Assassin's Mask

by Everly Frost

  Slade side-steps my fist, bumps into the side of the plaque, the Realm appears and…

  The momentum propels us both straight through the Realm door.

  Chapter Sixteen

  Oh… shoot.

  I stumble onto the Realm’s pathway before I wrench myself away from Slade, my vision swimming.

  I stand clear of him, rising up very slowly, waiting for the world to stop spinning around me. Blood trickles down the inside of my jeans from my chest and thighs. One of the bullets is caught in my right hip, another in my right shoulder, left rib, left thigh…

  I stop counting.

  The Guardian is as pale as snow, her chest heaving. She stands several paces away, already surrounded by assassins. She points toward me. “I’m fine, but Hunter isn’t.”

  I growl at her without forming coherent speech, my responses purely instinctive now. This woman is going to kill me with kindness.

  The assassins look to Slade, since I’m now a threat in their midst. The only blessing is that I don’t see Ridley among them. Hopefully he’s out and about somewhere. He’ll try to kill Slade all over again if he thinks this is Slade’s fault.

  I sigh.

  Then cough.

  Okay, that hurt. Lungs. Hurt lungs. The last bullet must have done that. That would explain why I’m dizzy. I close my eyes. I really need to get the bullets out.

  I stumble off the pathway, veering to the left as I mumble, “I’m going to the medical ward.” I pause to glare at Slade. “Unless you want to stop me?”

  “No.”

  I pause to make certain I understood him. “No you won’t stop me? Or no I can’t go?”

  He takes my arm and propels me along the lawn. “You know that your clothes are soaked in blood, right?”

  I glance down… then wish I hadn’t. No wonder the Guardian looked so shocked. A curse rips out of me that seems to startle Slade more than anything else. I guess I rarely swear.

  Despite me being a Rogue Master, every man in our path hurries out of my way instead of challenging me.

  It looks like blood-soaked Hunter is a useful spectacle today.

  We reach the medical ward within moments and I’m suddenly swarmed by the head doctor and his staff. He’s an older assassin, retired, with olive skin, dark eyes, and a kind manner. He tries to make me lie down on one of the medical beds but I push him away, my protective instincts making me unusually angry. “Get away from me! I don’t need your help. I’m not here because I want to be.”

  He gives me a grim look. “Most people don’t choose to be riddled with bullets.”

  I grit my teeth, trying to suck in a calming breath but it doesn’t work. It turns out that bullets make me cranky. Really cranky.

  I shout at nobody in particular, “Hand me the tools. I can do it myself. Now, get out!”

  The doctor looks to Slade.

  Slade inclines his head at the door, an equally forbidding expression on his face. When the door closes and we’re finally alone, Slade approaches me like he would a dangerous animal. “Hunter, you can’t do this alone.”

  “Watch me, asshole.”

  He doesn’t even flinch. Just tips his head in a small acknowledging gesture as if he agrees with me.

  I rip off my jacket and shirt, then my jeans, noting the bullet holes in them. Dressed only in my underwear, I reach for the medical implements. My hands shake as I grip the surgical pliers, trying to angle them toward the bullet in my right shoulder. I’m right-handed so my left isn’t very strong and… dammit… I can’t get the angle right to pull out the bullet. Not while my hands are shaking.

  I swap hands and try for the bullet lodged in my left rib, groaning and almost passing out before I can get hold of it.

  Oh, help me. I can’t do it.

  Now I know why Mom drank a whole bottle of vodka before she asked me to pull out bullets. It’s way worse than I expected.

  I rest my hand across my forehead and squeeze my eyes shut. Without opening them, I whimper, “I can’t do this while you’re watching, Slade. Just get the hell out already.”

  His response is much closer than I expected. “No.”

  I sigh out my exasperation. “You say that to me a lot.”

  “Yes.”

  “That, not so much.”

  His palm closes over mine, folding around the medical instrument, a soft touch. I refuse to open my eyes because I can’t take any more of his hot and cold routine. I can’t stand to see the hard-as-granite I’m-not-going-to-budge look in his eyes or the way his gaze softens when I least expect it.

