Page 10 of Glimmer and Burn (Unity #1)
He handed the paper back to her and she snatched it close to her chest, securing it quickly in a secret pocket of her bodice.
His eyes dipped, following the motion, and lingered a few seconds longer than she liked.
She drew a knife, the flash of steel drawing his eyes to the more lethal parts of her anatomy—her hands—before returning to her face.
“Where can we get this translated?”
His expression soured.
Her patience was wearing ever so thin.
“The Night Court,” he supplied.
Miranda’s heart skipped a beat. “The Night Court? An actual Faery Court? There’s no other place outside—“”
“Nowhere else that I know or where I have…connections,” he said, but she could read the omission in his tone.
Once again, he was not telling her everything. She eyed him as he avoided her. He took a few steps away, which at least freed her senses enough to think.
This room would have belonged to the late Lord Warner, his father.
Bookshelves. Portraits. Decanters above the fireplace.
A regal desk. All of it passed along to the next Lord through the ages, all of it distinctly human.
She saw no trace of Drake here, given what little she knew of him, and for some inexplicable reason the idea made her sad.
Drake kept his back to her as he neared the desk. She wished he wore a proper coat. The loose fit of his shirt was too intimate, a reminder of how improper this entire meeting was, though she had no plans to leave until she got what she wanted.
“What are you not telling me?” She asked, hiding her flustered senses as accusation.
Drake turned to her finally, smile dazzling and fake. “Let’s not make this difficult. We’re on the same side, ultimately, and our working together does not require me to divulge my life’s story.”
She shook her head. “How can I trust you if you’re hiding something?”
He shrugged. “Have to make that call for yourself, love. But right now, I don’t know of another option unless you plan to waltz into the Night Court and kindly ask, or, in your case I’d wager ‘threaten kindly’ is more apt, that someone translate this.
Which, will prove difficult for you, guardian or no, the Night Fae are not the accepting sort. ”
Miranda scowled. He had a point. “Fine. We’ll go to the Night Court.”
“Excellent. I’ll see you this evening.”
“This evening?”
“Something more pressing? Have another nightly rendezvous with sinister characters? The ideal and only time to visit the Night Court is night.”
Miranda rolled her eyes. She’d never let her hesitation show to him. Even if she were terrified, the last thing he needed was more ammo to goad her with.
He nodded. “You might want to dress the part, too.”
“What do you mean?” She snapped, almost reaching for her knife again.
“Only that you’ll want to look like a guardian if we do this, and be ready for things to go south. I may have connections but the Night Court can be hostile in the best of circumstances. Graves is popular over there. You can fight, I assume?”
“I can handle myself.” She countered. “And what’s the point of your coming with me if we may still end up in a fight? I thought you had a connection.” Never mind that she’d been trained to fight since she could walk.
“It is not my aim to get into a brawl in the Night Court. However,” he crossed his arms over his chest, taking his time with his words like he was unbothered by schedules and appointments.
Miranda glanced at the clock. Her excuse for leaving had been open ended, but if she were gone much longer then it might draw notice.
“’Be prepared for anything,’ that’s what I always say,” his tone implied he had never used the phrase before this moment.
Exasperated, Miranda crossed her arms. “Do you treat everything like it’s just a game?”
“Of course not,” he snapped with mock indignation, then his blue eyes darkened with suggestion and his voice dropped low enough to resonate low in her stomach, “There is plenty that I give my undivided and most sincere attention.” He leaned that much closer, sinful promise corrupted his smile and made her body hum as he added, “Would you care for a demonstration?”
His spell held for a fraction of a second.
For that moment, not a single violent impulse crossed the sudden jumble of her thoughts.
She didn’t move and, clearly, he had expected her immediate retreat because his smile dropped and suggestion turned to alarm as he held her gaze for one breath of genuine connection.
And that was much worse than scandalous suggestion.
Miranda forced the moment to end, refusing to connect to this man on any level other than to cause him physical harm.
