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leiawritesstories · 5 months

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PART FIVE: MAY

First of all: the biggest, most heartfelt thank you to everyone who has been reading this AU. you have my heart, as angst-loving as it is, and your responses are everything to me :))

Second note: this chapter is ridiculously long, and I do apologize for the insanely long chapters... but also there is SMUT AHEAD!!! if you're not here for sexual content, stop at "Their exit from the archery range" and skip down to "It was May 25" and know that not wanting to read smut does not make any difference and i will always appreciate you reading :) okay I will stop rambling now

Word count: 10.4k (whoops...)

Warnings: swearing, weapons, crime talk, made-up police stuff, badly concealed horniness, fighting, flirting disguised as archery, SO much innuendo, and smut! NSFW!!

Enjoy!!

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“Happy birthday, boss lady!” Elide cheered, pulling the blindfold from Aelin’s eyes with a flourish. “You can’t run back to your apartment now, so sit on down and enjoy a dinner that you aren’t paying for.”

“You’re the worst best friend, El,” Aelin complained, but she was beaming. “I thought I specifically told you nothing over-the-top.”

Elide shrugged. “You don’t turn twenty-seven every day, Ae, and it’s about damn time you took an evening off. Plus, Aedion would be griping all night if he got dragged out of work for you not to show up.” She wrapped her arms around the taller woman. “Happy birthday.”

“Fine, fine.” Aelin hugged her second-in-command fiercely. “Thanks, El.”

Gavriel was next in line, his hug stealing her breath. “Happy birthday, Aelin. Though I think I’m the one who deserves a present for getting my son here.”

She snickered. “I’ll buy you a drink or something. Thank you for being here.”

“Anytime.” He flashed her a cunning little grin. “I’d never miss a chance to see my beautiful, sharp-witted niece turn my best lieutenant into a tongue-tied mess.”

“Gav!” She swatted his shoulder. “You’re more meddling than Elide, Lys, and Ansel all together, I swear.” He just smirked and returned to his seat, leaving her to be swallowed up by Aedion’s embrace.

“I don’t think I’ve seen you without your lab coat in years, Aedy,” she teased.

“Shut up,” he grumbled. “It’s a special occasion.”

“Mhmmm,” she hummed, wiggling her eyebrows suggestively at Lysandra.

Aedion blushed an endearing shade of pink. “So what if we happen to sit next to each other? It’s a private party, little miss birthday girl.”

“Not that private,” she snickered, dodging his outraged squawk and smack. “Love you too, Aeds.”

“You’re the worst.” He groaned, but he was grinning.

Lysandra raised a perfectly threaded brow. “Do I want to know what that was about?”

“You’ll find out soon enough.” Aelin smirked. “What? My birthday present can be you and Aedy fu—”

“No!” Lys clapped her hand over Aelin’s mouth. “If you get to say things like that, then I get to ask you when you and Whitethorn are going to bang. If you haven’t already.” It was her turn to wiggle her eyebrows.

Aelin’s face heated. “Pretend I never said anything.”

“That’s my birthday bad bitch.” Lys adjusted one of Aelin’s curls. “Now go say hi to the man who hasn’t taken his smitten eyes off you since you walked in here in a dress to bring him to his knees.” She patted Aelin’s ass as she walked away.

Aelin breathed deeply, closing her eyes for a few seconds.

“Done with the party already?” Rowan’s voice broke her out of her snatch of silence. “We can probably sneak out the staff door.”

“Don’t tempt me,” she replied, finally meeting his appreciative gaze. “Hi, Ro.”

“Hi.” His eyes trailed down her body, admiration lighting his face at the way her tailored gold sheath dress molded to every angle and curve of her frame. “That is one hell of a dress, Ae.”

“Thanks.” Just to tease him, she did a slow spin, reveling in his sharp gasp as he drank in the deep V-cut of the back that highlighted the ink flowing down her spine.

“I didn’t know you had a spine piece,” he said in a soft, gravelly rasp.

A dangerously lazy smile curved across her maroon-stained lips. “I keep it hidden while I’m at work. Professionalism and all that.”

“Oh, you mean the fire-breathing dragon screaming up your spine isn’t professional?” He chuckled. “It’s…incredible. Where’d you get it done?”

“I know a guy,” she said, deliberately cryptic.

He bit back a sigh. “Does this guy have a name and a place of work?”

“Don’t tell me you’re going to arrest my tattoo artist for touching my back with my full consent while he did my tattoo.”

“I’m not.” A grin flashed across his face. “I’m just going to make him squirm a little.”

She chuckled. “You’re impossible. How about we make a deal? You overlook the simple reality that someone had to give me this tattoo, and you can see how lovely of a contrast it makes with my sheets.”

Rowan inhaled sharply, dark flames smoldering in his eyes. “The tattoo, or that dress?”

“I prefer not to wear clothes when I’m in my bed.” She smirked. “Don’t just stand there gasping like a fish, Ro. Escort me to dinner like the gentleman Uncle Gav thinks you are.”

“I think you’ll find that I’m not much of a gentleman, Ae.” His hand landed on the small of her back, its heat rippling deliciously up her spine.

“Good.” She lowered her voice to a whisper only he could hear. “Because I like it rough.”

Aelin barely had a chance to say goodbye to everyone after the absolutely delicious dinner, because Lysandra, Ansel, and Elide clustered around her as soon as she left the bathroom, shepherding her out the door and down the street. She only managed to wave to Rowan as she left, certain that she’d find more than one message from him waiting on her phone when she was able to look at it.

With Elide on one arm and Ansel on the other, Aelin found herself squeezed into an inescapable sandwich of her closest girls, and although she pretended to groan when Lysandra, three steps ahead, pulled open the door to the Vaults, a popular bar, she was beaming.

“Do you really think it’s the best idea to get drunk on a Tuesday?” she called over the thumping beat of the music pouring through the surround-sound speaker system.

Lys rolled her eyes. “It’s your birthday, bitch! You can decide tomorrow is a remote workday!”

“Shots!” Elide squealed, flagging down the closest bartender and rapidly ordering a whole string of drinks. “I’ve got this round, ladies.”

“I’m scared,” Aelin teased, sliding into the closest open booth. “If Ells is buying, I might just pass out now.”

“Fuck off,” Elide laughed, smacking Aelin’s shoulder. “We both know you’re only going to drink enough to get yourself ready to go jump on Whitethorn’s di—”

“Stop!” Aelin squawked, clamping her hand over Elide’s mouth. She composed herself and winked wickedly at the petite woman. “I don’t need liquid courage to do that, Ells.”

“My gods, you are the worst.” Ansel groaned dramatically. “Add that to the list of things your lawyer should never hear.”

“Thought you weren’t my lawyer for tonight,” Aelin shot back, grinning.

The redhead laughed. “Fair enough. Ooh, the drinks are here!” She took the tray from the bartender and passed the cocktails and shot glasses around the table. “Cheers, birthday girl!”

