Academy of Assassins

by Stacey Brutger

  He’d been hunting her.

  “My cousin.” She swallowed hard, unable to fathom what he had gone through because of her family. “He sent you after me, didn’t he?”

  Ascher clenched his hands into fists, his brows lowering, his jaw clenched tight.

  It was answer enough.

  “Does he still control you?” Morgan resisted the urge to back away from him.

  She had to know.

  She reached for the tape and bandages in the medical kit, unable to look at him while she waited for him to speak, knowing if he gave the wrong answer, he would break her heart.

  “Not as much without the collar. His sway over me is fading, and the bindings are loosening, but if I don’t keep up my guard, I can hear him in my head, slowly driving me insane with his demands.” He shifted on the bed, breathing heavily through the pain, and closed his eyes. “Being around you quiets the voices.”

  The words were so soft, she wasn’t sure she was supposed to hear what he said. As she taped the bandages to his chest and side, her hands shook. It hurt to know her cousin had enslaved him in such a way—probably for the sole purpose of finding her.

  She felt responsible for Archer’s predicament, and she didn’t know how to fix it.

  If she pushed him away, she feared her cousin would gain control of him again, which was unacceptable.

  Morgan stood and turned her back, struggling to contain her emotions. “I need your pants off to get at the wound on your leg. Did you want to remove them, or would you rather I cut them off?”

  The bed shifted, and she tensed at having him so near her exposed back.

  “I’m decent.”

  Swallowing hard, Morgan turned, trying to ignore the way the blanket barely covered his important bits, and focused on the nasty gouges in his leg, uncomfortably aware of his body so close to her own.

  “Why stay if you’re able to change to human form? Won’t that break the bonds faster?” She grabbed the swabs and started cleaning his leg. The wounds were punctures, like a set of claws had been thrust into his thigh and twisted. Blood still bubbled sluggishly out of the worst of them.

  “I’m only able to change when you’re near. When you’re too far away, I revert back to the hound.”

  She threw down the swab and grabbed a roll of bandages, then bent his leg up and began wrapping the strips around the thick pad of gauze tightly enough to stop the bleeding. “Then we’ll need to kill him.”

  He jerked so hard Morgan had to grab his knee to steady him.

  “Careful. You’re going to undo all my work.”

  When he continued to stare at her oddly, she frowned. “What?”

  “He’s your cousin.”

  Morgan grimaced, concentrating on the bandages and not the way his nearness was making her head swim, or the fascinating rasp of his skin against hers. “Which makes it my responsibility.”

  He gave her a small smile, his eyes lightening even more, and she lowered her head, discomfited by his attention. Then she narrowed her eyes and swung back to pin him with a look. “Is that why he’s not already dead? Were you worried about me?”

  “No.”

  “Really?” Morgan wasn’t convinced, and she began to shove the supplies back into the large box a little harder than necessary.

  “Not completely,” he finally confessed.

  “Explain,” she snapped at him, unable to keep the frustration out of her voice.

  “If I go after him, you would be left vulnerable. It wasn’t worth the risk.”

  Her brows shot up in disbelief at his simple reasoning. “Not worth your freedom?”

  He was so earnest, she was both humbled and a little uncomfortable. It saddened her to know he would give up so much for her. “I’m not your responsibility.”

  Morgan wanted to say more, but noticed he could barely keep his eyes open. “You’re tired. I’ll let you rest. I’m protected now. We’ll find a way to gain your freedom and send you home.”

  The thought of being separated from him permanently wrenched something deep in her chest, her heart cracking at the thought of never seeing him again.

  His eyes shot open, panic darkening his eyes until he saw her. Faster than she could track, his hand shot out, and he dragged her closer.

  “Can’t go back.” He mumbled the word, his eyes beginning to slide shut, exhaustion and a healing sleep finally taking over. “Your cousin is not the only one who bound me.”

  He lifted her hand and kissed her palm, placing it against his chest, then promptly fell unconscious after delivering that bomb.

