He told himself he wasn’t really looking for her, just getting the lay of the land.
But the disappointment when every shadowy figure or deer-shaped bush turned out not to be her suggested otherwise, and he finally returned to his opulent cottage.
The following morning, having failed to find anything resembling rest, Conall went straight to the bar. He did not, technically, plan to ask where the gazelle would be. But he had to know more and hoped to get more of her story from the bartender.
It was too early for the bar to be open, though Conall was briefly tempted by the self-service cooler.
He didn’t think he could drink away this pain.
A dark-haired woman and a man who looked like he had a hangover were staring at him from a table across the otherwise deserted bar. Conall scowled at them in challenge and they looked away first.
He probably looked just as hungover, though the gin and tonic hadn’t really dented his faculties at all.
Not like her eyes had.
Eyes like escape.
A fist connected with his shoulder and Conall turned with an automatic growl of challenge to find a staff gardener, obvious by the resort polo shirt and the machete he had casually over one shoulder. He smelled like earth.
“You’d be Conall,” the stranger said. “Gazelle’s mate.”
The fist had not been gentle, but Conall guessed that if it had been a genuine attack, he would not still be standing.
We could take him, his elk said confidently.
“I’m Conall,” he answered out loud.
They stared at each other for a long moment.
The other man finally said something that must have been his name. He didn’t offer a hand to shake. Conall wasn’t about to ask him to repeat the name; names were tricky to read.
He was finally rewarded when the other man looked faintly uncomfortable and said, “We’re all quite fond of her.”
Conall, who had never been chatty even before he had lost his hearing, flailed for an answer. “I’m sure she’s...” amazing? Everything? They hadn’t even exchanged words and he knew to the bottom of his soul that she was something incredibly precious and rare. “... great,” he finished lamely.
“If you hurt her, I’m going to have to pound you to a pulp.” The man had the grace to look vaguely chagrined about the threat.
“Naturally,” Conall agreed.
There was another moment where no one attempted to say anything.
Finally, the gardener nodded briskly. “Alright then.” And he turned and went elsewhere with his machete.
As if meeting his mate hadn’t already proved complicated enough without threats of violence.
Chapter 9
Lydia looked up curiously from the nails she was painting when Gizelle padded into the salon.
“Gizelle,” the swan shifter said gently, the way everyone did. “What a lovely surprise.”
Gizelle didn’t like the salon much. It smelled delicious but everything she tasted was terrible. There were noisy dryers, and it was usually too busy for Gizelle’s tastes.
But she liked Lydia. Lydia was quiet and graceful.
“Can you make me pretty?” Gizelle asked. She surveyed her reflection critically in one corner.
She didn’t look like other women. She was too skinny, she thought, turning and watching her reflection turn. Her elbows were pointy. “Can you give me soft parts?” she said longingly. “And pretty hands? And maybe purple eyes?”