Chapter 8 Maverick #2
She nodded, beaming from ear to ear. She was devastatingly beautiful in her element. “My home lab kit isn’t much, but it’s adaptable. I used my compact glass terrarium as the base and enchanted ice crystals to create a perpetual winter inside. I’ve got the first seedling growing now.”
He couldn’t help but admire her. She was smart, resourceful, and determined, but she was a distraction. He needed to stay focused on the mission and not on the naughty ways he wanted to worship her.
Maverick cleared his throat and forced himself to look away from Zera’s radiant smile. “That’s impressive,” he said, trying to sound nonchalant. “So, how does a pixie bartender wind up with such a… unique little hobby?”
“It’s not just a little hobby.” Her face soured, and Maverick marveled at how beautiful she still looked when she was mad at him. Perhaps even more than when she wasn’t. “And, if you must know, I have a degree in faeology and alchemical sciences. Sort of.”
“What do you mean ‘sort of’?”
“It’s a long story I’d rather not get into right now,” she said with a grimace. “When do we head out?”
Maverick smirked at her abrupt change of topic, unable to resist the temptation to tease her. “Oh, don’t worry, Pixie Professor. I’m sure we’ll have plenty of time during our tasks today to engage in lengthy discussions about your ‘sort of’ degree.”
Zera shot him a glare that he took as a challenge. The glint in her eyes only fueled his desire to push her buttons even further.
The tension between them grew with every exchanged glance and snarky retort.
Despite his best effort, Maverick found it increasingly difficult to deflect and conceal his growing attraction for Zera.
Her wit and independence both fascinated and infuriated him, making it impossible for him to get anything done.
Even after breakfast, she demanded to wash her own dish, though he insisted on doing it for her. She said something about it being the least she could do after he’d made the breakfast or some other excuse.
Her stubbornness would be the bane of his existence, though he had to admire her tenacity. It had only been twenty-four hours since she’d been separated from her son, and she was worried about doing the dishes.
Once they were ready to go, Maverick led the way out of the penthouse and down the elevator to the lobby.
His plan to hand off the faestones to the were-chameleons worked perfectly.
Zera was too busy explaining to him how, as a mom on a single income, she didn’t have the luxury of eating out at the Crystal like he did or living in a rich penthouse like his and how it must be nice to live the faeboy lifestyle.
Little did she know this wasn’t him at all.
Perhaps she would one day see that, but right now his truth wasn’t important.
They arrived in the fashion district in minutes, and Maverick reveled in Zera’s continued confusion, the anticipation of what was to come only adding fuel to their already heated dynamic.
“A clothing store?” she asked skeptically when he ushered her into the upscale boutique.
Maverick leaned in close, savoring the way it caused an uptick in her heart rate even though she wouldn’t admit to it.
“If I’m such a faeboy,” he whispered in her ear, “isn’t it time you started dressing like my fae-woman?”
The remark awarded him a sarcastic side glance from Zera as she shoved him back. “You wish.”
He chuckled, holding the door open and allowing her to enter first.
Inside the boutique, mannequins displayed the latest fashions, and soft music played in the background. But it wasn’t the usual fashion they were on a mission for. He approached the statuesque woman behind the checkout counter with fiery red hair, slicked into a pile of curls on top of her head.
“Dane!” She greeted them with a warm smile when she looked up from her work. “It’s been too long.”
“It has,” he replied, grinning as he wrapped an arm around Zera’s waist. No time like the present to get into character. Though Felice was an acquaintance of his alias and he trusted her to protect her own, he didn’t trust her with Zera’s secrets. “This is Charlotte, my wife.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, Charlotte,” Felice said, her siren voice melodic and enchanting, as she extended a slender, bejeweled hand to Zera.
“Likewise,” Zera replied, shaking her hand politely.
Felice flicked her gaze over Zera appraisingly. Maverick smirked at the way Zera squirmed under the scrutiny. He knew the siren could probably see right through their ruse, but she wouldn’t pry. Dane had given her too much business for her to ask questions.
“Let me show you some of our more exclusive collections,” Felice suggested, leading them farther into the store.