  Morgan jerked back in horror, but the instant she stopped touching him, his brows furrowed, and he began to shift in agitation, threatening to tear his stitches.

  “Stop.” She pressed a hand against his shoulder, and he seemed to calm at her touch.

  Morgan racked her brain why he would say any such thing, and realized she must have accidentally bound them when they exchanged blood.

  His fierce protection of her now made more sense.

  It also explained why he craved her touch, and how she could counteract her cousin’s control.

  “I’ll find a way to free you.”

  A way that didn’t end in her death.

  Ascher growled deep in his chest and yanked her toward him. He twisted, dragging her over his chest and wrapping her up in his arms. “No.”

  It was a command.

  And she had a sudden suspicion she was speaking to the hound.

  Morgan grabbed his arm to break his grip, but his hold didn’t loosen. She froze when she smelled fresh blood, and knew he opened his wounds again. “Damn it. I need to re-stitch your ribs. Let me go.”

  “No.”

  Morgan knew she wasn’t going to change his mind by asking. She had to play dirty. “You’re bleeding all over me. If you lose much more blood, you won’t be able to protect me.”

  He stilled, the muscles beneath her going rock hard. Then grudgingly, “I can heal faster in my other form.”

  Morgan patted his arm. “Good. Change.”

  His grip tightened more, pulling her even more snugly against him, before reluctantly releasing her. Morgan felt him pull away. When she stood to leave, he cleared his throat. “Will you stay?”

  Morgan turned, surprised at his request, and found him sitting on the bed, his back against the stone wall, his eyes locked on the bedspread. His hands were clenched into fists, as if barely holding himself back from lunging for her.

  She knew she should be afraid, but she trusted the hellhound completely. “Of course.”

  Morgan gingerly sat on the bed, and he cocked his head, peering up at her from under his brows, like she was a puzzle he couldn’t figure out.

  Wisps of charcoal smoke rose from his body, obscuring his form, his bones cracking and snapping as he shifted. The edges of the smoke drifted away to show a solid, familiar black shape. While he might be her Ascher again, she could no longer ignore the fact that he was much more. He lifted his big head, watching for her reaction, and she hesitantly reached out. It was funny. He was a big brute, a few years older than herself, but she sensed he needed comfort.

  The hellhound heaved a sigh and leaned into her touch, carefully resting his head on her leg before closing his eyes.

  Her heart flopped at his vulnerability. She highly doubted he’d ever shifted in front of someone who wasn’t family. He was trusting her with his secrets, knowing that by telling her about his past, she could destroy his whole family.

  The heat of him eased her sore muscles, and she haltingly ran her fingers over his head, marveling at the rough, velvety texture of his fur.

  As she stroked his head, she noticed the filigree lines curling and looping over the back of her hand before crawling up her wrist. One line was a shiny obsidian, the other a strange, molten silver. The lines were ghostly, barely visible. They didn’t hurt, easily moving and twisting with her movements, and felt like a part of her. Going through the portal, touching part of the p
rimordial realm, must have somehow activated the runes in some way.

  Not good.

  Soon the torque wouldn’t be able to stop the dark magic from escaping.

  As she glanced around the room, Morgan realized she could never go back to the coven…possibly not even stay at the school.

  Everything was spinning out of control, and she wasn’t sure if she would land on her feet this time, or end up dragging the guys down with her.

  Chapter Twenty

  After twenty minutes of watching Ascher sleep, the adrenaline that kept Morgan going wore off, and her injuries ached like a bitch. While the worst of her wounds were on the mend, her body still felt battered and bruised and ready to crash.

  But she couldn’t sleep without knowing the guys were alive and okay.

  She eased out from under Ascher’s large paw, running her hand down his back when he whimpered in his sleep. She dashed out of the room, knowing she had only a few moments before he would wake because of her absence.

  She skidded to a stop inside Kincade’s room, then grabbed the mirror, hefting the heavy frame back to Ascher’s room. Once she had the mirror positioned where she could see it from the bed, she crawled across the mattress and settled next to the big hound.

