Chapter 8
CHAPTER EIGHT
M ireille lingered across from Riashi’s, trying to will her feet into motion.
She rubbed her sweaty palms on her wool jacket, and up the street movement caught her eye. Her palms dampened further at the sight of the lone figure stalking through the snow.
Ronin moved like a knife through water, the blistering wind doing nothing to slow his pace. He prowled as if on the hunt.
He’s hunting for us , her wolf whispered with a quiver of excitement.
Since when have you ever been excited about a job? Mireille asked.
The most she ever got from her wolf during assignments was a sort of begrudging obedience, only coming to the surface when Mireille needed to call upon her strength or sense of smell. Or to bring her out to shred through a throat. Her wolf rarely paid attention when Mireille’s assignments had necessitated a more intimate type of spycraft.
Run, her wolf begged. Maybe he’ll chase us.
Mireille snorted. You’d let him catch us.
Damn straight, I would.
Mireille ignored her wolf’s panting as Ronin jogged up the steps and opened the door, the burbling voices spilling over to where she stood, transfixed.
Once inside the foyer, he shucked off his jacket, patting away the snow, and swiveled his head. Searching for her.
How incredibly absurd this all was. Ronin Matakos didn’t date females like Mireille. In fact, from what she knew of his exploits, he didn’t date at all.
It was that thought which spurred her into motion. This wasn’t a date. It was a job. Might as well get it over with.
Glancing left and right for passing vehicles, she crossed the street and strode into the bustling restaurant.
Ronin pivoted toward her as she opened the door, and he stepped over to take her coat.
“Valette,” he crooned.
“Matakos. I’m surprised you showed up.”
He cocked an eyebrow, a wry smile twisting his plush lips. “Why wouldn’t I?”
“I thought you didn’t do homework.”
His laughter was low and uncharacteristically warm, sinking into his role. “A night out with a beautiful female can hardly be considered homework.” He leaned in to whisper into her ear and a shiver ran down her spine. “Even if this is all for show.”
She fought an urge to press in closer as her wolf took a deep whiff of his scent.
Bountiful Faurana, the creature groaned. He smells incredible.
Mireille breathed in his fresh, wild scent—wind-tousled pine trees and frosted citrus—then dragged her gaze across his slim gray trousers topped with a fitted navy sweater that showed off his broad chest and muscular arms.
“You look…nice,” she said.
His lupine grin had her instantly regretting the platitude. “Holy shit, was that a compliment?”
“Don’t get used to it,” she grumbled. “Just playing my part.”
He performed a similar perusal over her forest green, high-necked dress. It was one of the few she owned that she’d purchased solely for herself and not as a trapping for one of her many disguises. She’d been overtaken by a rare moment of vanity when the salesfemale had gushed over how incredible it made her legs look.
His eyes darkened as they traveled their length. “You look… nice , too.” The word was loaded as it dripped from his lips.
She tugged at the short, flowing skirt, questioning her decision to wear it.
Please , her wolf piped up. You know exactly why—and for whom—you wore it.
Okay, fine. Yes, she’d wanted to look good tonight. She’d caught him staring at her a few times in the archives hall this morning. And heated looks like that coming from an attractive, powerful male like him… He’d been on her mind all day.
It was fucking annoying.
Are you going to offer up unhelpful commentary all night long? Mireille snapped at her wolf.
The beast sat back on her haunches, cocked her head and perked up her ears. Oh my darling, I’m just getting started.
Ronin cradled the small of Mireille’s back, the warmth of his fingers seeping through the thin silk. “Come, our table’s ready.”
Her wolf let out a euphoric sigh at both the touch and the command, and Mireille bit her tongue to keep from echoing it.
Just a job, she reminded herself.
This was going to be a long, exhausting night.
Twisting heads and muttered whispers followed them through the restaurant, shock at seeing the prima ballerina of the Kheimos Company with the infamous Butcher of Aethalia. Though, there was an equal amount of envy. For both of them, Mireille supposed.
