Draygon Frost | Book 1 | ✔️

Chapter Twenty-Four

           Siobhan sat sideways in a chair, her legs rested on top of the one beside her. One hand twisted the goblet of whiskey as she scanned the thin crowd filling the tavern. The room was a blur of faces and noises, alcohol clouded her mind in glorious fashion. She lifted the goblet and took another drink before waving her hand toward the bartender. He should've just brought her an entire barrel like she'd asked. By the time she was done drinking, mostly because she'd be too drunk to keep drinking, his feet would be ready to fall off.

"What are you doing?" Wren asked as he sat opposite of her.

"Tryin' ta decide," Siobhan said, slurring. She pointed toward the buzzed haired mage sitting in one corner. "Do I wants da man, or is the girl be lovely. Man pound the fun, but woman be the soft and squishy."

She tapped a hand against her lips, looking at Wren through narrow eyes. If she didn't know what he looked like already, she wouldn't have been able to place him in a crowd. He was a pair of blue eyes floating in a blur of flesh, in a few more drinks he wouldn't even have eyes. She grinned when the bartender filled her goblet. This time he left the entire jar of whiskey beside her along with a second goblet for Wren.

"Oooh." Siobhan shuddered as she took another drink. "Maybe I does both? Been long since I had a team. Couple looking at me looks tasty."

"You're making no sense."

"I drank. Sense no matter. Whiskey matters. More whiskey." She scowled when Wren filled his glass and took a drink.

"Are you really the heir to Draygon?"

She spat. "Hair I'm not."

"I didn't ask if you were hair. I asked if you were an heir."

Siobhan took another drink and smacked her lips. "Once upon a midnight summer perhaps. Perhaps not. Who knows who I am. I don't know who I am. Cion knew who I was. He's dead. They're all dead."

"I'm sorry about your brother but pull it together."

Siobhan rolled her eyes and looked toward the couple making eyes at her. The girl was attractive, at least from what she could remember when she first entered the tavern. Perky, small, just the way she liked her women. Her hair was too short, not enough to grab onto, but Siobhan could make it work. Her eyes were an inviting jade, her lips ripe with color, yes Siobhan could work with her. The man, however, was as vile as they came. Stains covered his ripped clothes, rolls of flesh hung over the side of his pants, and she was positive his butt crack smiled at her when she walked by.

"Why do I have to pull myself together? Why can't I drink myself to death? Seems like a nice idea. Death runs in my family after all."

"Because I need you." Wren touched a hand to hers. It was warm, like fire to her ice. Which she supposed made sense, he did have fire magic boiling through him. Siobhan stared at their connected hands. "Natalia was taken away by a High Mage who smells like cheese so they could examine her bracelet. They're going to try to take it off in the morning."

"Gerda."

"What?"

"The cheese smelling High Mage, her name is Gerda. Which is ironic when you think about it."

"How is it ironic?"

Siobhan lifted Wren's hand. She dragged a finger over his palm. Though he still had the distinct softness of a pampered lordling, a roughness started to fight over the tips of his fingers. There was even a faint cut slicing through the lines of his palm. She turned his hand over. His skin had lightened since they'd met. Which made sense given they spent more time under cloud cover than they did sun, it was a side effect of winter most people fell victim too. The Draygon didn't. Their skin stayed between a light beige color or a bronze year-round. She liked Wren's color it complimented hers somehow.