“A hunt in the dark,” Venom mused. “With Lijuan’s people on your tail.”
Galen’s expression went flat, while beside Andromeda, Naasir’s fingers clenched on his goblet. “When is she going to die? I’ve been trying to accomplish that since I was a child.”
Andromeda felt her eyes widen. “Is the story true?” she asked impulsively. “That you once got into Lijuan’s Refuge stronghold and pretended to eat her pet cat?”
A sideways glance that was so cool, she almost felt frost break out over her skin. “Yes,” he said and turned back to his conversation with the others. “We also need to find out why she’s suddenly decided to murder Alexander.” A sip of blood. “Because I agree with the sire that this is far more apt to be about eliminating the competition than waking a possible ally.”
Jessamy shook her head, her expression troubled. “I’ve seen Lijuan walking closer and closer to the darkness but this I didn’t expect. To murder an Ancient in his Sleep? It’s a horror too huge to be borne.”
Andromeda could add nothing to that ugly truth.
* * *
Two hours after the dinner, Naasir shoved out of bed. He was meant to be resting so he and Andromeda could start the hunt tomorrow, but he was too wound up. She’d snapped at him to be civilized. Clearly, she wasn’t his mate even if she smelled so delicious that he could scent her in spite of the walls that separated them. It didn’t matter if she made his mouth water; his mate wouldn’t tell him to be what he wasn’t.
A woman who knows me, understands what I am, and who wants to have secret rules with me.
That’s what he’d told Ashwini he wanted in a mate and he hadn’t changed his mind. His mate wouldn’t ask him to wear a different skin, wouldn’t expect him to be “normal.” He wasn’t normal, not by any measure, but he was a person and people were allowed to have mates. He was allowed to have a mate.
Gritting his teeth against the urge to follow the beguiling scent of the woman who was clearly not his mate, he pulled on his jeans and headed to the small training arena behind the stronghold. It wasn’t the main training ring, rather a walled courtyard on the edge of a cliff where those who had to work inside the stronghold could go spar, or stretch their muscles.
He would jump up on the wall, climb down to the cliff, and make his way to the very bottom of the gorge that bisected the Refuge, then back up. The trip was difficult enough that it should exhaust—
He growled inside his chest as her scent grew in depth and intensity the closer he got to the courtyard. There were no sleeping rooms at this end of the stronghold. What was her scent doing here?
Not that he cared.
He was going to ignore it.
Muscles bunched, he stepped out into the night and frowned at the diffuse light from the two lamps someone had lit at a low intensity. His eyes adjusted quickly enough, but he preferred full dark at night. The woman who was doing some kind of exercise in the center of the training arena, however, clearly couldn’t see in the dark.
She was no longer dressed in the flowing gown the color of ripe raspberries in which he’d seen her earlier, but in black pants that hugged her curvaceous form. Her top was the same color and close to a T-shirt. The wing slits were closed off with discreet buttons, the soft fabric hugging her upper body while leaving most of her arms bare.
Light glinted off the threads of gold in her hair, her honeyed skin aglow.
When she moved, her wings rustled, but she kept them scrupulously off the ground. Galen must’ve been at her—the weapons-master was ferocious about teaching his students to maintain wing discipline. Dragging wings could not only get damaged, the habit created weak muscles. Andromeda’s wing muscles were strong, her movements graceful.
Those wings flared out as she made a controlled turn and he felt his gut clench. Her wings weren’t just chocolate dark, though that had been more than strokable enough. They were patterned with intricate gradations of color all the way to a pale golden brown, but the secret was only visible when she spread her wings.
They closed in a second later as she turned into another move.
He’d seen people practicing something like this in Lijuan’s land. It was called tai chi. He much preferred the harder, faster martial arts like karate and tae kwon do. He could take those movements and make them his own. This type of patience would drive him insane.
Watching Andromeda do it, however . . .
“Oh.” She came to a startled halt after her next turn left her facing him—and his glowing eyes.
Naasir could make them not reflect, could also shield them with his lashes when he didn’t want to be seen, but he wasn’t in a good mood right now. Scaring her with his predator’s eyes made him feel momentarily better.
About to lunge onto the top of the wall so he could begin his climb down, he was stopped by a ridiculous feminine question. “Are you looking for a sparring partner?”
He stared at her. “Do you want to die?” Naasir was very, very, very good, and unless he held back his lethal side, he could easily kill someone of her soft nature.
“No,” she said, doing another stretch in front of him.
The move pulled the fabric of her top taut over her breasts and bared a thin strip of her abdomen and he wondered if she was taunting him. His blood grew hot, his predatory instincts snarling. “You’ll die if you spar with me,” he said in warning, wanting to bite her so she’d know exactly who it was she was baiting.
“Your sire would be disappointed in you if you killed your partner.”