Warriors of Poseidon 06 - Atlantis Betrayed

for yourself, too.”
    The waiter’s eyes grew huge. “Sir, I can tell you’re not familiar with our currency. That’s five hundred euros. I can’t accept that.”
    Christophe grinned. “I like an honest man. Take it, and see what you can do.” He tossed the bill on the waiter’s tray and turned to Fiona. “Would you like a glass of champagne?”
    She took a flute off the tray. “No, but I think I’m going to need a glass of champagne. Let’s just put it that way.”
    She drained the glass in three swallows, and the server traded her empty glass for another and then took off, presumably in search of ale.
    “Who is this delicious hunk of man, where have you been hiding him, and does he have a brother?” The voice was instantly familiar, and Fiona whirled around, delighted.
    “Maeve! I didn’t know you’d be here.”
    Maeve, dressed in a scarlet gown that set off her dark-haired beauty to perfection, tossed her head.
    “Saving whales is my life, don’t you know? Or is it dolphins? What marine life are we saving tonight?
    And, I repeat, who is this lovely man?”
    Beside Fiona, Christophe stiffened and his eyes flared a hot green for a split second before he bowed to Maeve.
    “This is Christophe,” Fiona said, not sure what to do about the no-last-name thing.
    “I am delighted you brought your new man, Fee. Now where have you been hiding him?”
    “He’s not my new man,” she said. “He’s more my—”
    “Her partner,” Christophe said.
    “Yes. Yes, my partner,” she said, grasping the suggestion.
    “And her lover,” he said, ruining everything.
    Maeve made an O with her perfectly red, shiny lips. “Oh, he is a rogue, isn’t he? Lucky, lucky Fee. Shall we go and have a girly chat? I’ll bring her right back, I promise.”
    With that, she pulled Fiona off, tightly holding her arm, leaving Christophe staring after them.
    Atlantis Betrayed – Warriors of Poseidon 06
    Page 80 of 188
    “Maeve, slow down. What on earth are you dragging me across the floor for? For Saint George’s sake, this had better be good.”
    Maeve glanced back at Christophe, now a good twenty feet behind them. “Your boy toy there isn’t human. Did you know that?”
    Christophe carefully unclenched his hands, firmly suppressing his instinctive reaction to fight to protect his woman. They were in the middle of a very public place, surrounded by other humans. Fiona would be perfectly safe talking to her friend, at least for a few minutes, even though Maeve was not human.
    Maeve was Unseelie Court Fae.
    Powerful, too. Her magic had the feel of ice and darkness. It reminded him of someone he’d met before.
    Someone he hadn’t liked much. It was right there, on the edge of his brain, if he could only think of it.
    He felt someone approaching him from behind and whirled, hand under his jacket on his dagger.
    “Your pint, sir.” The man was beaming. “And two more, besides, back in the kitchen. Plus one for me.”
    Christophe took the pint. “You are an exceptionally fine human being,” he said with feeling.
    The server, not realizing how literally Christophe had meant the expression, grinned. “Thanks. I still want you to take some change, though.”
    Christophe drank a long draft of the fine ale and then shook his head. “Not a chance. You earned it.”
    “Never thought I’d enjoy one of these events,” the man said. “I’ll be around. Let me know when you’re ready for another.”
    “If I can get away with it, I’ll be out of here by the time I finish this one,” Christophe muttered.
    “Lucky bloke.” With a deep sigh, the server was off to foist more of the champagne on other guests.
    Christophe returned his gaze to where Fiona was talking to Maeve, and nearly choked on his ale. She was gone. They were both gone. If that damn Fae harmed a hair on her head, he was going to murder her, peace treaty or no. He slammed his half-empty mug down on a table and set off to find her, walking fast.
    A man swung into his path, moving so quickly that Christophe nearly ran him down. Only Atlantean reflexes saved them both.
    “My apologies,” the man said smoothly, extending a hand. “Gideon Fairsby.”
    “Lord Fairsby?” Christophe said slowly, recognizing him from the press conference. He did not want to shake the man’s hand, but it would have drawn notice not to do so, especially since they were obviously the center of attention for quite a few groups of partygoers.
    He focused on masking his own