Embers - Dragon shifter romance story, Chapter Two (Patreon)

Wow, Friday has come around again so quickly!! Here's Chapter Two for you, in which we find out our dragon shifter’s name, and it’s pronounced ‘mick-eye-ill’ :). (And Frankie speaks with a Welsh accent). 

Thank you so much for your feedback on last week's episode! I can't tell you how important it is to me when I hear back from you about things you like (and things you don't!) about my stories. I was trying to keep each chapter to under 1000 words, but that didn't work out so well for this one. It's nearly 2000 words. Anyway, I hope you enjoy!! 

Chapter One can be found here 

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A phone call from a number you didn’t recognise interrupted your quiet Friday evening, and you answered with some trepidation. Usually it was marketing calls at this hour, and nothing was guaranteed to make you lose your shit quicker than someone phoning up to sell you double glazing or, even worse, to try and scam you out of your life savings.

This time, however, a bright and bubbly voice with a lilting accent asked, “Hiya, I hope I’m not calling at a bad time, but you gave my friend your number in the hopes of finding a flute teacher?”

“Oh my god!” you blurted, nearly dropping the phone. “Yes! I didn’t think he’d actually pass it on. Thanks for calling.”

The laugh that trilled out of the person on the other end was more like a bleating giggle, and it was then that you remembered that the teacher was a faun. “No problem! My name is Frankie, by the way, and I’ve actually got space to take on a new pupil at the moment. If I got it straight it’s your niece?”

“Yeah, she’s six.” 

“Ok, if you could maybe tell me a bit about her and what level she’s at, that might help me plan a bit, but we could set up a trial lesson - free of charge - and go from there?”

“Perfect. As for her level, she’s brand new. She’s wanted to play the flute for a long time, but she’s only six and my brother couldn’t really afford lessons until now.” As a single father, a widower, your brother did his absolute best for his little girl, and with no kids of your own, you stepped in to help quite a lot. “She’s bright and a quick learner, though she’s not particularly verbal. She’s always been drawn to music though; I think it’s a half-siren thing…”

“Yeah, that’ll be it!” he chuckled. “As long as she’s going to listen to me, that’s a good place to start from; I don’t need her to recite the Trollbridge Common Dictionary as well. I teach up at Mikaeïl’s house - he lets me use the music room free of charge.”

You frowned in confusion. “Mikaeïl?”

“The red-headed, starched-shirt-wearing, giant nerd-bag you met in the coffee shop,” he grinned and you snorted your tea nearly out of your nose. 

“Oh my god.”

“Right? I mean, Kaeïl is an absolute marshmallow on the inside, I promise, but he comes across as a complete arsehole, doesn’t he? Anyway, back to the flute lessons. You let me know some dates when she’ll be free to come over, I’ll give you the address, and we can see how we get along. Texting is better for me as I’m usually teaching during the day.”

“Sounds good,” you said, and began to arrange the rest with Frankie. 

Afterwards you did a quick internet search and found him easily enough. He was apparently well known, both as a teacher and a soloist, and he and the quintet did a number of local concerts too. You couldn’t resist zooming in on a few photos which also had Mikaeïl in. God, he had amazing bone structure, but he definitely had one severe case of resting bitch-face for sure. He wasn’t smiling in any of the photos and he looked severe, and untouchable as a hot coal. 

Satisfied that Frankie was the genuine article, you called your brother and fixed a date to take her to the address Frankie had given you. 

The next Friday, you picked Celia up from school while her dad took the night shift at work. The hours weren’t great, but it meant he got slightly better pay. Plus it meant that you got to have Celia for the night, and that was always fun. She was intelligent and creative, if quiet, and after dinner the two of you usually watched a film together or read if she didn’t feel like watching anything. You knew she missed her siren mother dearly, and her death had almost destroyed your brother. You and he were all the family she had now; her own grandparents had wanted nothing to do with a half-breed human. 

You found Mikaeïl’s place easily enough, and as the enormous gates swung open for you, drove your rather shoddy car along the mile-long gravel driveway through gorgeous parkland and up to a frankly ridiculous mansion on the outskirts of Old Trollbridge. You barely restrained yourself from cursing out loud. The place was insanely beautiful. 

Celia had her hands pressed up against the car windows, mouth open. “My teacher lives here?” she asked. 

“It’s the house of his friend,” you said, trying to sound unfazed and unaffected by the grandeur. Mikaeïl must be a very wealthy person indeed. 

