“Danny!” A muscular blond man had appeared around the corner, evidently just in time to catch the boy’s words. “Don’t be rude.”
“I didn’t say she smelled bad!” Danny protested. “Just different. I was only asking, Daddy.”
Daddy? Neridia stared from one to the other. Danny’s features were definitely a tiny version of the older man’s. But I thought he said Griff was…?
“Apologize to the nice lady, Danny,” the blond man was saying firmly. He had a slight Scandinavian accent to match his Nordic cheekbones and hair.
Danny rolled his eyes. “Sorry,” he muttered.
“I apologize for my son,” the man said to Neridia. “He’s still learning proper shifter manners. Do you—hold kæft den er stor!”
Neridia had no idea what language he’d just lapsed into, but—given that she’d just risen to her full height—she would have placed money on the translation being, "Holy fuck you’re huge." She flinched.
“I-I’m looking for John,” she said, trying to sound dignified and not like she wanted to flee like a frightened rabbit. “John Doe?”
“Yes,” the man said faintly, still staring up at her wide-eyed. “Yes, I imagine that you are. He’s in there.”
Neridia licked her dry lips, glancing at the indicated door. “Could you possibly let him know I’m here?”
The man’s mouth twisted bitterly. “Ah. Sorry, but no. Apparently I dishonor him with my mere presence. If I tried to speak to him, he’d probably challenge me to a duel on the spot.”
He really means it. What kind of medieval barbarian would assault someone just for speaking? Oh, this was a bad idea. I shouldn’t have come.
“You don’t need Daddy to find Sir John,” Danny chirped up. “You really can’t miss him.”
Before Neridia could stop him, the little boy flung the door wide open. At least a dozen heads turned at the sudden motion—and did double-takes, gawping up at her. Neridia froze like a deer in car headlights.
“See?” Danny said happily. “There he is.”
Neridia didn’t need his pointing finger. John’s gigantic form towered over everyone else in the room. He was in profile to her, slightly stooped, apparently arguing with the knot of people around him. His hunched, defensive posture made Neridia think of an animal at bay, searching for an escape route as hunters closed in.
Then he looked up, and saw her.
Time froze. The room, the crowd, everything seemed to fall away. In all the world, there was only him, and her.
He started to walk toward her, the crowd parting before him like water. Neridia moved forward too, matching his pace. It wasn’t a conscious decision. She could no more not move toward him than the tides could resist the pull of the moon.
They halted at the same time, barely a foot apart. Before, he’d just been a silvered silhouette in the night. Now, she could finally take in every detail.
The last time she’d seen him, he’d been practically naked. Now, fully clothed, he was if anything even more jaw-dropping. His perfectly-tailored morning suit clung to the planes of his chest and accentuated the astonishing breadth of his shoulders. Although his massive arms would have made any bodybuilder cry into his steroids with envy, he actually had a swimmer’s build, with long limbs and a wedge-shaped torso narrowing to slim hips. He was just all scaled up, to the point where his sheer physical size became overwhelming.
His eyes were the deep liquid indigo of the ocean depths, mysterious and unfathomable. With a start, Neridia realized that his hair was blue too, perfectly matching the shade of his eyes. There was no question of it being a dye job; even his eyebrows and eyelashes were the same alien hue.
He isn’t human. He really isn’t human.
His dreadlocks swept back in intricate braids along the sides of his head before falling freely down his back in a thick, textured mane. Small golden charms were strung onto the narrow strands, gleaming like sunken treasure. They chimed and clicked as he gracefully sank to one knee, taking her hand and pressing it to his forehead.
“My lady,” he murmured, in that glorious cello-deep voice that sent thrills through her very bones. “You came.”
“Is he proposing?” someone whispered off to the side in delighted, scandalized tones.
Neridia was abruptly aware of the circle of fascinated stares and murmurs surrounding them. Face flaming, she grabbed hold of John’s suit lapel, awkwardly tugging him up. He appeared totally unselfconscious as he rose again, as if what he’d just done was as normal as shaking her hand.
“All right, people!” Heads turned as Griff’s firm Scottish voice cut over the whispers of the crowd. The griffin shifter jumped up onto the band’s podium, clapped his hands together briskly for attention. “Next dance is the Circassian circle! Ladies on the right, gentlemen on the left, if you please!”
Something about his no-nonsense tone demanded obedience. Neridia breathed a sigh of relief as their unwanted audience broke up, drifting away. Still holding John’s lapel, she retreated, drawing the sea dragon shifter back with her to the edge of the dance floor.
“You are upset,” he said, his eyebrows drawing together a little. He turned his head to glare out at the crowd, one hand clenching into a fist. “Has someone here caused offense?”