No, a part of her knew he wanted this,neededthis, as much as she did.
She continued to stroke him, twisting and squeezing as she passed over his head then coasting back down his length.
High Gods help her, what she wouldn’t give to tug off her pants and slip him inside of her. To impale herself on his glorious cock and ride him as hard as she used to.
An unbearable ache pulsed between her thighs, followed by a rush of damp heat. She knew he could scent it. She didn’t fucking care.
He groaned then opened his eye, staring at her as he lost control of his hips and thrust up into her fist. “Fuck, Mireille. I’m about to?—”
His thunderous growl bounced off the walls and beads of sweat gathered in the grooves of his shuddering abs as he came—hard—in her hand, his muscles tensing and releasing beneath her.
She rubbed his spend on his pants as he laid back, staring at her with some of that vulnerability she’d been craving.
She flicked his jaw with the edge of her blade, drawing a tiny line of blood.
She leaned down to lick it, and his cock hardened again beneath her as she whispered in his ear.
“I win.”
CHAPTER FORTY-TWO
“Ronin agreed to the plan,” Mireille said as she sank into the warm, bubbling water.
Cassandra, who’d already been up here in the bathhouse for thirty minutes after her punishing session with Silas, could tell there was more to the story. “Did he?”
She and Silas had spent hours in the training room, long after Ronin and Mireille had left. Cassandra had spent most of it frustrated. It was hard work, unlearning her bad habits.
She felt almosttooaware of her wings. Silas had told her not to beat herself up about it. Said he couldn’t even imagine how she felt. As if she’d grown a third pair of limbs overnight. Limbs with a mind of their own.
He’d shown her a few moves—how to use them as a counterbalance during kicks, how to harness their momentum to power her punches, how to flatten them against her back so they wouldn’t interfere with evasive maneuvers.
He’d told her she’d made progress today. Much more than he’d expected. But she could hear the subtext.
She still had a long,longway to go.
She tried to ignore that depressing thought as steam sighed over her face and droplets peppered her chest and shoulders.
A long shallow pool filled with cooler water ran down the center of the main room. Lining either side were a series of semi-circular alcoves hidden behind privacy curtains, containing large, heated tubs. Within the alcoves, an array of oils perched on shelves carved into the black tiled walls. Today, Cassandra had scented the water with bergamot and mint.
Mireille seemed to appreciate it, releasing an audible groan as the water climbed to the base of her neck. She leaned her head back against the edge of the tub.
Cassandra sunk down deeper as well, keeping her wings angled up and out of the water. She’d made that mistake before, submerging her wings along with the rest of her body. While it had felt divine at the time, dragging water-logged feathers the whole way home had been a royal pain in the ass. She’d almost asked Mireille to shift into her wolf and give her a ride.
She chuckled at the memory, then probed again when it was clear Mireille was playing coy. “How did you get him to change his mind?”
Mireille cracked an eye open. “I used a bit of feminine persuasion.”
Cassandra drew her knees up and rested her chin atop them. “Do tell.”
Mireille sat upright, sending a wave cascading across Cassandra. “It’s not important. Whatisimportant is that he agreed. We’ll pick a night to do it and I’ll get the promoter at World’s End to spread the word about my performance.”
“Good,” Cassandra said, though she couldn’t help being a bit disappointed in Mireille’s answer. Not the part about Ronin agreeing—that was great news, obviously. But the first part. That Mireille didn’t want to open up to her.
Cassandra thought back to the many baths she’d taken with Xenia at the Temple. Long hours surrounded by wobbly candlelight and relaxing scents, chatting about their days,scheming Cass’s robberies, gossiping over the dramas in their supplicants’ memories.
Cassandra’s life had been so,sodifferent back then. Not only had it been hundreds of years shorter—Creator willing—but it had been contained. She’d resigned herself to a quiet existence with her Sisters, pulling memories and helping families, with no aspirations grander than surviving to see the next day. Sitting here now, months later, with a very different female by her side and the fate of an entire city on her shoulders, she ached for a little bit of that normalcy. That connection.
She wouldn’t go so far as to call Mireille her friend. Not yet. She didn’t even know if Mireille wanted that from her. Sure, they were distantly related and sure, Mireille had some kind of cosmic mandate to help Cassandra. But Mireille didn’t seem to want to share personal details.
