The Darkest Assassin

by Gena Showalter

  She forced a grin. “Thanks for the weapon.”

  Kill him. Kill him now or die.

  Yes. No! Just knock him out. Whatever you do, do not hurt the Sent One.

  Roaring, he leaped at her, and a lethal dance ensued. He struck, she blocked. She struck, he blocked. Didn’t take long to learn he had skill. The urge to end his life strengthened, beginning to cloud each of her thoughts. But still, she resisted. Bjorn might know and love this man. If she killed him, she might lose Bjorn. She’d definitely lose what little trust she’d managed to curate.

  Can’t lose him. Just can’t. Not yet. Deciding to use Mr. Rage’s skill against him, she purposely allowed him to land a blow. When his dagger sank into her belly, he grinned, thinking he’d won.

  As if a little internal body bling would kill her. The fool had left his side unguarded. She twisted, slicking the dagger across his throat.

  His eyes widened, the color draining from his cheeks. He released the other blade to clutch at the injury, opening and closing his mouth to no avail. As an immortal, he would heal far too quickly, so, she didn’t stop there. Punch, punch—she blackened his eyes. Hopefully, they’d swell closed. Punch—she broke his nose. Punch—she knocked the air from his lungs yet again.

  Again, he gasped for breath he couldn’t catch. She spun behind him to knee the backs of his legs, sending him crashing face-first to the floor.

  Kill him!

  “No!” She straddled his waist and raised the dagger, thinking to slam the hilt into his temple the same way Bjorn had once slammed his sword hilt into hers, knocking her out.

  Then, she swung—

  Chapter Seventeen

  Ten Minutes Earlier

  “The decision has been made.” The pronouncement came from Zacharel.

  “Tell me the verdict.” Bjorn paced inside the man’s brand-new cabin, his sandaled feet practically stomping holes in the floor. Zacharel and his wife, Annabelle, sat nearby. Annabelle reclined on her husband’s lap, eating from a bowl of popcorn. Not too long ago, the dark-haired beauty had been locked inside a facility for the criminally insane, all because a demon high lord had murdered her parents and she’d taken the fall.

  Before his marriage, Zacharel had an iron fist. Break a rule, and he would break your face. After his marriage, the male had an iron fist still, only it was encased in a silk glove. Break a rule, and he’d break your face, but now, he felt bad about it afterward.

  Zacharel huffed a sigh. “I’m sorry, Bjorn, but Fox’s execution will proceed as ordered. Before the sun sets, you will remove her head.”

  Heart beating his ribs bloody, Bjorn ground to an abrupt halt.

  His boss wasn’t done. “You will remove her head and place it upon a pike outside of this camp. Forevermore, she will serve as a warning. Strike at the Sent Ones, and suffer.”

  Denial screamed inside his head. Behead the woman he desired? The one he craved? The one he thought he might…need? “Why?” he demanded, though he already knew the answer. His loyalties were being tested.

  “I am not privy to that information.” The male wrapped his arms around Annabelle, as if he feared she would be taken away and said, “I know you have come to care for the woman, and I truly regret the pain you will soon endure.”

  “If it’s any consolation—” Annabelle began.

  “Let me stop you there. It’s not,” Bjorn snarled, keeping his focus on Zacharel. “Fox is not a threat to us. She regrets her actions and strives to aid us.”

  “Nevertheless.”

  One word. A death sentence. Cursing, Bjorn stalked from the cabin. White-hot breath scorched his nostrils and lungs.

  “Bjorn,” Zacharel called from the doorway. “Do not turn your back on the people who love you, guard your back, and always have your best interests at heart for a woman who uses you for protection and will betray you for money.”

  How many times have I been blinded by prejudice, as Zacharel is right now?

  All around, Warriors continued their work on the cabins. Hammering sounds provided a riotous soundtrack in tune with the pounding of his heartbeat. Anyone foolish enough to get in Bjorn’s way got mowed down.

  Some part of Fox must have sensed this outcome. She tried to warn Bjorn, tried to get him to see past his hope for the best. Now…

  Behead Fox? Never! When he failed this test, and he would, another Sent One would receive the assignment, and Bjorn would face a Tribunal—the judging of his actions and subsequent punishment. Perhaps he’d receive a suspension. When he actively protected Fox from the new assassin, however—and he would—his next punishment would be banishment.