They did make a rather striking couple, each with their own unique grace—Ronin’s charming and predatory, Mireille’s lithe and elegant.
He ushered her to an intimate table in the corner, then pulled out her chair and placed her napkin in her lap as she sat.
“Sweet Amatu, Matakos. Laying it on a bit thick, don’t you think?”
“Just making sure you get the full experience,” he answered, settling into his own seat across the table. “I’m guessing this is the first date you’ve been on in decades. Centuries maybe.”
She scoffed. “What makes you think that ?”
He perused the floppy leather wine menu. “You don’t seem like the type of female who regularly goes on dates.”
“Really?” She huffed, sitting back and crossing her arms. “And what kind of female do I seem like to you?”
He ignored her question. “Tell me I’m wrong. When was the last time someone took you out?”
“You’re wrong.” She gifted him a victorious smile. “I went on one just a few days ago.”
“One that didn’t end in you killing someone,” he clarified in a low whisper out of the corner of his mouth.
She snapped her menu open. “Keep up this line of questioning and this date will end with me killing someone.”
He tilted his head back in a hearty laugh. “Vicious.” He cocked his head as if listening to some internal voice. “My wolf approves.”
Her own wolf opened her mouth, but before the creature could utter a single, vulgar word, Mireille breathed in for a count of six, held it for a count of six, then breathed out for a count of eight, banishing the beast to the depths of her mind. Navigating her unnerving physical attraction to the tattooed male across from her was difficult enough without her wolf piping up with sultry comments every few minutes.
The waiter approached to take their drink order, and, again surprising her with his chivalry, Ronin asked, “Do you prefer red or white?”
“Red.”
Ronin ordered a bottle from Nephes, along with Delirium for himself. The waiter rattled off the specials, then bustled away to fetch their drinks.
Ronin placed his elbows on the table, resting his chin upon his inked knuckles as he gazed at her.
“What?” she asked. “Why are you looking at me like that?”
“No reason. Just figured that you’ve probably prepared a list of questions for us to run through.”
She scoffed, then reached into her bag to pull out the…list of questions she had prepared for them to run through.
He laughed. “I knew it.”
“Happy to amuse you with my predictability.”
“I look forward to the day when you surprise me, Valette,” he uttered in a low voice that tingled across her limbs. High Gods, Ronin at full charm, even fake charm, was fucking deadly.
She unfolded the sheet of paper, fingers shaking slightly. “Right. Let’s get started. Where were you born?”
“Really? You don’t know this about me already? It’s practically branded on me due to my nickname.”
Mireille shrugged. “Just because you gained your infamy there doesn’t necessarily mean you were born there.”
“You’re partly right.” Ronin dragged a hand through his tousled white hair. “I was born in a small village just outside of Aethalia called Denevrae. My parents were both wolf bi-forms, though they’ve since passed. My twin sister?—”
“You have a twin sister?”
Ronin grinned. “Is that hard to believe?”
Mireille studied his inherently masculine, and frustratingly perfect, face. “I’m trying to picture you in female form.”
“We have the same color hair and eyes, but that’s where the similarities end. If not for those two features, you might not even know we were siblings at all.”
“What’s her name?”
“Selene.” Genuine affection crinkled the corners of Ronin’s eyes. It made him look younger, less burdened. It also made Mireille’s heart gallop in her chest. “She still lives in the cottage where we grew up.”
Mireille fiddled with the edges of her napkin, needing to occupy her hands. “Why didn’t you go back there? After the war, and after…”
“You can say it.” All the warmth drained from his expression. “After I was disgraced? There was nothing there for me anymore. There never had been. Didn’t have many other options outside of coming up here to the fighting rings and capitalizing on my fame, so…” He raised his palms. “Here I am. What about you? Where were you from originally?”
