Claimed by the Assassins (An Academy of Assassins Novel Book 3)

by Stacey Brutger

  No wonder the bitch queen wanted him back.

  The creature kept his distance, allowing her to look her fill, and she realized that Draven hadn’t wanted her to see him in this form, as if he was afraid it would scare her away, telling her that this was important to him. “You’re beautiful, whatever your form.”

  When he smiled and began to swim toward her, she saw a heavy chain around his ankle. A sickening horror sent the contents of her stomach churning. She reached for the metal, only to find that it wasn’t real metal that she could manipulate, but pure magic.

  The instant her hand came into contact with the chain, the water around them began to churn and bubble in agitation. Current grabbed a hold of her like she was being sucked into a whirlpool, and it felt like she was being twisted inside out.

  When she opened her eyes, the creaky, wooden floorboards indicated that they were back at the farmhouse. She leaned forward, her hands on her knees, as she tried to catch her breath.

  “Morgan!” Draven grabbed her arms and gently helped her upright. “Are you okay?”

  Worry lined his face, and Morgan allowed herself to lean into him. “I’m fine, but you’re not.”

  His brows furrowed. “What do you mean?”

  “You’re chained. If I had to guess, your bitch queen bound you to her like some damn possession, so no one else could claim you.” Anger burned away any remaining queasiness, and she shoved away from him. She clenched and unclenched her hands, her fingers still tingling from the residual magic. “The chain has been there for years, maybe even more than a decade. I think the spell fades after a while, but every time you get into a large body of water, the spell is renewed and she can find you again.”

  Boots thudded on the deck just before Kincade thrust open the door. “We’ve run out of time. There are at least twenty creatures and more rising out of the pond out back. If we want to get out of here, we need to leave now.”

  “If we don’t get this spell removed, they’ll only follow us.” Morgan shifted uneasily. “I—”

  “Do it.” Kincade gave a nod to Draven. “Keep her safe.”

  Then he vanished back outside.

  Her insides tightened with the knowledge that they were going to be fighting without her there to watch their backs. “We need to hurry.”

  And there was only one way for her magic to work without blowing them to bits—the runes Shade and Ward were trying to teach her.

  And for that, she needed blood.

  As if summoned by her thoughts, a single black blade formed in her hand. Before Draven could stop her, she quickly sliced the blade across her palm, and blood instantly welled from the cut.

  “What the hell?!” Draven grabbed the wrist of her injured hand.

  Instead of listening to him, she released the weapon, allowed it to reform back into a cuff, and rubbed her fingertip in the blood until it was coated. She could feel the magic rise at her touch. “Hold still.”

  She focused on the bespelled chain clamped around his ankle and her determination to set him free. The magic stirred slowly, and a complicated sigil took shape in her mind. She quickly began to sketch the symbol, her blood seeming to burn the air, leaving behind a smoky sigil. She dipped her finger back in her blood until the symbol was complete. As the sounds of fighting echoed around her, the ghostly lines wavered, and she almost lost her focus.

  Gritting her teeth, she closed her senses down, concentrating on what she could control…saving Draven.

  A ghostly symbol danced in the air between them. She shook off Draven’s hold and pressed her bloodied hand into the symbol. Magic surged forward at her call, then poured into the sigil. A bright flash of light, like the rune caught fire, seared her eyes. The cut on her hand lanced shut in a breath-stealing second, as if she’d grabbed a hot poker.

  Then the power slammed into Draven.

  His back arched under the influx of magic, his arms were thrown wide, his hands clenched tight. Though he gritted his teeth, his strangled scream of pain still escaped.

  Morgan watched the magic slither over his body like a large snake, slowly constricting, removing all traces of magic from him, before moving down to curl around his leg.

  The snake circled the cuff around his ankle, encasing it until it began to burn a bright white as it consumed the magic. Even as she watched, tiny flakes of ash began to float in the air as the chain slowly disintegrated, leaving behind little wisps of black smoke.

  Then her magic sloughed off of him, his blue hue sharpening, as if repelling the magic, and she released her hold to fall back against the flowered wallpaper as the power left her abruptly. The sudden lack of energy left her light-headed, her bones a little hollow and tender, but at least it didn’t nearly knock her on her ass like the last time she tried to cast a spell.

  Draven wasn’t so lucky. He hit the ground hard, landing on his hands and knees, panting like he’d just surfaced from a deep dive. She watched him for any type of backlash, any proof that her magic misfired.

  When he glanced up at her, his eyes were glowing a bright blue, and the tightness encasing her ribs eased—she hadn’t stripped him of his own personal magic. “You okay?”

  “I should be asking you that.” He gave a tired chuckle, and eased back on his haunches, staring down at his hands. “It worked.”

  He sounded awed, hope shining in his eyes for the first time since his sea queen made an appearance.

  “Your sea queen wasn’t your mate, and she knew it, too, so she secured you with a chain around your ankle, enslaving you to prevent you from ever being claimed.” Sorrow made her heart heavy as she remembered the way he’d automatically repelled her magic. “You might never receive the mating marks due to her spell. I was able to remove the chain, but I don’t know what lasting damage it might have caused. You’ve been fighting off her claim for so long, you might have built up a natural immunity or resistance to magic.”

