One Blood Ruby Page 5

  “Hope isn’t usually a great plan.” Violet scaled the wall as they had on more than a few occasions on their own. It was easier with Zephyr or Lily there to part the vines, and of course, they could go around some of the obstacles, but Violet wasn’t one for patience.

  Creed shrugged and followed her. “It’s not like our planning matters. The queen does what she wants. We’re pawns. Even Lily. We’re all disposable.”

  They landed in the center of the walled garden that had been their sanctuary at St. Columba’s for years. There was a comfort to it, a sense that they were safe here. Creed was about to say as much when Violet kicked his knees out and sent him face-forward, tumbling to the dirt.

  He tried to push up to his feet, but she shoved him back down.

  Creed rolled over. “What in Ninian’s name is your . . .”

  Violet had a short sword out. He wasn’t sure how she’d hidden it. It wasn’t a proper length sword, but it was longer than a dagger.

  The clash of steel on steel was loud enough to make him realize that the fae-blood boy trying to slice her was as angry as Violet.

  “Stay out of the way,” she snapped at him.

  Creed snorted. He loved his friends, and he knew that her protectiveness was the way Violet said she cared. “I’m not useless. I could help . . .”

  “Busy right now,” she muttered as she dodged.

  He let her fight. The boy wasn’t obviously fae-blood, but Creed assumed he must be. He didn’t have the uncanny beauty of the full fae, and he was too quick to be human.

  There wasn’t much likelihood that he’d trained in the Hidden Lands. He was a more than adequate swordsman, but he had an arrogance that said he’d never crossed blades with the fae. Creed had been stabbed by one of them. He’d realized his own limitations after that.

  Violet didn’t have as many limitations though. There was a ferocity to her that he didn’t see in any of the other diamonds. She was holding her own even though she was at a disadvantage with her too-short blade.

  All they needed was to buy themselves another ten to fifteen minutes, and then Lily and Zephyr would arrive. He was sure Violet knew that, but he was also sure that unless she used her affinity, there was a good chance she’d get injured in the process. The fae-blood was lunging as if he was trying to do more than wound.

  Unfortunately, Violet’s affinity was fire, which was a bit of overkill. That left Creed to use his. An affinity to air was more versatile. Cautiously, Creed shoved a breeze toward the fae-blood, testing to see what his affinity was.

  The boy grinned and ignited the air, using the gust as fuel for flash fire that he pushed toward Violet.

  “Oh no,” Violet said in a faux alarmed voice. “Fire . . . Whatever shall we do?”

  The sudden blast of flame made Creed wince.

  For a moment, the fae-blood didn’t seem to realize that he was in danger. He looked at her and lifted his sword. There was little chance Violet would be able to avoid both the sword and the fire, but Violet didn’t need to do that. If Creed was right, she’d learned something far more dangerous than sword fighting in the Hidden Lands.

  She stepped into the fire and knocked the fae-blood aside.

  For a flicker of a moment, the fae-blood thought he’d won. Creed saw it. There was a smile that said he’d defeated Violet, and he’d already decided that Creed was not a threat.

  Then Violet started drawing the fire into her, pulling it out of the fae-blood until he was wide-eyed with pain. Creed saw it, watched the realization come, knew that what Violet was doing hurt. She was alight as if she was burning.

  The sword fell from the fae-blood’s hand, and Creed lunged forward to grab it. He shoved air at it, hoping to not burn himself too badly. Then he grabbed it, shoved it deep, and twisted.

  It was hasty and crude, but it was quick. The thrust killed the intruder quickly, but the smell of burnt flesh lingered.

  Violet was still drawing fire to her even as the fae-blood fell. She stared at him and inhaled.

  Creed stumbled to her. “Let go.”

  “I . . .”

  “Let. Go.” Creed forced back the pain. It wasn’t the worst he’d felt, or even the worst he’d felt recently. Being stabbed was far more painful. “Violet Lamb!”

  He debated striking her, breaking her attention, but as he reached toward her, she shuddered and exhaled.

