The Ravenous Dark, page 12
Ronan smoothed his scowl but couldn't keep his confusion at bay. "What's that supposed to mean?"
He was well aware of the fight for Stella's next contract. It was rumored both the Delacroix and Roux upped the ante in their negotiations to procure her service, but Stella shockingly turned them down. Ronan assumed the news would hit harder with the gossipmongers at court, but the shadowmancer trumped all.
"Apparently some of the vampyrés are out of sorts with Stella at the moment. Something about her spoiling their plans with her heralding."
Ronan folded his arms and twisted to face Bailey more fully. She perked up at the movement, but it only registered dully as he racked his brain for a memory of any words uttered against Stella. He frowned. There were several. The most recent reported incident came from the mouth of Adam, their youngest raven at fifteen. He made mention of some explicit criticism of Stella's constant interferences.
"I wasn't aware such talk should be given credence," Ronan answered at last. "But given the state of the court, I wouldn't be surprised if some haughty vampyré tried to take out the only reliable warning system for deaths, just to stir things up." The pair shared a meaningful look. "The sooner she signs a contract, the safer she'll be."
Bailey glanced away momentarily, a hint of color kissing her cheeks. "She's aware," the she-wolf muttered before dragging her eyes back to Ronan's. "In the meantime, I'll teach her some basic self-defense and do some research on banshee lore. Maybe I can find some obscure banshee power she can tap into." A frown rested on her face. "The Dark Court can smell weakness from a mile away. Stella needs to bring something more to the table if she's going to be picky about who she signs a contract with."
"It's kind of you to help her," Ronan confirmed. "Unfortunately, the courts never truly gave the resident banshees the respect they deserve."
"She's my friend. Of course, I'll help her." Bailey smirked as if it was a no-brainer. "You wouldn't happen to know any banshee lore off the top of your head, would you? Ravens have a history of being associated with death too."
Ronan's eyebrows pitched upward, but a smirk tugged at the corner of his lips at the mischievous glint growing in Bailey's eyes.
"What?" She said innocently. "Aren't a group of ravens called a murder?"
"That would be our cousin the crow. A group of ravens is called an unkindness or a conspiracy."
The she-wolf's face colored in delight. "Is that so?"
Ronan's smirk won out, and he relaxed. "Ravens are also known for their cunning and intelligence."
"And trickery," Bailey chimed in. Ronan dipped his chin in acquiescence. "And death," she tacked on.
"Yes, and death, but also rebirth. If you'd like, I can do some digging as well. At the very least, Stella can practice singing instead of screaming her proclamations. Her predecessor did as much at times, and doing so could help lessen the damage to her vocal cords."
Bailey hummed thoughtfully and draped her arm across the length of the couch again. Her fingertips were close enough to touch him if she was so inclined. His throat bobbed unsteadily.
"Stella's trying," Bailey informed him. Then she cleared her throat rather bashfully. "And thank you for offering to help. It will mean a lot to Stella. The other supernaturals at court treat her about as kindly as the vampyrés do most of the time. Maybe we can research… together?"
Her fingertips grazed his arm briefly. Little shock waves rippled through his blood. His soulmark thrummed in anticipation.
I can't.
Panic washed away the delicious sensation she aroused.
I'll be her downfall if I can't find the person behind the dark magic.
Ronan shifted his arm out of reach.
"No hard feelings," Bailey said, quick to pick up on his subtle rejection. "I'm not sure our schedules would match up anyway. My schedule is filling up fast. Setting time aside to teach Stella how to fight will be hard enough."
Ronan's gaze thinned. "Filling up with Wilding business?"
The she-wolf scoffed and rose, her annoyance at his tone conveyed with no uncertainty. Rather than respond, she stretched her arms high above her head until some joints gave a satisfying crack.
Ronan's jaw clenched at her blaze attitude. And then he cracked.
"The Wildings are a scourge on this court—"
"Whoa!"
"—they're no better than a bunch of hired henchmen. They have no morals. They willingly sell themselves out to the highest bidder. No task is too lowly for them or too foul."