  Instead of being disappointed, he grinned.

  Morgan spoke softly, not sure if he was having a nervous breakdown. “That means I might never be able to prove my claim on you.”

  He gave a soft chuckle as he pushed himself to his feet. “You laid claim to me a long time ago. Nothing left to prove.”

  Before she had time to react, a shape crashed through the partially barred window. Wood shattered, pelting the room, and a creature unlike anything she’d ever seen landed between them.

  The thing looked like a sailor who had lost his battle with the sea. His skin was a pale, sickly grey…except where black and green mold crept across his flesh. What looked like barnacles were crusted all over his face and shoulders, and his clothes were mostly just tatters, completely waterlogged, and squelched when he moved. His hair was limp, a slimy green that resembled stringy seaweed, and looked like it would slough off if touched.

  His eyes were a milky white, his pupils a fixed, flat circle, enabling the creature to see in the darkness under the sea. Water seemed to seep out of his skin, leaving him looking greasy. He didn’t have a nose, more like two holes that had a sort of mucus covering them that moved with each breath. When his mouth opened and closed like he was gasping for air, she saw that his teeth were in no way human. He had an underbite where large, needle-like fangs curled up and out of his mouth. There was no tongue, just a dark hole where he could swallow his prey whole.

  While she stood frozen, immobile, Draven thrust his arm down, slamming his hand against the thing’s chest, and she watched the monstrous thing explode like a balloon, water gushing over the floor as it disintegrated.

  She scrambled back, away from the wave of gushing water. The sharp scent of spoiled fish nearly sent her heaving, and she quickly covered her nose with her sleeve. “What the fuck was that?”

  “A Fomorian, one of the bloodthirsty warriors from the underworld forced to live beneath the sea.” Draven straightened and headed toward the door, his face grim. “They’re descendants of the earliest races. They have no remorse, no sense of honor, and they d
on’t care about right or wrong. They’ve waged war across the world, enslaving every race they defeated, their sole purpose to conquer and claim possession of the whole world. The Tuatha Dé Danann beat them in war, and it took the powers of the gods to banish them.”

  “And the sea queen freed them.” Morgan couldn’t believe the lengths the queen bitch would go to in order to win. “How do we defeat them?”

  She had a feeling that she wasn’t going to like the answer.

  “We don’t.” Draven flexed his shoulders, as if the weight of the world rested on him alone. “If they get near water, they can heal almost any wound and re-form. Others can take parts of the dead and regrow even faster.”

  “But you just…” She waved her hand at the floor, then drew her hands apart to indicate the explosion.

  “I just removed the water from the creature.” He pointed to the floorboards. “Look.”

  As she watched, puddles began to gather in the middle of the floor. A small sphere began to grow, tiny particles inside churning until it looked like a tiny, grotesque shape was being grown in the globe like a small fetus. “The only way to kill them is to make sure they can’t form again.”

  Morgan thought about it for a second.

  Fire.

  “They must have made a bargain with the queen…kill us for their freedom.” Draven crushed the small sphere with his foot, watching impassively as the ball squished in resistance before it popped. Then he headed toward the door. “I can buy us some time, but they’ll never stop, never give up. Stay here and don’t let them touch you.”

  Then he was gone.

  Morgan stared at the door in disbelief for a whole second, stunned that he told her to stay behind like a helpless girl. She had just taken a step to follow him when something clamped down brutally around her ankle, yanking her foot out from under her, and she landed hard on her hands and knees.

  When she glanced back to see what had tangled up her foot, she saw a hand sticking out of the plaster. Even as she watched, a face began to push out of the wall, stretching the surface like putty, Similar to the other creature, there was something wrong with the body taking shape. The head was more pointed, sloping upwards to reveal a large fin. His eyes were more on the opposite sides of his head, and so large they bulged out of his face.

  The hand holding her ankle began to drag her toward the creature. His large maw opened until it looked like his entire head practically split in half and could swallow her whole…not that row after row of razor-sharp shark teeth would let her pass without chewing her into itty bitty pieces.

  She lifted her leg, twisting her hip, and kicked her boot into the creature’s eye as hard as she could. It reared back with a roar, releasing her before disappearing back into the wall.

  Morgan launched to her feet and bolted for the door, her boots splashing water…until the floor vanished, and she started falling. Her vision went black, and then she was engulfed by water as she plunged below the surface.

  Chapter Fourteen

  Morgan hit bottom, bashing her hip hard enough to send pain shooting down her leg. She got her feet under her, then pushed toward the surface, gasping when she hit air. Bitterly cold water slid over her, plastering her hair to her face. She spit out the brine in her mouth, grimacing at the gritty particles that clung to her teeth, the salty taste like nothing she could place. She would guess seawater, but it was too strong.

  The water came up low on her hips. She whirled, taking in her surroundings, and immediately recognized the basement.

