Someone stepped up behind her, and her stomach flipped as a deep, sinuous male voice cooed into her ear, “Hello, Ker.”
She swiveled, nearly crashing her head into the chin of a massive, handsome Beastrunner holding a glowing silver bottle of Delirium.
Ice-blue tattoos glimmered across his forearms, and he wore a prurient smirk, somehow made all the more obscene by the scar snaking out from underneath his black eye patch—the nastiest scar Cassandra had yet seen on a Fae. His single visible eye, a swirl of blue and yellow, darted to the slit in her dress, and as he plucked up her hand, the wordInomdanced across his knuckles. He pressed his full lips to the back of her palm. “Lambros wasn’t exaggerating. You’re exquisite.”
“And spoken for,” Tristan growled, handing her a champagne flute before he hauled her against his body and curled a hand around her hip. She melted against him, reveling in his temporary possessiveness.
“I can smell that,” the male murmured, his nostrils pulsing as his eyes darted below her waist. “Though you might not want to appear so territorial after your brother’s little show.” He pinched her chin, examining her face. “This pretty head would be a shame to lose.”
Cassandra wrenched herself from the male’s grip and pressed back into Tristan, flicking her skirt aside to reveal the hilt of her dagger. “So would yours,” she said with a wolfish grin.
The Beastrunner’s eye glittered as his fingernails lengthened into claws and his canines thickened, sharpening into dangerous points. “Aren’t you a wicked little delight?”
“What do you want, Ronin?” Tristan asked, taking a sip from his bourbon and running a hand up Cassandra’s body. He stroked the side of her breast and she arched into the touch.
Ronin sipped his Delirium, his single eye following Tristan’s finger as it rolled over Cassandra’s nipple. The sharp peak poked at her silk bodice, and she swallowed a moan. “Well, since you don’t want to share your toys, I was hoping for a word.”
Tristan went still behind her. “About what?”
“In private.” Ronin tipped his bottle towards the gardens beyond the windows.
Tristan knocked back his bourbon. “Give us a minute.”
“Pleasure to meet you, Ker.” Ronin’s chin dipped in a slow perusal of Cassandra’s exposed leg as the tip of his tongue caressed one of his thick fangs.
“The pleasure was all yours.” She saluted him with her champagne flute.
“Wicked,” he chuckled before running a hand through his snow-white hair, long on the top and shaved on the sides. “If you ever get bored of this exiled prick…” he tossed over his shoulder as he stalked away.
“Charming,” Tristan snorted.
“Who wasthat?” Cassandra whispered.
“Ronin Matakos, the Butcher of Aethalia. A decrepit old war hero.”
Cassandra would hardly have used the worddecrepitto describe the male.
Tristan stepped away, and she almost whimpered at the loss of his hands on her body. He settled his empty tumbler among the discarded glassware on a nearby high-top. “I should probably go see what he wants. Will you be okay on your own?”
Her heartrate spiked, then slowed as she brushed her knuckles against the hilt of her dagger.
The creatures in this room weren’t the only ones who could bite.
“Do your thing, Birdman. I’ve got my own work to do.”
Tristan’s brows dipped. “Be careful.”
He wrapped a hand around her throat, tilting her chin up, then claimed her mouth in a fierce kiss. His tongue swept past her teeth, and her knees nearly buckled at the combined taste of smoky bourbon and her own earthy arousal.
He planted a gentle kiss on her lips before whispering in her ear, “Don’t forget who you belong to tonight,consort.”
Ripples of pleasure shivered down her spine before he disappeared into the crowd on the dance floor.
She crossed an arm over her chest and held her champagne flute at her waist, trying to ignore the many pairs of eyes and murmured conversations aimed her way.
“Enjoying the festivities, Ker?” A cool hand settled against her bare back and she fought the urge to flinch.
August Lambros leered down at her, fluttering his sapphire wings. “I see Matakos has already lured your master away. What did Ronin want?”
