Crimson Warrior (Onyx Assassins 3)

Not a daughter who spent her time wielding blades and studying battle strategy with the king’s royal strategist. Not a warrior with no intentions of mating or breeding until I felt there was a reign of peace upon us. Not that I faulted my sisters for having or trying to have children. Everyone was free to make their own choices, the best choices for their own lives.

I just wish my mother would realize that. And my father. Both of whom sat on the other side of the round, linen-draped table from Ransom and me. Annika and Zasha in the spots on my left. More wealthy families were positioned at their own tables filling the ballroom, all enraptured by the ballet that had kicked off the midnight festival. Even Ransom, who I never would’ve pegged to appreciate the beauty in ballet, was clearly moved by the dance. His sapphire eyes watched with unrestrained admiration and respect, his hand easily resting upon my thigh.

More practice, I assured myself and tried like hell not to get lost in the memory of his kiss.

But who was I kidding? I hadn’t stopped thinking about the practice kiss since it happened. His lips, strong and warm. His taste, snow and spice and everything to have me thirsting for more. His hands, how they’d held me, gentle and firm at the same time. I’d lost myself in that kiss, had forgotten entirely that it was just a game we were playing. A means to an end for the mission.

Not real.

I eyed the hand on my thigh, the heat from his skin radiating through my gown. If he raised that hand a few mere inches, his fingers could slide between my thighs and satisfy the ache that had been present since the first night I’d met him. A spot I knew only he could reach, one none of my previous lovers had even come close to. Sure, I’d found the necessary physical release we’d both been looking for whenever I did take a lover, but nothing would quell that craving I had in Ransom’s presence. I knew it…had accepted it a long time ago. But it was harder here…harder while we were pretending.

An hour later, the ballet had ended to a rousing and well-earned standing ovation, and the music had shifted to a lighter tone as dinner was served. I’d eaten little, my nerves fraying too much to allow any of my hungers to be satisfied.

“What do you think of the theater?” my mother asked Ransom after our plates had been cleared and the evening drinks were served. I didn’t normally go for the processed blood, but I nearly gulped the contents from the crystal coupe, hating that I hadn’t been able to slake that deep thirst since we’d left the estate back home. Had I grown so used to the feeders? The willing and platonic volunteers that resided in the human borough?

“It’s stunning,” Ransom said, his eyes scanning the ballroom. “And it was built in the 1700s you said?”

Mother nodded, beaming at his interest. “It took five years to complete,” she said. “It was positioned on the border between the northern and southern sections of the island to stand as a place of equality among the spaces. Everyone on the island is free to enjoy the theater whenever they wish.”

My sisters and I had gone often as younglings, our upbringings drenched in music and dance. I loved it, just not enough to join a troupe like Katya and Marisha. Zasha, my closest sister, had somehow managed to withstand the pull as well.

“I’d love to see something in the main auditorium someday,” Ransom said, shocking me. He was speaking like he’d return to this island in the future for a leisure trip—one not motivated by a mission. But that couldn’t be right because we’d have to keep on pretending. “I begged Olivia to show me a peek of it earlier,” he continued, adding a soft squeeze to my thigh that had flames licking my skin. “The dome, the chandeliers, and the stage were all breathtaking.”

I widened my eyes at him, unable to school my features quick enough. I’d seen Ransom play many roles in our missions together, but wooing my parents? He seemed to be an expert in all things, the prick.

“Absolutely,” my father said, pointing to the stage my sisters and the rest of the ballet dancers had vacated in favor of their dining seats. “That was a mere glimpse of what a ballet can be,” he said. “The real magic happens in the auditorium. You must return in the winter when the Ice Dancers play.”

“Indeed,” Ransom said, swirling the contents in his coupe but never actually drinking from it.

I cringed internally. I knew him and the Order often refused to drink the processed blood that could sustain our kind unless it was a life and death situation. He frequented the human borough back home. I should’ve thought ahead and brought along a feeder. In Kranitel, human volunteers were unheard of. Ever since our survival long ago, the island had been long since warded against humans ever traipsing onto our lands and threatening our existence again. We’d learned to love the processed blood our modern age had offered us. Though, after living on the other side of the sea for so long, it was hard for me to stomach it, and I’d grown up on it. Ransom must be starving.