Crimson Covenant

  Crimson Covenant

  An Onyx Assassins Novel

  Samantha Whiskey

  Contents

  Also by Samantha Whiskey

  Now Available In Audio!

  1. Alek

  2. Lyric

  3. Alek

  4. Lyric

  5. Alek

  6. Lyric

  7. Alek

  8. Lyric

  9. Alek

  10. Lyric

  11. Alek

  12. Lyric

  13. Alek

  14. Lyric

  15. Alek

  16. Lyric

  17. Alek

  18. Lyric

  19. Alek

  20. Lyric

  21. Alek

  Lachlan

  Connect With Me

  About the Author

  Acknowledgments

  Copyright © 2020 by Samantha Whiskey, LLC All rights reserved. This book or any portion thereof may not be reproduced or used in any manner whatsoever without the express written permission of the publisher except for the use of brief quotations in a book review. This is a work of fiction. Names, characters, businesses, places, events and incidents are either the products of the author’s imagination or used in a fictitious manner. Any resemblance to actual persons, living or dead, or actual events is purely coincidental. This book is licensed for your personal enjoyment only. This book may not be re-sold or given away to other people. If you would like to share this book with another person, please purchase an additional copy for each person you’d like to share it with. Thank you for respecting the author’s work.

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  1

  Alek

  The massive, formal front door of my estate swung open before I could so much as reach for the handle.

  “Welcome home, my king.” Serge bowed his head and made room for me to pass. The guy was dressed in a suit, which was as casual as he got. He took his job as the head of the talem—our immortal stewards—just as seriously as I took my position as king.

  “You know I was only gone for an hour, Serge. Relax a little. Maybe let me get the door every once in a while.” The sound of my boots echoed off the vaulted ceiling as I strode through the marble entry and past the sweeping, dual staircases that led to the second floor.

  “As soon as I’m dead, sir,” Serge called after me.

  I shook my head as I made my way into the expansive ballroom that consumed a quarter of the estate’s floorplan. We used the hall for celebrations, official court business, and all the other glitzy shit I couldn’t stand. Suited talem made their way down the four long tables that ran perpendicular to a raised dais, filling crystal goblets with fresh, crimson blood for the evening repast.

  I muttered a curse. It was already ten o’clock, and none of the nobility had risen from their guest rooms yet. Lazy fucks.

  Lachlan, my second in command, stood at the foot of the dais, looking as out of place in his leather and tats as I did. He was a hulking brute of a warrior with thick red hair and two Glocks openly holstered beneath his arms. No doubt one was loaded with regular ammunition and the other, silver. His eyes narrowed as I approached. Lesser vampires withered under that stare. I was anything but lesser.

  “You look hungry or pissed, and I’m hoping it’s the first,” he said with a raised brow and a highland burr that even three hundred years on this continent hadn’t dulled.

  “I just fed.” I reached his side, then turned to survey the hall as the first of the nobles trickled in, dressed like they were going to the opera, not just the first meal of the night.

  “Pissed it is,” the Scotsman noted, turning to one of the talem who was making his way up the steps to the table I was supposed to be sitting at. “Don’t bother. He won’t drink the canned shite, anyways.”

  True.

  The talem nodded and took his pitcher to the next table.

  “Alek, it would make my job protecting you a wee bit easier if you’d feed on the estate.” He nodded to the left, where a door led to a sumptuous, velvet upholstered room where willing humans waited eagerly for a set of fangs at their veins.

  “I never said I needed your protection.” It was the same argument we’d had for the last few hundred years.

  “For fuck’s sake,” Lachlan muttered. “They’re right here. They want it. They sign waivers. Though there’s something to be said for the days when they didn’t.” He flashed a grin at me.

  “Did he go out to eat again?” Ransom asked with a smirk as he joined us at the foot of the platform. “Can’t blame him. The feeders get a little territorial when he’s involved. It’s like we’re back in the good ‘ol harem days.” He gave a wistful sigh.

  “You weren’t alive in the harem days, jackass. None of us were. And don’t encourage him.” Lachlan shook his head and grumbled something about useless nobles as he looked down the tables.

  There were half a dozen aristocrats in the hall now, all from the finest families, and they’d all chosen seats at the farthest end from the dais. This court was respected, admired, even emulated…but overall, it was feared.

  We were feared.

  I liked it that way.

  I had no use for the simpering class of nobles who cared more about their proximity to the throne than they did for fighting to keep our species at the top of the immortal food chain. While all vampires were dangerous, those who served in the Order were the most lethal of our kind. We were bigger than average nobility, faster, stronger, and trained to carry out our duty by the Covenant—mete out the king’s justice.

  My justice.

  We were called the Order of the Onyx Assassins, not only for the onyx medallion each of us carried from the day we were initiated, but the death delivered by our hands.