  He murmurs, “You took two more bullets outside the Realm.”

  I shrug. “What’s two more?”

  The pliers leave my fingers. One of his arms sweeps behind my back, drawing me close, bracing my lower body against his as he holds my torso tight. His arm is big enough to pass all the way around my back and hold tight to the side of my ribs that he’s aiming for. His muscles tense, gripping me. I almost pass out when he swiftly pulls the bullet from my body.

  I squeeze my eyes shut tighter as his hands flex against my back. I allow him to maneuver me over to the medical bed where I feel my way onto it, letting him get to work. He distracts me while he works over me, somehow managing to place his free hand on a part of my body that doesn’t hurt, where his thumb can graze back and forth across my bare skin—on my side, at the top of my shoulder, at my waist, on my thigh, brushing the sensitive skin where my thigh meets my hips…

  By the time the final bullet is gone, I float in a strange bubble of pain and pleasure. My voice is croaky and rough as I say, “Thank you.”

  I try to get up but he places both hands firmly on me—one on my unhurt shoulder and the other on my unhurt hip. “Stay.”

  My eyes fly open.

  He leans over me. His thumb gently passes across my cheek, wiping away the tear that escaped down it. “I haven’t finished.”

  He steps away and I remain where I am until he returns with a sterile cloth and begins wiping down my torso and legs, cleaning up the blood quietly and gently, then setting to work applying patches to the wounds. Once again, his hands seem to seek out patches of undamaged skin at the same time as he applies the dressings to my wounds, gentle caresses that soothe and fade, stroke and burn, grow and recede, over and over.

  Watching him, his forehead creased in concentration, I’m not sure if he realizes he’s touching me that way.

  I can’t bear it. Not when his expression hardens every time his gaze meets mine.

  I grab his hand before he finishes the fourth dressing. “I won’t have any bare skin left if you patch all my wounds. You really don’t need to do that. I’ll be fine in an hour. Well… mostly fine.”

  His eyebrows rise. “You really heal that fast?”

  “Usually. It’s my first time with bullets so I can’t be sure.”

  He presses his lips together in a disapproving line. “Then you shouldn’t take any chances.”

  I push his hands away. “Slade, stop.”

  He always respected my right to control what happened to my body. The moment I tell him to stop, he does, stepping away from me and returning the medical supplies to the tray beside the bed.

  I reach for my wrecked clothing, dismayed by the holes and blood before I attempt to pull my shirt on. I grimace and yank it off again. It’s too gruesome to wear. Instead, I pull my jacket directly over my bra and zip it up. But those jeans… I can’t put those back on. I turn them over in my hands, looking for a patch that isn’t shocking so I can focus on it while I pull them on.

  Slade suddenly speaks up. “If you promise to wait for five minutes, I can help with your clothing situation.”

  I make no such promises, but he leaves anyway. He obviously doesn’t trust me to wait long because he bursts into a blur as soon as he reaches the doorway.

  I slump back to the bed, pushing my ruined jeans as far away from myself as I can. When Slade reappears in the doorway, his presence makes my skin tingle. His
chest rises and falls as if he’s out of breath. I guess he really hurried in case I left.

  He strides forward to offer me clean jeans, a t-shirt, and a new jacket. “All of the clothing in your old room was custom made. I’ll have everything sent over to the bookshop.”

  There’s an entire wardrobe in that room, including dresses and slinky underwear that I have no use for. However, I could use some new clothing and there’s nothing like custom made.

  Before I can thank him, he clears his throat and hands me a book. “This also belongs to you.”

  I gasp. It’s the Valkyrie Vade Mecum. It’s the twin for the Keres Coda. I wasn’t able to steal it from Gareth before I left the Realm.

  Slade didn’t have to give me this.

  “I… thank you.”

  I consider him for a moment. I told him that I gave him a piece of me, that he is not completely human anymore. Which means, this book belongs to him, too. It suddenly dawns on me that he is the only other creature alive that is like me—even if his Valkyrie nature is a shade compared to mine. Until I have a daughter, he is the closest I have to brethren.

