The Ravenous Dark, page 9
"And what exactly did you hear about Stella?"
Franklin lifted a shoulder. "Just that the Delacroix offered to renew her contract for double the original amount. Then she rejects the Roux's offer too? I might think the Roux are shady bitches, but at least those bitches know how to protect their own. Why would she turn down that kind of protection? Or money for that matter."
"I heard the Roux offered her even more than the Delacroix," Nia chimed in. "I'm telling you now, that girl is hiding something. She goes from pushover to throwing drinks at the Circe clan? That shit's suspect."
Overeager agreements sounded around the table.
Stella hiding something? She was barely comfortable holding other people's secrets, let alone her own. Besides, Bailey knew Stella was merely holding out for the Vranas. Bailey swallowed uncomfortably at the skepticism directed at her friend. It wasn't right… but for whatever reason, she couldn't quite shake off their conjecture.
"Admit it, B, her refusing contracts from Royal Households is strange," Franklin persisted, keeping her tone light. "Who knows what else she's hiding—"
"How did you even know about the Roux?"
Ire flashed through Franklin's eyes. "I told you; we hear things too. Some Roux was complaining, and one of ours overheard."
"Just because she refused them doesn't mean Stella's hiding something."
"I wouldn't be so sure about that."
"Care to explain then?"
Franklin's answering smile was painted in pity. "Come on, B. You can put the pieces together. Stella's been on fire the past few weeks with her creepy banshee cry. She predicted the death of two royals, five major and four minor household vampyrés."
"So what?" Bailey bristled at the arch look Franklin sent her.
"None of them were accidents or suicides."
"Too bad," someone chortled, setting off another wave of laughter.
Franklin shot the shifter a swift glare that quieted them immediately. "They were all premeditated, Bailey."
"What's your point?"
Both women wore stony expressions, but it was Franklin who backed down. She smoothed her features into something neutral and relaxed, though her voice still betrayed her cynicism. "My point is that the banshee's alarm system is probably pissing off whoever's behind the murders. We all know how much vampyrés hate it when their little schemes are exposed and have their thunder stolen." Franklin rolled her eyes in exasperation. "Stella needs a powerful household’s protection before whatever vampyré or vampyrés she's fucked over decides they want payback."
Bailey looked away.
Franklin's revelation didn't sit well with her, and the looks she was receiving from around the table weren't helping. Stiffening under their relentless regard, Bailey wondered how many of the bar's inhabitants thought the same.
Her sight drifted to the scorned sorceresses of the Circe clan. They'd grown in number, totaling six now. The woman who bore the brunt of Stella's surprising act of aggression wore a massive scowl as her friends tried to soothe her. Her heated regard was pinned to the elevator by which Stella left.
Bailey would need to keep an eye out for her.
Franklin's fingers tapped impatiently on the table's surface, stopping only when Bailey locked eyes with her again. "All we're trying to say is that your girl is giving off weird vibes. Okay? No need to get all moody on us. We're family now, and family looks out for each other."
Bailey was saved from having to reply as a fellow Wilding carried over a tray filled with a dozen or so shot glasses. The table gave a boisterous cheer, earning a few scowls from their nearest neighbors.
"Courtesy of the Fawzy siblings," the Wilding said, passing out the shot glasses until each occupant of the table had two sitting in front of them. Bailey thought the Wilding looked familiar, or at least his nose did. The crooked slant called to her memory, but she couldn't quite place it.
The Wilding's button-down was rolled up to his elbows, revealing a W marked on his right wrist. It was the sixth time she'd spotted such a mark tonight.
"These better not be poisoned, Kiefer," Nia commented, swaying slightly in her seat.
Several shifters nodded or muttered their agreement. Franklin sighed as she grabbed her first shot and stood. She whistled. The sharp, brief blast drew more eyes than just her intended targets; the Fawzy siblings. The pair were making their way out of the bar, but the brother tipped his head in acknowledgment at Franklin's call.
"To those who wish us well!" Franklin lifted her glass a touch higher then downed her drink.
