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“Make sure you share - gluttony isn’t your thing.” I clicked the phone off, the reverberations from Thad’s amusement still trickling through our bond as I cloaked myself in shadows to return downstairs.
To her.
Chapter Six - The First Interview
Aeryn
I was not a great dancer, but that didn’t bother the Martier scout, who moved like a twelve-year-old during his first slow dance. This had been the fifth formal inquiry of the evening, and I desperately wanted to disappear to the outskirts of the room until I could find Ness somewhere in the crowd of slinky dresses, hand-tailored suits, forced pleasantries, and practiced answers.
I had tried multiple times to migrate the Ambassador from Martier (Bryan? Baron? Ben? Sure, that’s what I was sticking with) closer to the outskirts of the room, but he had stayed stubbornly transfixed with his inane chatter. He was more interested in the sound of his voice, constantly asking and answering his questions with presumptive responses based on my profile.
“Why, of course, you won’t have trained in swords; empaths are too sensitive to pain to cause any real damage.” (True, I hadn’t trained much with swords, but that’s because I preferred never to let my opponent get close enough for a blade). “What was I thinking? Of course, you love the Academy younglings. All healers adore children!” (I did, but only because I enjoyed the challenge of molding little hellions from obviously disobedient monsters to deviously determined schemers). “I doubt you know much about guild politics, being so busy with those languages, but I’m sure we can teach you something.”
Actually, I knew a lot about the guilds, like how the local head of Chartin’s governing council was having an affair with the wife of his treasurer, but hey, who was I to share?
I badly sought to escape, especially as Ben began to take my silence as acquiescence to his continued presence. “I must say, Miss Ryans, I am quite enjoying our little chat.” He cocked one tailored auburn brow at me before moving his left hand further to my hip, stretching his large hand to rub against the top of my ass. I cringed in revulsion, as he released a warm haughty chuckle, squeezing my hip in what was probably meant to be a comforting gesture but which just felt like an invasion.
“You know,” he said dragging me to a more private sector of the dancefloor. “Healing is always a good talent for casters to have.” He continued his tiny circular motions on the floor with a firmer hold on my back, my face nearly plastered against his chest. “I believe it's a strong talent to carry on. Don’t you agree?”
Great. He didn’t even want to entertain the possibility of a support role and wanted to get straight into the bedding. That was the concern healers had: their skills made for extraordinary supplementary abilities for any class, making them highly desired breeders. While the other four ambassadors I had been forced to “entertain” had been more subtle in their intentions, I could tell each one had the same plan: see if I would make a docile enough female for their breeding programs. And unless I wanted to cause a scene that the sisters would never allow me to recover from, I had to act the docile and humble caster I was expected to be.
I couldn’t help but feel a growing twinge of betrayal. I wanted to pin it on Ness, as she had not attempted throughout the night to reach me as far as I could tell, but the truth was, it wasn’t her I was angry with. Despite never having an honest conversation with him, I couldn’t shake the feeling that Marik should have been with me then. But even when flashed my sixth sense, I couldn’t find him, his presence not existing within the hall.
I hit my limit when Ben slid his hand over the curve of my ass. Before I had a chance to question what I was doing my consciousness slipped, withdrawing into some sacred corner of my lucid mind to watch what played out before me. I was powerless as my left hand dug into his shoulder blade, preparing to release a spark of pent-up greed.
But before I could do anything dangerous, a firm hand interceded, tugging my grip away from Ben’s shoulder and gracefully spinning me clockwise as Vance Joy’sRiptidebegan its upbeat tune in the background.
“Time’s up mate, I’ll take it from here.” The redhead had walked in with Marik, giving me a playful wink as he spun me away.
I was twirled onto the floor as the song picked up, and my savior moved to the song's beat. His infectious grin caught on as he dipped me back, my usual lack of grace becoming evident as my feet slid from under me. He caught my panicked expression, his eyes dancing with mischief.
“Are those skates you’re wearing Aeryn?” He yanked me up and back into his arms, continuing to hop to the beat. I couldn’t help it, I released a boisterous laugh, removing my hand from his shoulder to cover an inelegant snort.
“And what wasthat?” I’d never heard a solid Irish lilt sound so bemused, forcing another snort from my nose. “First a skater, now a pig? My Gods above, you have some talent there.”
I dropped my head, and he took pity on me. “Come with me. The Sisters have graciously offered us an office to use for interviews tonight.”
The redhead with the bright expression linked my arm as we glided out the hall and down a corridor to an ornate wooden door with etchings of tiny cherubs dancing in the clouds. We entered a quaint stone walled office, lit only with the intimate buttery glow of sconces near the top of the ceiling. He motioned for me to sit in one of the four dark brown tufted leather chairs that came only to mid back, with wide curling arms that were placed in a circular pattern around a central dark wood coffee table.
I bent precariously, my tight-fitting dress making it challenging to find a polite way to sit without a table to cover my undignified style. But how his eyes glinted in the candlelight like a flickering flame of the deepest emerald green made me feel like this was not as embarrassing as it might seem. And besides, after three hours of dancing I wanted to rip off the damn heels Ness insisted I wear.
Instead of sitting in the matching chair beside me, he leaned against the large stone wall folding his arms over his athletically muscled chest and rubbing his back against a spot he found. He relaxed his stance, crossing his legs as he took me in with a studious expression.
“The name’s Felix Covina.” He said politely, emphasizing the x at the end of his name.
“Aeryn, but I uh...suppose you already knew that.” I went to stand to shake his hand, but he waved off the formality.
“Is there anything else I can call you, or do you prefer Aeryn?”
“My friends call me Ryn.” I replied, not sure why I had given him my lifelong nickname.
He shrugged, repeating my nickname a few times, and rolling it off his tongue as if tasting a new recipe for the first time. “I like it. Short, sweet, kind of spunky. From what Marik told me, it seems to fit.”
“Marik?” I asked, attempting to play quoi. I had no clue how much Mr. Coppertone had revealed about our interactions so far. I didn’t overly want to discuss them with anyone until I understood my feelings about the overgrown piece of wrath wrapped in mortal flesh.
“Ah, yes, the gentleman you so…eloquently attempted to woo earlier today.”
“Woo?” I gasped, lifting a hand to clutch at nonexistent pearls.
