Page 11 of Magic Claimed
Wait, what?
I eyed him quizzically. “What did I miss?”
His head tilted exactly like a curious dog’s might. “Well, if they haven’t been bothering you, I’m not going to be the one to spread rumors.”
“Seamus…” I narrowed my eyes threateningly. “You absolutely cannot say something like that and then not tell me what the heck is going on.”
He gazed back at me with perfect innocence. “Says who?”
“Probably the Geneva Convention,” I muttered, folding my arms. “Now give. What am I not supposed to worry about?”
He jerked one thumb towards the rest of the room. “That.”
My eyes darted to the side, and I suddenly realized that half the room was staring at me. Their gazes darted away the moment they saw me watching, but it was too late.
“Have they been like that all night?”
“More or less.”
I’d just been too busy to notice. “Any idea why?”
“Terror? Fascination? Sudden romantic interest?” He winked.
I glared back.
“Hey, don’t blame the messenger. They know you’re dangerous now. They want to know where you fit aroundhere. Some of them probably want to challenge you, but they’re too scared.”
“And some of them,” I returned slowly, “are remembering that I’m human. With all the tensions, they want to know where my sympathies lie.”
From the look on Seamus’s face, I knew I was right, but that he’d hoped I wouldn’t figure it out.
“Look, it’s not that many, and I’m shutting down the speculation whenever I hear it. They should know better than to think that Faris would employ anyone who wasn’t committed to keeping things peaceful in his city.”
Should.As if that ever had anything to do with reality.
“Thanks for the warning,” I said, hiding my frustration behind a nod of gratitude and a cheerful smile. “I need to get back out there, but don’t worry. I’m fine.”
His lips twisted and his eyebrow quirked to inform me that he didn’t quite believe me, but the drink orders were piling up and we didn’t have time to argue.
I bustled off to take orders from a table of trolls seated near the front door, then snagged a tray to clear a table full of glasses left by a party of slightly inebriated pixies.
Make that more than slightly. There were only three of them, but by the time I finished clearing their table, I had fourteen half-empty glasses on my tray, along with a half-dozen plates and a small mountain of used napkins. The pixies were giggling and swaying with the music as they headed towards the dance floor, and I made a mental note to tell Seamus they shouldn’t be served any more drinks unless we wanted the tables to start growing roots.
Someone tapped my arm just as I picked up the full tray, so I shifted it onto my shoulder before turning around.
The man standing behind me was a stranger—about six foot two, with a trim build, dreamy dark eyes, and a knowing smirk on his face.
Probably just another smarmy but harmless flirt, I decided, as he looked me up and down while still wearing that same smirk. Unfortunately, then he opened his mouth and turned into a complete troll.
Figuratively. All the actual trolls I knew were super nice people, so I really needed to amend that part of my vocabulary.
“Hey there, sweetheart.”
Oh no he did not.
Honestly, I wasn’t sure what turned me off more—the “sweetheart” or the uneven patch of caterpillar fuzz growing on his top lip.
“You look like fire and ice, all wrapped up in a pretty little package,” he purred. “How about a dance? I could buy you a drink? And then we can decide if you wanna keep waiting tables or get out of here with a man who actually appreciates you.”
