The Ravenous Dark, page 11
"Yes, good evening, gentlemen." Ronan gave a shabby bow, his eyes never leaving the predators. "May I have a moment alone with your host?"
"It'll cost Vrana a bottle of his finest, I'm afraid," Cynfor chortled. He spared Luka a wolfish grin beneath his thick beard. "Wouldn't you agree, son?"
"Da," Luka mused and waved his hand dismissively at Ronan. "Let the bird speak with his falconer."
A snarl caught in Ronan's throat at the blatant disrespect, but Jakob was there before any action could be taken.
"Let us go downstairs," Jakob instructed, passing Ronan a meaningful look. The raven shifter clenched his jaw and dipped his chin. "Come."
Jakob guided Ronan downstairs and gestured for him to take a seat in the common room.
"What is it? What's wrong?"
"What isn't?" Ronan muttered to himself. Jakob frowned.
"Is it—?"
"It's about Bailey."
Jakob's mouth hovered open in shock. "Go on."
"She's… in trouble."
"Is she now?" Both of Jakob's eyebrows raised, but the expression he read didn't seem disturbed by Ronan's news. "Would this have anything to do with her involvement with the Wildings?" Ronan sputtered out a yes, and Jakob hummed along accordingly. The vampyré leaned back, draping one arm along the couch’s back as he regarded Ronan thoughtfully. "Irina and I spoke of it in length the other evening. We came to the same conclusion; her association with them would do no harm. Ah-ah." Jakob held up a hand, stalling whatever retort hung on the tip of Ronan's tongue. "Put yourself in her shoes. She's a young, spirited she-wolf whose loyalty to her best friend brought her to a court where the undead rule. It isn't natural for her to be without a pack. The Wildings, though rough around their edges, will provide her with the pack life she's no doubt been missing."
Ronan swallowed thickly and averted his gaze to the fireplace. No flames doused the wide-open mouth, but embers faintly glowed among the ashes.
"The Wildings are trouble."
Jakob smiled knowingly. "Yes, I believe that argument was made and rebutted with ease by Bailey herself. She is trouble. Her words, not mine."
"She stole from you. Did you know that?" Ronan asked roughly. The smile vanished from Jakob's face.
"And what," Jakob asked, "did she steal from me?"
Ronan sat up straighter at the decisive iciness of Jakob's words. He pointed to the statuette. "My family gave that to yours to cement our alliance. I saw her touting it around on the third subfloor with a pair of demons."
"I'll speak with her," Jakob said as he leaned forward and snagged the raven to inspect it. Turning it over in his hands but finding nothing of note wrong, he returned it to its place. "And keep closer tabs on her. You have my word."
Ronan nodded gravely, but his gaze remained glued to the raven.
"Was there anything else you wanted to speak with me about?"
Ronan didn't respond right away.
He'd hoped coming to Jakob would somehow put an end to the ludicrous association Bailey had with the Wildings, but the opposite occurred. Keep closer tabs on her? He ground his molars. Bailey was trouble, and keeping a closer eye on her wasn't going to stop her from running straight into danger.
That meant Ronan would have to keep closer tabs on her too. He released a long-winded sigh even as part of his heart swelled at the thought. His anxiety was already coming up with a thousand ways in which the Wildings would put her in harm's way.
"Ronan?"
Their eyes met. Jakob's concern was palpable now.
"Is there something else? Is it…." Jakob's entire body stiffened.
Ronan managed a small nod. "He came to me earlier. He said he'd fixed the mirror."
"At least he's no longer foaming at the mouth over the scroll and scepter," Jakob said. Ronan passed him a questioning look, but Jakob didn't elaborate. "I presume he wishes to return to the Otherworld?" Jakob inquired tightly.
Ronan released a shaky breath. "He does… but he can't go without me, and I won't be returning. Ever."
The coiled tension riding Jakob's body relaxed. "Ronan, thank you. Consider me in your debt—no, please, allow me to finish. I am in your debt, for you've been Jax's anchor these past fifteen years and brought my son home to me time and time again. Whatever you may need in the future, know that you may call on me for the full weight of my support."