The waiter returned with their drinks, uncorking the wine and pouring Mireille a glass. Ronin’s pupils dilated as he took a long swig of his Delirium, and the hardness that had overtaken his features softened.
Mireille sipped her wine, letting the dry, oaky taste settle her own nerves. She’d never been comfortable talking about herself. And certainly not about her abnormal upbringing.
“I spent my childhood alone with my mother in the Oread Woods.” A thoughtful frown tugged at Ronin’s mouth. “What?”
He shook his head. “Not the answer I was expecting.”
Mireille returned her glass to the table, tightening a fist around the thin stem. “What were you expecting?”
Ronin’s marbled gaze bore into her and she pulled her shoulders back, despite her instinct to cower at his intensity.
“I assumed you came from one of those high-class Beastrunner families. Raised by a series of nannies in Delos or something while your rich parents flitted about the continent with their monied friends.”
Mireille bristled. “Just the one parent.”
Ronin’s face twisted in sympathy. “What happened to your father?”
Mireille could hardly bear it. Cold sweat coated her skin, and her head began to pound. Too much sharing. She took a gulping sip of her wine and nearly choked. “Next question.”
Ronin regarded her carefully, as if she were a skittish animal. “Alright, I won’t pry. But you’re the one with the list of questions.”
She smoothed the paper, perusing it for a less volatile subject. “What was your most fervent childhood dream?”
Ronin snickered. “Most fervent ? Did you really use that word? Let me see.” He leaned across the table to snatch up the paper.
She pulled it against her chest. “It means?—”
“I know what fervent means,” he muttered, easing back into his chair. “I’m not that dumb. Despite your initial assumptions.”
“Says the male who thought I was some rich snob.” She pursed her lips. “You gonna answer the question or do you want to review the rest of my vocabulary choices?”
He sighed, smearing the beads of condensation gathering on his Delirium bottle. “I wanted… When I shifted for the first time, my mother fainted.”
“ Actually fainted?”
“Yes.”
“What does this have to do with your childhood dream?”
“You got places to be?” he grunted. “I’m getting there.”
He took a swig of the elixir, darting his tongue out to catch a drop on his bottom lip and High Gods help her, Mireille’s toes actually curled.
He didn’t seem to notice her gawking. “It happened in the back yard of our cottage when I was four. I can still feel the heated, prickly sensation that rushed through my veins when he popped out for the first time.”
Mireille remembered her own first shift just as well. As violent and satisfying as an aggressive sneeze. Or a really good orgasm.
She shook that unhelpful thought from her mind as he continued, “My mother screamed, then toppled onto the grass. When my father came out to see what all the commotion was about, the look of pride on his face… I’ll never forget it. He paraded me around the village after, showing me off, encouraging me to shift. Which I was more than happy to do. Everyone wanted a look at the ‘biggest wolf the world had ever known.’ That’s how my father always referred to me. I got off on it—the shock on their faces that inevitably transformed into awe. I was certain I was destined for greatness. That I was meant to make a mark on this world.”
Mireille didn’t like where this story was going, but she just sat quietly and listened.
“It’s why I leapt at the chance to join the war, when those whispers about my size and power traveled all the way from Denevrae to Delos. Straight into the ears of the Emperor himself. And well, you and everyone else on the continent know how that story ends.”
“So, you got exactly what you wanted.”
“Did I?” Pain and regret dimmed his blue-yellow gaze as his tattoos flickered. He shook it off, smoothed it over with his typical smarmy arrogance. “What about you? What did the great Mireille Valette dream of when she was a little pup?”
“You’re looking at it.” She leaned back in her chair. “I’ve achieved precisely what I set out to achieve.”
“So you wanted to be a prima ballerina who spends half her time dispatching the Empire’s enemies but still has no friends or joy in her life?”
Rage poured through her. How dare he judge her choices?
“You think your life is so much better? The infamous Butcher of Aethalia, fallen from glory and turned tail to Kheimos. Or can you even show your tail, now that you’ve been caged?”