  “How long are these festivities, anyway?” Lachlan’s gaze moved from one noble to the next, assessing any potential threat as another one of my warriors joined us.

  Benedict stood at my left and crossed his arms over his chest.

  “Until equinox. Half the nobility aren’t even here yet,” Ransom answered, clearly enjoying Lachlan’s discomfort. “Has Lenora already cornered you? Rumor has it she’s looking to get her oldest daughter mated.”

  “Fuck that.” Lachlan flinched.

  “He’s not lying,” Benedict added with a touch of a smile. A quick glance at the unchanged, black tattoos on Benedict’s arms confirmed Ransom’s honesty. Whenever someone lied around Benedict, the exact words of that lie appeared on the skin of his forearm in a fresh, black tattoo. Most vampires outside our circle kept their mouths shut around him for that exact reason.

  Ransom laughed, drawing the attention of the newest nobles. All female, of course. Just because they feared us didn’t mean they didn’t like to fuck us.

  “One day, your mouth is going to get you into trouble, lad,” Lachlan muttered.

  “Doubt that.” Ransom shrugged, his silver screen smile on
ly widening. He was definitely the prettiest in the Order…and as my master of combat, he was also the deadliest.

  “Where’s Hawke?” I asked, noticing the surly warrior hadn’t made an appearance.

  “Waiting for us in the bat cave,” Ransom answered. “He knows he scares even the purebloods.”

  We all turned to stare at the combat master.

  “What?” he asked with a shrug.

  “Stop calling it the bat cave,” Lachlan ordered.

  A muscle in my jaw ticked as the room filled with more and more nobles. Jeweled wives, mate-seeking mothers, conniving males, ambitious sons, and star-eyed daughters all looked to us—to me. I had no problem leading them. I just didn’t want to socialize with them. I preferred the company of vampires who actually worked for a living.

  “What am I supposed to call it?” Ransom argued.

  “Council Chambers?” Benedict offered.

  “Come on, it’s pretty much a bat cave,” Ransom argued. “And I don’t see Alek arguing.”

  I cocked a brow but kept my thoughts to myself. In twenty-four hours, I’d be responsible for one more noble under this roof—one that wouldn’t leave at the end of the week’s festivities. One I loved more than my throne.

  “You honestly think our king should weigh in on whether or not you get to call the war room where our Order meets the bat cave?” Lachlan growled.

  Benedict muttered a curse under his breath, then leaned in slightly. “Cassandra Zorin, two o’clock.”

  My gaze shifted between the third and fourth tables on the right, and sure enough, Cassandra Zorin was breaking from her family to head this way. As purebloods went, she was strikingly beautiful, with long, black hair, high cheekbones, dark eyes, and a lithe figure. She was the logical choice to make, were I to finally choose a queen.

  I just didn’t want her.

  “Fuck,” Lachlan mumbled as she came closer.

  “My king,” she said, whisper-soft, dropping into a curtsy before me with feigned submissiveness. The female would no doubt eat her future young if it meant getting the seat beside me, though the look in her eyes as she glanced over my leather jacket, black T-shirt, and pants said she’d rather eat me.

  “Good evening, Cassandra,” I said in greeting, forcing my manners to the surface. “The hall looks nice. Thank you for seeing to the decorations.” I tried to smile. It didn’t happen.

  Benedict pressed his lips in a firm line and his arms tightened over his chest.

  The female practically glowed under the compliment and offered me a coy smile. “Well, as the ranking female of the line of Zorin…” She tilted her head in thought. “The ranking female in every house, now that I think of it,” she chuckled. “It was not only my duty but my pleasure to prepare the hall for your sister’s visit.”

  “My sister, Avianna, is the ranking female of every house, and she’s not visiting. She’s returning.” I locked down every negative thought in my mind and pictured a vast, empty field. My thoughts had gotten the best of me too many times over the years, and having the strongest compulsion gift in our species—the results had been disastrous. Just because I sarcastically thought someone should fling themselves off the roof didn’t mean I actually wanted it to happen.

  “Of course she is, and we look forward to her return tomorrow evening.” Cassandra’s smile slipped. “The court needs a female’s touch.”

  Oh, for fuck’s sake.

  “And it shall have one in Avianna,” Ransom interjected, saving my ass.

  “My king, I believe we have a meeting about last night’s justice,” Lachlan added. “Hawthorne is waiting.”

  “He is,” I agreed. “Cassandra.” I nodded my head as custom dictated.

  “King Alekxander.” Her voice curled around my name in a way that made my stomach sour, and my jaw locked at the flash of color I saw on her forearm as she backed away, then retreated to the loving arms of her father.

  “Did you fucking see that?” Ransom’s gaze slowly turned toward me.

  “Bring our meal to the chamber,” Lachlan ordered one of the talem, who carried a tray of bacon and other meats.

  Just because I’d fed tonight didn’t mean I’d eaten.