  He takes a step back, his gaze never wavering from mine as he murmurs, “I can’t give you what you want, Hunter.”

  I startle. Were my thoughts so obvious just now? Did he see the yearning in my face?

  I slam a lid on my feelings. Twice today, I’ve opened myself up to being hurt—once when I asked him to explain how I pushed him away and again just now. I can’t be that vulnerable to him again.

  There’s nothing I can say to him now, so instead I hurry to dress. Now that I’m healing and the angry-making pain is fading, my emotional shields are failing and my body is beginning to remember what it was like to fall asleep next to him, wake up next to him, tilt my head back and drink in his kisses, the way everything around me seemed to heat up at his lightest touch…

  Once I’m dressed, I find him watching me with an expression I wasn’t expecting. Silver power lights his eyes again and flashes of heat fill the space between us. His lips are slightly parted and softer than usual, all the hard lines gone. His focus lifts from my legs to my eyes. Goose bumps rise along my skin as he drinks in all of me from my toes to the curve at my waist to the tilt of my neck and my lips.

  What did I do to cause this?

  All I did was get dressed. He didn’t give me that look when I took off my clothing.

  Despite my promise to myself that I wouldn’t make myself vulnerable again, I reach out. “Slade, can we—”

  He shakes himself violently and pulls away, powerful backward strides taking him halfway across the room within seconds, the hard lines returning to his face and his suddenly tense body. “No.”

  I bite my lip. Whisper, “Okay then.”

  Confused, I roll my damaged jeans and shirt into a ball and leave them on the medical tray. I grip the table for a moment, my knuckles turning white. “You can burn these clothes.”

  “I will.”

  I press my lips together before I say, “Make sure Ridley knows that I’m okay.”

  All I can do now is walk away.

  I stride from the room, reaching the corridor outside before my shoulders slump.

  So much for building bridges.

  When I emerge from the medical wing, the Guardian races across the grass toward me. “Hunter! What are you doing?”

  “I’m going home.”

  Her luminescent brown eyes are aghast. “But you aren’t healed. You need to rest—”

  “I’m fine.”

  Her exasperation shows in her deep frown and sharp tone. She practically stomps her foot at me. “You’re as stubborn as your mother!”

  I round on her. She doesn’t deserve my anger but I unleash it anyway. “You mean the mother who was killed by the assassin you won’t execute?”

  She pales. “Do you have proof that Gareth killed Anna?”

  I swing away from her. “There’s never proof, is there?”

  She hurries after me. “Wait, Hunter. You need to know that all three missions are sanctioned.”

  It was why I went to her hotel room in the first place.

  I pause long enough to say, “Consider them done.”

  Men scatter as I stride along the path, watching me go, the Rogue Assassin who saved the Guardian’s life.

  Chapter Seventeen

  As soon as I arrive at Saber Lane, Vlad descends on me in full fury. “Ten bullets! What were you thinking? You went to the Guardian without protective gear or weapons. Even I wouldn’t do something that foolhardy.”

  I stop in the middle of the street, fury rising fast inside me. “Don’t lecture me about personal safety. You’re the one who strolled into the Realm knowing that Slade would try to kill you.”

  He rises up, glowering down at me from his great height, his giant shadow casting me into darkness. “There are people on this street who need you, Hunter. People in this city who can’t afford to lose you.”

  He is as frosty as the winter breeze wafting around us. I can smell snow in the air and it’s as crisp and clipped as his tone.

  His breath frosts as he says, “I don’t want to lose you. You can’t go around acting like you’re invincible.”

  My eyes widen. He’s angry… because he was worried about me. It takes the wind out my sails. “I’m sorry. I honestly didn’t think it would turn into an ambush.”

  My apology reduces his fury. He exhales quietly. “Next time you leave this street, you need to be prepared.”

  “I plan to be.” My first action will be to ask Willow for tranquilizers.

  He says, gently, “Maybe you should let me come with you.”

  I scowl at him. He might be worried but he’s not my bodyguard. “How did you find out about it anyway?”

