“Ah ah ah,” Skanisse crooned, cocking the pistol. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. There’s a legion of Imperial soldiers surrounding us, waiting to strike on my command. You can either come with me willingly, accept your fate, or I can order them to put you down.”
She thought he was bluffing until a new wave of scents reached her nose. At least a hundred Fae, mostly Windriders, as well as the metallic, fiery tang of Typhon steel. Along with the rustling murmurs of shifting feet, the whine of swords arcing through the air.
“You might have even gotten away, had we not discovered those documents Sonya stole last week.”
She growled, sitting back on her haunches, blood and saliva dripping from her fangs. The tiny, non-bestial part of her, barely a drop within an ocean of wild rage, was wracked by guilt for endangering Sonya, who’d stuck her neck out for her so many times.
“Your ignorance of your own history was the only reason you weren’t locked up years ago. Though it did prove rather useful to take down Otto. You always were the most successful of my agents.”
Her eyes darted madly, seeking any escape, even as that tiny part of her wanted to ask Skanisse what had happened to Ronin. She knew she hadn’t killed him with her final strike. Had watched as he’d fled, blood gushing from his blistered eye socket.
Clanking echoed through the pines as the soldiers surrounded the clearing, their Typhon broadswords glinting in the sun.
“Time to embrace your cage, Mireille.” Hugo raised the pistol higher.
She leapt for him, refusing to go down without a fight.
He pulled the trigger.
The last sound she heard as the energy blast consumed her, paralyzing her limbs and crashing her to the ground, was her own whimpering whine.
So, she closed her eyes, and let the darkness swallow her.
It had always been her fate, after all.
CHAPTER FORTY-FOUR
Voices outside the door woke Ronin from his piss-poor slumber.
Other than that first week he’d arrived back at his family cottage in Denevrae—blind in one eye and nearly bleeding out—he hadn’t been able to get more than a few, restless hours.
Selene had healed him as best she could, begging him to tell her what had happened.
He refused to say a word. Wasn’t ready to share any of his final, painful moments with Mireille with anyone, even the sister whom he loved, and who loved him so dearly that she’d tried everything to save his eye.
She couldn’t, in the end.
Honestly, it was lucky Mireille hadn’t killed him. Any deeper of a slice and that flaming blade might have pierced his brain, delivering True Death in one brutal, hate-filled stroke.
A part of him, a part that was growing smaller and smaller with each passing day, hoped that maybe she’d held back on purpose.
He groaned as he lifted himself up onto his elbows, pain pounding through his skull. He reached up to touch his bandages, found them sticky and wet with pus.
His wolf hadn’t said a word since they’d returned. Ronin counted it a blessing. Though he was still furious with the creature for forcing the shift, he was grateful he’d gotten them to safety. And thanks to Selene’s skills as a healer, he’d likely have centuries to repair his relationship with the beast.
He couldn’t say the same for Mireille. Whenever he thought about her, a stabbing pain lanced through his chest and the tears that rose to his injured, vacant eye socket stung nearly as badly as his battered heart.
She’d called him a monster. Aftershewas the one who’d assured him he wasn’t. She was the only person who’d ever said it that he believed, including Selene. And to have it rescinded…
He shook the thought away as the voices outside his bedroom—his fuckingchildhoodbedroom—grew louder.
He sat upright, the blanket falling from his bare chest as Selene opened the door. Ronin startled at who accompanied her.
“Layla?” he said, his voice raw and scratchy.
The honey-badger bi-form was dressed quite differently than the last time he’d seen her, in an elegant cream top and tailored black pants, her typical leather uniform discarded. Save for that corseted belt of Typhon throwing knives. Seemed some things never changed, regardless of who she was working for.
She leaned down to inspect his wound, her smooth black and white waves tickling his chest.
