Was the wife responsible for this? Or were the pair ambushed?
In his weakened condition, Fox could take him, no problem. But…she had no desire to harm him further. Not even to gain her freedom. What is wrong with me?
When he stood directly in front of Fox, he stumbled to a halt and slowly lifted his gaze. The action, slight though it was, seemed to agonize him. Struggling to focus, he opened his mouth…
“Help,” he croaked. Then, he collapsed.
Chapter Six
Worry consumed Fox. The fact that Bjorn requested aid from her, his greatest enemy…
He must be near death. Must be out of his ever-loving mind.
Great! Her worry amplified, rousing an undeniable need to avenge him. Although, there was a good chance the desire sprang from seeing such a strong, proud male in such a deplorable condition. But that made no sense! Bjorn intended to kill her. Thus, he had to die. If someone else did the dirty work, great, even better.
No. No! The easy route wasn’t always the best route. Or the right one. Patch him up, then fight him. It wasn’t the smart thing to do, but it was honorable.
So she’d never before cared about honor. So what? For whatever reason, different parts of her panicked at the thought of Bjorn’s death. For her peace of mind, she must save him.
The decision solidified, and she nodded. Unable to do anything worthwhile, she performed the only task certain to make a difference. She shouted for his friends. “Hey! Someone! Anyone! Bjorn is in trouble. Heeeey! Do you want him to die?”
Nothing, no response. Not even an eruption of footsteps. “Or not make a difference,” she muttered. The dungeon must be soundproof, ensuring no screams reached the main house…castle? Fortress?
Where was she? The heavens? Yeah. Probably. Rumors suggested Bjorn and his friends stored prisoners in the Downfall’s dungeon on numerous occasions.
Let the warrior die, Distrust whispered. As long as he lives, you are endangered.
Bjorn moaned and writhed in pain.
Ignore the demon. He’s still feeding. Frustrated with the situation, with the fiend, with anything and everything, she crouched in front of the Sent One. He’d landed on his side, facing her. A major blessing. She extended an arm through the bars, contorted this way and that, and…contact!
She patted his ice-cold throat, feeling for a pulse… There! A cool tide of relief washed over her nerves, soothing the worst of her distress. Though weak, his pulse remained steady.
His lips parted, another moan slipping out.
“What happened to you?” she asked again.
He fluttered open his eyelids, revealing glassy irises and blown pupils. Their gazes met, and a tide of compassion rose up, flooding Fox.
Compassion? For the man tasked with her murder? That’s a first. Probably due to the lust she’d experienced earlier.
Lust for her captor. Another first.
Well, it had been years…centuries…since she’d slept with anyone or felt any kind of arousal. But why him, and why now? “What do you need?” she asked, using a soft tone. A lump grew in her throat. “How can I help you, Bjorn?”
“Help,” he echoed.
“I’m trying!” A sense of desperation overshadowed every other emotion. Think! She couldn’t remove his robe to check for injuries or signs of internal bleeding. She couldn’t portal out of the cell, and wouldn’t be heard even if she screamed until her vocal cords seized. She couldn’t even lay beside him to warm him up. Think harder.
Distrust whispered, He’s faking.
She stiffened. Ignore the demon and check Bjorn’s vitals.
Vitals. Right. If he’d slipped away while she debated how to help…
Fox latched on to Bjorn’s wrist, planted her feet against the bars, and pushed with her heels, tugging the warrior close…closer. Another pulse check. Just as weak, but still steady. Excellent.
He’d lost so much blood, his lips had taken on a blue tint. Blood. Yes. He needed to replace what he’d lost. Since no other volunteers stood nearby, the obligation fell to Fox. She reached out and cut her palm on a jagged piece of rock protruding from the wall. Blood welled—blood she poured down his throat.
Wait! She balled her hand into a fist, catching the blood before it trickled to his mouth.
Gatekeepers, like Sent Ones, rarely shared their blood with others. Blood was sacred to them both. Blood equaled life and power.
So…what were the pros and cons?
Con: She and Bjorn would feed off each other, similar to the way Distrust often fed off her.
