Chapter 17
CHAPTER SEVENTEEN
T he greenhouse on the Otto estate was a sprawling glass and metal structure topped with a central dome, and, rumor had it, outfitted with rare botanical specimens from across the Ethyrian continent.
Mireille was bursting at the seams with excited curiosity. There were plants in here that she’d never even seen in real life, had only read about in books.
“You ready?” Ronin paused outside the entrance. A symphony of tinkling glasses, shrieking laughter, and hearty conversation played beyond the doors.
Mireille’s assignments had always felt similar to her ballet performances. They were a chance to be someone else for a night. A chance to shed her baggage. A chance to get out of her own head.
And though this assignment was a bit different—she was playing herself, or at least some heightened version of herself—that familiar thrill fluttered through her stomach.
Tonight, she was Mireille Valette . Prima ballerina and badass bitch.
“Ready.” She squared her shoulders, and Ronin pushed open the doors.
The humidity sighed over her, tightening her scalp as they stepped across the threshold. The greenhouse was kept warm by magical means to protect the plants from Kheimos’s inhospitable conditions.
She’d planned for the heat. Her silky, aquamarine cocktail dress—the color chosen specifically to match Ronin’s tattoos—was sleeveless and dipped into a vee at her sternum. The mid-length skirt fluttered around her shins as they walked into the party. Sweat bloomed on the back of her neck, and she cursed herself for letting Ronin talk her into leaving her hair down.
A small balcony overlooked a ring of stone pavers surrounding several rows of rose bushes, each one dripping with fluffy, baby blue blooms.
She leaned closer to Ronin. “Did you know that blue roses don’t actually exist in nature? They appear in so many other colors: red, white, yellow, pink, peach, even purple. But not blue. I wonder how Otto’s achieved such a beautiful color. Do you think he’s treating the soil?”
Ronin shook his head, staring down at her. “Nerd.”
“What?”
“Nothing. Just curious if this is the kind of information you’re going to regale me with all night. We’re not supposed to be studying the plants. We’re supposed to be studying Otto and the guests.”
Mireille glared at him. “I know that. But there are plants in this building that haven’t thrived on the continent in centuries. Aren’t you the least bit curious?”
He shrugged. “Not really. Plants aren’t the type of thing that turns me on. Now that, however…” He gestured toward a Fae female standing near the low iron fence ringing the rose bushes. She was in quiet conversation with a male, her black and white hair twisted into two buns atop her head. Her dress wasn’t much more than a series of carefully-arranged strips around her chest and hips.
Mireille snorted. “You would be the type of male that gets turned on by a mark. Be careful with that one, though. Layla Fetar would sooner slit your throat than let you get close enough to fuck her for information. Not to mention, she’s already tried to have you killed.”
“I do love the violent ones.” He gripped Mireille’s hand and led her down the wrought-iron staircase into the heart of the party. He swiped a Delirium from the tray of a passing waiter, then cracked the cap off with his teeth. She watched the muscles of his throat work as he drained the bottle and tossed it onto a side table.
“Is that a good idea?”
“Back off, narc,” he grumbled.
She was about to protest, to order him to slow down, but there was an edge of desperation to his tone that she didn’t want to exacerbate.
As they stepped further into the crowd, several heads turned their way, followed by low whispers.
“The Butcher of Aethalia is here.”
“…heard they caged his wolf…”
“…odd sort of couple. I wonder how long they’ve been together…”
“…far more beautiful up close…”
Mireille smiled to herself before realizing that last comment could have been aimed at either of them.
Ronin plucked up another Delirium and Mireille tensed, though she didn’t scold him. Nor did she protest when he grabbed a glass of sparkling pink wine and pressed it into her hand.
Popping bubbles tickled her nose. The drink smelled sweeter than she’d anticipated, like berries and burnt sugar. She took a tentative sip. Delicious. And far too tempting.
She supposed she could say the same about the male standing next to her, sipping his Delirium with a hand resting above the swell of her ass. And just inside the line of her rules.
The conversation around them dampened, and Mireille tilted her gaze toward the balcony.
Otto had arrived.
The Deathstalker was dressed in a tight white suit embroidered with prancing horses. He surveyed his silent guests as he curled long black fingernails over the railing. His popped fangs ruined the intended effect of his warm smile.
“Friends, welcome to the Otto estate!”
The crowd clapped, throwing nervous glances at each other.