  A roar of fire rushed away from her, and the flames she’d stolen seemed to vanish.

  He was dead. He’d come there and tried to kill them, and now he was dead. The reason didn’t change the fact that every death was a loss, and briefly Creed wished him peace.

  “Are you okay?” he asked Violet.

  “Not yet.” She dropped to her knees and was still there when Lily and Zephyr came into the garden.

  “Vi? Creed!” Lily drew her sword, as did Zephyr. “Are you okay?”

  “I am good enough.” Violet was shaking. “Creed’s hand . . .”

  “Hurt. Not fatal.” Creed was trying to decide whether the touch of soil was helping or hindering healing. Typically, the earth would help, but just then, Creed wasn’t sure much other than time would alleviate the pain of his burns.

  Zephyr’s gaze glanced off the dead boy and was scanning the area. “Are there others?”

  “Don’t think so.”

  Zephyr kept his sword in hand, but Creed felt the rush as water surged through the earth to cool his hand. He met Zephyr’s gaze and smiled gratefully. He wanted to say something, but he wasn’t sure he could do so without vomiting from pain.

  “What happened?” Lily asked. “Who was that?”

  Violet looked at Lily and then at Zephyr. “I don’t know who he is. He attacked us when we got here. We fought. He lost.”

  ten

  VIOLET

  After the situation in the garden, Violet had spent the majority of the day feeling like there were threats at every corner. By evening, she was pretty sure Lily was going to either hit her and Creed or wrap them in gauze and shove them somewhere for safekeeping.

  Zephyr had summoned his father, who removed the body with the terse pronouncement, “This is not pleasing.”

  Creed’s hands were treated and bandaged, and Lily was fussing over him despite his repeated insistence that he was going to be fine. Violet felt charged, though, and guiltily she almost wished there would be another attack. She had released the fae-blood’s fire, but felt a residual hum inside her.

  There was a moment during the fight when she knew that if her affinity were anything else, he would’ve killed her. Using fire against her meant that he intended grievous harm. She had seen the surprise in his expression when it was clear that she was aligned with fire too. He hadn’t counted on that.

  If it had been any one of the others they would’ve been defeated. Roan had water, which was of some use, but Creed was air. Alkamy was earth. Neither of them were great at repelling fire, despite the times she’d practiced with them.

  Without affinities, they weren’t significantly better fighters than the boy had been. Lily was a better swordfighter than most of them. Zephyr was better still. Violet was good enough to hold her own in the fight—and like those two, she was comfortable with violence. She was willing to die if necessary, but if at all possible, she was taking her attacker with her. She’d thought that earlier in the garden. If she had to die today, she would.

  As they walked into the bar that night, she was still rattled by the fight and the residual fire under her skin. Lily and Zephyr steered the group toward the VIP room, but Violet slowed.

  “We can order back there,” Roan said, as if it was her first time in the Row House instead of her who-knows-how-many times. She couldn’t even begin to count the nights they’d spent here already. It wasn’t about drinking. It wasn’t even about being seen, not for her. She liked the vibrancy of it.

  “Go on,” she said to him and Will both.

  “Vi . . . ,” Roan started.

  Will touched his arm and
met her gaze. Whatever secret he had was making him more protective of Roan. The two boys weren’t fighting. They both knew whatever Roan was concealing.

  “I know you’re hiding something,” she said baldly.

  “And you aren’t?” Will challenged. He always seemed so mild, played up the faux conservatism, but he was one of the strongest personalities in the group. His lighthearted demeanor was a mask.

  Violet shook her head. “We’re all keeping secrets.”

  Roan looked between them, seeming more torn by the moment. “Will . . .”

  Will shook his head, and Roan looked down to hide what she knew was frustration. Whatever they were hiding, it was important enough to keep it from her. That didn’t bode well.

  “Are you in danger?”

  “No more than usual,” Will said cautiously. “You?”

  “Same,” she admitted. The danger for her was internal, but it wasn’t new. She had always been her own worst enemy.

  “Anything to do with the things on the news?” Roan asked.