  The hellhound stretched, then rested his head across her lap with a heavy sigh, effectively trapping her. She wouldn’t be able to leave without waking him in the process.

  The foggy mirror flickered, shadows moved, and she watched as the team’s images took shape. They were at the rift, fighting the ghouls who were protecting the opening. Morgan reached out, wanting to join them, but cool glass met her fingertips. There was nothing she could do but watch them fight for their lives.

  Catalina stood to the side, surrounded by her men, who were doing nothing but protecting her, while her guys risked their lives to kill the monstrosities. “The bitch!” She wanted to rip her apart. Ascher cracked open an eye when she was unable to keep still. After a few minutes, he heaved another sigh and shifted a safer distance away from her flying elbows and twitching legs as she mentally fought along with the guys.

  It took twenty minutes, during which more and more ghouls poured through the rift, until Catalina finally managed to close it. It was another hour before the guys staggered to a halt, the last ghoul dead, but Morgan didn’t consider them safe, not until they were back at the Academy.

  She didn’t have long to wait. As soon as they stepped through the portal, the mirror fogged over, and the image slowly faded.

  She wasn’t sure if the connection was lost, or if it didn’t work inside the Academy, or if it only showed her what it wanted her to see.

  She suspected all three.

  Morgan gave Ascher an absent scratch, uncertain of her next move. Leaving wouldn’t save more girls from being killed. Leaving wouldn’t save Ascher or keep the other guys out of danger. They were the best fighters, but everyone was fighting with their hands tied behind their backs, trapped by lies.

  It needed to stop.

  Morgan eased out of bed, grabbed the mirror, then headed toward the main room and sat at the table. She didn’t have long to wait for the guys return.

  “She has to be here somewhere. The wolves didn’t see her leave. If we can’t find her by magic, we’ll search the place room by room.” Kincade flung open the door, then froze when he saw her standing there waiting for him. A flash of pleasure and relief passed over him before he could mask it.

  The rest of the guys piled into the room behind him, every one of them bruised and battered and bloody.

  None of them seemed to be bothered that she broke into their room and took up residence.

  Morgan crossed her arms and raised a brow at them. She picked up her feet, set them on the table, crossing her legs at the ankle to stop from going to them and inspecting them more closely.

  “I thought the first rule after a mission was to check into the infirmary.”

  “We were too busy searching for you, since you vanished after going through the portal.”

  A muscle ticked in Kincade’s jaw, but Morgan wasn’t about to let him get the upper hand. She reached out and ripped off the sheet she placed over the mirror. “It seems we’ve both been keeping secrets. Would you like to tell me how long you’ve been spying on me?”

  Instead of shame or embarrassment, the bastard only lifted his chin, his eyes flicking betrayingly toward the mirror.

  “Dude. Bad move.” Draven shook his head, walking farther into the room, and surprised her by taking a seat next to her.

  “So that’s how you did it.” Atlas nodded as he studied the mirror. “It makes sense. You started fighting differently, and I couldn’t figure out how you became so proficient so quickly. It was her.” He calmly unbuckled his weapons, looking weary for the first time since she met him. Instead of sitting next to them, he dropped his weapons on the table with a thump, then stepped back and leaned against the wall to watch the show.

  Ryder didn’t do anything, didn’t move, his muscles so tightly wound she wondered if he was about to snap. She dropped her feet to the floor, then walked into Ascher’s room and grabbed the supplies, thumping the box on the table when she returned. “Sit down. All of you. I’m done with the secrets. Done with the lies. While we patch up everyone, we’re going to talk. Your way isn’t working, so we’re going to try it my way now.”

  By the time she had all the supplies stacked up on the table, she found Ryder at her side. He touched her hair, and it crackled under his touch, the goop having dried it to a hard crunch. “You first.”