“Or the Cathedral of Bones, as some of you so cheekily refer to it.” Otto dipped his head, emitting a laugh that sounded more like a hiss. Several of the braver guests chuckled along with him. “We are sure you are all wondering why you’ve been invited here.”
Ronin circled his thumb against Mireille’s back, a casually intimate gesture. It was making it hard for her to focus on their host. She darted her eyes to Ronin, but his were glued to Otto.
“We assure you that all will be revealed in due time. And if you make it to the end of the week, your minds will be opened, your hearts will be changed, and your souls will be invigorated. It will be an empowering journey, to be sure!”
Ronin tensed beside her, hid it with a sip of his Delirium.
“Here, here!” A Beastrunner male with a shaggy black mane saluted with a glass of the same sparkling pink wine Mireille was drinking. Otto bowed in recognition of the toast.
The crowd murmured excitedly, but a pit of dread formed in Mireille’s stomach. Clearly, they’d all missed the line make it to the end of the week .
Otto clasped his hands in front of his stomach. “The theme of this week is stories. The stories we’ve been told, the stories we tell each other. Even the stories we tell ourselves.”
His eyes flicked to Mireille, and she fought the urge to flinch.
“Throughout the course of our week together, we will endeavor to turn those stories upside down and inside out, an attempt to decipher that which is real and that which is illusion. Delusion, even. The first story begins at sunrise. Until then, please enjoy yourselves.” Otto lifted his hands and his gaze toward the ceiling. “Praise the High Gods!”
Mireille thought she caught a hint of sarcasm in Otto’s final proclamation, but the crowd echoed him, raising their glasses, then turned back to each other to continue their revelry.
“Odd welcome,” Ronin whispered as Otto descended the stairs.
“Yes,” Mireille responded, twirling the stem of her wineglass. “We’ll focus on mingling and listening tonight. Converse with a few of the guests. We can’t approach Otto himself yet and too obviously press our intentions. Let’s start with?—”
She nearly dropped her glass as Ronin dragged her toward their host.
“Otto!”
So much for subterfuge and subtlety. And was Ronin seriously disobeying her already?
Otto swiveled toward Ronin, his black hair gleaming beneath ribbons of bioluminescent moss strung between the trees. His lavender lips turned down ever so slightly before spreading into an amused smile as he slithered toward them, Julius Kosera a hulking shadow at his back.
“The Butcher of Aethalia,” Otto said, his voice fizzy and sibilant. “So pleased that you were able to join us.”
Ronin towered over the Deathstalker—he towered over pretty much everyone at the party save Kosera—and extended a tattooed hand towards him. Otto shook it with a limp wrist.
“Where my female goes, I go.” Ronin nudged Mireille’s elbow, encouraging her to shake Otto’s hand as well. Something bloomed in her chest—something she refused to acknowledge—when Ronin called her his female .
Otto’s hands were cold, his knuckles bulbous and flaky. As if he were molting.
“We are, of course, even more pleased that you were able to join us, dear.” Otto’s forked tongue poked out, catching Mireille’s scent. He dragged his eyes down her dress and she shocked herself by instinctually pressing further into Ronin.
The foursome remained silent for an awkwardly long time, Kosera grimacing at Ronin while Otto regarded Mireille with heated curiosity.
She nearly jumped out of her skin when Ronin ran a hand down her hair, tangling his fingers through the strands. “She is lovely, isn’t she? I don’t know what she sees in a brute like me.”
“Indeed,” Otto mused. Kosera grunted in agreement as his boss turned to Mireille. “Well, if you find yourself needing a break from your brute , come find us. We’d be happy to show you around the galleries.”
“Bet you’ve got some very interesting pieces in there,” Ronin piped up, and Mireille had to stop herself from elbowing him in the ribs. High Gods, he was the worst spy ever . She silently cursed Skanisse for shackling her to him.
“Our collection rivals even that of Emperor Leonin Erabis himself. You let us know when you’re ready for a tour, Mistress Valette.” Otto inclined his head, then sauntered over to another group of guests.
Kosera didn’t immediately follow. Instead, he sidled up to Ronin, crushing a fist in his hand and cracking his knuckles. “Well, if it isn’t the grand champion .”
Ronin huffed a laugh, smirking as he took a sip of his Delirium. “Don’t tell me you’re still bitter about our last fight, Greyhorn. That was what, three decades ago? I thought elephants were the ones who never forget, not rhinoceroses.”
