Crimson Warrior (Onyx Assassins 3)

I glanced at Ransom, but his eyes silently said what he’d stated outside my home: Whatever you need.

My shoulders dropped in defeat. I had expected we’d have to stay the length of the festival, but thinking it and agreeing to it out loud were two totally different things. “Of course, Mother.”

She beamed at that. “Lovely to meet you, Ransom. I look forward to getting to know you.” She edged toward the doors. “Now, you two have a delightful rest. Hopefully a productive one, too. I want more grandchildren!” She shut the doors behind her, leaving me standing there with my mouth hanging open once again.

Grandchildren were the highest honor in my family—furthering on our long-standing bloodline. Vampire children were so rare, much of Kranitel Days were based around celebrating fertility. My family had come from a time when our species had nearly been eliminated, surviving that…well, Kranitel Days was an honor to what we’d endured and an effort to ensure it never happened again.

Ransom chuckled softly as he slowly walked around the room, studying it, no doubt committing every inch to memory. An assassin to his core, he’d never not cataloged his surroundings, regardless if we were in a trustworthy place or not.

An image popped into my mind—a tiny youngling with sapphire blue eyes and the same mischievous smile as Ransom, but with hair of chocolate brown like mine. The sight was enough to swell my heart, but I mentally shooed away the involuntary thought, cursing my mother for planting it there while I was at it.

“Nice,” Ransom said, and I turned to find him gripping the support of the bathing chamber doorway. “Strong,” he said, lifting himself in a pull-up. “I hate it when places have the weak support beams.”

A dark laugh ripped out of me as I watched him pull himself up over and over again, the muscles in his back tensing and bunching beneath the tight fabric of his shirt, that glorious backside tucked into leather. Heat pulsed low in my core, an ache I usually had under control, but, then again, I hadn’t been forced into a room with Ransom and only one bed before, either.

He continued to do those damn pull-ups as if content to have a pre-rest workout. Maybe it was part of his routine, how would I know? I glanced between him, his body a gorgeous instrument of strength, and then looked to the bed we’d share.

This was going to be a very long two weeks.

5

Ransom

I finished buttoning my black dress shirt as Olivia rustled in the bathroom behind me, muttering something under her breath. Not that it should have been called a bathroom. The thing was palatial, all marble and glass, and showerheads. So many showerheads.

“You okay in there?” I asked over my shoulder, looking into the floor-length mirror beside the dresser to be sure my shirt was straight. It was less than an hour until midnight when the festival would kick off with a ceremonial feast.

“Just need a minute!” she called back, but the panic in her tone led me to believe it was going to be way longer than a minute. She’d been jittery all day, and even when we’d taken evening repast with her family. Maybe it was jetlag, but I doubted it.

Voices passed by the door outside our room, and I recognized her sisters’ voices. Zasha and Marisha both had rooms in this wing of the monstrosity they called a house. I liked that they’d roomed the family in one wing and left the other open to guests since it felt like half of the vampire aristocracy had flown in for the festival.

“Ugh!” Olivia’s outburst was followed by the sound of her slamming her hands on the counter.

“Did the sink offend you?” I reached for my tie, then leaned back to peer through the opening of the door.

She stood in a red silk robe, her hair up in a disarray of curls, diamonds at her throat, and her hands braced on the marble between the sinks as she glared down at some unseen enemy. She was the perfect combination of raw and polished, completely off-limits and yet touchable.

“This tattoo is a nightmare!” she hissed through gritted teeth.

“Want some help?” I looped my tie around my neck but left it loose.

She glared even harder at her hands, then nodded without looking up. “The damn thing washed off in the shower. I thought it was supposed to last more than a night.”

“We’ll fix it,” I said with a shrug as I walked into the bathroom. Her scent hit me with the force of a hazelnut hurricane, all warm and sweet. My pulse leaped. “Maybe you’re allergic to me,” I teased, picking up the temporary tattoo from the counter.

“Allergic to your bad jokes, maybe.” A corner of her mouth lifted.

“I’m fucking funny, and you know it.” Her skin was impossibly soft beneath my fingers as I lifted her wrist.