Ronin didn’t dare think too long about why.
“A few months.” Ronin cut his gaze to the circular dais in the center of the room. Two human servants had entered carrying a hefty chair, a throne really, that looked suspiciously like it was stitched together with bones. Whether they were Fae or human, Ronin couldn’t tell from his vantage point. Though truthfully, there was no easy way to tell—human and Fae bones looked exactly the same. Some kind of point to be made there, surely, about the similarities between the two species once all the skin, muscle, blood and magic was stripped away.
“Quite an odd pairing, the two of you,” Layla muttered.
“Really? Why do you think so?”
Layla laughed, a harsh sound that held not a bit of genuine mirth. As cutting as the blades strapped to her thighs. “From what I’ve heard about you, she seems a bitvanillafor your tastes.”
“And what, precisely, would you know about mytastes, Mistress Fetar?”
“Layla, please. And certainly you must know how much the females of Kheimos enjoy their gossip.” She stopped him and tugged on his elbow, encouraging him to lean down. Her lips skimmed his earlobe. “Rumor has it you’re the best fuck in town. Though I’ve also heard you don’t often provide that service more than once.”
Layla gestured with her glass toward Mireille, who was still laughing with Nero. Lucky bastard.
“I’m wondering howthatone finally tamed the notorious Butcher of Aethalia.” Layla wrapped her black lips around the edge of her glass and took a short sip.
Ronin couldn’t get a precise read on Layla. Was she jealous? Surely not. Otto had probably put her up to this, an attempt to seduce him away from Mireille so that the Deathstalker himself could close in.
“The heart wants what it wants.” Ronin shrugged. “I can no more explain that than I can explain why someone as skilled and ambitious as I’ve heard you are would want to work for a rich old billionaire up here on the edge of nowhere. You were a Shadow Maiden for Empress Mila, were you not?”
Layla’s kohl-lined eyes rounded, though only briefly. But enough for Ronin to tell he’d caught her off-guard.
She smoothed over her expression and emitted an amused little laugh. “You’ve been looking into my history? I’m flattered. And impressed. Let’s just say the post no longer suited me, and leave it at that.” Layla grasped his elbow and resumed their walk around the room. “What do you know of Mireille’s personal history?”
Ronin was careful with his answer. He didn’t know much, other than the few crumbs she’d offered him these past weeks. “A bit. Like I said, we’ve only been together for a few months.”
And though he knew he shouldn’t be asking Layla this question—if he wanted to know about Mireille’s history, he should ask her himself, give her the chance to answer in a way that wasn’t filtered through the mouths of their enemies—he couldn’t help himself.
“What doyouknow of her history?”
Layla paused their stroll and stood in front of him, holding her glass against her chest. “She keeping secrets from you, Butcher? Doesn’t sound like a love match to me.”
“Who said she’s keeping secrets from me? I’m just trying to discern how skillful your information mining is.”
Layla gave him a razor-sharp smile. “She is not what she appears to be.”
Ronin’s stomach dropped.
What the fuck didthatmean?
He took a sip of his vodka, an effort to calm his pulse so that Layla wouldn’t be able to read how much she’d thrown him.
“Well, to me she appears to be the most beautiful wolf bi-form in the room. One who seems poised to charm the pants off of your master.” He pointed over Layla’s shoulder, who turned in time to see Otto—looking like a walking skeleton tonight in a black suit decorated with anatomically-correct bones—approach Mireille and pull her away from Nero.
A stab of fear pinched Ronin’s gut. Based on those family trees they’d found in Otto’s office, their host had to know Mireille had been lying at dinner the other night. Would the Deathstalker call her out on it?
Layla turned back to Ronin. “A wolf bi-form, you say?” Her dark eyes twinkled with merriment. And menace. “Are you so sure about that?”
What in Ethyrios was Layla talking about? Ronin knew, without a shadow of a doubt, that Mireille was a wolf. Her scent alone was enough to verify the fact.
But then he remembered that other note in her scent. The one he couldn’t identify. The one that smelled like a flower poised for decay.
“What else would she be?” Ronin countered, hiding his racing heart behind a nonchalant smirk.
“Perhaps you should look a bit deeper before you tie yourself to her.”
Ronin couldn’t discern Layla’s angle. If therewassome massive secret in Mireille’s heritage, why was it so important? And how was it different from the other guests? Perhaps Layla didn’t know herself, and was trying to fish an answer for Otto.
