Academy of Assassins

by Stacey Brutger

  Table of Contents

  Chapter One

  Chapter Two

  Chapter Three

  Chapter Four

  Chapter Five

  Chapter Six

  Chapter Seven

  Chapter Eight

  Chapter Nine

  Chapter Ten

  Chapter Eleven

  Chapter Twelve

  Chapter Thirteen

  Chapter Fourteen

  Chapter Fifteen

  Chapter Sixteen

  Chapter Seventeen

  Chapter Eighteen

  Chapter Nineteen

  Chapter Twenty

  Chapter Twenty-one

  Chapter Twenty-two

  Chapter Twenty-three

  Chapter Twenty-four

  Chapter Twenty-five

  Chapter Twenty-six

  Chapter Twenty-seven

  Chapter Twenty-eight

  Academy of Assassins

  An Academy of Assassins Novel

  Stacey Brutger

  This is a work of fiction. Names, character, places, and incidents are either the product of the author’s imagination or are used fictitiously, and any resemblance to actual persons living or dead, business establishments, events, or locales is entirely coincidental.

  All rights reserved. No part of this book may be used or reproduced, scanned, or distributed in any printed or electronic form in any manner whatsoever without written permission of the author, except in the case of brief quotations for articles or reviews. Please do not participate in or encourage piracy of copyrighted materials.

  Copyright © 2017 Stacey Brutger

  Cover artist: Amanda Kelsey of Razzle Dazzle Design (www.razzdazzdesign.com)

  Editor: Faith Freewoman (www.demonfordetails.com)

  All rights reserved.

  Chapter One

  Morgan cursed her luck as she dangled over the edge of the rooftop.

  Tiny bits of gravel dug into her fingertips, weakening her hold, and her weight did the rest, resolutely dragging her over the edge a centimeter at a time. While her body was conditioned to withstand the strain, she could do nothing about gravity.

  Morgan glanced down—all three stories—and saw the guard taking his own sweet time buttoning up his trousers after taking a whiz.

  The mansion was headquarters to one of the oldest covens in the country and patrolled regularly by enhanced soldiers, their paranormal bloodlines making them the perfect hunters. If she tried to pull herself over the ledge, even breathed too hard, she would be discovered.

  When she twisted to peer over her shoulder, grit under her fingers shifted dangerously, dragging her closer to the edge, and dropping her another inch.

  In the distance, Morgan spied the group of twenty or so elite soldiers she’d been watching the past week enter the thicket, none of them more than a few years older than herself.

  Her attention locked on the soldier bringing up the rear, something about the sheer animal grace in the way he moved drawing her attention. She took a deep breath, then gritted her teeth, hating the distance between them that prevented her from catching even a whiff of his scent. While she might have enhanced vision, strength, and speed, smell completely failed her, her nose barely better than a human’s.

  As his black-clad form disappeared into the woods, her heart seized painfully, instinct warning her if she stayed behind they wouldn’t return from their mission in one piece.

  Morgan twisted until she located the guard at the edge of the building, and huffed a sigh of impatience when he continued to linger.

  She couldn’t risk being discovered and stopped.

  The need to protect the soldiers was a compulsion she couldn’t ignore.

  A light mist began to fall, dampening her clothes, making her failing grip on the stone parapet—the only thing keeping her from plummeting to the ground—even more precarious. Being a few miles from the coast of Maine ensured a lot of rainfall, but it usually blew over relatively quickly.

  When the guard finally turned the corner, Morgan released a heavy breath and rested her forehead against the cold stone. She tightened her grip, lifted her knees to her chest, planted her feet against the wall, then shoved off, propelling her body away from the mansion and sent herself soaring through the air.

  She plummeted three stories, twisting mid-fall to land lightly in a crouch, and surveyed her surroundings in a quick sweep, but the guards were more concerned about keeping the enemy out than anyone sneaking away in the middle of the night, their lax patrol allowing her to sprint undetected into the woods after her quarry…the group of soldiers.

  She scrunched up her nose, not sure why everyone considered them so special.

  They invaded the coven a week ago, disappearing each night to hunt paranormal creatures—or what humans call monsters.

  Mucking around in her territory.

  Doing her job.

  She’d avoided them up until now, their last night at the coven. She couldn’t wait for them to be gone and no longer poking their noses where it didn’t belong. She wanted to have nothing to do with them, but trouble was brewing, the runes etched along her spine tingling in warning that something dangerous was near.

  Despite the seriousness of the situation, it felt good to be doing something after being cooped up in the mansion for the last few days.

  Since she was female, she was not invited on the hunts, the males believing she’d be too much of a distraction.

  She snorted in derision.

  She was the best hunter in the coven.

  If danger was near, she couldn’t sit back and do nothing.

  Since she wasn’t human, she wasn’t someone the coven wasted resources on to protect, nor did she possess enough magic to be deemed valuable.

