“You’re pretty strong for a little girl,” he said through clenched teeth as I slowly forced his arm toward the table. He inhaled deeply, drinking in my scent. “You’re not a fairy. What are you?”

“You’re wrestling a soldier of the Legion,” Ivy told him with a bright smile.

“Hmm.” He took another whiff.

“Do you mind?” I said. “That’s kind of creepy.”

“It’s how I sense magic, sweetness.” His voice was as rough as sandpaper. “What level are you?”

“Two.”

He sniffed me again. “You smell like angel.”

“That’s her boyfriend you’re smelling,” Ivy said.

“Boyfriend?”

Surprise froze him, and I took advantage. I pushed harder, slamming his arm against the table.

“You distracted him,” said Captain Diaz. No, Soren. He’d insisted I call him Soren. I wondered if that would change if he ever ended up in charge of training us.

Ivy shrugged. “And? If he got distracted, that’s his problem. Leda won fair and square. Hey, what did she win?” she asked the werewolf.

“What would you like as your prize?” he asked me.

“She’d like to dance with you,” Ivy answered for me.

I turned to glower at her, but the werewolf had already wrapped his arm around my back. I allowed him to lead me to the dance floor. Why not? One dance wouldn’t kill me. Even if he wanted to bite me—which didn’t seem likely from the way he was looking at me—soldiers of the Legion were immune to werewolf venom. And, besides, he was kind of ruggedly handsome. I didn’t mind dancing with him.

“What’s your name?” he asked me, settling his hands on my hips.

“Leda.” I balanced my arms over his shoulders. Where else was I supposed to put them? We were so close that we were practically dancing cheek-to-cheek.

“I’m Stash.” His lips spread into a smile. “Pleased to meet you, Leda.”

“So,” I said. “What is a big bad wolf doing arm-wrestling people inside a fairy club?” His smile vanished, telling me I’d asked the wrong thing. “Sorry, I didn’t mean to pry.”

“No, it’s a valid question. I am a sideshow in this fairy carnival because I need the cash, and most shifters outright refuse to hire me ever since my pack kicked me out.”

I didn’t ask why they’d kicked him out. That would definitely be prying. So I was surprised when he told me himself.

“The alpha and I had a difference of opinion. And I don’t know how to keep my mouth shut. I’m not the good, obedient wolf.”

“Neither am I. An obedient soldier, I mean,” I added quickly.

“Is that why you’re here instead of out with Colonel Windstriker?” he asked me.

I looked at him in surprise.

“There’s only one angel living in New York,” he said.

“Nero is not my boyfriend,” I told him.

His mouth lifted in a smile. “It’s only a matter of time, sweetness.”

“Why do people keep saying that?” I growled.

“Your eyes light up and your scent changes when you talk about him.”

“I…” I didn’t know what to say to that. “Let’s just not talk about him, ok?”

“As you wish.”

A new song started, this one peppier than the last, and then a loud, off-key voice belted out the lyrics to Supernatural Fever over the microphone. I turned my head toward the stage, where Lyle, one of our Legion buddies, was singing karaoke to the amusement of our entire group.

“Apparently, singing isn’t one of the gods’ gifts to the Legion,” Stash commented.

I snorted. “Definitely not.”

“Thank you for the dance,” he said. “And now I must get back to work.”

“Try not to lose to anyone else. Or you’ll be dancing all night.” I glanced at the long line of women waiting in front of his table. They were all staring across the dance floor at him, starry-eyed expressions on their faces as they jiggled one-dollar bills at him. It appeared the werewolf had a fan club.

Stash winked at me, then headed over to greet his adoring fans. I found Ivy upstairs sitting on a sofa that overlooked the club’s lower floor. As soon as Lyle had finished singing, he joined us. We were soon all sore with laughter thanks to the cheesy comedy skits the fairies were acting out on the stage. One skit ended, and the lights dimmed. Too men stepped onto the stage—one in torn jeans and a dirty t-shirt, the other in a suit of shiny black leather.

“Who are you?” the ragged man asked the other.

“How can you not know me, mortal?” The man in the leather bodysuit straightened with indignation, and paper wings burst out of his back. “I am the great and powerful Nero Windstriker, angel of New York, the gods’ hand of justice.” His wings retracted, then burst out again, exploding into confetti.

The other man looked Fake Nero up and down, then declared, “I thought you’d be taller.”

“Height matters not. Only the power of the gods. I could kill you where you stand without lifting a finger.”

“Except he’d never do that, would he, Leda?” Ivy whispered to me. “He prefers to use his hands.” She wiggled her eyebrows up and down.

“I’m going to pretend I didn’t hear that,” Soren told her. “Or see that.” He made a point of looking away from the stage. His expression was masked, but I could tell he was laughing inside. The rest of us didn’t bother to contain the chuckles—more at the ludicrousness of the skit than at anything else.