"All the rest can go to hell!" The remainder of the table chanted. Bailey's harsh posture softened as she joined in, downing the burning liquid with a cringe.
"Again!" Demanded a man from the back. It was Woods, the guy who'd obliterated Emmanuel in the pit earlier in the week. He was plastered and growled at any sudden movements within his vicinity. It had been funny at first, until he bit Travis so hard he bled. Then it was hilarious.
The second round of shots was cloyingly sweet and pulled a face from every shifter at the table.
"Damn," Franklin coughed into a fist. Her face was bright red, and her eyes alight with contagious mirth. "That one was definitely poisoned."
At the half-hearted joke, the group exploded into a discussion about the most recent poisoning scandal. Bailey considered ducking out. Her head was swimming with the amount of alcohol she consumed, and it was dredging up her disastrous conversation with Ronan earlier.
Bailey bit back a groan as his face filled her mind. She hoped she hadn't screwed things up too badly. He was—
"Hey, did you hear what I said?" Bailey startled and focused on Franklin with some measure of difficulty. The owl shifter's head was cocked to the side in obvious amusement. "I asked if the Vranas were planning on making a play for Stella?"
Bailey's head was shaking side to side before Franklin finished her question. A pang of guilt hit her square in the gut as she remembered her promise to Stella about speaking to Jakob on the very matter.
Note to self; be a better friend.
"That's surprising." Nia bumped shoulders with Franklin as she leaned across her to speak directly to Bailey. The serval hiccuped and then belched, excusing herself with a scarlet blush. Bailey raised both eyebrows at the serval. Nia didn't shrink back. "It's surprising because the Vranas are the mixiest household at court. They've got vampyrés, they've got hybrids, they've got witches, and she-wolves, and a freakin' sorcerer. Why not a banshee? It's what everyone expects."
"It's called 'inclusivity,'" Travis said in a droll voice. "It's very 'in' right now, even if it doesn't do shit for lining our pockets." The table voiced their amusement and agreement in flippant chuckles and smirks, putting Bailey needlessly on edge.
"Yeah, yeah, we get it," the nameless female sitting at the back corner of the table chortled. "The Vranas are the shit and better than all the rest—but they're still fuckin' leeches."
"Here, here."
Everyone raised a glass except for Bailey. Spying her over the lip of her drink, Franklin grinned and set her glass down after taking a sip. "Not your kind of toast?"
"What gave me away?"
Franklin tossed her head back and laughed at the glower on Bailey's face. "Damn, B, you've got to lighten up. You're running with the living now. No one's going to run and tattle on you for taking the piss out of the very group of supernaturals who're determined to keep the rest of us at their beck and call."
Bailey flushed. "The Vranas aren't like that." Franklin's grin hitched higher. "I've got to get going," Bailey finally said.
A chorus of nos and boos assaulted her as she stood. Franklin mirrored her. "Hold up a minute before you go, I got something for you. Yo, Kiefer!" Franklin hollered.
Bailey hooked her thumbs in her belt loops, striving for nonchalance while she battled with her annoyance. First Stella, and now the Vranas? Her drunken annoyance slipped to curiosity as Kiefer shouldered his way through the crowd. As he neared, her eyes grew wide, and her back straightened.
"Holy shit," Bailey breathed, eyeing the raven statuette with shock. Franklin chuckled at her incredulous expression. "How did you…?"
"We've got a decent network at court to take care of stuff when we need it," Franklin explained with a pleased grin. "Besides, I figured the Vranas might be more amenable to you joining our crew if we didn't have you steal and ruin their shit."
"Yeah," Bailey breathed, accepting the repaired raven with shock. "Thanks."
"You're welcome." Franklin held out her hand, and the two shook hands. Bailey's shock lingered as Franklin prattled on, "If you swing by early tomorrow, I might have some work for you to do. A few messages and packages need to be delivered. Once you prove you can carry out the lower profile deliveries without trouble, you can be moved up to the better paying ones."
