Fool, his wolf snarled back.Are you so certain they are not marching you toward True Death?
They haven’t killed us yet. They won’t today. Probably.
Ronin wished the creature would calm the fuck down. It would likely be hours until Ronin could get his hands on another Delirium.
The Windrider stopped before a large vault door, then pressed a palm against a black pad in the center. A series of clicks followed by a reverberating clank echoed, and the male twisted the circular handle before hauling the door open to reveal a cavernous space.
White lights flowed overhead and flecks of green glimmered along the curved concrete walls—a nessite treatment to suppress elemental wind magic. And the High Gods knew what other types of wards and spells were in place to deactivate opticorders or listening devices.
Cloak-and-dagger shit, indeed.
Metal scraped across the floor, and Ronin grunted as the Windrider shoved him into a chair across from Hugo Skanisse. The High Councilor’s sky-blue feathered wings drooped over his own chair, positioned in front of a tower of shipping containers. Skanisse had a round face, pink cheeks and slick blond hair with too much product in it. He looked like an overgrown baby angel wearing a plastic helmet.
“You’re late,” the High Councilor squeaked, completing the cherubic effect.
Ronin fought the urge to roll his eyes at his third scolding in less than ten minutes, then dragged his hands up the shaved sides of his head. “Apologies. I got caught up.”
Caught up in the moans of that Windrider waitress—fuck, he didn’t even remember her name—as she’d come apart beneath him mere hours ago.
Her name was Sharae, his wolf chuffed, and Ronin silently shushed the beast.
“I do hope you’ll be more punctual during this assignment.” Skanisse puffed his feathers.
“Where am I escorting you this time, boss?”
Lips pinched like a petulant toddler, Skanisse shook his head. “I’m not the one you’ll be watching over.” He hooked a thumb over his shoulder. “She is.”
The female who stepped out from behind the shipping containers had the straightest posture Ronin had ever seen, her shoulders pushed back and her head floating above her long neck as if dangling from a taut string. Not a single strand escaped her coppery red bun, and underneath her jacket and duffel bag, white leg warmers peeked out over her boots.
Another wolf bi-form based on her scent, that unmistakable musk of fur and pheromones. But hers had something soft and cloyingly sweet underneath. Like a flower at peak maturity before decay kissed its petals.
Her silver eyes landed on him as she skidded to a halt, clenching her fists at her sides.
When she spoke, her voice was lovely and melodic, despite her cutting words. “Absolutely not.” She clutched the collar of her jacket, her gaze darting to the bunker door in search of a swift exit.
“Sit down, Agent Valette,” Skanisse barked. “We’ve already discussed this. You don’t have a choice in the matter.”
Ronin’s brows rose as recognition barreled through him. He’d seen that stunning face before, peering out at him from posters and bus stands and store windows throughout the city.
Mireille Valette. The prima ballerina of the Kheimos Company.Shewas an Imperial Affairs agent?
What the fuck kind of meeting was this?
She stiffened at Skanisse’s reprimand, then blew out an annoyed breath, dropped her bag, and peeled off her jacket. From across the room, Ronin’s Windrider escort ogled the miles-long, black-clad legs beneath her gauzy pink skirt. Not that Ronin could blame him.
The advertisements paled in comparison.
In person, she was all sharp lines and angles—a cold, aristocratic beauty that sliced like a knife. And he imagined many,manymales would line up and beg to bleed.
She took a seat next to Skanisse, who said, “Mireille, this is?—”
“Ronin Matakos. TheButcher.”
Most of the Fae who referred to him by that nickname did so in some combination of fear or awe.
Neither were present in her greeting. In fact, he thought he noticed a twinge of disgust. She raked her ice-pale gaze across his disheveled attire. “I don’t need a fucking partner, Hugo. I’ve already?—”
Skanisse held up a hand, cutting her off, and turned to Ronin. “Mistress Valette is one of the IA’s most, if not our absolute most, skilled field agents.”