  Do I love her? Once he’d thought they would never work long-term, but here, in this moment, he could not imagine a life without her. He luxuriated in every aspect of her personality, dreamed and fantasized about her body, and loved spending time with her. The woman had become his safe haven. When they weren’t together, he missed her more than a limb. The thought of never holding her again…never breathing in her sweet scent or hearing her quips…

  Very well, then. He would do it; he would fall. Anything to keep Fox safe! He cobbled together a plan. Speak with Fox, gain her cooperation. Speak with Thane and Xerxes. He would explain his reasons and beg his friends not to follow him. Though he’d always expected the two to fall with him, he thought he knew how to stop them—remind them that he needed soldiers on the inside, to mislead others about Fox’s location and listen for any strategies against him. Finally, he and Fox would flee.

  And live happily ever after?

  Bjorn entered the cabin he shared with Fox—only to see her pinning down a Sent One, a dagger raised to deliver a deathblow. Shocked horror propelled him closer. He clasped her wrist, stopping her.

  “Release the weapon,” he commanded, squeezing her wrist tight. Too tight. Later, she would bruise, but he couldn’t let it matter. He’d decided to fall for this woman. He’d intended to give up everything he loved to save her life…just so she could murder more Sent Ones.

  He didn’t…he couldn’t… Red dotted his vision, and fire scorched his lungs. Boiling blood rushed to his muscles, causing them to bulge. Betrayed my trust in the worst possible way.

  “Do it!” he shouted. “Release the weapon before I take it from you.”

  Fox yelped. Looking shell-shocked, she opened her hand. The dagger whooshed to the floor, landing with a heavy thud. Voice soft but ragged, she stuttered, “I—I wasn’t going to kill him, just knock him out. He attacked me.”

  Though he tasted no lie, he did not believe her. You didn’t need to state the truth to negate the taste of a lie; you need only state a truth. About anything. In her mind, the “him” and “he” could reference anyone, rather than the male she had pinned.

  “No Sent One would dare accost and harm someone in my care,” he grated. Distrust must have led her to attack, just as before. Meaning, she could not be trusted. Not now, not ever. Pang.

  “He did,” she insisted. “Aren’t my injuries proof?”

  “They are proof he fought back when you attacked!”

  “I swear to you, he followed me—”

  “Enough!” Bjorn pushed her away from the Sent One with more force than intended, and she stumbled to her ass. He hardened his heart and checked the male for a pulse. There! A cool tide of relief rolled over him. The pulse was a little fast, but steady. “He lives.”

  “I know! I made sure of it.”

  Another misdirection to prevent him from tasting the lie! “What is your endgame here?” he snapped as he straightened. “Did you think to hide the body? To destroy my army from the inside?”

  For a long while, she simply stared up at him, mouth agape. He continued to wrestle with the truth. How he’d trusted and defended this woman. How he’d decided to risk everything just to be with her. To say goodbye to the life he knew, to forge a new future. The pain…

  You are a fool!

  Finally, she stood and wound her arms around her middle. She lowered her he
ad and drew in her shoulders. All emotion wiped from her features, one after the other. Shock—gone. Worry—gone. Heartache, fear and fury—gone, gone, gone.

  Another, sharper pang tore through him. How fragile she suddenly appeared. How breakable. Vulnerable. As if she’d prayed for a knight in shining armor to ride in and save her from undeserved malevolence, but he’d attacked her instead. Another deception!

  Rage spread through him like a virus, anguish close on its heels. He directed the rage at Fox just as much as himself. For the first time since his imprisonment and torture, he’d lowered his guard with someone other than Thane and Xerxes. And this is my reward.

  Should have known better.

  His insides shredded, his future a misery-soaked quagmire, he stumbled back, away from Fox. Again and again, his heart punched his ribs, each beat more painful than the last.

  Arms outstretched, she stepped in his direction. With a grunt, he batted her hands away.

  Abject hurt contorted her features, tears welling in her eyes. Fox, crying… He noticed a gradual softening deep inside and fought harder to turn his heart against her, lest she set him up for another betrayal.

