Assassin's Honor

by Monica Burns

  Behind her the sound of the storm outside grew louder. Jesus, he was in the house. Terror propelled her down the hall to the office. The throbbing in her toe made it difficult to run without pain, but she managed to cover the distance quickly. Slamming the study door closed behind her, she turned the skeleton key and pulled it out of the lock. She stared at the lock for a fleeting moment and remembered how easily her other visitor had gotten into the house. Her gaze jerked toward the tall, wooden statue of the Egyptian sun god, Ra, her mother had found in a Cairo bazaar. In seconds, she'd wedged the carved figure under the doorknob to brace the door shut.

  Hopefully Ra would live up to his all-powerful reputation and keep the intruder at bay, but she didn't feel like testing that theory. She needed to get out of the house. She flipped the light switch off and plunged herself into darkness. The old terror crept through her and chilled her skin. Shoving the notes she carried into her jeans pocket, she stumbled forward. Hands outstretched, she made her way to the window that overlooked the garden. Lightning flashed again, and her stomach lurched with incredible violence as she thought she saw someone move outside.

  She darted to the side of the window and pressed her back into the wall. She squeezed her eyes shut to gather her courage. Had the son of a bitch brought friends? Cautiously, she chanced a quick peek out the window. Below her, the garden was dark, but not as dark as the office. Light from neighboring houses created a dim glow in the backyard. Her gaze searched the grounds for any sign of movement, but found nothing. Still breathing heavily with fear, her breath warmed the glass panes. It surprised her. How could she be freezing and still have enough warm air in her lungs to fog up the window? If she weren't ready to throw up, it might be funny. The hall floor creaked softly. Someone was headed toward the office.

  In the dark, she couldn't see the doorknob, but she heard someone testing it. To hell with this, she'd take her chances outside. At least out there one of the neighbors might hear her if she screamed. Not caring how much noise she made, she struggled with the wooden window. It screeched upward slowly, and she heard the sound of wood splintering behind her as someone tried to force his way past the locked door. The solid statue of Ra held fast against the hard pounding from the other side.

  Desperate now, she tried to force the window higher, but it wouldn't budge. Behind her, the door hinges protested loudly. Terrified, she slammed the base of her palms up against the top frame of the window. The force of her blow sent her right hand sliding off the wooden frame and straight through the glass. Stunned, she simply stared at her hand sticking through the broken pane, the rain dancing off her fingers.

  Trembling, she saw dark rivulets of blood dripping off her hand. Getting drunk obviously had analgesic purposes as well. Suddenly, dizziness combined with her nausea. Even with the liquor deadening her senses, her hand still hurt. On fire would have been a more accurate description, and every drop of rain that hit the cut stung like a bee. She drew in a ragged breath as the office door screeched a protest against the attack coming from the other side.

  Struggling to remain conscious, she tried to navigate her hand past a tall shard of glass. When she couldn't, she started to cry. Goddamn it, what was wrong with her? Crying wouldn't save her life. With a sob, she used her free fist to land a quick blow to the middle of the shard. As the glass broke away from the window, she pulled her hand back inside. She swayed on her feet then bent over and slid the upper half of her body through the window's narrow opening.

  With a grunt of pain, she slammed her back into the sash to send it crashing upward. In that same instant, she heard the terrible scream of wood ripping away from the door hinges. She couldn't remember exactly how she made it through the window. But in seconds, she found herself lying on the ground. Already soaked from the rain, she scrambled to her feet.

  She couldn't see the blood soaking the sleeve of her sweater, but she knew what she was feeling wasn't rain. It was too sticky. The ugly memory of Charlie's blood coating her fingers rose to the surface. Brutally, she tossed the thought aside. There wasn't time to dwell on the past if she was going to survive the night. As fast as she could, she ran toward the back of the garden. A stone bit into the bottom of her foot. In the back of her mind, she screamed angrily at herself for removing her shoes. Lightning filled the sky again, and without thinking, she glanced over her shoulder.

