Leaning his head back, Ronan let out a deep, guttural groan. What had he done to be named the leader of these imbeciles?
Well to be fair, they were drunk.
Still...
He held Mischief’s hand-carved, dark wooden bow in his fist. “I’m confiscating this, Missy.”
“I hate when you call me that.” With her gold eyes flashing her ire, she sat down hard on the ground, then ran her hand through the straw. “Why are we in a stable? I thought we were in a brothel.”
Cadoc lifted his hand to point in Ronan’s general direction. “His fault. I think. What were we talking about? I thought I was taking bets in a card game. Or a wizard game. Or something.”
Ronan shook his head. Only for Dash would he suffer this. Otherwise, he’d have left these two to sleep off their ale in the comfort of the whorehouse he’d found them in.
Humans...
They were a special breed. Though to be fair, it took a lot of ale to knock Mischief into oblivion. Marauders didn’t normally get quite sohappy. Her people were known for their sword skill, ferocity and ability to cut the throats of anyone who got in their way—even when they were knee deep in their cups. Honestly, he hadn’t seen her this drunk since they were kids, and Dove had dared her into a drinking contest that had ended with her dinner on Dove’s boots.
And it’d been a while since he’d last seen her. She was still beautiful. Even with her face paint smeared over her dark skin, and her braids tangled with straw.
Of course, it helped that for once she wasn’t stern and frowning.
Nor was she cooperating.
Ronan grabbed her before she headed back to the whorehouse he’d just dragged her out of. “No, you don’t.”
“Stop being a kill flint... joy flint... a?—”
“Fun sucker,” Cadoc supplied.
“That’s it! I paid good coin for that hard cock, and I’d like to have it.”
Losing patience, Ronan looked up to where Chrysis was still hiding. “Could you take human form and help me out, Chrys?”
“Could. Rather not.”
Why was she always so impossible? “Please?”
She shook her crow head. “You know how I feel about that.”
He glared at her and her ever insistence to remain as a crow no matter what. “We’re the same species.”
“Don’t insult me. You might be a Vairloche, but?—”
“What? Just because you choose to live solely as a crow doesn’t make you a different species. You can shape-lock all you want, but you’re still a shifter, same as me.”
That literally ruffled her feathers. With a shrill caw, she refused to turn human. “I hate you, Ronan.”
“That line forms to the left and wraps around the countryside. Now give us a hand, love.”
Grimacing, she flew toward Mischief. “Why are they drunk anyway?”
Mischief laughed as Chrysis landed in the straw next to her. “We’re celebrating. It’s my birthday.”
“It’s not your birthday.” Chrysis scowled at Ronan. “Is she so drunk she doesn’t know?”
“Probably.”
“I know.” Cadoc held up his arm. Then he lowered it and frowned. “No, I don’t. What were we talking about again?”
