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Being on the other end of his consuming gaze was nothing like being picked apart by Mira’s, or even Marina’s. It was invigorating—and terrifying—to be something of an idiosyncrasy to him. Someone intently determined to see past her walls. Centuries ago, she might’ve wished for a chance to be seen by another, but now, it was a risk. And suddenly, she regretted prying into matters that did not concern her.
“Why don’t you ask him?” Ronin said after a long second.
“I am asking you. The picture of the woman drenched in blood. He has it tattooed on his arm, and from what I’ve gathered, it is an insignia for the Blood Heretics.” She squared her jaw at him through the mirror. “Am I wrong?”
He smirked.
“Be careful, Naia,” he warned. “You’re asking dangerous questions.”
His intention must’ve been to spook her, and if it were anyone else she was in this position with, she might have shut up. However, Ronin did not frighten her. Not even a little. And it wasn’t until the cryptic words left his mouth that she realized it was the opposite, in fact.
Mage or not, there was a safety in his presence she’d never experienced with anyone else before. She was unaware of how she knew, but she would bet on it with her freedom.
She smirked right back at him. “Luckily, I am no stranger to ruin.”
He crossed his arms, pulling the shoulders of his blazer taut. Slowly, his eyes traced up and down the dress she wore, eliciting a fire beneath her skin.
“I am surprised.” His voice was low, rich with approval. “You went with black.”
It was clear he had no intention of answering her question. Skirting on the line of truths seemed to be their specialty—both equally stubborn and willing to give nothing away below the surface.
She would not give up so easily. “You did not answer my question.”
Ronin stepped up onto the platform, a cloud of jasmine and sage engulfing her. Two scents embedded in the walls of his apartment from his fabric softener and incense, but lingering amidst them was a musky note of cologne—a braided fragrance of bergamot and neroli.
He kept his distance behind her. The material of his fitted jacket grazed the back of her exposed arm, her other arm covered by the long sleeve of her dress.
His presence hummed like electricity up her nape as he leaned in, pausing next to her ear. “You really want to exchange truths right now? I mean, I don’t mind, but if I tell you my secrets, I’ll expect you to do the same.”
The vibrations of his vocal cords rumbled in her ribcage, and she pursed her lips to hide her pleasure from it.
The onyx-colored suit, paired with his dark eyes and hair, was a pleasant contrast to his light complexion. It gave him an ethereal quality she lacked, tempting her to remove her glamor.
“It matches your suit.” It was her turn to evade the topic. “You seem fond of the color.”
“Hm?”
“My dress,” she said. “I chose black because it is the only color you ever wear.”
“It’s my favorite color,” Ronin confessed.
I know.
She braced herself as his arm snaked around her waist. He was careful to maintain a safe distance of space between the inside of his arm and the side of her hip.
His palm hovered over her hand resting on her torso.
“May I?” he asked.
It was a genuine inquiry Naia could not resist.
The back of her knuckles met his open palm in response. His skin was remarkably chilled. As he had told her before, he was cold-natured.
Before she could turn her hand and embrace his fingers to warm them, his other arm came around her and slid a bracelet around her wrist. A black, dainty chain with a scarlet jewel in its center. It was beautiful, but Naia did not know how to express such sentiment without sounding too vulnerable.
“Since these are our last hours together, I thought I would leave you with something to remember me by,” he said.
The mention of their limited time formed a knot in her chest. With all the thoughts revolving around his secrets and the Blood Heretics, she hadn’t stopped to consider how she would feel when the time came to part ways with him.
