Assassin's Mask

by Everly Frost

  More than a few women eye Slade from beneath their lashes, but several others aren’t so subtle about it. On any other night, I would appreciate the way the black suit hugs his muscular form and brings out the dark rims around his blue eyes. I might even take note that I’m drawing a little attention myself.

  Actually, more than a little attention when Cain heads directly toward me. Like the other men, he’s dressed in black tie. He is an equally imposing figure, but minus a socialite on his arm tonight. In my heels, I’m eye height with both him and Slade. It would take a miracle to elevate me to eye height with Vlad but that’s okay with me.

  Cain draws gasps from nearby guests when he presses a gentle kiss to my cheek. He ignores them, murmuring, “I’m so sorry, Hunter. William was a good man.”

  The sincerity in his voice is almost my undoing. While Slade’s determined presence holds me together, Cain’s compassion threatens to split me into emotional shards.

  Before I can break down, multiple cameras flash. A pretty young woman wearing a press badge wedges herself into the space beside me. “How long have you known Cain Carter, Miss…?”

  I glare at her, but before I can tell her where to shove her question, Slade edges in front of me with a smile that would make any woman’s knees go weak. “Can I help you?”

  She looks him up and down, blinking rapidly, a blush growing on her cheeks. “Whoa, bodyguard.”

  His eyes crinkle with dangerous humor. “Boyfriend, actually. And friend of the host.”

  Before she can pick up her jaw, he turns and shakes Cain’s hand. The two men draw forward in a warrior’s grip to clap each other on the back.

  More cameras flash.

  Cain speaks clearly for anyone listening, “It’s good to see you again, Hunter and Slade. I appreciate your support of the fund for children’s scholarships. I hope you enjoy the night.”

  He drops another kiss on my cheek, giving my shoulder a gentle squeeze before he turns away. Now that we’ve made our presence known, we’ll separate and wait for the Lady to find us.

  Two kisses from Cain Carter is definitely enough to draw attention. Vlad steps in to intercept the young reporter before she can demand my attention again. She drops her phone with a shriek at his sudden appearance. I guess he was doing that thing where he blends into the background before making his presence known.

  He grins down at her from his great height. “I’m the bodyguard. You might like to give my friends some space tonight.”

  She scoops up her phone and immediately backs off. “Yes, sir.”

  A single glare from Vlad at a couple of men wearing press badges is enough to make them hastily retreat.

  Slade whisks me away to the bar and orders us both a strong drink. Neither of us plans on drinking, but it helps to hold it in my hands. I’d rather grip a dagger right now but that would certainly cause a commotion.

  Even here, we can’t escape scrutiny. A man with the aura of a vampire who sits at the end of the bar flicks glances in our direction, gripping his drink as if it’s his liquid of choice. He identifies our assassin’s rings and quickly finds an opportunity to disappear. The back of my neck prickles as others walk past—a wolf shifter out for a good time and several human males who pause briefly at my back before Slade narrows his eyes at them.

  I square my shoulders. There is only one pair of eyes I want to find tonight and unfortunately, their owner knows what I look like and not the other way around.

  “Hunter.” Slade breaks into my thoughts with a light graze of his thumb across my shoulder. Even in my grief, he can trail a path of fire across my skin with a single touch.

  It has the welcome effect of refocusing me. “Yes?”

  “There wasn’t a good time to tell you this afternoon, but I remembered something about the night my brother died. It’s what he gave me.” His forehead crinkles. “I don’t understand but—”

  Roses.

  The scent invades the space around us with treacherous speed. Slade’s eyes snap to mine. “She’s here.”

  I search the crowd for the source of the scent. My gaze lands on a woman standing alone in the middle of the dance floor while couples dance around her. She’s much younger than I expected, late twenties at most, with lustrous hazel eyes and masses of dark brown hair piled high on her head, wisps resting across her pale shoulders. She’s wearing a strapless ball gown that hugs her curves. She could be anyone’s girlfriend, a small slip of a woman, petite and fragile, the kind of woman who would make men want to protect her.

