Free Breaking Ties by Vaughn R. Demont

him. For some reason he’s familiar.
    â€œYou checking out?”
    He leans over the desk, inspecting me. “In a manner of speaking, yes.”
    I roll my eyes. “One, you’re too old for me. Two, I’m dating someone. Three…” I focus on his face, and it finally clicks. “There is no way in hell I’m doing a Phouk.”
    He chuffs at that and folds his arms. “And why might you possess a low opinion of such a noble clan?”
    I smile to myself. “From my experience, Phouka are braggarts who claim honor but never keep their promises.”
    â€œ From your —” he begins to bellow, but I shush him and point to the QUIET, PLEASE sign to my left. He fumes a moment and gathers himself. “From your experience , young master? What manner of so-called Phouk saw fit to sully my clan’s reputation?”
    I don’t make eye contact. “A braggart who claimed to be the Riordan. He swore he’d tell me a story I’d remember until my final breath. In fact, he swore to me three times. And the Fae have to do anything they promise three times.”
    The Phouk sags. “It would be you, wouldn’t it?” He smiles then. “But I still didn’t say when I would tell you that story.”
    â€œSeeing as I’ve already died once, I could claim you didn’t fulfill your oath.” I shrug. “But I really don’t want to be a dick, so would you just say whatever you came to say so I can get back to work?”
    â€œGladly. I simply wished to introduce myself. I am the King of the Phouka and Her Majesty’s Riordan, though you may call me Robert O’Rourke. You would be James Black of the Argent City, the Lightning Rod?”
    Not as formal as the dragons put it, but at least he got it out in one breath. “That’s it? Just an introduction?” I have to smirk as I look up at him, make eye contact. “You’re a trickster. You’re here to tell me that it’ll be your clan that gets me, not the Coyotes, not the Foxes, but you guys. Am I wrong?”
    He laughs good-naturedly, but it fades as he appraises my face more intently. “James Black isn’t your real name, is it?” I give him a dubious look in reply, and he gets the message. My real name is Miles Canmore, but as far as I’m concerned, I’ve been James Black since I left Heath. Miles died so I could live, simple as that, but I’m not about to share that information with anyone. “The day we met, young master, out in the fields, whose fields were they?” He snaps his fingers. “The Sullivans, correct?”
    My mother’s maiden name.
    â€œYeah, but I remember you saying they were your old stomping grounds, because it was your day.” Thanks to the Usurper invading my head six months ago, I have a pretty vivid recollection of meeting Mr. O’Rourke. “You also said they were your old stomping grounds, if I’m correct.”
    He nods solemnly. “So they were.” Appearing hesitant, he leans in, lowering his voice. “The Sullivans, you would be of their brood?” His face softens. “I only ask the truth, I care little for your name before you took the throne.”
    Honestly, I’m relieved enough that he doesn’t want my real name, so I figure a minor truth would be enough. “It’s where my mother grew up, it’s her family’s estate.”
    The Phouk closes his eyes a couple of seconds, taking that in. When he opens them, he inspects my face and nods once. “Yes, I can see it now.” He then bows in a most elegant fashion and nods curtly. “The Clan of the Phouka will never darken your doorstep, young master, on this you have my vow. Should you ever require our aid, you need only ask.” With that, he turns swiftly on his heels and proceeds toward the door, bringing my hopeful bodyguard back into view, who discreetly conceals a firearm once