Chapter Sixteen
RIVEN
Steam still clings to my skin when I step out of the shower, towel hung low on my hips, water dripping down my spine. I rake a hand through my damp hair, then pause, squinting at the glass panel set into the floor.
“Are octopuses perverts?” I ask, still actively forcing away my melancholy from last night.
Poppy, sprawled across the bed, blinks up at me. “What?”
I point down. “There’s one pressed against the window. " It's been watching me the entire time I showered, and I swear to Fate it just winked.”
She pushes herself up on her elbows, eyes flicking to the floor before going back up to me.
Slowly. Deliberately.
Not drifting down to the voyeuristic octopus, but up my bare body instead.
My mouth curves. This is an interesting development. Poppy is checking me out. “Careful, witch,” I murmur, “you’re looking at me like you agree with it.” Maybe she’s not fully sick of me yet.
Her lips part like she’s about to fire back—
But a sharp knock cuts her off.
The door swings open before either of us answers.
I gasp, scandalized, clapping my hands over my exposed nipples. “Excuse you—” I grab Poppy and yank her in front of me like a shield, peering over her shoulder. “What if we’d been naked and thrusting?” Poppy makes a strangled, choking sound.
The handler doesn’t even blink. Just sighs like this is his personal hell. “I’d have heard it,” he says flatly. “Trust me, we’re well trained.”
I narrow my eyes. “That’s…somehow not comforting.”
“And there will be little time for thrusting tonight,” he continues, ignoring me. “Stag night for the men. Doe night for the women. Attendance is mandatory.”
Poppy groans.
I grimace. “You’re sending me into a room full of men who think subtlety is a myth, female orgasms are pointless, and deodorant is an option?” The handler simply drops our agendas on the entryway table and closes the door. Leaving the same way he came.
“At least the ladies will be civil,” I mutter as the door shuts behind him. “Half those men are feral animals.”
She snorts. “You’re one of them.”
“Ah, but I’m charming about it.”
She rolls her eyes, but there’s a smile tugging at her lips.
I hold out my hand, pinky extended. “Truce?”
She eyes it. “For what?”
“Don’t blow our cover,” I say. “No matter what they ask.”
She hooks her pinky with mine. “Obviously.”
“And when the girls start asking questions,” I add, completely serious as I gesture to my cock, “you’ll tell them I’m huge, devastatingly talented, and—”
A sharp spark of magic snaps against my arm.
I flinch. “Ow—!”
Poppy grins, already backing into the bathroom. “Finish that sentence and I’ll upgrade it to a lightning strike next time.”
I rub my arm, watching her go. “Rude,” I call after her. Then, louder, “Watch out for the octopus!”
The door shuts behind her.
I glance back down at the glass in the bedroom to find the creature has migrated to follow me, beady eyes looking up my towel skirt. “…I knew it.” I drop my towel to cover the glass. “Shows over.” I guess I have to start getting ready for the stag night.
The sound of the ocean waves mixes with the cracks from a roaring beach bonfire. Loud music, the thumping kind that the tavern plays late on Saturday nights, is coming from somewhere, and as I walk up to the beach club, I can see that the drinks are already flowing.
The men have been ordered to the beach club, while the ladies convene somewhere else on the island.
Several of the men are sprawled on the lounge couches, boots off, shirts open, drinks in hand. A server hands me a drink, the strong amber liquid icy down my throat when I swallow. Yeah. I’m going to need several of these to deal with this lot tonight.
I move deeper into the clubhouse, past a halfling who would really benefit from some hair pomade, talking about his match.
“She talks too much,” he groans, causing the orc and the elf he’s talking with to snort.
“Mine barely talks at all, but she squeals when it matters.” The elf bumps elbows with the orc beside him.
Animals.
I’m used to this kind of talk…but it lands wrong now.
I’ve said worse in far skankier places. But now it sounds…
cheap. It’s for the best I never heard Poppy’s previous matches talking about her.
Her legs alone could have a million perverse sonnets written about them, and if I’d heard anyone utter a word about them, I’d be a wanted man.
I’m too handsome to serve life in prison for killing some boorish idiot.
“Mine bakes bread.” Is the orc…blushing? “She reminds me of my mom.” Okay, maybe they’re not all feral. Rooting for you, big guy.
An elbow bumps into me. I turn my head, taking in a tall knight with glittering blue eyes.
“What about yours? The witch, she looks like she’d be trouble.” Suddenly, it’s like every male in the room is tuned in to listen, a prickish smile on their lips.
“She is.” My answer is sharp and controlled. His brows raise, waiting for more. “And nothing I know of her is for you.”
I move away from them, earning a couple of boos before someone carries on bragging about their sex life.
If this is what the whole night will be, I’m done for.
The other males begin to cheer when a warlock conjures strippers.
I’d say I don’t understand why a male would enter a match-making competition and then dick around with a stripper while he’s here but…
I didn’t exactly have the Moirai’s intended purpose of the Festival in mind when I signed up either.
I turn my head briefly to see what they’re getting into.
A flexible nymph bends herself into a naked pretzel on a table.
I wince. That looks painful. Does that shapeshifter have three breasts?
That feels utterly pointless. I chuckle into my drink over my private joke.
