Readers of my newsletter know that Ken and I have nearly finished our Asian themed Urban Fantasy Ebony Gate in the Phoenix Hoard series. As part of the world building, I wrote this story, Tiger, Tiger, Burning Bite and it is set in Singapore. Here’s a little snippet for you. Enjoy!
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The bartender came back with Misty’s vodka martini, dirty style. I’d been watching this bartender work and she dazzled the patrons. Between her extraordinary height and the long blue wig, she was already eye-catching. Then her showmanship took it to the next level. Her sleek muscles rippled in her ribbed white tank top as she moved. The tank read “Firebird” in loopy red script. When Firebird poured the liquor, it arced high in the air, defying gravity. All her drinks, she topped with a little extra spark. Patrons tipped her generously.
The bartender snapped her fingers and the sugarcane straw smoked with a tiny flame. My eyes widened with pleasure and I blew out the flame and sucked on the straw. The taste of Firebird’s magic lingered, a cinnamon heat on my tongue. Delicious.
I plucked the cherry from my drink, gently catching it between my teeth before biting into the bright red flesh. I kept my eyes on his as I sucked the rest of the sweet fruit into my mouth. I had just enough of Firebird’s magic in my system to take a page from her book. I held the cherry stem on my bottom lip and then puffed softly. The stem sparked and flamed from my breath. I looked at Aran and his dark eyes stared at my lips. Gotcha.
I flicked my tongue quickly to absorb the fire. Fire elementals had the best party tricks. If only I could borrow Firebird’s magic more often. But the cherry trick had literally burnt up the tiny magic spark I’d eaten earlier.
Aran was standing directly in front of me. I washed down the ashes of the stem with my sweet bubbly drink and drank in his handsome features. That jawline of his could cut glass. He finally spoke, “Sah wah dee khrap.”
I smiled at the very polite greeting and held out my hand. “I’m Evelyn. I don’t speak much Thai.”
He grasped my hand, his grip firm, but he didn’t shake it. Instead he bowed without letting go of my arm. I saw his lips part and I knew he was scenting me with his tiger senses. That’s right, drink me in.
Then I felt a pang of guilt. He probably smelled fire magic. I wouldn’t smell like that in a few minutes as Firebird’s magic wore off. And if I ate anything else that was magical, then I’d smell different shortly.
He switched to English, and like mine, it held the British accent of boarding schools and London bred tutors. “I’m Aran.”
I almost said I know. Instead I just smiled.
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The full story can be found in Flights of Fantasy, an Urban Fantasy Romance anthology.