He did his best to dodge the clouds, for Sent Ones lived inside them. Problem was, his eyelids seemed to gain a hundred pounds with every minute that passed. If he failed to reach his destination soon, he would pass out and fall from the sky. A crash-landing would end him, as well as Fox.
He tightened his hold on her. To distract himself from the pain and weakness, he hosted a one-way conversation with his baggage. “The order to slay you came directly from a leader of the Elite 7, Zacharel. He received his orders from the second-in-command of all Sent Ones, Clerici, who oversees the three types of Sent Ones. Messengers, who deliver heavenly missives between realms. Warriors, who hunt and kill demon minions. And the Elite 7, who fight the most powerful demons, the High Lords.”
Finally, the Downfall entered his line of sight. Praise the Most High!
He flapped his wings with more force. The nightclub for immortals was a literal fortress perched atop a mossy cliff, both enveloped by a cloud Bjorn owned with his closest friends, Thane and Xerxes. Males he loved like brothers. No, more than brothers. They hadn’t been born into the same family, but they’d chosen to stay together. That mattered.
Centuries ago, before they’d met, an Elite soldier had recruited them to help track and kill the demon High Lord of Perversion. Only, Bjorn was captured and imprisoned instead, along with Thane and Xerxes. After months of torture he couldn’t relive without screaming, sobbing, or wanting to hurt himself and anyone around him, he’d changed. They had, too. Charismatic Thane grew morose. Energetic Xerxes turned sullen. Carefree Bjorn became broody. The only beauty to grow from the ashes of his torment? An unbreakable bond.
In the years since their escape, they’d discovered they worked better as a unit. He trusted the pair with his life. They guarded his back, no matter the situation, just as he defended theirs. To keep them safe, he would cross any line. He would even fall, losing his wings, his immortality, and his home.
The second his feet touched the roof, a wave of dizziness suffused his mind. His legs buckled, his knees too weak to bear his weight. He landed on his ass, somehow managing to maintain his hold on Fox, who bounced on his shoulder.
Careful. Fox the Executioner was as cunning as her named suggested. If she awoke and pretended to be asleep, he needed to know it. Bjorn readjusted her as gently—read: clumsily—as possible so that he cradled her against his chest. Her cheek rested on his shoulder, her warm breath fanning his neck. Now, at least, he would detect a flutter of her lashes, or a hitch in her breathing.
Unable to rally the strength to audibly shout for his friends, he was reduced to transmitting a telepathic SOS. A talent all Sent Ones possessed. On roof. Injured. Need help.
He had no doubt they’d stop whatever they were doing and…yes. His sensitive ears picked up the sound of hurried footsteps. Hinges squeaked, the only entrance/exit on the roof swinging open. The steps started up again, only faster. Then Bjorn saw them. Thane and Xerxes both wore concerned expressions.
His chest swelled with a calming mix of relief, love and confidence. Everything would be okay. His friends would rather die than lose him, just as he would rather die than lose them.
They sprinted to his side, and Xerxes attempted to take the girl.
Bjorn held fast, grating, “Mine.” His assignment. His target. Strangely enough, one of his favorite memories. Nakedness should be a requirement for any form of combat.
Xerxes lifted his hands, a gesture of innocence before working with Thane to help Bjorn stand with Fox still cradled in his arms. It brought back memories of their imprisonment. How many times had these males patched him up while offering comfort and encouragement? Countless.
“Let us dispose of the body, my friend,” Thane said, his tone tender.
With golden curls, blue eyes, and tanned skin, Thane resembled an angel. With long white hair, red eyes, and scarred white skin, Xerxes resembled a devil. Bjorn hovered somewhere in the middle, part angel, part devil.
Other Sent Ones considered their threesome amoral. They often slept around, got high on ambrosia, and killed anyone who wronged them. Well, Bjorn used to sleep around.
“She isn’t dead,” Bjorn admitted. “Just resting.”
If any other Sent Ones were present, protests and criticism would have rung out. If those Sent Ones were prone to fits of temper, punches would have been thrown. And he would deserve all of it! Fox had murdered ten Sent Ones in cold blood. Perhaps she’d been paid to do it. Maybe she did it for grins and giggles. Or, what if the demon had dictated her actions? The reason didn’t really matter. The ten had been innocents with families desperate for their return. Now, they were dead.