"You are way out of line," Bailey snarled. She jabbed a finger at him. "I am not some hired henchman. As a matter of fact, I made it a point to tell Franklin that under no circumstances would I be doing any work that involved intimidation or that would hurt someone."
Ronan rose as well. The intensity of his anger drew his body to a rigid line. "Their entire business model is making a profit off hurting others."
Bailey's mouth snapped shut as she corralled a growl. Ronan stepped into her personal space. She wasn't much shorter than him, but she still needed to tilt her head back the slightest inch to keep their eyes locked.
"You're going to go to Franklin and tell her you appreciate her offer and the trouble of going through that ridiculous initiation, which forced you to steal that statuette—don't bother trying to deny it!" Ronan and Bailey's mutual glares intensified. "But that you will not be participating in their little gang."
Bailey slid forward as well. Her fervor was infectious. Heat built up in the small space between them that Ronan found both seductive and foreboding.
"No," she enunciated, her eyes lighting up in satisfaction as Ronan's cheeks hollowed and his jaw clicked together. "You don't get to go around telling me what I can and cannot do."
"There's a mark on your body that says otherwise," Ronan snapped.
Bailey gasped and jerked back. She struggled to rearrange her features into their previous stormy ire as hurt filtered through.
"A mark that you refuse to acknowledge or take part in." Bailey's voice shook with anger. Ronan flushed from his neck to his ears. He ducked his head to try to mask the flames of his disgrace but couldn't stop himself from arguing.
"You're putting yourself in unnecessary danger."
"The Dark Court isn't exactly known for sunshine and rainbows," Bailey retorted snidely.
Ronan shoved his hands into his pockets, curling them into fists as he put a few feet between them. Bailey's eyes followed him accusingly.
"You're making a mistake."
His eyes pleaded with her to see his reason, but the she-wolf crossed her arms. The walls of her defense were drawn completely up.
"I could say the same to you."
She matched him step for step as he continued to ebb in the direction of the entryway and exit.
"You're right," he said lowly, seizing the opportunity to lay their future to rest. "I have no right to tell you what you can and cannot do." He wet his lips, his stomach twisting as he got out his next words. "I have no claim to you. Nor will I ever."
Bailey stopped dead in her tracks. "You do." Her voice cracked with emotion, daring him to be something he couldn't hope to achieve. "What are you so scared of?"
He shook his head. "I'm not scared, and my answer is the same as before. My life is tumultuous at best and—"
"Bullshit," she accused. Ronan shot her a glare over his shoulder as he moved determinedly to the front door. She strode swiftly after him.
"It's the truth," he said coldly. "I shouldn't have brought up our bond or tried to use it against you, and for that, I apologize. But it changes nothing about the way I feel about you or my decision."
Bailey's shoulders sagged as he ripped open the door. Her steps shuffled to a stop. "And what do you feel?" She asked quietly, as he stepped outside. Ronan hesitated as the accumulation of his troubles burst open like a floodgate inside him.
The plague of his loneliness….
His fractured relationship with Jax….
The burden of his leadership position….
Bailey….
Ronan's grip tightened on the doorknob. "I feel powerless."
He left, and Bailey's world felt smaller for it.
He didn't even look back. Bailey dragged a hand beneath her eyes, dispelling the moisture that rose to her lash lines with a loud sniff. Powerless? What does that mean? Did I—
A throat cleared from behind. Bailey spun on her heel, her heart hammering in her chest as she glimpsed her interloper. "Eavesdropping? That's a bit low coming from you."
Jakob leaned against the wall, a hand casually in his pocket while his other cradled a glass of blood.
"Need I remind you that this is my home? I think I shall do as I please here." Bailey rolled her eyes and wrapped her arms around her middle. Jakob's gaze flickered to the door. Then back to the she-wolf. "How long have you known?"
Bailey's throat constricted, her gaze, shooting anywhere but Jakob's piercing regard. "About two weeks."