“Lord Drake, you have…another, visitor.” Haversham waited at the doorway. Drake swallowed as he took a step away from her, quickly, like he was the one retreating. It was Miranda’s turn to smirk.
“How fortunate,” Miranda said, meeting Haversham at the door, “I was just on my way out.”
She stormed away, not waiting to be shown.
As she barreled toward the front door, she passed a tall man with dark skin, cooled to an almost mauve color.
Calm, soft brown eyes followed her for a moment.
He wore gentleman’s attire, but his pants were tucked into well-worn leather boots and stray threads escaped his coat.
The directness of his stare gave her pause and he greeted her with a polite nod, though the rest of his body stayed inhumanly still. An immortal.
Miranda returned the greeting with a quick curtsy before thundering out the door. Her annoyance was too consuming for distraction. Once outside, however, she felt she could breathe again and took a moment to take in the cool air.
Another sleepless night awaited her. She’d have to find a way to sneak in a nap. She may have to skip supper in favor of sleep, but hopefully soon this would all be behind her.
Although…
Miranda frowned as she walked home. It wasn’t far, actually, his home from hers.
The great spire rose up to the south, a high, midday sun sitting almost on top, like a beacon.
It had always put her at ease, the sight of it.
She had been taught that Unity was formed when they erected the spire, that it was the first step toward peace.
The lines between the races would finally end.
However, as she traversed glittering, grime free cobblestones and concrete, with clear pools gathering in the gutters, and newly updated gas street lights she couldn’t help but notice the divide not only lingered, but was much larger than she’d previously assumed.
The Fells were almost bleak in contrast. It reminded her that the world she’d grown up in was a facade.
The illusion of an island from a varied and multifaceted world.
Miranda wasn’t sure she wanted this mission to end.
Yes, she wanted her sister safe and that monster removed from their lives forever, but what she didn’t want was for this feeling to end.
The scary, excited sort of feeling that comes with doing new and dangerous things.
A sense of purpose and having to put her skills to a practical use.
Yet, she dreaded the future that awaited her otherwise.
One day, her training as a guardian would stop and Miranda would continue on with her life.
She would become a prim and proper wife.
Become a mother. Manage a household. All her years of training sitting stagnant with no threats to combat.
It was a time of peace, so what use was there for soldiers?
That is the trajectory her life was expected to take.
She would be just like her mother. A rusting tool left on a shelf while her skills at hosting tea and entertaining were expected to fulfill her until she could devote herself to motherhood.
But this feeling…this side of her, the side that had trained with swords and knives, was the part that screamed to be set free. It was that same part of her that took a perverse satisfaction from arguing with Devin Drake.
Yes, he was an instigator and a rogue, not the sort she should trust or have any prolonged partnership with, but the adventurer inside called for the challenge he presented. The conflict and mental sparring. It was invigorating, if annoying.
Logic and duty demanded Miranda ignore the small voice, that tiny part of her that wanted to argue with Drake again. Just for the rush of it.
The scent of Miranda Wilde lingered as she turned and stormed from his study.
She must have washed recently as her soap was overpowering, even with his senses muddled he could pick up feminine notes of lilacs.
It had been…a very long time since anything floral had lingered on him, near him, overpowering the musky office.
A year of obsession had left very little room for distracting company.
He stood where she turned on her heel, not moving. Just breathing. And regretting every minute he did so.
She made it so easy to coax her ire that he wanted to do it all the more.
He could never resist making a beautiful woman glare.
However, he had not intended for her to look at him with such sincere longing that he was tempted to actually kiss her thus failing at resisting her temptation before they’d even begun.
Because a dalliance with Miranda Wilde would be doomed from the start.
She did not belong in his world and he’d never be allowed in hers.
There was also the glaring fact that she was, in all probability, an innocent and Devin was not the sort to deflower virgins when he never intended to linger till morning.
“Who is it, now?” Devin asked, finally scrubbing his face of the mess her candid green eyes had left him in. Haversham balked at Miranda flying past him and showing herself the door, completely unaware of anything beyond the breech of protocol.