Chapter One #3
“Poppy,” he says quietly, “I know you’re done with the Festival. I get it. Truly.” My glare is unwavering. He’s done a lot of stupid things, but this is one I cannot get behind.
He lets me go and steps back, sheepishly rubbing the back of his neck, suddenly young and vulnerable in a way I’ve never seen him be. “But could you…come anyway? Not for the Moirai. For me.”
“No.” What does he need me there for anyway? It’s not like I need to always be there to co-sign his bad choices. He gets in plenty of trouble all on his own.
“You didn’t even think about it.” He bends, voice whiny.
“I don’t need to. My answer is no.”
He tilts his head, studying me like I’m the only person in the room.
“Poppy, if I’m going to make an idiot of myself, I want you there to narrate it. No one mocks me quite like you.” A flicker of sincerity washed out with a joke. Classic Riven. “Besides… I trust you to keep me grounded.”
“Riven, it’s just really stupid, and I can think of 500 better ways to spend my day than watching Angora belittle and emotionally abuse you and then get her way again.
” Someone brushes past me in the suddenly crowded bar, and I immediately ignore it.
Assuming it’s a passerby unknowingly getting too close…
until a palm cracks across my backside and several males begin to hoot and holler behind me.
I jolt, gasping. Did someone just…smack my ass? Before I can whirl around and snap at the bastard, Riven does it for me.
He doesn’t lunge.
He doesn’t shout.
He simply turns, slow as a storm deciding where to break.
From the start, he had been all warmth tonight—gold light on his hair, shoulders relaxed, dimples flashing as he teased the regulars and flirted mercilessly with anything that walked past him.
Harmless.
A softhearted flirt.
A man made of banter and sunshine and easy charm.
But now?
The sunshine has darkened to night.
Riven’s smile stays, but it’s wrong now, and his eyes don’t match it.
Warm amber gone predatory, his pupils pinpricked like he’s sighted a target.
His whole body tightens, shoulders squaring as if he’s slipping into old, well-fitted armor he hoped he’d retired.
The bar darkens, the shadows of his fae heritage assisting him in this act of retribution.
The man who’d slapped my ass is twice Riven’s size, but it doesn’t matter. The air around Riven has changed, and the darkness around us answers only to him. The once smiling and honey-dipped Fae has hardened into a soldier.
“You shouldn’t touch what’s not yours,” he says, tone light. A bluff…no, a threat wrapped in velvet. Riven knows as well as I do that men are more likely to respect women who belong to other men.
But he made sure I didn’t belong to him three years ago.
The guy scoffs, throwing his arms up in light surrender. “Relax. It was a simple misunderstanding. I didn’t know she was your girl.”
“She belongs to no one but herself.” Riven tilts his head, still smiling, voice sweet as spun sugar. “And, buddy, I’m the most relaxed bastard in this bar.” Then the smile widens, a little unhinged. “I could remove your head and still sit by the fire, whiskey in hand, after.”
The man blanches. Riven steps closer until the behemoth has to step back or be chest-to-chest with death wearing dimples.
“Apologize,” Riven says softly, eyes drifting up and down the man’s form like he’s not impressed.
And Fate help him, the man does. Fast and mumbled before he scurries off into the cold night.
Riven watches him go, then exhales, the violent shimmer fading like the shadow slipping off his shoulders. He turns back to me, the sunshine returning, too bright and too quick, as if nothing happened.
“You okay?” he asks, dimples back, voice soft. My pulse is wild. It never gets familiar, the sight of Riven unsheathing his perfectly coiffed control to come to my aid.
Something low in my stomach flips. “Yes,” I swallow, reaching out to steady myself on the bar.
He smirks, probably reading every thought on my face. “Good.” A wink. “Would’ve been awkward if I had to bury a guy on a Thursday evening.”
“Because that’s when you steal the money from the roulette players in the backroom?” I joke around my shaky breath.
“It’s not stealing when you win it with skill.
” His long canines are on display again as he smirks.
I fight the urge to remind him that roulette is a luck-based game.
He moves past me, brushing my arm, casual again as if he didn’t just defend my honor like a mythic hero with rage issues, and takes a seat at the bar once more.
“See you tomorrow, Poppy,” he tosses over his shoulder.
A statement, not a question, and after I just witnessed the lengths my best friend would go to defend me, I can’t deny him this simple request of watching him ruin his life for a month.
“Sure,” I give in. “See you tomorrow.” Surely the Festival can’t be any more painful as an attendee than it was as a contestant. At least as a spectator, I can eat an elephant ear and drink cider while my friend makes a fool of himself in front of the entire realm.
What are friends for, right?