Page 75 of Prisoner of Steel and Shadow

He let out a little growl, frustrated it wouldn’t be easy to sneak up on the poisoner after all. Resigned to returning to the main room and sniffing out his target another way, he continued walking, his footsteps faltering when he spotted the steel-gray tip of a woman’s shoe.

He crept closer, a tingle of warning whispering down his spine. It was too early in the evening for people to start passing out from overindulgence, and he was too intimately familiar with death to mistake the stillness for anything else. What he couldn’t yet discern was whether the one responsible was still nearby.

Instead of calling out and alerting anyone to his presence, he continued with his stealthy prowl, crouching down when he was next to the woman so he could inspect her more thoroughly. Her body had been dumped in one of the little alcoves, her back propped up against the wall, her head lulling obscenely to the side.

Out of habit, he pressed his fingers to her wrist to check for a pulse. He’d just reached out to tilt her face toward him, so he could see if there were any clues as to what killed her, when a soft voice reached his ears.

“She was poisoned.”

Ronan tensed, a defensive protest springing from his lips unbidden. “I didn’t do it.”

Shadow quirked a brow, her mask dangling from her fingers. “I didn’t say you did, Butcher. Poison’s not your style.”

He thought she kept talking, but his heart had somehow lodged itself in the vicinity of his throat, and he was having a hell of a time pulling air into his lungs.

She was absolutely radiant, an angel crafted from starlight. If he was a man prone to verse, he might say he was in the presence of the divine—or as close as his sorry arse would ever get.

Shadow’s lips twitched up. “See something you like?”

That’s when he remembered he was still wearing the fucking mask. He quickly ripped it off his head and tucked it into the back of his waistband, simultaneously trying to smooth down his hair with his other hand. The quiet shake of her shoulders told him it was too late on both counts. Though it was hard to care when the subtle movements made her skin glimmer like it had been dipped in stardust.

His mind emptied completely, and he had to blink a few times as he stared at her. Even then, the best he could manage was a reverent, “Kitten...”

Ignoring him, she stepped forward and knelt down beside him. He had to swallow back a moan as the entire expanse of her toned leg was exposed by the slits in her skirt. Unaware of what she was doing to him—or perhaps she simply didn’t care—she pointed toward the body, speaking softly, “See the darkening of the veins by her eyes and along her neck? Poor Marin. It wasn’t a kind way to go.”

It took considerable effort for Ronan to take his gaze off Shadow and follow the direction she’d indicated. He didn’t know what it said about him that he’d been so entranced by her, he’d fucking forgotten what he’d been in the middle of.

Who did that?

A man who’d grown impervious to death, that’s who.

Or one who was starved for any sign of affection from a woman who didn’t even remember him.

He wasn’t sure which was worse.

Refocusing on Marin’s body, Ronan studied the discoloration Shadow mentioned, his eyes roaming over the dead woman’s pale skin. There was a hint of red marring the wrist curled in her lap that gave him pause.

“I don’t think it was poison.”

“Why not? This is clearly Calix’s handiwork.”

“No,” Ronan said slowly. “I think this might have been the blood mage, disguising things to look like she’d been poisoned.”

Shadow’s brows pinched together. “Aldair? Really? But why?”

“We were all given secret assignments tonight. As far as I know, none of our instructions were accompanied by a reason.”

“So you think Cedric was told to take out Marin?”

“It’s certainly possible. My task involved another contestant.”

He could feel her eyes on him. “Who?”

“You know I can’t tell you.”

They both stood. Shadow bit her lip, her eyes taking on a faraway cast as she tried to make sense of their discovery. “Okay... but Calix could have poisoned her hours ago and just came to check on her progress.”

“He could have, but I doubt it.” Ronan pointed out the patch of dried blood inside Marin’s wrist. “If that had been the result of the poison, it would have come from her mouth or nose, or even her eyes. Not her wrist. The blood was intentionally spilled. There’s only one person we know who requires blood to cast spells. Besides, Calix has only been out of my sight for twenty, maybe thirty minutes. She’s been dead at least an hour, perhaps two.”

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