Something dangerous flitted through his eyes, his fangs thickening as black claws extended from his fingertips.
“Careful,” he whispered, his guttural voice filled with menace. “If you try to bait me, I can’t be responsible for what happens to you.”
She laughed, even as fear sluiced through her veins. “Put your fangs and claws away, Butcher. You don’t scare me.”
“I should,” he answered, retracting his weapons. “I should terrify you. I’m exactly the monster that everyone claims me to be. You’d be wise to recognize it before our temporary partnership ends in bloodshed.”
“Well, this date is going extremely well, I think.” She took another sip of her wine. “Let’s just agree that we’re both perfectly well-adjusted individuals who’ve made all the right choices in life and leave it at that.”
“Fine,” he growled, draining the last of his Delirium and shaking the bottle at the waiter for another. “What other questions are on your list?”
Mireille surveyed the sheet. This was pointless. They had absolutely nothing in common, other than this shared mission, so why bother getting to know one another? But since sitting in silence while they ate their meals sounded even less enticing, she asked another.
“What’s your greatest fear?”
He huffed a laugh. “Suffocating under the weight of my reputation.”
Her eyes rolled upward. “You’re the one still brandishing it.”
“As if I have a fucking choice ,” he muttered. “What’s yours?”
She took several minutes contemplating her own answer. Did she have any fears? Sometimes she felt a twinge of nervous energy before a performance or an assignment. Not really a fear.
She didn’t like getting close to people, but was that due to fear? Or was it a strategic choice, since most people were self-interested assholes?
No, the only thing Mireille truly feared was never learning the truth about her past. Not getting those answers she’d been seeking for centuries. Forever feeling like only half of her outline was filled in.
But that was definitely too profound an answer to share with the male seated across from her. He’d likely find some way to taunt her with it. Not to mention, this conversation had taken an uncomfortably heavy turn.
She decided to lighten the mood with one of her smaller fears instead.
“Spiders.”
Mireille’s answer coaxed a rumbling belly laugh out of Ronin.
“Spiders? I just bared my soul to you and your answer is spiders?”
Mireille shrugged, drawing Ronin’s attention to her delicate shoulders and long neck. She really was incredibly beautiful, even if she was infuriatingly difficult to crack. “They’re unpredictable.”
He laughed louder.
“They appear out of nowhere on their creepy, fuzzy little legs. Some of them jump, and you can never tell which ones can and can’t. I’m always worried one is going to crawl into my mouth while I’m sleeping and lay eggs underneath my tongue.”
“Fucking gross . Who worries about such a thing?”
She plucked up her wine glass, swirling the burgundy liquid. “You asked. I answered.”
“Well, when we’re up at the Otto estate, I promise to protect you from pregnant nighttime spiders.”
She rewarded him with a breathy little laugh and his wolf shivered. Make her do that again.
Ronin mentally swatted the creature away. Though he wouldn’t mind hearing it again as well.
“One more,” he said. “At least your answers are entertaining.”
She smiled at that—a dazzling, unguarded one—and he made a note of her reaction.
Little she-wolf liked to be praised.
Her enchanting silver eyes scanned the paper before she folded it, creasing the edges precisely, and placed it back in her bag.
When she returned her gaze, it was full of mischief. Something stirred low in his gut.
“What is your biggest fault?” she asked.
He ran his thumb over his bottom lip, delighted to see her glance at the movement. “Other than this face of mine?”
Confusion pinched her brows. “What’s wrong with your face?”
“Can’t go anywhere without a female or seven collapsing at my feet. So inconvenient. Why do you think I’m always late?”
Mireille’s eyes rolled so hard he was worried she might fall right out of her chair. Though, he did notice the corner of her mouth quiver.