The reaction he received from his boys? Nods. They accepted what he’d done, or what he’d not done, and they trusted him to make it right.
“How can we help?” Xerxes asked. “Shall I kill her for you?”
“No!” The word burst from him with more force than he’d intended. “Want to keep her in the dungeon. Will kill her after I heal.” Going against Clerici’s orders was a crime. If they were found out, they would be punished. Yet, he knew neither friend would hesitate to offer aid.
“Of course,” they said in unison.
“Whatever you need,” Thane added.
“We will ensure no one knows,” Xerxes vowed.
See! “Love you,” he croaked, still hemorrhaging strength in great waves.
With the males acting as crutches, he hobbled past the doorway, entering the upper level of the building. A secluded haven inaccessible by patrons. The club itself consisted only of the two bottom floors. Thane, Xerxes and Bjorn kept private suites up here. Thane and his wife Elin occupied the biggest one. Xerxes selected the one with the best view, and Bjorn chose the one with a balcony. Staff members lived on the floor below, also inaccessible by patrons.
A wide hallway led to an equally wide elevator, both big enough for their wings. With every step, Bjorn’s feet dragged a little more. Still, he pressed forward, riding the elevator down, down into the dank, musty dungeon. Or rather, Fox’s new—and last—home.
* * * *
Fox awoke with a moan. Her head ached, and the rest of her smarted as if she’d been the gooey center in a seven-car pile-up. What the—?
Memory fragments trickled into her foggy mind…dead Sent Ones… Bjorn… Pain… Darkness. With a gasp, she jolted to an upright position. Ow, ow, ow. The aches worsened, and her stomach twisted.
Swallowing bile, she blinked rapidly, relieved when her vision cleared. The second she spied her surroundings, the relief fled, and horror took over. Mold and old blood decorated walls made of crumbling stone. No windows. The only light spilled from a single overhead bulb, highlighting a dirt floor, a bloodstained cot, and a broken toilet.
Moans of anguish echoed in a continuous stream. The smell of waste, urine and metal stung her nostrils. Beneath the pungent odor of filth, she detected a hint of Bjorn’s scent—rainstorms and sultry summer nights. Fox breathed deeply, savoring. Shivering. Until she remembered she hated him and hoped to strangle him with his own intestines.
No sign of him nearby. Good thing. She might have killed him with her bare hands.
He thinks to torment me before he ends me? Fox fisted her hands.
She had researched Sent Ones. Knowledge was power, after all, and knowing an opponent’s strengths and weaknesses could save your life in battle. What she knew now? Bjorn could not be swayed from an assigned task. No reason to try.
All she could do? Portal away, regroup, then battle Bjorn again. On her own terms next time.
Very well. Decision made. She would open a portal and return to Galen.
Fox spread and pressed her fingertips together. The ends heated, and she slowly separated her hands. An ember sparked between them. Then another and another until a portal burned through the atmosphere to create a doorway to another world. But, only a split second later, the almost-portal extinguished.
What. The. Hell? For only the fifth time ever—six now—she’d fa
iled to open a portal. Thrice, she’d been too weak from blood loss. Twice, she’d been drugged.
Must escape. Fox didn’t have many fears. But this? Incarceration? This happened to be a big one. Locked up, she controlled no aspect of her life. No control meant no future. Not one worth living, anyway.
If she couldn’t open a portal, a bloodline must be responsible. But how did she get rid of a bloodline? Think, think.
When several minutes passed without a single intelligent thought, she concluded her mind hadn’t shaken off the effects of whatever powder Bjorn had blown into her face. She’d try again in a bit. Meanwhile…
Had her injuries healed? She glanced down her body and cringed. You’ve got to be kidding me. Fox never cared about fashion, but come on! She despised thongs, yet she now wore a pair Galen had given her as a joke, as well as a pink novelty T-shirt with his smiling face in the center, giving a thumb’s up.
For this, I’ll make Bjorn’s death slow and torturous.