You parked up outside and Celia hopped out, piercing eyes gazing up at the warm, sandstone facade of the building with its many sash windows and ornate architectural details. Her dusky brown wings - small for a siren her age, but then again she was only half-siren - were flexed slightly, as though she planned on flapping up to get a closer look at the carvings above the door, but you took her hand before the thought got any further, and led her to the front door, her brand new flute in your other hand. 

It took a while for someone to come to the door, but when it was answered, you were surprised to find that it wasn’t some servant or butler in fancy livery, but it was Mikaeïl himself. You recognised him instantly, and he looked at you from behind his circular, gold-rimmed glasses with the same, piercing gold eyes. Despite the colour, they were cold and unsmiling. Beside him, in complete contrast in every way, stood a very short, slightly stocky figure with the white, woolly lower half of a satyr. He wore a thick, dark green, knitted jumper despite the warmth of the day, and he had massively thick, curling horns that coiled around his ovine ears. His curly hair was cut relatively short, and matched his white legs in colour. 

He extended a hand to you as Mikaeïl stepped back silently and disappeared into the shadows, and he bleated, “Hi! I’m Frankie. And you must be Celia,” he added, turning his dark eyes to her. “Nice to meet you. Would you like to come in?”

She nodded shyly, and you ushered her inside in front of you. Frankie’s big cloven hooves clopped loudly on the marble entrance hall, and Celia gasped as she took in the beautiful, sweeping staircase that curled up the cylindrical walls of the drum-like entrance hall that was capped with a coffered dome. 

“It’s quite something, isn't it?” Frankie said conspiratorially to her, and she nodded again. “Come on, let me show you guys the music room. It’s got the loveliest piano. This way.”

Mikaeïl had all but vanished.

Nattering constantly, Frankie led you away down a light, airy corridor with gold and cream silk wall hangings and 18th century landscape paintings on one side and a gallery of windows overlooking the gravel driveway on the other, and into an equally beautiful space. Somehow, despite the obvious wealth, the music room was tasteful and bizarrely modest. Yes, that was an original Steinway, and yes, there was a crystal chandelier - relatively small, but still - in the centre of the moulded-plaster ceiling, but the huge windows looked out onto a private terrace and parkland beyond, and it had the feeling of a well-used, well-loved, functional room. 

Celia was utterly entranced. Her wide eyes took it all in and you stood there dumbstruck as well. 

Eventually, however, you both got over it, and Frankie brought over a very ordinary, metal music stand and parked his behind on the piano stool with a grunt. “Right,” he grinned and she giggled slightly. “Let’s see what we’ve got here.” He pulled out his own flute from its case and showed her how to align the sections of her own correctly.

You sat at one side of the room, but you realised quickly that Celia kept looking over to you before she spoke, so you said, “Celia, I think you might learn better if I wait outside. How would that be?”

She nodded and you knew her well enough to see that she wasn’t worried, and Frankie shot you a smile and a nod. “We’ll be about another half an hour,” he said quietly. 

With that, you left, and wandered up the corridor and back into the entrance hall. 

You took your time in the corridor, admiring the paintings, and you were just looking up at the ceiling of the entrance hall again, marvelling at the artistry of the whole thing, when someone cleared their throat pointedly from the doorway to your left and you jumped. 

“Can I help you?” 

It was Mikaeïl. He was dressed in a smart shirt, with a black waistcoat and black trousers today, and his long red hair was tied back in a smooth ponytail that fell halfway down his back. His horns glinted in the low light, looking more like strangely-carved precious gems, flecked with gold, than keratin, and his eyes reflected oddly, like cat’s eyes in the dark. 

“I…” you faltered. “I thought it best if I left them to it…” you said stupidly. He seemed to have the effect of draining your IQ to zero with just one look. 

“So you took the liberty of roaming the halls of my home instead?” he said in a cold drawl. 

“I… I’m not poking around,” you countered hotly, finding your words coming back to you. “I’ve only walked along the corridor!”

A tiny smile twitched at the corner of his lips. “Would you like something to drink?” 

His polite question caught you off guard, and you gave him a blank look. “I thought you were going to have your gamekeeper shoot me for trespassing…” you said dryly. 

Mikaeïl barked a harsh but amused laugh, the rigid lines of his body softening just a fraction. “Not yet at least,” he said and turned his back on you. 

Assuming you were meant to follow, you did. 

Chapter Three