Aelin clinked her shot with the girls and tossed it back effortlessly, only grimacing a little bit at the burn of straight vodka. “Fuck, El! A little warning next time?”

Elide snickered gleefully. “Why?” The song changed, and she perked up, clapping. “I love this song!” She took a long pull of her cocktail, draining nearly half of it, and grabbed Aelin’s hand. “Come on, birthday bitch! We’re dancing!” She tugged Aelin out onto the crowded dancefloor without waiting for her to protest.

“You’re lucky I have alcohol in me,” Aelin giggled as she wedged herself into the sea of swaying bodies next to Elide. “God, I missed being able to do this.”

“All the more reason to—ah shit. Behind you, Ae.”

“What?” Aelin turned, following Elide’s dark brown glare, and found, to her unpleasant surprise, a rather drunk Sam Cortland less than two feet away. Burning hell.

“Hey,” Sam called over the music, surprisingly coherent for the glassiness of his eyes. “Wasn’t expecting to see you here.”

“Because the stick up my ass is too big?” Aelin asked sweetly.

Sam coughed. “Well, um, because you—because it’s a Tuesday?”

“Liar.” She snorted. “A woman is allowed to go out on her birthday, y’know.”

“Happy bir’day,” he offered, trying his best to disguise his sneer.

“I’d say thanks, but you don’t really deserve my manners.” She flashed him an angelically sweet grin. “Fuck off, Cortland.”

“Bitch,” he grunted.

Aelin’s eyes flashed with a dangerous gleam. “What was that?”

Elide grabbed her arm. “Don’t you fucking dare,” she hissed, her command cutting through Aelin’s alcohol-loosened fury. “He’s not worth it, and you’re Aelin right now.”

Aelin blinked, snapping herself out of the thoughts of violence. “Right. Okay.” She turned her back to Sam—who had wisely chosen to slither away, hopefully leaving the bar—just in time for Ansel and Lys to appear with more shots, these ones electric blue.

“Cheers!” Lys yelled, tapping her small glass to Aelin’s and throwing back the shot. Aelin laughed and followed suit, exhaling sharply at the strength of the tiny glass of alcohol.

“Lyssie, if I’m hungover tomorrow, I’m blaming you!”

“Oh, calm down,” Lys snickered. “It won’t knock you out.”

Aelin snorted in disbelief, then caught Lys’s arm before she could head back to the bar. “It’s our song, Lys! C’mon, dance!”

Lys laughed and jumped into the knot of dancers, shaking her hips the way she used to back in college when she and Aelin would hit five different bars a night on the weekends. “Still got it!”

After so many songs that Aelin’s feet were starting to cramp, the women finally half-stumbled off the dance floor and headed out of the bar, gulping down the fresh night air as they stepped out into the street.

“Fuck, it gets so stuffy in there,” Aelin complained. She shivered. “And it’s cold!”

“It is not, you little wimp,” Ansel said, poking Aelin in the side. “You just wish that man of yours was here to whip his jacket around you like a gentleman.”

“Mmm, I wouldn’t mind that,” Aelin hummed, smirking wickedly. “You know what happens after a man gives you his jacket.”

“You are the worst.” Ansel shoved her lightly. “Again, things you should never fucking ever tell your lawyer: whose bones you plan to jump.”

“If I make it home,” Aelin grumbled.

“You ladies need a ride home?” Out of nowhere, Sam Cortland appeared in front of them, his eyes still glassy with alcohol haze and an oily smirk painted across his face.

“Fuck off, Cortland,” Elide retorted, folding her arms across her chest. “You aren’t anywhere near fit to drive, anyway.”

“And I wouldn’t willingly get into a car with you if it was the last option on Earth,” Aelin added.

Sam scowled. “Have it your way, then.” He stalked off, heading down the nearby alley. “Fuckin’ whore,” he muttered, thinking he was far enough away for her not to hear.

She heard. And she followed him, her heels clicking with dangerous precision against the sidewalk. “Want to repeat that, scumbag?”

He stopped, whirled around, and apparently decided he had a death wish. “I said, you’re a fucking whore.”

Her fist smashed into his smug little grin with an immensely satisfying crunch. “Take that, you sleazy bastard,” she growled.

Sam screeched, pressed his hands into his rapidly swelling face, and moaned pitifully. “You bit–”

She kneed him in the groin, and when he doubled over, whimpering, she slammed her knee into the side of his head. His eyes rolled back, and he slumped to the ground, unconscious. She and Elide—who had followed her, of course— maneuvered his limp, unresisting body into the shadows of the alley and left him there.

“No, Aelin, you can’t kill him yet,” Elide reminded her, catching the taller woman’s wrist.

Aelin sighed dramatically. “But it’s my birthday!”

“So what?”

“So no murder in plain sight.” Ansel cut in.

“You’re no fun,” Aelin sighed. “Fine.” She delivered one last kick to Sam’s groin. “I wonder if he felt that.”

Elide snorted. “And this is where I drag you off before you ruin your life by being hauled off to jail on your birthday.” Wrapping one arm around Aelin’s waist, she directed her back onto the sidewalk and away from the shadowy alleyway. “How about we finish the night at your place?”

Aelin perked up. “I’ll make margaritas!”

She was ordering an Uber before Elide could protest that they’d all already drunk half their body mass in alcohol that night.

Just birthday girl things.

Kaltain Rompier tapped her black acrylic nails against her iPad screen, idly waiting for the guy who’d texted her last night (after weeks of absolute silence) to show up. He said he’d be there right at eleven, and it was almost at the point where she was about to leave.

“Shit, sorry I’m late.” Sam Cortland dropped into the seat opposite hers as her office door closed with a soft click. “Didn’t get out of the damn meeting until ten minutes ago.”

“Mhmm, right, I forgot how important you businessmen were.” Her reply was acerbic.

He sighed, sheepish. “I’m really sorry, Kal.”

“How many times do I have to tell you not to call me that?” She picked up her stylus pencil and tapped it against the blank screen. “You’re here to give me a story, Cortland.” She glanced at him, noticing for the first time since he’d rushed into her office that he looked a good deal worse for wear. “Does your story have anything to do with the fact that you look like shit?”

“It’s because Aelin fucking punched me,” he griped.

Kaltain’s brows shot up. “Aelin…Galathynius?”

“Yeah.” Sam scoffed. “Dressed up like a fuckin’ slut last night. I ran into her at a bar; she was out with some people I didn’t recognize, and when I tried to buy her a drink, she laughed in my face.”

“Laughing doesn’t leave black eyes, Cortland,” Kaltain returned dryly.

“I haven’t got to the part where she punched me.” He scowled, the aggrieved expression drawing attention to the vivid bruising encircling his right eye and the scattered smaller bruises and little flecks of scratches on his face. “I left the damn bar before she did, ended up taking a call outside the place, and I was there when she and her friends left, all drunk and stumbling. So I did what any decent guy would do and offered to drive them home, and Aelin punched me in the goddamn face.” He was practically raving by the end of his little rant.

