Page 36

CHAPTER THIRTY-SIX

M ireille took Ronin to another room down the hall with the same dirt floor and rack of weapons.

Ronin paused in the center, hands on his hips, and tilted his head back, sucking his lip between his canines. The sight of his sharp fangs sinking into his plush lower lip did nothing to Mireille.

Nope.

Not a thing .

“She’s going to die,” Ronin whispered.

Righteous fury pulled Mireille from her ogling. “You don’t know that. We still have time. She still has time.”

“To get skilled enough with a sword to defeat the Koenig? A hardened male who has an entire city of Fae bowing to him? And not only that, but can wield a hammer imbued with divine magic? Yeah, a recently Turned human who’s barely past twenty can take him on and win. Sure.”

Mireille squared her shoulders. “We’ll help her. Silas will help her.”

Ronin scoffed, pushing a hand through his messy white hair. “A half-blind, dried up old warrior, a she-wolf with snuffed out fire magic, and a sad-sack, half-human Windrider. If there have ever been worse fucking odds, I’ve never seen them.”

Mireille exploded. “Then why did you agree to help when Cassandra called upon you? If you think this is pointless , why are you even here?”

“I’m not the type to back down from a fight,” he snarled. “Neither is my wolf.”

“Yes,” she spat back, fists clenching, “I remember that quite well.”

Ronin’s face crumpled, the first real emotion she’d seen from him. A crack in his armor. “I begged him, Mireille—” her heart stuttered at her name on his lips “— begged him not to shift and go after you.”

She stepped forward, invading his personal space. “I’m glad he did.”

Ronin’s eye blazed, anger radiating off his powerful body as a growl built in his throat.

She went in for the kill.

“At least he was willing to pay the price for my father’s death.”

His hand shot for her throat, but he stopped himself at the last second. Pivoted on his heel and bolted toward the weapons rack.

He tossed a practice sword at her feet, gripping another in his massive hand. The words tattooed across his knuckles— Inom Than, Become Death in Aramaelish—felt almost too appropriate. “Pick it up.”

“No,” Mireille said, taken aback. “Why?”

“Because we’re going to do this right. This fight between us has been a long time coming. Not between you and my wolf. Between you and me. And if we’re going to help Cass win her appeal, then we need the practice, too. You certainly haven’t gotten in any sparring with her.”

Mireille crossed her arms over her chest. “I’m not fighting you, Ronin.”

He choked up on the hilt of his sword, circling her. “Why? Afraid you’ll lose, little she-wolf?”

She scoffed, something kindling within her. As if she’d been waiting for this moment for centuries. A chance for her and Ronin to work through their shit on a level playing field without her fire to give her the advantage.

And even though a more rational part of her knew that talking it out, hearing him out, might be a better way to resolve things, that wasn’t at all what she wanted right now.

She picked up the sword and shot him a savage smile. “Oh no, Matakos. I’m not afraid.” She twirled the weapon, the tip whizzing through the air and lighting a fire in her blood. “Not for me, at least. I’m afraid you might lose another eye.”

He bellowed and she barely had time to get her sword up before he was upon her. Their stone blades crashed together, the force reverberating through her bones.

“Say that again,” he growled, his breath hot on her face, blades crossed between their bodies.

She pivoted away, then darted behind him and braced her sword in front of her.

He traced a large circle into the dirt with the tip of his weapon. “There’s going to be rules this time. If you can handle that. A fair fight. No wolves. Just you and me and these blades. If you step outside the circle, I earn a point and vice versa. If the sword touches flesh, that also earns a point. First to three points wins.”

No wolves? Her wolf whined. That hardly seems fair. I’ve been waiting to spar with him for centuries.

You’ll get your chance , Mireille soothed. But right now, he’s fucking mine .

“What are we playing for?” she asked.

His golden-blue eye met hers with what she swore was an audible crack. “Truths.”

Mireille swallowed. Was it worth the risk? She couldn’t begin to imagine what kind of truths he might request, but…

She had plenty she wanted from him.

“Deal,” Mireille said, choking up on the hilt, her muscles tensing as she tracked his every move.

“I’ll even make it easier for you to aim.” He placed his sword in the dirt then grasped the back of his collar. He hauled his shirt over his head and tossed it aside.

She’d love to say she’d forgotten the thigh-clenching spectacle of a shirtless Ronin. That the memory had faded after two centuries.

But that would make her a filthy, filthy liar.

And the sight of him, vividly in the flesh, brought to mind a torrent of other memories.

Her body pinned against that spectacular chest. Those shapely fingers digging into her hips as he fucked her. Those intricate ice-blue tattoos pulsing in tandem with his thrusts.

A section of the tattoos had been burned away by his sentencing brand—a travesty.

Still, the faintest hint of a smirk grazed his stupidly tempting mouth.

Fuck that . Two could play at this game.

She leaned her sword against her thigh, then whipped off her own shirt. Her training pants hung low enough to expose the curve of her hipbones and her breasts were bound with a length of cloth. The only poor excuse for a bra in this time-forgotten city.

