*
Warrick shifted in the shadows so he could see Darcy enter the pub. The bright lights and loud music along with the crowd made it difficult for him to keep track of her.
“You’re going to have to go in after her,” Thorn said as he walked up.
Warrick looked over at his fellow Dragon King. Thorn’s dark hair hung past his shoulder. Having only recently been woken, he hadn’t cut his hair. Not that Warrick thought he would.
Thorn did his own thing. He had an air about him that always brought danger close. Women were attracted to that dangerous thread.
When Thorn had arrived the night before, there had been few words exchanged between them as Thorn set up his watch and Kiril and Rhys returned to Dreagan.
“You do better in crowds,” Warrick said.
Thorn crossed his arms over his chest. “I’ve no’ been awake long. You really want me in a crowd like that?”
“Shite,” Warrick mumbled.
Which meant Warrick had no choice but to go into the pub if he wanted to ensure Darcy didn’t end up with a Dark Fae. He walked from the shadows, hating the idea of being around so many people.
“You might want to mask that glower,” Thorn called.
Warrick stopped and took a deep breath. Thorn was right. He had to pretend to at least like going into such a place.
It was a conundrum. Warrick was completely fascinated by humans, but he couldn’t stand being around so many beings whether it was humans, Fae, or Kings. Crowds made him immensely uncomfortable. He felt closed in and became agitated, which made people wary and anxious.
It wasn’t much better with those he knew well. The Kings were his brethren. He would do anything for them—and had on many occasions. Yet, he found it nearly impossible to sit in Con’s meetings around so many of them.
It took a bit of effort to erase his anger, but Warrick managed it. He glanced back at Thorn to see the prick give him a thumbs-up with a wide grin. Warrick rolled his eyes and continued to the pub.
As soon as he pulled the door open, the music and conversation deafened him. He was tall enough to see over most everyone, which made it easy for him to pick out Darcy.
She stood at the bar and had her head bent, her auburn curls falling forward as she looked over the menu. It didn’t take her long to place her order and grab the glass of ale. As she turned around, someone bumped into her, spilling some of the ale. She easily deflected the drunken man with just a small blast of magic.
Warrick was surprised to find himself grinning. He let it drop and slowly made his way through the pub to get closer to Darcy after she found a table.
He walked past her table as she tilted her head. One auburn curl slid down, brushing the back of his hand. He didn’t stop until he reached the back and found an empty table. Warrick moved the chair so that it backed against the corner. He sat and motioned to a waitress.
His gaze quickly scanned the liquor lining the back of the bar to see if they stocked Dreagan whisky. Unfortunately, they didn’t. He ordered an ale instead. Then sat back and observed the humans.
Few knew—or recognized—the limits of their bodies. They drank too much, smoked too much, and indulged in everything too much. But it was appealing to watch them. They didn’t care that smoking could give them lung cancer or that it made their breath smell bad.
They would get drunk every night, heaving the contents left in their stomachs the next morning, and that evening return to the pub to do it all over again.
It didn’t make sense to him, no matter how many times Warrick tried to understand what caused the mortals to do the things they did.
Warrick’s gaze landed on Darcy. Her head nodded slightly to the music playing. He noticed her toe tapping with the beat while she was typing something on her phone. Her ale was sipped slowly, and that didn’t change when her food was brought.
He finished two ales in the time it took for her food to arrive and for her to eat. When she paid and stood to leave, over half of her ale was left.
Warrick rose and tossed money down on the table. He did a double take when the doors opened and two men walked into the pub. Except they weren’t men. They were Dark Fae. They each used glamour to hide their red eyes, but neither did anything about their black hair streaked with silver—a trademark of the Dark.
There was a push against Warrick’s mind from Thorn. He opened the link shared by all Dragon Kings. “I see them.”
“There are three more of the assholes outside,” Thorn said contemptuously.
“They’re no’ here by accident.”
Thorn grunted. “Nay. I’ll take care of the ones out here.”
“No’ yet. I doona want them to know we’re here.”
“I doona like it, but all right.”