"And have you—"
"No." The silence that followed her admission was suffocating. Bailey lifted her eyes to Jakob. Empathy greeted her. "He's not interested in being with me," she explained with a deprecating smile.
Jakob's mouth pinched before he sighed. "Ronan is going through a somewhat difficult time at the moment as he reacclimates to court life."
Bailey snorted. "I believe his exact words were, 'It's too complicated.'" Jakob leveled her with a reprimanding look; gaze narrowed and unimpressed. "It doesn't matter," she barreled on, taking a fortifying breath before straightening the line of her shoulders. "One day, it won't be complicated, and I'll be there."
Jakob nodded approvingly. "Would you care to share a drink with me? Luka and Cynfor are a bit lost in their cups currently, and I can spare a few minutes to talk more on the matter." Bailey smiled tightly and shook her head.
"No thanks. I've got somewhere to be." Bailey followed in Ronan's footsteps and reached for the doorknob. "And please don't tell anyone about Ronan and me, okay? I get the feeling he doesn't want anyone to know, so…" Her throat buckled as a mixture of shame and uncertainty wrapped around her heart and squeezed.
"Consider it done," he promised with a slight bow. "And should you ever wish to speak on the matter, I would be more than happy to lend you my ear."
Bailey's smile softened at the edges. She couldn't envision herself going to the ancient vampyré for advice on matters of the heart, but it was nice to know the option was there. "Thanks."
"Where are you going, if you don't mind me asking?"
"To work," Bailey said and left with a short wave.
VIII
" Arh-woo !"
Bailey's head snapped to the right. She snarled and flashed blazing golden eyes at the person who dared to antagonize her. They flinched back with a laugh that rattled Bailey's already frayed nerves. She chomped down on her tongue to stop the verbal assault that wished to break free.
It was the eighth time in the past hour she'd been howled at, and it was growing increasingly harder for the she-wolf to keep her temper in check.
Previous full moons had never been this bad. Then again, Bailey had never stuck around long enough to face such derisive treatment. She was usually out with Irina, Deval, and William by now.
Bailey did her best to shake off her heightened anger, letting her lycan gold visage seep away and unclenching her fists.
Another week and a half had come and gone since her talk with Ronan. She spent it wandering hopelessly after him between Wilding jobs, but Ronan's ability to avoid her was on another level. It was like chasing down a ghost. A very handsome, frustratingly wily ghost with an army of ravens at his disposal to help spur her advances.
Bailey almost groaned. She knew chasing him like this would spur him into hiding more, but she couldn't stop herself, not after what transpired in their talk.
He told her that she had him to watch out for her.
Butterflies swarmed her heart at the memory.
When they spoke, a spark was rekindled. Bailey was certain he felt it too, despite his best efforts to ignore it and change subjects. She toyed with the idea of switching tactics. Maybe it was time to don her promised black armor and un-complicate Ronan's life.
And if that failed….
Well, she would find another way.
Harts always gave it their all, even when faced with insurmountable odds. Bailey swallowed as bittersweet emotions clogged her throat. Such sentiments got her father killed twenty years back, but Bailey would play it smarter than he ever did. She would win. She had to.
"Arh-wo—"
The passing vampyré choked on her howl as Bailey's hand whipped out and wrapped around her neck. The vampyrés friends gasped as the she-wolf pushed her captive against the stairwell wall.
"I was joking around," the vampyré hissed, removing Bailey's hand after her initial shock wore off. "That hurt." The female spoke the words accusingly, a flicker of disbelief coasting over her face as she rubbed her neck.
Bailey crossed her arms over her chest. "What did you expect? A tickling sensation?"
One of the friends giggled. The female huffed and mimicked Bailey, crossing her arms over her chest until her breasts threatened to spill out of her dress.
"Hardly." Her nose scrunching up as she ran her eyes over the she-wolf. "I wouldn't have assumed a dog to have so much strength."
