Crimson Truth (Onyx Assassins 4)

Found him, found him, found him.

Yeah, I know we found him, shut up! I internally screamed at my soul, then blew out a breath as I examined him some more. He was…calm. Not irritated, not frustrated, not hungry.

Nothing.

Well, fuck him then.

“The Leifstars,” I admitted, even though I know doing as much could be grounds for treason in my mother’s eyes. We weren’t exactly supposed to broadcast the knowledge of how powerful we were to other supernaturals, but I was so far beyond caring about ancient laws at this point.

“Any others?” he asked, his tone even and unhindered.

Ugh. Couldn’t he be a little be riled by what we’d done last night?

“Yeah,” I said, forcing out a laugh. He raised his brows at me. “The Stonelakes.”

He tilted his head at my given name, and I shrugged. “Clearly, I’m not getting in my own way, and Luna would never. Mother is off doing who the hell knows what, so…”

Benedict sighed. “We haven’t seen the Leifstars in any of the meetings.”

“Because they tend to handle their own shit without having to cry to my mother about it every five seconds like some of the other covens.”

“Interesting,” he said, again way too chill for my liking. Was it childish to want him to be the least bit affected by me as I was by him? Yes. Could I stop it? No.

“Mother told me last night,” I said, my tone tense and frustrated. “That I’d have to go on a date with one of the Leifstar sons soon. Maybe I can squeeze some information out of one of them then.”

Benedict’s eyes snapped to mine, those blue depths churning with something.

Finally. A reaction, maybe not one I understood, but something nonetheless.

“Oh?” he asked, smoothing those features on his face as he stalked across the deck, sitting in the seat across from me.

Goddess damn him. How could he even make walking look sexy? Seriously, who does that?

“Would you agree with that?” I asked, energy coiling between the small distance from him and me. All it would take is a few steps and I could straddle him where he sat—

“If that’s what you think will help us find the traitor, then by all means, little witch, set the date.”

“And if I had to fuck him for information?” I asked, my chest tightening.

A muscle in his jaw ticked, his eyes falling to my mouth, then back to my eyes. “Funny,” he said, and I tilted my head.

“What is?”

“That you have such a beautiful mouth, but the most ridiculous things come out of it.”

I pursed my lips, heat flaring in my blood. “Your name was on my tongue last night,” I said, hoping for more of this…reaction and banter and him.

But he didn’t flinch or blink at my words. Didn’t flush or sigh at the memory I’d brought up crystal clear between us.

For some reason, that lack of reaction hurt more than pissed me off. Because maybe last night was merely a passing of the time for him. A little challenge to show me he could own me in any way possible whenever he wanted.

And maybe it made me weak, but I knew that it was the truth.

Benedict had somehow slipped inside my veins, claiming me in a way I couldn’t understand, and didn’t exactly hate.

“I’m tired,” I said, when he seemed content to not respond. “Take me home.” His eyebrows rose as he stood with me, and I quickly cleared my throat. “Take me back,” I tried miserably to recover.

Since when had I started to think of the vampire residence as home?

I was so fucked.

9

Benedict

“Man, you have to feed,” I said to Hawke as I walked onto the patio. The guy was wasting away, his cheeks hollow and his eyes darker than I’d ever seen them.

“Mind your own fucking business,” he replied, his voice as flat as the grass courtyard between the formal and family residence of the manor.

Aristocrats walked the opposite patio, having just finished the midnight meal, all dressed in gowns and suits. The upper echelons of the vampires always seemed to be in residence in the Domum, hoping to gain Alek’s favor, or learn Onyx secrets. The courtyard between us served as more than decoration—it was the physical barrier between “civilized” vampire society and the royal family’s residence, where ironically, we fought the war to save our species.

While the aristocrats partied like it was a fucking F. Scott Fitzgerald novel.

And you chose to fight, which means you have to feed.

Hawke glanced over at me, his brow furrowing. “Besides, like you’re one to talk. You look like a zombie.”

“If I’m a zombie, then you’re the fucking crypt keeper,” I countered, my gaze sweeping over the lawn and landing on Jocelyn’s silhouette near the garden. She’d hauled all her witchy stuff out here earlier this evening, hoping that the direct connection with nature would help the fourteenth variation of the locator spell she’d been trying.