“Are we really going clothes shopping?” Zera asked, her voice barely above a whisper.
“Not exactly.” Maverick gave her an amused look. “The siren does design ordinary clothes, but her exclusive collection involves weaponry. Magic that will help you defend yourself during our missions.”
She gawked at him. He just laughed and continued through a more private section in the back of the boutique.
Maverick took a seat on a luxurious couch beside the dressing room while Zera examined the clothes Felice had chosen for her, each piece stylish yet laced with hidden weaponry.
He admired how Zera handled herself even while posing as his wife.
She was strong, independent, and a devoted mother—traits he found himself envying, especially since he would never have that life.
Then he remembered she was a pixie. A con artist. Even if she did seem different from the pixie who’d tricked him when he was younger, he knew deep down she would always deceive him in the end. It was his curse. That and the curse of being the only lone wolf in a pack world.
But then, Zera had saved his life many times, hadn’t she? And she had every reason to hate him, yet she still had his back. Perhaps there was hope that maybe this could be real.
“Will this actually protect me?” Zera asked skeptically, holding up a sleek black dress with a low-cut back he was certain would hug her like a glove.
“Trust me,” Felice assured her with a knowing smile. “Each piece is designed to be both fashionable and functional.”
As Zera disappeared into the dressing room to try on the clothes, Maverick took the opportunity to speak privately with Felice.
“So… how have things been around here?” he asked, hoping to ease into the questions he really wanted to ask.
Felice gave him a withering look. “Please, Dane. You insult me with small talk?” The siren knew all too well why he’d come here. It was one of her many gifts. “Let’s skip the formalities and get to what you want to know.”
Maverick shifted forward in his seat. “Do you remember when I came to you the last time?”
“I remember you were on an intel mission with that—oh, what’s his name—Gareth, the arms dealer?”
He nodded. “That’s the one. Well, he attacked me and my wife while we were at dinner the other night.”
“He’s back?” Her eyes widened.
“You didn’t know?” he asked, shocked that someone like her, who had ears everywhere, hadn’t heard.
She shrugged. “It’s never come up.”
He chewed his lip in thought. If Gareth was back, wouldn’t he have made more noise about it? Unless whoever he was working for now was keeping a low profile. Maverick couldn’t shake the feeling that there was something bigger at play, something far more dangerous than Gareth alone.
“But,” Felice began, her fingers tapping absently on the rack of clothes beside her, “rumor has it that there’s a bounty on your head.”
Maverick looked up to meet her piercing gaze. “Have you heard anything about it? Do you know if Gareth’s behind it?”
Felice shook her head. “Only rumors, nothing concrete. People are talking, but no one seems to know anything for sure.”
Maverick frowned at the lack of information. He needed something more substantial if he was going to track down Gareth. “What about anyone he might’ve been in contact with after I put him out of business?”
“After that, Gareth went dark. No one heard from him.” Felice thought for a moment before she said, “But there are whispers of a new player taking over, someone with his talons in everything—drugs, weapons, fae trafficking, money laundering, even the government. He’s making quite a name for himself. Might be worth looking into.”
“Do you have a name or know where I might find a lead? Someone who could make an introduction?”
“He goes by Kraven. There’s a gala tonight, hosted by a notorious underground figure. It’s a gathering of the city’s most influential criminals, the perfect opportunity to dig for information. I can get you an invitation.”
Maverick raised an eyebrow, impressed by Felice’s seemingly endless connections. “Sounds like just the kind of party we need. Thank you.”
“I should warn you, though. Kraven should not be underestimated. His power in the Fae Realm is ever growing, his influence formidable, and he’s dangerous. Did you hear about the bodies found in the Shadowood Forest?”
“You mean the fae that were found skinned alive?”
She nodded, and a chill ran down Maverick’s spine. He’d seen the news about it a few months ago.
“From what I hear, that’s what happens to fae who cross him, and the authorities won’t even dare question him,” she said, her grave expression conveying even she was scared of him. “So if I were you, I’d be careful.”
“I will take that under advisement,” he said, grateful for the information.