  “The Guardian wrote a message in my ledger. She wanted to let me know she’s staying in the Realm. She also let Cain know.”

  I groan. “I suppose she told him about the bullets?” I wonder if that means I can expect a visit from Cain today.

  Sure enough, Vlad says, “He’s on his way here to make sure you’re okay.”

  I growl, “The Guardian really didn’t have to do that.”

  It’s Vlad’s turn to scowl. “She was worried about you. So were we.”

  He angles slightly to the side and I’m surprised to see Tansy hovering in her doorway. Despite their concern and my wounds, it’s not my body that is causing me the most pain right now.

  “Vlad… You told me that I had to find a way to get through to Slade. So did Dean. But every time I go near him, things just get worse.”

  He gives me a ferocious frown. “You’re Hunter Cassidy. You can accomplish anything. Don’t go wobbly on me now, woman.”

  “Wobbly?” I laugh, pulling the base of my shirt up to reveal the four patches that Slade put on me before I stopped him applying more. The bullet wounds are still healing and I can’t deny that they sting. “Does this look wobbly to you?”

  He peers at the patches and I immediately regret my rash decision to show him.

  He says, “Actually… that looks bad even for an assassin with your reputation. How did you survive—?”

  Tansy appears behind him, pulling her coat on and blowing on her hands. She exchanges a quick glance with me. For once, she seems to want to help. “Let me see…”

  While Tansy maneuvers around him, undertaking a visual inspection of my patched up stomach and hip, Vlad says, “Ten bullets and she’s walking around like nothing happened.”

  Tansy raises her green eyes to mine. She gives me a worried look but clears her expression before she asks, “How many lodged? Do you need them removed?”

  “I… um… no. Slade got them out.”

  “Good. Then everything is fine. You must have been lucky. Vlad, stop hassling her.”

  He grumbles a response, throwing his hands into the air in defeat. I pick my jaw off the ground when he allows Tansy to tug on his arm and he lumbers away with her.

  Dean’s quiet
whisper behind me makes me jump. “Tansy tamed the bear.”

  He grins at me, his brown eyes sparkling when I whirl to him.

  I ask, “But… how?”

  “Witches have ways.”

  I scowl. “Not with me she doesn’t.”

  “You’re unique.”

  I sigh. Unique and alone. Slade may share my power but he doesn’t want to be part of my life.

  All my frustration evaporates with the breeze. “I blew it, Dean. Slade is unreachable. He well and truly pushed me away today. I may literally have to die to get him to talk to me.”

  “Don’t do that, Hunter.” Dean peers at me, head tilted to the side, his eyes darkening. My senses calm rapidly, telling me he’s using his power to assess my emotions. Thankfully, he doesn’t try soothing me again. I’ve had enough of that sensation today.

  All he says is, “Hmm.”

  I narrow my eyes. “What?”

  He shakes his head at me. “You didn’t really try.”

  What? I splay my hands at my sides as he walks away, leaving me alone in the middle of the street. I exhale my exasperation into the crisp air. Of course I tried!

  Didn’t I?

  I drag myself back to the bookshop and slink inside, avoiding the customers as I make my way upstairs. My ledger remains on the corner of the counter. One of the customers innocently opens it and asks William, “What is this book?”

  He smiles a response from behind the counter—especially when she blinks rapidly at the entries that appear as nothing more than spider webs across the page. He continues to calmly wrap up her purchases, but the glance he shoots me tells me he’s worried about me. Just like Vlad and Tansy.

  Guilt isn’t something I feel very often but right now I’m drowning in buckets of it. I’m not used to having people in my life who worry about me.

  He says, “That book has personal significance. I’m afraid it’s not for sale.”

  The customer runs her fingertips over the cover, giving William an understanding look. “It’s beautiful. If you ever change your mind, please let me know.”

  I creep up the stairs to the bathroom. I can’t remove the patches and take a shower yet—I should be able to do that tonight when the wounds have healed—but I want to make sure that my face is clean. I check my hairline and neck for any signs of the battle but… there are none.