  Both of them looked at him suddenly.

  “Valid question,” he said.

  “No,” Violet swore. “You?”

  Will shook his head, as did Roan.

  They stood there for a moment, and Violet wished everything was easier. Their togetherness had felt fractured lately. Maybe the cracks had always been there, and none of them had noticed.

  “I need space,” she admitted. “The thing earlier . . .”

  “It wasn’t your fault,” Roan assured her.

  She nodded. Maybe it wasn’t. She’d defended herself and Creed too. That didn’t change the fact that she’d reached out and snagged the fae-blood’s affinity with her own and jerked it from his body. If Creed hadn’t stabbed him, what Violet was doing would have killed him . . . slowly and painfully. Being that out of control made her feel afraid. Killing someone by yanking their affinity from them was a horrible thing, and she hadn’t been able to stop that impulse.

  “We’ll be over there,” Roan said, pointing to the dance floor.

  She knew they wouldn’t dance together the way they did in private. For reasons she didn’t get, they were both very conscientious about Will’s mother’s reputation. The attempt to hide Will’s heritage had been more fierce for Senator Parrish than the rest of their families—not that any of them would be able to hide it anyhow after Lily’s coronation.

  “You could come too,” Will said.

  Violet nodded again. She could. Typically, she would. Dancing always made them feel better. Just then, however, she needed to be alone.

  “Soon,” she said. It was the best offer she had, and it was true as well.

  They walked away into the crowd, and Violet watched. She let the music roll over her, but didn’t move with it.

  The fae had always been drawn to music, so much so that a few conservative politicians had argued for blood tests of dancers and singers about five years ago. History said that there had been balls nearly constantly when the fae were still living among humanity.

  It made a certain sense though. Nature was their source, their requirement for living, and creativity flowed from nature. At least that was Violet’s theory. Every last one of the diamonds was drawn to music and the arts. Alkamy and Creed were far from the only fae-blood singers, and she knew she wasn’t the only fae-blood actress. Roan was all about surfing and snowboarding, which were arts of their own. In truth, Lily was peculiar in that she didn’t embrace an art, but the way she enjoyed dancing made Violet suspect that she would have if she hadn’t been raised to be a crime lord.

  Violet stayed in the main room at the bar, glaring at anyone who looked like they might talk to her and watching Will and Roan dance with stranger after stranger. No one spoke to her. She’d been in this sort of dark mood often enough that her friends knew not to bother her when she was.

  “Are you sulking?” asked a low voice near her ear.

  Her hand went up as she spun to face the speaker. The fire inside her skin pulsed. When she saw Erik Gaviria there, she retracted the fire but was tempted to follow through with a slap for her own enjoyment.

  Erik towered over her, and she tried not to admit to even herself that he looked good. He wasn’t pretty in the way that fae or fae-blood were. There was a massiveness to him, a darkness that spoke of metal and bullets. He smelled like gunpowder. She preferred blades—or her fire—for any necessary violence.

  “I thought LilyDark sent you packing,” Violet said, lifting her voice slightly to be heard over the music.

  Amusingly, they were playing one of Creed’s songs. She wasn’t sure if it was a coincidence.

  Erik leaned down toward her instead of speaking louder and said, “Lily doesn’t have the authority to send me packing. She’s my friend, not my boss.”

  “She’s a good boss,” Violet replied with a shrug. She couldn’t lie, but she could joke and Erik’s appearance made her oddly lighthearted. “Gives out potted plants on National Lackey Day, and she doesn’t mind my temper.”

  He peered at her curiously for several breaths before saying, almost casually, “When I realized Lily was what she is, I started paying attention to what she did and didn’t say . . . and how she attempted to mislead people. It’s a good strategy for those unable to lie outright.”

  Violet said nothing. Even now, there was no way she was admitting anything. Erik knew, no doubt, that she was fae-blood, but she still wasn’t admitting her heritage aloud.

  “Lily’s beautiful too.” Erik didn’t move back at all, even as the crowd pushed in closer. He had his back to the room, and one arm on the bar behind her. It looked like he was protecting her, but it didn’t feel that way to her.