“You offered to drive Aelin Galathynius home?” Kaltain repeated, stylus flying over her iPad as she took notes. She chuckled. “Cortland, the woman probably has more than one driver. Not to mention that by all accounts, she’s so not interested in you that she bought your company.”

He shrugged. “Sounds like interest to me.”

“Yeah, for her bank account,” she snorted. “Anything else for the story, Cortland?”

“Just that I woke up in a goddamn alley like this.” His frown dug a deep groove between his eyebrows. “That bitch.”

“If you don’t have anything else for the story, get the hell out.” Kaltain set down her stylus, got up, and opened the door. “We’re not spending any more time together, or did you not mean it that way?” Her saccharine smile made Sam cringe.

“Kal–I–I didn’t–”

“Yes you did.” She pointed out into the hallway. “You’ve given me a good story, Cortland. Now get your fancy little ass back to Daddy’s office.” Pissed, Sam roughly stood up and stalked out of her office, muttering something about stupid bitch under his breath.

She almost pitied the man. Someday, his misogyny would get him into a tight little corner that he couldn’t crawl his way out of. But there was a column waiting to be written—a particularly sordid one, just what the public was craving—and she couldn’t let his chauvinism get in the way of her job.

The article dropped late that afternoon, and Kaltain came into work the next morning still grinning, still riding the high of an instantly viral article. Maybe being a gossip columnist wasn’t always the most rewarding job, but the times when she got to see her work splashed all over the internet were…euphoric. The short hallway leading to her office was quiet, as usual, and she was buried so far in the notifications she hadn’t read that she didn’t notice that the whole floor was also quiet.

Only when she strolled into her office and dropped her shoulder bag into someone else’s lap did she realize that she wasn’t alone.

“Good morning, Miss Rompier.” The voice was female, throaty, slightly raspy, and utterly devoid of pleasantry.

Slowly, Kaltain dragged her gaze from her desk to the lean, masked and hooded, black-clad figure lounging in the other chair, black combat boots propped carelessly on the low bookshelf beside the desk. “What is this? Who are you?” Instinctively, she reached for her belt, where she always kept a tiny can of pepper spray.

“Not so fast, Miss Rompier.” The masked woman lifted her chin, and Kaltain felt a hard, heavy hand close around her wrists in a vice-like grip. “We’re going to have a little chat about the article you just posted.”

“I–” Before Kaltain could protest, a needle pricked at the back of her neck, and everything faded to black.

She awoke in a dimly lit room that smelled faintly of mildew, sitting in a wooden chair with her hands bound behind her back. Her head throbbed, her neck was stiff, and her heartbeat raced with adrenaline and terror. Where the hell was she?

“Good to see you awake, Miss Rompier.” The woman who’d had her drugged and kidnapped sat across from her, the dim overhead light throwing shadows across her still-masked face.

“Who the hell are you?” Kaltain snapped.

The woman chuckled softly, a lethal, raspy breath that sent ominous shivers down Kaltain’s spine. “My name is Celaena.”

Fuck. “And why do you give a shit if one of those filthy rich people you supposedly hate is featured in one of my columns, Celaena?”

“Because it’s not time for that quite yet.” Celaena clicked her tongue. “Don’t ask questions you don’t actually want answered, Miss Rompier. Aelin Galathynius needs to stay out of the tabloids for now, but…” She trailed off, absentmindedly dancing a throwing star across her gloved knuckles. “But I rather liked how you didn’t hesitate to drag her through the muck.”

“What does that have to do with anything?” Kaltain shot back, feeling defensive.

“It means that when it’s time, I want you to publish every dirty little detail that I send you.”

Kaltain narrowed her eyes, still suspicious. “You’re taking down Galathynius?”

Celaena shrugged. “Again, don’t ask questions you don’t want answered. The wrong things could get you killed, Miss Rompier.” She leaned in close enough for Kaltain to see the glint of steel hiding beneath her sleeves. “I wasn’t planning to kill you, but I’m not afraid to do it.”

“You–you’ll send me everything you want published?”

“Every single sordid detail.”

Slowly, Kaltain nodded. “Alright. What do you want me to do now?”

“All of them?” Rowan dropped his blue-light glasses on his desk and pinched the bridge of his nose in a feeble attempt to stave off the headache.

“All of them, sir,” Luca confirmed. “Three years of tabloid history wiped clean, and it appears that practically every mention of the recent Galathynius article is being scrubbed from the internet.”

“How the fuck is that happening?” Rowan demanded. “The damn column should have left such a large footprint by now that we’d be able to find it even though the original publisher took it down.”

Luca chewed his lower lip. “I…I don’t know, sir.”

Rowan swore viciously under his breath. “Get me Kaltain Rompier’s address, Luca.”

“One sec.” Luca rapidly typed something into his laptop, then scribbled down a few words on a plain yellow sticky note. “Here you go.”

“Thanks.” Rowan grabbed the note, threw his jacket over his shoulder, snatched his keys from the wall, and strode out to the garage. His mind was whirling with a hundred different theories about why the viral gossip article about Aelin Galathynius’s recent, rather colorful, night out had abruptly vanished from the internet, along with the last three years of the columnist’s history.

Half-baked ideas churned through his brain with dizzying speed, and Kaltain Rompier was a crucial part of all of them.

Within twenty minutes, he had pulled up to the building where Kaltain worked, parked in a visitor spot, and made sure his badge was easily visible. He strode into the office, took the elevator to the floor where her tabloid was located, and pushed open the front doors with little effort.

“I’d like a few minutes to speak to Kaltain, please,” he said to the young woman at the front desk.

The young woman’s huge blue eyes grew wider, and her hand trembled as she pointed wordlessly down the hall. “Th–that way, Officer.”

“Thank you.” He knew he was being a dick, but he headed away without saying anything else.

Kaltain Rompier was sitting at her desk typing away on her laptop when he knocked twice at the half-open door and let himself in.

She muffled a shriek, hands flying to her throat. “What the hell?!”

Rowan raised his empty hands in a show of approachability. “Kaltain Rompier?”

The columnist slowly sank back into her seat. “That’s me.” She eyed him suspiciously. “Are you going to tell me why the goddamn cops are here?”

“It’s just me.” He sat down in the chair opposite hers. “I have a couple of questions about your most recent article, if you don’t mind.”

Her expression shuttered. “I took it down, Mr…what should I call you?”

“‘Lieutenant’ is fine. I’m not police, I’m TSF.”

She nodded. “I took down the article, Lieutenant.”

“Why?” He leaned slightly forward, waiting for an answer to the question that had plagued him ever since PD had received notice that Kaltain had gone missing. That was five days ago. He’d feared that there would be another victim in the never-ending string of homicides, but she was sitting there in front of him, alive and well if a little shaken from his sudden appearance in her office.

