In tandem, we glare at the intruder.
Nikolai Volkov is standing just inside the door, hands in the pockets of his black jeans, gray eyes on the performing couple now fading under the dimming lights. The wicked scar carving a lightning bolt from his left ear to his temple and slicing his eyebrow in half is what strikes me first. The second is his foreign-blooded beauty. He puts evenmeto shame.
I wouldn’t be surprised if he and Poppy…
Realization crests the horizon of my awareness as his focus slides to her, completely skipping me. She didn’t want me here to feel less afraid like I thought she did. I know I’m not here to protect her; she can handle being her own white knight.
No, I’m here to make her ex-fuckboy jealous.
Bitter rage rears its spiteful head. I let it shove me back, back into my own mind. Where I hide in the shadows and watch.
WHIPLASH
Poppy
Brontë tenses, all of his limbs locking into place. His attention is magnetized to the assassin. He’s not just pissed; he’slivid.
As am I. For the first time in too long, I was actually enjoying myself.
“You look exquisite,printsessa,” Nik drawls. “You didn’t have to dress up just for me.”
“The only person I ever dress for isme.” I sip my drink and drape my arm over Brontë’s broad shoulders. “Hope you don’t mind the company.”
“The more the merrier, no? Brings back old memories.”
It does, but I don’t admit it aloud. We’ve been in this room together countless times. Watching the show while touching and teasing each other. Inviting the actors to join us when their performances were done.
Nik dons his cocky grin as my jaw remains shut. “I’m aware I interrupted a moment, so I’ll be quick.” He strolls over with slow steps, pausing a few short feet away. From the inner lining of his jacket, he draws something ivory and holds it out for me to take it. “Look familiar?”
“Unfortunately.”
I take the demonic skull mask, feeling Brontë’s eyes shift down with mine. The ice in his limbs thaws. He skims his fingertips over the bonesewn onto a plain black balaclava. Unlike the poppet we found in Margot’s belongings at St. Aurelius’s, he recognizes the mask.
“Context, Volkov,” Brontë growls. “Spit it out.”
For the first time since slinking in here, the assassin looks at the coroner. A still moment passes in which neither of them blink. Hell, I don’t think they evenbreatheas they remain trapped in this impressively hot yet entirely immature glaring contest.
“We don’t have time for this alphahole bullshit.” I wave the mask like a white flag between them. “Nikolai, explain.”
Nik splits his eyes from Brontë and sews them onto me. “Someone slipped that under my apartment door the morning I called. Vlad and Kai received the same before joining Leviathan’s ranks. Along with this.” He hands over a small card with a series of coordinates stamped in the middle.
My lips purse. “What is this?"
"By my understanding, it's a sort of invitation. If I go, I'm agreeing to be a member of Leviathan. The coordinates lead to an old graveyard outside the city. I debated going—”
“Shocker,” utters Brontë.
Nik frowns. “To spy on them from the inside. I didn’t want to make any major decisions without your blessing,printsessa.”
It takes me a second to fully process his admission. “You’re not leaving us for them?”
“Do you really think I’d be here if I was?”
“I don’t understand. We killed your cousins, yet you’rehelpingus…?”
Nik’s laugh cracks like a whip. “Oh, I pray those idiots are getting pineapples shoved up their asses by Lucifer himself as we speak.”
Brontë’s mouth twitches like he’s suppressing his own laugh.
