“Not too bad at all, Matakos.”
CHAPTER TWENTY-SEVEN
The cocktail hour before the seance was a more animated affair than the previous two nights’ gatherings. As if the whispers of Otto’s return, performer in tow, had stirred the guests into an excited frenzy.
Ronin thought they were a bunch of short-sighted, power-hungry idiots.
He and Mireille had decided to mingle separately tonight, to probe the histories of the guests, see if they could figure out what those question marks on their family trees had signified.
They were also keeping their ears open for mentions of locations around the estate that could bewhere death feeds life and life feeds death.
Ronin hadn’t learned anything useful during the three hours of inane conversation he’d already subjected himself to, so he was taking a well-earned break.
The main ballroom spanned the entire length of the west wing. More a cave than a ballroom, the room was entirely black and lit only by flames dancing in marble braziers. Outside the few large windows, the first iridescent hints of the Scales of Nyctima swirled over the Blackspurs.
But the room’s most unnerving feature was its thick glass floor, so clear it gave the impression of walking on air. Many of the guests were keeping their eyes aimed upward, and he’d seen more than a few near stumbles, many hands grasping elbows.
Ronin thought it perhaps just another of Otto’s tactics to keep his guests off-kilter.
Mireille didn’t seem to have any trouble navigating, even in the ridiculously high heels she was wearing.
Not that Ronin was watching her like a creep from across the room or anything.
And even if he was, it was only in a professional and strictly platonic capacity as her protector, partner and recently-crowned friend.
No, he certainlywasn’ttucked between two blazing braziers, sipping at a tumbler of iced vodka and monitoring her every move. She flitted between groups of smartly-dressed Fae, most of whom had worn black for the High God of Death. Ronin wondered whether they’d selected their outfits before they knew the entire room was black. It was like looking into a sea of floating heads.
Mireille was wearing another skin-fucking-tight dress, on theme in black, with a high neckline. Her right arm was concealed beneath the sole long sleeve. He suspected it had been a purposeful choice, to hide her scar from their host, discourage any furtherinspection. The hem barely covered her ass, and her legs looked miles long, especially in those crimson heels.
He tracked multiple males—and several females—eying her legs with a hunger that surely mirrored his own. And every time he caught someone looking, his wolf growled a warning.
One he didn’t bother shushing. He just let the possessiveness sear through his veins. Hoping that maybe if he didn’t fight the feeling, it would go away.
It wasn’t fucking working.
Why are you standing here doing nothing?his wolf ground out.They should all have their eyes gouged out for staring at her like that.
Ronin snorted.You’ve got a lot to learn about modern ideals, my friend. You can’t just blind everyone who looks at your female.
So you are admitting she is our female?Finally.
That’s not what I?—
Another female broke through his laser-focused line of sight to Mireille, slinking toward him in a dress with even less fabric. He thought he also caught the glint of a knife through the left slit in her dress. Then realized it was definitely a knife when he caught another glint through the right slit.
“Butcher,” Layla Fetar purred as she approached, lifting her amber drink in a toast. “I don’t believe we’ve yet had the pleasure.”
Ronin reluctantly tore his gaze from Mireille, who’d just let out a bubbling little laugh at some inanity being spewed by Nero Beruglia. It looked like she was about to place her hand on Nero’s shoulder, and Ronin silently thanked the High Gods for Layla’s distraction.
“Mistress Fetar.” He lifted his glass to return her salute. “Are you sure about that? Heard a rumor you were at my fight last weekend.”
Her black-painted lips curved into a coy smile. “Take a walk around the room with me?”
She extended her hand and he offered her an elbow.
“So, you and Mireille Valette. How long has that been a thing?” Layla dug her sharp fingernails into his forearm.
He was surprised at his wolf’s silence. Layla was undeniably beautiful. And smelled delicious. Exactly the type of female that would usually have his wolf salivating, but there wasn’t a hint of movement or even a peep from the creature.
