Crimson Highlander (Onyx Assassins 2)

Fucking mating bond bullshit. Still, I’d endure anything if it meant rescuing Daphne.

“You all right?” Lyric whispered, gently squeezing my arm.

I blinked a few times, straightened my spine, and tipped my chin up. Sure, Lyric was my best friend, but I didn’t want her to know about the turmoil I grappled with at the moment. She had enough on her plate—realizing her best friend came from a family who actively hunted her kind, not to mention the whopping pile of shit I’d brought to her door now. She’d offered up her Onyx Assassins without a second thought for me—I’d never be able to repay her.

“Not what I pictured,” I admitted as she led us toward a table positioned atop a dais at the head of the room.

“What were you picturing?” she asked, urging me to sit at her left. The spot to her right—dead center of the long table—was vacant. Alek’s, no doubt. But the king mingled with the wealthy vampires scattered about the floor.

I settled into the plush, cushioned chair, instantly reaching for the glass of champagne resting next to the empty china before me. “For a vampire summer solstice ball?” I took a few sips of the bubbly liquid, contemplating if I should bite my tongue now that Lyric happened to be the vampire queen. I shrugged to myself—I’d never filtered my words before, beyond the secrets I’d been raised to keep, so I wasn’t about to start now. “My father once told me only the witches celebrated the summer solstice.” She arched a brow at me but remained quiet so I could continue. “He said the vampires especially hated the summer solstice and created their own ritual on the day to spite the sun’s prime presence.” I glanced around the vampires before me, all dressed in silk or jewels or slick suites. Dancing, drinking, laughing.

“What was the ritual?” Lyric asked when I didn’t elaborate.

“A bonfire under the moonlight where they sacrificed children not yet of age. An offering to the darkness, a plea for the long days of summer to end and give way to night. And when the bodies had been burned to nothing but bone, the vampires would carve them into flatware, straws, goblets, and use them to eat or drink with.”

Lyric’s lips parted open.

“That’s not true at all,” a male voice said from right behind me. Years of training kept me from jumping. I turned my head just slightly to see who belonged to the voice. Ransom, if I remembered right. The model-worthy vampire was one of Lyric’s favorites. “We only use bones to pick flesh out of our teeth on Christmas day.”

Lyric playfully batted the vampire’s rock hard stomach. “Ransom, stop,” she chided. “That isn’t funny.”

A sad, broken smile shaped my lips. “It’s fine,” I said, waving the two off. “His joke is no more ridiculous than the shit I was handed my entire life.” I nodded toward the elegant party in full swing. “Clearly, there are no bonfires with screaming children.” God, how could my father be so blind? How had everyone in the Sons? Was there ever any truth to anything they said, or was it all fabricated?

“You haven’t seen the courtyard,” Ransom said, curling his lips into a smirk that showed his fangs.

Lyric snorted, shaking her head. “You’re not even remotely scary.”

My brows raised at her statement, but I tried to control my reactions—a knee-jerk reaction ingrained in me since birth. The assassin was absolutely terrifying, despite his playful humor. Death and power radiated off of him, as it did with all the Onyx Assassins, and the human in me screamed to run. To get as far away as possible.

But I couldn’t.

I now had more to fear from my own blood than I did from the vampires. How fucked up was that?

“Oh, I don’t know about that,” Ransom said, eying me. He inhaled deeply, something flashing behind his dark blue eyes before he shook his head.

I glared up at him, not even blinking. Fuck him if he could smell the hint of fear I had snaking through my blood. “Only an idiot wouldn’t be scared of you all.”

Lyric frowned, her shoulders dropping a fraction.

I reached out and held her hand. “I’d never be afraid of you,” I clarified. “But your brood here?” I shrugged. “Even without the bedtime stories, they’re menacing.”

Ransom parted his lips in mock-shock. “Menacing? Us?” He shook his head. “Words can hurt, you know?” he teased, and I actually held back a laugh. This version of Ransom was so different from the one who’d helped Lachlan interrogate me. Though, I suppose, at a party he didn’t have to constantly wear his assassin hat.

I pointed across the room to where—Hawke, I recalled—stood behind Avianna’s table. The hulking assassin looked like a statue, he moved so little, his sharp eyes trained on every single aristocrat vampire that approached the princess—male and female alike.