It was that tiny tell that encouraged him to share a real answer. He’d already laid himself bare once tonight—the first time in years, decades even, that he’d done so with anyone other than Selene. There was something about Mireille’s unapologetic frankness that he appreciated. So different from his sister’s endless coddling. It was…refreshing.
“I wish I could stop drinking this.” He rolled the empty Delirium bottle between his hands. He hated that he’d already noticed exactly how long it was taking the waiter to bring his second one.
Mireille softened at his confession. “Why’d you start in the first place?”
“It happened after my caging.” He couldn’t look her in the eye as he ripped the label. “Without the outlet of shifting, it’s hard to control my wolf’s violent cravings. I get…urges.”
Mireille sucked in a sharp breath, and a tangy whiff of fear wafted across the table.
He lifted his eyes and wasn’t surprised to find her looking at him quite differently than she had at the start of this dinner.
“It’s fine, Mireille. Although you do smell incredibly tasty, I said difficult to control. Not impossible. Just don’t piss me off and I promise not to eat you.”
Another scent joined her fear. A deepening of her musk. Unmistakable.
His wolf perked up again. Mmmmm. She wants us to eat her. We should forget about this boring conversation and ask her if she’d like to come back to our place so we can spread apart her thi ? —
Enough , Ronin snarled. No one’s eating anyone tonight .
His wolf huffed a frustrated breath and settled.
“Anyway, the Delirium helps keep things in check.”
Mireille’s throat bobbed. “Have you ever tried quitting?”
“Many times.” He fought to suppress those memories, the pain roiling through his body, how ill he’d become. It wasn’t worth it. The Delirium always beckoned him back. This conversation was getting too fucking depressing. “Your turn. What would you change about yourself?”
She cocked her head, then shot him a coy grin. “Not a fucking thing.”
“Why do I feel like I’m the only one taking these questions seriously?” he grumbled. “And why are they so probing? Why didn’t we start with some light shit?”
“Like what? Favorite color? What types of music we like? What we do for fun?”
“Exactly.”
“Really deep insights into our personalities, those.”
“Fine, how about something more practical? How do you take your coffee?”
“Splash of cream, two sugars.”
“Predictable,” he huffed.
She sneered. “Let me guess. You drink yours black.”
“I prefer tea in the morning, thank you very much. How old are you?”
Mireille feigned a shocked gasp. “How dare you ask a lady such a question? How old do you think I am?”
Ronin rubbed his jaw, trailing his gaze down her torso. “You don’t look a day over six-hundred.”
“Fuck you,” she chuckled. “I’m three-hundred-and-eleven. You?”
“Three-hundred-and-twenty-eight. Kinks?”
“Ex-excuse me?” Mireille sputtered.
He folded his arms on the table. “If we’re supposed to have been seeing each other for months, I’d certainly know a few of yours by now, don’t you think?”
“I’m not sharing that,” she answered primly, unable to meet his penetrating stare.
“Ropes.” He traced small circles on the tablecloth with his fingertips, relishing the blush creeping up her neck that told him he’d guessed correctly. “Or silks. Or handcuffs. Any kind of restraint, really. You’re completely in control everywhere else, so I’m guessing you like to give that up in the bedroom, let someone else take the lead for a change.” His eyes darted to her small, trembling fists. “I’m right, aren’t I?”
“No one is going to probe us about each other’s kinks , Ronin.”
“Well, just in case they do, mine are?—”
“No fucking way. ” A low, female voice broke through the din, and a Windrider with yellow wings sauntered over to their table. “I never thought I’d see the day.”
Mireille shifted in her seat, uncomfortable not only with the attention of the female, but the attention her outburst had attracted to their table.
“Hello, Juliet,” she murmured, toying with her wine glass.
Juliet’s eyes slid toward Ronin, then back to Mireille, a sly smile parting her lips. “Who’s your friend?”
Ronin leaned back, drumming his fingers and watching with amusement as Mireille squirmed.