"That's very generous of you."
Jakob inclined his head and stood. "It's no less than you deserve. I'm happy to hear that your business dealings have finally ended." Ronan stood and took the hand Jakob offered, shaking it.
"You should know that Jax isn't."
Jakob's lips twisted into a wry smile. "I wouldn't dare hold such lofty aspirations. He will come to see that this decision is for the best with time." The men dropped their hands back to their sides. "I shouldn't keep my guests waiting much longer. Luka can be…."
"A dick?"
Jakob hoisted on a mock frown, but it melted away as soon as it came. "He can be particularly difficult when he wants to be."
"Why is he here? And with Cynfor, no less?" Ronan stood, as did Jakob.
"Irina is unable to attend their private soiree on the full moon for obvious reasons, and he's being rather obstinate about allowing me to attend without her." Jakob rolled his eyes and heaved a grievous sigh as he pinched his nose. "Apparently, my collection of blut wein is the only thing that will grease his palm."
"Why jump through all these hoops to go to the Krovopuskovs party?" Ronan could practically see the wheels turning in Jakob's head as he sought an acceptable answer.
"To strengthen our households' friendship, for we will need it in the coming weeks."
Ronan didn't like the sound of that but was offered no opportunity to comment further. Jakob's hand swept out as he directed him to the entryway. However, they'd not made it around the sofa before the sound of the front door opening reached their ears. Both men stopped and stared as Bailey strolled through the door. Her riotous hair was up in a ponytail, and she wore a tight-fitting top and pants that left little to the imagination of what lay underneath. Ronan sucked in a breath as they locked eyes.
Bailey thrust her shoulders back and tipped up her chin as the door closed behind her. Her eyes never left Ronan's. "Here to finish our talk?"
The weight of Jakob's inquisitive regard made Ronan want to shift in discomfort, but he resisted. "As you like," Ronan murmured, dipping his chin, and slanting his eyes meaningfully to one of the hallways. "Shall we—"
Bailey strode around them into the common room, stealing Jakob's vacated seat and mirroring his earlier position with an arm thrown over the back of the couch. She kicked one long leg over the other. "Great. Let's talk."
Ronan's gaze darted to Jakob.
"I'll leave you to it then," Jakob said and then flashed out of the room, leaving Ronan to his fate.
VII
Ronan kept his expression blank as he sank down next to Bailey. The she-wolf watched him beneath hooded eyes that sent a thrill of anticipation up his spine. The other night, he caught her off guard. Now? She looked ready for battle. Ronan steeled himself for the attack.
A slow smile spread across Bailey's face, transforming her battle-ready visage into one of tempting sin.
"I've been thinking about you," Bailey confessed. Her voice was cast in a husky cadence that made him swallow. Her undivided attention was unnerving. It was too much.
This can't happen, Ronan reminded himself sharply. Keep your distance to keep her safe.
Bailey scooted forward an inch. Ronan frowned in clear disapproval, which she ignored.
"Perhaps, we could speak somewhere more private?" Bailey's eyes brightened, and Ronan was quick to dispel the misunderstanding. "Jakob is upstairs entertaining guests. Lord Gunwyn and Luka Krovopuskov."
Her excitement fled. "Why? I mean, I get Cynfor. Those two go way back, but Luka? He's an A-grade-level creep. Fox told me he propositioned her when she was still human, asking to be the first to taste her blood. Apparently, he's got a thing for that. Being a fledgling vampyrés first bite." Bailey's nose scrunched in distaste.
"Jakob requires the Krovopuskovs’ assistance in some matter. He's making headway with them through his collection of blut wein."
Bailey's face flushed with understanding. "The Delacroix are trying to pass a new law to place restrictions on the sorcerers. They're using the shadowmancer attacks as a means to push their agenda forward." Bailey glanced away with a scoff, and she plucked at the seam of the couch cushion in annoyance. "It's complete bullshit. They hate the laws that were passed after the Roux's initiation that gave people like us more latitude. And now they're looking for any plausible excuse to take them away."