Con: For a day or two, Bjorn would have temporary access to her portal-opening ability. He would also see into her mind for that length of time.
Pro:
Well. Okay, then. She gulped. Was Bjorn truly worth all the risk with little reward?
In her mother’s days, Gatekeepers had shared their blood with each other on a daily basis, using the temporary bonds to increase their individual strengths. Often, they’d held hands, stood in a circle, and worked together to create entire realms and dimensions. But those bonds had led to multiple wars as secrets came to light. If Bjorn learned her secrets…
If she did nothing, he would surely die.
Inside, she recoiled. Screw it! She would save him now and deal with any fallout later.
Fox opened her palm, letting her blood drip into Bjorn’s mouth.
* * * *
A scene played within Bjorn’s mind, as vivid as a movie on a screen. He watched as a little girl with tangled dark hair and large hazel eyes stumbled down a narrow alley between two stone structures. Those structures reminded him of shops he’d seen in ancient Greece, while the girl reminded him of Fox.
His chest clenched. She wore what appeared to be a burlap sack. A dirty sack. Filth covered her from head to toe, and she was thin. Too thin, basically a skeleton with skin and hair. Her complexion was sallow.
She exited the alley and entered an over-crowded market, with vendors hawking meat pies, cheeses, jars of honey, horseshoes, glass, pottery, fish, metals, fabrics, and so much more. He reeled as voices rang out. He detected Latin, Ionic, and Attic Greek. The girl was in Ancient Greece.
A blacksmith glistened with sweat as he hammered a sword before a crackling fire pit. A cobbler measured a little boy’s foot. Men were dressed in long wool tunics and cloaks with shoulder clasps. Women were similarly attired, the fabrics more colorful and elaborate as well as several inches longer. Buyers paid for their wares with silver coins or drachma.
Was he reliving a memory from his past? But…he did not recall the girl in any way, shape or form.
Whenever people caught sight of her, they reacted in one of two ways. A grimace, or a glare. Far too many openly stared, their features etched with distaste. His chest clenched again, only harder, a sharp pang lancing his heart. The little darling knew these people despised her, but she refused to cower, keeping her head high and her shoulders back. Pride stamped every inch of her being. The same pride he’d witnessed when they’d faced off in her bathroom.
Pang, pang. This must be Fox. But how and why would he receive a glimpse into her past? Unless his imagination was responsible. But why would his mind craft a fake, sympathetic backstory for someone on his hit list? It wouldn’t. Had to be a memory, as originally suspected.
When Fox came upon the vendor selling meat pies, she paused. A bit of drool leaked from the corner of her mouth, and she wiped it away with the back of her hand. Once again, his pangs worsened. This time, Bjorn longed to claw out his heart and lay it at her feet.
Noticing the girl’s fixation, the seller scowled, pulled a pebble from a satchel tied to his waist—as if he’d been waiting for this moment—and launched it at her. The rock slammed into her forehead, breaking the skin. With a cry of pain, she stumbled back. A streak of crimson trickled between her eyes and dripped from the tip of her nose.
Too weak to catch herself, she bumped into a big brute who wore a bronzed cuirass and a pair of greaves. He car
ried a shield in one hand and a spear in the other. A foot soldier.
Cursing, the soldier hooked the shield to his back, then grabbed little Fox by the hair and dragged her off. Though she screamed for help, kicked and punched, he did not release her. Most people turned away, unconcerned. Others watched, curious. Only a few appeared sympathetic to her plight, but no one stepped in.
The soldier pivoted, hauling her down a shadowed, abandoned alley. In the darkest spot, he rested his spear against the wall, then pushed her beside it. A hand wrapped around her throat, holding her in place. The other ripped at her clothes.
A rage-roar barreled out of Bjorn’s mouth. The soldier would die!
Fox fought with all her might but—
His mind blanked, erasing the memory, and Bjorn released another roar. Had Fox escaped before…before…? The urge to commit violence bombarded him. He would rather endure rounds of demon-torture than harm a child. Any child.
The soldier had been human, which meant he’d died centuries ago. I will learn his identity and destroy his family line, wiping any trace of him from the planet!
