“I don’t want to be here.” I enunciated carefully for their benefit.
The room had gone quiet. Of course everyone was watching the show. In the distance was the sound of scraping benches as if some were getting up for a better view.
“You think the queen is going to raise you to be Fae just because you’re dragon-marked?” the blond asked.
“If that’s even true,” she purred. “Let’s see the mark.”
She lunged first, faster than I expected, silver braid whipping behind her. Her hand snatched for my arm, her nails flashing like tiny knives. I pulled back, barely escaping her grip, but she pounced. Her hand caught the back of my neck, forcing my head down onto the cool wood of the table.
Maybe no one could resist the temptation to remind a mortal where they belonged when Fieran couldn’t make them crawl to pick up scraps.
The thought that I needed him burnt. I was helpless to even reach the knife in my boot.
Suddenly, a big shifter—even bigger than the three of them—forced his way between the blond and the dark-haired shifter. He didn’t seem to notice them as he dropped onto the bench across from me. He set his plate heavily on the table as his dark gaze swept over me.
“There you are.”
I had no idea who the hell he was, but the shifters hesitated. Her grip on my neck loosened.
“Caela,” the tall blond said warningly.
She yanked at the back of my collar, ripping the fabric with her dangerously sharp nails, but she was already backing away as cool air brushed my neck.
I leapt to my feet, only to see that we were being surrounded by all of Clan Bismyth. Those had been the scraping benches I heard as they rose to their feet en masse.
Dairen was there first.
“Korren,” he said to the blond, without a trace of his usual signature warmth and easygoing smile. “Do you have a problem with our little mortal?”
Korren glared back at him. “She’s sitting at our table, eating our food, and good people like Lain are gone.”
“Lain would be disgusted by you.” Asrael stepped in front of Iven.
Anayla offered a tight, dangerous smile. “If you want to argue about the mortal, we can do so in the arena. No reason to disrupt the meal.”
Unexpected warmth bloomed in my chest, but I pressed it down.
Fieran might not be present, but his people would make sure his mortal didn’t get minced in the meantime. They’d only stopped the beating for his sake.
The new shifter gripped his apple and split it in two with his bare hands, before handing me half. “You need to eat more.”
“My meal was a casualty to their clumsiness,” I said, keenly aware that I was only baiting the shifters because I wasn’t alone. But I would eventually be alone once again, and none of them would forget this moment. I needed to be careful. I took the apple from him, our fingers brushing briefly. “Thank you.”
When I glanced back up again, there were shifters streaming around our table. Clan Bismyth, leaving the mess hall for the arena. The three shifters who had been bullying me went, too, and another clan was emptying from their tables.
“What are they doing?” I asked.
“Korren and his little friends are unclaimed, but he’s the younger brother of a dead Obsidian shifter. Lain. I imagine Obsidian and Bismyth are going to beat the shit out of each other.”
I twisted in my seat, my stomach dropping. Bismyth must despise having to fight to protect me. But I hadn’t asked them for help. “Fuck.”
He shrugged. “Clans fight. All the time.”
“Not over mortals.” If those shifters caught me alone, would they avoid me to avoid Bismyth’s further wrath—or would I pay for whatever punishment Bismyth meted out?
I was grateful that this shifter had tried to disrupt the growing tension without making things worse. “Thank you.”
“They’re irritating,” he said, as if for me, they weren’t far worse thanirritation.