Utterly. Like an udder. But anyway, you don’t need three because you only need two to put your face between. Amateurs.
In the back of the clubhouse, in the very last seat of the very long bar, a quiet male sits by himself.
I walk toward him, dodging drunk elves and cheering fae.
I think his name is Noah, a witch from the capital, if my memory of the Moirai’s rapid first-night introductions is serving me.
His dark red hair is tucked behind his ears, glasses high on his nose as he fusses with the cinnamon stick hanging out of his drink.
“Seat taken?” I ask, pulling out the stool beside him.
He looks up, awkward posture straightening and brown eyes assessing me. His eyes look over my shoulder, cheeks flushed a deep red, likely because of the three breasts bouncing somewhere behind me.
“Are you sure?” he asks. “Those guys seem to be having…” He thinks about his next word carefully before uttering it. “Fun?”
I snort. “Yeah, I’m sure. Not my type of fun.” Not today, at least. For some reason. I put my hand out for him to shake. “Riven.”
“Noah.” He pumps my hand once before dropping it.
“How long have you been here?” I ask, swirling my drink and watching the ice cube spin round and round.
“However long it takes to drink two of these.” The little umbrella in his drink falls out when he raises his glass. “Though I wish I’d have spent as much time with Aoife as possible before I left.” Aoife, his match, is a light fae. One he is speaking of with adorably earnest awe.
“You two getting on well?” I think I can see all his teeth. That is one wide smile.
“I think she thinks I’m ridiculous.” We both laugh at that.
“But I just like to make her laugh.” I can’t help but smile.
Fate, I’ve gone soft. But it’s just so…sweet.
He actually likes his match, unlike the other animals behind us, who only like certain jiggly parts of their matches.
Except the orc. He can join us. I turn around to offer as much, to find him cheek-deep in the nymph’s ass. Okay. Never mind.
I’m not saying they don’t like their matches, but they’ve got a weird way of showing it.
I’m not even actually with Poppy, and I’d never embarrass her by fawning over an exotic dancer at a fake bachelor party.
Shiny silver rings glint down the nymph’s entire ear, catching in the light as she pulls the halfling male to a supply closet, unbuckling his belt in the process.
Maybe his match is into open relationships? Who am I to judge?
“What about your match? Poppy, right?” Noah’s question pulls my mind back to him and his curly hair and wire-framed glasses.
I open my mouth to speak, but I actually don’t know what to say.
This is new territory. We’ve faked it for a crowd, but I’ve yet to have anyone, even the Moirai, ask me one-on-one about Poppy.
In front of an audience, I can ham it up.
Handsy and innuendos flying. But I don’t feel the need to put on like that for Noah.
“She’s the best.” Truth. “We’ve been friends for years, and there’s no one who’d make surviving this island more bearable.” Noah laughs, a knowing smile and nod on his face.
“You know, Aoife and I were thinking of getting away from all this tomorrow.” He gestures to the chaos that is flaming tequila shots behind us. “Lunch. Something lowkey and quiet. You and Poppy should join us.”
My immediate instinct is: no. Not because I don’t like Noah, but because the idea of faking it with Poppy in such an intimate setting instead of a grand stage seems somehow harder. But what would it look like if I said no? Plus, it’s not like he’s getting on with any of the other males here.
I exhale slowly, forcing a soft smile. “Yeah. Alright.” If nothing else, it’ll give me something new to complain about. Poppy and I love to beat a dead horse and communicate silently about things we find ridiculous. Perhaps this lunch will provide that.
“Excellent.” He bops his head forcefully and picks up his drink.
Condensation flicks out when he clinks it with mine.
“It’s a date.” His smile widens, and I kind of feel bad.
While Poppy and I have been faking it and lost in our own world, other people are here to make genuine connections.
And from the excitement wafting off Noah, it seems like some people are here to make friends almost as much as they are to find love.
“This whole process has been absolutely mental. It’ll be nice to get to talk to another man about it.
I’m sure Aoife is ready to talk Poppy’s ear off too.
She’s not taken a shine to the other women.
” The competition would make it hard to do so.
Every day, the Moirai are forcing intimacy between the couples, which doesn’t leave much time for making friends.
I look out over the water, tuning out as Noah talks about his current studies in history, something about the migration of sprites from the north to the south two centuries ago and its impact on trade routes.
Hells, even if I were fully listening, I wouldn’t be able to form a coherent thought about it.
The flickering bungalow lights in the distance remind me of the night Poppy and I had planned before we were dragged to this ridiculous charade.
Separate bubble baths, snacks, and watching my alma mater play rugby on a hologram.
Nice and peaceful. I wonder if she’s having fun or is as uninterested as I am.
I wonder if the girls have strippers, too?
My spine straightens, heat licking up my back as I think about a two-dicked shapeshifter grinding on Poppy. Horrifying. Disgusting. Unacceptable.
I don’t want to be here anymore, drinking cheap drinks and pretending to bond with men I don’t know, most of whom I don’t like. Speaking of, there’s Erik now, hiding his gaze from the dancers and making his way to Noah and me. Fate, get me out of here.
Another drink slides easily down my throat, and then I excuse myself to walk along the water for a while. This will be over soon. Then I can get back to Poppy.