Did Thane practice burning at the stake, too?

Adrian reached out, as if he meant to pat the top of her head, but he stopped himself just before contact. “Silly human. I recommend thinking before you speak.”

Hey! Her questions were well thought out, thank you very much. “Insulting beast,” she muttered.

A rusty laugh barked from him. “Or don’t. I like your spirit.”

From the corner of her eye, she spotted three Fae males entering the club, each with the pale hair and blue eyes quintessential to their race, dressed in colorful feathered tops and skintight pants.

As they selected a table in back, Adrian faded into the background, and Elin’s nervousness returned, now jacked up several notches. Her insides were practically showering in acid-coated ice.

At last the band eased into their first song. A love song. Actually, a sex song, and sweet fancy, goose bumps broke out over every inch of her. The lead singer—what was his name?—had the voice of a born seducer.

“Son of a troll,” Bellorie muttered, suddenly at her side. “The craptastic trio has arrived.”

Savy appeared at her other side. “Don’t be a hater. They’re only craptastic to you—and everyone else. But there’s no need for either of us to be subjected to that tonight. We have to throw our little E in headfirst, and this is the best way.” Her gaze settled on Elin. “The Fae are regulars. They’re also pretentious and infuriating. The most any of us has ever gotten out of them tip-wise is ten measly bucks. If you can get a penny more, I’ll give you every jewel I earn tonight.”

“Me, too,” Bellorie said, clapping. “Oh, this is going to be fun. I love winning, and this is a sure thing. Like Chanel after a few drinks.”

Elin rubbed mental hands together. Take their jewels? Yes, please. Her nest egg would start off with a bang.

“What do you want if I lose?” she asked. “Remember. I came here only with the dirty clothes on my back.”

Savy’s grin was evil. “If you lose, you have to serve those Fae for the rest of your stay. No exceptions.”

“They’re seriously that bad?”

“Yes,” the girls said in unison.

“The tall one called me ugly,” Bellorie said, her nose going in the air.

Jerkbag! “You’re gorgeous. You’re also on,” Elin announced. Gathering her courage, she shuffled her way to the table. “Hey, ya’ll.” She offered her biggest and brightest plucky-best-friend smile. “I’m Elin, and I’m here to serve you tonight.”

None of the males looked at her. They continued on with their conversation.

“The new king and queen want to do what? No, they must be stopped.”

“Who can stop them? Kane is a Lord of the Underworld and Josephina is a drainer.”

“Three words. Long. Distance. Rifle.”

Please. Pretend I’m not even here. It’ll be fun.

“I’d love to get you something to drink,” she said.

Again, she was ignored.

Frustrated, she glanced over at the bar and caught Bellorie grinning like a loon. Elin stuck out her tongue.

Bellorie played show-and-tell with her middle finger.

Coughing to cover a laugh, Elin considered her next move. Put her head between the males closest to her, and risk becoming the night’s entertainment? Or walk away, come back later, and risk losing her tip because of “slow service”? Finally, she placed her hand on the shoulder of the guy on her right.

He stiffened, then flicked her arm away with so much force she stumbled backward. “Touch and die, bar wench.”

“Noted,” she managed to squeak past the lump growing in her throat. Run. Now.

Victory. Jewels. Bakery.

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.