There are only three kinds of men in the world now: those who fear me, those who want me, and those who weren’t in the club the night I ensnared half the city’s underworld population with my siren’s song. Though most of that last option still fears me or wants me, a few of them are simply curious.
There’s only one type of woman: those who hate me.
The couple standing across the bar from me now falls into the fear and hate categories. I plaster my friendliest, most innocent smile on my face as I pass them their ordered drinks, but it does nothing to alleviate their moods. “Happy New Year,” I offer.
The male—practically cowering behind his female companion—won’t meet my eyes, and the female glares at me as she pays for the drinks like she thinks I’m going to steal her man. They walk off without a word, and I step back with a sigh.
I hate that people now avoid me or glare at me in contempt, judging me because of my potential to be evil instead of how I actually act. I’m a nice person. People like me. I’m approachable. At least, I used to be.
“What’s wrong, baby sister-in-law?”
My mood lifts at the nickname, and I manage a small smile for my boss. I’m not married to Wulf’s brother, so not technically an in-law, but ever since I started dating Rook and he moved into the den with me, Wulf’s claimed me as the little sister he never had. I let him. Blood or not, he’s family, and I like having a big brother.
He puts his arm around my shoulder, and I lean into his side hug, soaking up his affection and using it to bolster my mood. “I don’t know if I’m going to be able to keep this job.”
“But you love this job.”
It’s true. I never considered bartending until Terrance dropped the job in my lap, but I quickly found a home-away-from-home here at the club. Once I stopped fearing underworlders, I loved interacting with them. I’m surprisingly social, and I love chatting with people. That’s why the siren stigma is so depressing. “I make people uncomfortable.”
Wulf frowns. His eyes drift in the direction the glaring couple walked off in. “Screw those assholes,” he says. “You’re the kindest, friendliest, most caring person I’ve ever met. If they can’t see that, then they don’t deserve to know you.”
Another small smile ghosts across my face. Wulf is the best. But his compliments, as much as I love them, don’t quite take the sting out of all the rejection I’ve been dealing with the last couple of weeks.
“People will get used to the idea,” he promises me. “It’s only been a few weeks. Don’t quit your job. Stay here; stay visible. Soon enough, people will see that you’re not going to turn into some psycho man-eater, and then everyone will love you again. If you quit and hide yourself away, the gossip will only get worse, and people will become truly afraid of you. It’s been nice not having anyone try to kill you these last couple weeks. I’d rather like to keep it that way.”
I snort, but there’s some sound logic in his words. I superstitiously knock my knuckles on the wood bar. Wulf grins and gives me one more supportive squeeze before he lets me go. He kisses my temple and whispers “Hang in there, kiddo” before stepping away to finally acknowledge the group of waiting customers we’ve both been ignoring.
I take a deep breath and steel my nerves before getting back to work. A man with the face of an angel, golden hair, and oddly beautiful pale pink eyes gives me a bright, mischievous smile. It’s the first truly friendly smile I’ve received all night. I’m guessing he’s in the rare third category of men. He may be interested in me, but it’s not the needy, drugged-up want that the men I enchanted usually display. He seems too casual, and there’s too much curiosity in his eyes.
The man is fey, though not a type I’m familiar with. I can’t identify his specific species, but he’s clearly of the Seelie Court. Summer fey tend to be much more cheery and playful than the dark, broody winter fey (see: Illren and Terrance).
His friendliness isn’t surprising. The fey are the only underworlders who seem to like the new development of my siren status. Sirens are revered among the fey, and most of the fey are excited and curious about me, considering sirens were thought to be extinct.
The man looks me over, sighs wistfully, and holds a hand over his heart. “Sing me your song, fair maiden, and lay claim to my heart for all eternity.”
I suppress a smile and raise an eyebrow at him. “Really? That’s what you’re going with? A bit over-the-top, don’t you think?”
He flashes me a beautiful dimpled smile. “But you still found it charming.”
He’s right. If I had to sum him up in a single word, charming would definitely be an apt description. And pretty. He’s very young Brad Pitt. “I’ll never admit to it,” I say with a laugh. I nod my head toward the wall of alcohol behind me. “What’s your poison?”
He purses his lips as he scans the options. “How about a shot of Summer Breeze for me…” He meets my gaze, and his grin widens. “And one for the beautiful lady as well.”
I reach for the bottle of popular fey alcohol and pour a single shot. “Thanks, but I don’t drink.”
“Dinner, then,” the man says when I slide the shot glass across the bar. “Or lunch,” he amends quickly when he detects my coming rejection. “Coffee? I’d settle for getting coffee.”
I shake my head and chuckle. “I’m flattered, but I’m already in a relationship.” Or three, but who’s counting?
“How many?” the man asks.
“How many what?”
“How many men are you involved with?”
I blink at him. Apparently someone is counting.
“It’s five, right?” he asks. “Terrance, Mr. Kovros, the vampire, the sorcerer, and the wolf? Or is it six? No one is really sure what’s going on with you and Agent Gorgeous, but there’s some speculation there, too.”
My face heats up. It turns out that sirens keeping harems of men is pretty common knowledge in the underworld, or, at least, it is among the fey. My love life has been one of this city’s main gossip topics for weeks now. “Not that it’s any of your business,” I say, trying not to be too annoyed because he’s one of the few people who’s been friendly to me tonight, and I really can’t begrudge him his curiosity. I’d be intrigued, too, if I were in his shoes. “But it’s only three—Parker, Oliver, and Rook. Terrance is my family, and Illren is a pain in my ass. They’re clan, but I’m not dating them. Gorgeous is just a friend.”
The fey’s eyes light up. “Surely you intend to take more than three lovers.” He slides his glass back across the bar to me. “May I have another?”
I pour him another shot and raise an eyebrow at him. “You don’t think three lovers is enough?” Not that I’m actually lovers with any of my boyfriends yet, but, you know, same difference.
The man downs his shot, waits out the sting, and shakes his head. “The sirens of old were known to have upwards of a dozen lovers, sometimes double that. Giselle has seven herself, and a mermaid’s allure isn’t half as strong as a siren’s.”
Damn. Two dozen lovers? That is a lot of men. I try to picture it and can’t. “Yeah, that’s not happening. I can barely handle the few I’ve got.”