Out of habit, she reached for a dagger. Gah! Of course, Bjorn had refrained from loading her up with weapons before he sealed her inside this shithole. At least she was on the road to recovery, each of the cuts and gashes mended. Only a bump on her head remained.
Recalling how easily Bjorn had knocked her out, she alternated between rage…and awe. Few combatants had the skill to take her down so swiftly. But then, she’d arrived fresh from another battle, compromised emotionally, and bare-ass naked.
The taste of blood coated her tongue, and she realized she’d been biting the inside of her cheek. Okay, waiting for her mind to clear wasn’t going to work for Fox. She needed action, and she needed it now.
She eased to her feet and shouted, “Bjorn! Show yourself, you coward.”
“Coward?” He materialized just outside of her cell and stepped from a cluster of shadows.
How long had he been there? How had he hidden so well? And how did she feel about being secretly watched by him? Not excited, that was for sure. Nope. Definitely not.
“We fought,” he said. “I won. I didn’t kill you while you slept. Now, your every breath belongs to me.”
Oh, man, he looked good. Really good. He’d showered and changed into a clean robe. On most Sent Ones, the fabric remained loose. On Bjorn, the fabric pulled taut over his chest and biceps. Golden wings arched over magnificently broad shoulders. Locks of bronzed hair stuck out in spikes, those rainbow eyes gleaming with smug satisfaction. The bastard had her right where he wanted her.
Grinding her teeth, she said, “You should have killed me when you had the chance. I won’t give you another one.”
He hiked up a shoulder, unconcerned. “I don’t need you to give me anything. I can and will kill you any time of my choosing.”
No, not good enough. “You’ve already made the decision to do it. So. Go ahead. Do it.”
“First, I have questions for you.”
His tone tightened at the end of his statement, a sign she wasn’t going to like what he asked.
“I have questions for you, too.” Feigning nonchalance, she eased onto the edge of the cot. Anything to bide her time and figure out a game plan. Like…draw him inside the cell, kill him with his own weapon and flee? Done!
More Sent Ones would come after her, of course, but at least she’d be free. But…
Part of her didn’t want to harm the Sent One. Well. That’s new. She had a rule: always kill the one trying to kill you. But Bjorn wasn’t doing this for a payout or even revenge. Okay, he might be doing this for revenge. Mostly, he was following his leader’s order to punish the one who’d devastated their species. So. Killing him would be Plan B. Fingers crossed she created a stellar Plan A. Because…
She didn’t want to kill him. He was the first male to make her shiver in…ever.
I…desire him? Sexually?
In the past, when hungering for a man, she’d picked one. They’d share a couple of weeks together, and she’d moved on. She never slept with a potential target, and she never slept with an enemy.
To Fox, men were like toilet paper. Necessary for a moment, but happily discarded after use. Too many lied, stole or cheated. Who was she supposed to trust?
“Very well,” Bjorn finally said, nodding for emphasis. “We will converse as comrades…for a bit. I ask, you answer. And in return, I’ll do the same for you.”
Ugh. Did he have to be so reasonable? “I also have statements for you,” she said. “I’ll start with this one. Galen will come for you and yours. One by one, you’ll all die screaming.”
Shrug. “He can come, but he won’t be the one doing the killing.” Bjorn stepped closer and leaned against the bars, the sensuality of his movements mesmerizing.
Focus up. Ogle her captor—more than she already had? No, thanks. “Go ahead. Gentlemen first.”
“Why did you murder the ten?” He pushed the words through teeth as gritted as her own. “At our first meeting, you eluded to the demon’s dark influence, but I wish to hear a play-by-play of your thought process.”
Knew he’d go there. She opted to tell him the truth. “The moment I spotted the ten, Distrust began whispering his poison, reminding me the warriors were demon assassins, telling me they’d come for me and my friends and if I wanted my loved ones to survive, I had to strike first. The next thing I knew, the Sent Ones were dead, their bodies piled around me.”
Despite the savagery of her words, he did not alter his expression or evince a single emotion.
“And I know, I know,” she said. “I can’t blame Distrust, because I willingly welcomed the fiend inside me.” A point she could not refute then, now, or ever. She—ow! She winced as a sharp pain sprang from her head wound.
