Manuel Cross

My name is Angel DeMartin. To my devout followers, I am the butcher saint, El Santo Encarnado. If they only knew the real reason men fear my name. Don't let the designer leather fool you. I am no saint. I lost my faith many years ago. I am a mere husk, performing for a crowd that doesn't see the monster underneath. That was until one catastrophic night left me with a throne I never wanted and a grief I refuse to feel. Now, I am in the market for a weapon. I need muscle. I need someone who annoys the living hell out of me but is still useful enough to keep around.

My name is Kashton Laurent. If we're using government names, then it's Kashton Laurent II. I've spent as long as I can remember being the strong one. The big brother who makes sure everyone else survives the hellhole we call life. My hands carry the scars of my past and soon the mistakes of my future. Conning people was my gig, right up until the opportunity of a lifetime fell into my lap. It was supposed to be a simple job. Now, I'm dragged into the middle of a literal cult. It turns out the biggest payout I've ever seen comes with a catch: a freezing, violet-eyed king who is as dangerous as he is arrogant. I just need a lead on my brother, but I'm quickly realizing that dealing with this saint might cost me way more than just my pride.

Two men who are a complete contradiction. One who only knows how to buy loyalty. The other who only lives when he feels useful. Neither of them trusts a soul, let alone each other. As a buried conspiracy claws its way to the surface, these two discover that some things cannot be purchased. Now, they must decide if the heat between them is just another transaction, or the one thing in this rotten world worth freezing for.

Fire meets ice. A saint meets a stray. A slow burn where the body count is only just beginning.