One of the mercenaries across the way nudged his friend. Nodded to the woman.
And grabbed a handful of her ass.
White hot rage clouded my vision.
I knew what it was like to be touched without consent. To have people take from you what you didn’t want to give. Escort or not, this woman deserved the right to choose who touched her.
Brown hair. Leather vest. Crescent shaped tattoo on right forearm.
The vile bastard wouldn’t leave this pub of his own volition.
The woman stumbled forward. Her skirts swirled when she twisted toward him.
“Ye’ve a fine arse ‘neath all them skirts,” the man slurred. “Five coppers fer a ride?”
Her hood lifted a fraction. Instead of responding, she threw back her shoulders and stomped toward the bar.The men around her grew rowdier. No one else had the bollocks to do anything but shout lewd suggestions and gesture to their cocks.
Orla emerged from her flat in between the two pubs. She was smart enough to keep her glamour in place on this side of the wall. If only there was something to be done about the scar her husband had left when he’d used a hot iron to brand the poor selkie.
And humans thought we were the monsters.
“I wonder if you might be able to help me,” the mysterious woman said, her voice surprisingly husky. The way she spoke was too refined for an escort. “You see, I’m looking for a man—”
“Pet, I’ve been lookin’ fer a man in this pub fer forty years,” Orla said, limping toward the bar, “and haven’t found an honest one yet.”
“A man to help me get to Tearmann,” the woman finished.
Tearmann?
Orla’s mouth flattened. “Why would someone like ye want to go there?”
Why, indeed? I flipped to the next page in my book, hoping to catch the woman’s response. Humans knew better than to try and enter our territory. No one could hope to survive the Black Forest without an escort. And even then, it didn’t guarantee they’d make it.
“I need to find the Gancanagh.”
Shit.
The smile fell from Orla’s weathered face. “These men will rob ye blind. Best be gone with ye and get the foolish notion of findin’ the Gancanagh outta yer ‘ead.”
Orla’s eyes flitted toward my table before shifting back to the woman.
Perhaps the stranger hadn’t noticed.
Don’t look at me.Look at Oran.
I squeezed the book in my hand, focusing on the weathered pages instead of the way the woman’s shadowed eyes grazed over Oran and the drunkard passed out on the table to settle on me.
DON’T LOOK AT ME.
“Please,” the woman said, turning back to the barmaid. “Surely you can recommendsomeone. It’s a matter of life and death.”
There were only two reasons human women came looking for me. And I wasn’t interested in sex or death tonight. I wanted to beat Rían and celebrate my victory with pie.
Oran nudged me with his boot.
I kicked him in the shin and kept my eyes on the book. The man who had assaulted the mysterious woman slipped from behind his table, adjusted himself, and started for the bar.
It took a flick of my wrist and a few whispered words to get his companion to tackle him. I kept the book in place with one hand and hid the other beneath the table.