Franklin sat back down, smoothing back her blonde hair as she studied Bailey's reaction. "You cool with that?" she followed up with a quirk of an eyebrow. Bailey's head bobbed up and down with far more enthusiasm than necessary. "Good. See you then, B."
VI
Callum stood before his brother dressed to the nines in a three-piece tux, complete with bow tie and evergreen, velvet lapels, relaying noteworthy court news of the past few nights.
Whose latest scheme went awry.
The banshee's latest victim.
Lurid whispers of dark magic.
The Wildings' latest recruit: Bailey Hart.
Ronan's hands grappled with each other out of sight underneath his desk as he absorbed the last piece of news. He wasn't a fan of the shifter gang. They answered only to the highest bidder and had little respect for the ways of the court—even if Ronan agreed those ways were outdated. He saw them as barely a step above scavengers.
"You're sure it was her?"
Callum nodded.
Ronan pinched the bridge of his nose. The demons… the raven statuette in her arms… it all made sense now. Bailey was participating in the Wilding's infamous gauntlet. His hand dropped back to his lap.
Since when do the Wildings enlist demons in their gauntlets? Was it some quid pro quo or a perk of the Lunar Court?
"Word is she passed with flying colors."
Ronan sucked in his cheeks and pressed his tongue against the back of his teeth. She would, he thought with warring affection and ire for her stubborn spirit. She never could back down from a challenge. "You're dismissed. Enjoy the festivities."
Callum's usually serious expression was split apart by a wide grin as he gave a mocking bow. "As my liege commands."
"Out."
As Callum left, Ana slipped in. For a moment, Ronan doubted the effectiveness of his glower as she strolled up to his desk. Then he recalled her obnoxious tenacity.
"May I have a few minutes of your time?" She asked sweetly. "I've been thinking about your recent… development."
"Have you now?" Ronan stood and wound his way around the room to the bar cart. He harbored no doubt whatever was about to come out of his cousin's mouth would leave him in need of a strong refreshment.
Ana approached with care as he poured out a finger's worth of whiskey for himself. "Yes," she replied primly, hands flattening the pleats of her skirt. "And I believe I found a solution, though it is a touch unconventional, if you will."
The beveled edges of his tumbler cut into his palm as his grip tightened. "Unconventional, how?"
For the last two weeks, he’d all but lived in his office, working tirelessly to control and understand his new power. His efforts proved worthwhile up until the moment he was ripped away from the safety of his home by the same dark force that had stolen him before.
He went toe-to-toe with the Delacroix and a handful of others, compelled to fight in his shadowmancer form. The fight had been a rude awakening for him. The vehemence that his opponents fought with was only a small taste of what the court would inflict upon him should they find out his identity.
But he survived.
With every blow he suffered, the shadowy void he occupied suckled at his wounds like a parasite. A voice accompanied the barbaric act. It offered unimaginable power if he surrendered to its wolfish appetite for destruction. All he needed to do was lay a hand on the infected, who tore through the room's occupants without remorse.
And if by chance I lay hands on an innocent bystander, then what? What ill fate will befall them? Ronan hated to even imagine the deathly possibilities.
As it stood, the struggle to resist and reclaim his power from the dark presence cost him precious focus. Ronan's hand went unconsciously to his side, applying the lightest of pressure to the lower half of his ribs. A hiss of air streamed past his lips. The wound was still tender despite the magical medicines used to treat it.
His diligent practice was all that stood between him and the dark magic seducing him. He couldn’t afford unnecessary distractions for the sake of his household and—
"You might want to take a drink of that first."
Ronan lifted an eyebrow as Ana suddenly paced away from him. He watched her retreat with simmering intrigue as he sipped idly on his whiskey.
"Do explain."
"I was thinking we might enlist some outside help." Ronan's glower returned full force and Ana rushed to explain. "We're shifters, not sorcerers or witches. We need someone with unequivocal expertise in magic to help. Someone we can trust."
Ronan's stomach dropped, knowing what was to come. She was going to say Jax. Ana was biting her lip in anxious reprieve as she summoned the will to speak his name.
