Chapter 13
CHAPTER THIRTEEN
T he Frosted Crystal was a glowing, thumping beacon beneath the damp blanket of Kheimos’s ever-present snowfall.
A long line of huddled Fae, mostly Beastrunners and Deathstalkers, awaited entry into the exclusive club.
Mireille didn’t know why they bothered. Unless you knew someone, or were well-known yourself, there was no chance of getting inside. Windriders were given special preference, but even a few of them were out here, stamping their feet and blowing into clasped fists.
Mireille aimed for the back of the line, but Ronin tugged her toward the front door. “I’m insulted you think I have to wait in that line.”
He stalked up to the blue rope, nodding to the woolly mammoth Beastrunner bouncer. “Charlie.”
“Mezzanine. VIP section,” Charlie boomed in a bass-deep voice, his auburn curls dotted with snowflakes. “He’s been waiting for you.”
Charlie unlatched the rope, and as his russet eyes slid to Mireille, he let loose such a high-pitched squeal that several Fae in the line covered their ears. “Mireille Valette! What are you doing here? Especially with this cretin.”
Ronin scoffed. “ You’re a fan of the ballet?”
Charlie ignored him, towering above Mireille and clutching her hand, his eyes shining with adulation. “It is such an honor to have you here. I attended The Curse of Faurana last month and you were magnificent. That final solo? I was in tears.”
Charlie ushered her and Ronin past the barrier, earning a few half-hearted murmurs of frustration from the hopeful club-goers. Ronin flashed a wicked grin, elongating his fangs. Many of them cowered.
“If that uncultured beast gives you any trouble tonight, you let me know.” Charlie called after her. “And your drinks are on the house.”
“Thanks, Charlie!” Ronin tossed back.
“Not yours,” the mammoth grumbled. “Just hers.”
“Thanks, Charlie!” Mireille mimicked, and Ronin shook his head, amused, before pushing open the red leather door and crossing the threshold into throbbing bedlam.
The Frosted Crystal resembled a wintry circus, the ceiling’s red-and-white-striped fabric billowing around a glittering sphere of ice, kept magically frozen.
Throughout the room hung metal cages and rings hosting beautiful male and female performers, their sparkling outfits barely covering their intimate bits.
Ronin shoved through the dance floor, a sweaty, gleaming mass of half-naked bodies writhing to the droning beats. A translucent crystal bar spanned the entire left half of the club, and an array of sinfully attractive bartenders in a state of perpetual motion attempted to serve the patrons waving drachas at them.
Above the bar and dance floor, a glass-walled mezzanine ringed the room. Ronin scanned the shadowy alcoves, his gaze catching in the furthest corner, then dragged Mireille through the mob and up a metal staircase.
Once they reached the alcove, Ronin plopped onto the red velvet banquette across from a skinny male Beastrunner—coyote by the scent—with a spiky green mohawk.
A cigarette dangled from the male’s lip, wafting an unmistakable smoky, licorice smell.
Lethaphyll.
So named for the Goddess of Oblivion, because consuming too much was just as bad as visiting one of those Shrouded Sisters at her Temples throughout the colonies.
Say goodbye to those memories.
The male’s bloodshot squint informed Mireille that he was well on his way to a visit from the Stranger.
“Mataaaaaaahkos.” His shoulders shook with silent laughter.
“Beezie,” Ronin chuckled. “You start the party without us?”
“Man, you were s’posed to be here an hour ago.” The male tried to blow out a breath between his lips but ended up making an extended raspberry sound.
“Are we really gonna learn anything from this guy?” Mireille whispered, leaning down to Ronin and definitely not breathing in his iced citrus and pine scent.
“He’s always like this.” Ronin tugged Mireille into his lap.
Right. They were in public. Had to put on their show.
Mireille wondered how much Ronin had told… Beezie ?
She tried not to melt as Ronin curled his hand around her waist, resting his thumb on her bare hip. “Beezie? What kind of name is that ?”
Ronin’s warm huff rumbled through her, and that coupled with the scene she’d witnessed earlier had her mind—and her wolf—conjuring some spectacularly filthy images.
Ronin turned to whisper back, his plush lips grazing across her jaw. “His real name is Mattias Bisere, but no one ever pronounces his last name right. So, Beezie it is. I would say we shouldn’t be talking about him right in front of his face, but I’m not sure he’s even noticed.”
Mattias—Mireille refused to use that ludicrous nickname—slouched against the banquette, his thin, but well-muscled arms spread across the cushions.
Ronin jostled Mattias’s shoulder and his head popped up, the precariously positioned cigarette landing in his lap in a flash of sparks.
“Oh, shit!” Mattias smacked his tight black pants, then tossed the smoldering cigarette into a glass of water where it snuffed out with a hiss. “Matakos. Hey man, I’ve been waiting for you.”
“Yes, we’ve already established that,” Ronin chuckled.
Mattias aimed a hooded gaze at Mireille, then licked his lips. “Who’s your yummy friend?”
Ronin brushed Mireille’s hair back and planted his chin on her shoulder, gazing at her lovingly. Her traitorous body flooded with heat. “This is my girlfriend, Mireille. Mireille, this is Mattias.”
Mireille extended a hand and Mattias clasped it over the table. His fingers were rough and dry, but his handshake was firmer than she would’ve expected given his current state.
“High Gods, am I hallucinating? You’re fucking stunning. What in Ethyrios are you doing with this asshole?”
Mireille snickered. “A question I ask myself on a daily basis.”
Ronin nipped her neck, and a languorous tingle, warm as melted honey, oozed down her spine. “I love it when she’s nasty to me.”
Mattias shook his head, rolling himself another cigarette, his eyes glued to Mireille’s exposed stomach. “I don’t blame you.”
He placed the cigarette in his mouth, and Mireille nearly fell out of Ronin’s lap as he snapped his fingers.
And a kernel of flame burst from Mattias’s thumb.