  “A lot of people are beautiful,” Violet said, pushing away a tinge of jealousy and resisting the urge to duck under his arm and walk away.

  “Including you.”

  Violet shrugged. “I’m an actress. It comes with the job.”

  “So are you saying that the group of you being as beautiful as Lily is merely a coincidence?”

  Violet wished lying didn’t hurt. She’d wished the same on numerous occasions. Life was easier with even the little fibs that people used so carelessly. For a fae or fae-blood, that wasn’t an option—not without some degree of pain.

  “I see no need to discuss this,” she said, a snarl creeping into her voice.

  “So . . . what are you drinking, Miss Lamb? I’ll buy you another.” He grinned at her and motioned the bartender over.

  “Water.”

  “No alcohol? No soda?” Erik prompted from behind her. “Another coincidence?”

  “Oh, piss off.”

  He laughed, ordered a beer for himself and water for her. When the bartender walked away, Erik closed the small distance so he was all but touching her.

  “Mind yourself,” Violet hissed. “I’m not someone you want to cross.”

  “So you’re admitting that you’re scarier than the girls I know,” he said quietly, not retreating but still not physically touching her. “That you’re someone to fear.”

  Violet looked over her shoulder at him. “Read the tabloids.”

  His voice became so low that there was no risk of being overheard. “I got over my fear of the fae when I learned that my best friend was one.”

  Without hesitating to think if it was a bad idea or not, Violet jabbed her elbow into his chest.

  “Your temper is as bad as my abuela’s,” Erik said wonderingly.

  She snorted. “No wonder you’re single. You’re an idiot.”

  He grinned again. “Not really. I’m just very, very particular. I need someone who’s not intimidated by me, someone graceful and lethal. All the things my abuela said my wife would be. Someone who makes me feel a . . . spark?”

  Violet scowled at him. The temptation to show him a proper spark burned in the palms of her hands, but the thought of exposing her affinity over a bit of a mood was sobering. She was too hot-tempered to let people get close to her
as a rule.

  She glimpsed Will and Roan headed toward her. She shook her head. She could handle herself.

  “You have all of those traits,” Erik said blandly, and then he stepped back and turned to face her friends.

  “What?” she asked in confusion.

  He glanced over his shoulder at her. “You. You’re perfect.”

  “Excuse me?”

  “You, Violet Lamb, are perfect.”

  Violet frowned. There was something unsettling in his words, a vague awareness that she was missing something. It wasn’t the admiration. Plenty of people had extolled her beauty or offered flattering words. It was simply a result of her job, or maybe her ancestry. Praise wasn’t rare, but it didn’t make her tense like Erik’s words did.

  “What are you doing?” Will asked as he and Roan reached the bar.

  “I was talking to Miss Lamb.” Erik motioned toward her.

  “And?” Roan prompted.

  “No ‘and.’” Erik smiled as if they were all old friends, and Violet realized that there would undoubtedly be pictures. People knew who she was, and Erik was photogenic enough to end up in photos even before people put together that he was the eldest son of one of the most ruthless criminals in the world. In truth, it was just as likely that there were pictures being snapped because of him as because of her.

  Violet snagged Will’s arm and started toward the VIP section. It would cause chaos if the senator’s son was photographed with a renowned drug dealer’s son. By the time she’d gone three steps, Erik was at her other side like a bodyguard. It was impossible for her to pretend he wasn’t with her and Will.

  “I may kill him,” she muttered. “Move away, Will. Your mother would have kittens if she had to explain why her son was seen with a thug.”

  Will gave her a curious look, but he stepped back.

  They were halfway across the main room when Erik actually raised his arm, palm out, to stop someone from getting close to her.

  “I don’t need help,” she said.

  Erik shrugged, but he didn’t give her any space. Instead, he reached for her arm.

  The temper she struggled to contain in her best of moods escaped, and with it, a brief surge of heat shimmered just under her skin. It wasn’t enough to send him in search of medical attention, but he flinched.