  His voice was barely human, more of a low grumble, and Morgan realized he wasn’t giving her a choice. Either she washed or Ryder would lose control. He was barely holding himself together, his whisky-colored eyes glowing brightly, his teeth more pointed than usual, the tips of his fingers shaped into deadly claws.

  “Come.” Draven stood and held out a hand, watching Ryder the whole time. “I’ll show you the bathroom.”

  She accepted his hand, then pointed at each of the guys. “I want everyone stripped, stitched and bandaged by the time I get back.” Morgan ignored the hand pulling her from the room and continued to speak. “If it’s not done to my satisfaction by the time I’m finished, I will do it for you.”

  It was a promise, and each of them nodded, understanding it as such.

  Draven continued tugging on her hand, pulling her toward a narrow hall she hadn’t noticed before. The bathroom split off in two directions. To the right, the room was utilitarian, no clutter, no glitz, and less than a handful of industrial-sized bottles lined up along a top of a three-quarter wall that marked off a shower. It had multiple showerheads and room for a half-dozen people. Four sinks were stretched out side by side opposite the shower, and a large mirror took up practically the whole wall. There was a soaker tub that looked like it had never been used, along with four separate doors. The left side of the room was dark, but appeared to be a mirror image.

  “Strip.” Draven propped her up against the sinks, then disappeared to turn on the shower, his jarring order at odds with his pleasant tone. He popped back out and walked toward one of the mystery doors, seemingly unconcerned with her standing there gaping at him. When he saw she hadn’t moved, he smiled and opened the first door.

  “Toilets.” The room had four stalls. He popped open the next door, leaned against the doorjamb, crossed one foot over the other at the ankle, then pointed upwards. “Escape hatch. It opens up to the roof. Ah-ah-ah,” he wiggled his finger when she leaned forward to peer up the ladder, quickly snapping the door shut. “Can’t have you disappearing on us. The guys are worse than a bunch of girls when you’re not around.”

  Morgan cracked a smile, appreciating his attempt to lighten her mood.

  He pointed to the last door, and shook his head. “You’ll have to leave us guys at least a little mystery.” He went to the third door and pulled out a stack of towels, halting when she hadn’t moved, all amusement gone. “If you don’t want me, y
ou’ll have to choose one of them. Either way, none of us are ready to let you out of our sight yet.”

  Morgan hesitantly walked around the shower wall, and did as she was told. Her shirt had been lost long ago. She removed the last three weapons, placing two of them along the wall. The pants were past saving, so she used the last knife to cut them off, and dropped them at the edge of the shower with a sodden splotch. Wearing only her tank top and underwear, she watched dirt and blood spin down the drain. Most of her injuries were healed shut, leaving her body blotchy with an assortment of bruises. A quick glance over her shoulder confirmed her back was almost completely black, blue, and a nasty shade of putrid green from smacking into the trees one too many times. On the third scrub of her hair, Morgan sighed in frustration. She went to reach for a blade when she noticed they’d vanished.

  “I need my knife.”

  There was a short, suspicious pause. “Why?”

  “My hair is a knotted mess. I’m going to cut it off.”

  “No!” There was a heartbeat of silence, then he warned. “I’m coming around.”

  Morgan watched Draven walk toward her, a towel in his outstretched arms, his face averted. In seconds, she was wrapped in a big, fluffy towel. “It’s safe.”

  She nearly snorted when a dull flush filled his face. For a siren rumored to have had his way with nearly every girl in school, she found his bashfulness around her charming. He’d washed his face and hair, which only highlighted the dark smudges under his eyes, and the bruises along his jaw.

  “Come.” He guided her toward the tub. “Step inside and lean back.”

  She did as she was told. Draven gathered her hair, pulling the snarled mess over the edge of the tub, then began to systematically brush out the strands. Morgan gradually relaxed, the coolness of the tub easing the knots in her tight muscles. “You’ve done this before.”

  There was a slight pause before he shrugged. “I had a little sister. She used to get into almost as much trouble as you do.”

  The sad fondness in his voice warned his story didn’t end happily. “Did you want to tell me?”