Bjorn, being Bjorn, offered, “If you are in pain, we can postpone our conversation.”
A kindness from him, his concern for an enemy commendable. But also, useful. Had she just found the way to lure him in? “I’m in pain, yes,” she said. The truth, only exaggerated. Playing her part, she rubbed her temples.
“I’m glad you hurt,” he grated, dashing her hopes.
She jolted as if he’d punched her. Sent Ones could not lie. He’d meant what he said. He wanted her to hurt. Can you blame him? Irritated with him, and herself, she gave up temple-rubbing and resettled on the cot, getting as comfortable as possible. “You can go now.”
He dropped his chin to his sternum, those rainbow eyes growing more intense by the second. “Do you think you deserve punishment for your crimes?”
Ouch. No matter how she responded to that one, she would sound like a total bitch. “You’ll believe me, whatever I say?”
“Yes.” Offered without hesitation.
Why would—? Oh, right. Sent Ones could taste lies when others spoke them. “Why do you want to know? Will the answer change your mind about me?”
“No. You will die, no matter your opinion.”
Yeah, exactly as she’d suspected. “I do believe I deserve punishment. What I did was reprehensible, and I regret it with every fiber of my being. But I’m still going to kill you and anyone else who comes after me.”
He blinked, surprised, then pivoted on his heel and paced before the bars of her cell. “Any last words?”
Their gazes met. She unveiled a slow, wicked grin and stood, rising from the cot to assume a battle stance: shoulders back and legs braced apart, with one positioned slightly ahead of the other. “Come in here and get me, big boy.”
To her shock, desire flared in his eyes, there and gone. The possibility sparked an equal reaction in her. First excitement she couldn’t deny, then disappointment. The desire wasn’t for her. Clearly, the man entertained a battle fetish and got turned on by any type of fight. Or did the reason go deeper?
No. No way Bjorn desired Fox, the one responsible for his pain. And he was in pain. He’d recently said goodbye to ten members of his family.
Now, her head bowed with shame. Thankfully, she rebounded quickly, stuffing the shame into the emotional lockbox, going cold once
again. There. Much better. The cold was familiar, and as welcoming as a long-lost friend newly returned home.
“I do have a question,” she rasped. “Why were you chosen as my assassin?”
“I am always chosen for this type of case, because I do not care why something was done, only that it was, in fact, done.”
“Motive should matter. Intent, too.”
“Why?”
The simplest and most complex question of all time. “Because…just because! Someone who doesn’t intend to cause pain should not be lumped with the ones who do intend to cause pain.”
He ran his tongue over his teeth. “You hope to convince me you did not mean to cause the ten pain? That will—” Suddenly, he went still, his muscles bulging with tension. The overhead bulb flickered, darkness chasing away light, then light chasing away darkness. Just outside her cell, a thick, black cloud rolled through the corridor.
The fine hairs on the back of her neck stood to attention, as if a great and terrible evil had just neared. A reaction usually reserved for a prince of darkness. “What’s happening?”
Bjorn’s tension redoubled, then redoubled again. His breaths turned shallow. Panic lit his eyes before he blanked his expression. “Stay silent, no matter what you behold, hear, or smell. Draw no attention to yourself.”
Wait. Hold up. Did he radiate fear?
No. No way. This particular Sent One feared nothing. But, as minutes bled into each other, her curiosity intensified. Seriously, what the hell was going on?
He thinks to trick you somehow. Whatever he tells you to do, do the opposite!
And there was Distrust, ready to work her into a frenzy. Fox resisted the urge to obey, instead pressing her lips together and nodding at Bjorn.
Her ears twitched, the click-clack of high heels reverberating through the cell at a slow, steady pace. Click. Clack. Click. Clack. One after the other.
“Tsk, tsk, tsk, Bjorn.” A woman’s lilting voice reverberated through Fox’s cell. “In the past hour, I’ve summoned you twice, yet here you are.”
Summoned? What, the bitch had snapped her fingers? She must be his lover, then. But why would he act so weird about a girlfriend? And why were Fox’s nails sharpening into claws at the thought of Bjorn with some nameless, faceless female? Foolish!
The Darkest Assassin: A Lords of the Underworld Novella Page 4