“It was…” Kaltain sighed. “I’m a gossip columnist, Lieutenant, which means that my job is to dig up people’s dirty little secrets and make them public. I’ve never seen the true ugliness of it until I wrote that piece on Aelin Galathynius and instantly hated myself.”

Rowan blinked. “You wrote a tabloid article on Aelin Galathynius, based on whatever source you could find, and that made you…guilty?”

“It made me realize how awful the tabloid industry is,” Kaltain murmured. “It’s not like I haven’t seen the tabloids about Ms. Galathynius that have floated around, but she’s so…so highly regarded, and the tabloids have always been obviously contrived. What I wrote…it wasn’t.”

“What was your source?”

“Sam Cortland,” she admitted.

Rowan froze, pieces clicking together before his eyes. “Who?”

“Sam Cortland of Cortland Advertising,” Kaltain repeated, a tinge of bitterness clouding her tone. “He showed up at my office with a hell of a black eye and a hell of a story, and I wrote and sold it without even thinking until it was done.”

“I see.” Closing his notepad, Rowan stood up. “Will you still be working here, or are you going to seek something else?”

“I’m trying to get a real journalist job,” the columnist replied. “I just…I don’t want to feel grimy like this all the time anymore.”

Rowan nodded. “Well, best of luck.” He moved towards the door. “One more thing. You were missing for several days, Miss Rompier. Why was that?”

“Family emergency,” she admitted, a haunted look flickering through her eyes. “I had a friend drive me to the airport. Didn’t trust myself to drive safely.”

“My apologies.” Rowan stepped out into the hallway. “Thanks for letting me drop in on you, Miss Rompier, and good luck with your job search.” With that, he left the office, got back in his cruiser, and headed back to PD with a whole new chunk of information ready to add to his theory.

Sam Cortland.

As much as Rowan wanted to deny the ease of the truth, it made so much sense. Cortland was a petty, unhappy little man who hadn’t taken well to Gal Inc. acquiring his family’s company, and while his father, the elder Cortland and current CEO of Cortland Advertising, was adjusted to the merger, Sam was not. Apparently, he’d deemed it best to go after Aelin like a jilted ex-lover–straight to the tabloids–in a vain attempt to see her thrown out of power and popularity.

It didn’t entirely explain why Kaltain (or someone else) had scrubbed the internet clean of all traces of her article, but it was a start. And if he was correct, Kaltain’s “family emergency” hadn’t been an emergency at all, but an intervention from a certain unseen criminal–the barely-noticeable needle mark on the side of her neck spoke of something other than running to the airport at the last minute.

It seemed that Celaena Sardothien had something to gain from Aelin’s current status, and she wasn’t afraid to resort to violence to keep her schemes running.

Aelin swept one final gaze over her reflection in the full-length mirror mounted on the far wall of her expansive walk-in closet and nodded in satisfaction. Her dress–a casual but classy cap-sleeved sheath of powder-green linen that was perfect for the balmy spring evening–flowed gracefully down the lines and curves of her figure, her light makeup masked the dark shadows smeared beneath her eyes, and her hair was half-up in a wooden clip, the rest cascading in tamed waves down her back. Beige, wedge-heeled sandals added a few extra inches to her height (and cleverly concealed a pair of flat little knives), and a matching beige handbag completed the look.

If she’d agonized over every little detail of this outfit and this night for the last two weeks, it was only because she wanted to properly impress the man who should be about to knock on her door. It had nothing whatsoever to do with the increasingly filthy dreams she’d been having–featuring that very man–nor what she did when she awoke from those dreams.

As if her wandering thoughts had summoned the man, he knocked three times on her door, three firm, authoritative thuds of his fist against the thick, lacquered oak front door, and—though she would never admit it—the scrap of lace between her thighs dampened.

“You aren’t working right now, Lieutenant,” she teased as she opened the door, a grin unfolding across her face as she watched his face flicker through shock, nervousness, and anticipation.

“You’ll forgive me if it’s hard to get out of the work habits, Miss CEO,” he returned, emerald eyes glinting with humor.

“Fair enough.” She stepped backwards into her apartment. “Welcome to my humble dwelling, Rowan.”

“Humble,” he echoed, both incredulous and teasing. “This place’s rent probably costs more than my mortgage.”

Aelin flashed him a grin. “What good is my career if I can’t afford a comfortable place to live and still have some left to donate?”

“You donate?”

“I thought we’d established you weren’t working, Ro.”

He chuckled. “I’m…call it a first-date question or something. I didn’t expect you to say that.”

“Not many do,” she admitted, shifting her gaze out the window, where Orynth’s skyline was washed in gold and copper by the setting sun. “But nothing gives me more genuine pleasure than seeing the faces of every child who gets to go to school because I make more money than I can possibly spend.”

“You set up a foundation?”

“Have you heard of the Fireheart Foundation?”

Rowan’s face slackened in appreciative shock. “That’s you?”

“Well, my parents started it—‘Fireheart’ was Dad’s nickname for Mom—and I continue their legacy.” A soft flush crept up her cheeks, heating her face. “It’s not that big of a deal, Ro.” She glanced at the clock on the wall. “And you distracted me so much that it’s after seven-thirty.”

“Hmm, we’d better get going, then. And by the way, it is a big deal, but I won’t bother you with that if you don’t want me to.” Easily, naturally, he laced his fingers with hers, and led her out into the hall, waiting for her to lock her door. “Close your eyes, Ae.”

“In my building?”

“Fine, as soon as we get to the car.” He pretended to sigh at her good-natured giggle.

As she clicked her seatbelt into place, she snickered. “Is it bad that I’m thinking this is some elaborate scheme to kidnap me?”

“I’m offended!” he gasped, mock-theatrical. “I’m the guy who rescues you from the big bad kidnapper, Ae, not the big bad kidnapper himself.”

“You can be the big bad something else,” she mumbled, just loud enough for him to hear.

He spluttered out a cough, his tan cheeks flaring scarlet. “Aelin!”

She just smirked. “You heard me, darling.”

“Dinner first,” he grunted, his voice more raspy than he probably intended. He managed to compose himself, and he shot her a blazingly hot gaze in the rearview mirror as he backed out of the parking garage and drove into downtown Orynth. “Then I’ll give you big bad something.”

“We’ll see about that,” she purred, her voice like silk and sin. Then she closed her eyes, smothering a wicked little chuckle that rose in her at his frustrated, half-strangled exhale.

About thirty minutes later, he stopped. “Open your eyes, Ae.”

She did. “East Orynth Sporting Range? Are you sure this isn’t a kidnapping scheme, Lieutenant?”

“Funny,” he deadpanned, hurrying around the car to open her door for her. “Have you ever done archery before, Miss Galathynius?”

“Drop the title, Lieutenant, and yes. I took lessons when I was younger—you know, like a good little rich girl.”

“Let’s see how well this good little rich girl can still shoot, then,” he murmured, the low rumble of his words dancing deliciously down her spine.

