He didn’t make it more than a few paces before she rested her head against his shoulder and closed her eyes. Right before sleep took her, she felt him gently brush his lips over her temple.
Chapter Seventeen
Morgan woke to whispering, and she mourned the missed opportunity of not being able to wake up in their arms. She remembered the guys taking turns holding her in the middle of the night, remembered their hard bodies and chaste kisses, and missed them now that they were gone.
The future she wanted was so close, her throat ached at the possibility she might lose it all.
For them, she would be better and faster, risk anything to make it happen.
She refused to give them up.
Not ready to deal with the day, she grabbed the blanket and pulled it over her head to shut them out. But as soon as she moved the room fell silent, and she felt like the center of attention. Very reluctantly, she pulled the blanket down just past her eyes and found the guys all staring at her with varying degrees of amusement.
Weak afternoon sunlight spilled into the room, spurring her into action. “Shit. What time is it? Why did you let me sleep so late?”
She bolted to her feet, battling to find her way out of the giant blanket that seemed to have somehow wrapped her up like a spider weaving a web around its prey. Ryder took pity on her and casually lifted her clear of the suddenly carnivorous blanket before gently setting her on her feet.
“You needed rest.” Atlas shrugged, as if it answered everything, dismissing her anger.
She stormed toward him. “You ass—”
“Enough.” Kincade blocked her way, his arms going around her waist when she made to move around him. He quickly spun them until they were facing the opposite direction and gave her a little shove toward her room. “We head out in thirty minutes. You should get ready.”
Morgan narrowed her eyes on him, plotting retribution, only for her anger to deflate when she saw the small grin playing around his mouth.
He was happy…at her expense, but he was happy.
A glance over her shoulder revealed the others were the same.
They were a family.
Her family now.
“Isolating ourselves from the danger didn’t work, so we’re going to head into the city tonight.” Kincade paused at the door, watching her haul out her weapons from beneath the bed and begin strapping them on her person.
“We won’t see the danger coming. Are you prepared for the collateral damage?” she warned, and saw something harden in his eyes as she strapped a knife to her thigh. She was sad to see his relaxed mood vanish, but she had to ask.
They needed to be prepared.
“We’re going to stick to known paranormal hangouts. They’ll either be able to take care of themselves or run when the danger hits.” He pushed away from the door, stopping in front of her, then gently lifted her chin. “We won’t let anything happen to you. Tell me you believe me.”
His expression was so earnest, her heart ached. “I believe you.”
His shoulders eased and he turned away, becoming all business. “Go with the others and grab something to eat.”
Though she had just strapped on her own weight in weapons, Morgan grabbed two more knives, then quickly followed the others out of the room. She believed the guys would do everything in their power to keep her safe…and that’s what worried her.
Who was going to keep them safe?
To her surprise, they went to the same club they visited only a few days earlier. Despite having cleared out the club and the recent murders, the place was packed. The ride over was silent, everyone was tense since the sun had set over an hour ago.
And no attack arrived.
Which left everyone’s nerves on edge.
Morgan finally decided it wasn’t the enemy that would kill her—it would be the wait. She piled out of the van, then paced toward the rear of the vehicle, leaning her shoulder against the paneling, watching the shadows while she waited for the rest of the guys to emerge.
“Are you ready?”
Morgan jolted and whirled at Draven’s softly spoken question, pretending not to see the concern in his stormy blue eyes, and groused, “Do that again, and I’ll smack you.”
“Promise?” He wiggled his brows suggestively, but the sparkle in his eye was more than just humor.
Morgan rolled her eyes, but the image of him being at her mercy stuck in her mind, and heat ignited in her gut. She grabbed his chin and shook his head, dropping her voice to a seductive whisper, unable to help messing with him. “Are you sure you can handle me?”
He swallowed hard, every ounce of humor gone, his face so serious she pulled back a little. “Gods, no, but I would spend my life learning.”
Her heart gave a slow tumble. “Draven—”
“Time to go.” Ascher ended the conversation by deftly capturing her hand and dragging her away. Only when they were a few feet away did he look at her. “No winding up the siren when heading into a club. He’s throwing off enough pheromones to light up the joint already.”
Morgan choked on her next breath, cursing when she felt her face burn.
Then she shook her head, a small smile playing on her face when she glanced up at him. “Thank you.”
Ascher raised his brows. “For what?”
“Distracting me.”
Though he didn’t glance at her, the smirk tugging at his lips told her she’d been correct. The feeling that any moment her world was going to collapse gradually faded.
They skipped the line, and she was surprised when no one called them out. To her horror, people actually, honest-to-goodness curtsied and bowed as they passed.
“What the fuck!”
When her feet stopped, Ascher tightened his grip to keep her moving. “I guess we don’t have to wonder whether your secret spread beyond the Academy.”
The knowledge made her sick to her stomach, and she sighed heavily. “It was bound to happen.” She leaned a little more of her weight on him as the stares bored into her. “I had just hoped to have a little more time.”
He gave her a comforting squeeze
The big bouncer at the door gave her a regal nod, holding the door open for her and her team. The inside of the club hadn’t changed.