And Ronan would have to turn her down. He couldn't let Jax know about his recent development, as Ana had so eloquently put it.
Jax's obsession with the power and secrets that lay beyond the Mirror of Ways was unhealthy. If he learned that Ronan developed a new power after they'd been away from the Otherworld for so long, he would redouble his efforts to get Ronan to take him back.
The mirror is broken, Ronan reminded himself. It's fractured into dozens of pieces. You can't go back.
"Who?"
Ana rolled her shoulders back. "Valdora."
Ronan's glass stopped halfway to his mouth as his brain caught up with her words. Confusion and shock nettled Ronan as he stared at Ana, his frown deepening with each passing breath.
"Not Jax?"
Ana blinked and then shook her head. "No, of course not." Ronan's mouth twisted in inquiry, but Ana was prepared. "We see everything, Ronan," Ana reminded him, her words carefully light. "Including your avoidance of him."
Ronan grunted. His lips thinned in displeasure.
There was a time when he and Jax were near inseparable. They’d entered the Dark Court around the same time and immediately found acres of common ground between them. They were both eager to prove themselves in the renowned supernatural haven. Even more so to make names for themselves. They’d become brothers in every way save blood, and soon enough, their exploits were the favorite topic of every gossipmonger as they asserted themselves as major players in the court’s deadly politics.
They’d gone through much together in the past twenty years, helping each other face fears and push to new heights. Bittersweet memories began to trickle through his mind, only for Ronan to shut the door on them.
He knew Jax would always have his back, and yet that knowledge no longer comforted him as it once had done. If he was honest with himself, it had been like that for a while
"Valdora's an outcast after what happened with the Roux and their initiates." His statement was met with a pert eyebrow raise from Ana.
To Ronan, Valdora had led the Tempest clan admirably. Her fellow clan mates had not. Months ago, they struck out in vengeance against the Roux for their callous slaying of sorcerers and sorceresses, kidnapping their initiates, and torturing them.
The Tempest clan did not win the ensuing fight, and Valdora paid the price of their deceit and betrayal.
She was cast to the lowest ranks of the court. A social pariah, Valdora's worth had taken a dangerous tumble. Night in and night out, she endured the ridicule and shame courtiers lambasted upon her. The once great and revered tempest was regarded now as no better than a common alchemist whose service you could procure for cheap.
Not even the Lunar Court would claim her.
Ronan smoothed his features, dubious about Ana's suggestion… but curious, nonetheless.
"Exactly!" Ana stepped forward as if compelled by her passionate agreement. "She's an outcast, but she doesn't want to be. Valdora's desperate to earn back the status she lost and take command of a new clan of tempests."
No surprise there.
"How desperate?"
"Desperate enough to make a few stamina elixirs for the demons, or so I've heard." Ronan downed his whiskey, smoothed his shirt, and then aimed for the study door.
"Desperate people don't make trustworthy people." Ronan's head shook side to side as he spoke.
"But she's brilliant," she argued. She cut ahead of him, blocking his path. He came to a halt at her beseeching look. "And she's desperate for good work. We can trust her—we have before," Ana reminded him. "Outside of Jax, she's the most talented sorceress at court. Give her a chance. Give yourself a chance.
"Chasing rumors about dark magic will only see us so far, and it may not even help your problem. We need to take a different approach sooner or later. Why not now?"
Ronan sidestepped her, tossing his next words over his shoulder as he left. "I'll consider it. We'll discuss the matter more in-depth later; I have somewhere to be."
That somewhere was located six floors up in the Vrana's royal apartment suites. Ronan needed to tell Jakob of Bailey's transgression. The move, upon brief reflection, felt childish, but he was quick to rationalize his choice as another means of protecting her.
Her life was in danger, should he commit to their soulmark bond and tie their fates together, but nor could she be trusted in the care of the Wildings. A stern frown drew down his features as he set out determinedly to the Vranas. If Jakob knew of her actions with the statuette and demons, he would put a stop to it, and Ronan could continue to keep his distance.