"I'm a lycan," Bailey said with dangerous softness. "Not a shifter. Not a dog. I'm a wolf, through and through, and tonight's a full moon. A fact you're clearly aware of." A cruel smile dragged up the corners of Bailey's mouth, showing off the cruel point of her canines. "What you probably weren't aware of was the effect a full moon has on lycans… or shifters for that matter. We're stronger—" Bailey walked forward letting a glimmer of menace lance through her regard. "Faster. Wilder. Some might even say feral."
The female's features fluctuated between affront and wary fear as she was forced to retreat lest Bailey bump into her.
One of the vampyré's friends held out a fleeting hand. "Amelia…." Her worried tone and frantic glance at the nearby stair fell on deaf ears.
"There's no telling what we might do," Bailey continued, letting her eyes go wide with mocking disbelief before her eyebrows crowded together, and a snarl drew up her top lip. "But there's a good chance it'll involve your corpse getting chewed on."
Amelia's affront staggered ahead of her fear as she absorbed Bailey's words. Stormy red encased her eyes. Those traveling the stairwell stopped to watch, their hush baited with anticipation. A shriek of disbelief bounced off the walls as Bailey feigned a lunge.
Amelia darted away with a snarl rocketing past her lips even as the point of her stiletto sank past the edge of the stairs. The vampyric crimson fled from her irises, replaced with silver-lined hazel as her hands groped the empty air and tipped back.
Gasps and stunted hollers curdled from the watching crowd, only to churn into rapturous applause as one of Amelia's friends caught her. The pair righted themselves on the landing, where Bailey stood looking extremely pleased with herself.
"I'd watch your back if I was you, you filthy little bitch. Your kind doesn't belong here in court. None of you do," Amelia hissed as her friends herded her up the stairs.
Bailey's good humor dropped at the venomous words but said nothing further. Her speed and strength might be heightened by the full moon, but she wasn't prepared to take on a stairwell full of vampyrés. Keeping her chin held high, she trotted down the stairs, weaving around the bodies that refused to cede to her path.
"Fucking leeches," Bailey muttered as she speared down the avenue that cut across the second subfloor. On her left, bystanders gathered with drinks in hand. They clumped in large groups, waiting for the night's fight to begin. Slightly less animated was the congregation to her right going to and from the Turkish bathhouse.
Bailey picked up her pace. She was running late for her moonlit run with Irina and the others, searching for Franklin and the money she was owed for this week's work.
She anticipated a handsome payout. Once word got out that the Vrana's special guest and only she-wolf in residence had taken up with the Wildings, everyone wanted her as their courier.
Bailey didn't mind. Business was business, after all. The high demand for her services meant Franklin was charging a premium of which she took a generous cut. Bailey's portion wasn't half bad either.
Most of the other Wildings weren't nearly as pleased with Bailey's instant success. But not all. Some saw it as an opportunity and tagged along on her jobs in hopes of partaking in the tips Bailey received. The company was nice, even if it was based on ulterior motives. A few even showed her secret passageways she hadn't known existed and new ones set to be built.
Bailey hustled down the next two staircases without delay. The last person she spoke to said she could find Franklin in the Cellar Bar. She hung a right off the stairwell and entered a short hallway. The gilded cage of the bar's elevator entrance was in her sight when a nearby noise drew her to an unexpected stop.
Her ears prickled as she zeroed in on the source one door up.
It was a voice. They spoke too low and fast for Bailey to make out, and yet… something about it was familiar.
Bailey crept closer. Magic wafted through the air. Bailey knew its signature, yet it still brought a wave of goosebumps to her arms. The room's occupant let out a frustrated cry, and Bailey took it as her cue to enter.
"What the hell are you doing?"
River stood in the middle of the room. A light sheen of sweat bathed her forehead and upper chest. Her eyes were wide as she regarded Bailey before drooping, along with the rest of her body.
"I'm trying out a new spell. I thought it would help reveal my true self; allow all the parts of myself to come to the forefront," River panted. She bent slightly at the waist, her hands clasping her hips as she caught her breath.
Bailey closed the door behind her and took a cautious step forward. River's disappointment and irritation roiled through the room.