If possible, there seemed to be even more people. Unlike last time, a quick glance showed that the majority of them were supernatural. Everyone fell silent as she walked through the crowd. Even before she got to the bar, a space opened up and the bartender placed a drink on the bar—the same one she ordered last time—and she froze a foot away, as if it was a snake preparing to lunge.
The guy behind the bar hesitated, his face falling, and Kincade nudged her hard, muttering under his breath. “Buck up. They’re showing you fealty.”
Atlas strode toward the bar and grabbed the drink, carefully taking a sip like he was her royal poison tester. When he passed the glass toward her, she took it automatically, then downed it and slammed the glass on the bar.
The people at the bar raised their drinks and cheered. Seconds later the music resumed, and the people went back to their business.
“Quite the entrance.”
Morgan almost jumped out of her skin at the soft voice, and turned to find the banshee she’d met just a few nights ago, now standing next to her at the bar with a drink in her hand. Her blond hair was tied up in an intricate twist of knots, emphasizing the swirling green and blue colors in her eyes. If anything, the girl was even more stunning than last time, and the familiar sweet whiff of oleander whirled between them before it vanished.
“Not by choice.” Morgan grumbled, resting her elbows on the edge of the bar, watching the crowd in the mirror behind the bottles.
For some reason, the woman laughed and lifted her glass in salute. “Who have you come to kill this time?”
Morgan tensed, then blew out a heavy breath.
She was one of the elite hunters. Of course everyone would assume they were hunting when they appeared
in force.
“This time we’re the ones being hunted. A Wild Hunt.”
The smile slid off Breanna’s face, and she blanched. “Explain.”
“I have to survive three nights if I want to claim my mate.” Morgan rolled her shoulders, then turned to gaze out into the sea of people. Ryder once again remained at her side near the bar, the poor guy scowling and using his muscular form to block anyone who tried to get close to her. The rest of the guys had paired up and were moving through the room.
They might glance at those they passed, but their main focus was on her and anyone who posed a threat.
A sharp chill in the air crept along her shoulders, the drop in temperature so drastic, she shivered and went on alert.
Breanna had gone so quiet, Morgan glanced back at her, then straightened in alarm. The banshee was struggling to hold her human form, her crystal blue eyes locked on something in the club, something only her eyes could see. It was all Morgan could do to hold her ground and not back up at the pure wrath on the banshee’s face.
She half expected to hear the banshee’s scream—a precursor of death.
“Run.” Breanna flicked her crystal eyes toward Morgan, the warning so soft it was barely a breath of air. Then her whole face hardened. “Run!”
Unable to help herself, Morgan touched Breanna’s arm, not sure what set her off. As soon as her fingers came into contact with Breanna, the banshee’s ghostly form flickered. It was like touching ice. A layer of frost skated up Morgan’s hand, the chill so bitterly cold it immediately numbed the skin, then sank deeper.
The room quieted to a hush, the music and voices receding until they were only a background murmur she couldn’t make out. The only sound was a howling wind.
A flicker in the room caught her attention, and her feet became rooted to the floor. Making his way through the crowd was her cousin…make that her dead cousin, Ethan.
As if knowing that she could see him, he gave her a vengeful sneer. “Hey, cousin. Have you missed me? As you can see, the afterlife sucks. But I get a second chance…all I have to do is kill you.”
“You already tried to murder me.” Morgan gritted her teeth, exasperated that he seemed convinced that she should’ve just died to please him. “It’s not my fault you lived a horrible life and were banished to hell.”
Indeed, he was a paler version of himself, more ghost than man. He looked dreadful, the gaping neck wound where she nearly took off his head with a garrote looked painful, even in death.
“How many times do I have to kill you before you finally stay dead?” She was beyond tired of her cousin trying to murder her…now even after he was dead.
Other pale shapes flickered into the room. They weren’t ghosts, because she couldn’t see through them. Instead they were exactly like everyone else except all the color—all life—had been leached from them.
And there were more than half a dozen of them.
Judging from the various gaping wounds on their persons—an axe in one’s head, an arrow in another’s shoulder—they were all very, very dead.
“Morgan!” Ryder shook her so hard she lost her hold on Breanna. Sounds in the room returned in a whoosh, and she quickly grabbed his wrist, then began to drag him backwards.
“This way.” Breanna darted through the crowd, and Morgan didn’t hesitate to follow. She glanced back at the room to make sure the rest of the guys were following, and she wanted to shout at them to go the other way.
When Atlas passed through one of the pale men, it became obvious that they couldn’t see the danger. The ghostly form scattered like dust, only to reform seconds later.
And gave a snarl, reaching for Atlas’s unguarded back.
Tearing away from Ryder, she lifted her arm, her blade forming without thought, and she sent it flying. Half a dozen people ducked, scrambling out of her way. Atlas watched the blade slice through the air, turning as it sailed past his face, and saw it stop dead midair.
The spirit gave a howl of agony, his form taking shape, becoming solid. Then black lines spread out from the spot where the blade hit, like a virus spreading under his skin. A black, inky substance oozed from his eyes and nose, dribbling down his neck and pouring from his ears to splotch on the floor.