  She continues to capture my attention, a faint smile on her delicate lips. Her age is disconcerting, making me second-guess my instincts. Lots of people are watching me. Cain’s kisses did that. It doesn’t mean this woman is my target.

  Only her scent will tell me. “I have to get closer.”

  Slade has also spotted her. “I’ll be ready if you need me.”

  I slide off the bar stool and glide in her direction. As soon as she sees me coming, she skips to the side, maintaining eye contact with me. She moves off the dance floor and darts toward an open door at the side of the ballroom, slipping through it.

  I catch Vlad’s eye as well as Cain’s before I hurry after her. They are both alert to my movements and quickly disengage from the people around them to follow after me.

  I regain sight of the woman when I exit the ballroom. She waits for me in the foyer, craning her neck as if waiting for the exact moment that I appear around the corner. Then, she dashes down a quiet hallway and into a nearby room, leaving the door open behind her. It’s one of the smaller meeting rooms. According to the layout of this building, there’s only one door in and out of it.

  I guess she’s not trying to escape.

  Slade has stayed on my heels, but he backs off a little. “I’ll keep my distance, but I won’t let you out of my sight. Be careful, Hunter.”

  Cain and Vlad also take up position in the hallway outside the room. I plan to remain within their line of sight through the open door as long as I can.

  Two steps inside the smaller space, the scent of roses is overpowering. The woman leans against the center table, her dress crushed against it, one pale hand planted on its glossy surface as if she’s not strong enough to hold herself upright.

  Her presence is as confusing as when she came to the bookshop. She is… slight and vulnerable but at the same time commanding and dominant, ferocity lurking beneath the surface of her delicate features. There is a war of life and death around her, bright as sunlight but dark as decay. Her presence is a deep contradiction that sends my senses into a spin.

  Her voice is like honey. “You have a beautiful ledger, Hunter Cassidy. I wanted to buy it, but of course, it wasn’t for sale.”

  I grit my teeth. She was the woman who touched my ledger and asked William if she could buy it. That’s how she got into the shop that day without breaking the door—she must have blurred and never left. Her scent is as strong now as it was then.

  I try to shake off the confusing input I’m receiving from her.

  She speaks in a sympathetic melody. “It’s hard to process, isn’t it? What you sense but can’t identify.”

  Vlad warned me not to be deceived. This woman is not going to fool me into believing she is harmless, no matter how innocent she looks.

  I narrow my eyes at her, drawing on my power to clear my head. I banish the sensory contradictions to the back of my mind, using my power to stay focused.

  My head clears.

  I plant my feet, ready to attack if I wish. My demand is crisp. “You will tell me your name.”

  All I need is confirmation that she is Lady Tirelli. Then she is mine to kill.

  She draws a short breath at my sharp tone, her posture shifting upright, a trickle of ice bleeding into her expression. “My true name is Amalia Avery. But most people know me as Lady Tirelli.”

  “Good.” I draw on my power as I descend on her, quick strides closing the gap. I’ve moved out of Slade’s sight but it’s
a risk I’m willing to take.

  It also means that Cain and Vlad can’t see me. Which means I can release my wings and end this woman.

  She backs up, her palms lifted. “You don’t want to kill me.”

  Rage simmers through me. “You’re the reason William died.”

  She snaps, “And you’re the reason my boys died.”

  I snarl, “They weren’t your sons.”

  “They were the closest I’ll ever have.” She stops retreating, angling her body defensively. “I gave you every chance to come to me, Hunter. You chose not to. That is why William died.”

  Her expression shifts again, eyes narrowing. For the briefest moment, I glimpse her true nature—a woman with a will of iron.

  She barely moves. A slight turn of her hand. Then the floor shifts.

