Page 97 of A Thief Among Fae

Brandur advances on Desmond. “You need to leave. No one has invited you.”

The mood of the room plummets as if buckets of ice-cold water have been dumped over us. I’m pinching my dart so hard it might snap as I look back and forth between Desmond and Brandur, waiting for the first punch to fly. It’s not Desmond I fear for. Brandur wouldn’t land a single hit.

Finnian grins, a predator scenting blood in the air. He throws one arm over Brandur’s shoulders, the other over Desmond’s. “Gentlemen, there’s no need for such harsh words. I formally invite Desmond as my guest of the year. And since it’s customary for rookies to partake in the first game, why don’t we have our two invitees face off?”

Shit, Finnian never did clarify that I’d play against him. I walked right into this.

Desmond slides out of Finnian’s embrace. “It wouldn’t be a fair game.”

“Fair game?” I roll my eyes. He already thinks he’ll win. At least neither of us wants to play. We’re on the same side.

“What’re you going on about, Dez?” Finnian shakes his head. “Have you even held a dart before?”

Desmond’s jaw ticks. “I’ve watched enough games.”

“Someone’s bluffing, are we?” I tease him.

He glances at me, and his silence is damning.

“No game is ever fair,” Nikolai calls out from the couch. “It’s high time we had some fresh blood in here. I, for one, have grown tired of watching Maeve and Finnian clean house.”

“Yeah, let’s mix it up!” Maeve cheers, then gulps more ale.

Min says, “Perhaps you should slow down, Maeve. That is your third glass in half an hour.”

“Third-smird.” Maeve dismissively waves her hand, then hiccups.

“Fine,” Brandur cuts in. His expression is hard and decisive. “The fae prince may stay, but only if he faces Cyn.”

Strip darts against Desmond. My heart squeezes against my ribs. This was not the plan.

Desmond takes three darts from the rack. Then he waits behind me, his presence consuming my thoughts despite how still he stands.

Come on, focus. I aim, forcing deep breaths.

“You have the advantage, Cyn. You just need to change how you aim,” Desmond says.

“Are you trying to psych me out?” It’s strange hearing him call me Cyn. I miss the intimacy of Cynthia. It never fails to bring a flush to my cheeks.

He doesn’t reply. He just smirks.

Frustrated, I throw. The dart hits the wall and bounces to the ground. Shit.

“Careful,” Finnian says, a real note of concern in his voice. “These darts don’t grow on trees. Don’t want to blunt the tips.”

I throw my second dart. It hits the board, but the wrong pie slice. It didn’t score. I flex my hand, trying to ignore the low ooh of our spectators.

“One more throw,” Finnian narrates.

I glare at him. “I can count, you know.”

“Aim higher,” Brandur calls out.

“It’s alright to have a buckshot. It’s your first try,” Nikolai chimes in.

This would be a lot easier if they let me concentrate. I aim a little higher and throw. The dart hits the first wedge. “Yes!” I pump my fists, relief rushing through me.

“Congratulations,” Min monotones, but I know that she means it. The others cheer.