Music had been playing, but that shuts off. Conversation, ribbing each other—it all flatlines.
An apartment full of Manticores looks at me.
Orok told them I have a date tonight.
All their heads simultaneously swing left, then back to me, and they clock that every single one of them is standing between me and the front door.
The doorbell rings again.
In perfect mimicry of a Wild West standoff, none of us move. None of us blink.
My fingers twitch at my sides, but I didn’t wear my component belt—I have a few things lodged in my back pocket though. Will they do me any good?
Best to run for it.
I bolt forward, but Orok and his teammates react like a gun went off, and I’m quickly thwarted by my attempt at running offense against a group of people who are trained to hold off far bulkier people than I am. I end up trapped behind a wall made of Ivo and the guy who took the fire potion, both looking too smug as Orok reaches the door first with three other players.
He swings it open and puts on his bestwho the fuck are youvoice. “Can I help you?”
Thio looks so good I briefly forget I should be struggling to get out the door. He’s in dark jeans with a chunky silver buckle on his black belt, and a short sleeve knitted black T-shirt shows off most of the ink on his arms. Gods, I bet he smells good, too.
His hair’s down and swept over his head, and his lips quirk as he takes in his greeting party of four physically intimidating assholes, one still hovering up by the ceiling.
Thio spots me behind my own two assholes before his head tips in question.
“Can Ihelpyou?” Orok snaps at Thio again, this time folding his arms over his chest. The terrorizing effect is lost when the rest of the people with him do the same thing, to the point I think they must’ve rehearsed it; but no, they’re all sharing one drunk brain cell that collectively went,Be scary, make self big.
Thio sticks his hand out to Orok, amused but playing along. “Elethior Tourael, here for Sebastian Walsh.”
Orok lets Thio’s hand hang for a stretched-out beat in which he thrusts his jaw forward.
He finally shakes Thio’s hand. Hard. “Orok Monroe. It’s nice to meet you when you aren’t creeping out of my apartment with mysterious stains on your shirt.”
Thio’s eyes round.
“Okay, that’s enough of that.” I try to shoulder my way around Ivo and Fire Breather—Kenneth, actually—but they move to block me. “Seriously? Orok! This isn’t—”
Kenneth opens his mouth, his eyes bloodshot, and before he can say anything and exhale fire all over me, I whip up my hand.
“If you singe even one hair on my head, I will resort to magic-user stereotypes and turn you into a newt.”
His mouth shuts.
And his lower lip juts out.
“Oh, for the love.” I pull a vial of components for a cleansing spell from my back pocket. “Here. Mix it in some water. Drink it. And start bringing your own counterspells to parties.”
Kenneth takes it with a happy mew, his lips firmly shut.
Ivo snorts. “Softy.”
Over their shoulders, Orok is still doing his best to look terrifying. Thio’s expression is even more terrifyingly blank. I’m hard-pressed to figure out how this is going to go down, which side I should be leaping to defend.
But Thio smiles. “Your stats are impressive,” he says to Orok.
My confusion forces out a strangled cough. “What?”
Thio looks at me but points to Orok. “His stats. He’s one of the best defensive tanks we’ve ever had.”
