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“Excuse me?” I raise my brows in disbelief.
“You heard me. I could sue. Those blades are bloody sharp. I could have been hurt.”
I stare at the guy, saying nothing until he starts to squirm. What a jackass. Hard to skate on blunt blades—harder and more dangerous in fact. What a moron for not expecting the blades to be sharp.
“First, you didn’t get hurt. Your date did. Your date that you’ve shown no interest whatsoever in. You haven’t even asked to see her to check if she’s okay. And don’t even get me started on the way you ignored her for twenty minutes to flirt with other women.”
“You my fucking stalker or something?” He sneers.
“It’s my job to watch the ice. To make sure morons like you don’t do excessive damage. Now, as I said before, you need to leave.” I look him up and down derisively, noting the appalling fit of his shiny patent black skates that definitely aren’t ours. “Because it wasn’t our skates that sliced that woman’s leg to pieces, and I’m in half a mind to get your details to make sure she sues you.”
“Well, now, there’s no need to be like that…” He blanches and back-pedals.
“Are you even going to offer to take her to the hospital?” I glare at him like the piece of shit he is.
“There’s speed humps outside the ER. I’ve got low profiles on the Lambo…”
“Leave!” I growl, shaking with rage and letting my control slip a little. I know my eyes will have taken on the ebony hue of my species, and, although the guy won’t remember seeing them change, he’ll forever be wary of me if our paths cross again.
The guy grumbles under his breath but takes off on his skates, ankles rolling the entire time. I can’t bring myself to give a shit if he hurts himself or not.
I’m just thinking that I should go and fill out that paperwork Yas asked for a hand with, when I’m distracted by another commotion on the ice.
Jack Frost is driving the Zamboni onto the ice to clean up the mess. He’d usually just use his magic to clean up, but there’s way too many humans around today. It’s not worth the hassle. Chaz has thrown himself down and is kneeling protectively in front of the pool of blood. Frost is growling at him, his frozen pond-like icy eyes glaring at him from over the top of the Zamboni, looking decidedly unamused.
“Leave it! I’ll do it, I’ll clean up! Please!” Chaz is begging. Frost is shaking his head, clearly annoyed. People are staring and whispering. Humans and supes alike.
I watch in dismay as Chaz throws himself down into the puddle of blood and starts to lap it up like a cat.
Fuck. My. Life.
This is a PR nightmare.
Any second now, Frost is going to snap, jump off the Zamboni, and drag Chaz’s sorry ass through the blood and off the ice. He can be a bit of a dick to people, but in this instance I think it’s justified.
I check my phone to see where the hell Whit is. I know that we don’t need to worry about the humans’ memories—there’s wards in place to wipe them —but it still looks bad that our staff are licking our customer’s blood up.
“Agh!”
There’s a strangled scream.
Chaz’s tongue has frozen to the ice.
Sighing, I call “medic!” once again and shake my head. I need a timeout. The paperwork on this one is going to be a bloody nightmare. Who the hell thought hiring a vampire to work in a skate rink where accidents happen all the time would be a good idea?