Kosera’s beetle-black eyes glinted with barely restrained fury. “If I’d been able to shift?—”
“But you weren’t.” Ronin squared off against Kosera, shoulders taut. Nearby partygoers cast curious glances in their direction, and Mireille placed a hand on Ronin’s arm. A warning. “You lost fair and square. Go whine about it to someone who gives a shit.”
Kosera smiled, chapped lips pulling back from crooked, yellow teeth. “You think you’re so tough, hiding behind the rules in the arena. That’s the only place a broken bastard like you could ever hope to win. Why don’t you try me now? Fight me outside that ring and see how long you last.”
“Julius!” Otto hissed from across the room.
Kosera glanced over his shoulder, snapping the thread of tension tightening between him and Ronin.
“Looks like your creepy boss needs you.” Ronin smirked, gesturing toward Otto with the tip of his bottle. “Better not keep him waiting.”
Kosera snarled. “Give me a reason. Just one. Fucking. Reason. I dare you. I’m watching you, Butcher.”
“Enjoy the view,” Ronin tossed off as Kosera stalked over to his master.
Mireille grabbed Ronin’s wrist and pulled him down a narrow, leafy pathway into a shaded alcove. “Are you fucking insane? Did you not listen to a word I said earlier? Why are you trying to bait them both ?”
“Relax, Valette.” Ronin guzzled his Delirium, an infuriating portrait of nonchalance. “Those little conversations were all part of my plan.”
“Yeah?” She crossed her arms over her chest. “And what plan would that be, oh wise and terrible spymaster?”
Ronin gazed down at her, still smiling to invoke her fury, his bottle dangling from his tattooed fingers. “Julius is a petty, ineffectual bully. Keeping him focused on his hatred of me will distract him from looking too closely at you .”
Mireille’s hands tightened around her upper arms and she pursed her lips. Not willing to concede that he was making…some kind of sense.
“As for Otto, he needed to see us together. I wanted to make sure he knew I wasn’t scared off by his ill-advised plan to get rid of me at the fight last weekend. Plus, we need to keep stoking his jealousy. He’s salivating over you already. You’ll have him wrapped around your finger in no time.”
“Marking your territory, is that it? Swinging your big dick around?”
“You noticed?” He grinned.
She didn’t know how it was possible, but she flushed redder, even as she lobbed her retort, “Well, try not to trip over it while we go mingle.”
“How are you enjoying the estate so far?”
The shaggy-haired Beastrunner who’d piped up during Otto’s welcome—Nero Beruglia, an ocelot bi-form—eyed Mireille’s cleavage with blatant hunger.
“We haven’t seen much of it yet,” Ronin said, tugging her against his side. “You?”
The trio were standing just inside the entrance to one of the pathways, Mireille’s blue silk dress and silver scar glistening under the glowing moss.
Behind Nero, a jungle of monstrous leaves shined beneath three unique blooms cased in bell jars. Ropey green vines swirled around heart-shaped petals in varying shades of pink. Ronin wondered why they were underneath glass. He probably didn’t want to know.
“It’s fascinating, isn’t it?” Nero burbled with excitement. “Such a treat to be able to see it all in person.”
“Have you come alone?” Mireille's eyes darted to the heart-shaped flowers. She probably knew why they were under glass.
“No, my mate is around here somewhere.” Nero waved his hand, his honey-colored eyes never leaving Mireille. “Probably talking the ear off some poor hostage.”
Mireille emitted a polite, close-lipped laugh. “Are you two friends of Otto’s?”
“Never met the male before in my life. Cecelia and I have been speculating for weeks about why we’d been invited.”
“Do tell,” Ronin chimed in, scanning the party. So far, Otto had been a charming host. He mingled with different groups of guests, regaled them with stories of how he’d acquired his art collection, ensured that glasses were full and food was plentiful.
It was all so fucking… normal . Which had Ronin completely on edge, waiting for the other shoe to drop.
“One of our theories has already been confirmed this evening. I wonder if you can tell what it is, Mistress Valette?” Nero offered a sly smile.
Mireille returned it. “Everyone that’s been invited is either a Beastrunner or a Deathstalker.”
“Not a haughty winged bastard in sight.” Nero chuckled. “Curious, that, don’t you think?”
“You’ve got something against Windriders?” Ronin asked.