“If I miss every target, I’m blaming the lack of flexibility…in the bow, of course.” She laughed softly at his muted blush. “Maybe you’ll have to come stand behind me and guide my position.”

“Oh, I’ll guide your position, alright,” he agreed, the simmering heat of his gaze searing right through the soft linen of her dress.

“Only if necessary,” she said, taking his hand as they walked up to the entrance. Like the gentleman he was, he held the door open for her. “Thank you, Ro.”

“Anytime.” He strolled up to the check-in desk and waved at the middle-aged woman sitting at the counter. “Hey, Philippa!”

The woman’s kind face split into a crinkled, joyful smile. “Rowan Whitethorn! I haven’t seen you in years, you little troublemaker!”

“He’s a grown-up troublemaker now,” Aelin joked.

Philippa’s smile widened as she took in Aelin’s appearance and closeness to Rowan. “And who might this be, Rowan? She’s far out of your league, that I can tell.”

“This is Miss Aelin Galathynius,” Rowan said.

Philippa reached across the counter and squeezed Aelin’s hands. “Lovely to meet you.”

“The pleasure is all mine.” Aelin beamed at the maternal-looking woman. “Tell me, has Rowan really been coming here since he was a mischievous little scamp?”

“I still remember him being dragged away from the rock wall,” Philippa said, eyes twinkling.

Rowan sighed. “I suppose I’ll just go to the range while you spill all my life’s secrets, hmm?”

“I would never miss a chance to show off my little-rich-girl tricks,” Aelin returned. “Shall we?”

Philippa passed a clipboard across the desk. “Sign this, both of you, and then go on ahead. Rowan, you can show Miss Aelin everything; you know where it all is.”

Aelin signed and passed Rowan the clipboard, and he signed and handed it back to Philippa. “I’d be happy to. Thanks, Philippa.”

“Enjoy!” the older woman called, waving as the pair headed for the equipment room.

Rowan’s hand shifted to the small of Aelin’s back. “We have the range to ourselves for an hour; I convinced Philippa to let us in during what’s usually janitorial hours. Don’t worry, they don’t actually clean right now. They just use it as a built-in break.”

“How clever,” Aelin mused. “I…oh, wow!” She turned in a slow circle, sweeping her eyes over every piece of equipment that lined the neatly organized racks and walls of the equipment room. “Why didn’t my parents send me here?”

“Too afraid you’d never leave?” Rowan teased.

She swatted his shoulder playfully. “You think you’re so funny.”

“We’ll see who’s laughing when you shoot the floor.” His eyes glittered with challenge.

Aelin cracked her knuckles. “Bring it on, Robin Hood.” She perused the racks of bows, testing a few before settling on a lightweight but sturdy fiberglass recurve bow. She slung a quiver of the range’s standard blunt practice arrows over her shoulder and joined Rowan, quelling the surge of lust that flared between her legs at the sight of him with a bow slung over his shoulder.

“Satisfied with your choice, Ae?”

“Unless it performs poorly, I am.” She winked, dropping her gaze for a brief moment.

“I’ll show you poor performance,” he all but growled, leading the way into the range.

The expansive, high-ceilinged space stretched from one end of the long building to the other, with several rows of targets lined up at various distances across the turf-floored expanse. There were lines of chalk painted onto the turf, indicating where archers of different ages and heights should stand. Overhead fans blew with a low mechanical whirr, circulating the faint odor of leather and resin through the air.

Confidently, Rowan took a stance at one of the white lines, nocked an arrow, aimed his bow, took a breath, and released the arrow on the exhale. It sliced cleanly through the air and embedded itself in the tiny red bulls-eye of one of the mid-distance targets.

Aelin whistled. “Impressive.” She took her own stance three spaces away from him. “I’d tell you what that sight did to me, but then we’d never make it out of here.”

His next shot, which he’d been releasing as she spoke, shuddered and went wide, landing in an outer ring of the target. “Distraction is a cheap trick, Ae.”

“Who said this was a competition?” With a sweet smile, she shook out her arms and legs, planted her feet in a stance that her muscles had never fully forgotten—hell, who was she kidding? She’d maintained that skill, and it had come in handy more than once as she built the Boss’s empire—fitted an arrow to the taut string of her bow, aimed, and let it fly. The arrow whistled through the air and thudded cleanly into her target, exactly where she had aimed.

“Maybe it really has been too long,” Rowan teased, amusement crinkling the corners of his eyes as he looked at where her arrow had landed.

Smack dab in the middle of the wooden crossbeam from which the target hung.

“Aim a little lower next time, love,” he said, low and slow.

“Wouldn’t you like that,” she returned, a slow smirk curling her lips. She nocked another arrow and aimed again, fired on the exhale, and sent the arrow slicing straight into the bulls-eye of the target in the row behind the one she’d just shot into.

Rowan whistled in admiration. “How about a contest, Ae? A real one?” She raised her eyebrows in interest, and he continued. “We take turns picking targets, the one who’s closest gets the point, and whoever has more points at the end wins.”

“And what’s the prize?”

“Loser buys dinner.”

“That’s boring.” Her eyes sparkled with eager challenge. “If you win, you get to see what’s under this dress. Or not under it.”

He inhaled and exhaled slowly. Very slowly. “If you win, I’ll show you what you missed when you left me hard and leaking in that damn hallway at your gala.”

“Deal.” She held out her hand, he clasped it, and they shook hands, the warm heaviness of their contest settling between them with no small amount of tension. “You are going down, darling.”

“If I’m lucky, that’ll only be the beginning.” He smirked at her soft gasp. “Can’t wait to hear that sound again, love.”

“You wish.” She rolled her shoulders. “First target: the bulls-eye of that second-to-last target.” In one fluid motion, she nocked, aimed, and fired, and her arrow speared clean through the bulls-eye she’d pointed at.

Rowan whistled. “Haven’t practiced archery since you were a kid, my ass.”

“You do have a rather fine one,” she said lightly, snickering at his flustered cough.

“If you’re trying to distract me, try again.” Confidently—and dear god, the things that confidence did to her—he fired an arrow, sending it into the exact same spot she had hit. “Looks like it’s my turn to pick a target.”

“Choose wisely.”

His smirk was edged with something wild and challenging and deliciously dangerous. “Bottom left corner of the target at the hundred-meter line. Not the outer ring, the bottom left corner.” He rolled his shoulders, carefully aimed, exhaled, and released his arrow. It sang through the air and embedded into the lower left corner of the farthest target with a muted thunk.

“Impressive,” Aelin hummed. Narrowing her eyes, she carefully aimed, ignoring the sights on the bow and using her instinct to push her bow just a fraction to the right.

“You sure about that position?” Without warning, Rowan stepped up behind her and settled his hands onto her hips. “Looks like you’re aiming too far right, darling.”