Ronan's soulmark tingled as their eyes met. The fiery nature of her lycan side glimmered in her eyes. Specks of gold bled through the deep brown of her irises, calling to him like stars.
His heart stuttered with uncertainty. Ronan didn't know a soulmark could react to its other half in such a way if they weren't, at the very least, sealed. Yet, an almost imperceptible impression nudged at him from inside to steal closer to her.
A second's hesitation hit him. Is it the soulmark or old feelings resurfacing that's making me feel this way? Ronan cleared his throat along with the dangerous line of thought, determined to keep himself from such distractions.
"I wasn't aware you were interested in court politics." His polite observation didn't lessen Bailey's displeasure. In fact, it burned brighter, with an unexpected hint of hurt sinking into the creases around her eyes.
"I care when supernaturals are being discriminated against and told what they can and cannot do, and who they can and cannot be with." Golden specks turned to golden streaks as she held his gaze. "I know what that kind of narrow-minded way of thinking leads to, and it never ends with 'happily ever after.'"
"Is that what you're looking for? A happily ever after?" Ronan wasn't sure what possessed him to say such a thing, but the words were out of his mouth before he could stop himself.
The notion seemed to amuse her as she chuckled under her breath. She shook her head slowly. "I think those belong to the damsels in distress and their white knights—and I'm not the damsel type." The gold faded from her eyes as she stopped picking at the cushion. "Happily ever after is overrated anyway. Who wants the adventure to end, even if it gets a little complicated now and then?"
Ronan's heart sped up. "I wouldn't try to glamorize complicated," he warned.
"I'm not," Bailey said with haste. She wet her bottom lip. His throat tightened. "I just think when you find the right person, no obstacle or challenge is too great that can't be overcome together." Her voice lowered. "We aren't meant to go through life alone."
Her plea did things to his heart… things they shouldn't do.
"I'm not alone, and neither are you." His answer was anchored with a tacit downward draw of his brows. Bailey's face fell. "I have my family here at court, and you have—"
"I have what? A best friend who decided she doesn't need me anymore? A banshee with a drinking problem?"
"You have the Vranas, and you have…." Ronan's hand snaked along the back of the couch until his fingertips touched hers. Bailey stilled. Ronan did too. He was playing with fire, and more than anything, he wished he could blame it on the soulmark.
But he feared it went deeper than that, about twenty years, give or take.
"You have me. I'll always be there to look out for you."
You're going to get burned, a voice whispered in the back of his head.
"I'm not a kid anymore, Ronan." Bailey pulled her hand into her lap. "I don't need to be looked after. I need—" She bit down on her lip in search of the right words. "I need a partner in crime. I need someone who will be there for me through thick and thin and who won't leave me behind."
Bailey huffed and barreled on when Ronan said nothing.
"You won't commit to me despite the fact that I'm your literal soulmark. River's off trying to—" Bailey fumbled unexpectedly, but quickly recovered. "—find herself, and Stella is the walking definition of a hot mess. Are you being driven mad with guilt over your supernatural abilities? Is the only way you can find relief in a nice tall glass of rhodiola?
"No? Then what the hell is so complicated in your life that you refuse to be with me? Your soulmark? There's something there between us, Ronan. You can't tell me otherwise, not after the kiss we shared. It was there before that too, and you know it." Bailey stood akimbo, glowering down at him.
Ronan smoothed his features and glanced to the hall leading to the second floor, and then slid his gaze back to her. "Is this really the conversation you want to be having right now with the company upstairs."
Bailey's throat worked uncomfortably but, finding no retort, remained silent. Her impassioned demeanor waned further as Ronan kept his face clear of the riot of his toiling emotions. It nearly killed him to do so. The loneliness in her voice called to his own in an offer of sweet reprieve they might find in one another.
Ronan struggled to resist.
As head of his household, he felt the icy touch of isolation keenly as he bore the brunt of every hardship, challenge, and failure his ravens faced. Then there was his time in the Otherworld to reckon with.
Ronan spied Bailey's inner conflict waging war across her features. She chewed at her bottom lip, digging into the soft flesh without remorse as her forehead bunched in consternation.