  I pull up sharp, registering the movement beneath my feet. That’s… definitely not normal. I reassess my surroundings: four walls, one door, a table, and random, scattered chairs. It looks exactly like a meeting room should, except…

  From the corner of my eye, a glimmer of light flickers, extinguished by the time I turn my head. At the same moment, a subtle vibration, almost imperceptible, shudders through the wall to my left.

  I say, “What have you done to this room?”

  She replies, “What I can.”

  I quickly check her hands. The Guardian thought Lady Tirelli might have an assassin’s ring that let her invade the Legion’s Realm. The Guardian also said something about rumors of rogue ringmakers.

  But Lady Tirelli doesn’t wear a ring.

  Or rather… Amalia doesn’t wear a ring. For some reason, she chose to tell me her real name and so far… she hasn’t lied to me. I’m not sure how I know she’s telling the truth, but every time she speaks, my senses hum.

  She follows my gaze to her hands. She lowers her voice. “I’m not an assassin.”

  I inhale a calming breath and use my power to reach out to my surroundings. The room is no longer a room. It’s a space dressed up to look the way Amalia wants it to. It’s layered with magic and has the potential to become… anything she wants it to be.

  I stay very still. “This is a Realm.”

  I walked right into a Realm—one of her making. Enric Tirelli warned me before he died that I would walk into her trap and wouldn’t know until it was too late.

  She smiles, but her radiance fades when the wall vibrates again, harder this time. It makes a soft thud. Then another. The way she flinches tells me it isn’t her doing.

  She says, “Your friends are trying to get in.”

  She tilts her head as if she’s sensing what’s happening outside the room. “Slade Baines is desperate right now. He just dislocated his shoulder trying to break down the barrier. Don’t worry, the big one will fix his arm for him.”

  I slowly and carefully remove my heels without taking my eyes off her, stating aloud everything that I know about her, “You don’t wear a ring. You’re not an assassin. You’re a cold-blooded killer… a manipulator of hearts and minds… and you aren’t human… but you don’t have an aura…”

  I place both shoes neatly on the table. Then I reach into my bodice for my dagger, sliding it out and flicking off the cover to reveal the sharp blade. I place that on the table next to the shoes. After all, a blade won’t work on this woman.

  I once told Slade that I would recognize a Ker if she stood in front of me.

  It turns out I was wrong.

  It’s taken me far too long to catch up.

  But there’s one thing I know about Amalia: she’s afraid of me.

  She should be.

  Chapter Thirty

  I never found out what extra powers the Keres have. William was trying to help by decoding the Coda. I don’t know for sure what I’m up against. So far, it seems that Amalia can breach Realms as well as create them. And of course, she can take life the same way I can.

  It’s time to find out what else she can do.

  I don’t wait for her to alter our surroundings again.

  I cross the distance in two strides and land a hit to her perfect nose. Her head snaps back under the blow, but she responds quickly, blocking my follow up kick with a quick downward thrust of her palm. I land another hit with my left fist but she blocks my next, gripping my arm and using my momentum against me.

  She swings me bodily and throws me against the wall.

  Oomph.

  I guess that makes her as strong as me.

  I drop to the ground, landing on my back and taking a second too long to get up. Long enough for her to stomp her heeled foot straight down at my chest. My protective reflexes kick in and I block with both forearms against the sole of her shoe, the stiletto heel pressing into my ribcage but not breaking skin.

  I push upward, throwing her off balance, flicking my foot up in a kick to her chin that does the rest. It’s her turn to kiss the floor.

  She tumbles, tangling in her dress as she crashes against one of the wooden chairs. She snatches up a broken chair leg, brandishing it. “You should rethink your present course of action, Hunter.”

  So far I’ve ascertained that she can fight. And fight dirty, too. I removed my heels but she was willing to use hers. In every other way, she fights like I do. So far she hasn’t exhibited any unusual traits. Of course, that doesn’t mean she doesn’t have them.

