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“Considering how I perform bloodletting every day, yeah, I guess I am.” He pulled his hair tie out, letting his hair down fully. The dark, wavy strands fell over his cheeks.
Naia ignored the pleasure unfurling in her, seeing him wear it down. He rarely did. “Bloodletting?”
Ronin set aside his rice ball and slowly tied back his hair. “If I don’t drain some of my blood each day, I’ll get sick. I was born to use my blood to keep deities in line. I guess you can call it insurance for the High Goddess of Life and Balance when she created our bloodline? Hell if I know, but if I’m not doing what I was born to do, my blood will eventually claim my life and I will fall to disease. It’s how my mother died.”
Naia’s brow furrowed, her stomach twisting from the information. “Isn’t losing blood just as dangerous?”
A corner of his mouth slipped up into half a grin, his rice ball hovering inches from his mouth. “Is this your way of admitting you’re worried about me?”
Naia floated in the space where their eyes were joined.
A few hours ago, if she were in this situation, she might’ve responded with a sarcastic remark, or maybe denied it by looking away. Because while it was clear she had feelings for Ronin, she was petrified of where those feelings would lead. The worst torment in life was to lose someone dearly beloved.
Whatever chasm she’d fallen into had absorbed all her worries and fears, leaving only a tremendous amount of courage, a damaged ego, and a hint of carelessness.
“Yes,” she said. “It is.”
Something flashed in Ronin’s gaze, like glass catching the glint of the sun. A heat kindled in her bloodstream in response to it.
He took a bite of his food and downed the elixir in one swig.
“It’s bullshit,” he said after he swallowed. “But I have this elixir that restores my blood loss, so don’t worry. I’ve been doing it since I was old enough to remember.”
“That must be difficult.” She swallowed, keeping her squeamish nature at bay. The talk of blood made her palms clammy.
Ronin hung his head back to down the coffee. His Adam’s apple bobbed in his throat, and Naia was profoundly astounded by how much she enjoyed the sight.
He placed the can back down on the table, shaking his head. “My blood is my niche. I’ve always had a talent for manipulating it with my magic. It’s how I could stop your brothers at the hall.”
Her eyes grew slightly, intrigued. When Malik and Vex had groped their heads in pain. “In the jazz bar, when Damian stopped talking mid-sentence and grabbed his head…”
Ronin chuckled quietly, scratching the bottom of his chin as he nodded. “Yup. The fucker was taking advantage of your innocence. It’s exactly why I kept him out of the taproom all week and assigned Vi, Noah, and Avi to hang out with you.”
She sat up, her mouth popping open. “They don’t really work in the taproom?”
“No.” He pursed his lips to downgrade his amusement. “We assign those sorts of jobs to the lower ranks of the organization.”
She was partially mortified they had babysat her all week, and partially in awe of the lengths he’d gone through to make sure she was taken care of.
Slinking back down on the cushion, she made a face. “I can’t believe you can burst blood in people’s brains. That’s horrendous.”
“Not as horrendous as your psychotic fucking brother carving you open.” The humor of the moment evaporated from his face, replacing it with a somberness she did not know how to dissect.
Naia exhaled; the trauma of the memory too exasperating to relive. Instead, she stared down at her fingers in her lap. Beneath her nails was residue the color of rust. She couldn’t wait to shower and cleanse herself of the reminders of the dreadful day.
And then what?
The reminder of Cassian’s lingering curse invaded her mind, as if her brain tried to line up all her major problems in life one-by-one for her to confront. Though she refused to go down that road now. It was a struggle to envision the next hour, let alone where she would be tomorrow. Therefore, she didn’t.
She crammed them away in a box buried in the farthest crease of her mind and continued the conversation with Ronin. “I had a customer at the brewery tell me the Blood Heretics were on the news for murder; how you dismembered and left a hex mark on the bodies.”
He ran a hand over his face, like he was trying to erase all visible signs of his exhaustion. “It was a pack of Finnian’s ghouls snacking on some tourists a block from Tempest. They were in my domain, so we handled it. The hex is the only way to put them down permanently.”
His answer snuffed her apprehensions. Finnian’s ghouls were remarkably grotesque, an infection spreading all over the city.
There was still one thing bugging her, though. “And the awful screams I heard in your secret lounge in the basement?”
Ronin’s brows perked, a slight curve sliding up his mouth as he chewed. “Have you been snooping around?”
