The Last Wolfe

Chapter Five: The First Dinner Date

The restaurant was called Solstice, though there was no sign outside to announce it. Just a black door set between two shuttered storefronts, unmarked and unassuming. Raven stood on the sidewalk for a long moment, her hand on the cold iron handle, her heart pounding against her ribs. She had no idea what she was doing here. She had no idea who this man was. She had no idea why she had said yes.

But she had said yes. And now she was here.

She pushed the door open and stepped inside.

The interior was dimly lit, intimate, with low ceilings and dark wood and candles flickering on every table. A hostess in a black dress appeared, asked her name, and led her through a maze of quiet corridors to a private room in the back. The walls were paneled in dark wood, the table set for two, the windows looking out onto a small garden hidden from the street.

Fenris was already there.

He stood when she entered, tall and broad shouldered in a dark suit, no tie, his shirt open at the collar. hair was swept back from his face, and gray eyes watched her . He looked like a man who was used to waiting, used to getting what he wanted, used to women who fell at his feet.

Raven was not going to fall at his feet.

He pulled out her chair. She sat. He sat across from her. The table was wide, the distance between them deliberate. He was giving her space. She appreciated that.

"Thank you for coming," he said.

"I was curious."

"About what?"

"About why a man like you would be interested in someone like me."

He tilted his head, studying her. "What do you mean, someone like you?"

"Someone who did not know who you were. Someone who was not impressed by your name or your money or whatever it is that makes people whisper when you walk by."

His mouth curved slightly almost amused.

"You are direct."

"I do not have time for games."

"Neither do I." He reached for his wine glass, his fingers wrapped around the stem. "I asked you here because you looked at me like I was a person. Not a name. Not a reputation. Just a person."

"That is how I look at everyone."

"No. That is how you look at strangers." He set the glass down. "I wanted to be a stranger for one night."

Raven studied him. The candlelight softened the hard lines of his face, made him look younger, almost vulnerable. But his eyes gave nothing away. They were gray and flat and unrevealing.

"You do not strike me as the kind of man who gets what he wants by asking nicely," she said.

"I do not."

"So why are you asking me?"

"Because I do not want to take from you. I want you to give."

Dinner was served course by course. Small plates of beautiful food, each one more elaborate than the last. Raven had never eaten anywhere like this. She had never been anywhere like this. The wine was expensive, the silverware was heavy, and the service was so attentive it was almost suffocating.

Fenris watched her throughout the meal. Not staring, not leering. Just watching. Like he was trying to figure her out. Like she was a puzzle he could not solve.

She let him watch. She had nothing to hide. She was exactly who she appeared to be. A woman with a job, a past, and a future that did not include men like him.

"What do you do when you are not attending galas and intimidating strangers?" she asked.

"I run a business."

"What kind of business?"

"The kind that bores most people."

She raised an eyebrow. "Try me."

He was quiet for a moment. Then he said, "Logistics. Shipping. Real estate. My family has been in the import export business for generations."

"Sounds legitimate."

"It is."

"I did not say it wasn't."

His eyes narrowed slightly. "You are trying to provoke me."

"I am trying to understand you. There is a difference."

"And what have you understood?"

She set down her fork and met his gaze. "That you are used to people being afraid of you. And you do not know what to do with someone who is not."

The silence stretched between them. The candles flickered. Somewhere in the kitchen, a pot clanged against a stove.

"Most people are afraid of what they do not understand," he said.

"And what do you think I do not understand?"

"Me."

She smiled, small and sharp. "Then explain yourself."

He did not. He simply looked at her, his gray eyes unreadable, and she felt the weight of his attention .

"Why are you really here?" he asked.

"You invited me."

"You could have said no."

"I could have. But I was curious."

"About what?"

"About why someone like you would be interested in someone like me."

He leaned back in his chair, his eyes never leaving her face. "You keep saying that. Someone like me. Someone like you. What do you think the difference is?"

"You have money. Power. Influence. I have a job and a rent controlled apartment and a boss who expects me to network at galas I cannot afford to attend."

"You are bitter."

"I am practical."

He studied her for some time . Then he said, "You are also stubborn. Direct. Unafraid. Those are rare qualities."

"They are survival skills."

"Survival of what?"

She thought about the fire. The bodies. The eight years of chasing shadows. She thought about the name she had never been able to find, the faces she had never been able to see.

"Life," she said.

After dinner, he walked her to the door. The night air was cold, sharp with the promise of rain. The street was empty, the buildings dark, the city quiet.

"I would like to see you some more, i really enjoy your company" he said.

She looked at him, staring deep in his gray eyes, sharp angles of his face, not knowing who he really was.

She knew nothing.

"I will think about it," she said.

"I'd be pleased ."

She walked to her car .