  Every breath of air felt heavy and tasted like she was inhaling black mold. The sounds of gushing water echoed against the stone walls until she couldn’t hear anything else. The water was gritty, stray cans and other garbage bobbing along the surface, the whole room smelling like stale brine. She took a step, then nearly tripped and slid underwater again, and she realized that the floor was littered with household trash and other shit, basically booby-trapping the entire basement.

  The staircase had long since rotted away, the wooden pillars holding up the floor corroded, whittled away by the water. The stone walls bubbled with water until it looked like a waterfall, and it was filling the basement up faster than the ground could reabsorb it. There appeared to be a set of cellar doors at the far end of the room, but water was pouring in so fast, she knew it wasn’t natural.

  Conscious that she was likely not alone in the water, Morgan dove and swam for the stairway. When she went to launch herself into the air and escape the basement, the water began to churn around her, hard enough to pull her off her feet.

  She tumbled through the water until she wasn’t sure which way was up. Something large brushed against her, the jagged edges flaying open her side…then her shin, then her shoulder, until she slammed into one of the supporting posts so hard it cracked. She grabbed the wood, feeling it disintegrate under her touch, and frantically pulled herself to the surface.

  As she stood panting, she surveyed the now calm surface of the water and realized that whatever was down there was playing with her. She was in his element. The only way she was going to beat him was if she outsmarted him.

  She wanted to use her powers and skip out, but she knew the creature would only follow. The last thing she wanted was to distract any of the guys while they were fighting. They would put their lives in danger if they thought she was in trouble.

  No, she had to figure a way out of this mess herself.

  She shivered at the cold bite of water, then frowned. She was a paranormal. Freezing water temperatures shouldn’t affect her—hell, she shouldn’t even feel it, which meant it was spelled. For the first time since the destruction of the dragon, the phoenix at her back fluttered weakly, but its heat barely penetrated the icy cold, barely preventing her from bobbing around like a freakin’ human icicle.

  No way would the phoenix be able to burn out anything that was stalking her in the water.

  She would have to find another way out.

  She studied the debris in the water, conscious of the basement filling up faster and faster. The depth now reached the bottom of her ribs, rising almost eight inches in the ten minutes since she’d been in the basement.

  At the rate the basement was filling, she was going to be dead in thirty minutes…if the creature didn’t kill her first. She needed to get out of the water. She hauled herself up on a stack of ancient crates until the water reached her shins, then searched the area for something she could use as a weapon.

  That’s when her eyes locked on an old furnace and the fuel tank sitting behind it.

  Fire.

  Morgan eyed the calm water, knowing that the creature was waiting patiently for her beneath the surface. If she wanted to kill the swamp thing, she would need to time things perfectly.

  And for that, she’d need bait.

  Gritting her teeth, Morgan reluctantly slid back into the water, the icy chill penetrating down to bone. She managed only two steps before she began tripping over unseen shit again. Though she didn’t want to chance ducking under the surface, if she wanted to get across the room without breaking her neck in the process, she was going to have to swim.

  Taking a deep breath, Morgan dove. Unfortunately, even with her enhanced vision the underwater world went dark. She was halfway across the room when the current began to churn. Instead of cutting cleanly through water, it took all her effort to remain in one spot and not be sucked backwards.

  Diving toward the floor, Morgan sank her fingers into the muck and physically pulled herself through the water, one painful inch at a time. Debris and silt pelted her, and a nasty paint can slammed into her temple so hard she nearly lost her hold, sending her sliding back three feet before she could once again sink her fingers past her wrists into the muddy bottom to anchor herself.

  By the time she reached the furnace and broke surface, she was panting hard, the overwhelming stench of fish nearly sending her back underwater. A light film of slime covered her arms, and she struggled against the urge to th
row up when she realized she was coated in the shit.

  She touched the oil tank, rapping her knuckles against it, and bit back a grin when she realized it still held fuel. Calling to her blade, she sank the metal deep, then sliced hard and fast.

  Seconds later, she felt the water band around her like a giant fist, compressing her chest, and she was flung across the room. She crashed into the stack of crates, then slid under the water. Her lungs screamed for air, and she struggled against the automatic urge to inhale. Shattered pieces of the wooden crates were scattered around her, trying to bury her alive. It was only when she brushed against the mucky floor that she was able to tell which way was up.

  Batting away the wooden splinters, she ignored the way they pierced her flesh and buried deep.

  By the time she surfaced, she felt lightheaded.

  The dark room seemed dimmer.

  She hacked up the filthy water, wheezing to take a clean breath, her balance precarious as she tried to find purchase on the broken crates. A deep, malicious chuckle echoed around the room, and she watched as a shark-like man rose out of the water like some evil, deformed Aphrodite. His skin was gray and rough like a shark’s, while his bottom half was man, the top portion, from chest up was a combination of shark and human.

  Though he had arms, his fingers were webbed, and his elbows had fins of a sort. Gills lined the sides of his neck…if he had a neck. It was more like his shoulders merged into his shark features. He ran his hand through the water, a grimace contorting his face. “You pollute the water with poison.”

  Like she’d committed the ultimate crime.

  But she’d achieved her goal…he’d taken shape.