The backs of Mireille’s eyes prickled. As if she wasn’t already ruffled by the thought of working with Ronin fucking Matakos, the IA had to throw this at her as well?
She tucked a hand into her pocket, curling her fingers around the ballerina figurine as the memory of another note, one containing an unfulfilled promise, rose in her mind.
For my little pup. I’ll see you soon.
Mireille bit back her tears, refused to show them to these two frustrating males. There’d be plenty of time to indulge her feelings later. Alone.
“I’m in,” she pronounced to Skanisse, then tucked the card back into the envelope and placed it in her bag, darting a look at Ronin.
Unguarded devastation twisted his irritatingly perfect features as he clutched his own card. She wondered what they’d offered him, but didn’t bother asking. He’d probably lie about it anyway.
He swallowed, then composed himself before crushing the card in his fist. “I need some time to think about it.”
A burst of panic tore through her chest. Now that she knew how high her own personal stakes were, sheneededthis assignment. And she’d be damned if she let the smarmy asshole sitting across from her jeopardize that.
Skanisse pushed up from his chair, then snapped his fingers. “Piretti.” The black-winged Windrider bustled over to hand a file folder to Mireille. “Profiles of Otto and his associates, plus any information the IA has gathered about the inner workings of his estate. The Cathedral of Bones, they call it. Whatever you can’t learn from that file, you can research in the archives. Study up.”
The High Councilor strode for the vault door, Piretti hustling behind him, then called out over his shoulder. “Oh, and Matakos? You’ve got three days before that offer expires. Choose wisely. If you refuse, this mission will not launch. And if it goespoorly, therewillbe consequences. For all of us. Piretti will wait to escort you out of the building when you’re ready.”
Skanisse ushered Piretti through the door, then hauled it shut with an ominous thud.
Mireille and Ronin surveyed each other. A silent stand-off between two immovable, opposing forces, each a weapon in their own right. And both savvy enough to know that whoever spoke first would lose the upper-hand.
A vein jumped in his jaw, and his marbled eyes swirled with emotions she couldn’t decipher.
She held up the file folder. “You wanna look through this before you make your decision?”
He shook his head, cracking his knuckles with his thumbs. The popping sound set her teeth on edge, but she tried not to show it as she noted the phrase tattooed there in Aramaelish, the ancient language of the Fae.
Inom Than. Become Death.
The caging of a Beastrunner’s animalwasa kind of death, she supposed, and a twinge of sympathy gripped her. Though it swiftly curdled at his refusal to accept the assignment.
“Don’t fuck this up for me, Matakos.” She stood from her chair. “I’ve tangled with enough entitled assholes to last a lifetime. I don’t particularly want one for a partner, but if that’s the hand I’ve been dealt, so be it. Be a good boy and play along.”
He drew himself out of his own chair and prowled toward her. Instinct had her stepping away until her back crashed against a shipping container. She squared her jaw as she stared up at him, her wolf whining quietly within her.
He slammed a hand against the metal, and the clang reverberated throughout her body. Elongating his canines, he bent down to sniff her neck where her pulse had grown frightened, fluttery wings. Even caged, those teeth could do major damage.
“Do you know whatI’vetangled with enough of to last a lifetime?” he growled as the edge of a fang coasted over her skin, inspiring an uncontrollable shiver. “Little she-wolves who think they can order me around. Though I do love how delicious they taste when they’re scared.” He lowered his voice. “My favorite fucking prey.”
He pushed away from the container and stalked toward the exit.
What a delightful barbarian, her wolf purred.I think Iwantto be his prey.
“Where are you going?” Mireille choked out, struggling to calm herself and ignore her wolf.
He didn’t answer, merely pounded on the bunker door then stalked out as soon as Piretti opened it.
She sagged against the shipping container, gulping stale air into her heaving lungs.
Fuck this. If having a partner meant dealing with the terrible, relentless uncertainty of depending on someone other than herself, then Mireille could do without one.
She gathered up the folder, left the bunker, and headed for the archives hall to begin her research.
CHAPTER FOUR
“Got himself banished to the colonies, is what I heard.”
