“I don’t know what to say to help her,” Ronin said on a ragged exhale.
Mireille placed a steaming cup of tea in front of him, the comforting, herbal scent settling his nerves.
“I don’t either,” Mireille said, blowing the steam off her own mug. “Did you know about Tristan and Ione being fated to one another?”
“Of course I did. But the minute I saw Cassandra with those wings, knew who’d Turned her and what it could mean… Everything the Teles Chrysos and Ione believes is now uncertain. Cassandra could be even more important than any of us ever thought. If she breaks here, if we can’t find a way to get her through this…”
He didn’t need to finish the sentence. Saw the same anxiety steal across Mireille’s striking features. Still the most striking he’d ever seen.
“She needs something to fight for,” Mireille said. “A reason to hope after everything she’s just learned. Something stronger than the heartache trying to drag her under.”
The familiarity in Mireille’s tone, as if she’d had to do the same in here, stirred his anger.
How fuckingdareshe allude to her own heartache after she…
He shook away those useless thoughts. They’d do nothing to help him, or Cassandra, get through this mess. And if he were beingreallyhonest with himself, he was so fucking tired of holding on to this anger. Didn’t know what to do with it.
I know what you could do with it, his wolf chimed in.
A memory bubbled to the surface of Ronin’s mind. Of the punishments he’d once delivered to Mireille. Of her flesh reddening beneath his palm as she quivered in ecstasy across his lap.
He snarled at his wolf, pushing the vision away, though not fast enough to stem the powerful wave ofwantthat tore through him and shifted his scent.
Mireille’s nostrils flared, but she didn’t acknowledge it. Dipped her eyes to her mug and took a short sip.
So he wouldn’t acknowledge it either. Just let it sit there between them. A writhing beast he didn’t have the strength to tame alone.
“How didyoudo it?” he asked, tentatively.
She raised her eyes, and he nearly roared at the centuries of fatigue dulling them.
At one time in his life, he’d wanted nothing more thanto remove any shred of fatigue or anger or disappointment from those eyes. Fuck, maybe hestillwanted to.
“It was never about me,” she said, shaking her head sadly. “Never about what I wanted. IknewI needed to survive. To prepare myself for her.” She nodded her head toward the bathroom.
The water had been running for too long. Maybe he should go check on Cass. But he knew as well as anyone that sometimes a person needed to shatter in private.
“And that’s the secret, isn’t it?” Mireille whispered, sipping from her mug and brushing a strand of copper hair off her face. He could almost feel it running through his fingers. Liquid silk. “We don’t do it for ourselves. We need something bigger to fight for. Something that makes us forget our petty wants and selfish desires.”
Ronin leaned back, cracking his knuckles and trying to imagine what might relight Cassandra’s spark, give her the courage to fight. Or to at leasttry.
“Have you told her who she is to you yet?” Ronin asked.
Mireille scoffed. “And when, exactly, would I have had the time to do that?”
Mireille had hadplentyof time to tell Cassandra about their shared ancestry. He knew that wasn’t why she’d been hesitating. She’d never been good with the interpersonal stuff.
He shrugged. “Might help.”
“Maybe,” Mireille said thoughtfully, cupping her mug. “What was she like in the colonies? Before she was Turned.”
“She…” Ronin hesitated. He hadn’t known Cassandra for very long. Hadn’t spent much time with her in Thalenn. But he’d heard the rumors of the risks she’d taken as the Savior Sister. “She lifts up the lowest of us. Fights for those who cannot fight for themselves. Often to her own detriment.”
A dazzling smile spread across Mireille’s face. A spear to his heart he wasn’t prepared for. He looked away.
Her soft whisper floated across the table, laden with the barest hint of hope. “I think I know how to help her. But I’ll need a few days to prepare.”
Ronin had led soldiers onto and off of the battlefield. Was very familiar with those numb, twitchy looks that signaled a mind nearing the breaking point. Cassandra had worn far too many of those looks tonight.