A shiver of satisfaction ran down her spine as Ronin’s gaze blazed a trail across her newly exposed skin. Though his smirk melted into a pained grimace when it traced along her own sentencing scar—plus the myriad others she’d earned in here.

Was he upset by the evidence of her incarceration? Or that the sight of her bare flesh still turned him on? Did he hate himself a little for it?

Because she sure as shit did.

She wanted to be done with all this useless longing. For her one-time friend and lover. For her long-time enemy. For the male who had killed her father.

Hate and passion—two sides of the same fiery coin.

Which would it land on?

“Better be careful, Butcher ,” she taunted, raising her sword, her heart pounding a mad beat. “I’ve had nothing but time in here to hone my skills. I’ve gotten even better with a sword than I was outside that cabin.”

He grinned, his eye glinting with feral delight. “Then let’s see how you do when you face a real threat.”

He didn’t give her a chance to respond. He rushed forward with an arcing strike that she barely had time to counter, their swords cracking together.

It took all her effort to shove him away. He was bigger and more powerful than any male she’d ever fought. Ever known , really.

They volleyed blows, blades crashing, neither making a hit. He executed a series of swift swipes, an aggressive assault that had her shuffling backwards.

He barked out a victorious laugh. “One point to me.”

She glanced down to see her heel raked through the circle. She snarled, thrusting out again and forcing him back into the ring.

He retreated to the other edge, twirling his sword in a single hand.

She scurried toward him, her blade up like a spear.

He knocked the tip away with his own, then grabbed her wrist and spun her against his body, folding her arm until her own blade was at her throat.

She struggled to break out of his unyielding grip, her back flush with his naked chest. Her skin flooded with electric heat, and she tried to push away, but he held firm.

The cool edge of his sword dragged across her stomach, and his chin grazed her shoulder as he whispered, “That’s two points for me now. What were you saying about having plenty of time to practice?”

She swallowed a frustrated growl as she squirmed against him, unable to break free.

But there were other ways to retaliate. And she wasn’t above using them.

She melted back against him, pushing her ass into his groin. A long-dead part of her lit up at his responding groan. One he desperately tried to stifle. He may not want to want her anymore, but his body betrayed him.

His cock twitched against her ass before he shoved her away. “Dirty fucking tactic,” he growled, holding his sword in one hand as he adjusted himself with the other.

She shot him a lupine smile, her wolf panting and yipping within her. “You used to like it when I played dirty.”

He bared his fangs and rushed for her again, though his focus was rattled. He broadcast his move well before he made it, and she ducked beneath his sword, angling her own and smacking it across his rock-hard abs. He grunted in pain, and satisfaction pulsed through her veins.

“One point for me,” she sang out, then planted her foot in his ass and knocked him out of the ring. “And now that’s two points. Seems we’re all tied up.”

He huffed out a laugh as he stood, brushing the dirt off of his knees. “Don’t threaten me with a good time, Valette.”

“Get back on your knees for me, and it’ll be more than just a threat.”

Unguarded hunger flashed through his eye, and she realized how foolish it had been to taunt him, to poke the beast.

He tossed his sword aside and barreled toward her, tackling her at the waist and snaking a hand behind her skull to protect her head as they crashed to the ground. He pinned her body down, then snatched her wrists and pushed her hands outside the ring.

He chuckled. “Looks like that’s three points to me.”

She scowled and bucked her hips up into his cock. Terrible idea.

Really terrible idea.

He dragged a fang along the edge of her jaw, and fucking Faurana spare her, she couldn’t help the bone-deep shudder that trembled through her body.

“I win,” he whispered against her neck.

“Get off.”

“Not until I get my prize.” His voice was a silken caress. “I believe I’m owed a truth.”

His weight on top of her, his breath on her skin, his fingers wrapped around her wrists—she had to bite her tongue to keep from moaning. Or begging. “Fucking ask it, then.”

His teasing expression melted into heartbreaking vulnerability. “Why did you take the fall? After the Cathedral of Bones? Why did you protect me?”

She clenched her hands into fists and squeezed her eyes shut. “Ronin, I?—”

“Ah, ah,” he whispered. “The truth . You promised.”

“Because I was still in love with you!” The answer wrenched out through gritted teeth, and she popped her eyes open. Ronin’s own looked shocked. As if he hadn’t expected that.

He pushed up off her, couldn’t get away fast enough.

“Mireille, I…” he stuttered. “That’s…”

He didn’t say another word. Didn’t even look at her as he walked out of the room.

She curled into a fetal position, unable to stop the hot, salty tears that flowed down her cheeks.

He still wants us, her wolf whispered.

I know, she answered.

He still hates us, too.

Obviously.

But, he might not forever, her wolf whined.

Don’t hold your breath, Mireille said as she pushed up off the floor, replaced the swords on the rack, and tried to put the pieces of herself back together.