"So this is the jackpot quintet, huh? I bet you guys will have the top ranking at the beginning sincemostof you are somewhat impressive." He nods with something like respect to Baelfire before looking pointedly at me, his green eyes turning mocking. "But a quintet is only as strong as its keeper. So, as far as I'm concerned, I'm looking at the weakest quintet in this room. Watch out, Oakley. They can't protect you forever."
Baelfire snarls, but I hold up a hand to stop him as I hold the rival keeper’s glare, arching my brow.
"Watch out?That's all you've got? Let's hope your bite is worse than your bark because that was pitiful. I'd feel embarrassed for you, but that would be a waste of my time. Run along, Stripes.”
Now he's pissed as he bares his teeth and steps forward, but to my surprise, Everett also steps up until they're nose-to-nose. I've never thought the professor seemed intimidating,but the penetrating stare-down he gives the other keeper has goosebumps prickling over my arms.
It's the same kind of thousand-yard stare I acquired through years of terror and terrorizing. I wonder how he acquired his.
"Brooks," one of the other quintet's legacies hisses. “Let’s not get onthisprofessor’s bad side. Come on.”
Stripes, who is apparently Brooks, casts me one last scowl before he and his posse move on. The moment they do, the tension left behind only grows.
"I'm not giving you a single fucking scale," Baelfire snaps at Silas.
"And forget about the ledgers," Everett adds. "My father would have you killed if he knew you even asked."
"Who cares about your stupid father?" Baelfire huffs. "We're not paying up because the bet was a bullshit idea from the beginning, and we're dropping it. End of discussion."
Silas scoffs. "Of course you're bitter. Decimuses always have to be the best. You just can't bear losing."
"I didn'tlose. We were all in that bed."
Yikes.
"And yet I was the only one inher. Like it or not, I won fair and square?—"
Okay, fuck this.
Deciding to ditch the four assholes who I was stupid enough to catch feelings for before getting stabbed through the chest with a dose of reality, I turn and march through the crowd of mingling, chattering legacies.
The hurt I've felt since learning about their wager to fuck me simmers under my skin. It's irritating to know that all those stupid feelings I fought so hard were one-sided. They were only motivated to be with me for the sake of their fucking egos.
I want to repay how they made me feel. I want to punish them.
Reaching the relatively uncrowded bar, I glance around. The few legacies mingling here seem to be having a great time, though some eyeball me. When I notice a handsome, dark-skinned siren leaning against the bar, checking me out with a drink in his hand, I approach him.
I've never tried to flirt before. Sweeping my gaze over his tall form, I try to simulate Kenzie's carefree, flirtatious smile. I'm pretty sure it looks deranged instead, but I’m working with what I’ve got.
"Hi."
Yes, hi. That's the best I have in this department.
How bleak.
But his face splits into a grin. In this dim lighting, I can just make out that his pupils are round, an assurance that he's not the changeling I'm looking for.
"Damn, you're hot tonight. I probably shouldn't say that when you've got a quintet of your own panting after you, though, huh?"
"We're platonic."
He sets down his drink while eye-fucking me. "Really? In that case, can I get you a drink?"
"Only if it's strong."
I haven't imbibed very often in my life. Probably because by the time Lillian decreed that I was old enough for alcohol, I had already becomethisand discovered that it takes a ridiculous amount of booze to feel even the slightest bit tipsy. Hence why Silas's fae mead didn't demolish my stomach.
Stop thinking about him.
