Page 30 of Heimlock

After the interaction with Trinte, I’m not in the mood to push it. Why I pushed it at all is mystifying and hypocritical. If he wants to be alone, it’s not my job to fix it.

At least there’s one man in this city who wants to see me.

Two hours later, I’m walking up to an incredibly fancy restaurant, with North, the Gargoyle I’ve been screwing, waiting at the front. He looks dashing in his black suit, inky dark hair, and even darker eyes. The wings towering over his back are larger than a lot of wings I’ve seen. When he spots me, his tail curls in pleasure.

He has a dominating aura; one of the reasons I like him. Around him, the world feels safe. I’m perfectly capable of defending myself, but having a nearby handsome weapon is nice.

“You look beautiful,” he murmurs, bending down to brush a kiss against my cheek. I’m wearing a dark blue glittering dress with matching heels. My hair’s styled in gentle waves. My wings flutter at the compliment.

What can I say? Thanks to trauma, I have a praise kink.

“You look pretty good, too,” I run a hand down his very muscular chest. While I genuinely don’t care where we fuck, North prefers the show of it all. Dinner, compliments, then back to his place. I worry it blurs the lines, but he always pays for the food, dinner is always expensive, and the thing he does with that tail is sinful.

“Come, the table is ready.” He brings a large hand to the small of my back, guiding me to the restaurant’s front door. This one is actually owned by a Forest Sprite who decided it was to be the most gorgeous plant-covered restaurant in all of Gondora. I’ve been dying to go here.

Right at the entrance is a hallway of sorts, with tightly compacted trees with flowing branches, each holding small lights that wave in a sourceless breeze.

Immediately, my worries flitter away like butterflies. It smells of mountains on a spring afternoon.

“Wow,” I breathe, captivated.

“Wait until you see the waterfall,” North whispers into my ear, his warm breath causing goosebumps.

A female Elf stands at the hostess stand, eyeing North. Without giving me a second look, she asks, “Name, sir?”

“North Regar,” my date says gruffly. He won’t be winning any awards in the personality department. That’s actually the most annoying part of these dates — having to talk to him.

I tend to pick them hot and preferably quiet. Can’t care about something you know nothing about.

The hostess finds his name, perking up immediately. “Of course, Mr. Regar. Please follow me to the center table.”

“Ooo, the center table,” I repeat, doing a flourish with my hands with a grin.

North hums in agreement, offering a small smile. That’s it. No returning jokes or playfulness.

The hostess leads us past the intimate entrance through a small hallway with a curtain blocking the next room. Before pulling back the curtain, she gives both of us a warm, welcoming smile.

“Welcome to Euphorlia.”

I gasp, clutching my hands to my chest. Sunset light warms our faces as we step into a magical wonderland. It has the charm of a forest at dusk, with faint rays of golden sunshine breaking through thick, sprawling trees. Branches intertwine overhead, creating a twilight canopy.

Clear bridges connect everything, creating the sensation of walking on water. The restaurant itself has eight lily pads featuring tables made of glass, each seating no more than six. It takes months to get a reservation here.

This is the benefit of a date with North — he has good taste in restaurants.

We’re led over the bridges to our table in the center of the room. I pause to look over the railing, admiring the enormous koi lazily swimming through reeds. Overhead, birds flit. I can’t tell if they’re real. This room feels both intimate and vast, so it’s likely some kind of magyck makes it feel larger.

Everyone speaks in quieter tones, including the serving staff. It allows the sounds of a forest, with its frogs, birds, and bugs being a noticeable feature of the experience.

“Here’s your seat,” the hostess says, guiding us to an enormous lily pad. The table and chairs are clear, as are the pre-set plates. The silverware looks to be a beautiful marriage of filigree and silver.

Stepping onto the lily pad cautiously, I grin when it feels like an actual floor. No chance of falling over the edge.

North pulls out my chair, making sure I’m situated before sitting across from me. He smiles politely when we’re handed the menus.

Thus begins the slow process of getting my brains fucked out.

“Have you been here before?” I skim the menu, spotting my favorite dish of hippogriff flank, fileted at the exact spot the bird and equine halves blend into one another. It’s extremely rare and expensive.