Chapter Seventeen #3
The male on my right jostles into me without notice, laughing with the group on the other side of him, and I heave a sigh.
He’s clearly drunk. A smoky saffron scent hits my nose, and my head snaps left to find the fae in black beside me.
Leaning against the bar on his forearms, a tankard of ale between his hands.
“Searching for someone, little witch?” he asks, his face remaining forward.
The pull in my chest nudges me in his direction. Standing firm against it, I set the empty tankard and glass on the bar.
“Yes, Camille.” Another lie that leaves me with expertise as I gesture to her.
Standing on the far end of the bar, she moves with a quickness to deliver drinks and collect payment from a group of rowdy human men. She shifts, her eyes locking with mine, and her brows raise. She throws up a finger, an indication she’ll be a minute.
Nodding, I settle against the bar.
“Lilith give you the night off to enjoy the fight?” I ask, my eyes sliding in the fae’s direction.
“Something like that,” he chuckles his answer, and counters with his own question. “How are you finding life at the temple?”
The casualness of his tone, of the question, takes me by surprise. He sounds as if we are old friends merely catching up.
“Forgive me if I’m wrong, but usually getting to know someone starts with introducing oneself,” I smirk, arching a brow.
He laughs. “My friends call me Ryc,” he replies, his head turning in my direction. His hood casts shadows on everything but the lower half of his face where he flashes a smile, revealing his fangs.
“A brave assumption, Ryc,” I counter with a genuine laugh. “Your confidence rivals that of some nefarious creatures I know.”
“Keep company with nefarious creatures often?” he teases.
Shaking my head, I laugh. “Not any more.”
“For the better.” He nods once and turns his face forward.
Camille saunters toward us, wiping her hands upon the small apron tied around her waist.
“Another round?” she asks, her eyes darting between Ryc and me.
She doesn’t step up to the bar as she had earlier when Eve was with me. Is she afraid of this fae? Or is she afraid of me?
“Yes, please.” I push the glasses further onto the bar.
Surprise washes over her face. “Oh, I like you,” she croons playfully, snagging the glasses, but quickly steps back. “A stunner and polite?”
“Eve says to put it on her tab?” I say, grimacing. “I’m not entirely sure what that means, or how that works.”
Camille nods, rolling her eyes. “Of course she wants it on her tab. She’s going to end up in the poorhouse with as much as she owes.”
“Let me buy this round.” Ryc reaches for his waist.
Camille’s smile turns sanguine. “It’s going to take more than a round of drinks to land this one, fae,” she drawls in teasing tones as she levels a challenging glare in his direction.
Ignoring her, he sets a small leather pouch on the bar, the coins inside clinking as he does. With a slow shake of her head, she bounds off to pour the drinks.
The male on my right steps back, his heel landing square on my toes. In a flash of pain, heat, and anger, I snarl, shoving the male with all my strength and weight. He’s sent flying into the two other fae in his company, his ale spilling over.
Faster than I can register, Ryc grabs me by my hips, and in a swift motion, pulls me behind him. The male turns, now faced with Ryc instead of me.
“I suggest you leave,” Ryc says calmly in a low warning tone.
Whether it be due to the aggressiveness of fae nature or his drunkenness, the violet-eyed fae rears back, throwing a punch. Screams rise, Camille begins yelling, and my innate roars in my ears.
Ryc deflects the assault with ease and grabs the fae by his throat. “I suggest you leave now,” he growls, the threatening timbre of his voice sending chills down my spine.
All eyes in the tavern turn to Ryc and three tavern guards emerge from the crowd, one grabbing the male by the collar of his shirt. Ryc releases him into the custody of the guards, and they drag him toward the door.
As the fae is escorted out, Camille returns with the glass of wine and the tankard of ale. The rest of the patrons quickly forget the interruption and return to their conversations and laughter. It leads me to believe such instances are not uncommon.
Setting them on the bar before me, she asks, “You good? Males are bad enough, get them drunk and they’re insufferable.”
Ryc starts chuckling.
“Worse than demons,” I mutter under my breath.
“You’ve got her?” Camille asks Ryc, watching him rather warily.
He nods.
“Let me know if you need anything else, Ves,” Camille says with a departing glance. “You just shout for me or Nicholas and we’ve got you.”
“Thank you, Camille,” I grant softly, and she begins toward the other end of the bar. Turning to Ryc, I open my mouth to speak, but he speaks first.
“I notice you’re not carrying a blade.”
I blink.
Because that’s not a strange observation at all.
The realization hits me a second later. He’d moved me by my waist, where a weapon would normally be carried. Glancing around the room at a few different people, I notice many carry daggers. Eve had mentioned innate use in taverns was barred but never mentioned anything about needing a weapon.
“My innate serves me as needed,” I reply with cool pride, taking the drinks from the bar.
“And when you find yourself in situations where you can’t use it?”
Like in this tavern.
I bristle at his words.
Sliding past him with the drinks in hand, careful not to spill them, I say, “That won’t happen. But I appreciate your advice, Ryc.”
As I return to Eve and Tarron to continue enjoying the night in their company, I find myself unable to think of anything other than him.