav’s fingers tighten around the oars. No distractions. Either he catches the Spoon before it passes again, or he has to row all the way back to shore…and he’s not leaving without something to show for it.

As he travels, he faces the smaller island where he cast off. How poetic that he’s forced to stare at the reminder of where he’s supposed to be. Over the tops of the palm trees, he can barely make out the crow’s nest of the Indulgence bobbing on the sea.

Cav’s captain will be pissed once word spreads about what he’s done, but Cav’s not yet sure what that’ll be. All he knows is he’s not letting this loose end slip away. He ties his hair up and blows auburn bangs out of his face. Fuck it. He works better without a plan. Once he gets an idea in his mind, his jittery body pays the price until he turns that thought into action. Hyperactive, Cypher describes it. Deficit of attention. Lack of —

Cav’s sharpened teeth grit. Focus. He has to focus. The Spoon is here.

The large ship cruises by and casts him further in shadow. Out here, his tiny dinghy is nearly invisible; the rich patrons of the Spoon don’t notice him bracing on the edge of his boat. When the Spoon’s rope ladder passes, he leaps and grunts as his body knocks against the hull before he climbs.

Piano music trickles from the Spoon’s open windows, muffled by the clatter of dishware and conversation. Cav clings to the top of the ladder and peers through the slats in the railing. Guards lean against the stern of the ship, rolling cigarettes and grumbling in a cloud of smoke. The rest of the deck is enclosed, except for the grand entryway that stretches before Cav. It’s certainly eye-catching, with dozens of lanterns hovering over the ornate host stand…and it’s the only way in or out.

Cav cranes his neck to catch a glimpse of the lavish dining room inside it. The dim lighting adds to the ambience, highlighting flashes of jewelry in candlelight. Waiters weave between tables, presenting meals and bottles that would cost Cav a month’s wages.

He scrapes his muddy heel against the ladder, ignoring the hem of his breeches clinging to knees. His entire ensemble is too tight, but it’s all he could find in a pinch. If nothing else, it complements the fiery hues of his scales. He’ll blend in as long as no one looks too closely.

Ignoring the protests of his shirt, Cav pulls himself over the railing with a distinct ripping sound.

“Shit.”

A breeze teases the snag in his waistcoat, but he can’t stop for it. It’ll have to hold until he’s finished. Maybe he can distract the staff with something else…

He reaches for his top button to expose his cleavage before he thinks better of it. This isn’t the Indulgence; people in these places can be bizarre about that sort of thing. Best not to draw attention to himself.

With a sigh, he positions his hand over the rip and strolls through the entryway.

The host lifts his head, eyes darting to the wet footprints Cav has left across the floor.

Cav blocks them from view, sweeping his tail through the tracks and leaning against the host stand. “Good evening.” He drapes on his most charismatic smile, tucking his bangs behind his horns and keeping his shoulders hunched to disguise his chest. “I took a bit of a self-guided tour when we set sail, and I’m afraid I got separated from my companion.”

The host smiles mildly. “What’s the name?”

Cav fights not to clench his jaw. “Roderick.”

While the host checks the reservation list, Cav squints toward the tables behind him. It’s like the Spoon wants their guests to be unidentifiable. Even if the technology from the continents doesn’t function out here, surely this luxury diner can provide more than a couple of candles per table.

It’s not until Cav’s second sweep that he catches the bastard. Roderick sits at the furthest row of tables with a ring on every pale finger, his eyes outlined in kohl and a smug grin on his face.

Asshole.

The host clears his throat. “I’m afraid the Roderick reservation is for a party of two.”

“Exactly.” Cav maintains his smile. “I’ll just —”

“And both members are already seated.”

Cav flexes his fingers. There’s no need to panic. You’re supposed to be rich. Think rich. Summoning a chuckle, he knocks on the host stand with a playful lift of his brows. “He must have made a friend when we boarded. I’ll make sure we each have a chair.”

The host sputters, but Cav is already slipping away into the dining room.