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But her heart was as calm as a gentle sea.
She didn’t agree with his actions, and it was the last thing she would’ve done.
But she didn’t care.
Ronin had ended the man’s life efficiently. A means to an end. The situation was far from black or white. In the end, he had done what he thought was best. Who was she to question his decision? He was the leader of the Blood Heretics with experience in loss and what it meant to survive.
Naia couldn’t stop picturing the fear in his eyes when the man threw the beer at her. Ronin had been afraid. For her. Someone immortal. Something she’d dwelled on the entire drive home.
Her biggest fear had always been pain, and it seemed his was watching someone he cared about experiencing it.
Naia reached out and grabbed his hand. Assuring that stiff, moral part of herself it was okay to bask in the puddle of warmth collecting in her chest as a response to how much he cared for her.
Ronin dropped down on his knees and gently settled his chest between her spread legs. She tucked tendrils of his hair behind his ear, holding his gaze. The deeper she stepped inside of it, the further she wanted to fall.
Darkness and all; she wanted every part of him.
The taste of the potion was similar to something decomposing on Naia’s tongue. Two days of consistently taking a dose and she was still having to choke it down.
Naia rolled the vial between her fingertips. Held it up to her mouth. Grimaced. Threw her head back and choked down the potion. It bubbled in her stomach. She coughed and tensed her abdomen to keep from retching.
Setting aside the vial on the bar, she chugged the drink the bartender had made her. The burn of the alcohol lit a fire down her esophagus.
“What the hell is this?” She coughed.
A faint swish sounded beside her.
“Vodka,” Theon supplied, sitting on the stool next to her and typing quickly on the screen of his phone.
He was an image of plush white hair and skin as pale as winter itself. She wanted desperately to wretch his mask off his face to sate her curiosity.
Theon glanced around the lounge. It was practically empty due to Ronin calling a meeting with most of the members to brief them on the bombs.
“What are you doing?” Naia asked him, still wincing from the sting of her drink.
Although it was an improvement from the awful flavor of the repulsive concoction she had just consumed.
Theon reached over the bar and snatched a half of a lemon from the glass bowl. “Ronin ordered me to include you in more Blood Heretic duties.”
“Why?”
“Because he said that is what you wanted.” Theon handed her the lemon wedge. “Was he wrong?”
Her cheeks reddened. She accepted the lemon, staring down at it.
After their encounter with the informant, she specifically told Ronin she wanted to be more involved with his organization, but she hadn’t expected him to be straightforward and turn it into an order. Much less task Theon to do the job.
She clicked her tongue on the roof of her mouth. “I…”
“Want to be a part of something,” he finished. It sounded like he understood.
Then he gestured down to the lemon in her fingers with the click of his eyes, light and blue as a river. “Lemon helps kill the taste of the potion.”
She squeezed the plump fruit over her mouth. Beads of juice dripped onto her tongue. The sour tang clenched the muscles in her jaws and she puckered her face.
“Did you feel the same when you first joined?” Her eyes squinted from the taste. She shook her head and discarded the rung-out lemon slice.
Theon stared at her with no indication of replying.