  When paranormal purebloods hit puberty, they came into their powers. Many bloodlines had become diluted after centuries of breeding with humans, and those with too much human blood often never ascended and were labelled a mutt—people like her. So, while they could still have enhanced senses, speed, and strength, they never fully developed to their full potential.

  Though she’d been told over and over that no female was capable or strong enough to become a protector, it didn’t stop her from training.

  It meant she needed to be better, faster than everyone else, just to prove her worth.

  The MacGregor, leader of the coven, found her wandering in the woods with no memory of her past when she was a child. When he discovered she wasn’t human, he raised her the only way he knew how…training her to be an assassin.

  That didn’t mean he protected her.

  The opposite, in fact.

  He pushed her harder, demanded more from her.

  Some days she wondered if he wasn’t actually trying to kill her.

  On the up side, he turned a blind eye when she slipped away at night to hunt. She took precautions to make sure she wasn’t caught, but she had no doubt the old man knew. He was too shrewd not to know every single thing going on under his roof. If the witches had any inkling of her escapades, they would demand to have her memories wiped and shipped off to live as a human.

  Only she wasn’t human.

  She was created to hunt.

  She knew nothing else.

  She refused to lose everything again…she wouldn’t survive starting over a second time.

  Morgan pushed herself harder, her muscles beginning to burn, the world around her blurring as she tried to outrun her chaotic thoughts.

  Even when the elite soldiers assigned to protect the coven did their best to beat her to a pulp and called it training, they couldn’t argue with her natural talent. She had an uncanny ability to track creatures who’d escaped the Primordial World, a magical realm
that existed alongside Earth. The Primordial World was where all supernatural creatures originated. The coven’s primary mission was to protect the human world from supernaturals at all costs by capturing and returning the creatures to their own realm, or killing them outright if they were deemed too dangerous.

  While most creatures who gained their freedom wanted nothing more than to live in peace, there were a number who preferred murder and mayhem more.

  No rules.

  No one to stop them from wreaking total destruction…except trained assassins like her.

  As she hurried after the soldiers, a familiar shadow detached from the trees and streaked toward her. She skidded to a stop, and he flashed her a cheerful grin, the monster gleefully revealing a mouth full of wickedly dangerous teeth.

  “Ascher.”

  The hellhound was her only companion. They had bonded when she rescued him from a witch’s trap a few years ago. In return for his friendship, she protected him from the coven, keeping him hidden when the witches went on their hunts.

  She knew he wasn’t completely from the human world, that he was dangerous, but he was loyal to her, protecting her while she hunted. He listened to her without judgment, though that might have more to do with the fact that he couldn’t speak. He was her best friend—her only friend to be perfectly honest—and she couldn’t resist reaching out to touch him, taking comfort from the near-burning heat of his rough, velvety fur. Small wisps of smoke rose from where his paws touched the forest floor, giving away his contentment, and the warm scent of coal tinged the air.

  He stilled at her touch, his eyelids sliding half-closed, a rumble of pleasure vibrating in his chest. At the sound, he broke away, almost embarrassed, and shook himself. Then he looked at her as if nothing had happened, his tongue lolled out, waiting for her orders.

  She didn’t know where he went when she wasn’t around. The one time she tried to follow him, he easily caught her and gave her a reproachful look.

  She hadn’t tried again.

  Knowing wasn’t worth risking their friendship.

  She signaled him for silence, pointing to the barely-visible trail the soldiers left behind. As if understanding, he peered into the darkness, then took off in a mad dash after the men with a speed she had no hope of matching.

  “Wait up!” Morgan darted after him, her mind only half on her surroundings.

  Despite all her training, she’d never come across anything higher than a category three monster while hunting. Category one was for those who escaped the void because they wanted a better life. They were no threat, the creatures often given sanctuary, and left to live in peace.

  Category two were the mischief-makers. As long as they didn’t endanger humans or put them in harm’s way, they were left to their own devices.

  Category three were the monsters who had no intention of blending in with humans. They saw people as chattel to be used as a slave workforce. Though it might be accidental, it was only a matter of time before the mistreatment of their slaves ultimately ended in death.

  The coven’s job was to return them to the void.

  Categories four and five were reserved for the ones assassins hunted down and exterminated.

  They saw humans as prey.

  They took pleasure in dominating and torturing, and had no intention of living tamely among what they perceived as lesser beings.

  Which was why they were in the woods tonight—something was terrorizing the nearby town of Apple Valley.

  At first it was small pranks.

  Missing garbage cans.

  Cars parked in the wrong driveways.

  Trees snatched bare of any leaves.

  She was guessing an imp.

  Once an imp locked onto a target, their mischievous pranks would eventually turn deadly.

  Animals began to go missing recently.

  Once an imp selected a new home, it was only a matter of time before town was infected with an entire nest. She’d been chasing this imp for a week.

  Last night, she arrived in town to the sound of children screaming, terrified of the boogeyman that was trying to drag them underneath their bed.

