Crimson Truth (Onyx Assassins 4)

That sounded like torture.

I glanced between Isabel and Clarence, realizing they weren’t all that different, both raised to serve the other sex. Our cultures couldn't be more different, and yet the same.

“Why?” Clarence asked. “What do you do, Benedict St. James?”

“He’s an Assassin,” Jocelyn answered, lifting her drink to her lips. It was a pink concoction with cherries, but there was no scent of alcohol. “He kills people. Dispenses justice. Gets his hands all sorts of dirty while somehow remaining way too tidy.” She bit off one of the cherries from the toothpick.

Fuck, those lips were a distraction I couldn’t afford right now.

“And he’s technically a duke,” Isabel countered. “An aristocrat in our lands.”

“Technically, but I passed the title to a cousin so I can serve my king. My people deserve someone fully invested in their affairs.” I took another drink.

“You what?” Isabel asked softly, her shoulders falling. “You don’t want your title?”

“Nope.” I shook my head. “You can’t be both an Assassin and a duke. Not if you want to do either job right.”

Jocelyn smiled at me, and I quickly averted my gaze. She was too fucking beautiful, smelled too fucking good and was way too fucking close.

Entrees were served, and I started counting down the minutes until we could get the hell out of there. Clarence started in on what he felt were his most admirable qualities, and halfway through the course, I removed my jacket, hanging it on the back of my chair as my temperature rose.

“I thought coat and tie were required?” Isabel whispered, panic lacing her tone.

“Half the restaurant is empty and the other half isn’t going to say a word to him,” Jocelyn laughed. “Everyone in your species knows who he is.”

“Be nice,” I hissed at Jocelyn.

She rolled her eyes.

“And an alliance with me would not only strengthen the Cricketfire coven, but a merge of our bloodlines would be quite beneficial,” Clarence continued like we’d been listening all along.

“Lie,” I said as my arm burned.

Every head turned my way.

Jocelyn arched an eyebrow in warning.

I shrugged.

Clarence downed the rest of his wine and snapped his fingers for another. Prick. “Like I was saying, my bloodline is strong—”

Burn.

“L—” I started.

Jocelyn’s nails sank into my thigh.

Just a tad higher, little witch.

“And we have several abilities in our coven that your line lacks—”

Burn. I shifted uncomfortably and unbuttoned my cufflinks, rolling my sleeves to the elbow as he continued. With Jocelyn sitting next to me, her scent filling my nose, my mouth, my lungs, dinner tasted even more bland than our appetizers.

“I would make an excellent father for our young—”

Burn.

“I’ve been taught the ways of our coven and mastered the subservient nature of the consort-ready warlock—”

No burn, but subservient didn’t sound like anything Jocelyn needed. The witch needed someone strong enough to have her back in public without feeling emasculated, and sure of himself enough to know how to turn her over his knee in private. I snorted.

Jocelyn glared at me.

“And,” Clarence continued the longest proposal of my life. “Should we not conceive a female on our first time, then I assure you I’m quite skilled in the art of pleasing a princess. You would never grow bored in my bed.”

Burn.

“Lie.” The word was out of my mouth before I could stop it.

What. The. Actual. Fuck. Pleasing a princess? Like this Justin-Bieber wannabe was ever going to get his hands on Jocelyn? My fangs punched through, and I fought the instinct to bare them.

“Benedict!” Jocelyn snapped.

Isabel gasped, though I couldn't tell if it was at my announcement or Jocelyn chastising me.

“How dare you speak to him like that!” Isabel hissed toward Jocelyn, checking around us to see if anyone had heard.

Guess that answered that question.

“I’m not a liar!” Clarence snapped.

Now people were looking.

You know what? Fuck it.

“Listen, Mickey Mouse Clubhouse—” I started, my eyes narrowing on Clarence.

“I’m not a child!” he sputtered.

“I’m hundreds of years old, so yeah, you’re a kid.” I nodded toward Jocelyn. “Her maturity makes up for her age, and you’re no match for her.” Putting my elbows on the table, I bared my forearms to Clarence—and Isabel. “Everything you’ve said tonight has pretty much been a lie.” I glanced at Jocelyn. “Except for the subservient part. You’d definitely be the dom in this relationship.”

Jocelyn’s hair lifted, and she snatched her hand out of my lap, leaving me feeling somewhat...bereft? Shit, I wasn’t supposed to want her hand on my thigh. I was supposed to want Isabel’s hand, but I didn’t.

“Blood sucker, you know next to nothing about our way of life, so don’t assume you know anything about who would make a good consort for the heir.” He scoffed and waved his glass, sending some of the wine sloshing over the top.

“I’ll give you that. I might not know your culture, but I sure as hell know Jocelyn. And besides, who lies about knowing how to please a female?” I sank back in my chair, more comfortable than I had been all night. “Learn, don’t lie, you idiot, because she sure as hell isn’t the kind of woman to fake it.”