“This…this is my boyfriend.” She wrenched the word through gritted teeth. “Ro?—”
“Ronin Matakos,” Juliet interrupted, offering Ronin a slim hand, her eyes glittering with joy. “I know who you are.” She turned back to Mireille. “My, you do keep your secrets, Mireille. How long have you two been dating?”
“A few weeks,” Mireille answered at the same time as Ronin said, “Several months.”
Juliet’s gaze bobbed between them, a confused look passing over her face. They probably should have discussed this before they’d come out together tonight.
Ronin laughed softly, then plucked up Mireille’s hand from the table, which had gone cold and clammy. He brushed a thumb over her knuckles. “What I meant is, I’d been pursuing her for months before she finally deigned to give me a chance a few weeks ago. In case you hadn’t noticed, this one plays rather hard to get.”
Mireille flinched at Juliet’s knowing laughter, and Ronin squeezed her hand.
“Oh, you don’t have to tell me that,” Juliet said. “I’ve been trying to convince her to come out with me for years. Good on you.”
“How do you two know each other?”
“Juliet dances with me at the Kheimos Company,” Mireille answered.
Juliet snorted. “With her? She’s being incredibly modest. We all dance behind her. She’s the bright, shining star, and we are but mere shadows cast by her presence.”
Ronin tried to detect any hint of jealousy or sarcasm in the yellow-winged Fae’s words, but found none. Just genuine respect and admiration.
“Have you seen her dance?” Juliet asked him.
“I haven’t yet had the pleasure, but I’m very much looking forward to tomorrow night’s performance.” Ronin aimed an amused smile at Mireille, whose own expression remained guarded.
“Maybe if you’re lucky, she’ll give you a private dance after.” Juliet winked and Ronin laughed heartily.
“Nice to see you, Juliet,” Mireille said in a clipped voice. “Enjoy the rest of your evening.”
Juliet caught the dismissal in Mireille’s tone and shook her head in an exasperated manner. One that informed Ronin the two females had shared many similar exchanges. “Lovely to meet you, Ronin. I’m glad Mireille has found someone to pull her from her lonely existence. Maybe you can convince her to come to dinner with me some time.”
“As long as I don’t want to keep her all to myself,” Ronin said with a waggle of his eyebrows that tugged a sultry chuckle from the young Fae.
“Have fun, you two.” Juliet winked over her shoulder as she sashayed away from their table.
Ronin watched her join a group of Fae in the foyer, whispering and gesturing back towards Mireille and Ronin before exiting the restaurant.
Mireille loosed a breath.
“She seems nice,” Ronin said.
“She seems nosy. The entire city of Kheimos will be talking about us by morning.”
“Isn’t that the whole point? She clearly admires you and wants to be your friend. Why have you never taken her up on her offer?”
“I don’t do friends,” Mireille bit out. “For many reasons. Not the least of which is my work for the Empire. I don’t want to put her in danger. And I don’t have time for friends anyway. My jobs keep me busy enough.” Ronin aimed a pointed look at Mireille that she missed completely as she snapped out her menu. “Where in the name of Stygios is our waiter? I’m starving.”
Ronin signaled to the waiter that they were ready to order.
The rest of their fake date passed by in rigid, awkward silence. Whatever progress he’d made in trying to get Mireille to open up had been shuttered by Juliet’s appearance.
She tensed when he slipped on her jacket and ushered her out to the street, then nearly elbowed him in the stomach as he pressed a goodnight kiss to her cheek. A calculated move for the remaining patrons watching through the windows.
“I’ll see you at the archives tomorrow,” he said, flagging down a cab and opening the door for her.
She glanced up at him, snowflakes catching in her coppery waves. “I won’t be there tomorrow.”
“Why?”
“None of your fucking business.” She slid across the seat, hauling the door shut behind her.
He huffed out a cloudy sigh as the taillights melted into the night.
Then his wolf released a mournful howl, and Ronin began the long trudge through the slush back to his quiet, lonely apartment.