Page 46

“I’ve detected he’s into women, so… you’ll do.” I scowl at him as he continues, “The clearbloods may have enhanced him, but they couldn’t eliminate all weaknesses. His tavern visits serve a purpose beyond routine—they’re designed to maintain the human elements of his psychology, preventing complete detachment. During those hours, he’s significantly more susceptible to… certain influences.”

Meaning human desire. I suppress a shudder at the thought of getting close to this strange enforcer.

But it seems time to finally do what I came here for: deliver the bastard who injured my brother to the slaughter.

24

After a day of sleeping through classes and catching naps during free periods, I find myself back in Dayn’s quarters, staring into a mirror.

I barely recognize the woman staring back. Gone is Clara Winters, the timid scholarship student. Gone is Esme Salem, the darkblood operative. In their place stands a stranger with smoky eyes, tousled hair, and lips painted the exact shade of spilled blood. I’ve transformed myself into every woman’s envy—or so I hope. The slinky black dress Dayn procured from who-knows-where hugs curves I usually keep hidden under practical clothing. I barely recognize myself.

“You look like you’re attending a funeral, not seducing a man,” Dayn comments from his position by the bookshelf, where he’s been watching me prepare with unsettling intensity.

I shoot him a glare through the mirror. “Perhaps I’m planning both.”

“Your natural cynicism is showing. Try for something more... inviting.”

“Would you prefer I giggle and bat my eyelashes?” I ask, voice dripping with sarcasm. “Perhaps throw in a hair toss every few seconds?”

Dayn approaches, his reflection appearing behind mine in the mirror. “I would prefer you succeed.”

Our eyes meet in the reflection. I take a step forward, breaking the connection.

“This dress is ridiculous,” I say, tugging at the hemline that sits inches higher than anything I’d voluntarily wear. “I can barely move in it.”

“That’s rather the point,” Dayn replies, leaning against the wall with studied casualness. “The restriction forces a certain kind of movement. More... deliberate.”

I roll my eyes, but try an experimental walk across the room, adapting my usual stride to the constraints of the fabric. The result is a slow, swaying gait that emphasizes my hips. I feel ridiculous, but when I glance back at Dayn, the shimmer of gold in his eyes tells me it’s having the intended effect.

“Better,” he says, his voice slightly rougher than before. “But your face is still announcing that you’d rather be anywhere else.” He straightens, coming closer. “You need to look at him like he’s the answer to a question you’ve been afraid to ask.”

“Poetic,” I mutter, trying to arrange my features into something less murderous. “Any other acting tips from the dragon’s guide to seduction?”

Dayn circles me slowly, his gaze clinical and uncomfortably thorough. “Lower your chin slightly when you look up at him. It creates vulnerability.” He demonstrates, tilting hishead to show me the angle. “And when you speak, let your voice drop. Like a secret only he deserves to hear.”

I practice the chin tilt, feeling utterly ridiculous. “This is absurd.”

“It’s tactical,” he corrects. “No different than adopting a fighting stance. You’re weaponizing perception.”

“If you say ‘men are simple creatures,’ I might actually stab you.”

His mouth quirks in that almost-smile. “I was going to say Mazrov is a simple creature. The clearbloods designed him for function, not complexity.”

I turn back to the mirror. My hands are steady despite the knot of tension in my stomach. This is far from my first undercover operation, but something about tonight feels different. More personal, perhaps because Dayn will be watching, evaluating.

Also, I have, in fact, never used seduction as a strategic tactic, but I’m not about to inform him of that.

“When he approaches you, don’t respond immediately,” Dayn continues, stepping closer to adjust the strap of my dress with clinical precision. “Let him wait. Count to three before you even look at him.”

“I know how to flirt,” I snap, pulling away from his touch. “I didn’t spend my entire life in combat training.”

“Evidence suggests otherwise.” His eyes travel from my face to my hands, which I realize I’ve balled into fists. “Relax your fingers. No man approaches a woman who looks ready to punch him.”

I force my hands to unclench. “Unless that’s what he’s into.”

“Mazrov was designed for duty and obedience, not painand pleasure.” Dayn circles me again, his gaze critical. “When you walk, imagine drawing a line with your hips. Your usual gait suggests you’re marching into battle.”

“Maybe because that’s exactly what this is,” I mutter, but I try again, softening my stride.