  The sight of a figure leaping out of the office window nearly stopped her heart. Survival mode sent her bolting past the garden gate into the alley. There were dozens of places in the narrow lane where she could hide. Better yet, maybe one of her neighbors had forgotten to lock the entrance to their backyard.

  Emma tried the first gate she came to. Locked. Racing onward, she grabbed the next gate with her good hand and shook the iron scrolled barrier wildly. It didn't budge. Enough with thinking she'd find refuge in someone else's garden. She needed to just run. If she made it to the street, she stood a better chance of someone passing by who could help her.

  Pain lashed at her soles as she charged forward along the road's gravel surface. She had almost reached the side street when she stumbled over a small hole. Her foot twisted out from underneath her, and she pitched forward. Without thinking, her hands stretched out in front of her in an instinctive reaction to save herself.

  Gravel bit into the cut on her hand, and she struggled not to faint as her stomach heaved with a sickening lurch at the intense pain. In the back of her mind, a part of her found it odd that she hadn't screamed. For a moment, she lay there as her body sent wave after wave of nausea pouring over her. Then the honk of a horn out in the street pulled her back to her senses. Panic sent her clambering to her feet, and she tried to run. Her ankle almost gave way beneath her.

  Crying in earnest now, Emma dragged in deep breaths of air as she staggered forward in an attempt to put as much distance between her and the man chasing her. She'd passed at least three houses when she heard him behind her. Unable to stop herself, she looked over her shoulder. Lightning lit up the world around her, and with a scream, she sank to her knees in defeat.

  Thunder drowned out her shout of terror as she watched her relentless pursuer stride toward her. His dark cloak streaming out behind him, the man epitomized everything her childhood had taught her about the angel of death. Rain glistened on a sword he carried out to the side of him. This was the man the locals had described leaving the scene of Charlie's murder. Oh God, she was going to die just like her parents and Charlie. The man would slit her throat, and she didn't even know why.

  Chapter 6

  ONE hand rubbing his chin, Ares watched Emma wave goodbye to her friend before disappearing back into the house. Beside him, Phae made a soft sound. His gaze flicking in her direction, he frowned.

  "What?"

  "I'm sensing something." She leaned forward to study the man as he walked around to the driver's side of the car. With a slight shrug, she shook her head. "No, I guess not."

  "You're certain?"

  Frowning, he sent her a sharp look. While there were a few Sicari women with telekinetic abilities, most of them had intuitive abilities that covered a wide spectrum. Phae had inherited their mother's healing and sensory abilities, but her healing abilities were unparalleled. Her gift made her a valuable member of his guild. She grimaced as she shook her head.

  "No, it was nothing. Sorry. I'm just a bit on edge right now." He nodded. Whatever had made her nervous was affecting him, too. Something didn't feel right. His gut told him that and his gut was never wrong. Impatiently, he waited for Emma's visitor to start his car and leave. The sooner the old man left, the better. If getting Emma to safety meant extreme measures, he'd do it. And he sure as hell didn't need some aging Galahad interfering with his plans.

  Minutes seemed like hours as the man started his car then disappeared down the length of the street and around the corner. Determined to avoid any surprises, he deliberately waited another twenty minutes, just in case Emma's friend decided to return. When he was ready, he
reached out with his thoughts and popped the bulb in the streetlight one car away. An instant later Emma's front porch light winked out, followed by the porch lights of several neighboring houses.

  A quiet hiss of air escaped Phae's lips. "What the--you didn't do that, did you?"

  "No," he said in a grim voice. The only light he'd extinguished was the streetlamp. From the look on his sister's face, he knew she'd sensed a threat nearby. The question was who?

  "It's the same presence I sensed a few minutes ago."

  "It can't be a Praetorian." He didn't voice the other possibility. If it was a rogue warrior--no, there hadn't been any reports of a rogue Sicari in the guild's vicinity.

