The Ravenous Dark, page 6
The women regarded each other with equally hardened eyes.
"I am, and you would do well to do the same." Irina's curt tone, coupled with her searing stare did little to lessen the anger mounting within Bailey’s veins. Irina stepped closer to her and lowered her voice. "The Roux are wise enough to know they stand on thin ground with the magical community here and that it will take decades to smooth their image and regain the influence they had. So, they’ve chosen to abstain, which means the vote will now be passed among the Major Household Heads"
Worry settled in Bailey’s stomach.
"Is this all because of the shadowmancer? I'm sure whatever rogue sorcerer is responsible for it will be found soon enough."
Irina's lips turned down. "There is more at play behind the scenes. The Delacroix are not overly fond of the Lunar Court," she whispered. Irina scanned the hallway once more and straightened, ignoring Bailey’s crestfallen face. "It is no secret that our household supports it, given our current makeup and guests—" She glanced pointedly at Bailey as she began walking once more. "—which is why we are against the Delacroix's campaign. It will be several weeks before an official vote is taken on the matter, giving both the Delacroix and us time to lobby amongst the major households.
"The Gunwyns will back us, but the other three will be much harder to convince. However, with enough work, Jakob and I believe the Krovopuskovs may be convinced to our side." Sensing Bailey's growing ire and outrage, Irina placed a hand on her shoulder and squeezed. "Don't fret. We have everything well in hand, and if the Delacroix's hunt of the shadowmancer proves fruitful, this whole matter might be dropped."
"Or they'll drag it out to strengthen their position."
"Yes, which is why we will conduct our search privately."
Irina's reassurance loosened some tension in Bailey's body. "Let me know if I can do anything to help."
Irina issued another squeeze and smiled. "I will. Will you be joining the boys and me for the upcoming full moon?" Bailey nodded. "Excellent. Good luck with the Wildings. They're savages, the entire lot of them."
"Right back at you," Bailey said with a chuckle.
"As if I need it," the hybrid replied with a smirk, and the two parted ways.
Bailey spent over an hour searching for Franklin before a passing shifter directed her to the abandoned fighting pits on the fifth subfloor. The location surprised her. Random courtier suites and apartments stacked the east wing of the subfloor, while at its center, a sizable theater and adjoining ballroom resided. She knew by hearsay the abandoned fighting pits were somewhere tucked away, out of sight and mind, in the west wing.
Bailey didn't venture to that area often.
The air was clammy and depressed, as if haunted by the ghosts of its past. Centuries-old blood still clung to the air, refusing to let go of what once was. Glory. Humiliation. Pain. Power. It gave Bailey the creeps.
It didn't take long for her to reach the ancient pits. She stopped and leaned against its arched entryway, observing the goings-on of the Wildings and the space they’d repurposed as their own. Castaway furniture decorated the large room. The mismatched couches, chairs, and lamps were oddly fitting for the group of misfit shifters.
Three shifters bustled past Bailey, oblivious to her presence. Their heads were tucked closely together over an ornate jewelry box whose contents glittered, even in the poor lighting. Others lounged and chatted amicably, while some gathered around tables with stacks of paper and other supplies littering its surface. Watching everyone interacting with such familial ease drew a bittersweet pang to Bailey's heart.
This is a pack, Bailey thought as the poignant threads of homesickness wound themselves tightly around her.
Bailey bit her tongue to tide the swell of tears that threatened to rise. The swiftness of her emotions took her off guard.
She was lonely here. The growing absence of River these past few weeks only made the fact more obvious. Without her friend, she was forced to be the one thing she never wanted: a lone wolf.
Her throat buckled with the revelation. Living with the dead wasn't easy, though she could have it much worse than the Vranas. There was a solace to be found in her friendship with Stella, but she was often wrapped up in her banshee duties. Bailey gazed at the rambunctious Wildings with longing. She was placing a lot of her hopes on them to fill the void ever-widening in her heart. First with River, and then Ronan.
Bailey took a breath and tucked up her chin. The Wildings would be a temporary filler. River would come back to her and Ronan would come around. She had to believe in that.
