He’d wait forever, if necessary.
But right now, he was worried about her for a verydifferentreason. Surely it wouldn’t have taken someone as smart as Mireille this long to read that file.
Is she okay in there?he asked his wolf.
Another side-effect of his uncaging—their wolves could sense each other. They couldn’t communicate in words, not like how Ronin and his own wolf conversed in his mind, but they had a general awareness of each other’s presence. Could sense feelings, locations even. And according to his wolf’sverycolorful commentary every time he and Mireille had fucked this past week—a delightfully frequent occurrence—their wolves could feel it, too. The beast had been insatiable ever since.
His wolf let out a small whimper and Ronin tensed.She is…angry.
About what?
I cannot?—
The door to the cabin banged open, then crashed off its hinges onto the porch.
Mireille stood in the doorway, her silver eyes ablaze with fury, the file folder in one hand and her sword in the other, her chest heaving.
“Mireille, what—” Ronin started, then stopped as she raised the sword and stalked down the steps, the wood groaning beneath her furious footfalls.
She paused at the bottom, her wet cheeks glistening in the approaching twilight. She tossed the file folder at his feet, and sheaves of paper spilled onto the dry pine needles.
“Read it,” she snarled.
Ronin’s chest hollowed out. He raised his palms, his wolf growling and scratching at his chest. Acknowledging a new enemy. “Why don’t we just?—”
“Fuckingreadit, Butcher.” A hoarse cry edged in anger and tears.
Ronin’s heart tripled its beat; she hadn’t called him Butcher like that since the day they’d met at IA headquarters.
Mireille gripped the sword, flames licking her fingertips, but didn’t move as Ronin bent down to gather the folder and papers.
He shot her a pleading glance that she met with that all-too-familiar imperviousness. Though something was different about it. It used to be icy, cold.
Now, it was the burning fire of a world-ending rage.
He opened the folder, his muscles twitching from the effort to contain his wolf, who slammed against his chest, desperate to come out and fight.
He shuffled through the papers, his thumb catching on a document that was thicker than the rest.
A death certificate.
His heart stopped beating entirely as he read the scrolling calligraphy, written in both Aramaelish and the common tongue.
Cause of death: Mauled on the battlefield at Aethalia. Casualty of the white wolf.
The folder fell to the ground in a cascading swish, and he raised his eyes to Mireille’s.
In them, he found nothing but the deepest hatred. No fear, though. Pride swelled his chest even as it shattered to pieces.
“You. Fucking.KILLED HIM!” she roared, the sword in her hands shaking violently as her fire swelled, crawling up the blade in a crackling blaze.
Ronin backed up a step, pleading. “I didn’t know,” he choked out. “I didn’t know, Mireille.” His wolf howled, raking claws against his bones, and he could barely hold back the shift. If he let his beast out now, he honestly didn’t know what the creature would do to her.
“You slaughtered him before I even had a chance to—” Her voice broke, and Ronin couldn’t help echoing her tears.
“Please. I didn’t...” An image speared through his panic-fogged mind—a young girl with copper hair, holding the hand of a distinguished-looking soldier with blue-gray eyes. Like a tiny beacon in that sea of human sameness he’d encountered during his vision in the Halfway.
How in Ethyrios hadn’t he known it was her?