  She blocks my next fist and answers by swinging the chair leg, thumping my cheek so hard that it breaks skin. I block out the pain and return the favor, whacking her cheek and then her stomach so hard that it propels her down the room. I snatch up my shoe from the table as I follow after her. I grip it heel out and quickly slash once, twice at her face.

  She is agile, gliding backward and then to the side to avoid both swings, blocking the next with the chair leg. I swing the heel hard enough to lodge it in the wood. She wrenches it out of my grip, forcing me to duck when she swings the shoe-lodged weapon at my head. On my way down, I thump a fist onto her bent knee.

  She shrieks and crumples more easily than I expected her to, which tells me that her legs are weaker than her arms. Come to think of it, I can’t see them at all under her dress.

  I use my location to quickly sweep my leg across hers, toppling her backward. She gasps again.

  Her legs are definitely her weakness.

  I’ve had enough of testing her.

  My power sizzles through my fingertips as I launch myself forward. My back burns. I’m two seconds away from releasing my wings and I’m surprised she hasn’t used hers.

  Keres or not, I’m here to end her.

  I press one knee into her stomach as my hands close around her arm and shoulder, gripping her bare skin.

  She screams, “I’m not what you think I am!”

  I shout, “You’re Keres.”

  She chokes, “I’m not.”

  I falter.

  Is she lying? What else could she be?

  I say, “But you’re afraid of me.”

  “Yes.”

  Rage thrums through me. She can create Realms. Breach them. She sent Gareth and Fallon to attack Saber Lane and take the books and the feather. She sent the Dominion Master to kill a Keres woman twenty years so she could get her hands on a Keres baby.

  But now she says she isn’t Keres and the hum in my senses tells me it’s the truth.

  I’m missing something—the piece that ties them all together…

  I press my knee harder into her ribs, maintaining my dominant position despite her violent struggle to throw me off.

  I demand, “Then tell me what you are!”

  She tries again to knock me off balance, but I absorb every blow she lands to my chest and shoulders. Her eyes widen at the way my fingers dig deeper around her arm no matter what she does. She knows I can release my power at any moment.

  I’m surprised she hasn’t used hers.

  She begs, “Let me go and I’ll show you.”

  It’s a ploy. It has to be. There’s steel behind her vulnerable ac
t. She is as hard as knives beneath her exterior. “First tell me why you want the Keres girl.”

  Amalia gasps. “You know about her… You used the verdan on the feather.”

  “Of course I did.”

  She is suddenly excited, thrumming within my grasp, the change in her expression so rapid that I do a double-take.

  She bubbles with excitement. “Then you know what she looks like. You can locate her?”

  I say, “I know what she looks like. I’ve burned the feather so nobody else will ever know.”

  It’s mostly the truth. I know what she looked like as a baby. I know she has violet eyes. But I have no idea what she looks like now. She could be blonde, brunette, tall, short, or anywhere in between. I have no clues about her whereabouts. Briar turned up nothing and no amount of racking my brain has triggered any memory that might give me a sign.

  Now William is gone and the secrets of the Coda and Vade are gone with him.

  “Why do you need her?”

  Amalia struggles again. “Because she can open a door that is locked to me.”

  I growl, “Stop speaking half-truths!”

  She chokes on her sudden laughter. “That’s hypocrisy coming from you, Hunter. You are the most competent liar I’ve ever met.”

  I squeeze her arms tighter, trickling my power into my fingertips, making her laughter die.

  She snarls, “I can’t tell you. I have to show you.”

  Do I want to know so badly that I’m willing to let her get up? I could kill her right now and this would be over.

  Her eyes flicker with violence. “I’m afraid of you, Hunter. But it’s because you can hurt me. Not because you can kill me. If you allow me to get up, I will show you why.”

  She says I can’t kill her but I can kill anything. Only Slade is safe from me.

  Still, my senses hum. There is enough truth in what she said to make me pause. If she isn’t Keres after all, then I need to know what she is. Very carefully, I slide my knee off her chest, sensing her deep inhalation now that she can breathe properly.