  "Whoever it is, they're powerful, and they're close." Phae's voice held a note of worry. "Maybe we should call for backup."

  "If this person is that strong, I don't want to wait."

  With a quick movement, he exited the SUV and discarded his jacket. Seconds later, his hand grasped the smooth leather grip of his weapon from beneath the driver seat. In a quick movement, he pulled the sword from its sheath. It was the weapon of an assassin. The solid weight of the Condottiere blade once used by his great-grandfather provided him with a sense of comfort. The old ways were deeply ingrained in the Sicari. Anyone could take a life with a gun, but it required strength and great skill to do it with a sword. It was the one thing the Praetorians and Sicari had in common, but nothing more.

  Beneath his black turtleneck shirt, his skin tightened as the crisp fall air and light rain penetrated the knit fabric. A quick upward glance assured him cloud cover and the lack of outdoor lighting would keep their movements virtually undetected. He gestured toward the right side of Emma's house as Phae joined him from the opposite side of the SUV with a small broadsword in her hand.

  "Take the--"

  A muted scream pierced the darkness. The distant cry slid through his head like a sword scraping against metal, sharp and pure. Those untrained in the Sicari way would never have heard the sound. Lightning lit up the sky and another clap of thunder drowned out the shriek completely. He didn't finish his command. He simply raced down the street toward Emma's house. Charging through the shadows along the sidewalk, he turned and followed the tall hedge separating Emma's yard from her next-door neighbor.

  Small splashes of water from the soaked earth flew up and over his leather boots as he raced around the back corner of the house. Another flash of lightning illuminated the yard. The sight of the broken office window pulled him to a slippery halt. Shards of glass lay scattered on the ground. Broken from the inside. Ice slid down his spine. Had she broken it herself or had someone else? Another shrill cry ripped through the air.

  The alley.

  At a full sprint, he bolted toward the rear of the garden and charged through the open gate into the alley. Opening all of his senses to everything around him, he waited for the smallest noise or scent that would lead him to Emma. The rain made it difficult to see as he came to a halt and looked in both directions. From where he stood, he saw headlights from a car as it passed by the alley. Merda, where the hell was she?

  Lightning lit up the narrow lane, and he drew in a harsh breath. Crumpled in a heap on the ground, Emma had her hand raised in a defensive manner. The tall, cloaked figure towering over her caught him off guard for a moment.

  Praetorian warriors no longer dressed as their religious order once had. A flash of light from the heavens lit up the silver blade at the man's side. Mater Dei. Whether the man was a Praetorian or not, his sword made his intentions clear.

  Ares launched himself into a dead run. Adrenaline pumped furiously through his veins. Because of it, he ran faster than he ever thought possible. In seconds, he eliminated the distance between him and Emma's attacker. As if expecting him, the man suddenly turned and swung his sword through the air in a familiar move. Then a solid, yet invisible, push knocked him off balance.

  Sicari. The bastard was a Sicari.

  The warrior's blade whipped through the air in a series of small arcs. He ducked as the man's sword whispered across the top of his head. Probably taking a few hairs with it. Not that it mattered. He needed a trim anyway. The moment he visualized his foot landing a solid punch to his opponent's stomach, the man grunted.

  In little more than a heartbeat, he found himself on the defensive again. His opponent's blade flew downward in a stroke filled with deadly purpose. Only years of training kept the sword from splitting his head open and killing him instantly. As he twisted his body sideways, he visualized knocking his opponent's sword out of the way. The man's mental abilities rebuffed his attempt and the blade bit into his upper arm as an unseen foot planted itself squarely in his ribs.

  Growling loudly in pain, he dodged the fighter's second strike. Blood soaked his shirt, and his arm hurt like hell. Merda. This guy seemed invincible. Worse, he could already feel his own mental ability beginning to fade. If he didn't do something fast, he'd be dead.

