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“It’s about damn time,” Lachlan, Alek’s second-in-command, said in his thick Scottish accent from where he sat at the onyx table at Alek’s right.
“Relax, they’re not late,” Zachariah said, leaning back in his chair on the other side of the table and arching a brow in our direction.
We weren’t late—five minutes early, even, but Zachariah was an if-you’re-not-early-you’re-late kind of guy, which meant we were barely on time for him.
I threw out my hands, forming a time sphere around Talon and I. Everyone at the table froze in their places. “It’s not too late to run,” I told my friend.
“It was too late the second we woke up,” he muttered, and we both took our time walking toward the table.
Talon and I took our seats next to Zachariah.
“I’m still not used to having a new king,” Talon said, cocking his head and examining Alek.
“He’s not new to them.” I shrugged. “He’s been in power for over two hundred years. But I get what you’re saying.”
I glanced at the table’s occupants. Alek sat with Lachlan, and beside them was Benedict, whose gift tattooed lies on his forearm, Hawke, who knew anyone’s darkest fears, and Jocelyn, the witch-vampire hybrid mated to Benedict.
On our side of the table sat Zachariah, who’d been leading our group of hunters for eight hundred years now, and had the gift of absorbing fallen vampires’ powers, Dagon, with his dirty-blond goatee and ability to control the elements, and the massive, hulking shell of Saint, whose dark eyes no longer looked entirely sane.
“You sure you don’t want to run?” I asked Talon. “Looks like another boring meeting.”
“They certainly like their meetings in this century,” Talon joked. “But the sooner we get it started, the sooner we’re out of here.”
“Excellent point.” I dropped the magical tension around us, and time rushed in like a tsunami. I was instantly hungry.
Lachlan blinked at us and then narrowed his eyes. “I hate when you do that.”
I grinned and shrugged, then reached for the bowl of strawberries in the middle of the table. “Didn’t want to hold you up any longer.”
Zachariah rolled his eyes at me, but said nothing.
“Let’s get started,” Alek said. “Benedict?”
“Right.” The light-haired vampire stood, sporting his usual three-piece suit, and headed toward the wall of monitors, tapping on the keys. “Sorry it’s rudimentary, but Ransom won’t leave Olivia’s side, so no fancy presentations tonight.”
I could hardly blame Alek’s combat master. His mate was pregnant, which meant Ransom wouldn’t be dependable or predictable for anyone but her until the youngling was born.
A word document filled the largest screen, and the bullet points made my throat close on a strawberry. I sputtered, and Zachariah slammed his hand between my shoulder blades until the strawberry dislodged.
“Seriously?” Zachariah asked.
“It looks like we’re having event coordinating problems, not a war,” I commented, picking another strawberry and shoving it in my mouth. Stopping time always made me ravenous.
“He’s not wrong.” Lachlan sighed. “Get on with it.”
Benedict pointed to the first bullet point. “Okay, we don’t have any conclave business tonight.”
“That’s a shame,” Dagon muttered. “At least we’d get to kill something.”
The purpose of the Onyx Assassins was to deliver the king’s justice, or in this era, the justice of Conclave, the council made up of the supernaturals that divided Edgemont into four equal territories, and a human representative who oversaw their interests. No justice meant a long, boring night.
And I wondered why I was becoming apathetic.
“Our first issue is managing the overflow of aristocrats in the Domum,” Benedict started.
“Easy, send them all home,” Hawke suggested, flipping one of his daggers end over end. Mating Avianna had settled him, but not quite civilized him.
“We can’t do that,” Alek lectured. “Especially not with families being targeted by the Sons. We owe them the safety of sanctuary.”