The thought shocked him. Savage. Brutal. Un-Sent-One-like. Those family members were innocent of the male’s crime. Still, Bjorn did not calm. What other horrors had little Fox survived?
As a thick cloud of shadows rolled through his mind, Bjorn fought to awaken. He kicked and clawed with all his might. In the end, the shadows won. Just before he drifted off, a final thought seared his brain: How can I execute a woman whose past is as riddled with as much abuse as my own?
* * * *
When Bjorn finally ceased moaning and writhing in pain, a semblance of peace returned to his features. Fox exhaled a relieved breath. Sharing her blood had worked! At last, he’d begun to heal.
She expected threats from the demon but—Fox gasped. Miracle of miracles, Distrust went quiet, as if the fiend feared the assassin would speak up. Score one for her temporary link to Bjorn.
As best she could, she patted down Bjorn, searching for a key to the cell, weapons of any kind, or anything she could use to her advantage. Once she gained her freedom, she would hunt for a spot to portal, then alert Bjorn’s friends about his condition. They would take care of him, and she would go…somewhere. Not home. Fox would not endanger Galen and Legion. Maybe a sub-dimension Galen owned: the Realm of the Forgotten. Whoever lived in the realm was forgotten by the rest of the world(s).
“What did you do to him?” a masculine voice demanded, breaking into her thoughts. The sharp tone reminded her of a cat o’ nine tails. Treacherous, lethal, and agonizing—a weapon that kept on giving.
She flipped her gaze up, spying two other Sent Ones. They hurried toward the cell. Like Bjorn, they had wings of gold, but all similarities ended there. The slightly shorter one had blond curls, tanned skin and blue eyes—the infamous Thane. Not that six-foot-three-ish was short. The taller one had white hair, scarred white skin, and red eyes—the much-feared Xerxes.
Together, they projected the most savage air of violence she’d ever encountered. Clearly, they valued Bjorn.
“You’re going to be okay,” she whispered to Bjorn, patting his forearm.
Xerxes reached them first. When he noticed the placement of her hand, he growled—growled!—and stomped on her wrist once, twice. The bones cracked and shattered in seconds. Blistering pain raced up her arm, while her stomach turned inside out, bile spilling out.
Thane scooped Bjorn into his muscular arms, then the group hurried away.
Xerxes paused in the exit to glare over his shoulder and snap, “If he dies, you’ll die, too. I promise, you will scream and beg for death.”
“Sorry, sugar, but he was broken before I took him out of his box,” Fox said before going quiet. No reason to exert precious energy trying to make him believe the Executioner only wished to help.
After what she’d done to the ten, the Sent Ones should not trust her. Ever. Actually, after what she’d done her entire life. No matter the circumstances, Fox only looked out for number one. And, yeah, okay, she’d looked out for number two, as well. But no one else.
Mental note: Don’t forget to tell Galen you likened him to a bowel movement.
“—not even listening to me.” Xerxes snapped his teeth at her before exiting fully.
Only after his footsteps faded did Fox dig the screw out of her pocket. But though she searched, she could not find a lock anywhere on the cell bars. What if there wasn’t a door? That would mean Bjorn had morphed them both into mist to put her inside.
Yeah, that made sense. No door, no way out for non-misters like Fox. Gah! That left only one option for escape—infuriating Bjorn’s friends so much, they took her out of the cell to punish her. Then, she could incapacitate them both and run.
Distrust gave the barest whimper, making it clear he had plenty to say about her plan, and none of it good. But…he continued to keep his doubts to himself.
I might need to consider turning my temporary blood-bond with Bjorn into something permanent. She shouted, “Hey, Zerk. Or do you prefer to be called Scars?” Why not get started on her plan now? “Guess what? I hope the Sent One dies.” Xerxes wouldn’t hear a lie in her tone, because she didn’t state who she meant. In this case, “the Sent One” referenced a collection of warriors who hurt women, children, minorities, and animals.
Fox wasn’t a fan of people, no matter their sex or species, but she loved animals. In fact, that was how she’d gotten her name. One summer, she’d saved a baby fox from a snare. She’d played with the critter every day after for weeks, even fed and watered him until he was old enough to make it on his own. Eventually, her mother began calling her Fox.