She stifled the delightful tremor that shuddered through her at his closeness. “I know the path of my shots, Lieutenant.” With a bright smile, she loosed her arrow, which whistled through the air and cleanly skewered the lower left corner of the hundred-meter-away target, a good inch and a half closer to the juncture of the corner than his shot had been.

He inhaled sharply and stepped back just a smidge, but not before she’d felt the thick, hard evidence of what her shot had done to him. “I’ll have to pick a more difficult target,” he said, though there was no small amount of admiration in his voice. “Your turn.”

Aelin swept her gaze around the range, a wicked grin lifting her lips as she settled on a target. “See that target hanging up on the far wall?”

“Mhmm.” He moved to her side, sharp gaze calculating the distance. “That has to be two hundred, maybe two hundred fifty meters away.”

“There’s a chain at the top that anchors that target to the wall, which has to be padded for safety. Our target is the top link of that chain—land your shot through the chain so it goes into the wall padding.”

He stared at her in shock. “Are you insane?”

“Maybe.” She winked. “Why, are you afraid you can’t make it?”

“Why don’t you let me take the first shot to prove that I’m not afraid of anything?”

“If you want.” She stepped aside. “All yours, big boy.”

“Say that again.” His voice was a soft, gravelly rumble, laced with the kind of command that she’d only ever dreamed of hearing.

Rather than give into her fantasies and jump him right then and there, Aelin just smirked. “Make that shot, and I’ll say it again.”

“Fuck,” he murmured, mostly under his breath. He took his time lining up his shot, carefully aiming just a few inches too high to compensate for the arc the arrow would take at such a long distance. Finally, he drew back his arrow and let it fly, watching it like a hawk as it sliced through the faintly stale air of the range. The arrow arced up, then gently down, and landed with a clean thud three inches to the right of the chain suspending the target from the wall. He grinned, proud that he’d managed to get so close to the almost-impossible target. “Beat that shot, darling.”

She stepped up to the shooting line and rolled out her neck. “Let’s hope I can live up to the way I felt when I picked this target.” She took a good minute to line up her shot, her brows furrowed in deep concentration. After settling on her aim, she pulled back her arrow, took a deep breath, and released on the exhale. Her arrow whistled across the distance in a precise, beautiful arc and skewered through the second-highest link of the chain holding up the target on the far wall.

Rowan’s jaw gaped in complete shock, his eyes wide with incredulity.

Aelin sucked in a gasp, her eyes going wide as she realized that she’d made the shot. Two thoughts raced through her mind—one being fuck, what if he starts suspecting me now? and the other being I can’t fucking believe I made that shot!

“If I didn’t know any better, I’d suspect you of being some kind of archery master,” he said, unabashed appreciation replacing the shock written all over his face. “That was fucking insane, Ae.”

She laughed quietly, still stunned herself. “I honestly don’t know how in the hell I made that.”

“I think that makes you the winner.” He looped his free arm around her waist. “And I recall something about the loser buying dinner.”

“And dessert,” she added, leaning into his side and looking up at him through half-lidded eyes.

Their exit from the archery range was a blur of rapid motion and badly concealed desire, and she only blinked back into reality when they climbed into the backseat of his car and he practically lunged across the small distance between them and crashed his lips into hers.

She threaded her fingers into his hair and angled his head to deepen the kiss, her tongue tangling with his. A soft moan broke free from her throat, and he groaned in response, breaking the kiss and shifting his lips to her throat, tracking a trail of soft, hot kisses down her sensitive skin.

“No…no marks,” she managed to say. He hummed in assent and nipped lightly at her fluttering pulse point before working his way back up her throat and kissing her deeply again. She moaned into the kiss, her hips inadvertently rolling, shifting her body closer against him.

He groaned. “Aelin…” A short pause, their heartbeats so loud they could practically hear each other’s pulses. “I won’t take you in the backseat of a car this first time.”

“Why not?” She dragged one hand ever so slowly down his chest, almost reaching his throbbing erection before he caught her wrist with a growl.

“Because anyone could walk past and see us, and I don’t need an audience when I make you scream my name.”

She went silent, her slightly-swollen lips dropping in aroused surprise. “Then get me home, Lieutenant.”

A dark little smile crooked his lips. “Have I ever told you that I’ve dreamed of you using my title in bed?”

“Now you have.” She climbed into the passenger seat. “Lieutenant.”

He drove back to her apartment building with so little heed for traffic rules that she almost didn’t believe he was a cop. And when he parked and opened her door for her, the promise lighting his eyes made her knees turn to jelly.

“Nervous, Ae?” he asked as they stepped into the elevator.

“Hardly.” She pressed the button for her floor. “I recall you talking some big talk about showing me what I missed, so I’d only be nervous that you won’t last long enough to do that.”

His hands flexed against her waist, the heat of him seeping through her linen dress. “Keep saying things like that and we’ll see who doesn’t last.”

“Ah-ah, big boy.” She clicked her tongue. “Loser doesn’t get to call the shots.”

“Aelin,” he groaned, eyes fluttering closed.

“Rowan,” she echoed, giggling at his evident frustration. The elevator stopped with a ding, its door opening to Aelin’s floor. She threaded her fingers with his and led him down the hallway to her apartment, unlocked the door, and let him in. She’d just finished locking the deadbolt behind them when his hands circled her waist and his lips pressed against the back of her neck, soft but so intensely heated that she drew in a tiny gasp.

“Told you I’d hear that sound again,” he murmured into her ear.

She arched backwards, molding her body against his. “And I told you the loser doesn’t get to call the shots tonight, love.” Smoothly, she moved out of his embrace, bent down, and unfastened her heeled sandals, leaving them on the short shoe rack by the door. She strolled through the living room, mentally counting the seconds until he followed.

Five, six, seven. Seven seconds. Then Rowan kicked off his shoes, crossed the living room in four long strides, and backed her into the closest wall in another two steps.

“This doesn’t look like my bed,” she teased.

“We’ll get to that.” Cupping his hands under her ass, he hoisted her effortlessly up and kissed her, his tongue slipping between her parted lips. She groaned softly and tangled her fingers into his hair, unapologetically ruffling up the short strands as she kissed him harder, nipping at his lips, a challenge and a tease all at once.

“Gods,” she moaned as his lips worked down her neck, her hips grinding into his.

“Just me,” he mumbled into her skin.

She huffed out a breathy laugh. “How are you so funny and so hot right now?”

“Call it a special skill.” He chuckled at her wry laugh and abruptly pulled her away from the wall and down the rest of the short hallway to her bedroom, where he set her down on her feet. “Dress. Off.”

Faster than he could blink, she hooked her foot around the back of his legs and knocked him to his knees. “What did I tell you about giving me commands tonight, love?”

“Fuck me,” he breathed, cock straining at the front of his pants, probably leaving a permanent imprint of his zipper. “I didn’t know you could do that, Ae.”

“Now you do.” Her turquoise gaze trailed lazily down his body. “Clothes off, Ro.”

