Page 232 of The Call of Crimson
“None,” Ayden says tersely.
“We believe them to be related,” I explain, “but we can’t determine if it’s a vigilante or a mercenary.”
“Walk me through it. Every detail—how they were killed, where they were found, everything.”
We spend the next several minutes laying out everything we know. Cillian listens, asking sharp, efficient questions.
Once he’s satisfied, he says, “It’s difficult to say for sure without seeing the bodies and the scene for myself,” he admits. “But it sounds like a vigilante exacting their own version of justice.”
“Fantastic. How do we catch them?” Ayden asks.
“Let me look into it,” Cillian says. Then, to both our surprise, he offers, “I’ll see if I can catch them in the act.”
Ayden narrows his eyes. “And what is that going to cost me?”
“Nothing.” Cillian shrugs. “This sight of you on your knees was payment enough.”
“Fuck me,” Ayden mutters, already heading for the door. “Are we done here?”
“Unless you want to explore that begging option, then yes, we’re done here,” Cillian drawls seductively.
“Good. Let’s go, Princess,” Ayden grits, grabbing my wrist and yanking me from the room.
Cillian’s laughter follows us down the hallway, low and rich and thoroughly entertained.
CHAPTER FORTY-THREE
OPHELIA
Blood… warm and sticky runs down my hands as I watch the life leave the male’s unremarkable eyes. He begged like all the others before him, calling out for the gods to shine mercy upon him. The gods had ignored my every plea to show mercy to Elijah, to save him from his fate. If not for him, why would they give such a gift to the filth before me?
Like all the others, I had carefully picked this male. I watched him for hours before deciding his fate. He was no innocent. I had seen the bruises that covered his young wife’s skin, the fear in her eyes a distant echo of the fear that once lived in mine.
I wipe the blood off my dagger using his tunic before letting his lifeless body drop to the ground. The guards would find him in the morning, and I would be sleeping safely in my bed at the castle. One more useless bastard is off the streets, bringing my total to six.
“Hello, little assassin,” Cillian’s lilted voice echoes around me.
Spinning to face him, I slide the dagger behind my back. Caught up in the high of my kill, I hadn’t even noticed his presence. No one had caught on to me yet, but I’d gotten careless.
“Cillian,” I say, my voice coming out as a breathy whisper.
He saunters forward, forcing my back against the wall. Invading the space around me, he leans against the brick wall behind me and braces an arm above my head. Everyone is tall compared to me, but Cillian’s height forces me to crane my neck up to maintain eye contact. He’s not touching me, but I still feel his presence everywhere.
“This isn’t what it looks like,” I say, doing my absolute best to keep my voice even.
He quirks a brow at me. “And what does it look like?”
I’m at a loss for words, not having expected that question.
“Because to me, it looks like you’re making good use of that dagger I gave you.” He swipes a thumb down my cheek before pulling it away, stained with blood. “To me, it looks like you are absolutely stunning, covered in blood. A breathtaking, murderous creature.”
His words spark a warmth in me I haven’t felt since Elijah died.
“He deserved it,” is all I can come up with in response.
“Did he, now?”
“He beats his wife.” The words rush out of me, my chest heaving as he closes the space between our bodies. His broad frame presses firmly against mine, his spicy and sweet scent wrapping around me like a cloak. My head spins as I breathe out the rest of my reasoning. “Nearly killed her last week.”
