Aedelmar nodded at Mireille, grinning like a deviant schoolboy, then rose from his seat as she took his hand. They walked across the stage and behind the black curtain. Heading to the back room for his private dance.
Ronin was grateful the room was dark.
So that Wormwood couldn’t see the claw-marks gouged into the side of the table when he returned with Ronin’s drink.
CHAPTER FIFTY-FIVE
“Um, wow,” Cassandra whispered, her blood pumping, as Tristan unfurled his wings in the private room.
Tristan’s hand was at his waistband, making adjustments, and Cassandra snickered.
“What?” he asked, innocently. “She’s areallygood dancer.”
Cassandra couldn’t disagree. She hadn’t been able to take her eyes off Mireille when she’d slunk in here with the Koenig, sat him in the leather chair, and slithered across his body for what felt like an hour.
For the grand finale, Mireille had licked her magenta lips, activating the somnothian root and lethaphyll extract within her lipstick, then given the Koenig a sloppy, tongue-filled—on her end, at least—kiss.
That had been seconds ago and both Fae were out, Aedelmar slumped in his chair and Mireille collapsed at his feet.
Cassandra pulled out the antidote Mireille had crafted, wrapped an arm around her shoulders, and poured the thick amber liquid into her mouth.
Mireille came to immediately, goosebumps pebbling her skin as her eyes dilated. She gripped Cassandra’s forearms, deep fear darkening her eyes. Reliving some private nightmare. Shecalmed when she recognized Cassandra, who stood and helped her up. Tristan was a looming, concerned presence behind Aedelmar.
“He looks so much…smallerthan I expected,” Cassandra said.
Mireille snorted. “Most males do.”
“Hey,” Tristan protested.
Cassandra blew him a kiss. “Never you, Birdman.”
The Koenig’s breathing was deep and slow, but extract-induced unconsciousness hadn’t softened his face like real sleep might have. He looked tense, his eyes roving madly behind his lids. Like he might spring to life at any moment.
“Is he supposed to look like that?” Cassandra asked.
Mireille pinched her lips together. “Be quick. He won’t remember anything when he wakes up. But I have no idea how long that will be. You need to be out of here by then. I’ll give him another dance, then take him back into the main room.”
“Where’s Wormwood’s office?” Tristan asked Mireille.
“Left out this door, then up the back staircase. Second door on the right.”
Tristan wrapped himself in his wings, shook his feathers, and disappeared.
“I will never get used to that,” Mireille said, blinking. She eased open the door, ducked her head out, then pulled back in. “All clear.”
Tristan shot a hand through his feathers, giving them a thumb’s up.
Mireille waited a beat for him to exit, then closed the door and turned to Cassandra. “Are you ready?”
“Ready as I’m going to be.”
Cassandra glanced down at the Koenig, temptingly vulnerable with his bare chest exposed and the kohl cleaned from his eyes. She wished she had a weapon. Typhon steel, ashard of glass, a stone spike. Anything that she could plunge into his heart and end him right here, right now.
The mere thought sent a jolt of pain through her veins. Even if she’d been armed, the blood vow wouldn’t allow her to harm him.
Cassandra leaned down to whisper into Aedelmar’s ear, to encourage the memory she sought to the surface.
Before she opened her mouth, she glanced over to Mireille one final time, who sent her a determined nod of encouragement.