He yanked his shirt over his head and had his pants down to his knees before he looked up at her with a wry smirk. “Can’t exactly get my pants all the way off like this.”

She chuckled. “Here.” Leaning down, she pulled his belt out of his pants, looped it swiftly around his wrists—deliberately making the restraint very simple so that investigative brain of his wouldn’t suspect anything—and let him stand up. “Now get your pants off, love.”

“I…” His cock was practically shoving through his boxers. “My hands…”

“Don’t tell me you need your hands to get your pants off, my darling Lieutenant,” she hummed. With a wicked half-smirk, she pulled her dress up and over her head, revealing a lacy, golden bra and panties set.

It took him exactly ten seconds to kick off his pants and drop back to his knees, a desperate groan ripping from his throat as he drank in the sight of her in scraps of golden lace.

“Look at you already on your knees for me,” she cooed, sauntering across the room until she stood before him. She trailed her fingers through his hair and down his face, dancing across the intricate craftsmanship of his tattoo. “Good boy.”

“Aelin,” Rowan moaned, desperation bleeding into his tone, “please.”

“Please what?”

“Please,” he said, eyes wide and begging, “let me touch you. Let me taste you. Please.”

“Such pretty manners.” She dropped down on the end of her bed, conveniently stripping off her panties as she did, and let her legs fall open. “Only when I say so, Lieutenant.” He groaned but didn’t move, his whole body tense with the effort it took to keep in place rather than lunge for her and bury his tongue between her thighs. “Good boy,” she gasped, her head falling back as she circled her clit with her thumb, the soft touch lighting a fire in her blood. “Touch me, darling.”

She’d barely spoken the words before he yanked his hands free, launched himself forward, fell back to his knees at the end of her bed, and replaced her thumb with his.

“Fuck,” she gasped, hips jerking. “More, Ro.”

He circled her entrance with one fingertip before plunging his finger into her, the wetness that had pooled between her legs naturally slicking the digit. She moaned with pleasure, guiding him to add a second finger, and reached up to tease her nipples. His eyes went huge and pleading, and he struggled to find words before he managed to choke out a coherent thought.

“Let me taste you, Ae,” he begged. “Fucking please.”

She hummed, pretending to consider it. “Thank you for asking,” she finally said, running her free hand down his throat. “Go ahead, Ro. Put that filthy mouth of yours to work.”

Wisely, he kept his fingers moving, twisting and curling inside of her, as he buried his head between her legs and swept his tongue in a broad, strong stroke up her cunt. He circled her clit with his tongue, sucked the throbbing little bud between his lips, and groaned deeply as the taste of her exploded on his tongue.

Between his ridiculously fucking talented mouth and the headiness of ordering around the gorgeous man she’d been dreaming of since February, Aelin didn’t last long before she clamped her thighs around Rowan’s head and called out his name as she came all over his face. Her body shook as her orgasm subsided, ripples of bliss passing through her.

“Fuck me,” she sighed, her head clearing again. “That was so good, darling.”

Slowly, he lifted his head and withdrew his glistening fingers. “You want me to fuck you?”

“Oh, I want you to do much more than just that.” Languidly, she moved up the bed and stretched out against the multitude of pillows. “Take off the rest of your clothes and come here, love.”

It took him all of five seconds to tear off his boxers, revealing a thick, hard cock that made her pussy clench just thinking about how fucking amazing it was going to feel filling her up, and position himself atop her, his weight braced on his forearms so he wasn’t crushing her. “Here I am.”

“Here you are.” A softer light replaced the commanding glint in her eyes. “And here I am. What you do next is up to you, Rowan.”

He exhaled shakily, a warmth bordering on love suffusing his face. “I’ve dreamed of this since the night of that goddamn gala, Aelin.”

“Me too.” She draped one arm over his shoulder, tracing the defined planes of his upper back. “So do something about it.”

And Rowan did.

It was May 25, which made it, as Gavriel would probably scream, time to stop fucking around and start producing some concrete proof. Rowan knew he’d been putting off actually filing the evidence he’d collected, using the flimsy excuse of the amount of paperwork it would take, and he was finally having a calm enough week at Orynth PD to lock himself in his office and start the task.

He went through the homicide reports mechanically, having filed so many of them during his career that he had the process down to muscle memory. The only thing he had to consciously remember for these reports was to track the consistency of the victims’ MO’s, because that was one of the key things upon which his case rested. If he was going to get Celaena Sardothien convicted for her reign of shadow-cloaked terror—and he swore he would—he needed to make certain that he drove home the point about her preferred mode of torture-to-murder being the same.

The fact that his suspect had never been seen in person would be an obstacle, but not an insurmountable one. He had full faith that when his trap was set and baited, Sardothien would come right into its open arms.

He took a lunch break after finishing the reports, during which he allowed himself to open his personal cell phone and scroll through his and Aelin’s recent texts. He even managed to call and catch her during a break, which meant they could spend a few minutes talking. Which had him grinning like an idiot when he returned to his office.

Turning back to the evidence filing, Rowan picked up the small plastic bag containing the tiny piece of mysterious fabric. Aedion had left a copy of his analytical notes, as his explanation of the material would be just as crucial as the material itself when this case eventually came to court. Rowan flipped through the pages, noting down any key information as he filed the fabric scrap as evidence, when two separate details caught his eyes.

First, early in his initial observations, Aedion had noted that the fabric had “remarkably straight, cleanly squared edges.” Rowan turned over that thought in his head, jaw dropping when he realized the implication—the fabric had not been torn, but cut out of a larger piece.

Which left the distinct possibility that it had been planted at the explosion site.

“Fucking hell,” Rowan swore, jaw ticking as he added that note to the evidence report.

The second thing that caught his eye was towards the end of Aedion’s notes, an otherwise ordinary note about the place of manufacture. Developed at Galathynius, Inc. Laboratories. Rowan shook his head, blinked a few times, and reread the note five more times to make sure he was reading it correctly. Each time, it said the same thing.

The mysterious foreign fabric had been developed at the labs of Aelin’s beloved company.

Rowan’s mind raced a mile a minute through the possibilities of that one little note. On the extreme end, it implied that Aelin had created the fabric—which was impossible, because she’d told him herself that she had an engineering team. So perhaps her engineers had developed it? Without her knowing? But that would make no sense, since Aelin was clearly invested enough in her company to be fully aware of what was developed in her labs. So…a secret project?

Or, as Rowan began to suspect, if Celaena Sardothien was using Aelin Galathynius as a cover-up, it followed that she would have been able to use the lab and develop some kind of near-impenetrable material for her nefarious schemes.

All the more reason to end the Shadow Assassin before she decided Aelin was no longer useful.

