Alden
I step in front of Layla. "Wait." I stand, ready to give my life for her if I must. Luckily, tonight isn't the night that I die. The man is merely a drunken human dressed like a mafia boss.
"Fucking seriously?" she gasps. "If humans knew what the real mafia looks like, they would shit themselves."
"Honey, I know. But we can't let them see what truly exists. We also have to keep the Syndicate from ever touching that diamond unless we want all humanity to burn."
"You know," Layla says, her voice dripping with sarcasm, "I'm starting to think this whole 'normal life' thing is a fucking myth. Who needs stability when you can have the dragon mafia breathing down your neck 24/7, ready to rip out your throat if you so much as sneeze without permission?"
I laugh, the sound harsher than I intend, echoing off the wrought-iron balconies above us. "Normalcy is for the boring, my dear. We're far too fucked up for that. Besides, who needs stability when you have me?"
She rolls her eyes, but there's a softness in her topaz gaze that betrays her amusement. "Oh, joy. A lava snail is my protector. What would I do without your fiery wit and molten wisdom?"
"Perish, most likely," I retort, grinning. "But let's not dwell on such grim possibilities. Tonight, we're free. And I, for one, intend to make the most of it. No Syndicate, no hunters, no fucking shapeshifters. Just you, me, and this godforsaken city."
We pause in front of a boutique with a sign that reads Midnight Elegance in swirling gold letters. The window display is a riot of colors and textures—silks, satins, and lace that shimmer under the glow of the streetlights like a siren's call. Layla hesitates, her brow furrowing as if the very idea of dress shopping is a personal affront. "Dress shopping? Really, Alden? I thought we were supposed to be lifting my spirits, not torturing me."
"Nonsense," I say, pulling her toward the door with a firmness that brooks no argument. "Every woman deserves a dress that makes her feel like a fucking queen. And you, my dear, are long overdue for a little pampering. Unless, of course, you'd rather spend the night brooding in that old dress and ratty jacket."
She shoots me a withering look but allows herself to be dragged inside. The boutique is a sanctuary of cool air and soft lighting, the shelves lined with garments that seem to whisper secrets of elegance and desire. The saleswoman, a petite woman with a warm smile and eyes that have seen too much, approaches us immediately. "Good evening! How can I assist you?"
"We're looking for something special," I say, my voice smooth and confident, as if I'm not acutely aware of the black diamond pulsing faintly in Layla's chest, a constant reminder of the danger we're in. "Something that says, 'I'm a princess on the run, but damn, do I look good doing it.'"
Layla groans, but the saleswoman laughs, a sound that's both knowing and kind. "I think I have just the thing."
She leads us to a rack of dresses, her fingers trailing over the fabrics as if she's reading a story written in silk. She pulls out a gown—a deep, midnight blue that seems to shift in the light, as if it's alive. The neckline plunges low, the skirt flares out in a cascade of ruffles that whisper of movement and grace. "This one," she says, holding it up. "It's called 'Starless Night.' Perfect for a woman who's both a mystery and a force of nature."
Layla takes the dress, her fingers brushing over the fabric as if she's afraid it might burn her. "It's... stunning," she admits, her voice soft, almost reverent.
"Try it on," I urge, my heart swelling with anticipation. "You'll see."
The fitting room is small, and the mirror reflects the soft glow of the lights. Layla emerges a few minutes later, and my breath catches in my throat. The dress clings to her curves like a second skin, the deep blue accentuating the golden flecks in her eyes. Her hair spills over her shoulders in wild waves, and for a moment, she looks untouchable—a queen in her own right, a woman who could command armies with a glance.
"Well?" she asks, her voice tinged with uncertainty, as if she's afraid to believe she could ever look this beautiful.
"Breathtaking," I say, stepping closer, my voice thick with admiration. "You're a vision, Layla. A force of nature, just as the saleswoman said. No fucking dragon could ever dim that light."
She smiles, a genuine smile that lights up her face and makes my chest ache with something I can't quite name. "Thank you, Alden. This... this is exactly what I needed. A reminder that I'm still me, even in the middle of all this chaos."
We leave the boutique with the dress carefully folded in a bag, the weight of it a promise of something beautiful, something normal. The streets are alive with music and laughter, the night air warm against our skin. I take her hand again, our steps falling into sync as we head toward the heart of the French Quarter.