“I think the better question is, why do they have something against the rest of us? Just because their elemental magic never faded, does that give them the right to preside over every single territory?” Nero leaned in closer, lowering his voice. “My family are originally from a town on the coast of Akti, west of the Icthians. If my grandparents are to be believed, our ancestors wielded water magic for millennia before the Erabis family consolidated their Imperial power and changed the fabric of Ethyrios. Not saying they were the cause of it fading, but the timing seems rather convenient, don’t you think? How have all the other elemental magics disappeared except for wind?” He glanced out at the party. “I wonder how many other guests here would share a similar story.”
Ronin thought back to what he’d seen at the Crystal, the small seed of fire magic that Mattias had possessed.
Nero sipped his wine. “I, for one, cannot wait to see what Otto has in store for us.”
“What was it the staff said to us when we arrived?” Mireille placed her hand at Ronin’s hip and his wolf shivered. “They hoped we would have an empowering stay.” She turned back to Nero. “You think he’s discovered something about the lost elemental magics?”
“If anyone could, I have a feeling it would be Otto. I suppose we will see, won’t we?” Nero raised his glass, dragging his tongue along the rim in a way that felt ominous. “How did you two meet?”
She looked up at Ronin and he said, “It’s actually a funny story. Would you like to tell it, love?”
He felt her pulse flutter when he called her love, relishing the effect he had on her. Even if she was too High-Gods-damned stubborn to admit it.
“But you tell it so much better than I do.”
Ronin pinched her ass, a chastisement, and she buried her yelp in her wine glass.
“Mireille was my dance teacher.”
Nero’s gaze bounced between them. “Really? You don’t look like the type.”
“Dance is a useful skill for a fighter,” Ronin said. “It’s important to be in tune with your body, to know how to control it precisely. Helps you stay light on your feet, too.”
Mireille looked genuinely impressed by his quick lie. And it wasn’t a complete lie. He had taken dance lessons about a century ago for that very reason.
“Yes,” Ronin continued, tucking Mireille under his arm, “she was so impressed by my skills on the dance floor that she practically begged me to take her out dancing for real.”
“Come now,” Mireille piped up with that mischievous grin that did funny things to his insides. “ You begged me to go out with you.” She winked at Nero. “He liked the way I looked in the leotards.”
“I have no doubt.” Nero’s eyes traveled down Mireille’s body. “Perhaps you could give me lessons some time as well.”
Who is this fool making eyes at our female? Ronin’s wolf growled.
She’s not our ? —
Eat him.
Wrath of Vestan, eating people is not the only way to solve a conflict.
But it’s the most enjoyable way. Come now, fillet this imbecile. Save me his heart.
Trying not to laugh at his wolf, Ronin smiled, really more a baring of teeth than anything else. “I’m afraid her teaching days are over. I’m her only student at the moment.”
Nero sniffed. “Pity. Perhaps a demonstration is in order?” He gestured to the dance floor, where a group of Fae were gyrating to music far more primal than the lyrical melodies that had opened the party.
Ronin imagined taking Mireille’s hand and leading her into the heaving mass of bodies. How she might grind that tortuously perfect ass against his cock in time with the beat. How she might reach up and grab the back of his neck. How he might sink his teeth into her bare shoulder and run his hands all over?—
“Maybe another night,” Mireille answered. “If you’ll excuse us, Nero. Pleasure to meet you.”
She pulled Ronin further down the pathway as he fought to control his pounding heartbeat.
“The other guests are plenty distracted now,” she whispered into his ear, completely oblivious to where his thoughts had strayed. “Let’s go poke around Otto’s wing while we have the chance.”
He downed the rest of his Delirium, an attempt to dull the desire throbbing through his body, and nodded.
“Mmmm.” He ran a thumb across her exposed collarbone. “You wanna sneak around with me?”
“You’re ridiculous.” She shook her head, but that gorgeous color rose on her skin again.
“Are you okay?” He took her wine glass from her. “Did you have too much of this tonight? You looked flushed.”
“I’m fine,” she snapped. “Just worried that now I’ll have to teach you to dance so that when that pompous ass spreads the story of how we met, people will believe it.”
“Oh, you don’t think I can dance, do you?” Ronin snorted. “I will prove you wrong.”
“Waiting with bated breath, Matakos.”
The sarcastic look she gave him was nearly as tempting as her flush. He was starting to look forward to those looks.
“Come on.” He grinned at her. “Let’s go make mischief, love .”