4

Casimir

Seven years has not lessened the impact of seeing Ophelia face-to-face.

If she was a temptation at twenty-three, then at thirty she's a force of nature. The same dark hair and warm brown eyes, but the richness of the intervening years has added a depth to that beauty, a confidence and self-possession.

And a few more sharp edges, apparently.

You want me to work with him ?

It's clear enough she still holds resentment for that night on the rooftop. For her plans being thwarted or for my own barbed condescension, I don't know, but her prickliness and guarded skepticism are enough to signal this job we've been tasked with is already off to a poor start.

Seeing her here, sitting across from one of my oldest friends, was an unexpected shock. Blair had given no details about who the operative he wanted me to work this case with would be, and never in my wildest dreams would I have imagined it to be her.

Still, I would have no issue with setting the past aside and taking on this work for the Bureau as a favor to Blair.

Even if that means partnering with Ophelia.

It's been years since I held her actions against her. Far be it from me, with all the centuries I've lived, to hold on to the ire and wounded pride I felt that night.

Ophelia was young, out of her depth, and by the way she all but disappeared from the city in the months following, I'd assumed she realized that as well.

I've never been one to hold a petty grudge. Although memories of her have had the tendency to creep into my mind more often than I care to admit these last seven years, it's not resentment at the forefront when they do. No, those particular memories have a different bitterness to them, something that tastes very much like disappointment and exhaustion, with the familiar weariness of my too-long life and the reminder of exactly why I was given this form. To be used. To be a means to someone else's end.

That doesn't mean, however, I lay it all on Ophelia's shoulders.

She was a sharp stick poking at those age-old wounds, not the creature who made them. The tangled darkness her actions dredged up is mine to deal with, not hers.

But perhaps Ophelia hasn't been quite so eager to set aside her animosity where I'm concerned.

"There is a history between me and sweet Ophelia."

I sink into the chair she just vacated, some of her body's heat still lingering on the upholstery, along with the scent that hasn't made my fangs ache any less keenly after all the time that's passed.

Rich wine and spice. Something dark and floral and unmistakably her .

Blair huffs a laugh. "You don't say."

I open my mouth to elaborate, but he interrupts before I can.

"Is what you're about to say something that would prevent the two of you from working civilly together? Or something that would put either of you in danger?"

I shake my head, half a lie considering what could reasonably count as civility between Ophelia and I.

"And is it something Ophelia would rather I not know?"

"Yes. It likely is."

I can't imagine she'd be pleased with my recounting the details of that night with her current employer. Or with anyone, for that matter, and I haven't. Besides whatever Cassandra and Marcus may have inferred from what they saw, there's not another soul who knows. Or, at least, no one who's heard it from me.

"Then I don't need to know. If there are any issues once the two of you are out in Boston, then we can discuss it."

I contemplate that for a few moments. "You think she is the right person for this work?"

"I do."

"Then I will endeavor to help her, whether she wishes my assistance or not."

"Cas," he says, a warning. "I don't want you to strong-arm her. If she wants you to back off—"

I chuckle. "If one of us is going to strong-arm the other, our history suggests it would not be sweet Ophelia on the receiving end."

Blair's golden eyes gleam with interest, but he stifles his curiosity and changes the subject.

"We can speak with human resources about payment before you—"

I brush aside the question with a wave of my hand. "You know I do not take payment for these matters."

"I know. And you also know I'll always offer."

A creature of honor, this dragon.

Ever since I first met him—on the hunt for a very valuable emerald attached to an even more valuable ducal coronet that found itself bartered away and in his hoard some three or four hundred years ago—it's been clear he's one to stand by his word and at the side of those he counts as friends. A fact which never fails to compel him to offer recompense for my services, even though he knows my own dubious honor would never let me accept.

I have no need to make our arrangement about anything other than loyalty and the unwavering friendship we've shared these last centuries. For him, and for Elias, there are no favors too great.

Conversation at its close, I stand and roll my shoulders in an attempt to release some of the tense, restless energy that settled over me the moment I caught Ophelia's scent.

It's no use.

Even after all this time, she still has the power to unsettle me.

I'm not sure whether to be irritated or amused, but knowing we're all but guaranteed to cross paths again soon in Boston leaves an unexpected sensation in the center of my chest.

I wouldn't call it hope, or anything resembling optimism for how this little partnership of ours will play out, but it's a spark of interest I can't remember feeling in a long, long while.

Seven years, at least.

"You'll have more information about this assignment for me?"

Blair nods. "Yes, in the next couple of days, actually. If you're sticking around Seattle?"

"I am," I tell him with a smirk. "I fully intend to terrorize Elias and his delectable little mate for a few days. The kraken still hasn't learned what a mistake he's made by offering me free admittance into his home."

Blair chuckles and shakes his head. "Tell Nora I said hi."

"You can't tell her yourself?"

A flash of some emotion on the dragon's face. One that looks very much like guilt. "Just send my regards."

"Send them yourself," I insist. "Join us for dinner this weekend. Unless there's a reason you'll be tied up here in the city? Something that might have to do with the way you smell like you've been dipped in a vat of orange juice and… ginger?"

Unable to stop myself from pressing him just a little further, I lean in and get a whiff of the scent clinging to him like a second skin. Opening my mouth to comment on it, he cuts me off before I can.

"Not this time."

Another flash, this one of something much more powerful and ancient—a deep, roiling energy in his golden eyes I've never seen there before.

It's one I can't help but think has something to do with that scent and whatever human it comes from.

Gods, how I don't want to envy him.

Or Elias, either, with the charming little human he's claimed for his mate.

Despite Blair's unwillingness to discuss it, the dragon doesn't fool me for a moment. He'll figure out whatever's got him so tied in knots, I'm sure, and the sight of him so obviously undone seems like it might be a good wake-up call. Something to shake him out of the stasis he's kept himself in these past few centuries.

The hollow husk in the center of my chest aches for a moment with the idea of my two closest friends having found their fated ones. And even though a vampire takes a bloodbound partner by choice, not fate, it still leaves a strange, unwelcome bitterness in the back of my throat.

"Fine," I tell him, ready to leave the Bureau and be back out in the fresh air where Ophelia's scent doesn't linger like a personal taunt. "Then I'll look forward to stopping by before I head back to Boston."