"Damn, Emmanuel, you're getting your ass handed to you!" howled a bulky-looking man from the lip of one of the shallow fighting pits where two men sparred. Bailey set her sights on the scene at hand and promptly revised her assessment. There was only one man in the pit; the other looked barely out of his teens and sported a nasty fat lip.
"Again," the man in the ring ordered sharply.
The two exchanged jabs, going through the motions until the kid was knocked down.
"I thought fox shifters were smarter," snickered a man with a pointed chin and gaunt cheekbones. "This kid should quit now and run back home to mommy and daddy."
The bulky fellow laughed along with his pointy-chinned friend. Bailey scowled. She wasn't a fan of lunkhead warriors who got off on tormenting a pack's omega.
"Again!"
Smoothing her expression into something neutral, she shoved her hands into her jeans pockets and dissected their next round from afar. The kid, Emmanuel, had talent, but he was nowhere near as experienced as his teacher. He lasted a punch or two longer than the last round, opening himself up to a right hook that made even Bailey's ears ring.
"Ooh!" Dumb and dumber lurched in tandem, their fists pressed near their mouths as they doubled over in laughter while Emmanuel tripped over his feet and fell to a knee. A growl simmered at the back of her throat.
"Again, E. Let's go. On your feet."
Emmanuel hauled himself up and wiped at the blood collecting at the corner of his mouth. Impressed with his tenacity, Bailey kicked off the wall and strolled over to the fighting pit prepared to give him the advice his teacher and onlookers denied him. Dumb and dumber didn't seem to notice her, but his teacher did.
Bailey held the man's amber eyes as she crouched down at the pit's edge. Half his face was pulled taut with pink scars that left him with a permanent smirk.
"Looking to go a round?" The man asked. His voice hinted at the promise of something more as he dragged his eyes over Bailey's crouched frame.
"Nah," she replied casually with an easy smile. "I'm taken." It wasn't a lie, Bailey told herself, her heart skipping a beat. He took the rejection with mild grace, grunting and nodding his head before turning his attention back to his student. Emmanuel was bent over at the waist, his hands on his knees as he caught his breath.
"Let's go ag—"
"Hey, kid." Emmanuel's head shot up at Bailey's address and then glanced nervously at his teacher. "You're sloppy on your follow-through. Hit hard and fast, and then get back into position. You're opening yourself up for a beat down every time you fully extend your arm like that." Bailey demonstrated his mistake with exaggerated slowness and then what he ought to be doing. He followed her movements with rapt attention, nodding his head along as she spoke. "Not to mention you're broadcasting your every move a mile away. Anyone with experience is going to be able to dodge that punch you keep throwing or block it. Bet it makes you feel off-balance, too, huh?" Emmanuel flushed. "Keep it tight, and you might last longer against this guy here. Though not by much, he's got years on you."
Bailey caught the ghost of a true smirk coast across the teacher's face before he wiped it away.
"You heard her. Tighten up. Last round."
Unnatural silence prickled at Bailey's ears. The eyes of the room were pinned to the scene about to play out and Bailey's brazen involvement. She ignored the weight of their curiosity landing on her back, focusing solely on Emmanuel. The young fighter straightened, puffing up his chest as he took up a position with fists raised. The pair began their dance a beat later, arms swinging and torsos twisting. Their speed increased along with the complexity of their combinations. Emmanuel went down with a loud oomph as his teacher ducked low and swiped his feet out from under him.
"Yo," Emmanuel complained, boosting himself up on one elbow to glare at his teacher. "When did this turn into an MMA fight instead of boxing?"
"When I got tired of your ass keeping up for a change." A broad smile cut across Emmanuel's face as his teacher offered him a hand up. A couple of cheers stirred around the room. "We'll go again tomorrow."
Emmanuel's lips parted in pleasant shock. "Uh, yes, sir."
The teacher scowled. "Don't call me sir."
"Er, sure thing, Woods. I'll—uh, catch you tomorrow." Woods grunted and hopped out of the pit, striding away without a glance back. Once he vanished down some darkened hallway, Emmanuel breathed a sigh of relief. His eyes were bright, despite the ugly swelling near his left eye. Emmanuel shuffled over to Bailey. "Hey, thanks for the advice."