On the unseasonably warm evening of May 30, Aelin—clad in the form-fitting black suit of Celaena Sardothien—wove her way through the shipping district, darting from shadow to shadow like a breath of nighttime breeze. A few days ago, Nox had left her a note that there had been a suspicious figure seen lurking around Warehouse 4, and because she needed to let off some steam, she’d decided to go investigate it herself. With the SecondSkin covering her true skin and her suit snug against her body, she blended into the dark little nooks and crannies of the industrial sprawl of buildings, and she made it to Warehouse 4 undetected. At the perimeter of the security cameras’ field, she tapped her boot twice against an innocuous-looking crack in the unkempt pavement, disarming the cameras temporarily.

Footsteps silent, she crept up to the steel-sided building and paced a careful lap around the structure. She’d just started a second lap when there was a faint rustle from the cluster of nearby shrubs, and a knife sliced through the night and embedded itself in her arm.

Or it would have, had she not caught it before it could make contact.

Thick, tense silence stretched across the short distance between her and whoever the fuck was hiding in the shrubbery like a damn coward.

Then, with a muffled “fuck,” a tall, muscled, black-clad male figure exploded out of the shrubs and rushed at her.

She dodged his initial brute rush, kicking out as she sidestepped and managing to get the man in the back of the leg. He grunted, reversed direction, and swung a powerful right cross punch at her, which she blocked with one forearm and returned with a left hook. He swatted away her strike, so she launched into a flurry of rapid-fire punches and strikes, distracting him enough that she was able to get in close quarters and drive one knee into the juncture of his leg and his groin. He swore viciously and retaliated with a brutal punch to her side, which made most of her breath whoosh out of her lungs.

“Dick move,” she huffed.

The man scoffed. “Says the woman who literally just kneed me in the dick.”

“Obviously you have no knowledge of anatomy.” She landed a punch to his shoulder joint and followed it up with a boot to his thigh. “Or you’d know that I kneed you in the thigh joint, idiot.”

“Nobody told me the Boss was such a smart-ass.” He smacked the small knife out of her left hand. “Now who’s not playing by the rules?”

“What rules?” With a vicious grin, she ducked his roundhouse swing and thrust her elbow into his stomach. He folded over with a groan, though he recovered rapidly. Not rapidly enough to fully dodge the high, sweeping kick she directed at his face, hitting his jaw enough to bruise and send his head jerking sideways. “There aren’t rules in this world.”

“No…shit,” he wheezed. He dodged her sudden rush and whirled around to meet her head-on again, flicking open a switchblade.

“Nice blade.” Aelin’s smirk flashed white in the blue-black darkness as she whipped twin serrated daggers from her thigh sheaths. “Little bit thuggish though, don’t you think?”

“Says the goddamn Boss.”

God, but it was fun to go into combat with someone who wasn’t afraid to dish her sarcasm right back at her. “You’ve got quite the mouth on you, hmm? Pity I won’t be able to listen to it much longer.”

“That’s what you think.” He swiped at her thigh, gasping shortly when she whipped her leg up to avoid the blade. Gasping in a more strangled manner when she wrapped that leg around his neck and half-threw, half-strangled him to the ground in a single fluid, brutal maneuver that was some kind of unholy cross between martial arts and street fighting. “Fuck!”

She stomped on his wrist, forcing him to release his knife, and swiftly immobilized him, though he was a good deal taller and heavier than she was. “Any last words?” The tip of her dagger touched his pulsing jugular, eager to rip open the skin.

“Only–”

“WAIT!”

Aelin muffled a particularly colorful curse. “What the fuck, Con?!”

“Boss, wait!” Con sprinted around so he was in her view, glancing quickly at the man she had pinned to the ground. “I know him.”

“You have fifteen seconds to explain.”

Con yanked the man’s dark mask and hood off, revealing tawny skin, blonde curls, and an oddly familiar face. “Long time no see, brother.”

“Brother?”

“Boss, this is Fen.”

The blonde–who, Aelin noted, was indeed Con’s mirror image, but blonde–grinned. “Fenrys Moonbeam, at your service.”

She snorted softly. “I’ll be the judge of that. Con, is he safe?”

Con shrugged and addressed his brother. “Where have you been, Fen?”

“Evading authority, like usual.”

The dark-haired twin rolled his eyes. “He’s safe. Good eyes, good ears, talks too much but knows when to shut his stupid face.”

“All right, Fen, you’re hired. I could use another pair of eyes, and your brother could use a break, if he knows what that is.” Aelin released Fenrys and stood up, brushing off her hands.

Fen pushed himself to his feet with a groan, shaking out his cramped, sore limbs. “So the interview consists of almost dying. Got it.”

She threw him a vicious grin. “And if I decide I won’t hire a candidate, the ‘almost’ part goes away.”

“Terrifying.” He gulped. “Well, then I’ll count myself lucky.” He shook her offered hand. “Thanks for the opportunity, Boss.”

“I’m looking forward to seeing how your particular skills can be an asset.” She winked, relishing the way he shuddered ever so slightly at the obvious hint of her scheming. “I’ve been in need of a decent trespasser since the last one had an unfortunate run-in with a bullet.”

“Unfortunate, huh?”

“Very unfortunate.” She chuckled, low and dark. “He went two steps too far.”

Fenrys grimaced. “I’ll be here whenever you need me, Boss.” With a lazy mockery of a salute, he limped off beside his brother, headed for Con’s truck.

Back at his apartment that was little more than a shitty, rundown box with paper-thin walls, tucked into one of many nondescript brick apartment buildings bordering the industrial district, Fenrys Moonbeam stretched his aching body out on his crappy couch, settled an ice pack on his throbbing knee, and picked up the cellphone lying on the side table. Opening the short list of contacts, he scrolled for a moment before tapping on an icon and letting the phone ring.

The call connected just after the third ring. “Moonbeam?”

Fenrys knew better than to waste words. “I’m in, Cap.”

“Wrong title.” Rowan Whitethorn’s grunt dripped with acerbic sarcasm.

“Apologies, Lieutenant,” Fenrys simpered. “Anyway, I’m in.”

“Good.”

Click. The call went dead.

Fenrys sighed. He really should have expected Whitethorn to be as terse as his reputation suggested; the man had sent him an actual paper printout of his instructions, for fuck’s sake. At least the assignment was fairly simple.

Infiltrate Celaena Sardothien’s ring of criminals. Check.

Get into Sardothien’s good graces enough to go with her when she inevitably committed her next murder. Check…right?

Collect as much evidence as possible of the Boss’s numerous heinous crimes so the TSF could convict her and end her rampage of villainy. He was working on that.

And preferably don’t fucking die in the attempt. That last part had been spoken in Rowan Whitethorn’s famously dry voice.

No sweat.

Aching from the unexpectedly brutal fight, Fenrys Moonbeam stretched out on his shitty couch, wincing at the unpleasant feeling of every goddamn spring in the bloody couch digging into his body, closed his eyes, and dropped into shallow sleep, hyperaware that he laid exactly twelve feet atop the equally rundown, mildew-ridden apartment of Boss Celaena Sardothien.

~~~

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