48. Orion
48
ORION
“THE LAST STAND”
I gaze into Seraphina's enchanting golden eyes, the seconds stretching into infinity as the tip of the dagger inches closer to my heart. And I know—I know if this is the last thing my living eyes see, I could die a happy man.
But that doesn’t happen.
Just as I’m preparing to take my final breath, the door to the balcony bursts open in a mighty explosion. Heat, rubble, and smoke flow into the room, burning my eyes and causing the men around me to choke and retch. The one holding the blade to my heart seems the most affected, and while he’s fighting to get his breath back, I snap my hand up, gripping the bladed fortune of the dagger.
Warm, wet red flows down my forearm as I push the blade away from my heart, a furious bellow flying from my mouth as adrenaline roars in my veins. With nothing but sheer will, I raise my chest from the floor, never taking my eyes off the man in front of me as I rise to a sitting position. Snapping my other hand up, I force the butt of my palm into his wrist joint, smiling as a loud pop fills the air. The man screams, his grip loosening enough on the dagger for me to snatch it from his grip. In a flash, I drag the blade across his neck before he can draw his last breath.
The last four men holding me regain their bearings as the smoke begins to clear, and they quickly reposition so each man can take hold of one limb. I try to take out one more, but two of the fuckers grab my hand with the dagger and work to pry it from my fingers.
“I really wouldn’t do that if I were you. Orion does love his playthings.”
Everyone’s head whips to the doorway at the entrance of the new voice. You can’t make out his features past the thickness of the smoke, but I would know that white hair and immaculate suit anywhere.
Ghost.
He steps into the room, cunning violet eyes surveying the situation as he reaches toward his waistband. “I’m glad to see the Sanctum remains archaic in their use of pointed objects. That makes this much easier for me.”
He rips a matte black gun from his waist, aiming the tip of his weapon at the man closest to my head. “Tradition is a problem sometimes, isn’t it?”
He fires.
The air cracks as the bullet flies through the air, lodging directly into the Table Member’s forehead. A small red circle appears in his forehead as his eyes roll, and he slumps to the floor, lifeless. Three more shots ring out, each landing home the same as the first, and the remaining men holding me to the floor release their grip.
“Much better.” He turns his attention to the men holding Seraphina. “Would you please let go of the lady?”
“Fuck you!” one of the men snarls. “You’re interfering with a sacred ceremony!”
Ghost shrugs, aiming the gun at the one who spoke. “Suit yourself.”
He fires twice more, and all but the last man slumps to the floor. His fingers tighten around Seraphina’s arms, and her lip curls back in a snarl as she tries to jam her elbow into his gut.
Ghost looks down at the weapon, testing its weight in the palm of his hand. “It appears I’m out of bullets… Kain?”
Through the fog, a man steps forward, so large and hulking he has to duck to make it under the doorframe. Kain stands at the edge of the room, his one good eye piercing through the eye hole of the metal mask strapped to the right half of his face. His molten-silver gaze turns to me, then Seraphina, and last Ghost before he reaches into his waistband and pulls out his own gun. His massive, tattooed biceps strain as he tosses the weapon to Ghost, a teasing smirk tilting the corner of his mouth.
“I knew you’d need more than six.”
Ghost rolls his eyes. “I thought they would be able to take out more than half of the Table Members before we arrived. It’s not my fault I had high expectations?—”
Ghost's voice is cut off by the choking sound coming from the last Table Member, and our gazes are all torn toward where Seraphina was being held.
No longer.
Kain’s mouth falls open in utter shock as he witnesses the tiny girl in front of him—at the horrible, vicious things she’s doing to that man. Meanwhile, Ghost holds a haughty expression, his violet eyes swirling with a mixture of pride and an I told you so.
And I… I think I just came.
Seraphina’s brow is furrowed in concentration as she straddles the man’s chest, holding him in place while she smashes the remains of my golden collar into his face. The gold luster of the collar is tainted by splatters of blood—hers, his—and it gets dirtier each time she slams the golden ring against him. Bone shatters, blood spews, but through it all, Seraphina stays eerily quiet. The only indication of her rage is the faint pink flush creeping up her neck, mottling the apples of her cheeks.
Only when the Table Member’s face has been reduced to a concave, bloodied mess of tissue does Seraphina stop. Her chest heaves as she gazes down at the lifeless body, a manic little smile creeping across her face. She turns her head, meeting my gaze head-on, and my heart stops. I see the monster lurking inside her—the cruel, calculating, dangerous beast roaring to break free—and I fall in love with her all over again.
“God, you’re perfect, ” I whisper. In a trance, I step toward her, my hands reaching, wanting, needing to touch her. She rises to a stand, her shoulders slumping with fatigue. When I wrap my arms around her, she lets me—even goes so far as to let out a satisfied little hum—and it’s the best fucking drug in the world.
I squeeze her to my chest, breathing in her intoxicating scent as my eyes roll to the back of my head. This… this is heaven.
But it’s all cut short when that fucking geezer clears his throat.
I turn my head to Ghost, my eyes shooting molten fire. “What?”
“I’m sure we all want to celebrate… but I think you’ve forgotten something.” He takes a step forward, gesturing out past the balcony to the crowd of Masks.
“Fuck.” I slowly release Seraphina from my grasp. “Fuck!”
I’m running through the possibility of us being able to take out over a hundred masks when Seraphina removes herself from my grip, her steps ghost-like as she moves to the balcony. I reach my arm out to grab her and pull her back when I catch Ghost’s eye. He shakes his head firmly, warning me not to interfere.
“Don’t, Orion. Let her do this.”
I shake my head. Do what? I want to ask. I turn my head, my eyes landing square on Seraphina as my heart seizes. What is she doing?
I don’t need to wait long. Because as soon as Seraphina stops at the edge of the balcony, her shoulders drawn and proud as she gazes out over the hundreds of Masks, I get my answer.
They’re not fighting back.
They’re… bowing.