Guilt eroded at his conscience, witnessing her struggle. He shouldn't have let the conversation drift so far out of his control. There were things said that couldn't be unheard, or taken back. The best way to protect her is from afar, he grimly reminded himself.
Ronan cleared his throat, staring up at the formidable she-wolf with carefully crafted composure. He was resolved to end their conversation but then saw something shift in her.
Whatever battle waged inside her was won. The dejected set of her features vanished, replaced with one of cool confidence. Bailey cocked a hip and crossed her arms. A fire kindled in her eyes as she stared him down.
Ronan swallowed at the sight of it.
Moments prior he’d observed a woman whose pain reflected his own with intimate understanding. And now? He saw hope for himself and his struggles.
The soulmark singed his skin. To think, hope might be his downfall. How ironic since he'd abandoned it long ago, relying on realism to protect himself.
"I'm not going to give up," Bailey told him matter-of-factly.
"You should," Ronan said, his words restrained.
Bailey took a step forward. "Don't worry, Ronan. I'll help un-complicate things for you. Consider me your very own white knight—though I'll probably be dressed in black. I look great in black."
She plopped herself down beside him. Ronan fought the urge to lean away as her body pressed against his.
"Tell me more about River and Stella."
She'd clearly not been prepared for him to say that. Neither had he. Much like before, the words were past his lips before he could stop them. He cursed himself for prolonging their conversation. Playing with fire indeed… and I can't seem to resist.
Bailey's eyes narrowed with suspicion as she reluctantly relaxed beside him. "What about them?"
"You said River is off finding herself?"
"Mhmm."
"And that displeases you?" Ronan questioned skeptically, analyzing her reaction.
"Not in the least," Bailey replied. "I hope she does find what she's looking for here—the part of herself that's missing. Hell, I'll be the first to bust out a bottle of Vrana's best champagne when she does." A genuine smile lit up Bailey's face. "It just sucks that I can't help her more than I am," she explained with a shrug, her expression growing somber.
"And Stella? You mentioned she drinks, er, frequently?"
Bailey nodded dejectedly. She twisted to face him, propping her elbow up on the sofa's back and resting her chin in her palm. "I don't think I need to explain the effects of rhodiola, do I?"
The minute downward tilt of Ronan's eyebrows implied he did not. Everyone knew the green elixir was a potent remedy. It offered its patrons immediate relief from their suffering, cocooning them in a drunken haze that some described as dreamlike.
It was the crash of reality after the comedown that considerably lessened the appeal of rhodiola. People complained of blacking out, volatile mood swings, and sleepwalking.
"She's addicted?"
Bailey closed her eyes and sighed. "Maybe. She's a wonderful person, but she gets so overwhelmed by the weight of her powers. And it doesn't help that the court treats her like she's a circus freak. The rhodiola numbs it."
Bailey's dark cinnamon lashes fluttered open to reveal the true depth of her concern. Again, Ronan was transfixed. If he was honest with himself, which he was loath to be at present, it usually happened when he was in her presence for extended periods.
Seeing how much she cared for her friends made him selfishly want her for himself. Want that care and affection aimed in his direction. Regret and longing made knots out of his stomach at the unwanted realization.
"She could be so much more if she just embraced her heritage if she found some confidence in herself. But Stella barely stands up for herself without shaking like a leaf." Her mouth twisted as if stuck on a thought or a memory before her eyes brightened. She sat up straight and snapped her fingers. "Case and point; when Laxmi was taken over by the shadowmancer and launched herself at Stella, guess what she did? Nothing, except take a few measly steps back. Ugh." Bailey groaned and turned her face into her palm, dragging her hand down the length of it. "Stella's survival instincts are abysmal. I don't even know if she knows how to throw a proper punch."
The fierce urge to offer her some comfort struck Ronan like a brick to the face. Bailey misinterpreted the sudden change in his expression and groaned again.
"I know, I know—at the bare minimum, she should at least know some defensive moves, but she doesn't. And now a weird bidding war is going on for her next contract, which is proving to be more troublesome than expected."