She shrugged and offered him a hand out of the pit. "No problem."
"I appreciate it." Emmanuel's dark cheeks turned a ruddy red. "I better go and put something on this eye. Maybe I'll see you around?" Bailey nodded, and he smiled brightly, wincing as the action tugged on his split lip. "Cool. Later."
With blatant amusement, she watched him go. The rest of the room returned to their previous conversations and work, save Dumb and Dumber. Dumber—the bulky guy—opened his mouth to speak. Bailey prepared herself to listen to whatever lewd or sexist comment that was undoubtedly about to be issued when both men dropped their leers and stiffened. A moment later, a hand slapped Bailey's back.
"Well, shit," Franklin crowed, already walking past her. She wore dark motto leggings and a corset peasant top. Her blonde hair was tossed up in a messy bun, and her knuckles were crusted with blood. "I didn't think you'd come. I thought for sure those vamps had their fangs in you too deep."
Bailey snorted and walked after her. "I'm a guest of the Vranas, not a thrall." The thralls at court made Bailey want to gag every time she saw them. Thralls willingly gave their blood to vampyrés directly from their veins. They were addicted to the pleasure that came with the bite. Bailey couldn't wrap her head around it. Then Ronan came to mind and understanding dawned on her. She would let Ronan feast on her any time, any place… but maybe not here or now in front of the Wildings.
Bailey smothered the blush that rose to her cheeks just in time for Franklin to pass her a pleased grin.
"Glad to hear it. So, what are you looking to do? You looking to pick up a few jobs, or something more permanent?"
"It's… up in the air. I'm not sure how long I'll be staying." Bailey's thoughts drifted back to Ronan. If she could convince him that they were worth a shot, she could stay in this court for him. Of course, she'd have to locate him first and get him to speak to her.
"I can work with that." Franklin shooed away the few shifters who'd taken up space on a grouping of couches and chairs. "A bunch of us are on the way out, me included. I've given over two decades of my life to this place, and I can't wait to go rejoin the land of the living with a bank account that's fit to burst."
Franklin took a seat and gestured to the one across from her for Bailey. "What do you know about what we do?"
"You run jobs for courtiers. You pass along messages, packages, things like that."
"Sometimes." Her expression turned sardonic. "But you and I both know that's not all we do." Bailey did know, but it wasn't the job she was interested in with the Wildings. "We're the premiere muscle at court. We make sure debts are paid and don't mind getting our hands dirty to ensure our generous employers are happy."
"I won't be doing that," Bailey replied, her eyes growing as cold as her tone.
"Oh, really?"
"Really."
Franklin glanced away at Bailey's sharp reply. The line of her lips was taut. "That's a damn shame. Lycans are known for their strength and speed, and you'd get paid some serious cash for—"
"I said no. If you can't find a spot for me in your pack because of that, I'll bow out. That kind of business isn't what I'm about." Bailey's shoulders tensed as she awaited Franklin's answer. She considered herself River's defender, stepping in when needed to provide the muscle to her magic when situations got iffy, but the Adolphus pack hadn't raised her to be a thug. She wasn't going to change her ways now just to make some side money.
Franklin flung her head back and groaned. "Ugh, fine. You're a real buzz kill; you know that?"
Bailey huffed. "Whatever." She was halfway out of her seat when Franklin held up a hand to stop her and locked eyes.
"Geez, chill out. You can be a runner, all right? You'll run cargo and messages only; we're not going to force you to be muscle."
"Swear it."
Another groan. "I fucking swear it. Damn, B."
Bailey's shoulders relaxed. "So, when do I start?"
Franklin shook her head ruefully as a grin wormed its way across her face. "Start? You're getting way ahead of yourself, wolf girl. I can see you fitting in here with us, but we only accept the best to preserve our reputation. You'll have to pass our little gauntlet first before you can call yourself a Wilding and start taking jobs."
"Gauntlet?" Bailey's eyebrows rose.