  The parents chalked it up to nightmares, but a thread of doubt lingered when they couldn’t explain the bruises covering their children’s little bodies.

  It was time to put a stop to the mischief before things went too far and the supernatural world was exposed.

  Morgan sped through the woods, the half-moon the only source of light. She tied her waist-length black hair into a sloppy knot, then increased her speed to catch up with the hellhound only a few yards ahead of her.

  When the hound darted sharply to the right at the last second, she nearly plowed into the clearing where the soldiers were waiting. She threw herself sideways, barely keeping her presence secret, then glared reproachfully at the hound.

  Ascher huffed out a breath at her antics, snickering as she pushed through the thicket to reach his side. “You did that on purpose.”

  He shrugged his shoulders in a human-like way, not denying the accusation, then turned his attention toward the men.

  Morgan followed his example, immediately noting the group had split in half, the other team already gone. Two men stood out, both slightly older than the rest.

  One was blatantly studying the younger soldiers as if they were recruits, his slight sneer screaming boredom. He was tall and lean, his beauty almost alien, but what drew her attention were the two swords peeking over his shoulders. Even from this distance, she could sense there was nothing human about him. If she concentrated hard enough, the faint taste of cinnamon peppered her tongue.

  Elf.

  She crinkled her nose, already disliking him. Elves were known for their snobbery, and usually preferred to remain in the Primordial World, not caring that the constant struggle between the two realms would ultimately destroy both races.

  Once the humans were hunted to extinction, it was only a matter of time before the elves suffered the same fate.

  The other man had his back to her, alert for any threats, but even from the distance she recognized him as the one who caught her attention earlier. He was now close enough to answer the question that had been plaguing her.

  He smelled of warm earth and hot stone on a blistering summer day.

  He had dark brown, shoulder-length hair, but it was his broad shoulders that made her eyes linger longer than they should. He was lanky, but every inch of him was packed with muscle. She wanted him to turn around so she could see his face, but some instinct warned her if she saw him, her fate would be sealed. The future suddenly felt shaky and uncertain, and it had everything to do with him.

  He appeared to be the leader. The younger recruits looked to him for guidance, more than a few gazing at him with an obvious case of hero worship, and Morgan realized this must be a training session of some type.

  The territorial drive to protect her hunting ground eased off.

  She was about to pull away and leave them to their skirmish when the leader gave a silent signal, and the small team melted into the trees.

  Curiosity got the better of her, and she trailed after them.

  After they traveled another mile deeper into the forest, her skin began to tingle in warning, and her whole body came alive.

  A rift had opened.

  Her curiosity about the men vanished at the possibility of a hunt, the need to protect overriding everything else, and she quickly overtook the group, Ascher hard on her heels. When the hellhound slowed, she followed his lead, spotting the second set of soldiers a few yards ahead.

  As soon as she saw them, she took cover in the brush, and Ascher joined her.

  One of the guys, no more than a year older than herself, stood well over six and a half feet tall, like a giant of old. When he lifted his head, sniffing the air, she realized he was some kind of shifter—most likely a wolf. His sandy brown hair was shaggy, reaching well past his shoulders, and her fingers twitched to touch. If she concentrated, she coul
d pick up his wild, earthy, fresh green scent.

  She didn’t worry about being discovered, her natural scent so faint it was practically nonexistent thanks to her unknown heritage. She almost wished the shifter would spot her just so she could see the color of his eyes—she bet they were a deep brown a girl could get lost in.

  The big man froze, picking up on something she’d missed while she was distracted, and she shook her head, not sure why her usual focus was so scattered around this group of men.

  When the shifter’s hand shot up in the air, her ruminations halted, and everyone came to attention, the men standing back-to-back, searching the trees intently. Most of the kids seemed excited at the prospect of a fight, while a couple were practically quaking in their boots.

  Instead of searching the area, Morgan closed her eyes and concentrated. The markings on her back began to burn as the danger increased. She ignored the near-debilitating pain and focused her senses on the world around her.

  Every creature with even a drop of paranormal blood had at one time emerged from the void, the space between the two realms where pure magic originated. Without a natural barrier to protect it, magic gradually spilled into the Primordial World many millennia ago. It soon became home to the supernatural. Proud of their heritage, paranormals began using the term void as slang for the primordial realm, and the name stuck.

  While the magic in their blood faded over time for some, she was able to trace even the smallest contamination. She sensed the creature immediately, and it was closer than she’d thought.

  Just as her eyes snapped open, the monster launched itself through the trees, crashing directly into the werewolf, and throwing them both to the ground.

  Chapter Two

  The creature was massive, and completely in beast form, his head and shoulders that of an enormous bull. It took her brain precious seconds to process he was an ancient minotaur, something that hadn’t been Earthside for over two millennia, their species nearly extinct.

  The beast roared at the wolf, clouds of steam billowing out his nostrils and into the chilly night air. He lifted his hooved hands, determined to stomp the wolf to a pulp.