Page 36 of Bride of Death

He disappears, and I don’t bother to look behind me because I already know he’s standing right there.

I feel his warm breath on my neck as he adds, “I’ll be hanging out in the shadows tonight, like I usually do. So try not to flirt with your patrons, trouble. Unless you want a bloody wedding, of course.”

I spin as I feel his lips ghost over my pulse.

But he’s several feet back and already pouring himself a drink, making me wonder if I imagined the caress.

When he winks at me, I narrow my gaze.

And he vanishes.

Only, unlike last night, he doesn’t shadow back to his stool. Instead, he remains hidden. Yet I can almost feel him looking at me.

Or maybe it’s everyone else in the den.

Because yeah, they’re all still staring.

“I’m not marrying Hades!” I shout at all of them, but the words are especially dedicated to Maliki. “This is all a giantmisunderstanding,” I go on. “But if you would like a drink, come place your order. I’ll be working at the bar.”

Several fae exchange glances, then advance on me as a group, causing me to take a step backward in alarm.

Orders start coming in rapid fire, causing my eyes to widen in alarm while I try to keep up.

It’s as though everyone accepted my invitation and they haven’t had a drink in years.

“Need help?” Gnarls inquires, his voice holding a touch of uncertainty.

“Yes,” I tell him, surprised he even had to ask. “You handle that side”—I gesture to the right—“and I’ll take the left.”

“Of course, Your Ladyship,” he replies with a slight bow.

“No, don’t do that,” I snap. “I’m just Sera. Not your queen or whatever else you want to call me. Sera. Got it?”

“Y-yes, my, um, er, Sera.”

I roll my eyes. “Just help me with these drinks, Gnarls.”

He nods eagerly and gets to work.

I’m not sure when I became the boss and he became the subordinate, but I’ll evaluate that later.When I’m done taking all these drink orders…

Which is apparently never going to end.

Just as one group finishes, another pops up.

And I swear there are more than a hundred patrons now in the den. It’s like the entire village has arrived and all of them are thirsty.

I glance at the bone clock, shocked to see two hours have passed in what feels like minutes. Though, my feet and hands are certainly feeling the ache of time.

That ache only worsens with each order, to the point that my fingers begin to cramp from pouring so many types of ales and shots.

“Uh, we’ll take three spider ales?” a fae with dreadlocks tells me, his request sounding like a question more than an order.

“Are you sure?” I ask in return.

“Er, no. Five. We want… we want five?”

I stare at him. “Didn’t you just have a dozen web shots?”