Mireille aimed for the back of the line, but Ronin tugged her toward the front door. “I’m insulted you thinkIhave to wait in that line.”
He stalked up to the blue rope, nodding to the woolly mammoth Beastrunner bouncer. “Charlie.”
“Mezzanine. VIP section,” Charlie boomed in a bass-deep voice, his auburn curls dotted with snowflakes. “He’s been waiting for you.”
Charlie unlatched the rope, and as his russet eyes slid to Mireille, he let loose such a high-pitched squeal that several Faein the line covered their ears. “Mireille Valette! What are you doing here? Especially with this cretin.”
Ronin scoffed. “You’rea fan of the ballet?”
Charlie ignored him, towering above Mireille and clutching her hand, his eyes shining with adulation. “It is such an honor to have you here. I attendedThe Curse of Fauranalast month and you were magnificent. That final solo? I was in tears.”
Charlie ushered her and Ronin past the barrier, earning a few half-hearted murmurs of frustration from the hopeful club-goers. Ronin flashed a wicked grin, elongating his fangs. Many of them cowered.
“If that uncultured beast gives you any trouble tonight, you let me know.” Charlie called after her. “And your drinks are on the house.”
“Thanks, Charlie!” Ronin tossed back.
“Not yours,” the mammoth grumbled. “Just hers.”
“Thanks, Charlie!” Mireille mimicked, and Ronin shook his head, amused, before pushing open the red leather door and crossing the threshold into throbbing bedlam.
The Frosted Crystal resembled a wintry circus, the ceiling’s red-and-white-striped fabric billowing around a glittering sphere of ice, kept magically frozen.
Throughout the room hung metal cages and rings hosting beautiful male and female performers, their sparkling outfits barely covering their intimate bits.
Ronin shoved through the dance floor, a sweaty, gleaming mass of half-naked bodies writhing to the droning beats. A translucent crystal bar spanned the entire left half of the club, and an array of sinfully attractive bartenders in a state of perpetual motion attempted to serve the patrons wavingdrachasat them.
Above the bar and dance floor, a glass-walled mezzanine ringed the room. Ronin scanned the shadowy alcoves, his gazecatching in the furthest corner, then dragged Mireille through the mob and up a metal staircase.
Once they reached the alcove, Ronin plopped onto the red velvet banquette across from a skinny male Beastrunner—coyote by the scent—with a spiky green mohawk.
A cigarette dangled from the male’s lip, wafting an unmistakable smoky, licorice smell.
Lethaphyll.
So named for the Goddess of Oblivion, because consuming too much was just as bad as visiting one of those Shrouded Sisters at her Temples throughout the colonies.
Say goodbye to those memories.
The male’s bloodshot squint informed Mireille that he was well on his way to a visit from the Stranger.
“Mataaaaaaahkos.” His shoulders shook with silent laughter.
“Beezie,” Ronin chuckled. “You start the party without us?”
“Man, you were s’posed to be here an hour ago.” The male tried to blow out a breath between his lips but ended up making an extended raspberry sound.
“Are we really gonna learn anything from this guy?” Mireille whispered, leaning down to Ronin and definitelynotbreathing in his iced citrus and pine scent.
“He’s always like this.” Ronin tugged Mireille into his lap.
Right. They were in public. Had to put on their show.
Mireille wondered how much Ronin had told…Beezie?
She tried not to melt as Ronin curled his hand around her waist, resting his thumb on her bare hip. “Beezie? What kind of name isthat?”
Ronin’s warm huff rumbled through her, and that coupled with the scene she’d witnessed earlier had her mind—and her wolf—conjuring some spectacularly filthy images.