"Gauntlet. Initiation." Franklin's grin transformed into a shark-like smile. "You get the point. So, what do you say? Think you're the best of the best?"
Bailey's body thrummed with anticipation. She'd run circles around the Wildings gauntlet and prove to them, and everyone else, that she was worth a shot. "Bring it."
IV
The sauna in the Turkish bathhouse was one of Bailey's favorite places in the Dark Court. The smell of fresh-cut cedar and the hot press of air all around her always helped her relax.
Four nights had passed since her talk with Franklin, and she'd yet to be contacted about the gauntlet. River was still annoyingly absent and the same could be said for her reluctant soulmark. Bailey hadn't seen hide nor tail of Ronan since the discovery of their bond, and that had been almost two weeks ago.
She closed her eyes with a heavy sigh and leaned her head against the cedar planks lining the walls of the sauna. After serious debate and consideration, she’d come to the reluctant conclusion that chasing after Ronan would only push him further away. She would need to play the long and slow game if she was to win him over. Bailey’s teeth found her bottom lip.
Unfortunately, patience wasn't her strong suit, and she had a track record to prove it. Now wasn't the time to give in to her baser instincts and go after what she wanted with her usual dogged determination. No matter how much her body ached to.
Her eyes fluttered open at the sound of footfall echoing in the hall outside. The bathhouse boasted few patrons at this hour, dusk still a few hours off. Bailey was the sole occupant of the sauna, but as the footfall neared, she got the feeling she wouldn't be for long. The door cracked open a few moments later, and the chill of the hall swept in, as well as a trim blonde with a pixie cut. She walked right up to Bailey and held out an envelope.
Bailey caught sight of the W marked on its front and snatched it from the blonde. The anonymous woman snorted but made no comment on Bailey's eagerness. Bailey didn't care; the she-wolf only had eyes for her message.
So, you think you have what it takes to be a Wilding? Now's your time to prove it.
Our sources say the Vranas have a raven statuette somewhere inside their royal apartment suite. Bring it to me in the old pits. If you can make it past the obstacles we've set up for you, you can call yourself a Wilding.
—F
Steal something from the Vranas? That didn't sit well with Bailey, nor the fact that the Wildings somehow knew of the statuette's existence. Bailey slumped back and dimly noted the messenger was gone. What did they want with the statuette? Bailey could picture it perfectly in her mind's eye. The sleek marble raven perched on an ironwork tree branch, its chest puffed up and head tilted to the sky. It was one of the many ornaments on the common room's fireplace mantel.
Would anyone even notice if I take it?
Bailey's lungs constricted and held tight for a long moment. Was she really contemplating taking it? The longer she sat alone with her thoughts, the more justifications she came up with to perform the task. It wouldn't be stealing if she brought the statuette back before the Vranas realized it was gone.
Bailey wet her lips and toyed with the card's corners that had softened due to the heat.
She wanted to do something for herself for a change. No, she needed to. All her life had been spent in the service of her pack in one way or another, not that she'd minded terribly since it led her to River.
But River was fending off on her own, and Ronan was fending off Bailey, so why shouldn't she take a chance on the Wildings?
Swiping the perspiration from her forehead, Bailey's fingers curled possessively around the invitation. Nobody needed to know she was going to take the statuette, and if she hurried, nobody would. Bailey tightened her towel and stood, walking out of the sauna toward the riskiest, and quite possibly the stupidest, decision she was ever going to make.
Bailey entered the Vranas suites like a thief in the night. She strained to listen for the household's inhabitants, praying silently to the Gods that none would deign to awaken and congregate in the common room as was their routine. No telling sound filtered through her ears. With a sigh of relief, she righted her gait from guilty trespasser to bored visitor.
"The sooner you do it, the sooner you can return it," Bailey muttered. She strode to the fireplace and plucked the hefty statuette from its place in the rear lineup of knickknacks and ornaments littering the mantel. Her heartbeat doubled its pace. The marble raven was cold in her hands, and if she wasn't mistaken, its beady obsidian eyes were judging her. Bailey took a step back, and then another, her head turning this way and that to scour the scene.