Everyone in the room froze while they watched as the man’s skin began to disintegrate, the black veins under his skin spread. Tiny beads of sand began to trickle down his face and out of his clothes. Black smoke rose, the scent of fire and brimstone saturating the air as he was pulled back to hell, his spirit burned away. His form began to unravel faster and faster until, in a matter of seconds, all that remained was a pile of fine sand.
Atlas deftly caught her knife midair as it began to drop, the obsidian blade gleaming hungrily in the darkness.
“Even in death, you’re a bitch.” Ethan’s shape was almost undistinguishable from air, and she realized the numbing coldness was fading…along with her ability to see them clearly.
Dread raked its talons across her brain, spreading its poisonous fear through her veins. “Why are you here?”
“You killed me, so of course, when they asked for volunteers, a chance to return the favor, how could I refuse?” he snarled, taking a step toward her, his hungry expression raising the hairs on the back of her neck. “Just imagine the fun I’ll have…spending eternity torturing you. Day after day I can kill you, over and over, to my heart’s content.”
Madness rang in his laughter, and her skin twitched in repulsion as it tried to retreat, wanting to get away from the taint. But there was no running from a freakin’ ghost clearly determined to complete his mission…which was to see her dead.
Ryder stationed himself in front of her, his fangs bared, his eyes searching the crowd, but it was clear that while he could sense the threat, he couldn’t see anything. Claws burst from his fingers, and he gave a roar that was pure fury, both beast and man, that echoed through the room. More people began to scatter, taking cover to watch the battle.
Ethan just smirked, then walked toward her without an ounce of fear, his form fading more and more with every step until she could barely see his outline.
And walked right through Ryder’s body.
The wolf gave a vicious growl, whirling to face what had to feel like someone walking over his grave. Then her cousin was in her face.
The relief that he hadn’t harmed Ryder weakened her knees. It was the only excuse that she had for not seeing Ethan reach for her. Instead of slicing her throat like she expected, he slapped her hard, his fingernails raking her cheek.
“Son of a bitch.” Kincade shoved his way through the crowd, but Atlas was already there.
Though he couldn’t possibly see anything, he thrust her blade directly toward her. Seconds away from gutting her, the blade stopped short, and Ethan flickered to life.
Even as black veins spiderwebbed under his skin, spreading its poison, he smiled at her. “Enjoy the afterlife, cousin.”
Black goo stained his teeth, dribbling down his chin when he laughed. Black smoke rose from his body, the stench of sulfur oozing from him as he burned. Then he seemed to explode in a shower of fine dust.
When she touched her cheek, her hand came away with blood, and she cupped the injury, trying to repress the sting.
Her gut churned at the near miss, but he almost seemed pleased to be going to the afterlife, and a sense of foreboding left her stomach churning with acid. The poisonous certainty that she was screwed slowly spread through her system like a flesh-eating disease, corroding away her peace of mind.
Ryder gently grabbed her wrist, pulling her hand away from her face.
“You have one small cut on your cheek.” He brushed his fingers right below her eye as if he could erase the mark.
“Come.” He grabbed her arm, hauling her after Breanna. Then it seemed that everyone was moving at once, heading toward the exits in a massive stream of people. No one ran, no one panicked, everyone eerily silent…the only thing they all had in common was they all
were headed in the opposite direction from her.
Morgan, Ryder and Kincade burst out the back door into the shadowy alley. The few people who had escaped before them quickly hurried toward the street, not bothering to glance back.
“What the fuck was that?” Morgan locked eyes with Breanna just as the rest of the guys burst from the building.
Breanna tightened her mouth, anger making her eyes swirl.
Morgan had just taken a step toward her when her necklace warmed. The metal swirled and twisted until a tiny skeleton danced at the end of the metal strand. She touched the metal, then glanced up at Breanna. “Please…”
Breanna sighed heavily, her shoulders slumping. “Very well, but not here. We need to leave before they come back.”
“They?” Kincade’s voice was sharp, watching the shadows as if he expected someone to appear out of thin air.
“The dead.” Breanna didn’t seem the least bit intimidated when she met his glare. “Hurry, we don’t have much time before they regroup.”
Chapter Eighteen
Everyone ran toward the street, then split off, her team heading toward the van while Breanna headed the opposite direction. Morgan hesitated, then sprinted after Breanna. She needed answers, and there was no way that she was letting the only person who knew what was happening escape without getting them.
Breanna clicked the locks to a small car that had seen better days, the vehicle ten years past its expiration date. The banshee jumped into the driver’s seat, and Morgan didn’t hesitate to pack herself into the passenger side.
The inside was considerably nicer than the rusty exterior. When Breanna started the car, she didn’t wait and slammed the vehicle into gear, taking off in a squeal of tires. They tore down the street like a bat out of hell, bearing down on the people leaving the club—but she didn’t let up, instead simply watching as they scattered out of the way.
She shot a look at Morgan, then shrugged. “It’s not like running them over would kill most of them.”
Claimed by the Assassins (An Academy of Assassins Novel Book 3) Page 19