  The Sicari fighter's sword whipped effortlessly through the air in yet another skillful sweep. This time the blade headed straight for his jugular. Another move Ares knew well. He could have been fighting himself. Their swords glided off each other in a spray of sparks. An uneasy feeling shot through him.

  There was something very different about this man. He couldn't quite put his finger on it. The man fought like a Sicari, but not like any fighter in the Order he'd met over the years. The hooded cloak he wore didn't help matters either. An opponent's eyes always revealed something, but he couldn't see this man's face. That increased the difficulty in battling him.

  "Do not interfere in that which you do not understand, DeLuca." The man's voice rang out flat and without emotion.

  How in the hell did the bastard know his name? Ignoring the warning, he centered himself and threw his sword up to block the man's swing. Steel scraped along steel until their blades met at the hilt. Even up close, his opponent's expression remained hidden in the dark folds of his hood.

  He threw a large portion of his mental strength into his effort to push the Sicari away from him, and the man retreated a small measure. Christus. This guy had abilities that made him look like an untrained Sicari. Suddenly the fighter released one hand from his sword and drove a fist into Ares's injured arm. Merda. That was a Praetorian tactic. The pain sent him to his knees. This time a very real and solid foot slammed into his side. Swallowing the bile rising in his throat, he used his ability to roll effortlessly away from the brutal attack then struggled to his feet.

  His reaction time had slowed almost to a crawl, and he barely blocked the blade about to split his skull. With a loud grunt, he somersaulted past the man on his good side and almost landed on top of Emma. He didn't look to see whether she was conscious or not. It wouldn't matter if he wound up dead. Gritting his teeth, he forced himself to clear his head of everything but the sword in his hand.

  It was time to end this. Determination swept through his body as he sprang to his feet in a battle-ready position. The fighter raised his weapon in a familiar move, and Ares prepared to counter the attack. Then in a flash of movement, the Sicari warrior unexpectedly changed the direction of the sword's arc. Caught off guard, Ares leaped backward just in time. Still, the tip of the other man's blade sliced through his sweater and bit into his chest.

  Fotte. Who was this bastard?

  Leaping to one side, he swung his own sword in retaliation and barely missed the man's shoulder. "Barely" wouldn't keep him alive for much longer. His breaths coming loud and hard, he watched as the man suddenly straightened and then leaped past him.

  In response to his opponent's surprise move, Ares whirled around expecting the fighter to come at him from a different angle. But like a magician, the unknown assailant had disappeared into the night. Several seconds passed before he realized the Sicari had given up.

  What the--? Sicari never ran. Not to mention the man had been winning. He looked down at his chest. His sweater hung open, exposing the deep cut the Sicari fighter had ma
de. Hell, in just a few more seconds he would have been dead. Why would the warrior run now?

  He spun around at a soft sound echoing behind him. As he saw Phae running toward him, he lowered his weapon. Had the bastard heard his sister approaching before him? He grunted. Later. He'd sort it out later.

  Reassured that Phae had his back, he handed his sword to her and crouched at Emma's side to examine her for injuries. He lifted her arm and grimaced at the gash at the base of her palm. Now he knew who'd broken the office window. She stirred beneath his touch. Gently, he pushed wet strands of hair off her face.

  "Emma. Can you tell me where you're hurt?" Carefully, so as not to cause her further injury, he shifted her onto her back and examined her other arm.

  A soft moan echoed out of her as he ran his hands over her right leg and brushed his fingertips over her ankle. Christus, with the swelling in her ankle, he'd be surprised if it wasn't broken. Returning his attention back to her face, he lightly patted his hand against her cheek.

  "Emma. Answer me," he commanded.

  Her forehead wrinkled in a frown of pain as her eyes fluttered open. Panic lingered in her expression as she glanced around with several frantic jerks of her head. As she slowly realized she was safe for the moment, her gaze returned to his face. The recognition dawning in her eyes hardened into a cold stare.