Page 18 of Taken By the Fae

“What?”

“You’re so responsive. It’s refreshing. Most people I encounter have a healthy fear of me or a high level of respect. It’s clear you have neither.”

I stifle my laugh and arch a brow instead, because something tells me if Tristan wanted me dead, I wouldn’t be standing here. “You want me to fear you? Too bad. I don’t. As for the respect? That’s earned. You don’t magically get it because you’re some fae knight—whatever that even means.”

“How do you think I became a knight?” he challenges.

I shrug. “I’m guessing some seriously dodgy politics.”

His laugh is a rich sound that makes him seem dangerously human. “You have no idea.”

“True, but I have been paying attention, so I know you’re into deals. Let me make you one this time. If you let Allison go, I’ll… have dinner with you.” The words taste bitter on my tongue, but if it means getting Allison away from here, I’ll do whatever it takes—including subjecting myself to more time with Tristan.

He blinks, his brows lifting, and scratches the hint of stubble along his jaw. “As tempting as your offer is, I’m afraid I have to decline.”

“What the hell? Isn’t that what you wanted?”

“The choices I make aren’t often the result of what I want, Aurora. Now, if you’ll excuse me…” He trails off, walking to the door and opening it, clearly dismissing me.

I grit my teeth, crossing the room toward him. “If you hurt her,” I say in a firm, low voice, “I will make you regret Max’s mistake on an entirely new level.”

Despite the sharp edge to my voice and the threat I gave, Tristan’s lips twitch. “Duly noted.”

I’m not completely sure what gripped me to mouth off to a creature who could easily kill me and, I’m sure, get away with it. But something—a weird, nonsensical gut feeling—tells me Tristan won’t hurt me. At the very least, because I’ve captured his interest. And as much as I hate it, he’s caught mine, too.

ChapterSix

Back on campus, with a pit in my stomach and frustration making my skin itch, I attempt to distract myself by prepping for my upcoming internship interview. I review and tweak my resume and cover letter until my eyes burn, and I jump when my phone buzzes on the desk beside me. Oliver’s number illuminates the screen, and I hesitate, biting the inside of my cheek before picking it up.

“Hey, what’s up?”

“I’m starving, and Allison isn’t answering her phone. Pretty sure she went to visit her parents today. I can’t remember if she said she was going home this weekend or next,” he rambles on. “Anyway, want to get lunch?”

“Uh…” My stomach grumbles, reminding me I still haven’t had a proper meal since Friday. “Yeah, I could eat. Where should I meet you?”

“The Iron Lounge? I’m craving their deep-fried pickles.”

“Sounds good. I’ll head over there now.”

“I’m coming from the library, so I’ll probably beat you there. I’ll grab us a table.”

“Great. See you in a few,” I say, then end the call and exhale a deep sigh, deciding I can use this opportunity to see if Oliver knows about the fae—if he is one. I just have to be careful with the way I go about it.

* * *

The Iron Lounge is a casual pub in the middle of campus. It’s an old church building with indoor seating and a covered patio, which has soft music playing and twinkling lights hung from the awning and lattice encompassing the space. Their food is amazing, their drinks are cheap, and they often have live music, making it an ideal atmosphere for college students.

Before learning of the fae, I wouldn’t have thought twice about the name. Now, though, I consider it must be owned by a fae—or at the very least, someone who knows about them.

I pull open the repurposed stained-glass door and step inside, immediately enveloped by the aroma of alcohol and fried food. There’s a three-hundred-sixty-degree bar in the center of the room, with a dance floor and stage on the left and a seating area with cocktail tables and booths on the right.

Spotting Oliver near the wall of floor to ceiling windows, I start toward him, coming up short when Grant slides off a bar stool into my path.

“You disappeared the other night,” he says with a charming grin that makes my stomach dip. He’s wearing a burgundy hoodie and jeans and his hair is unrulier than it was on Friday night. It suits him, the casual model look. “I was hoping to see you again.”

I exhale a shaky breath that sounds somewhere between a laugh and a sigh. “Yeah, it was kind of crazy.” My jaw clenches; I need to be careful about what I say.

“Join me for a drink?”

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