Burning Dawn. Gena Showalter
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She remained in place. A stroke of power against the back of her neck had her spinning—and facing Adrian’s chest. She gulped, waiting for the end to come. When he didn’t lash out at her for daring to touch a patron without permission, she turned back to the Fae and breathed a sigh of relief.
They were staring at Adrian with terror in their crystalline eyes.
“So, um, yeah. What can I get you to drink?” she asked.
The guy closest to her seemed to blink a thousand times before saying, “Ambrosia-laced whiskey.”
She lifted her hand to write it down, only to recall pen and paper weren’t allowed. They were “too human.” She was to memorize every order and refill accordingly without being asked. “And you?”
“Ambrosia-laced vodka.”
She remembered the stern warning Bellorie had given her only this morning. Don’t sample the ambrosia. It’s immortal brew and you’ll die. “You?”
“Surprise me. And it had better be a good surprise.”
Wonderful. “Of course. I wouldn’t know how to do a bad surprise.” She stepped back, expecting to bump into Adrian—except he was no longer behind her. Frowning, she returned to the bar. Bummer. Bellorie had wandered off.
She told the bartender what she needed. “Whatever you make for the third drink, put a rainbow-colored umbrella in it.” That was a “good” surprise, right?
The tattooed hottie with pink hair glowered at her before filling three glasses. He did not add an umbrella.
O-kay. Note to self: bartender is not one for idle chitchat...or suggestions.
Chanel had mentioned his name was “effing McCadden,” and he was a fallen Sent-One-slash-cold-blooded-murderer. Oh, and that he had a serious case of love ebola for the minor goddess of Death, whoever that was. He was also Xerxes’s prisoner—and strangely enough, his friend—and he was not to be messed with.
She loaded up her tray. “How am I supposed to know which glass has which liquid?” Everything was black.
McCadden strode to the end of the bar, snubbing her.
Wonderful. Just great! She turned, her gaze automatically dusting over the stage. A crowd had arrived, seemingly between one blink and another. Women now crowded the edge of the stage, throwing their panties at the band and begging for one night in “Merrick’s” arms.
“The singer is Merrick, I take it,” she said as Bellorie came up beside her to fill an order.
“Yes, indeed. He collects female hearts just so he can break them.”
“That’s sad.”
“That’s life.”
“Well, it doesn’t have to be my life.” Elin carefully returned to the Fae, threading her way through the crowd without spilling a drop. Murmurs rose and blended, adding to the already chaotic kaleidoscope of noise.
“What took so long?” Whiskey demanded. Guess he’d gotten over his fear of Adrian.
A few minutes was “so long”? “The goodest surprises—” No way. No way she’d just said that. “I mean, the best surprises take time.” She once again donned her biggest and brightest smile as she set the glasses in the center of the table. Let the males pick their own. “Is there anything else I can get you? A bowl of nuts?” Your own knocked into your throats?
Violence without bloodshed. She could deal.
Her wrist was grabbed, and thrust under the nose of Vodka. “You smell especially sweet. What race are you?”
Shut your big, fat mouth hole! she almost screamed as she searched for Adrian. Had he overheard? When she saw that he was across the room, oblivious, she yanked free of the Fae’s hold. He was stronger than her, obviously, and could have held on, and she wouldn’t have been able to do a thing about it, but he let her go.
“I’m, like, totally human.” Just drop it. Please, just drop it.
Laugher met the pronouncement, and she nearly had a heart attack. These Grade A jerkwads could ruin her.
“Thane would never force his valued clientele to slum it with a lowly human,” Whiskey said.
Going for calm and confident rather than scared and sickly, she arched a brow. “You know him so well, then? You chat with him regularly?”
He flinched, clearly embarrassed to be called out in front of his friends. Douchey Fae: 0. Elin: 1. And now, Subject Death Trap was closed.
Yeah, but the jewels...the bakery.
She’d lost the bet, no question, but she wasn’t sorry. A dead girl couldn’t live her dreams. “So...no nuts?” she asked, flashing another grin.
“I can’t imagine Thane has plans to bed you.” Surprise Me stroked his chin with long, lean fingers. “But that’s the only reason someone like you would dare to speak to us in such a fashion.”
His condescending tone annoyed her, but she managed to maintain her grin. If there was one lesson that had been hammered home while living with the Phoenix, it was to act as if she was too stupid to realize when she’d been insulted, even while she was dying inside.
“No, really, how well do you know him? Because I’ve been here less than a week, and I’d love to learn more about him.”
Sadly, it was true.
Vodka rolled his eyes. “If you survive the entire week, I’ll pledge my life to my new king and queen without a single qualm.”
The three returned to their conversation.
Crisis averted.
Breathing a sigh of relief, she turned away with every intention of finding one of the girls and asking for a different table. Throwing in the towel? Waving the white flag? Pathetic!
All at once, the entire club went quiet, even the music seeming to fade into the background.
The reason why strode through the bar as if he owned it. Because he did.
Thane had arrived.
It was her first sighting since MOP, the Massacre of the Phoenix, and it utterly stole her breath. He wore a long robe made of brilliant white fabric that should have hidden his strength but somehow only accentuated every luscious swell of muscle he possessed. Innocent blond curls framed the wicked beauty of his face, the savage contrast enough to intrigue the deadest of hearts.
I’m not intrigued and I’m not affected. I’m not, dang it.
His electric blues scanned the sea of customers, only to stop abruptly on Elin. As if lit by a match, his expression heated.
For a moment, she wondered if he’d finally learned the truth about her. If he was going to arrest her in front of all these people and escort her to the Courtyard of Horrors. Tremors struck her like bolts of lightning. Then his gaze stroked over her scantily clad curves leisurely, as if he’d found something worth further study, and she shivered.
Um...was that arousal she’d seen?
Just like that, the world around her vanished. There was only Thane and mutual animal attraction. The air seemed to charge with molten electricity, and her neglected body cried out. One touch. Just one.
“Thane,” she whispered, and his gaze jerked up to her face. The heat she’d seen before? Nothing compared to this. Fire that scorched, even from this distance.
She licked her suddenly tingling lips. A low growl sprang from him. He took a step toward her. She didn’t mean to, but she took a step toward him. One touch. Just one. Then he stilled, not even seeming to breathe. His expression hardened, and his hands fisted at his sides.
He turned away, effectively dismissing her.
A heavy breath