Total pages in book: 89
Estimated words: 85306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
Estimated words: 85306 (not accurate)
Estimated Reading Time in minutes: 427(@200wpm)___ 341(@250wpm)___ 284(@300wpm)
“I love you like you were my own sister, but Hawke was assigned to your protection for a reason, Avi. There’s no line he wouldn’t cross to keep you safe. That ruthlessness you can’t stand is exactly why he’s your guard. He stays.” I offered her a tight-lipped smile in apology and followed my men into the night.
* * *
Frost bit at my skin as we wended to the docks on the southeast side of Edgemont City, careful to choose one run and operated by the demons.
“You certainly know how to spoil a lovely evening,” Xavier drawled, walking out of the shadows, some of which came with him as he approached. He didn’t come with a guard for the simple fact that he didn’t need one.
Where Alek had some very real weaknesses—sunlight, blood loss, Night Thistle, and Lyric—Xavier had none that we knew about, and he liked it that way.
To be honest, I couldn’t blame him.
“You didn’t have to come.”
“Holy shit that’s—” Corbin whispered loud enough for the east coast to hear him.
“Shut up,” Thorne punched him in the arm. “Or they’ll never let us out of the training center again.”
“Children,” I muttered to Xavier, flashing him a grin.
“Indeed.” He turned and walked away. “Follow me.”
I shook my head at the trainees and walked after Xavier. Corbin and Thorne were good kids from good families, but they were just that. They needed to be sent off to the battalions on the outer edges of the territories to be hardened if they were going to be of any use to us. It took more than lethal fighting skills and a cocky grin to be an assassin, and there were some lessons that could only be taught by war.
Not that we didn’t have one of our own on our hands here.
We made it off the dock and approached what appeared to be a strip club. Xavier nodded to a green-horned demon, who opened the door and bowed his head.
“My liege.”
Xavier walked past without further acknowledgment, and we entered the club to the driving beat of Nicki Minaj as a human woman spun around a pole on stage. Demons had always made their money in sin, and lust was one of the biggest businesses, period.
We passed two more demon guards, both giant fuckers with double red horns, and a female winked at me from behind the counter, licking a forked tongue across her lower lip. To all the humans who frequented the club, they looked absolutely human, of course. Only the supernatural could see through the glamours they continuously wore.
“Where are his horns?” Corbin asked, and I rolled my eyes.
“He doesn’t have them, idiot,” Thorne hissed.
Xavier chuckled as we descended a flight of stairs, taking us into a stone-lined hallway. The king looked human enough, even to our eyes, but only a fool would mistake him for one, especially with the way the shadows at the corners of the hallways stretched out to greet him.
“For fuck’s sake,” Hawke muttered.
One lone guard stood at the end of the hallway, and he quickly opened the heavy, barred door at his king’s approach.
I unholstered my Glock and followed Xavier into what appeared to be—yep, it was a dungeon. Shackles fell from various points along blood-stained cobblestone walls. “My ancestors would be proud,” I said, taking in every escape route in the room. There wasn’t one. Not even a window. No sound, either, which meant we were either far enough underground that the club’s music couldn’t reach us, or the room was enchanted to keep the screams quiet.
My vision blurred, but I blinked quickly.
Hawke narrowed his eyes at me.
“I see we didn’t need to worry about him sneaking away.” I moved to Xavier’s side and stared down at the demon on the floor convicted of treason.
His eyes flashed yellow, and he scurried backward, slamming into the stone wall. There was dried blood on his clothing, and his lip had been split.
“You’re only here as a courtesy, highlander.” Xavier stepped forward and put his hands in the pockets of his black jeans. “Tell me, Marcus. Is there anything you’d like to confess before your sentence is carried out?”
“Sentence?” The demon paled, his skin looking almost waxy as his gaze jumped from Xavier to me.
“Oh, just say it already,” Xavier glanced at me before rolling his neck and shoulders.
“Marcus Seperatus, son of Frederick, you have been convicted of treason by your own admission by the Conclave and sentenced to death.” I raised my Glock. “Any last words?”
The demon’s eyes shone brighter, and he lifted his swollen lip in a sneer. “The Sons are coming for you. A new order is upon us where vampires will no longer sit in judgment.”
We didn’t sit in judgment of anyone—we just carried it out—but I wasn’t about to waste my time with semantics here.