Later, as an adult, Fox found a beautiful Siamese cat she’d named Tawny. But it wasn’t long before her enemies snatched and tortured the little darling, depositing the remains in her bed. She’d barely survived the loss. Can’t go through that again. One day, though, she would retire from war, find a quiet place to live, and become a crazy cat lady. The best future anyone could have.
“Hey,” she called at a higher volume. “If Bjorn dies, I call dibs on his wings. Sew on some straps, and I can cosplay a Sent One at the next Comic-Con. And someone bring me a big-screen TV. I’m missing the season premiere of The Bachelor.”
Thumping footsteps, hard and heavy. Two sets. Her taunts had worked!
Heart thudding against her ribs, she hurried to the cot to—nope. Dismantled leg, remember? Right. She sat in the corner instead and leaned against the wall, as if she hadn’t a care. Perfect timing. Both Xerxes and Thane returned, stopping in front of her cell.
They said nothing. But then, words weren’t needed. They radiated extreme hatred and rage.
As she watched, their images dulled, becoming as insubstantial as smoke. Side by side, they slipped inside the cell.
I nailed it! No door. Even better, the plan was working! Excitement spread through her, and she battled to maintain a neutral expression while whisking her gaze over the males, searching for a weapon...finding none.
“You hope Bjorn dies, hmm?” Thane leaned down to clasp her upper arms in a vise-grip and yanked her to her feet. “How about we make you wish to die instead?”
“There’s only one way to do that. You’re going to have to make a pass at me.” Instinct demanded she fight, and fight hard. Punch the cot’s screw into his throat. Knee his balls into his abdomen. Something! But she suppressed her temper, only struggling against his hold half-heartedly.
“I am devoted to my wife. She is a woman of worth,” Thane snapped. “I have no need for another, much less someone like you.” His lips peeled back, revealing straight pearly whites. “Perhaps I should summon my Elin to make introductions. As a phoenix shapeshifter, fire is her specialty. She can burn you alive while I watch and cheer.”
Oh…shit. Fox combatted a shudder. She’d warred with phoenix shifters before, but only because she’d been backed into a corner. They were a bloodthirsty lot, with a higher pain threshold than an
y other species. When you killed them, they came back to life ten-times stronger. But the real reason Fox avoided them whenever possible stemmed from her one and only fear. Burning alive…again.
Her mother had died at the stake, and Fox had tried to save her, bravely throwing herself into the flames. The pain… The only reason she hadn’t scarred was because she’d carried a vial of her mother’s blood. Drinking it had hurt almost as much as the burns. The last remnants of her mother’s life just…gone.
There was no stopping a shudder now. The fact that Thane considered Fox unworthy didn’t bother her in the slightest. Nope. Not even a little. He meant nothing to her. His opinion meant less than nothing.
“Elin can have her,” Xerxes announced, “after I’ve had a turn.”
Thane canted his head, studying Fox more intently. “Are you ready to tell us what you did to Bjorn?”
They still believed her responsible for their friend’s abysmal condition. Batting her lashes, she told him, “Nah. But I am ready for you to try and beat the truth out of me.”
“Let’s get started, then. I’d hate to keep a female waiting.” He tightened his hold on Fox’s arm and nodded at his friend.
The other male moved behind her. If not for Thane, she would have spun to keep him within sight. All she could do? Stand there, grinding her molars.
From the shadow he cast, she thought Xerxes produced two items from thin air. What were those? Boomerangs? Whatever they were, they had a half-moon shape. Worry scraped her nerves raw. What did he think to do with those?
A second later, something cold and heavy settled around her neck. A clicking sound assaulted her ears—a type of death knell.
A grinning Thane released her and stepped back, a handheld mirror appearing in his hand. She caught a glimpse of her reflection and swallowed a horrified gasp. Not a boomerang. A metal collar, with a small hook in the center. A thin chain hung from the hook.
He thinks to lead me around like an animal? Red dotted her vision.
The Darkest Assassin Page 6