  Another. Betrayal. The words echoed in his head. Roaring, he twisted and punched the wall, once, twice. A plank cracked, splinters of wood flying in every direction. His knuckles split, blood trickling. A sting of pain never registered, his adrenaline too jacked. “I risked everything for you,” he snarled. “Everything!”

  She opened and closed her mouth. The only sound to be heard? The force of their panting breaths.

  “Won’t defend yourself?” he sneered. “Won’t try to convince me—again—that I misunderstood what I saw with my own eyes? Or are you too afraid I’ll taste your lies?”

  “Don’t do this,” she whispered. “Please, don’t do this. Give me the benefit of the doubt.”

  “Begging now?” he all but purred. “How delicious.” A foul taste coated his tongue. I castigate her for lies, then tell my own? He balled his hands into fists.

  She flinched, then lapsed into silence. He almost punched a new hole in the wall. He wanted—needed—her to yell at him. Or insult him. Something! Anything to push him over the edge and make him hate her.

  Why don’t I hate her?

  He needed to kill her. Needed to want to kill her. As long as she lived, he might be stupid enough to give her a third…fourth…twentieth chance. But even still, he didn’t want this. The thought of her headless body pouring its lifeblood into the soot-covered ground nearly destroyed him. When it came to Fox, he’d never been rational. “Not going to say anything else? Very well. I’ll speak for us both. You and I? We’re done.”

  Another flinch. Hurt glittered in her eyes, but only for a moment. Like all other emotions, it too got wiped away. Color drained from her cheeks. “I’m such a fool. I thought I’d made progress with you, but you never trusted me, did you? Not once. Not even a little. You were never going to trust me. Not fully.”

  One emotion she hadn’t wiped away—bitterness. It honed her words into weapons.

  Bjorn swallowed a curse. He wanted his warm, teasing Fox back. The woman who was his undoing. No, no. Do not soften! He opened his mouth to snarl, “You’re right,” but the words died on his tongue. Because they were a lie with no truthful inference? Maybe, maybe not. Because, despite her awfulness, he still didn’t want her dead.

  But he couldn’t stand to look at her a second longer. The demon she’d invited inside her heart and mind would never allow them to find peace together, and now the sight of her ripped up his soul, reminding him of what could have been. “I’m going to do what I should have done the day we met. I’m going to kill—” Again, the words died on his tongue. “I will kill—” Damn her! “I will punish you, and the Sent Ones will cheer.”

  He would. He would swing his sword and remove her head. Would burn her body, watching as it ashed. Would never again see her, speak to her, touch or kiss her. Would never again sink inside her, hold her throughout the night, or awaken to find her sheltered in the circle of his embrace.

  Bjorn yanked at hanks of his hair, punched the wall, re-breaking his knuckles, and slammed a booted foot into the window, shattering glass. Whether he did his duty or not, misery awaited him. Only misery. She betrayed me. This is deserved.

  Can I truly kill the woman who introduced me to contentment?

  “Y-you’re going to kill me,” she stated.

  Do. Not. Soften. “I will.” Will I?

  Hate myself already. Will hate myself for the rest of time. Sometimes, though, sacrifices must be made.

  His eyes stung and watered. Not because of tears. No! He refused to cry. Betrayed. Deserved.

  No reaction from Fox. She peered up at him, growing colder by the second. No doubt she’d stripped herself of emotion so she wouldn’t have to deal with her own wretchedness, her personal defense mechanism. He only wished he had the ability to do the same. Or breathe. He desperately needed to breathe. Why couldn’t he inhale? Exhale? Breathe, damn it! Chest on fire.

  “One day, one day soon, you will look back on this moment with regret,” she told him, seemingly calm and steady. “You’ll perform an autopsy on our relationship, and find out you are the one who poisoned us. You’ll replay this day over and over again and come to realize I held the dagger in a way that allowed me to knock him out with the hilt, not kill him with the blade. You’ll ask around and discover I walked away from this man, whoever he is, and he followed me into the cabin without my permission. He believed you’d fallen under my spell, and hoped my death would set you free. You’ll apologize to me, because yes, I’ll still be alive, but it’ll be too late. As of this moment, I’ve already moved on.”

