Crimson Truth (Onyx Assassins 4)

Another horrid sob wrenched from me, and I fell against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around me and let me cry. Smoothed his hands over my hair, stroking me as I let it all out. Pulse after pulse of reassuring comfort radiated down the bond, all purely Benedict and so damn good, so damn strong. And I took every ounce of warmth he sent my way, swallowed it down and let it wash over that internal wound that I wasn’t sure would ever fully heal, but at least now, here, with him, it stopped bleeding.

I sucked in a sharp breath, drawing away from his shoulder to lean my forehead against his.

“Come now, little witch,” he said, smiling at me. “Training with Lachlan can’t be all that bad, can it?”

A laugh ripped from my lips, and I gripped the back of his neck, slanting my mouth over his in a kiss that was filled more with gratitude than lust. We fell back, the need of my kiss changing almost as fast as I could run now. He caught me against him, easily adjusting without breaking our kiss.

Everything in me narrowed to the feel of him beneath me, and my hunger raced through me like a living breathing thing.

But I managed to snap out of the kiss, drawing back so quickly I was on my feet beside him before I could blink.

Benedict rose just as swiftly, his blue eyes on mine.

“I need to finish training,” I said, almost breathless with the effort it took to stop kissing him. Would that ever go away? I certainly fucking hoped not.

Benedict visibly swallowed.

“I don’t want to,” I hurried to say, wanting him to know why I wanted to stop had nothing to do with him. “But I need to, Benedict.”

He tilted his head, concern churning his eyes.

“I have to gain control,” I explained, flicking my fingers, watching in amazement at how fast my power unleashed, how deep the well now ran inside me. “So I can kill her in the end.”

Something like remorse or regret flashed in his eyes, but he shifted to a defensive position, raising his palms. “Whatever you need to do, mate,” he said, nodding to me. “I can take it.”

I sighed in relief at his immediate understanding, and I swiped at the tears on my cheeks. I’d cried my last one for my mother…

No, for Genevieve.

Because a true mother wouldn’t have done what she’d done to me.

And she was going to learn just how much of a bitch karma could be.

Hours later, sweat trickled down my spine, my yoga pants and tank soaked, but my heart soaring. The training had been everything I needed—starting with Lachlan, his support when I’d thoroughly lost my shit, and ending with my mate, who’d tested and challenged me until I’d gained more control over my new abilities.

Was I perfect? No.

Was I ready? I sure as hell believed so.

Adrenaline still coursed through my veins as I walked with Benedict through the estate, nothing but a hot shower on my mind.

I slowed as we passed Avianna’s door, cringing slightly at the sight of Hawke propped against her door, his elbows on his knees, his head cocked back and eyes closed. He looked like death had chosen him for dinner and decided to slowly consume him from the inside out, and madness was the dessert.

Benedict urged me forward when I paused, not entirely sure what I wanted to do. It’s not like Hawke would want me to drape a blanket around his sleeping form, if he was even sleeping. I doubted it. More likely he’d closed his eyes the second he heard us coming, not wanting to interact.

“She’s still not speaking,” Benedict said once we’d reached the privacy of his room. “And we keep trying to revive Hawke, but…he’s resistant.”

I chewed on my lip as I headed for the bathing chamber, wondering why he was wrecked more than Alek or the rest of the Order. I knew he blamed himself for what had happened to her, but Avianna had made a choice to be out that night, not him. And even after, she’d decided to play spy. Surely, he could understand she was her own woman capable of making decisions that had nothing to do with him, guilt or no.

“Olivia, Valor, and me have all been trying get her to talk,” I said while turning on Benedict’s insanely amazing shower. The thing was as big as a standard room, complete with marble benches, heated floors, and four showerheads. “Or, more we’ve been making sure we’re there if she wants to talk.” We weren’t going to badger her into speech.

I peeled off my sweat-slick clothes, tossing them into the empty hamper across the bathing chamber. Benedict followed suit, and stepped into the shower behind me.

“She’ll talk when she’s ready,” I continued, dipping my head under the gloriously hot water. “Hawke shouldn’t slowly kill himself in the meantime.”