  “Yes, sir.”

  I strode from the hall, pushing open the French doors leading to the wide courtyard that separated the Domum—the formal, official rooms of the estate—from the residence, where I lived and trained with my warriors.

  “Tell me that wasn’t what I think it was,” Benedict said once the doors were firmly shut behind us. He inched his way forward to walk in front, his eyes scanning the courtyard for any possible enemy.

  “The lass inked herself with your seal, Alek.” Lachlan’s stride matched my own, just as it always did when we were anywhere outdoors. “At least, I’m assuming she did the inking herself.” His eyebrows rose in question.

  “If I’d mated, you’d know,” I growled. The whole fucking immortal world would know if I’d found the one female fated for me. After over four hundred years of wondering if she’d show up, I’d made my peace with the possibility that she never would. Fate was an unforgiving bitch when it came to the losses our species had suffered during my reign.

  Not that I’d condemn any female to the torture of living at my side.

  “She’s getting bolder,” Ransom noted with a whistle as we approached the steel door to the residence. The Domum may be every inch a palace, but the residence was a fortress by my father’s design. I’d simply kept the security updated with modern technology.

  “She’s a pain in my ass,” I snapped as the door opened before us.

  “My king, Hawthorne awaits you in the chamber, as well as your meal,” Serge announced with a bow of his head.

  “Weren’t you just in the foyer?” Ransom asked as we swept by.

  “I was told you were headed this way,” he answered with a slight curve to his lips.

  “Fast fucker,” Ransom muttered.

  Speed was the only gift given to the talem, and Serge had mastered it.

  We passed through the entry, and my senses told me there was no one upstairs. Good. Only invited guests and the four warriors in the Order were allowed unescorted entrance here.

  “Do we really have to put up with all the nobles until equinox?” Lachlan asked as we made our way to the back of the house, passing my office, the dining room, the sitting room, a commercial-sized kitchen, and the den, which Hawke had outfitted with an eighty-five-inch television and surround sound. He claimed it was for watching football.

  Personally, I thought he liked to hear the bones break.

  “It’s tradition,” Benedict said over his shoulder as he descended the stone staircase first, his hand on his hip holster. I didn’t bother telling him that Hawke was the only other male in this house—it was good for him to be alert.

  Complacency was our number one enemy.

  Complacency had killed my parents.

  “Don’t tell me you aren’t enjoying having those sweet, doe-eyed females warm your bed,” Ransom shot from behind us.

  “I have no problem taking a lass to her bed. I’ll be damned if one sets a toe in mine. You let a woman sleep in your bed, and you may as well unpack her suitcase into your closet,” Lachlan said as we reached the riveted steel door at the bottom of the staircase.

  My senses stretched along the tunnels that ran in both directions and found them empty. Given the party, our soldiers weren’t training in the compound as usual, giving us a moment of relative quiet.

  Benedict placed his palm on the biometric scanner, and a dozen steel bolts unlocked before the heavy door opened.

  “It’s about fucking time,” Hawke snarled.

  “There’s a party going on, if you hadn’t noticed,” Benedict countered as we entered the chamber.

  The space was cavernous, large enough to fit at least fifty warriors, but tailored only to the five of us. A black, onyx table rested in the center space, accompanied by five heavy chairs. A wall of monitors consu
med the right-hand wall, with a few other notable computer stations spaced out along the back. To the left was a well-equipped kitchen, stocked with enough food and blood to last the five of us an unpleasant year in case of emergencies. A bathroom lay beyond that, and in the corner was a collection of couches and bookshelves with a television to keep us occupied if we ever needed that year.

  My parents hadn’t made it to the safety of this room two hundred years ago.

  “So the fuck what?” Hawk fired back at Benedict from where he sat sprawled at the table in one of the massive chairs, flipping one of his daggers end-over-end.

  The door shut behind us, and we each took a seat at the table. It wasn’t round. I wasn’t King Arthur. Fuck that. I was in charge, and everyone in this room knew it.

  “Has the wolf been dealt with?” I asked Hawke.

  “Justice has been served,” he confirmed with a wicked grin and dead eyes. For the rest of us, dispensing the justice of the immortal world was a sworn, sacred duty. For Hawke…well, he got off on it.

  “I’ll let Luka know.” The king of the lycans had agreed with my judgment against his subject, which definitely took the awkwardness out of the impending call.

  Death was the penalty for any crime against a female or a child. Period. There was no excuse for the abuse of the fairer sex, and children were far too precious—too rare to ever suffer.

  “That leaves the demon issue for tonight if you want this month’s sentences carried out before Avianna gets home tomorrow. You also have a request from the Witch Queen for a private audience,” Benedict said, filling the monitors with the faces of the lower-level demons who had been sentenced to torture for slander against their king. Sedition was still a punishable offense under their law.