  Her words hit him like bombs, and he huffed his breaths. Having learned a trick or two from Distrust, she seeks to manipulate me. But he would not be swayed—I won’t!—his rage only spreading. She thought the more facts she shared with him, the more readily he would believe her lies. Wrong! The only thing he knew beyond a doubt? Believe her now, suffer later.

  “This. Is. Deserved.” Eyes narrowed to slits, Bjorn swiped out his arm. He shackled her wrist with his fingers, then dragged her out of the cabin. A cool temp gave way to molten heat. In seconds, sweat glossed his skin.

  The constant bang, bang, bang as workers built their cabins assaulted his ears. Fresh lumber scented the air, chasing away the awful scent of brimstone and sulfur.

  He maneuvered through a cluster of cabins, piles of supplies, and groups of Sent Ones, surprised Fox kept up, not trying to drag her feet or wrench free. No, she kept her gaze straight ahead, those icy hazels free of tears. She even smirked.

  Growls rumbled deep inside him, his rage reaching a new plateau. How dare she smirk. And damn it, why wasn’t she fighting this? From the moment they’d met, she’d been in survivor-mode. Here, now, she acted as though he’d broken her heart.

  Key word: acted.

  Deserved! He stomped his feet with more force and tightened his grip on Fox. Anyone who caught sight of her recognized her instantly. She received glares, jeers, and curses. No way she could miss her reception; they were loud and proud. New pangs cut through Bjorn’s chest. Still, he struggled to breathe.

  Someone tossed a small stone at Fox, leaving a gash in her shoulder. Crimson wet her already stained shirt as select Sent Ones laughed. Others cheered.

  Bjorn came to an abrupt stop, released Fox to pick up the stone, then hurled it at the person responsible, nailing him between the eyes. The male toppled, already unconscious.

  The laughter died down. “Anyone else?” Bjorn bellowed. “You do not harm my prisoner. Understand?”

  A commotion across the sea of Sent Ones. Whispers reached his ears, and he detected “the Ever Randy,” “furious,” and “someone’s going to die.”

  A pathway cleared, and yes, William the Ever Randy marched into view. He was tall and muscled with black hair and blue eyes, and almost too beautiful to gaze upon. Runes etched both of his arms—s
lightly raised, swirling designs tattooed into his flesh to absorb magic.

  During the past year, Bjorn had dealt with William a handful of times. He’d found the male annoyingly irreverent, conceited, and untrusting of anyone outside of his alliance. No one was more self-serving, and here, now, William looked like a man on a mission. Anyone foolish enough to step into his path got tossed to the side.

  Had he come to take Fox?

  Never! The growls started up again, rumbling deep in Bjorn’s chest. He will have to pry her from my cold, dead fingers. There’s no other way I’ll allow her to return to her old life, to enjoy a happily ever after, laughing about my gullibility.

  William stopped mere inches away from Bjorn and Fox. Bjorn frowned. The male projected a different energy than usual. It was darker. Much darker. And pure evil. Those electric blues gleamed with hatred and fury, emotions he’d never before directed at Bjorn. Why now?

  “If you wish to remain in my territory, you will give me the girl,” William snarled. “I’ve already spoken with Lysander and Zacharel, and they agreed I may oversee her care for the remainder of her days. Give her to me. Now.”

  No. No! William was a playboy who slept with anyone willing. If he seduced Fox…

  She would live that happy life. “No,” he snapped. Bjorn did not want Fox happy. Ignore the foul taste in your mouth. Means nothing. “I respect you, William. I—” He went quiet as a sharp pain registered in his gut. Confused, he glanced down.

  Blood. So much blood. It soaked his white robe.

  Plop. His intestines splattered over the ground.

  William grinned. The bastard held a dagger—a dagger he’d slicked across Bjorn’s abdomen. Speaking for Bjorn’s ears alone, he said, “I wasn’t asking for permission, Sent One. I’m taking her, no matter how many must die in the process.”

  The audience didn’t react in any way, shape or form. Did they not understand what had just happened? Had they somehow missed the stabbing?

  Fox didn’t seem to notice, either, not until she placed a hand on Bjorn’s shoulder to gain his attention. At the second of contact, a switch must have flipped in her mind. She noticed the injury, and she screamed and threw herself at William.