Crimson Covenant (Onyx Assassins 1)

Hawke’s sharp gaze narrowed further at my request.

Lachlan’s look was more pleading. “We’ve chained him to his bed, lass,” he said, his voice softer than I’d ever heard it. “We wanted him to be as comfortable as possible when he—”

His words died in his throat when he saw the look in my eyes—the uncompromising will there.

“Move,” I said, this time with a little more strength behind the word.

Hawke shook his head. “No. We will not lose you too.”

I took a steadying breath, the bond flaring and thrashing inside me.

“Please, lass—”

“Queen,” I cut Lachlan off, and he immediately straightened his position. Ransom hissed behind me, and Hawke merely…smirked. “It’s Queen,” I said with a bit more softness. Fuck, I hated pulling rank like this, but dammit, they weren’t listening to me. Alek would not die. Not while there was breath in my lungs.

“You are our queen,” Lachlan said, dipping his head slightly. “And we are duty-sworn to protect you. Even from yourself.”

My fangs descended on their own accord, my patience wearing thin. “We don’t have time for a debate. You heard what Genevieve said, yes?”

They all nodded.

“I found it. What she referred to. I’m…” I shook my head. There wasn’t time. “I’m much more complex than any of us suspected. And Alek and I will explain everything after—”

“Alek,” Hawke cut me off. “Has succumbed to his baser side thanks to the fucking Night Thistle—”

“Easy,” I warned, using all the power I felt flowing through my blood to face down the most terrifying vampire I’d ever met. Hawke was ruthless as he was gorgeous, but I would not be delayed.

He clamped his lips shut, a flicker of respect shining through his eyes.

“Let her in,” Ransom said from behind me. “She is our queen. We have to trust her judgment.”

I nearly bowed my shoulders with relief at the support of the general.

“If we lose our king and queen in one night, the nobles will flock to the blood in the water,” Hawke snapped. “And that blood will be Avianna’s. They’ll stop at nothing to—”

“I am the cure,” I hurried to say, wanting to reassure him. “I am, Hawthorne.” Saying his full name, the way I’d heard Alek do on more than one occasion, silenced him. “Please, I know you all haven’t known me that long. I get that. But, I promise, we will have centuries to bond. I will earn your trust, but right now, I need you to give me some blind faith. I will return Alek to you.” I hated the way my voice trembled, the way I knew for a fact I couldn’t best the four Assassins to get through that door. No, they’d have to trust me. And that seemed a much harder feat than overpowering them.

“Hawke, Lachlan,” Benedict said, baring his arms. “She’s telling the truth. Let her pass.”

Fear, actual terror churned in Lachlan’s gaze as he stepped aside. Not any fear from me, but for me.

Hawke moved, that shadow of respect still clinging to his eyes, but his voice was liquid steel as he said, “I go to Avianna. I’ll secure her safety in case Alek rips you to shreds.”

A shiver raced down my spine, but I took the words for what they were—truth. Alek had the capabilities to do more than that. He could shred my mind and my body with a few thoughts. But I was his mate, and I was the cure. An ancient bloodline so buried and secret it gave the Sons a run for their money. My blood was powerful, precious, and dangerous to the wrong people. It was no wonder it had been hidden and glazed over all these centuries. Naturally, only a witch as old and wise as Genevieve would even remember it.

I pushed open the door, the echoes of Alek’s growls leaking into the hallway.

“Lyric,” Ransom called, and I glanced over my shoulder.

“Don’t die,” he said, his eyes sincere but his lips flashing me that playful smile I’d grown so used to. “You’ve just made things interesting again.”

I forced a smile to my lips, and stepped into our chambers. I sealed the door behind me, the sound of the locking clicking enough to stop Alek’s growls for a few heartbeats.

“Oh, Alek,” I said, my voice a trembling whisper.

His biceps strained against his bonds, the silver chains around his wrist propelling his arms up to where the chains wrapped around the ebony posts. Shirtless, his immaculate chest was peppered with gauze, pink from the blood that continued to seep from his wounds. His leather pants hugged his hips, those V-lines just visible as he arched and thrashed on the bed. The steel dampened his power, his strength. And his eyes? Those burning blues that I loved so much?

They were wholly, incomprehensibly black.

Shivers raced over my skin, the cold penetrating all the way down to my bones.