“You are too kind, Master Otto.” She dipped her chin, peeking up at him through her lashes as he pressed closer.
“Jurgev,” he exhaled.
“Jurgev.” She licked her lips. “I look forward to our private meeting tomorrow. Though I’m quite worn out at the moment. Probably best if I rest up?” She slid a hand up his arm and he let out a quivering breath.
“Of course,” he conceded with an expectant smile. “Sweet dreams, Mireille.”
His serpent’s eyes crawled over her flesh during her entire long walk out of the ballroom.
CHAPTER THIRTY
Mireille returned to the guest wing, then pressed her hand to the panel outside their door. “Ronin?” she called out as it swung open.
The main room was quiet. And cold. He hadn’t lit the fireplace.
The armchairs were empty, as was the bed. Which was still made and seemed unruffled. Relief rushed through her.
“Ronin.”
A rumbling grunt came from the bathroom as she opened the door, her hand flying to her mouth.
Ronin slumped in the bathtub, fully clothed, his long legs stretched out beneath the water and his white dress shirt plastered to his impressive torso. His tattooed muscles peeked through the transparent fabric.
His suit jacket was strewn across the floor and four empty bottles of Delirium perched on the lip of the tub.
A fifth, half-empty itself, was clasped in his massive fist, stopped halfway to his lips. His blue-yellow irises were tiny rings around his blown-out pupils.
The corner of his mouth kicked up as Mireille approached.
“My little she-friend,” he slurred, wet strands of white hair clinging to his black eyebrows. “I mean, my girl-wolf.” He shook his head and cackled, tipping over the bottle and spilling glowing Delirium into the bathwater.
“What are you… Ronin, what happened?” She knelt beside the tub, the floor cold and damp against her knees. Not cold.Freezing.
How long had he been sitting in here like this? She plucked the bottle from his fingers and he didn’t protest. Just stared at her face, blinking, water beading in his dark eyelashes.
“Amatu save me, you’re the most exquisite thing I’ve ever seen,” he breathed out, and her face flamed. “Are you real?” He brushed wet fingers against her cheek, jolting in disbelief. “Youarereal. My fucking lucky night.”
His eyes were glazed and hooded, and as he attempted to lift himself out of the tub, his arms gave out and he crashed down, sending a wave over the lip and soaking Mireille’s black dress.
“Sorry,” he giggled.
Tears prickled the backs of Mireille’s eyes. It was gut-wrenching to see him struggle like this. He’d been doing so well, avoiding Delirium for the past few days. He must have seen something truly awful during the seance to have gone overboard like this.
She rounded the tub, then bent down to snake her arms underneath his armpits. “Okay, Matakos. Come on. Get up.”
“Why?” he shivered, trying to wriggle out of her grasp. “I like it in here. It’s… well, itwaswarm.” His teeth began chattering, as if he’d just noticed how cold the water had become.
“Up.” Mireille hauled him to his feet. She didn’t know how in Ethyrios she managed it—Ronin was six-and-a-half feet of solid muscle and fuckingheavy—but she was able to help him out of the tub without either of them slipping.
He stood, swaying slightly and pulling at his shirt. “Why’s my shirt look funny? I can see my nipples.” He howled with laughter, tipping backwards, and Mireille rushed over to steady him.
“Okay, let’s get you out of these wet clothes” —his eyebrows shot up and his lips curved into a grin— “and into some dry ones.” He pouted, but didn’t protest as she slung his arm over her shoulder and marched him into the bedroom.
She planted him at the end of the bed, then guided his hands to the footboard. “Hold on to this.”
“Mmmm.” His hum was a deep, surprisingly seductive sound given the state he was in. “I like where this is heading.”
“I’m going to undress you,” she stated.
